"You see?" He chuckled softly against her ear. "Not letting you come...it's like the rubber band on those little wooden airplane toys: You twist and twist them until you can't twist them anymore, then you let it go and watch them fly around the room."
Molly frowned, seeing his perspective, but wishing she could verbalize her own. If you twist too much, Master, the toy will break. She turned away from the haven of his warm skin, from the curve of his neck. He pulled his hand out of the harness and grasped her face, forcing her gaze back to his.
"You have to trust me, girl. I think you don't trust me. I know we haven't had a lot of time together, but I'm being careful. Perhaps you don't see it, but I am."
She tried to go soft, tried to be pleasing to him. It was a struggle. This is so hard. It was so hard to trust him, even though she knew he'd promised her Master not to damage her. A moment later, he stood her up and fastened the belt tight again.
"Listen, I want you to really clean and straighten up the play space today. There's a big party tomorrow. A private party. An orgy," he finally clarified. She swallowed hard. She'd heard about Mephisto's "parties" and the idea had always fascinated her. Thirty or forty people, men and women, unchecked kink and sex. Perhaps...perhaps tomorrow at the party he would let her fly around the room, so to speak. Release her from her enforced denial. She couldn't quite keep the hopeful speculation from her face.
"You're going to be fucked, yes. A lot," he said. "But no, you won't yet be permitted to come. I'll let everybody know. And girl, you won't want to be punished in front of everyone if you screw up. So beware. It might be best if we did a little more edging practice tonight."
Mephisto pinched her nipples, slapping her breasts lightly, while she fervently prayed to never have to endure edging "practice" again. "You know, I might not permit you to come at all until you're returned to your Master. What a gift that would be for him, no? To return you absolutely wild with horniness. Maybe he'd find he liked you that way. I could give him lots of advice about an effective denial program. And that harness is going home with you and him. Hopefully he'll make good use of it."
She blinked, barely restraining herself from shaking her head in horror. No. Master would never... Master loved to see her come... He would never... Would he? She hated that Mephisto appeared amused by her panic, and stuffed down those feelings, returning her face to an equivocal mask.
"Nice try, kitten. But everything you think and feel is written on your face, clear as daylight." He slapped her ass. "Now get going. I better not find one speck of dust."
* * * * *
She cleaned until dinnertime, trying not to imagine the various equipment she polished being used at the upcoming party. Being used on her. She ached to be released from the harness, to be touched and used by Mephisto, but at the same time she dreaded it.
But Mephisto made no more mention of edging "practice" as he ate and absently fed her while leafing through a local scene magazine. Then he had her sit below his desk, licking and sucking him while he did paperwork and answered emails. She only half-attended to him, part of her mind thinking back to the last time she'd sucked him off under there, when her Master had just left her. Master. She touched the cool metal of her collar as she serviced Mephisto, her other Master. The Master she served with her mind but not her heart. No, her heart was already taken.
Mephisto reached down and slapped her cheek lightly, a silent reminder to focus. She applied herself to her task, drawing a shuddering orgasm from him at long last. She was tired of the taste of latex, the feel of it inside her when he took her. She yearned for Master's taste and Master's warmth. Master's hardness and his semen on her tongue. Mephisto seemed to have forgotten her, so after she removed his condom with gentle fingers, she laid down at his feet huddled into a curled ball. She dared to run her fingers over the smooth leather of her harness, between her legs and up over her hips. God, she missed coming. She missed talking, too. Mephisto had taken privileges away, privileges she had always taken for granted. It had challenged her submission, and more than once, made her question whether she was even meant to be a slave.
But of course she was meant to be a slave. Just not his slave. Some irritating voice in her mind said, But you still like him. You want him. She did want him. She wanted his intensity, his sensuality, his intelligence. She wanted to serve him because he demanded it. She rebelled because she so often fell short.
But did she really fall short? She hadn't come in days, not since that one time she'd lost control the first day he edged her. But her mind—her attitude—fell short at times. She pledged to herself to do better. She was a good slave. She wanted Mephisto to think so. She wanted to believe it herself.