Club Mephisto (Club Mephisto 1)

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Molly was kept in a "harem" with other girls and boys available to be used. She recognized one girl, Lila, from the first night, and the girl who had locked her in the cage the second day, but Jamie was not among the small group of male subs. There were ten of them all together, three males and seven females kept in a kind of corral set up in the corner. The tops were all males, and she counted twenty-six at the height of the party. They were all fit and attractive, although some were significantly older or younger than Mephisto's age, which Molly guessed was around thirty-five. One commonality the tops all shared was that they were all strikingly virile. As she looked around in the dim black light, with the house music throbbing, she thought she'd never seen such an impressive collection of hard, upstanding cock all in one place.

The subs were naked from the start, excepting collars that identified their status. The men who'd been invited to play with them stripped within the first half hour or so, after a drink or two. Molly thought she could have used a drink for courage, but the only drinks provided for the bottoms were communal dog bowls of tap water, which at least was kept cool and frequently refreshed.

Mephisto stood, nude too in all his glory, overseeing the collection of submissive bodies, using the tap of a whip to force backs straighter and breasts more suggestively outthrust. Molly's pussy was seeping from the open, speculative regard of the males in attendance. She cast furtive glances at the various faces. None of them were masked—Mephisto didn't permit it, per club rules. He said he didn't allow anything to go on in his club that a person couldn't do to another person face-to-face. Mephisto also didn't allow photographs, and kept a tight group of well-known clientele so there were no worries about infiltration or invasion of privacy. Molly knew all this from things Master had told her. She also realized most of the men in the room were probably very successful at whatever they did, if not outright filthy rich.

That, too, aroused her. Success. Aptitude. And of course, the requisite virility all these man shared. When they started circling the corral of available bodies, stroking and pinching, groping and considering, Molly wanted to be selected. She couldn't deny that selfish desire.

But they were all selected eventually. Repeatedly. The top-to-bottom ratio was purposely calculated to force each sub to nearly constant use. The play space soon filled with the sounds of pleasure and pain, torment and impact. There were voices, orders and instructions, some ribald jokes and dirty talk, but only from the dominant side. Molly soon realized that her speech restriction training had been in preparation for this, for becoming a silent, available vessel for the pleasure of Mephisto's guests.

The first hand that reached for her belonged to a sleepy-eyed man with auburn hair flopping over his forehead. He murmured something against her ear that she couldn't hear, but she understood the nudge of his hand well enough. She fell to her knees, taking the condom he placed in her hand and rolling it onto his thick cock. He was pale like Master, not dark like Mephisto. She fellated him there, in front of everyone, as similar scenes took place around them. She heard the moans of one of the male subs, and wicked-sounding smacks. A girl to her left was being fucked in the ass on all fours. A moment later she felt hands on her ass and felt herself rearranged. She didn't dare stop sucking the man before her to look back, but she moaned around his dick as she felt her ass cheeks parted and a cold dab of lube smeared across her tiny hole.

She sucked in breath, opening her throat as someone impaled her ass. The man before her pulled her hair to refocus her and she deep-throated him as she struggled to adjust to the pain of the invasion behind her. Her moans seemed to drive both men on, and soon the man before her pulled away and took off his condom, yanking her upright and jetting copious streams of cum over her breasts.

The man behind her grappled with her, instructing her to rub the cum into her breasts and moan while he fucked her. She obeyed, closing her eyes and clenching around his cock. She tried to open herself to his driving assault, to the uncomfortable, humbling sensation of having her ass used so capriciously. The acute feeling of being dominated, and his animalistic grunts soon had her bucking back against him in willing surrender. He came with a rough gasp and a deep thrust, pinching her nipples painfully.

