Mastering Melanie

by Reese Gabriel

  The Colonel’s tone had softened, but the implications brought Deputy Homer to his feet. “Sheriff?” he asked, his voice carefully guarded.

  Harkin leaned across to the Colonel, having understood the deputy’s concerns. After a few words in Beauregard’s ear, the Colonel snapped his finger. “Apparently this one is spoken for. Get the other one, Harkin. The yellow haired teacher. Let’s see if she can warm up the chief. Running Coyote, I hear tell Indian squaws don’t blow dick, well ours do.”

  Melanie blanched. She’d gone from eavesdropper to impending participant in a single moment. Not only that, she was being offered, without the slightest preamble, to perform a degrading sexual act upon a man the others did not regard as fully human. A savage chief.

  “Running Coyote leave now,” said the old man, firmly.

  “On the contrary,” the colonel smiled slyly, signaling to the three soldiers in the back of the saloon. “I insist you stay awhile and partake in our hospitality.”

  At once the soldier’s rifles were pointed at the Indians heads. Not flinching, he sat himself in the seat offered by the sheriff.

  “I’ll go fetch the slut now,” he said.

  Melanie ran back to her room, desperate for a place to hide. Harkin found her, trembling in the closet.

  “Get out of there,” he growled, hauling her by the hair. “You’ve got work to do.”

  “Ah, Melanie,” beamed the mad colonel noting the nude girl, her arm in the grip of Harkin. “So nice to see you. Melanie Jones, this is Chief Running Coyote. Chief, this is Miss Jones.”

  The proud Indian kept his gaze straight ahead, his hands in his lap.

  “Melanie,” the colonel continued as though nothing were amiss, “would you kindly bring the chief to orgasm in your mouth while we finish our discussion?”

  The Colonel’s words, humiliating as they were, served as an aphrodisiac for Melanie. If she had learned one thing in her captivity, it was that subjugation was a bottomless thing, almost a drug, such that the more of it she received, the more she craved.

  “Here’s our new deal, chief,” said the colonel, even as Melanie went to him on her knees, opening his trousers to reveal a surprisingly stiff, though ancient member. “You get forty eight hours to move your people to the reservation and turn over Red Wolf to us and in exchange, we get to keep all the gold. How’s that sound?”

  The chief gave a little grunt, his cock throbbing in the white girl’s mouth. She could tell he would not be able to hold out for long. “Red Wolf right,” the chief declared, in what had to be the understatement of the century. “White man can not be trusted.”

  Beauregard laughed. “I do believe, sheriff, we have on our hands the most naive savage on the continent. All this time in our company, and he’s just now figuring us out.”

  “Guess it’s time to wake up and smell the coffee, huh chief?” chuckled Harkin.

  Running Coyote grunted as he expelled himself into Melanie’s mouth.

  “Swallow it down, slut,” commanded Harkin.

  Melanie drank the Powatan’s seed, obediently sucking him dry.

  “Quite a gal, eh, chief?” Harkin gloated. “Who says we whites don’t know how to train squaws?”

  Running Coyote stood, the white woman at his feet. “I go now.”

  The colonel sighed and rolled his eyes. “Savages have no sense of humor.”

  The chief bowed stiffly and walked from the saloon, his demeanor in no way shaken by the trauma. Melanie felt herself admiring the man and wondering if the real savages might not be the Powatans, but her white masters.

  “Well, woman,” demanded Beauregard, a wicked smile on his face. “Is it true what they say that savage jism is sweeter than the white man’s?”

  Melanie lowered her eyes.

  “Don’t embarrass the slave, colonel,” chided Harkin. “She sucks whomever I tell her to and likes it. Don’t you, girl?”

  “Yes,” Melanie agreed. “Master.”

  Harkin grunted in satisfaction, sitting down to his half finished beer. “Upstairs with you, then. Take a nice hot bath till the doc gets here for your examination.”

  Melanie shivered as she thought of Lassiter’s hands and instruments upon her once again. Was this to be a daily ritual? Yesterday she had wondered at his strange behavior, his sudden change of mood. She could have sworn she’d seen desire in his eyes, yet he’d hardly noticed her at the game last night. In fact, unless she missed her guess, he’d seemed to lose far too easily. Had he thrown over his hands to avoid possession of her?

