She watched him walk back to his desk.
“I am going to finish my ABC’s,” he told her, happy as a lark. “You can wait for me, Teacher. Just like that. On your knees. And put your hands behind your back. No touching yourself, Teacher. Not your face or your private spots. Is that clear?”
Melanie nodded. With that final phrase he sounded uncannily like Cyrus. She watched as he bent over his desk, intent on the lesson. Her buttocks still stinging, her face itching from the drying semen, Melanie waited. It should have been the worst, most humiliating moment of her life, and yet, for some reason which she did not understand, she felt strangely alive, her every fiber tingling with anticipation. This is only the beginning she thought with dread fascination. There will be more, much more, I’m sure of it.
Chapter Three
Melanie lowered her sore, naked buttocks down into the tub. The pressure of the warm, soapy water was enough to make her wince. Judge Van Der Mere had been much tougher at the evening session. She’d taken a full twenty blows this time, as she lay sprawled across his lap. The errors concocted on his part were far fetched at best, but she knew better than to object. Thankfully, he’d released her after a mere fifteen minutes.
“So that’s what the Judge does,” Gretchen exclaimed in wonder, handing Melanie the washcloth. “None of the other teachers would ever tell me.”
“That’s nothing,” Melanie grimaced, splashing the water over her face compulsively. “You should see what my star pupil does for fun.”
Indeed the lad had enjoyed a splendid day, putting his teacher through paces, humiliating her at every turn. For the better part of five hours, she had to endure his jism on her skin. Twice more he had interrupted her to compel her to deal with his stiff cock, both times pumping himself down her gullet. The only decent thing he’d done was to allow her to clean up before he sent her to his grandfather at the end of the day. Still, she’d felt the burn of his fluids on her cheeks ever since and even now she was sure something must still be visible.
Gretchen sighed dreamily. “Oh, I can imagine. Zechariah is such a hunk.”
“A hunk?” Melanie sputtered, denying the obvious. “He’s a cretin is what he is, an oversexed, ungentlemanly monster.”
Gretchen knelt beside the tub, trailing her finger in the water. Though she was nearly five years older than Melanie, she had a child-like streak, not unlike that of the Van Der Mere boy. “He’s so cute, though. I wish I knew what he and Lyla did together in her room. I’d ask to be with him myself, but I’m too shy.”
“You shy?” Melanie laughed. “After the way I heard you handle those rowdy men last night?”
She shrugged, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “That’s different. That’s work.”
Melanie scooped handfuls of water over her golden tresses. “How did you and Lyla get here, anyway? You’re the only women I’ve seen in the whole town.”
Gretchen rubbed Melanie’s shoulders with the sponge. “The Judge bought us,” she said matter-of-factly.
“B–bought?!” Melanie sat bolt upright.
“It’s no big deal. It happens all the time out here. Doesn’t stop me from saying my piece, though, does it?”
“What about Lyla?”
“Lyla likes to play rough. If I were you, I’d stay out of her way. Let me deal with her. Sit back now. Close your eyes. Let me clean you.”
Melanie gave her a curious look. It was highly irregular, but something about the girl’s manners, her sweetness made it seem all right.
It was good to surrender herself and let her body go. Gretchen was gentle, but thorough. When she got to the nape of her neck, she let the water drizzle down between Melanie’s breasts.
“Have you ever made love, Melanie?” she asked, her voice a soft sigh.
Melanie’s nipples quickened. “No, Gretchen. I haven’t.”
“Me neither. I’ve been fucked. But that’s not the same.”
Melanie laughed. “Well I haven’t even had that experience.”
“You’re really a virgin, then?”
“Uh huh.”
“That won’t last,” Gretchen said wistfully. “Not around here.”
“That’s encouraging, considering the men I’ve seen so far. Should I jump out my window now or later?”
Gretchen dabbed the sponge over her belly. “Oh, it’s not as bad as all that, silly.”
