Burn for You (Club Mephisto 2)

He chuckled. “Oh, I see. You’d be orgasming for my benefit, is that it?”

She shook her head, trying to concentrate over the building, rollicking hum between her legs. “I want whatever will bring you pleasure, Master.”

“What if it will bring me pleasure to tie you to this rack here and mark you all over with a Plexiglass cane?”

She swallowed hard and made herself meet his gaze. “Then...then that’s what I want.” Her voice kind of cracked on the last word. “I want to please you, Master. However I can.” But please, please don’t do that to me. She had to get good again at silencing the inner dialogue that kept her from connecting fully with her Master. She had to get good at finding her slave-space, where even pain and challenge brought comfort.

Suddenly his light caresses ceased and he was in motion. He pulled her arms over her head and pushed her against the rack, which was a kind of iron lattice structure. He made her hold on to the nearly-uppermost bar, so she had to either stretch out or go up on her toes.

“Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

Molly sucked in a breath, her heart banging in her chest. It was so cruel to not actually bind her, tie her down. If only he’d done that, she could have let the ropes do all the work of submission. The ropes would have kept her standing there, forced to accept whatever he did to her. Without rope or cuffs, Molly had to find the will to submit somewhere within herself. She’d have to summon the will to hold on when every impulse would scream to let go and run to safety. She tightened her fingers on the metal bars as her Master moved to the wall of the play space. Her whole body felt hypersensitive. Her skin ached from the threat of waiting for pain. She rested her forehead against the bars in front of her, realizing that her pussy was as warm with lust as her body was cold with dread.

Like her old Master, Mephisto didn’t give her any warnings, any explanation of what he’d do to her, how many strokes, with what. I want whatever will bring you pleasure, Master. She meant those words and she knew Mephisto understood they gave him the right to do just about anything to her. He returned and Molly didn’t look back. She just waited, his willing victim.

Crack! The contact of the strap surprised her so much she almost let go. She’d expected the fire cut of the cane but instead got this intense, aching sting. It was a wide, thick strap and it fell twice more before the intensity of the ache really registered with her. Whap, whap, whap...more blows. Each time it connected with her ass, the pain burned more intensely. She made little cries and went up on her toes, trying to assuage the torment the only way she was allowed, by shifting and clenching her ass cheeks. If she moved any more she’d have to let go—

He snapped the strap hard against the top of her thighs and then she did let go, reaching back to rub the hot pain in shock for just a moment. “I’m sorry, Master,” she said at once, replacing her hands, but they both knew sorry wouldn’t be enough. He came to her and pulled her head back.

“What did I tell you, slave?”

“Don’t let go,” she breathed, panicking. “Master, you said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t let go.’”

“And what did you do?”

She burst into tears. “I let go. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Are you out of practice, girl? Did you forget how hard it can be to obey your Master?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t really help me, but maybe some more practice will help you. I wasn’t going to mark the back of your thighs, but now I think I will, so you can practice your control.”

“Tha—Thank you, Master.”

He ran a hand down over her hot ass cheeks, down to her sopping wet pussy. “And know this. If you let go again without permission, this hungry, horny little pussy is going to go unsatisfied. Master will take his pleasure and leave his little kitten in pain.”

She flinched at the hardness in his eyes. Oh, God, if he didn’t let her come after all this...that would be the most painful thing of all. “I won’t let go, Master.”

She sighed as he buried his face in her neck and nibbled softly at her pulse. “See that you don’t,” he muttered as he pulled away.

Molly held the bars in a death grip. She would have given anything to be restrained. This was a test. He was letting her know that if she wanted to be his slave, she had to submit—without coercion or restraint—to his pain. But the reward if she was successful... She shivered a little, thinking of Mephisto taking her with his hard cock, claiming her, proving his mastery over her.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Molly stood fast and held on for dear life. The backs of her thighs had always been the most sensitive part of her. Her old Master had figured that out and punished her there when he was most angry. Master Mephisto had to be figuring it out too. She wailed with each horrible searing stroke, praying it would be the last. She could have pleaded, begged for mercy, but it would have been pointless. Her shoulders ached and her fingers grew numb from holding on so tight. Molly let her body sag against the bars, let the hard metal hold her and soothe her against the pain from behind.