  Today, she decided, she would confront the man and learn the truth. Did he not desire her? Was he repulsed by her? Or was it something else? Her questions might earn her punishment, but she was bound and determined to find out nonetheless.

  Melanie’s thoughts were abruptly dissolved when she saw the interloper in her room.

  “Zechariah,” she cried, seeing the youth sprawled comfortably on her bed, hands behind his head. “But…how did you get in?”

  “I came in while you were busy,” he said matter-of-factly. “While you were doing something nasty to the Indian man.”

  Melanie laughed in spite of herself. “You do have a way with words.” Then, remembering the Judge, she hastily added, “I’m so sorry about your grandfather.”

  “I was sad yesterday,” he replied in his characteristically straightforward, child-like manner. “But I feel better now. Want to see why?”

  Melanie scanned the room, following Zech’s lively eyes. She gasped when she saw Lyla, tied to an upright rack, spread eagled and completely naked. “Oh, my goodness,” she said quite foolishly. “What have you done?”

  “I’ve been training Lyla as my slave, Teacher. Only now it’s not a game. It’s for real.”

  Melanie looked at Lyla, gagged, wide-eyed, her stomach and thighs bearing a lattice mark of fresh welts from the crop. There was fear in her eyes, but beyond that, wonder, and even desire.

  “I own Lyla now, Teacher. The sheriff gave her to me today. She is my pet, forever and ever. The Colonel is going to help me train her, like I train my puppies back home. The sheriff says when I have a trained girl, I will be happy and I won’t miss my grandfather so much. The sheriff is very smart. He’s going to run all my grandfather’s businesses. He’s going to be the new Judge, too. Do you know that when Lyla is trained she will eat from a little bowl on the floor and whenever I call for her she will crawl to me on her hands and knees?”

  Melanie swallowed, noting the storm of emotion in the girl’s eyes. “No, Zech, I didn’t know that.” Her own heart was racing. She wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or overjoyed. Lyla was her rival, a cruel and petty tyrant, but did she really wish such absolute subjugation upon her?

  “The colonel says that Lyla has to learn to obey. We are going to keep a wooden thing in her behind till she does. I can do that, because I own her now.”

  For the first time, Melanie noted the thin chain around Lyla’s slim waist and the two others between her legs. No doubt they were holding in place the wooden device inserted into her buttocks. Melanie could scarcely imagine the sensations; the pain, the arousal.

  “Zech, are you sure this is what you want?” she asked, feeling obligated to try, however much in vain it might be to free the tightly bound Lyla.

  “Yes, I do. It’s what Lyla wants, too,” he said eagerly, his hand stroking his cock through his black trousers. “Take off her gag, Teacher, and ask her.”

  Melanie was grateful for the opportunity to remove the thick black harness from Lyla’s head. The poor thing’s hair and face were covered in sweat and she seemed as beleaguered as a creature could be. The gag seemed stuck, however, and it was only after some pulling that Melanie realized, to her horror, that the inserted device was itself in the shape of a phallus.

  “Well?” Zech pressed, his voice subtly imbued with a new kind of authority. “What do you say, Lyla?”

  “I am your slave,” Lyla mouthed, the words spilling over one another.
“I am happily your slave, my master.”

  Melanie studied the look in her eyes, the intensity of the glare. It was true; the girl had found her destiny. It wasn’t just the fear of punishment, the effect of the obvious whippings she’d endured. There was more to it, something mystical, something deep.

  “Lyla, when you are trained, you will eat from a bowl on the floor, isn’t that true?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “And I will whip you when you are bad and if I call you, you will have to crawl to me. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes,” Lyla nodded eagerly. “Yes, master.” She clenched her bound fists. “If master will release me, his slave will give him pleasure. Lyla begs to please her master.”

  Zech hopped up from the bed, his hard cock tenting the front of his trousers. “I will let you go, Lyla,” he informed her. “But you will not pleasure me, you will pleasure the teacher.”

  Lyla turned white. “Master, please, don’t make Ly – I mean your slave do that.”