He pulled away with a stinging slap to her ass. She barely had time to turn and see the man who'd fucked her when another man lifted her from her knees. She was led to one of the dungeon's many crosses and shackled, spread-eagled. She was flogged on the back and thighs by two men in a row, a stinging torment that left her warmed and trembling. They chose to fuck her afterward, one man finishing in her pussy and the other choosing to use her ass. She hung from her bonds as they took turns, powerless and conquered. Used. Horny. She ached to rub her clit against the slick, hard wood before her but she didn't dare. Control yourself. Don't disappoint your Master.

She was returned to the corral for just a moment, catching only a glance of the various decadent sexual acts around her before another gentleman grabbed her wrist. Mephisto watched while accepting oral service from a girl at his feet. Molly thought he might have winked at her, but maybe she’d imagined it.

She tripped along behind the slim, dark-haired man dragging her to a spanking bench. He shackled her on her hands and knees. She felt a moment of panic when he restrained both her ankles and her thighs, cuffing them and linking them to unseen attachment points. She was completely immobilized, a terrifying feeling, especially as he went to the wall and returned with a rattan cane. She was grateful now for the restraints, but panicked too. The first slice of the cane was horrible, spreading fire, and she cried out. He waited as she squirmed in her bonds, no doubt enjoying the spectacle of her struggle. She wished she could reach back and rub her sizzling cheeks, but then another stroke fell, and another. She wailed and jerked at each fresh assault of the painful implement. He finally put it down, but only to fetch a pair of adjustable nipple clamps from the club's vast selection.

He returned, tipping her face up and wiping some of the tears from her cheeks. She gazed up into light green eyes and a sternly handsome face. "I want less noise, girl. Each time you scream and cry like that, I'm going to tighten these clamps more. Understand me?"

She nodded miserably, trying to restrain the hiss that rose to her lips as he closed first one, and then the other of the heavy clamps on her nipples. Her pussy constricted and her clit pulsed from the erotic pangs of pain, but the soreness of her punished ass cheeks kept her from tipping over the edge.

He once again took up his position behind her with the cane. Molly gritted her teeth but each subsequent strike ended up resulting in another turn of the tightening screws, since she couldn't suppress her voice's reaction to the pain of the caning. She sobbed and wiggled in her bonds, desperate for some escape from the torture to her ass and the squeezing clamps on her nipples. At last, the helpless squirming of her bottom seemed to distract him from punishing her. He climbed up on the table behind her and thrust his sheathed cock balls deep into her dripping pussy. He banged his hips against her aching ass, squeezing her scarlet cheeks. The pain and pleasure merged and again she felt herself climbing, climbing... She pressed her forehead against the vinyl bench. Don't. Don't. Don't come.

When he finally released her and returned her to the corner, she sat up on her knees, not even able to rest her ass back on her ankles because it was so tender. She watched the men warily, terrified to be taken by one who wished to spank or cane her again on the too-fresh welts. But the party seemed to be mellowing. The scenes were ratcheting down, becoming more lazy and sensual from their earlier heightened pitch. She had what seemed like twenty or thirty minutes to rest. Perhaps Mephisto, in his effortless grasp of control, engineered it with nothing more than quelling looks to men who considered her.

When one finally claimed her again, it was for more sensual play. The short, compactly built man put a thick, vibrating dildo in her hand and propped her on her knees, ordering her to insert it and masturbate herself. Tell me to come. Please order me to come. Surely she couldn't disobey a direct order of one of Mephisto's guests.

But no such order was forthcoming. When she'd worked the dildo deep inside, writhing from the buzzing, shuddering pleasure, he took a fistful of her hair and leaned over her back, driving his cock into her asshole and taking her in jerky short strokes that had her moaning in longing. Oh, God, what it would feel like to come from such fullness and stimulation! She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to disobey. Mephisto strolled past, catching her eye. An unmistakable warning. He watched until the man was finished with her.

Another man took her after that, and then another. She sucked, she fucked, she was filled and brought almost to orgasm again and again. Her nipples were pinched and clamped until they throbbed and felt heavier than usual, another reminder of her captive sexuality, her denial of release. She felt like one big aching lump of flesh, crying out for surrender. Then, abruptly, the party ended. The men dressed and headed out, perhaps to a leisurely late dinner or after-orgy drinks.

