Chapter Nineteen
Molly
When I get home from work Monday evening, I’m still exhausted from my sex marathon with Sal over the weekend, and a little sore. The memories still burn in my mind. I can’t look at the kitchen table, the living room floor, or the bed without thinking of the white hot adventures Sal and I had in those locations.
I pour myself a glass of wine and put on a jazz record. It had been a whirlwind, and I’m still flying high. Sal is a skilled lover. He brought me to new heights of pleasure that I didn’t even know were possible. I sit on the couch, sipping the heavy red wine, and thinking of him. My cheeks blush hotly when I remember his hands all over my body, the dark, intense lust in his eyes when he looked at me. When we were together, holed up in this apartment, he made me feel like I was the only woman on earth. He was ravenous for me, and made no attempt to hide it.
Still, he’s a mystery. I can’t begin to comprehend what goes on in his head. He’s incredibly adept at hiding his real self beneath his irresistible charm. And what I don’t know worries me. What if I’ve given him everything he wants from me? What if he loses interest?
I don’t have to mull over these questions long. There’s a knock at the door. Like usual, I know it’s him.
Sal’s suit jacket is open. His shirt is unbuttoned down to his chest. He stares at me with hungry eyes as he walks forcefully into the apartment.
“Molly, I’ve missed you.”
He takes my face in his hands, then kisses me deeply, wasting no time. I’m immediately pulled in by his intense energy. But I know if we fall into bed, we’ll never get out. I’ll never get the answers from him that I need.
“You taste like cabernet,” he growls.
“Wait,” I whisper, pulling back from his embrace.
I take a few steps back. Sal takes off his coat with a devilish smile on his lips, ready to pounce again. The air between us is hot, and pulsates with sexual tension. I ignore the desire mounting in my lower belly, and take a few deep breaths to get a grip on myself.
“Let’s go out,” I say, grabbing my purse.
Sal narrows his eyes. “Out? I’d rather be in.” He gropes at my waist with determined fingers. I slide away from him to the door.
“If you come, I’ll make it up to you later. Promise,” I say.
I don’t wait for his response, and start walking down the hallway towards the exit. Sal groans behind me, then I hear him close the door and lock it with his key.
*
The hot, LA sun slants over the horizon as we explore the La Brea Tarpits. It’s not very crowded this evening. There are a few groups of tourists on guided tours. They snap pictures of the ponds of black sludge that bubble up to the earth’s surface, and the wooly mammoth sculptures that depict the ancient animals that roamed here millennia ago.
“Have you ever been here before?” I ask Sal.
He’s gone quiet again, lost in his own world. “Not since I was a kid.” He walks up to a large pit, peering over the fence into the blackness. He points at the wooly mammoths, and turns to me. “See, animals would get stuck in the tar, making them look like easy prey to larger predators. But the predators themselves would get stuck in the tar trying to get them.”
“Fascinating,” I say.
We stand beside each other, staring into the pit in silence. The sun is descending faster now. Daylight is waning. It will soon be night. Sal is nearly motionless as he gazes at the tarpit. I wish I could crawl inside of his head and see what’s going in there. But the thought also terrifies me. Finally, Sal breaks the silence.
“It’s crazy to think those huge bastards used to be everywhere,” he says, gesturing to the wooly mammoths. “Before asphalt and concrete, skyscrapers and award shows. Now they’re all dead. Gone. They don’t matter anymore.”
I scoff. “They matter. Someone made these sculptures. Thousands of people come here every year to learn about them. They’re dead, but they matter.” I chew my lip, considering what to say next. I gently place my hand on Sal’s arm. “Are you thinking about your father?”
His muscles tense under my touch. My question has struck a nerve. I’ve suspected Sal’s grief over his father’s recent death is the key to Sal’s behavior. He looks like he wants to run away. I do too, but he has to confront this.
“Don’t hide from it,” I whisper. “You’ll only make it worse.”
He jerks his head towards me, studying me suspiciously, like I’m reading his thoughts. His tense shoulders rise up to his ears. I once took a workshop in emotional code work. This theory posits that emotional tension manifests in the muscles. Release the muscle, release the emotion. It’s a theory that hasn’t been studied enough, but I’ve seen it achieve amazing results. I reach up, and lay my fingertips delicately on Sal’s shoulders.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I say, as I begin to knead the muscles.
Sal’s brow furrows in distress. “What are you doing?”
