Burn for You (Club Mephisto 2)

“I do sometimes, since Master had my tubes tied.”

She took a tiny bite of the food he held out to her, struggling to choke it down. The girl would do anything to please him, and she’d done even more for Clayton, given up so much. Even her fertility. “I still can’t believe Clayton made you do that,” he said. “You were so young. Why did you agree to it?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. I asked him to, Master. I begged him. I didn’t want anything to take any of my attention away from him.”

Mephisto snorted. “Like a baby? You don’t know the meaning of play, you know. It’s all or nothing with you.”

She looked down at the floor. “I wanted to concentrate on his needs.”

“Yes, well, that’s enough on the subject.” Her tone came awfully close to being disrespectful. He reached to stroke one of her breasts, but he noticed the subtle flinch.

Her breasts hurt. They were fuller, even though she was dropping weight. Some nagging idea starting knocking at the periphery of his brain. “Wait.” He rubbed his forehead. “You asked Clayton to sterilize you?”

“Yes, Master. I had a miscarriage and I had to have surgery for it, and I guess while I was already under, they tied my tubes.”

All the air in Mephisto’s lungs whooshed out in a rush. “You guess they tied your tubes?” Clayton. You fucker. Fucker. Fucker, fucker, fucker. Clayton had been obsessed with making plans for his slave’s future...for his slave’s inevitable life after him. Would he have sterilized Molly in her early twenties? Would any doctor have agreed to do it?

“Did you sign anything?” Molly looked alarmed at the sudden anger in his voice, but Mephisto was slowly imploding. He wanted to smack himself in the head. How could he have been so stupid? “Did you sign anything? Answer me!”

She wrung her hands in her lap. “Sign what?”

“Some paper giving consent. A surgical release to have your tubes tied.”

She shook her head. “My Master took care of all that.”

Fucker. Fucker. Took care of it by getting a vasectomy, no doubt, and lying to Molly for the remaining duration of their marriage. Neither one of them had a clue about sane and consensual play. Clayton had let her believe she’d been sterilized and taken his own steps to prevent another baby. Fucker.

“You would have had to sign some paper at the hospital.” His voice was breaking, because he knew. Molly shrank away from him. He shouldn’t take his anger out on her, but it coiled and buzzed inside him, needing escape.

Clayton Copeland. Selfish, megalomaniacal prick. He’d lied to Mephisto’s face, told him Molly was sterile. Why? Mephisto only had to ponder that for a moment. It was because Mephisto would have told her if he’d known the truth. He would have told her two years ago when she stayed with him. A woman should know if she was fertile or not, goddamn it. Apparently Molly wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how far to take power exchange play.

He looked down at the girl at his feet. Full breasts, darker nipples. Nausea and exhaustion. “Oh my God, Molly. They don’t just tie a young woman’s tubes without her express, written consent,” he said. “Without some kind of counseling, for God’s sake. It’s just not done.”

“My Master signed everything, I’m sure,” Molly insisted. “He took care of everything.”

“In your happy little imaginary kink world, yes. But there are procedures that have to be followed in the real world, in hospitals, in operating rooms. God!” He grabbed his head and laid it on the table, praying for calm.

“What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Mephisto echoed bitterly. “You’re not sterile, my love. I don’t think you are. Not at all.”

“My Master said—”

“Your Master lied to you. Many times. Jesus. If you never signed anything—you, specifically—your tubes weren’t tied, I promise you.” He raised his head and looked at her, at her terrified gaze. “You aren’t sick, Molly. You’re pregnant.”

Her mouth dropped open and her hand went to her waist. Now that he studied her, now that he scrutinized her changing body, he saw a thickening there, even though her face and arms were thinner. She shook her head, but that couldn’t undo the reality of it. She was knocked up, pregnant, and judging from her lack of periods, three months gone at least. Nausea, exhaustion, loss of appetite... Mephisto had read stories of women going into labor who’d never realized they were pregnant. While entertaining, he’d always thought to himself, “No way.” He’d never imagined such a thing was possible, but now he believed, because he knew Molly like his own heart, and had seen all the signs, and still he hadn’t realized...

