"I love you too," he said. "I love marking you this way. I really will miss you." The wistfulness in his voice made her heart start aching again and nearly brought her to tears. But Master had told her not to cry. She wanted to be a good girl for him.
He finally released her arms from their cuffs and then ordered her to dress for the club.
Club Mephisto
He told Mrs. Jernigan to dress her in the dark blue velvet coat. Molly was happy because it was one of her favorites. It was closely fitted up top, with large tortoiseshell buttons, and flared into a skirt-like silhouette at the bottom. She liked it because the rich blue color reminded her of the beauty of Master's eyes. Plus, it was lined inside with the softest olive floral silk, and felt nice and comfortable against her naked skin. She was never dressed underneath, not when he was taking her to Club Mephisto. The coat came off inside the door to be checked, and Molly accompanied her Master into the play space nude.
She buttoned up until they were in Master's car. There was no luggage to bring for her week-long sojourn at the club, only the coat she wore—which she would give up—and his collar, which she would die to keep fastened around her neck. As he got in the driver's seat and closed the door, she couldn't restrain a shudder. He would be gone for a week without her. He touched her knee and smiled sympathetically.
"You'll be kept busy, little one. The time will go fast."
"I hope so, Master."
"Unbutton yourself," he prompted.
Master's sedan had tinted windows, so when Molly traveled in her coat, he enjoyed having her unfasten and open the coat wide for his pleasure. She undid the tortoiseshell buttons and slid a hand down each side of the lapels so the coat revealed all of her front.
"Open your legs."
She complied, and his fingers slid roughly between her pussy lips and then up to pinch each hard nipple. She felt the flood of wetness between her thighs, her body's reaction to the casually possessive way he handled her. She opened her thighs a little wider, wishing she could slide her own hand down there over her freshly waxed lips to the aching nub that probably even now glistened with lust for him. Her ass cheeks still smarted, even cushioned by the silk lining of the jacket. But she wouldn't fidget or shift, and she certainly wouldn't touch what was his. Her hands rested on either side of her, relaxed, slightly open. Whenever they stopped at a light, he would pinch her nipples, sometimes twisting them or even gripping the very edge of the taut peaks so she would have to bite back yelps of pain and mindless begging words. Ouch. Master! Please, that hurts so much. And still, the endless growing ache in her pussy made her want to beg for something else altogether.
By the time they pulled up at Club Mephisto, the silk lining of her jacket was soaked with her juices. Her Master made her scoot back and show him the darkened circle as she blushed red. He just shook his head and made a sardonic comment about dry cleaning bills. She melted at his teasing smile and buttoned up before the valet arrived to take the car.
Soon they were inside Mephisto's enclave. A burly doorman welcomed her Master by name, and beckoned over a thin girl with black hair and geisha-style painted lips to take Molly's coat. It was a little chilly where they stood inside the door. She suppressed a shiver as a draft slid up between her thighs to freeze the wet warm sheen still coating her pussy lips. Her Master also handed over his coat, so he wore only his finely tailored shirt and khaki pants. He rarely wore fetish gear—and in Molly's opinion, his business attire was much sexier than leather and latex anyway. She knew other women thought so too, because she saw the way they watched her Master whenever he moved around the club. He was tall, over six feet, and muscular in the natural way of a man and not the showiness of a bouncer or bodybuilder. He moved with a confidence and stride that distinguished him as someone comfortable with power.
And then there was his handsome face, his commanding expressions. It was so effortless with him. He turned to her and she was already falling to her knees before he ordered her to. Sometimes he let her walk, when the club was crowded, but today he wanted her to crawl beside him. Crawling was something she'd had to grow accustomed to, but she could do it now very gracefully and almost seductively. He took out a silver chain leash and hooked it to the ring on her collar, and then led her across the floor. Mephisto's was impeccably clean, and the common areas were carpeted with a deep dark gray shag that felt soft against her hands and knees. She often curled up at Master's feet on that shag carpet as he talked to other patrons or watched scenes in one of the surrounding play areas.
She knew to keep her attention on him, but a cursory glance revealed a few scenes in progress already. A sub surrendering to a hypnotic fire play session; a severe caning; an involved bondage scene in which a slave was being restrained over a padded horse and tormented with various implements. Her Master led her past all the scenes and past the bar to a large table in the corner of the play space. Mephisto's office, more or less, where he met with prospective members and surveyed the goings-on as head dungeon master and owner. He rose from the massive oak table and extended his hand to her Master.