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Club Mephisto: Mephisto Series, Volume One

By: Annabel Joseph
Published By: Scarlet Rose Press
Copyright: Copyright 2010 Annabel Joseph
Eleven Chapters / 37,500 Words
Heat Level:
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Molly is a 24/7 slave dedicated to serving her Master. When business calls him away on a weeklong trip, he arranges to leave her in the care of Mephisto, the owner of a thriving local BDSM club. Molly is both excited and scared to be given over to Master Mephisto. His power and mysterious intensity have long compelled her from afar. 

She finds herself immersed in a world of strict commands, pervasive sex, and creative torments. Over the course of a week, Mephisto strips away privileges Molly took for granted, and forces her to understand and acknowledge the depths to which she can be made to submit. But a surprising conversation the last day threatens Molly’s worldview, as does the strange closeness that develops between them. As the time of Master’s return draws near, Molly finds herself deeply and inexorably changed. 

Publisher's Note: this BDSM fantasy novel depicts "total power exchange" relationships that some readers may find objectionable. This work contains acts of sadism, 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.


Molly lay on the cot on a cool vinyl sheet, looking up at the slight, stern-faced woman above her. Ms. Bobo scared her. She felt one freezing cold hand on her thigh and braced herself.


Owww! Ow! Molly managed not to cry out. She didn’t cry out much anymore, not from something so mild as getting her pussy waxed. Ms. Bobo came to her Master’s house every two weeks and waxed Molly bare whether she needed it or not. Master was a stickler for personal appearance, and Molly was not permitted to wear clothes, so no part of her appearance could be let go in any way.

Another glob of hot wax was dropped between her legs, spread around perfunctorily by the silent, elderly Asian woman. At one time Molly used to try to converse with her, but she didn’t try anymore since Ms. Bobo ignored her soundly and never answered back. Molly thought perhaps Ms. Bobo didn’t speak English, but it was much more likely that her Master had instructed Ms. Bobo not to speak to her.

Her Master was the type of man who could get people to do anything he asked. Or demanded. Her Master was a very rich and very intelligent man. That was what drew Molly to him in the first place—his wise eyes and the way he seemed to know exactly what to do in any situation. She had fallen deeply in love with her Master nearly from the start, and she believed he loved her. He’d married her in a very large and ostentatious wedding attended by important Seattle businessmen, congressmen, and people of note. That was their vanilla relationship, the relationship that existed outside the web of daily life they moved in. Their other relationship was more private. Total power exchange. TPE.

Her Master had spoken with her about it before they wed, and she had agreed, yes, yes. She loved him. She would do anything to make him happy because he made her the happiest woman on earth. Their wedding portraits hung in a rarely-used sitting room on the second floor, where they often entertained family. It was one of the vanilla rooms. She was not his slave in that room. She stood beside him and greeted visitors and guests in that and a few other rooms which were designated as “strictly vanilla.”

She hated those rooms.


Molly stared up past Ms. Bobo, remembering her wedding day. She had enjoyed the ceremony, as well as the celebration afterward that had gone on all night. But she’d loved the honeymoon most of all, when he had snapped on her eternity collar. It was the type of metal collar that had to be cut off to be removed

Those photos from the wedding were strange to her. The fancy white dress instead of the nakedness she naturally moved in now. And no collar around her neck, not the slim metal seamless collar or any of the thicker leather collars he sometimes used to restrain her. In the wedding photos they stood side-by-side, a couple. Well, not exactly side-by-side. He was taller and so she was looking up at him, at his thick, wavy blond hair and golden skin. She was the pale, dark-haired girl beside him, fallen into a dream. Even as the photographer had posed them and taken the photos, Molly knew it was false. Playacting. She ought to have been kneeling, naked and collared, at his feet.

Rrriip. Ouch.

  1. frownish most days. When Molly saw them together, she would steel herself against laughing at their battle of scowls. 