Melanie drew in a quick little breath at the girl’s touch. She could feel herself oozing into the water. Almost unconsciously, her legs parted. She took her own hands and put them boldly on her breasts. Giving a quick sigh, she closed her eyes, hoping for a glimpse of Trent in her mind’s eye.
“What are you thinking about, Melanie?”
“Oh, nothing much. Politics. The economy. The Trojan War,” she teased.
Gretchen thrust the sponge under the water, pressing it over her mons. “Liar.”
Melanie giggled, all her troubles momentarily forgotten.
“We can get the truth out of you, you know.” Gretchen seized Melanie’s wrists, wrapping them in a velvet rope conveniently hanging from the ceiling. In a matter of seconds, her arms were together, immobilized over her head.
“What is it with this place?” Melanie complained. “Is there nowhere a girl can be safe?”
“No, Melanie. There isn’t.” Gretchen swooped in now, applying her pearl white teeth to one of the girl’s swollen nipples.
Melanie moaned in protest, though in truth she did not wish it to stop. All day, she’d been craving sex and while she scarcely considered herself a lesbian, there was no denying her feelings of pleasure at the woman’s touch.
“Tell me, Teacher. Who is it that has you so worked up? It’s not Zech, and I don’t think it’s the Judge, either.”
“Perish the thought.”
Gretchen snaked a finger down, claiming the brunt of Melanie’s sex. “Who then? A lover back East?”
Melanie squeezed her thighs. Unbidden the image of Cavanaugh rushed to her consciousness. She thought of him, how he was with her when she still believed he was the man she would marry. No talk of her impending false arrest and betrayal yet, they’d still been sweethearts. It had been four months since their first date and it was the first time they had truly been alone. They were in the garden of his family’s estate, well ensconced in the greenery, the labyrinthine walls of shrub being some seven-feet high. Hand in hand they had walked to the very center.
It was there that he swept her into his arms for a kiss. She responded at once to his passion, her heart beating in time to the love she felt. This is the man I will spend my life with, she thought eagerly as his tongue parted her willing lips, suggesting subtly another more intimate sort of penetration. He’d held her quite close, nestling her, his hands warming and cradling the small of her back.
She could have remained like that forever, but Cavanaugh had other ideas. She could feel his hardness. He was not disguising it nor sparing her the feel of him against her silk dress.
“I must have you,” he rasped, his hands moving lower to claim her buttocks. “I am out of my mind with need.”
“No, Cavanaugh.” She was squirming, but the contact only incited him further. “We must wait, till we are wed.”
“I will not wait. It must be here and now,” he declared, his grip changing from velvet to iron.
“You’re scaring me, Cavanaugh.”
He reached for her now, and for the first time she realized he’d been drinking. “Don’t fight me,” he seethed, pronouncing the fateful words that would mark her forever like a brand. “You want it, Melanie. Every woman does. The way you protest shows how badly you need a strong man to stamp his will upon you. To make you feel the pleasure that comes from shame.”
She broke away, chest heaving. Cavanaugh merely smiled at her. The look was chillingly cold, the eyes tight and narrow, black as pitch. “Get used to it, my sweet. When we are one, you will lay for me at my command; however and whenever I choose.”
; She watched in terror as he bent to retrieve the walking stick from the ground, the one he always carried. “Remove your clothing, Melanie. All of it. You will then kneel before me, naked.”
Melanie’s heart pounded in her chest. She did not know this man, did not recognize this ogre before her, brandishing the bamboo instrument as though he meant to strike her with it. “Cavanaugh, have you lost your mind?”
Her fiancée smiled through bloodless lips. “No, my dear. I am quite myself. It is merely that I have hidden my needs, my demands until now. I had to be certain you were the right woman for me. Now I am sure that you are. Strip, Melanie. Strip and kneel, head to the ground, ass in the air. I am going to beat you into submission and then brand you with my hard cock.”
Melanie’s eyes darted left and right. She had to think fast. If she were to run now, he would bring her down easily, like the small prey that she had become to him. On the other hand, if she yielded now to his demands it would never be the same between them again. She would be his slave and he would be her master. This was a fate she would not allow. Death would be far preferable.