Hadn’t realized she was pregnant with his child.

Her face was blank, shocked. Her bottom lip trembled until she bit down on it hard. Then she was up, running down the hall. He followed, only to have the bathroom door slammed in his face. He could hear her retching, then vomiting. Coughing. Sobbing. Mephisto understood the impulse, unfortunately. Not that he wanted to cry. No, he wanted to rage. He wanted to go trample every flower on Clayton’s grave and rail at his fancy fucking headstone. How dare he? How dare he do this to the both of them?

Mephisto had a feeling Clayton had wanted this to happen all along. He felt topped from beyond the grave. He opened the door intending to help his slave, only to have her scoot out and run from him again, heading for the bedroom.

“Do not,” Mephisto thundered. “Do not get in that goddamn cage.”

She froze and spun to face him. She was actually cowering, and it angered Mephisto even more.

“Don’t look like that,” he yelled. “Like you did something wrong. Like you deserve to be punished for this.”

She backed away, hugging herself. “But you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry at you, damn it. I’m angry at your old Master, that son of a bitch. That fucking prick.”

“Please...Master...” Her voice quavered and she hugged herself tighter, then she seemed to realize she was cradling her waist, and dropped her hands to her sides.

“Oh, Molly,” he sighed. “Come here.”

She came into his outstretched arms, but she held herself stiffly. He ran his hands over her back, over her shaking shoulders, trying to comfort her and gain control of himself. She didn’t deserve his fury—and she didn’t need to be coping with it now on top of everything else.

“I should have known. I should have questioned sooner,” he said. “But at least we know what’s wrong with you now. At least we know it’s nothing serious. Well...” He shook his head, correcting himself. “It’s serious, but not fatal. It’s not cancer or kidney failure or something like that.”

“Maybe I’m not pregnant.” Her voice sounded small and scared. “I don’t feel pregnant. I think I’m probably not pregnant.”

Mephisto stared down at her breasts, at her little stomach pressing against him. God, Molly. A child. Yours and mine. He was horrified and excited at the same time.

“I think I’m probably not pregnant. I think it’s a stomach virus.” She caught his gaze, frowned at the conflicted smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Molly, you’re pregnant.”

“I might not be.”

“If you’re not, I’ll get down on my knees and serve you instead. I’ll let you put me into chastity as long as you like. Cage me. The whole deal.”

She looked traumatized. “I don’t want to do that, Master!”

“Good, because you won’t get the chance. You’re pregnant.”

When she would have protested again, he put a finger to her lips.

“We can find out in about fifteen minutes. We’re going to pick up a pregnancy test, right now.” He oriented her toward the closet and gave her a little nudge. “Get dressed.”

*** *** ***

Going to the pharmacy to purchase the pregnancy test was one of the most gut-wrenching experiences of Molly’s life. She didn’t even have to do anything, just trail along at her Master’s side while he selecte

d the test and took it to the counter to pay for it, but it was still so difficult. She had to force one foot in front of the other. She had to appear composed and not start crying in a panic, because people would get upset. Her Master would get upset, and his anger earlier had scared her enough.

The cashier was a bored college guy on the evening shift. As he rang up their single item, he shot a look at her that was embarrassingly sympathetic. No one else seemed to notice what was going on. Two tween girls giggled by the lipstick testers. A mother scolded her child, refusing to buy him candy. Molly stood and watched banal reality from her own sideways world.

Her old Master had lied to her. Not a small, kinky lie. A big, serious lie. A lie that kind of devastated her. A lie that broke her heart.

I’m sure he did it for you, Master Mephisto told her as she’d cried in the car. He knew you would have wanted to be the one sterilized for him. It was true. She would have felt terrible if she’d known her Master underwent a vasectomy for her, all because she didn’t want to risk another baby. She would have felt selfish and awful. It was bad enough to ask him to have her tubes tied. But the miscarriage had been so bloody, so scary. So painful. There had been an infection. Incomplete miscarriage. She couldn’t do anything right, even miscarry a baby. And now this.