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Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold, Mephisto Series, Volume Two

By: Annabel Joseph
Published By: Scarlet Rose Press
Copyright: Copyright 2012 Annabel Joseph/Scarlet Rose Press
Ten Chapters / 33,800 Words
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When Mephisto’s friend Clayton is called out of town on business, he agrees to look after his slave for the week. But Molly isn’t your average slave. She and Clayton share a serious, full time dynamic. Mephisto feels a weight of responsibility he isn’t used to, and worse, an intense attraction to Molly, the partner of his friend. 

Mephisto is determined to sublimate his inappropriate desires and provide a challenging and instructive week for the devoted slave. He subjects Molly to orgasm denial, speech restriction, scenes of erotic torment, even an orgy where she is made to service his friends. Along the way, he experiences unfamiliar jealousy, and deep cravings to possess her himself. 

Throughout the week, he is also haunted by persistent questions. Is she happy being a 24/7 slave? Or is there another Molly trapped beneath her submissive, surrendered gaze? 

If you've read Club Mephisto, you know this story from Molly's perspective. Now, prepare to relive the experience from Mephisto's point of view... 

Publisher's Note: this 32K-word erotic novella depicts "total power exchange" relationships that some readers may find objectionable, as well as sado-masochism, objectification, orgasm denial and speech restriction, caging, anal play and double penetration, BDSM punishment and discipline, M/f, M/m/f, M/m, orgy and group sexual encounters, voyeurism, and limited circumstances of dubious consent. This is a retelling of the book Club Mephisto from the dominant point of view.

Chapter One: Mephisto

In the beginning, when Mephisto first met Molly, he’d hoped she might be his. She’d flirted with him in a skittish kind of way, and he’d found her appealing. Pretty, dark haired, petite, and charmingly rough around the edges. Okay, she’d been a mess, but that had compelled him most of all.

Then Clayton Copeland showed up, and the whole matter had been lifted from his hands. 

Mephisto didn’t begrudge them their happiness. Every time he saw them together, he knew they were meant to be. Not in a romantic sense, because Mephisto wasn’t much into romance. No, in a realistic sense. They simply made a perfect pair. Perfect Master, perfect slave.

Mephisto scrutinized the gentleman sitting across from him, his friend and occasional lunch companion. Late forties, with just a touch of gray in his blond hair. Filthy rich, cordial and debonair. Clayton’s suit must have cost a cool five thousand, and his shoes... Mephistodidn’t care to contemplate how much they’d set the man back. Not that Clayton Copeland would feel it in his very, very deep wallet. 

If the wait staff in the glossy, contemporary eatery found them an odd lunch pair, they were too well trained to show it. Clayton was rich enough not to care what people thought of his friends, and Mephisto, as the owner of an exclusive fetish club, was not in the habit of apologizing for his piercings, dreadlocks, or gothic style of dress. Mephisto was also well off, though not as wealthy as his friend. Far from blond and blue eyed, Mephisto was dark, with eyes so deep brown they appeared to be black. Great for intimidating submissive women—and sometimes their dominants too.

Mephisto used his ability to frighten when it suited him. For instance, during scenes at his club when he acted as top, or to intervene in scenes that got out of hand. At other times, like now, in the company of an old friend, he let the tough-guy posturing fall away. He moved sushi around on his plate in a fit of OCD, perhaps induced by the spartan aesthetic of the Japanese bar. He waved a chopstick at Clayton.

“So, explain it again. Without the legalese.”

Clayton chuckled. “The legalese is necessary. I want her to be provided for, and I want it to be ironclad.”

Mephisto made a face. “Why wouldn’t it be ironclad?”

“Because my family is a collection of heartless and mercenary jackasses. Molly couldn’t stand up to them if they tried to challenge anything. And they would—unless it’s ironclad. They’ve always considered her an interloper. My social-climbing trophy wife. If only they knew.”

Mephisto popped some sushi in his mouth and considered the man across the table. There was a gravity to his expression Mephisto didn’t see too often. “You’ve got the best lawyers, Clay. I’m sure Molly will be fine.”

The older man’s lips tightened. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t think she’ll be fine. Not emotionally, or any way else.” He put down his chopsticks and leaned on the table. “I’ve stripped away every vestige of self-possession from that girl. Thoroughly and methodically.”

“With her consent,” Mephisto interjected quietly.

“Yes, of course, with her consent. But that will be small comfort to her if I die and leave her alone.”

“Downer alert.”

Clayton shrugged. “I want everything in order, just in case. I’m twenty years older than her. I’m starting to feel my age.”

“You don’t look it. Come on, you might live fifty more years.”

“Perhaps.” Clayton’s lips twisted in a rueful smile. “If I do, I hope she lives fifty years and a day. If she dies before me—”

Mephisto made an impatient sound. “For real, this is maudlin. What the fuck is going on with you?”

Clayton shook his head and leaned back again in his chair. “Nothing. Just the fretting of an aging man who’s made himself the center of a young woman’s world.” He steepled his fingers and looked up at the ceiling. “She’s my slave, but she’s also my wife. The love of my life. My happiness.”

Mephisto felt a pang of something. Jealousy? He had plenty of slaves, plenty of submissive women and men who formed a constantly revolving constellation around him. But he didn’t have anything like Molly’s kind of love. Clayton gave him a direct, intent look.