“Releasing the tension,” I say, innocently. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“I want to try something,” I say. “If you indulge me now, I’ll indulge you when we get home.”
“You might regret saying that,” Sal says with a smirk.
“Maybe. But I’ll worry about that when the time comes. Just relax.”
He sighs. “That feels good.”
I knead deeper into the muscles along his shoulders, and on the sides of his neck. “What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“In your mind’s eye. Where are you? What are you seeing? You can tell me, Sal. You can trust me.”
I keep massaging. Sal doesn’t answer me right away, but I can tell he’s somewhere, far off. Finally, his lips part. Anticipation seizes my core.
“I’m at a funeral home,” he says.
“How old are you?”
His face turns grim. “Fifteen. My birthday’s next month.”
The muscles begin to soften under my hand. Sal’s eyes remain closed, like he’s in some sort of trance. I know I need to keep going. Who knows when I’ll get him in an open state like this again?
“Who’s with you?”
“My father.”
I ask my next question slowly, carefully. “Who’s funeral is it?”
He lowers his head. His voice comes out in a low thud. “Mom’s.”
I gasp, and hope he didn’t hear it. My heart breaks for him. He hides so much pain. I continue massaging his shoulders. The muscles are growing tense again. I know I’m headed into heavy territory, but I need to keep going.
“What’s your father saying?”
Sal’s lips spread into a straight line. “He’s saying… Kill it, Sal. The sadness. Bury it, and bury it deep.”
I pull my hands away from his shoulders and cover my mouth. What kind of heartless person says that to a fifteen year old after their mother just died? Sal’s eyes are still closed. He keeps talking.
“My sorrow is in the ground,” he says. “With her.”
I open my mouth to speak. My voice is little more than a whisper. “You think your father wouldn’t want you to grieve for him?”
Sal’s expression hardens. “No. He’d want me to avenge him.”
I stumble back, feeling the earth has moved beneath me. “From who? Sal, what happened to your father?”
His eyes fly open. He stares at me intensely, not with lust or attraction, but something closer to hate, then turns his back on me. I reach out for him.
“I’m sorry-“ I say. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
He steps away from me, then turns around, studying me up and down. The hatred in his eyes has dissipated. But my heart beats with fear. His lips spread into that familiar, cocky smile, the one that can hide all of the pain roiling inside of him. He steps towards me and wraps his arms around my waist. I go against my instinct, and I don’t run away.
“Molly, Molly, Molly,” he intones. “What are you doing to me?”
I place my palm against his heart. “I’m trying to help you heal.”
Sal holds me tighter. His breath is heavy as he whispers into my ear. “What about you? What are you feeling right now? I told you. Now you tell me.”
Sal’s right. If I want him to trust me with his innermost feelings, I need to be open too. I get out of my head to take a physical inventory. Let’s see, my heart’s racing, my palms are sweating, my body temperature is rising.
“Excitement,” I say, on a breath.
He moves his hand to my chest. My heart thuds against his palm, connecting us. “What else?”
“I feel…” I close my eyes. “I feel okay.”
“That’s it?” he asks, disappointed.
I open my eyes. He’s searching my face for another answer. “Yes, and that’s all I need. I haven’t felt just okay since my grandfather died. Ever since I got the inheritance, I’ve worried that I’m squandering his legacy on a pipe dream.” Sal’s hand is still over my heart. I cover it with my hand. “Now, it’s working. And I’m not alone. I’m okay.”
I look up at him and smile. This is the part where we kiss, I tell him telepathically. But Sal’s face is as hard as stone. He devours me with his smoldering eyes.
“There’s so much you don’t know about me, Molly,” Sal says. He clenches his back teeth, like he’s biting back the truth. “And if you did-“
My hand flies up to cover his mouth. It’s an unconscious movement that surprises me. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, and I mean it.
Just like that, Sal flips the switch, from emotional and vulnerable, to cool and in control.
“Maybe I don’t deserve you, Molly Wright.”
“You do. You deserve good things. And I do too.”
He bends down and kisses my forehead. “Let’s go back. There’s something I want to show you.”
*
Salvatore
Maybe Molly’s a witch who wants my soul. And I’ll give it to her, even if it means I’ll die. Whatever she did at the tarpits back there was nothing less than sorcery. I felt the words spilling out of my mouth on their own accord. Once they were spoken, I felt lighter, but only briefly. She’s getting close, too close, to the ugly truth that lives inside of me.
