The Master could see Melinda's surprise. 'Beautiful, isn't she? Entirely natural, I assure you. Not the result of a surgeon's knife. The most unique specimen in my collection. Her name is Harriet, but of course everyone calls her Harry.'
Harry was taking two small black metal rings from the drawer of the bedside table. She approached Melinda, looking her in the eyes. Even without the short hair, her face would have passed for a boy. Her chin was wide and firm, her eyes - like the rest of her face with not a trace of make-up - large, and her eyebrows bushy.
Without a word, she circled Melinda's exposed breast with one hand and guided the black ring over her nipple with the other. The ring neatly enclosed the nipple. Holding it securely in place, the girl released a strong spring set in the ring that clamped it firmly in place, reducing the inner radius like the shutter of a camera, except its edges were serrated to bite into the tender flesh. Melinda could not stifle a moan of pain. The girl placed the second ring with the same effect. Melinda moaned again, her body instantly charged with the pleasure this type of pain always generated in her.
The girl looked over to the Master, as if for reassurance that she should go on. The Master nodded. His hand had circled his erection, wanking it lazily up and down. His eyes darted from Harry's body to Melinda's. There could hardly have been a greater contrast.
'Do they hurt?'
'Yes, Master.'
'And you like that, don't you?'
'Yes, Master.'
Harry had unwound the end of the white rope from its cleat on the wall. She went to the end that hung in the middle of the room and pulled it down over the pulley. Quickly, she tied this end tightly around Melinda's wrists, manoeuvring her back until she stood directly under the pulley wheel.
Again, she looked for reassurance from the Master. Melinda saw him nod and smile. The smile was for Harry, not for her. Back at the cleat, Harry took the rope and pulled. Melinda's wrists were hoisted backward and upward forcing her to bend forward from the waist. Harry pulled until Melinda's arms were almost vertical and she was bent over at right angles. She had to spread her legs apart to keep her balance. Harry secured the rope to the cleat.
The position was agonising, but at the same time incredibly exciting. Melinda was bound and spread, her arse forced into the air, her whole sex, from the hood of her clitoris to the rose of her anus, open and exposed, every detail on view. The oval of her labia, the especially thick, puffy labia, looked like a strange vertical smile, lips ready to suck in whatever they might.
The Master beckoned Harry back to the bed. Melinda had to force her head up to watch, further increasing the pressure in her shoulder blades, but it was worth it. With an affection she had never seen or thought him capable of, the Master kissed Harry on the cheeks, one at a time, and then on the mouth. They kissed long and hard, the girl bent over the bed, just as Melinda was but with no constraint, her labia too exposed by her hairlessness, though nothing like as fleshy as those of the woman in bondage.
The kiss went on for a long time. The girl's hand circled the Master's cock, squeezing it tightly. Melinda felt the moistness of her sex turn into a torrent. She was sure her juices had begun to run over her labia and down her thigh. She put herself in the girl's shoes, strained to imagine the Master was kissing her, that she was being allowed such intimate pleasures. Where did she fit into the scheme of things? The Master had implied she was one of his collection, but clearly she was not a slave. Nor was she a chatelaine. What, then, did she mean to the Master?
Harry straightened up. The Master patted her rump, half with affection, half as a gesture of encouragement. She padded across the room out of Melinda's line of vision, which was severely restricted. With her head down, in the position which brought her least pain, she could see little but her own legs, the sheer black stockings stretched taut by the suspenders, her hairless pubis, the crease of her sex, and beyond, a stretch of carpet. That was all.
Harry was back in front of the bed again. Melinda made the effort to look up. Around her hips, Harry had strapped a harness. It snaked around her waist, down between the cleft of her arse, around under the line of her buttocks, up between her legs. Jutting from the front, at the apex of her thighs, was a cream-coloured dildo. The Master stretched out his hand to encircle it. He wanked it as though it were a real cock.
'I wish it were real,' Harry said. Her voice was as masculine as her appearance, deep and gruff.