Mephisto cuffed Molly to one of the crosses, clamped yet again, as he showed the guests out and bundled off the other submissives, thanking them all for their service. Molly stood in her restraints, her chest heaving with each breath, her legs shifting, her pussy aching to be filled, her pelvis aching to come. To reach satisfaction. The dispersing of the guests did nothing to disperse her horniness. He finally returned, taking in her heightened gaze with amused understanding. He tapped her clit, just once, and she almost screamed.

"You're wound so tight, my lovely little slave girl," he murmured. "Would you like me to touch you again?"

She gasped and shook her head, then nodded. But he only chuckled. "I don't think so. I'm going to release you now." He uncuffed her hands so they flopped down at her sides. Again, he tapped and stroked her clit just a moment. When he stopped, she sobbed softly. She thought she would explode if she couldn't just...if she couldn't just...

Her hand slid toward her mons. She only meant to rest it nearby—

He slapped it away. "No."

She tried again, just to touch her clit...not even stroke it. Just touch it once. For one second. She couldn't bear it—

He took her arms in a hard grip and slapped her face. "I said no." He raised his hand again, but she shook her head, coming to her senses. He was still frowning. "You were such a good girl at the party. But you're not being a very good girl now. Put your hands on your head."

She sobbed but obeyed him. He released her ankles and unclamped her nipples. Even the agonizing rush of blood to the tips of her breasts didn't dampen the need she felt. He marched her to use the bathroom and shower, giving her a perfunctory cleaning with her hands cuffed behind her back. He used nothing but a spray of ice cold water on her pussy and engorged clit so even that contact was denied. But at least the icy water cut through her mindless desperation and brought her boiling lust down to a bearable simmer. Then she began to feel the shame. She cried when he presented the harness, both dildos coated liberally with the sadistic oil. "You were doing so well," he said, shaking his head with a grimace before he bent her over to drive the dildos home.

When do I become broken? was all she could think in answer. She felt broken as he shoved her into the underbed cage with her hands still cuffed behind her back and the harness cinched tightly closed. For an hour or more she ached and burned, all the while knowing he was lounging on the bed above her. At some point, when she sobbed aloud, he banged the side of the cage and told her to sleep.

The Sixth Day

She must have slept, although she thought it impossible, because she awakened to the rattle of the bed-cage's bars and Mephisto staring into her eyes.

"Are you better now?" he asked, in a voice neither kind nor accusing.

She nodded, wanting to hide her face in shame, but her hands were still cuffed behind her. He pulled her out. He was already showered, while she felt grungy and exhausted. He removed her harness and took her to the kitchen, forcing her to eat when she resisted. She did begin to feel slightly better by the end of the meal. He cleared his plates himself, then left the kitchen, leaving her kneeling and unsupervised. The implied restoration of trust bolstered her a little. He returned with a pair of jeans, a tee shirt and pale green sweater.

"I believe these are your size."

She took the clothes he handed her in surprise.

"Yes, we're going out. It's a really beautiful day and you haven't gotten much exercise this week. Put these on. No panties, and no bra. I don't want anything between me and you but these articles of clothing."

She stood and drew on the comfortable garments. They did fit well. The shirt was a little flimsy and snug across her chest, but the sweater was thick and cozy for the chilly early spring weather. Mephisto fingered her collar, removing the o-ring that betrayed the decorative band's true purpose.

"Vanilla enough, I guess," he said with a smile.

His relaxed mood soothed her in turn. In his small black sports car, on the way to wherever he was taking her, he reiterated the importance of his orgasm denial regimen. He also praised her overall performance at the party, if not her breakdown at the end. So she was left feeling, at the very least, forgiven.

One more day.