  “I will,” he grinned with all the satisfaction of a small boy. “I will make you do that. And I will watch while you do it. Teacher, let Lyla down so she can crawl between your legs and give you pleasure.”

  Melanie tried to summon her remaining authority as his instructor. “Zech, that might not be a good idea. Maybe if we—”

  Zech cut her short, retrieving the riding crop from beside him and swathing it through the air. “Do it, Teacher, or I will whip the both of you.”

  With trembling fingers, Melanie began to work at the straps on Melanie’s wrists and ankles. “Lyla,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, you know this isn’t my idea.”

  Lyla called her a rude name, terminating the exchange.

  “Teacher, stand back now,” said Zech once Lyla was on her feet and rubbing her sore wrists. “Let Lyla crawl to you on her hands and knees.”

  Melanie retreated across the room. The nude Lyla sank immediately to the floor. With Zech watching, arms imperiously on his hips, she began her journey, head down, her long, silky hair hanging forward, like a damp mop.

  “Hold up your skirt, Teacher, so Lyla doesn’t have to use her hands.”

  Melanie complied, lifting the hem of her dress up to her belly button leaving the way clear to her exposed, unclothed crotch. She felt for Lyla, truly she did. The girl had no inclinations toward her own sex and Melanie couldn’t imagine this particular task would be anything but revolting to her.

  A small sigh escaped Lyla’s lips as she put herself in place. Her eyes were closed. She seemed resigned, reconciled. But there was more; she was aroused too, as if the very act of abasement, of being made to act so contrary to her own will was itself a secret thrill.

  The girl’s tongue was like silk. Melanie had never experienced such a thing. Her face reddened as she accepted the caress, so profane, so contrary to everything that seemed natural and moral about sex. “Lyla,” she exclaimed. “Oh, Lyla.”

  “Make her come, Lyla.” Zech was on his feet. “Make the dirty, naughty teacher come.”

  Zech’s order served to redouble the slave’s efforts. Hands planted firmly on the floor, using only her lips, mouth and tongue, Lyla worked diligently to please her rival, the haughty New York society girl.

  “Faster, Lyla,” Zechariah urged, striping her upturned buttocks with a slash of the whip. “Do it faster.”

  “Yes, master,” Lyla managed huskily, her mouth full of Melanie’s soft, juice-soaked opening.

  “Are you going to come, Teacher?”

  Melanie was trying desperately to mask her emotions. “Zech, I won’t be able to achieve the results you want,” she lied. “It just won’t work without a man’s stimulation.”

  “Yes it will, Teacher. Because if you don’t, I will have to punish you, on your naked behind.”

  The spasms were upon her. The man-boy’s threats, mysterious and terrible were the final straw, breaking her resolve, shattering her dignity. She was doing it, actually climaxing under the influence of a girl’s mouth, while both of them were being watched and lorded over by an impetuous and cruel young man with a riding crop.

  “What a good girl you are, Teacher,” Zech praised, his tone indicating some coaching on the part of the colonel and/or the sheriff. “And you were a good girl, too, Lyla. Now you get to switch places.”

  Just a single tap of the whip on his muscular thigh was all it took to bring Lyla to her feet. To Melanie’s great shame, she too responded, lowering herself on all fours on the floor to take the other’s place.

  “I’m training you,” said Zech proudly as Melanie put her head between Lyla’s outstretched legs. “I’m training you both.”

  Melanie did her best to lick the girl as she had been licked. It was difficult to concentrate, especially with the very randy Zech behind her, flipping up her skirt and running his hands over her buttocks.

  “The colonel says a girl’s second hole is nice and tight, better than her regular one. Is that true? Spread your legs, Teacher, and show me.”

  Melanie shuffled her knees apart as best she could. Lacking any leverage or way to protect herself with her hands, she had no choice but to submit to his awkward, boyish caresses.

  “I asked you a question, Teacher,” he repeated more forcefully. “I asked if your little hole was tighter than the other one.”

  Melanie moaned as she felt something slide inside her. Most likely it was the handle of Zech’s whip, though in her sensitive canal, it felt like a log.

  “Don’t stop licking Lyla,” he warned, shoving the whip handle in further, drawing the girl’s quick attention, not to mention her instant compliance.

  “Good,” Zech offered cheerfully a moment later. “That’s better.”