Unlike Ms. Bobo, Mrs. Jernigan spoke to Molly, but it was generally to give directions and relay Master’s orders. Mrs. Jernigan was Master’s eyes and ears while he was away. She was also his housekeeper and general assistant. There was a chef too, to whom Molly was forbidden to speak, but Molly was never permitted in the kitchen so she couldn’t have spoken to him anyway. She didn’t even know what he looked like, only that she ate the food he prepared, and that it was very delicious. Well, mostly it was delicious. Sometimes, if Molly was being punished, the chef was asked to make her bland, tasteless things.

“Girl!” Mrs. Jernigan’s Irish-inflected voice rose above the noise of the shower. Molly shut off the water and toweled off.

“I’m coming, Mrs. Jernigan!”

Molly was given dinner earlier in the day so that when Master arrived home she could focus all her attention on her service to him. Molly put lotion on her tender, waxed mons, hoping the redness would dissipate before Master arrived and wanted to use her. She was careful not to touch herself in any way Master might find inappropriate. Her sex belonged to him and she was not allowed to touch it on her own. Sometimes it was difficult, because the slightest thoughts of Master could send her slit into overdrive, but there were only a handful of times, mostly in the beginning, that she had been unable to resist the urge to masturbate. Her stolen touches and orgasms had resulted in such agonizing and humiliating whippings she quickly realized the pleasure was simply not worth the pain. But perhaps tonight Master would give her an orgasm...

“Girl!” Mrs. Jernigan yelled again. For a tiny Irish woman, she could really yell loud. Molly took one last look at her naked figure and her shining collar and hurried to the dining room. She stopped just outside the door and stepped on the scale under Mrs. Jernigan’s scrutinizing eye, then raised her arms for Mrs. Jernigan to measure her waist and hips with a tape measure. Master required a certain weight, and if she went over it, or her waist or hips exceeded the parameters he set, Molly didn’t eat. It was more or less a formality, since Master also controlled how much she ate, what she ate, and how often she exercised. In five years of marriage, Molly had never missed a meal except for behavioral issues. But she enjoyed submitting to the ritual, because it underlined the fact that her body belonged to him.

“Go on, girl.” Mrs. Jernigan nodded her into the dining room where Molly found a place set, as usual, for one. She sat and ate slowly, with refinement, the way he preferred, even though he wasn’t there to see. She loved being able to follow his many protocols even when he wasn’t around, as it made her feel closer to him in his absence. Before Master, she had been so scatterbrained, so reckless. She had lived dangerously and once had almost died. She didn’t like to think of those times, and how lost she’d been. She hadn’t even realized how much she craved safety and structure until he came into her life.

She’d been working at Club Mephisto when they first met. She still remembered the moment like a movie in her mind. She’d put down a coaster in front of him and looked up to ask what he wanted to drink. His pale blue eyes had fixed on her. Frozen her. He had watched her that night, and she’d begun to preen under his steady regard. How self-centered she’d been back then. 

He’d come back again the following night, and this time he’d asked her to go out on a date. The way he’d asked had startled her. “Would you honor me by accompanying me to dinner? I’d like to get to know you better.” She had stammered out an immediate agreement, impressed by his handsome looks as much as his impeccable manners. Back then, men didn’t treat her with much respect, but then, she probably hadn’t deserved it.

But Master had made her feel as if she deserved it. He took her out several times before they began to play. She loved the bondage and his creative approach to sex. Soon he was explaining things to her like protocols and total power exchange dynamics. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted strict control and limits until he started to impose them on her. She had curled into his increasingly rigid restrictions like a newborn baby into a blanket. She had felt reborn. She still felt reborn each time his gaze fell on her in desire or approval. When the dinner hour arrived, she knew it would usually only be a couple more hours before he returned home.

When she was nearly finished eating, Mrs. Jernigan burst into the dining room.

“He’s coming! Your Master is home early—”

Before Mrs. Jernigan even finished, Molly was flying. She paused just a millisecond to scan her face in the mirror, checking her teeth for broccoli and scrutinizing her lipstick to be sure none had worn off. With a couple token tugs at her long, dark curls, she flew to the foyer and took up her kneeling stance at the entryway just as the lock turned in the door. She bowed her head, kneeling straight, her hands folded in her lap and her thighs slightly parted.

Master is home. Now I can be who I am.

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