Club Mephisto(26)

"Come, girl," she heard him say. His laptop clicked shut and she scooted out from under the table, crawling behind him back to his bedroom. She watched his ass as he walked, swaggered really. His confidence was so compelling—as was his gorgeous physique. Don't get turned on. No matter what he planned, she knew carnal release was not on the menu for her tonight.

He had her stand in the bathroom as he inspected the few unhealed nicks from last night's punishment with the whip. He took off her harness and washed her himself in the shower. He was so much larger than her, and his golden nakedness was intimidating in the enclosed space. His hands moved over her skin, surging into all her naughty crevices, washing away the evidence of a day of unassuaged arousal. She clung to him, her fingers braced against his iron arms. He was so breathtaking, his abs a neat, defined lattice. His chest was smooth power capped with broad shoulders that looked like they could hold up the world. She wanted to wash him too, wanted to run her fingers over every inch of his body. With a half-smile, he handed her the soap.

She took it, blushing under the stream of warm water. Everything you think and feel is written on your face, clear as daylight. She decided she would just stop trying to hide anything from him. The more she tried to hide, the more it seemed he dissected her every thought. Not being able to speak seemed to make her more, not less, transparent. With words, she could dissemble, spout pretty phrases. Without words, she was an open book.

She soaped him up, enjoying the feel of his skin under her fingers. She wondered when he would let her talk again. Was that another thing to be denied until her Master returned for her? She didn't miss the words as much as the sexual release, but she didn't want to forget how to use her voice. She gazed up at him, framing the question in her mind, to see if he would somehow hear and answer the way he'd uncannily done so many times already. But he only stared back down at her, his lips parted in a faint smile. Her fingers trailed down his stomach, stopping just above his steadily hardening cock. He lowered his head to hers and kissed her. She shivered, even in the warm steam of the shower stall. His lips parted hers, and his tongue played across hers in a teasing motion. She moaned softly, nipping at him and feathering her fingers over the ridges of his abs and the indents of his iliac furrows.

He made a low growling sound that resonated in her chest. She grew bolder, pressing her breasts against his chest, feeling the delicious slide of her nipples against his skin. His hands were roving over her back, then up to squeeze her shoulders. Then down…down to caress her sore ass cheeks. He took her ass in his hands and closed his fingers on it, then slipped one thick digit down from the back to tease the entrance of her pussy. She danced around on her toes at the brief, fleeting contact, pressing closer to him, wanting more. She heard his soft chuckle of approval. The denial is just a tool for winding you up so I can watch you writhe and wriggle for me.

She moaned again in her throat, missing words, missing the ability to beg him. Please fuck me. Please, I'll do anything. Just fuck me and let me come.

He turned off the water abruptly, and Molly stood dripping. Dripping water from her hair and the contours of her body, but dripping between the legs too. He gave her an assessing look. "You horny little piece of ass. You wanton sex doll. Keep a hold of yourself." He pulled her from the shower and toweled her off roughly, then pushed her ahead of him back into the bedroom. "On the bed, face down. No, wait a minute."

He opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of plain ivory cloth. She watched with a sense of anxiety as he spread it over the bed sheets, right in the center. "Okay, now," he said, drawing back. "Face down."

Molly swallowed hard and did as she was told.

"Arms out, legs spread."

She reached her arms out toward each post of the bed and spread her thighs. He bound her with leather cuffs already affixed to his bed frame, leaving just enough room for her to twist a little—by design, she was sure. He left her then, looking through drawers that contained god knew what. As she watched with wide eyes, he threw a white taper candle on the bed, "hot" lubricant, and a slender black crop. And something else she knew all too well. A slim silver vibrator.

She made a tiny whimper of a sound, which only resulted in a desultory snort of amusement from him.

"Don't worry, kitten. You'll enjoy this very much. Well, parts of it." He knelt beside her on the bed, working a thin sheen of the cinnamon lube onto the base of the candle. "Arch your hips up."

The candle slid into her asshole, deeply enough to make her uncomfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable as when she heard the match. "Be still," he warned when she tried to turn. He placed a hand on the small of her back and she buried her face in the sheets as he—she assumed—lit the candle. Her ass was feeling warm and twitchy from the lube. The candle was slightly greater in diameter than a typical dinner candle, and that too made her want to squirm and shift. Her clit was already pulsing. He pressed harder on the small of her back. "I want absolutely no movement. At least for a moment."