  The whip handle slid free, inducing another round of moaning from Melanie.

  “Don’t make noises,” he pouted. “People will hear us.”

  Melanie took two quick slashes of the whip across her bare bottom as punishment. The pain was hot and wet, like liquid fire. Like an inferno, it spread at once to her nether region. I’m being whipped again, she thought, upon my naked skin, and this time by the young man who should have been my student.

  “You aren’t supposed to have shoes on, Teacher.” Zech lifted her feet, one by one rendering them bare. “Slaves don’t wear shoes. Lyla isn’t going to wear any shoes from now on Teacher, because she’s my slave. I can make her sleep in the barn if I want to, Teacher, did you know that? I can even put her in a cage if I like. If I tell Lyla to, she’ll have to crawl inside a little cage, and lay there all night, naked, too. If she goes pee pee on herself I will punish her.”

  Melanie felt the heat in her loins. As silly and non-sequential as his thoughts were, Zech’s ideas were lathering her into a frenzy. Could it be she, too, wanted a little cage for herself, and a man to make her crawl into it nude?

  Lyla was screaming out and thrashing her head. She was coming herself and Melanie wondered if her passion too had been ignited by Zech’s sexy account of life for his new slave.

  “Lyla likes this, don’t you, Lyla?” Zech said. “And Teacher, when Lyla’s my wife, the colonel’s going to have her marked for me, with rings in the tips of her boobies, and also down there, in her vagina. The colonel says when a girl knows she can be chained up down there, she gets real docile and tame. I like tame girls. They make me very excited. She’s already been branded, so I don’t have to do that. The colonel says she’s been ready to be a slave since she left the ranch, it’s just that the Judge didn’t used to like us to have slaves, but now we can. I like that, I do.”

  Of course he did, thought Melanie. What man wouldn’t be stimulated by an utterly passive, sexually available female, her body soft and inviting, begging to be controlled and fucked by a strong man? Such a man would be no man at all. Just as any woman who was not secretly aroused by being controlled, in her opinion, could scarcely be considered a true female.

  “Oh, master,” cried Lyla, her voice ragged with the fever of her bliss. “It
feels so wonderful. I’m so–so ashamed.”

  Zech snapped the whip across Melanie’s behind, signaling for her to stop. “That’s enough, Teacher. I’m very hard now, and I need someplace to relieve myself.”

  Someplace; as in one of her openings, or Lyla’s openings. Melanie swooned at the rough, casual language, so matter of factly referring to her despoilment or that of her colleague.

  “Get on your backs,” she heard him say now. “Both of you. Let me see which one of you looks juiciest.”

  Melanie lay beside her former rival, opening her legs as best she could. If Lyla had thoughts of taking out her anger on her fellow slave, she gave no indication. It was just as well, she thought as she tried her best to bear up under the man’s scrutiny.

  “Spread your lips with your fingers,” he ordered, his own freed member slowly rising beneath his gliding fingers. “Spread them wide and show me how much you want me to put my thing inside you.”

  Lyla wanted him worse than she did, that was clear. Melanie meant no disobedience, but she found herself unable to match the actions of her writhing, back arching, undulating slave sister. Whether it was out of gross misjudgment or else a more devious attempt to shame his own slave, however, Zech ultimately chose to copulate with his one time teacher.

  After making Melanie thank him for his impending attentions, he plunged himself between her outstretched lips, forcing her to orgasm as he worked himself in and out, over and over. Bewildered and shattered, poor Lyla could do little but lay beside them, whimpering, her doe eyes pleading, begging for a second chance. It was clever, thought Melanie, if indeed it was Zech’s design, to shake her confidence like this. No doubt the next time, little Lyla would try twice as hard and be twice as slavish for her master.

  How Melanie hated the girl! Indeed, she hated them all – any women who allowed herself to be treated this way, to be exploited so blatantly. She would be different, she vowed, she would resist to the end. She told herself this even as Zech induced from her a fresh round of submissive moans, his hands locked firmly on her tender, defenseless breasts.

  “Oh, Zech,” she confessed aloud, the words betraying her steely resolve. “I belong to you; claim my body, please. Take me, keep me as your own.”