Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold by Annabel Joseph

that it might look strange, the way he fed her. Lots of couples fed one another, but that was usually flirtation. Impulsive sharing. For the entire week, Molly hadn’t eaten anything that hadn’t come from his hand. The idea of it hit him in his groin. He walked her a little way off the main path to a secluded bench and pulled her into his lap. He put his fingers to her lips and she licked off grease and popcorn salt with a grin that slayed him. When she finished he snaked his hand up her shirt, under her sweater, and pinched her nipples until she squirmed. Her breathing quickened and she shifted in his lap. He imagined her pussy moistening, her little clit hardening up once again, ever hopeful even though time after time arousal had ended in nothing but frustration this particular week. Physiology was an amazing thing.
    And it worked both ways. She slid a hand around his neck—a forward, unrequested embrace—and he was too aroused to correct her. She rested her face against his cheek, making tiny, faint lust noises. His cock was straining, hard as rock. He squeezed her breast and groaned, wrapping his other hand in her hair. He pulled her head back and kissed her neck, her eyes. When she moaned into his mouth he broke away and looked around at the people in the park. “My own orgasm denial,” he groused, exasperated. “For once, I feel your pain.”
    He took her hand and dragged her after him in search of privacy. Off a trail, in the back of the park, he found a remote wooded area. There, behind a curtain of thick brush and bushes, he had her kneel and serve him. It was a memory moment for him: the light breeze, the singing birds, and Molly’s expression as she licked around his cock and sucked his balls. He curled his fingers into the bark of the tree beside him, feeling the scratchy solidness of it. The whole world seemed to shrink down to that one moment, that one sensation of Molly and nature and everything being in tune.
    He bucked in her mouth, caressing her face, wanting to scream out all the things he felt. His wonder at her submission, the privilege, the specialness of it.
Tomorrow, she goes. Tomorrow, all gone.
He pushed that thought away, living in the moment, enjoying her skillful ministrations until his climax exploded and almost took him to his knees. Later today, he decided, he would let her come. He would give her an orgasm as special and memorable as this. He’d wanted to wait until the last day, but today would be better. He actually couldn’t wait to see her fall apart with the power of all that pent-up lust.
    With that thought, he zipped up and handed her the used condom. She leaned down and blithely buried it under a pile of dirt and leaves.
    “Silly girl,” he snorted. Silly, unfathomable, reckless girl. She was still reckless, he decided. It just manifested in different ways, like giving all her power over to another person. A carefully chosen person. Someday, that responsibility might be his.
    Or perhaps not. Maybe someday she would choose not to be a slave anymore.
    Mephisto took her hand and led her to another area of the park, a picturesque urban stream flanked by rocks, bushes and trees. Molly used to work for Seattle City Parks, monitoring stream life and pollution. She’d told him all about it one night while she was drunk. She’d been so impassioned about it. Did she even remember that now? She’d quit her job—or been fired—just a few weeks later. Had she ever been to this park? This stream? He searched her face for answers but she remained stubbornly expressionless.
    A sudden breeze kicked up and rustled the trees, the tiny buds that bloomed in the new warmth of spring. Molly put her hands together in front of her lips like she was praying, and for a moment Mephisto thought she might speak, but she didn’t.
    She started to cry.
    He could have asked her then, asked her all the things that Clayton wanted to know, that Mephisto desperately wanted to know too.
Are you happy? Are