where her Master was and what he was doing. Wondering if he was missing her as much as she was missing him.
The Second Day
She was shaken awake the following morning, and found herself looking up into dark, intense eyes in the half-light. He was in a businesslike mood, and put her to work cleaning the club again after a light breakfast. This time he went out rather than join her, pointing at the cameras around the club and instructing her not to open the door for anyone. As if she would!
She had plenty to keep her busy, but without him there, time seemed to drag. When he returned, he brought delicious-smelling food from a local Indian eatery that Molly recognized, since it was one of Master's favorites. With a pang she thought of Master, missing him again. Had Mephisto known, and stopped there on purpose to torment her? Mephisto seemed torn between eating and showing her what was in the black boutique bag at his side. Molly recognized that logo too, since it was a fetish shop Master frequently patronized. In the end, he chose to eat the food while it was warm. She knelt at his side, enjoying naan and momos and spiced rice that he fed her with a fork. When she dropped some, he laughed and pinched her breasts, telling her not to be careless.
She truly enjoyed these moments when he shared food with her. Even though she was at his feet, she felt treasured and cared for. She sat in a very similar fashion beside her Master at his meals, but he rarely shared his food with her. She realized how very differently two Masters might handle and make use of their slaves. She supposed her duty as a slave was to adjust to whatever her Master desired at any given moment. Whoever her Master might be.
"What are you thinking about?"
Her gaze shot to his. Caught dreaming again. Would he send her for nipple clamps to refocus her attention?
"Don't worry, you don't need to tell me. I can guess just from the look on your face. He's a lucky man to have such a devoted slave."
"Master...I am the lucky one, to be able to serve him."
Her words came close to contradicting him, but he let it pass. "Clear these dishes away and then come join me in the play space," he said. "We're going to embark on a little training I warrant you've never experienced before."
He took the black bag with him. Molly cleared away the dishes, the warm feelings from the meal dissipating into stomach-churning panic. Some new form of training? She prayed it wasn't torturous or painful. She wished she could have had more time, but the takeout containers didn't take much time to square away. She steeled herself to obedience and walked out to the club area determined to submit to whatever he subjected her to.
He was standing beside a padded table, almost like the one she laid on during her annual appointment with her Master's private physician. It had stirrups at the bottom and also attachment points extending from each side—which the other table didn't have. He patted it, with that small, hidden smile. Molly crossed to him and lay back on the cool black leather.
He began by fastening cuffs to each wrist and attaching her arms—spread wide—to the extending poles on either side. Her ankles came next, fastened to the stirrups with padded straps. He stopped then, pressing her thighs wide open, and slipped two thick fingers into her pussy.
"Wet, are we?" he asked. "Yes, bondage turns me on too."
He undid his pants and sheathed himself, then took hold of her thighs and pressed into her wet slit. She shuddered at the sliding, stretching pleasure of being impaled on his cock. He entered and left her in shallow movements, bumping against her clit and arching over her. His hands were braced on either side of the table near her hips. She was going to come. She was going to die from the bondage, the powerlessness. He slid over her g-spot, creating shivery pangs of sensation and a desperate need for release. She gazed up at him, taking in the bunching
The Second Day
She was shaken awake the following morning, and found herself looking up into dark, intense eyes in the half-light. He was in a businesslike mood, and put her to work cleaning the club again after a light breakfast. This time he went out rather than join her, pointing at the cameras around the club and instructing her not to open the door for anyone. As if she would!
She had plenty to keep her busy, but without him there, time seemed to drag. When he returned, he brought delicious-smelling food from a local Indian eatery that Molly recognized, since it was one of Master's favorites. With a pang she thought of Master, missing him again. Had Mephisto known, and stopped there on purpose to torment her? Mephisto seemed torn between eating and showing her what was in the black boutique bag at his side. Molly recognized that logo too, since it was a fetish shop Master frequently patronized. In the end, he chose to eat the food while it was warm. She knelt at his side, enjoying naan and momos and spiced rice that he fed her with a fork. When she dropped some, he laughed and pinched her breasts, telling her not to be careless.
She truly enjoyed these moments when he shared food with her. Even though she was at his feet, she felt treasured and cared for. She sat in a very similar fashion beside her Master at his meals, but he rarely shared his food with her. She realized how very differently two Masters might handle and make use of their slaves. She supposed her duty as a slave was to adjust to whatever her Master desired at any given moment. Whoever her Master might be.
"What are you thinking about?"
Her gaze shot to his. Caught dreaming again. Would he send her for nipple clamps to refocus her attention?
"Don't worry, you don't need to tell me. I can guess just from the look on your face. He's a lucky man to have such a devoted slave."
"Master...I am the lucky one, to be able to serve him."
Her words came close to contradicting him, but he let it pass. "Clear these dishes away and then come join me in the play space," he said. "We're going to embark on a little training I warrant you've never experienced before."
He took the black bag with him. Molly cleared away the dishes, the warm feelings from the meal dissipating into stomach-churning panic. Some new form of training? She prayed it wasn't torturous or painful. She wished she could have had more time, but the takeout containers didn't take much time to square away. She steeled herself to obedience and walked out to the club area determined to submit to whatever he subjected her to.
He was standing beside a padded table, almost like the one she laid on during her annual appointment with her Master's private physician. It had stirrups at the bottom and also attachment points extending from each side—which the other table didn't have. He patted it, with that small, hidden smile. Molly crossed to him and lay back on the cool black leather.
He began by fastening cuffs to each wrist and attaching her arms—spread wide—to the extending poles on either side. Her ankles came next, fastened to the stirrups with padded straps. He stopped then, pressing her thighs wide open, and slipped two thick fingers into her pussy.
"Wet, are we?" he asked. "Yes, bondage turns me on too."
He undid his pants and sheathed himself, then took hold of her thighs and pressed into her wet slit. She shuddered at the sliding, stretching pleasure of being impaled on his cock. He entered and left her in shallow movements, bumping against her clit and arching over her. His hands were braced on either side of the table near her hips. She was going to come. She was going to die from the bondage, the powerlessness. He slid over her g-spot, creating shivery pangs of sensation and a desperate need for release. She gazed up at him, taking in the bunching
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