Master would come for her tomorrow. After that, Mephisto wouldn't control her any more—not her orgasms, her speech, anything. She tried to convince herself she would be relieved to wash her hands of his control, but the truth was, she'd forged a connection to Mephisto. She'd truly come to think of him as her Master, and to admire his charisma and control, if not the trials he put her through.

He drove her to a Seattle city park, and they took a brisk walk around the jogging path with all the other people enjoying the unseasonably beautiful weather. She wondered what they looked like to the vanilla eye. A handsome man in black, obviously a progressive type with his dreadlocks and piercings. She, the more conservative-looking girl in the jeans and green sweater, long curly hair occasionally blowing across her face in the breeze.

"You look pretty without makeup," he said. He held her hand briefly, then released it. They stopped at a snack bar, and he bought ice cream and popcorn. He shared the swirled cone with her first, and she savored the treat. Ice cream was something her Master allowed her only occasionally, and never this soft, creamy variety she used to enjoy so much as a child. He watched her take each delicate lick, a gleam in his eye. She laughed softly, swiping a drip from her chin.

"Take more, if you like it."

He ended up giving her most of the cone in the end, while he crunched on the popcorn and threw some to the birds swooping up and down. Master hadn't taken her out to a park like this in years. He took her to plays, concerts, and hundred-dollar dinners regularly, but not this. Of course, Master was a busy man, and not very outdoorsy. They lived in a high rise downtown, where sprawling parks like this were hard to come by. It wasn't a big thing to give up. Still, she wished she could save the feeling of the breeze in her hair and the sweet taste of the ice cream melting against her tongue. And the look Mephisto was giving her.

Silence came easily now. There were a lot of things she would have liked to ask him, a lot of things she would have chatted about, but silence seemed more suitable between them somehow. Silence easily turned physical, while words were mental. He pulled her into his lap and thrust salty fingers into her mouth, letting her lick off the grease of the popcorn. She giggled a little, and he stuck his other hand up under her tee shirt, beneath her sweater, pinching and stroking her nipples. They instantly went taut.

He did it for a long while, turning her against him to hide his activity from passersby. Her pussy grew warm and wet pressed against his thigh. She slid a hand around his neck—a forward, unrequested embrace—but he didn't correct her. She rested her face against his cheek, making tiny, faint noises of pleasure. He pinched harder and she made a whisper of a moan.

He squeezed her breast then and kissed her, hard, grasping a handful of her hair in his other hand. She felt his own secret groan against her lips. He pulled away and looked around the crowded park in frustration. "My own orgasm denial," he said ruefully. "For once, I feel your pain."

He took her hand and they walked again, past the busiest part of the park to a wooded area. There, behind a curtain of thick brush and bushes, she knelt and served him, taking his cock in her mouth as the birds sang and squirrels chattered in the background. She heard some voices now and again, but they weren't close. Even if they had been close, even if they'd stood and watched her, she wouldn't have stopped. Her mind was fixed on her Master, on her Master's cock and balls, and the soft encouraging noises he made that drove her until he found his satisfaction. He stumbled away from her, zipping up again. He handed her the condom and she buried it a few inches deep under some loose dirt and dry, decayed leaves. She imagined for a moment she was planting Mephisto trees, to grow up strong and tall and dominant like him.

"Silly girl," he said, watching with a bemused look as she carefully covered over the rubber. But as Mephisto pointed out, she'd earned a degree in environmental studies. She knew that condoms could be harmful to wildlife. She probably should have carried it back to a trash can, but she didn't have anything to wrap it in. With all the people in the park, carrying it swinging from her fingertips would have been taking humiliation a bit too far.

Oh, the moral conundrums of a slave.

He took her hand again, leading her out from the trees along a path he seemed to know well. Soon she heard the low rushing of water, and they came out at the bank of a small creek. It was sandy on the bottom, with large rocks jutting up and creating criss-crossing eddies and currents in the water. The shore was lined by more low bushes and trees. Molly remembered the names of most of the trees. Her area of specialization had been water and wetlands.