Molly says she doesn’t care who I really am. Well, I’m going to test that premise, which is why I take her back to my apartment. If she can endure what I have in store for her, then maybe she can handle the rest of me. Maybe, she can handle the lies I’ve told her.
I leave her in the living room with a glass of wine, then excuse myself to the extra bedroom, the one I keep locked, and only open for very special company. The air is damp and chilly in here from being closed off from the rest of the space. Working in the dark, I find a fresh black candle that sits on my alter and strike a match. The flame illuminates the space around me. Everything is in its place, undisturbed, waiting for my next guest. I survey my collection of BDSM furniture, trying to decide where I want my sweet little Molly. Should I trap her in the stockade? What a pretty sight that would be, her neck and wrists bound, her naked ass in the air, helpless and calling to me.
There’s the sex swing, where I could suspend her delicious body, position her however I want, unladen by laws of gravity, to fulfill my filthiest desires. I could trap her in the standup cage, where there’s enough room between the bars for my hands, and other parts of my body to roam freely. Or maybe she would like to take a ride on my fucking machine, where a machine operated dildo could pound her endlessly, and I could watch her melt in limitless pleasure.
Those are all good options, and ones I hope to get to one day, but they’re too limiting. I need access to all of Molly’s body. I need to take her from a variety of different angles and positions. I settle on the steel bondage frame that stands as the centerpiece of my dungeon. It’s a simple piece of equipment, but effective. Bondage hooks are welded to the top where I can restrain her arms, or her ankles. Her entire body will be exposed, easily accessible, and mine.
I’m ready for her. I strip off my clothes, and slide into a black silk robe, which I leave open. When I walk out into the living room, my cock is hard and protruding from my body. Dark energy lights up my veins in anticipation of corrupting sweet Molly. She’s on the couch, sipping wine, and waiting patiently. She turns to me, taking in the view of my naked body. Her wide eyes reflect my intensity. She knows this isn’t a game.
“Are you ready to know who you’re getting into bed with?” I ask, my voice low and gravelly.
Molly blinks at me a few times. This is her first test. Does she come with me, or does she run? She tips her wine glass and quickly drinks the rest of it. After wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she nods.
This simple act of submission pleases me greatly, and my cock throbs in response. I walk over to her, offering her my hand. She takes it.
We don’t speak another word until I lead her into the dark room. I wait behind her while she takes it all in. She turns her head slowly, taking in the furniture, gear, and sex toys that meticulously decorate the room. I walk up behind her and breathe against her neck, making her gasp.
“Do you consent to being stripped, bound, and fucked?” I ask.
Molly shivers against me. I press my groin against her ass, letting her feel how hard I am.
“Yes,” she says, in barely a whisper.
I smile deeply. That’s my girl. I slowly unbutton her shirt from behind, then pull it open and grab big handfuls of her breasts.
“You can remove consent whenever you like.” I yank down the cups of her bra, then squeeze her nipples, hard. She falls back against my chest. “But I really hope you don’t.”
I crouch in front of her, laying soft kisses on her lower stomach. Molly runs her fingers through my hair while she studies the room.
“What is all this?” she asks.
I rise up to my feet, and stroke her hair away her neck. My lips graze over her ear as I whisper, “Instruments of pleasure.”
“Pleasure?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. Her entire face is flushed red. She’s starting to sweat, despite the fact that she’s shivering.
“I won’t hurt you,” I say, then proceed to undress her carefully and deliberately.
I take her hand, and lead her to the bondage frame. She glances up at the bar, and the leather constraints hanging from the hooks. She’s silent as I suspend her arms over her head, then lock her wrists in the cuffs. I’m impressed at how calm she’s been through all this, but now that she’s bound, she seems a little nervous. I cup her cheek, and kiss her on the forehead.
“You can go whenever you want. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”
What’s wrong with me? I don’t normally reassure my submissives. That ruins the fantasy. But I have a need to give Molly as much pleasure as I receive.
“Spread your legs,” I instruct her, my voice harder now.
She does as I say. Her body is the shape of an X, with her legs splayed, and her arms stretched up. I walk over to my alter, where the black candle illuminates my buffet of dark delights; whips, floggers, anal beads, nipple clamps, and vibrators. I hear Molly take a sharp breath behind me.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
The quiver in her voice makes my cock throb. I select a pair of nipple clamps. She squints at them as I approach, not knowing what they are until I apply them to her hard, pinched nipple, making her body shudder.