“So, I’ll get to the point of this conversation, and why I asked you here today. Jay, if I die, I want you to take care of her. I mean, watch out for her. You know what I mean.”

It sobered Mephisto, to hear his real name on Clayton’s lips. He didn’t use it very often. His scene name had become his new name over the years. “Sure,” he said at once. “Of course I’ll look after her. You didn’t even have to ask.” Hell, Mephisto had been looking after her since he’d stumbled into her at a Pike Street nightclub. He was the one who’d guided her into Clayton’s arms. Reluctantly, but still.

“I mean, the financial stuff, the legal stuff, all that will be taken care of,” Clayton assured him. “She’ll have plenty of money, enough to live her whole life in whatever way she wants.”

“You just want me to be sure she finds that ‘whatever way she wants’ after you’re gone.”

“Exactly.” Clayton looked relieved, his shoulders losing a little of their tension. “And I really want her to have whatever she wants. A new Master, if she wants it, as soon as she wants it.”

Mephisto frowned. “Do you really think she’ll want to go barreling right into another relationship like the one she had with you?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it,” Clayton replied without a second’s pause. “My fear is that she won’t have the emotional and social strength to navigate herself into another safe harbor, so to speak.”

“Especially if she’s still mourning you.”

“Yes.”

“And she’ll be rich then, right? A rich widow at large.”

Clayton rubbed his eyes. “I can’t stand to think about it.”

“You don’t have to think about it.” Mephisto started rearranging sushi again as the waitress stopped by to refill their plates. She slid Mephisto a sultry look as she sashayed away. And, oh, he really had a thing for Asian girls. He forced his gaze back to Clayton. “Look, worry no more. When you go— If you go—I will be there for her one hundred percent.”

“Even if I’m not gone...if I’m incapacitated somehow…”

Mephisto threw up his hands. “Now you’re just annoying me.”

“I’m serious. If I can no longer be the Master she needs, for whatever reason, help her. Help her accept it. Help her move on.”

“She won’t leave you, you know. No matter what. You could have five kinds of cancer, Alzheimer’s, Lou Gehrig’s disease and the Black Plague and she’d still be kneeling at your bedside in her submissive pose, waiting for instructions.”

Clayton grimaced. “I know. At that point I’d like you to drag her away. Seduce her away if you have to.”

At the mention of seduction, a chill fell over the table. If Clayton knew of Mephisto’s original interest in Molly, he never revealed it. He’d simply accepted Mephisto’s gift. And Molly had been a gift, given many years ago in selfless goodwill. Mephisto could have molded Molly into his own lover. She would have been exciting, challenging. She was a contradictory combination of reckless and submissive. Sometimes Mephisto wondered if he hadn’t been a little afraid of taking her on. Clayton had been a better match, with his cool, implacable manner. Maybe Mephisto and Molly would have been too volatile a combination.

Clayton watched him. Yeah, maybe he knew. “You’ve taken good care of her,” Mephisto said, just to say something. “It’s very satisfying to me, to know I put her into such good hands. I hope you live a long, happy Black-Plague-free life with her, and that you both die together holding hands, lying under a rainbow in a field of flowers.”

“That would be nice,” Clayton said. “But unlikely.”

“Does Molly know you’ve made all these arrangements for her?”

Clayton shook his head. “Not yet. It would alarm her. I’ll bring it up sometime when the mood is right. She can be so emotional.”

“Would it be easier if I talked to her about it? Let her know I’d be around if something happened to you?”

“I think that might scare her.” Clayton paused, taking a sip of tea. “She’s rather scared of you, you know.”

“Maybe some time when work is blowing up, or you’re heading out of town, you can leave her with me for a while. We could get more comfortable with each other.” The words were out before Mephisto fully considered the repercussions. He looked up at Clayton and saw only enthusiasm.

“That’s a great idea. She shouldn’t be afraid of you. And in that situation you could get to know her better at the same time. Learn firsthand what makes her tick.”

The privilege of the revered Master, to not feel one inkling of jealous suspicion. Mephisto took a breath and nodded. “I’d like that. I didn’t get to know her very well before she became yours. She never submitted to me.” Mephisto tried to ignore the sudden surge of lustful curiosity in his veins. What would it be like to be the recipient of such submission? It wouldn’t be the submission she showed her true Master, but a fascinating opportunity all the same. “And you could set whatever parameters you wished,” Mephisto added, trying not to sound too guilty. “Whatever would make you most comfortable.”

Clayton waved a hand. “I would give you full use of her, of course, if you kept her. It would only confuse her to do otherwise. As long as the typical protocols are observed...condoms and such. Safe, sane, consensual.”

“Of course.”

Clayton laughed. “As if you would accept anything else. I know those are your club’s protocols. And ah...I would really enjoy subjecting her to some of your more rigorous instructional training sessions. It would be good for her,” he said with another chuckle. “You’re a much stricter Master than I am. And you’d be less emotionally involved. I spoil her so badly sometimes.”

Mephisto had to smile. Clayton might spoil her, but he had no compunction about throwing her under Mephisto’s bus to get his jollies. “I would be sure to put her through her paces while you were away. Not that she isn’t already well trained.”

“You’re a good friend,” Clayton said. “You’ve always been such a generous friend to me. We’ll set something up soon. A short sojourn at Club Mephisto—I’m sure Molly will be delighted.”

Mephisto wasn’t so sure, but that was part of the thrill.

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