At last he stopped. Molly stood trembling. Dreading. He walked away, returned again. “Just a little more practice. Don’t let go.”

Molly braced, and now...now the cane came. The first stroke of fire across the backs of her thighs brought a soundless gape of her mouth. The second stroke, a piercing scream. Her entire body tensed with the effort to stand still, to not let go. Another stroke, another scream, and stuttering, halting breaths choking her throat. He tapped her ass with the wicked implement.

“Breathe. Deep breaths. I’m almost finished.”

“Almost finished” ended up being three more strokes, delivered with maximum delay in between, so Molly had to wait, shaking and shuddering. She was almost to the point of begging for each stroke just to get them over with. When they would come, the whistling sound, the rustle of his movement had a nightmarish quality. After the last stroke, he put a hand at the middle of her back and rubbed lightly.

“Okay, you can let go for a minute, but don’t move.”

Molly released the bar and put her hands over her face, wiping away tears.

“No,” he said. “Don’t brush them away. I like to see them. Put your hands at your sides.”

That made her cry more. She made fists at her sides, her palms sweaty and sore, but not as sore as the backs of her legs. Her Master still rubbed her back, watching her face.

“I like that you’ll hurt for a while, every time you sit down. You have some pretty marks on the backs of your thighs. Some nice bruises, some lovely cane tracks. But I think before we finish, I should even you out a little. Make your ass hurt as bad as your legs. That would please me.”

Molly sniffled and nodded. “Yes, Master.” Punishment on her ass would feel like nothing after this. At his sign, she reached above her to grasp the bar again. It felt clammy and cold now. When the pain came, it was the strap again. She whimpered and tensed her ass cheeks. With a rush of breath, he dropped the strap and came to her. He pinched one of her nipples until she whined and then groped her mons again. She arched into his touch, desperate for pleasure. Desperate to be filled, taken.

“You’re so wet,” he sighed. “You love when Master hurts you, don’t you?”

She nodded, tears still streaming down her face. She wasn’t sure though, if they were tears of pain or tears of emotion.

“No nodding. Answer me,” he said.

“Yes, Master, I love when you hurt me.”

“Here. Let go.” He pri

ed away her death grip on the bars and then slapped the back of one tender thigh. “Part your legs. Wider.” He made Molly spread her legs until he was satisfied, until she felt open and vulnerable and exposed, and then he pushed her hands back against the rack, to a lower bar this time. “Hold on. Don’t let go.”

Molly was dying of arousal. It was bad enough to stand and be punished, to be his body to decorate with marks. Now she was a sexual plaything, her legs spread at his command. Now, she couldn’t pretend this wasn’t about sex, about her being as turned on as him. She stood there, open, waiting, wet as a river. Empty and dying to be filled with Master’s cock.

The strapping began again, hard blows falling on her ass cheeks. Now, in addition to not letting go, she had to hold this overtly sexual position, and not jump up or clench her legs together at each punishing, sharp strike. A few times he aimed so the edge of the strap licked around her pussy and the inside of her thighs. The second time he did that, she cried and she did start begging.

“Please...please, Master!”

“Please?” He pretended confusion. “Harder? Would you like to be strapped harder?”

“No, Master. Please! You’re hurting me so much.” Even as she said the words, she wanted to take them back. She was being a selfish, weak slave. He cracked her again, right across her backside.

“I’m hurting you because I want to. And because you need it. You know that.” Crack! “Apologize for the whining.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” she sobbed. “Please hurt me as much as it pleases you.”

“Thank you, I will.” Crack! Whack! He rained down stinging slaps in succession until her whole ass felt like it was on fire. Had she thought the whipping on the back of her thighs was the bad thing? Because this was growing significantly worse. Still, she didn’t dare complain again. Instead her begging turned inward. Please, please, let this be over soon. Please let me endure this. Just at her limit, just when she thought she would have to give up and break role and throw herself at his feet for mercy, he stopped.