He returned and she felt more probing at her asshole. A toy—a large one.
"Can't let all that lube I had to use go to waste." He drove it home and she felt her internal walls adjusting to the broad intrusion. It was either glass or metal, because it didn't give one millimeter. "If we need to lube you up just to take my cock, you could probably benefit from some more training." He slapped her ass. "The correct answer is, 'Yes, Master, thank you for training my asshole.'"
"Yes, Master. Thank you for training my asshole," Molly repeated. Her legs were trembling, and worst of all, her clit still ached for satisfaction.
"Okay," he said, pulling her up off the bed. "Time for breakfast. I'm starved."
* * * * *
He led her to the adjoining kitchen and pointed to a spot beside the sole chair at the table. She was alert for signals that he wished her assistance, but he turned his back on her as he prepared his breakfast. She sat back on her ankles in silence, looking around the modern kitchen with her hands in her lap.
Once at the table, he fed her bits of pancake and omelet from his fingers, and sips of orange juice that never quite quenched her thirst. At the end of the meal he gave her a tumbler of ice water that she drained.
"Want more?" he asked.
Molly considered the fact that he might choose to keep controlling her bathroom breaks, and that a full bladder could result in discomfort for her. She gazed up at him nervously.
He refilled it and handed it down to her. "Drink if you're thirsty. You're going to be put to work today, and dehydration would inconvenience me."
She drank, searching his face for that ghostly faint smile. After that, he had her wash the dishes and tidy the kitchen while he sat in the chair and watched. She moved awkwardly, still aware of the plug deep in her ass and the fading welts on her backside. She was clumsy with the heavy iron cookware, and slow at washing it. She hadn't done dishes since she was single in her own apartment, and then she'd never cooked, but mostly eaten take-out meals and frozen dinners.
"Not much of a housekeeper, are you?" he finally asked.
"I'm sorry, Master."
"What do you actually do for him?"
She paused and turned to him, feeling like one huge cringe. "My Master keeps a housekeeper and chef for tasks like these. I am mainly to serve as...to serve for—"
"For his pleasure. Pleasure slave." He laughed softly. "You have the looks to pull it off. I suppose he doesn't like you ruining that expensive French manicure."
She looked down at her nails. She'd learned to do them herself, to his exacting specifications. Length of nails, color, even the angle of the curves was honed to suit his preference. But if Mephisto wished her to be the spoiled slave in his eyes, she wouldn't make the mistake of contradicting him. She only bowed her head and said, "Yes, Master."
"What do you do all day? He sends you out shopping?"
"I...I am mostly unclothed in his service. But he buys me some things, according to his pleasure. For when we go out."
"How often does he take you out?"
"When it pleases him."
"For his pleasure. When it pleases him. You know the lines well. Now answer my question. How often does he take you out?"
Molly thought a moment. "At certain times, like at the holidays, we attend more parties and events than other times. But I would say on average he takes me out three to four times a month. Perhaps four or five times a year, I help entertain guests in our home."
"Vanilla guests?"
"Yes, Master. Work parties and dinners."
"I bet you're amazing at that sort of thing. Hostessing."
"I try to pleas—"
"Please your Master. Yes. Thanks for the recap. Besides pleasing him, what do you do with your time?"
Molly swallowed, reaching back to touch the counter, feeling unbalanced by his persistent questioning. Somehow it seemed easier to take a deep, pounding assfucking than to endure this probing interview. "I... Well, I read."
"What do you read?"
"Erotica. Current events. History books. Whatever Master feels will improve me."
"Do you watch television? Go online?"
"No. Not without his supervision."
"What else do you do, besides read?"
"I exercise. Master has a gym and a pool. Sometimes I help Mrs. Jernigan with housework. But I'm not allowed in the kitchen."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. My Master's rules. He controls what I eat."
He thought about that a long moment. "Controlling can be fun. And you enjoy this control?"
"Oh, yes, Master. I'm so thankful for it."
"What if he grows tired of all the work of controlling you?"