She pretended to swoon. “Oh, Cavanaugh, you have no idea how long I have waited for this moment. I had dreamed you might master me, but I never hoped it might be true in real life.”
Cavanaugh allowed himself a small moment of self-satisfaction. “All women are slaves,” he said, lowering his cane. “They need only find the right lord.”
“You are my lord, Cavanaugh.” She let her eyes burn into his. It was the man’s ego that she intended to employ against him as her secret weapon. “Please,” she said huskily. “Will you not kiss me, once more first? Will you not brand me with your lips and then throw me to your feet that I may commence my slavery, baring myself, body and soul?”
Cavanaugh stiffened but he did not refuse the warm and willing embrace. It was when he had begun to relax that she made her move. Her uncle had taught her to defend herself, insisting she have a few basic, though unlady-like moves at her disposal. The knee to the groin was, he had explained, the most potent attack a woman could launch. Cavanaugh collapsed instantly, doubling over like a rag doll. This was all the time Melanie needed to grab the cane from him. It took two blows to the back of the neck to bring him down. Giving him another for good measure, insuring that he would not move for quite some time, she removed her shoes and took off in stocking feet.
She did not look back till she reached the house. Her carriage had been waiting. She intended never to mention the incident, nor did she desire to see him again. Cavanaugh, however, had other ideas. A week later he managed to lure her back with a deceptively worded message about her friend Patricia who had turned up missing a day earlier. It was life and death he had said. Bravely, not to mention stupidly, she had met the man in his study, alone. She’d intended to hear him out, then formally dissolve their engagement. It was at that time that he handed her the letter. The one he would later pass off to the police as a murder confession. A confession to a crime that she was all but certain he himself had committed merely to sully her with false guilt.
Melanie thrashed her head to and fro, memories of her lost friend Patricia mingling with the tendrils of newfound pleasure at the girl’s hands. Gretchen’s fingers were skilled, as was her tongue and mouth. She had her on the brink of orgasm. But she was holding her back.
“If it’s not an old lover you’re pining for, than it’s someone else,” Gretchen persisted. “You’re in love. It’s written all over your face and body. It’s the only explanation for why you didn’t run out of here on the very next stage as soon as you found out what this town was about.”
That was only partially true, Melanie thought. There was the small matter of her being a fugitive for a capital crime. As for loving someone, that was an exaggeration. She’d loved once, and it had cost her everything. She would not be so foolish or naive again.
“We can do this all night, you know.”
Melanie groaned. The woman was like a devil. Pain and pleasure were melting into one another; she craved release and yet she needed the woman to stop. Helplessly, she tugged at her bound arms. Thrashing her legs proved just as ineffective.
“All right!” she cried. “I’ll tell! But it’s not love! It’s–it’s—”
What was it exactly?
“Who, Melanie, who?”
“The marshal,” she confessed hotly. “The one who brought me in.”
The hands relented at once. Gretchen looked at her in astonishment. Amusement lit her eyes and then she began to laugh, so hard, in fact, she rolled herself onto the floor.
Bound and wet, like a drowned rat Melanie eyed the woman indignantly. “Would you care to let me in on your little joke? I’d like to laugh, too.”
“It’s...it’s...” She could hardly finish a sentence. At last she sat up wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh honey, I don’t mean to make fun of you. I’m sorry. It’s just such a tragic waste is all. You see, Marshal Trent Cole is the most gorgeous male in the territory, but he’s completely, totally incapable of being with a woman.”
Melanie blinked. “Incapable, how?”
“Impotent,” she explained. “Everybody knows. No one dares say anything to his face, of course.”
“But–but, how do you know?”
“Doc Pritchard,” she explained. “The little man from the poker game – and most loose lipped drunk in the west. He feels horrible about blurting it out like he did that one night. Trent forgave him, of course, because that’s the kind of man he is, but the doc will never forgive himself.”
Melanie was staring blankly at the wall.
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” Gretchen touched her cheek soothingly. “You really do care for him, don’t you?”