'Do you?'
'For you,' she said.
Harry picked up a bottle of oil from the bedside table, a little stoppered bottle like they used to use in chemist's shops. She poured the oil over the head of the dildo and the Master's fingers. He spread it out until the whole dildo glistened.
Harry turned. Again the Master patted encouragement on her scrawny rump.
She walked towards Melinda, who rested her head. She had seen enough.
'You want it, don't you?' the Master asked. His hand had gone back to his cock. The residue of the oil coated his erection, making that shine too.
Melinda felt Harry's hands on her hips, the dildo pressing hard against her arse. Her breasts trembled, the nipple clips biting her tender flesh.
'Yes, Master, yes,' Melinda breathed, having difficulty with the words because her excitement was so intense. She felt Harry's hips buck and direct the dildo downward. Her whole body was trembling. This was almost too much to bear. Too much intimacy. She felt so close to the Master now. Part of him. He'd allowed her to see something private, something personal. What was happening in this room was different, not part of the system, not part of the public displays.
'Do it,' the Master said, his voice not relaxed any more. Instantly the dildo pushed into the lips of her sex. It was easy. Frictionless. Her cunt was soaking wet. But Harry flicked her hips back and withdrew immediately. That was not the target. Her hand directed the dildo more precisely, until it was centred on the puckered crater of Melinda's anus.
Melinda was coming. Her body churned, the tortured nerves of her bound muscles egging the rest of her body on. The first misdirected thrust of the dildo had fired the motor of her orgasm. Despite the difficulty, she strained her head up to watch the Master wank his big, elegant cock, his fist rising and falling over his length. The dildo nudging at her anus provoked the first wave, the first explosion, the one that released her, cleared the way, and then, as Harry's hips bucked it deep and effortlessly into her tight passage the rest of the explosions followed, like gunshots from an automatic; each shot recoiling in her body until the magazine was empty and she was limp and damp and helpless, hanging from the thick white rope like a discarded rag doll.
How long the orgasm had lasted she did not know, but she felt the dildo slip from her body. She opened her eyes and strained her head up, to see that the bed in front of her was empty. The Master had gone. She could not see him anywhere. She dropped her head and at that moment realised there were now two pairs of feet on the carpet behind her black high heels.
The heat and hardness of a cock nudged against her buttocks. The Master's cock. She wanted to scream with pleasure. He was going to take her, at last. The Master's hands held her hips, pulling her helpless body back onto his bone-hard cock. Harry's hand was guiding it, holding it into the bud of her anus, opened and oiled by the dildo.
The Master slid his cock effortlessly into her arse. She could not remember ever wanting anything so much in her life. It was as if her whole being was centred on his cock. Her bondage concentrated the feeling. There was nothing else to do, no movement she could make, nothing for her to think about but what was being done to her.
He bucked his hips again and his cock buried itself in her tight, hot rear. She could feel his balls against her labia, feel Harry's cunning little fingers snaking down to catch his scrotum, playing with the Master's balls and her clitoris at the same time.
He moved now, in and out; full deep strokes, reaming into her. He could feel her coming. His whole body was trembling. He felt Harry's thin masc
uline body pressing into his back and her hands working at his balls until finally he could hold out no longer. He knew he should pull out, pull out of her and spunk over her buttocks, over the black satin that held her waist so tightly. But he couldn't. For once, he let himself go, let his cock settle in the hot, tight passage of his slave, and let her take control of him; her inner convulsions milking the spunk from his eager, excited balls.
Chapter Ten
It was a week since Melinda had seen the Master. She had been flown back to London on her own the next day. Cybele had returned her to her cell in the stables and the previous routine had been resumed; only exercise and solariums breaking the monotony of being bound to the wall of her cell with the metal block chained firmly between her legs. This time she was not beaten or abused by the chatelaines. She had no human contact whatsoever.
Nor had Marion appeared. Melinda had speculated as to what Marion's 'turn' would involve, but apparently, at the moment, she had other priorities to fulfil.