“Does that feel good?” I ask, once again, something I never usually ask my submissives.
“Yes,” she moans.
I trail my finger down the midline of her body. “Good.”
Back at my alter, I deliberate over my tools. Since Molly and I have started fucking, I’ve enjoyed her pussy in every way, shape, and form, but there’s a part of her body that I haven’t yet explored; her ass. I walk back to the bondage frame, dangling a pair of stainless steel anal beads. Molly gulps.
“Where do those go?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Don’t play so innocent. Tell me where they go.”
She shudders at my demanding tone. “In my ass?”
“That’s right,” I say, stepping behind her. I drag the cold steel balls down her spine, then let them dangle in the crack her ass. If this was any normal submissive, I would just insert the balls without asking anymore questions. But Molly isn’t any other submissive. “Is that okay?” I ask.
She turns to me, as much as she can in her bound state, and nods her head. “I trust you.”
I have to look away. She trusts me. She has no idea how misguided she is. But I can’t let that distract me now. I shove down the guilt I feel while coating the anal beads with lubricate. I press the smallest ball against her tight button, lightly pushing until her body gives, and it pops inside. Molly gasps.
“More?” I say.
She takes a deep breath, then nods. I wrap one arm around her waist, and massage her clit while I slide the balls inside of her, each bigger than the last. Her pussy grows sopping wet in my hands.
“Do you like that?”
Molly blushes fiercely. “Yes.”
From my alter, I grab a slick, black vibrator. With it, I fuck her from behind, keeping pressure on the anal beads with my other hand. Molly moans and writhes, hanging from her restraints. I get a number in my mind. Ten. Then I make her come that many times.
By the time I’m done, she can barely stand. My balls are tight, begging for their release. I slip off the robe, slide on a condom, and survey my naked, quivering Molly. It’s time for me to take her. She’s wet, open and ready. I pull the anal beads out of her, slowly, and one by one, letting her feel each one exit. I want her to only feel my cock now.
I approach her from behind, and plant my hands on her waist. She’s so wet, I easily slip inside of her. She inhales sharply, and I know I’ve left her extremely sensitive. With just a few pumps, she’s coming again. I gather her thick hair in my hand, holding on as I fuck her steadily.
Behind her, without looking into her beautiful eyes, I can almost fool myself into believing she’s just another girl from Madame Cherie’s, a toy for my amusement. I smack her ass, groaning as I thrust in and out of her. I give her one more explosive orgasm. All of her muscles tense, and after it’s over, she collapses back against my chest. She looks up at me, her face soft, her lips parted, and I can’t pretend anymore.
“I love you,” she says.
It overcomes me, what normal humans call emotion. But this one doesn’t hurt. It floods my brain with dopamine. It makes me feel invincible.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that Molly’s too good for this depravity. She’s too pure. I grope at the restraints, desperately freeing her. She collapses into my arms. I heave her over my shoulder, and carry her weakened body to my bedroom, where I lay her down gently and climb on top of her. While staring into her eyes, I make love to her slowly, before finding my release.
Afterwards, I spoon her from behind, my face buried in her hair, wondering what the fuck I’m doing.
“That was different,” Molly says with a laugh. “I enjoyed it.”
“Me too.”
She’s silent for a moment, but she’s thinking so hard I can almost hear it. She blinks up at the ceiling. “What I said back there-“ She covers her face in embarrassment. “I think you’d fucked me into delirium.”
My body seizes with urgency. I roll on top of her, pinning her down. She scans my face with nervous eyes. I don’t want to her hear her say it, that she didn’t really mean what she said. I want to believe that she does love me, even though she’s wrong. She can’t love what she doesn’t know. I clutch the side of her face, and stare deeply into her eyes.
“I love you,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Sal,” she says, her eyes filling with tears.
I rest my head against her chest, breathing in the scent of her. We stay there for a while, and she starts to doze off. The muddied emotions begin to clear from my head. I go back over what just happened, what I said to her.
What have I done?
I risked everything in a moment of recklessness. I may have risked Molly’s life.
My phone dings on the table beside the bed. It’s a text from Franco. He wants me to have coffee at his house tomorrow morning.
“Who’s that?” Molly mumbles in her sleep.
I throw my phone back on the table. “Nothing. Just work.” I lie back down and gather her in my arms. “Don’t worry about it. Just sleep.”