Melanie managed a bright smile, pretending for a moment she had some sort of a future, some kind of hope in this life. “It’s not important, Gretchen. I’m a teacher. And I’m going to teach you how to read, remember?”
“True,” she agreed reaching for the velvet bonds. “But that will have to wait. I’ve got to go to work soon and you’re going with me.”
“I am?”
“Uh huh.” Gretchen was grinning. “We’re going to get you all dolled up so the men have to notice. Hey, maybe we’ll even find you a husband, right?”
Melanie laughed thinly. “I hope not, Gretch.”
Gretchen took her hand and helped her from the tub. “Come on, let’s get you a dress. You’re way too skinny for my clothes so we’ll have to steal something of Lyla’s.”
“Won’t she get upset?”
“I will worry about the little wildcat – not you, remember?”
Melanie watched in awe as the confident Gretchen undid the velvet rope. “Can I ask you a question?” she queried meekly, rubbing her freed wrists together.
Gretchen pinched her cheek. “Anything, sweetie.”
“Why are you helping me so much?”
Gretchen smiled wryly, her eyes momentarily moist. “I’m not sure. It’s a risk, you know. For both of us. There’s just something about you. You’re not like the others. It’s almost like—”
“Like I’m one of you,” Melanie blurted hopefully, not wanting to feel alone anymore than she already was.
“Yea,” Gretchen agreed, looking at her curiously. “I don’t know what it is about you, being a teacher and all, but you are like us.”
Melanie winked bravely. “People aren’t always what they seem.”
Lyla’s wardrobe proved to be both dazzling and excessive. According to Gretchen, she’d been a showgirl back east before running afoul with white slavers. Melanie ran her fingers her fingers over the colors and textures, taking her time before finally choosing a long green dress with slits up both sides. The bodice was embarrassingly low, even for a modern New York girl like herself. It was quite tighter than intended, owing to Lyla’s smaller size. It also rode higher, baring far more of her legs than intended.
“Honey, trust me,” Gretchen said throatily, eying her sau
cily wrapped curves, “this will have the desired effect.”
After wriggling into it, and wrestling with the buttons, they found just the right shoes. It was indeed a devastating, if not obscene look, especially due to the lack of under garments.
“No room at the inn,” Gretchen winked, running her hand over Melanie’s hip, noting the skintight coverage.
For a finishing touch they put feathers and jewels in her hair, wrapping the whole thing up tightly in a delicious swirl. Even the shoes were a perfect fit; the skimpy black heels caressing her feet deliciously. Lyla was pounding on the door the whole time, having been evicted by Gretchen on entry.
“You better open the door this instant!” Lyla was shouting.
They were just putting on the sparkling glass necklace when a deeper voice was heard. “Gretchen, you got the school teacher in there?”
Melanie stiffened. It was the sheriff.
“Hide behind the dressing screen,” said Gretchen. “I’ll get rid of them.”
“You’re in trouble now!” mocked Lyla as soon as the door opened.
Sheriff Harkin brushed Gretchen aside, looking about suspiciously. Peeking round the side of the screen, Melanie saw there was a man with him, in a black hat and frock coat with a high white collar. A minister of some kind was Melanie’s guess.
“What’s been going on up here?” asked the sheriff of Gretchen.
“Gretchen’s up to her old tricks,” Lyla piped up. “That’s what.”
Lyla’s eyes flashed brilliant green as she spoke. Her hair was black and wild, a deep contrast to her cranberry dress. Melanie thought she was beautiful, despite her obvious mean streak.
“What did you do with her, Gretchen?” cooed Lyla. “Cat got your tongue, my plump lesbian friend?”
“That’s enough, Lyla.” Harkin eyed her sternly. “Don’t give me an excuse to give you a whipping.”
Lyla grabbed his crotch in her tiny hand. “I believe I already have.” Giving Gretchen a wink, she sashayed to the door. “Meet you in the play room later, big boy,” she crooned to the sheriff.
Mastering Melanie Page 5