Not that Melinda minded that. After her experience with the Master in Scotland, her attitude had changed completely. He had punished her disobedience and rewarded her submission. He had, what is more, allowed himself to be seduced by her. She knew - at least she felt - what he had done with her was not something he allowed to happen often, not with the slaves. For the Master, the slaves were objects, things of beauty, part of his possessions, part of his collection. They were to be played with like toys. Whatever sexual acts he performed with them were public. What had happened in Scotland was reserved and private. Not for public consumption. Reserved, she suspected, for women like Marion, and Harry, and whoever else was not part of his three-ringed circus.
But Melinda had touched him and, more importantly, he had touched her. She was content. She could lie on the thin mattress for hour after hour without complaint. The metal block did not bother her. She had no desire to touch herself. It would wipe away the memory of him, the deep impression he had left in her body. She could still feel him, hear him, see him.
It was late in the evening of the seventh day after her return from Scotland that Marion appeared in her cell. Melinda had already been cuffed to the wall by Hera, and was expecting the lights to go out at any minute.
Marion was smiling, an odd, unfriendly smile. She knelt by the mattress, her nylons rasping against her skirt.
'Been having a good time, I hear.'
It was not a question. Melinda remained obediently silent.
'Haven't you?'
'Yes, mistress,' Melinda said. She inhaled Marion's strong perfume and felt her heartbeat increase.
'You little bitch,' Marion said with no real malice, just as a statement of fact. She ran her hand over Melinda's body, as if looking for evidence of what had gone on. 'You'd better tell me about it, hadn't you?'
'Yes, mistress.' The last thing she wanted to do was tell Marion the details of what had gone on in Scotland. Then it would no longer be private.
Fortunately Marion did not pursue the subject. She uncuffed Melinda's hands from the wall and pulled her to her feet. She was wearing a rich flame-red dress that clung tightly to her figure, its low neckline revealing her ample cleavage. Her long black hair was pinned up. She looked as though she had just come from dinner at some elegant restaurant.
The metal block was unchained and fell away. 'Do you remember what I said?' Marion asked.
'Yes, mistress.'
'I've been thinking about you.' Melinda could see her eyes were sparkling with excitement. 'Follow me.'
Melinda, naked and bare-footed, followed Marion's elegant court shoes, sheer hosiery and fine silk dress out of the cell and, in turn, out of the stable block. They took a new direction. Instead of crossing the covered courtyard, they turned left into a short corridor, at the end of which was a staircase leading down to the cellars. At the bottom of the stairs there was a door immediately in front of them, and a corridor to one side. Marion opened the door, closing it firmly when they were both inside.
The room was small, its walls and ceiling painted black, its floor a short-pile black carpet. A small double bed and a single bedside table were the only furniture. Across the centre of the ceiling a lighting bar carried an array of spotlights, but only one, the one aimed at the bed, was turned on, casting a pool of white light around the bed while leaving the rest of the room in comparative darkness. There was something odd about one of the black walls, Melinda thought, but in the dim light she could not make out what.
At each corner of the frame of the bed a stout post extended above the level of the sheets, like a fourposter that had been sawn off short. Each post was inset with a metal ring and chain, attached to which was a stout leather cuff.
'So here we are,' Marion announced. She came up behind Melinda, wrapped her arms around her body and pressed into her back. Melinda felt the silk sliding against her nakedness. 'Just the two of us,' she added, hugging Melinda to her and kissing her neck.
Her lips felt hot. They left a wet trail as they worked along Melinda's neck. Her hands cupped Melinda's breasts, squeezing them tightly. Then one hand dropped down to the flatness of her belly. 'You must obey me, you know that, don't you?'
'Yes, mistress.' Judging from the reaction of her body, obeying Marion was not going to be a problem. Melinda's heart was racing, the mainspring of her sexuality already beginning to tick.
Marion was kissing the nape of her neck now, their bodies separated. 'I know what happened on the plane. Did you enjoy it?'
