Burn for You (Club Mephisto 2)

He circulated, monitoring a heavy impact scene for a while before he moved on to an equally intense, but much quieter rigging scene. The rigger wrapped rope around his nude submissive so lovingly, so carefully, outlining her breasts and making wicked little cinches for her nipples. Once she was tied, he started working over her chest with a crop. The woman moaned and pulled away on occasion, but she always presented her breasts for more. Mephisto studied her face, searching for something, anything, any clue that she wanted to be anywhere else than where she was...

“Master Mephisto?”

Mephisto turned at the sharp voice of his dungeon assistant, Glenn. “What is it?”

“A woman by the door. I think she’s altered.”

“If she’s altered, she can’t come in. You know the rules.”

“I think it’s Molly.”

Mephisto spun toward the door. Glenn was right. It was Molly, but she barely looked like herself. Dirty, disheveled, her face and eyes swollen, probably from substance abuse. She yanked at her collar, screaming something he couldn’t hear from across the room. Her eyes found his and she came storming his way, shrugging off the doorman trying to restrain her. She barreled right through a whip scene, evading injury by dumb luck.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mephisto grabbed her arm and steered her to the side of the play space. “That singletail could have taken your eye out.”

“Get it off me,” she screamed, yanking at her neck, at the slim collar still gleaming there. “Take it off me, goddamn it. I know you know how.”

The dungeon monitors were drifting closer in case Mephisto needed help, and patrons were starting to watch. Molly pulled at her collar like a full-blown maniac. She was on something, rabid, out of her mind. He dragged her back past the bar into his private rooms. He flipped on the light in the kitchen and looked down at the girl in his grasp. Her eyes were dilated, her skin pallid. She’d lost fifteen pounds at least since he saw her last. Six weeks ago?

“What are you on?” It came out a growl. Mephisto didn’t allow drugs in his club and he didn’t allow them in his life. “What the fuck have you been doing to yourself?”

She ignored him, pulling so hard on the collar he worried she’d injure her neck. She let out an ear rending scream. “Take it off! Get it off me!”

“Okay, I’ll take it off. When you calm down, I’ll take it off. Let go of it.”

He took her hands, restraining her with some effort. There were garish bruises around her neck. Who knew how long she’d been trying to get it off? But pulling it right through her neck wasn’t the way to do it. Her small hands struggled in his.

“Let go of me,” she moaned. “Let go!”

“I’ll let go when you stop fighting me. Don’t touch it. I need a special tool to get it off but I won’t go get it until you calm down.”

She sucked in air. Some shred of awareness flickered in her eyes. Her gaze darted around his kitchen and she licked dry lips. He’d lay odds she was on some hallucinogen, not unknown for the old Molly. “Sit down,” he said slowly and clearly. “Sit down and I’ll take your collar off.”

He led her to a chair at the table and she sank down. She shook all over, so hard he could almost hear it. She was in her usual pre-Clayton gear. Short skirt, nearly non-existent top. It was thirty degrees outside. He got a blanket from the bedroom and draped it around her. She reached again for the metal band around her neck, arrested by his disapproving sound. Glenn peeked in the door.

“Everything okay?”

“She’ll be fine. Watch her a minute.”

Mephisto hurried to the club’s storage room, rooted through hardware and drawers of tools until he found the micro-screwdriver he needed. Molly wouldn’t be the first slave he’d sprung from a “permanent” collar, nor would she be the last. He returned to the kitchen to find Molly glaring at Glenn with a murderous look.

“She’s not quite herself, is she?” Glenn asked. “You want me to call anyone?”

“The loony bin?” Mephisto suggested. “Not for her. For me. No. She’ll be fine, but I might not be back out there tonight.”

“We’ll hold down the fort.”

Glenn left and Mephisto approached the sickly, shivering girl at his table. She seemed to be coming down already, her energy flagging. God knew how she’d gotten here in her condition. He could picture her wandering the streets of downtown Seattle, clawing at her collar and screaming like a psycho. What might have happened if she hadn’t found her way to his place?

“Let me see.” He reached for the shining eternity collar, pushing her knotted, lank hair to the side. Her hair used to be her crowning glory, thick and glossy and beautiful, but now it was dull, unwashed. She was trying to sit still but random shudders seized her small frame. “What are you on?” Mephisto asked again, now that she seemed slightly more lucid. “Are you going to go into heart failure on me? What did you take?”

“I don’t know. I got it from someone.”

“Who?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” He sighed, grasping for patience. “Where were you?”

“Somewhere. I don’t remember.”

“At home? At a restaurant? At a club?”

“A club. Somewhere.”

Mephisto scrubbed a hand over his face. He had to get her collar off before she started yanking at it again. He traced around the smooth edges until he found the tiny depression he was looking for. “Be very still,” he said. And then, “Are you sure?”

“Take it off.” Her voice was firm. “I’m not his slave anymore.”

Fair enough. He lined up the tiny screwdriver with the delicate, almost invisible release. She wasn’t the only one shaking. His hands suddenly felt too big, too clumsy for this moment. He poked the sharp tool into the clasp until he managed to wiggle it loose. The collar opened and he eased it from her chafed neck.

She turned to him, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. “Give it to me.”

“No.” Not a chance. She’d calmed somewhat, but she was still out of her mind.

“Give it to me!”

“The screaming won’t work. You’re not getting it until you’re down. Here are your choices. Go to the hospital. Go to jail. Spend the night here.”

She stood and moved toward the door. “I’m leaving. I’m going home.”

He stepped in front of her with a grim look. “I’ll repeat your choices one more time. Hospital. Jail. Here.”

“You can’t keep me here! You don’t control me.”

“It appears no one controls you. Even you.”

“You can’t make me stay here against my will. That’s kidnapping.”

“Okay. Jail then. Hospital will cost too much.” Mephisto got out his phone.

“Give me that collar!” She launched herself at him but he held the collar over his head, subduing her with one tight arm around her waist. She flailed, spitting at him. “You’re an asshole!”

“Yes, and an abuser. I remember.”

“And a criminal!”

“Says the girl who’s high on some illegal substance.” He pulled her over to the sink and made her drink an entire glass of water, even though most of it ended up on his clothes, and then took her to the bathroom. “Sit down and piss,” he said. “And if you dare go anywhere but in the bowl I’ll fucking destroy your ass.”

She scowled and used the toilet, then stood and defiantly kicked off her thong panties and wisp of a skirt. “Are you going to rape me now?”

“There is nothing on earth I’d find less appealing at the moment. Put your skirt back on.”

“Fuck you.”

With a sigh, Mephisto picked up her skirt and panties and carried them, along with the resisting woman, into his room. He flung her discarded clothes into a cage in the corner. Then he looked at Molly. “In you go.”

“Fuck you!”

“One more time, because I know you’re high and stupid right now. Hospital. Jail. Here. Pick yo

ur fucking choice.”

She kicked him hard in the shin, which fucking hurt, then drew her knee back to aim for his balls. Before she could complete such an ill-advised attack, he forced her into the rectangular cage, shutting the door and locking it while she pounded on the bars. “You’re going to be in so much fucking trouble when I call the police,” she screeched. “This is kidnapping!”

“This is tough love. I’ll let you out when whatever is in your system has worn off.”

“I hate you. I hate you!” Bang, bang, bang on the bars. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched to be sure she wouldn’t hurt herself. She banged for a minute, two minutes, but then she went still and lay back, and the sobbing started. Wails and sobs and threats of what would happen to him. “I have money, you asshole!” she shrieked. “I’m fucking rich. I’ll ruin you!”