'No, mistress.' Melinda's body arched back involuntarily as Marion's tongue, darting out between her lips, found some hidden nerve.
'I thought you did.'
'No, mistress...'
'Why not?'
'They forced me.'
'You've never been with a woman, have you? Not properly.'
'No, mistress.'
'Have you ever imagined what it would be like?' The hot, wet tongue still plied the furrows of Melinda's neck, sending electric shocks of sensation coursing through her body.
'Yes, mistress. With you, mistress.' It was true.
'I've been waiting for you.' The nipping little kisses were running along Melinda's shoulders now. 'Patiently waiting my turn. Now you're mine. Aren't you?'
Yes, Melinda wanted to say. If the Master says I am. 'Yes, mistress, yes.'
Marion's fingertips had worked down to the apex of her belly, down over her shaven pubis, down between her thighs, her forefinger delving into the runnel of her sex.
'Such a pity. All that pretty blonde hair shaved away,' she said, punctuating every word with a kiss.
Melinda found herself being turned around to face Marion. Eye-to-eye Marion examined her, looking for emotion, looking to see what she felt. If she had expected discomfiture she would have been disappointed. Melinda's eyes sparkled with excitement.
'Kiss me,' Marion said. 'Hold me.'
The words sent a shiver of pleasure through Melinda. She obeyed immediately, pressing her mouth into Marion's, feeling, for only the second time, a woman's lips against her own. Her arms wrapped around the silk dress and she rubbed her breasts on the slippery material. She pressed her thigh up between Marion's legs, until she could feel the hard curve of her pubic bone.
Marion allowed herself to be passive, let Melinda's tongue probe her mouth, while her hands roamed her back. She had desired Melinda from the moment she had seen her. 'She'd had to wait. Now she let the pent up passion flow through her body, knowing that, at last, the moment had come.
They stood wrapped together, arms and legs, a curious Indian sculpture. One naked woman wrapped around the fully clothed body of another. The red of Marion's dress gave Melinda's skin a rose glow.
Marion broke the embrace.
'Unzip me,' she ordered. However much passion she felt for this beautiful blonde, she must not forget that Melinda was still the Master's slave. The Master would not be pleased if she forgot that. It was not easy.
Melinda walked behind Marion, her body sti
ll humming from the length of contact she had been allowed. For a week, the only human contact she had had was the occasional brush against one of the chatelaines as they chained her to the wall. No surprise then, that her heart was pounding and she had to keep reminding herself to breathe.
She pulled the long zip of Marion's dress down into the small of her back.
'Take it off,' Marion said, quietly trying to keep her passion in check.
Melinda pulled the thin shoulder straps from Marion's finely boned shoulders, then worked the red silk clear of her bust. The dress fell to the floor. Marion stepped out of it. Her lingerie was flame-red too: a red underwired strapless bra, its scalloped cups spilling her heavy breasts, bisected her tanned ribs. Another band of red wrapped around her waist: a silky suspender belt that fitted her slim waist tightly. Its thin suspenders snaked down her navel and flanks, under a pair of matching high-cut panties to her thighs, where they gathered up the welts of her sheer stockings. The panties were inset with lace at the front and sides. The lacy panel at the front revealed her tight black curls of pubic hair. Her full, rich, fleshy thighs stretched the welts of the stockings taut, a tiny sash of red satin on the suspenders hiding the metal hoop that gripped the nylon, as if to see it would offend the eye.
Marion turned to face Melinda. For a second, their eyes met. Melinda had been used by the woman on the plane. But this was different. This was the first time. As Marion sat on the bed, Melinda remained where she was. She had not been ordered to move. She could see Marion's eyes roaming her body, her prominent breasts, her long lithe legs, the folds of her sex no longer hidden by pubic hair.
'Come over here,' Marion said, not content to look any more; wanting to turn the anticipation that coursed through her body like a drug, into a reality.
Melinda and the Master Page 15