'Open your mouth,' she ordered.
As the hood descended Melinda caught a glimpse of a thick rubber tongue-shaped block sewn into the inside of the hood where the mouthpiece should be. Cybele adjusted the leather so the rubber slipped into Melinda's mouth. It was huge. It filled her mouth, making it completely impossible for her to move her tongue or speak.
At the front, the leather was cut away from the bottom of the forehead to the top of the upper lip, revealing eyes, nose and cheeks. Other than these features, the face and head was completely enclosed in clinging, tight leather. The make-up woman tucked stray wisps of hair under the leather as Cybele tightened the laces, and Melinda felt the hood gripping her head tighter and tighter until, finally, the laces were tied off.
'Oh I think that's so sexy,' the make-up woman said, walking out of the room.
Cybele stood back to admire her work, her strong body straining against the short leather uniform. She ran her hand down Melinda's body, over her breasts. Melinda could see a flash of desire in her eyes, desire she had seen before. Then she turned on her heels to leave Melinda alone in the cell.
Melinda's body throbbed with excitement. The gag in her mouth was uncomfortable and impossible to forget. It was big. It felt like a cock, like the cock she had sucked on her first night in the house. That was what was making her pulse race. That, and the anticipation of what was to come. Some new experience. She hadn't been dressed and chained and hooded like this without a purpose. The Master had issued his orders. He had thought of her, wanted her used. This was his plan, and Melinda revelled in that thought.
It was half-an-hour later when Cybele opened the cell door again, beckoning Melinda forward.
'They're ready for you,' she announced, leading the way through the house and out under the double staircase to the front door, her leather boots clacking on the marble floor, and her big arse swinging as she walked. The front door was open and the Jaguar stood outside, its engine running, the chauffeur sitting behind the wheel.
Cybele opened the rear door and indicated that Melinda should get inside. With the chains restricting her movement only slightly, it was a far easier manoeuvre than the last time she had climbed into the car. Immediately she was seated, Cybele slammed the door shut and the chauffeur drove off down the long driveway. Today, Melinda was not to be escorted.
As the car headed into the city, Melinda could see he chauffeur's eyes looking at her in the rear-view mirror. After a few minutes his hand adjusted the mirror. She knew why. Sitting down, the skirt of the dress was not long enough to cover much of her legs.
She could see herself in the mirror too. It was a strange sight. The tight leather hood emphasised the shape of her head, held high by her long neck. She looked unreal, like a sculpture: 'Woman With a Gag'. Her eyes burnt fiercely, neatly framed by black leather.
At traffic lights people stared into the car, not believing what they saw: her long bare legs; the strangely laced hood covering her head and mouth; only her eyes and nose on view. Some new fashion they thought, perhaps. Leather hoods and gold chains. What will they think of next?
The reaction was the same when the car drew up outside the Master's office building and the chauffeur opened the door for Melinda to get out. People stopped and stared as he led her over to the side passage where Marion had taken her before. But Melinda was not embarrassed. It did not even occur to her to feel embarrassed. She was an object, a thing of beauty, a possession being moved from place to place. How she was dressed, what she looked like, was not up to her. If the Master had chosen to have her brought down here naked, it could not have mattered. Not now.
She returned the stares of passers-by with defiance, her eyes flaring. They did not know. Most looked way quickly.
The chauffeur took her down the passage, guiding her with his thickly gloved hand on her forearm. He unlocked the door into the building. She had never noticed him before. He was a young man, and under the grey uniform he looked well-developed. He moved with the confidence of someone who was fit and athletic. He exuded an air of strength and health. Inside, he directed her to the lift.
'You're quite a piece of work,' he said admiringly. He pressed the call button for the lift. She heard it begin its descent. The chauffeur's eyes were still on her body. His gloved hand reached out and with one finger he traced a line down her cheek, over the area that was exposed and then over the leather. She could see what he was thinking, knew he was trying to imagine what it would be like to have her, use her.
The lift arrived.
'Be good,' he said, pushing her inside. He reached in to press the control button and retracted his arm quickly as the metal door slid shut. She saw him grinning before the door finally closed.
At the top, as the door opened, Melinda was surprised to see Hera standing waiting for her. Hera was undoubtedly the most beautiful of the chatelaines, her long elegant legs looked superb in the black boots and short leather skirt of the uniform, her blonde hair tied in a pony tail.
'Out,' she ordered.
She took Melinda's arm and marched her across the Art Deco anteroom to the wall immediately opposite the lift. She pushed Melinda roughly against the wood panelling, her back to the wall, took hold of the padlock that joined the neck chain to the one connecting her wrists, and snapped it open.
'Hands above your head.'
Melinda was used to orders. She obeyed immediately. The chain connecting her wrists hung down in a loop in front of her eyes. Hera had taken an upright chair and positioned it in front of Melinda. Standing on it, she caught the loop of chain in her hand. Melinda looked up. High above her head, set discreetly into the panelling, was a small but sturdy brass hook. Hera pulled the chain up to the hook.
'Higher,' she said irritably.
Melinda stretched higher. Hera snagged the chain over the hook, effectively binding Melinda's hands above her head. Immediately, Melinda felt the strain in her wrists and shoulders. She had stretched almost on tiptoe and now could hardly lower herself at all.
But it was not the pain that was Melinda's first concern. It was an entirely different reaction. As Hera had manipulated the chain above her head, her body had pressed into Melinda's face; her breasts, confined in the tight leather uniform, right in front of Melinda's eyes. The sight had provoked a feeling she had experienced before. She felt a surge of desire; hot, sexual desire.
She had never experienced desires for women before she had met Marion, but now her body vibrated with an almost tangible passion. Her mind imagined what it would be like to feel and do the things to Hera's long slender body that she had felt and done with Marion.
Hera stepped down from the chair and replaced it in the position she had found it. Melinda watched her lithe body move with new interest, the blonde hair bobbing, her long finely contoured legs disappearing under the skirt which hugged her neat, pouting arse. Melinda closed her eyes. She could almost feel what it would be like pressing down onto her face, while she worked up between those legs...
When she opened her eyes, Hera had gone.
Of course, Melinda knew the source of her new emotions. The experience with Marion had reached deep into her sexual psyche. It had touched nerves, and given her pleasures she had never even dreamt of. A woman's body was so different from a man's. Not that she wanted men any less. But now she wanted women too. Really wanted, ached for, as much as she had ached for cock.
As time passed, the pain of unrequited sexual desire was replaced by more physical discomfort. The pain in her shoulders and wrists, tightly clinched in the gold chains, began to wipe away any other concerns. The tight dress had ridden up her thighs as the result of her position, and now barely covered her sex.
By standing on tiptoe in the shoes, she could ease the chain cutting into her wrists, but only temporarily. Her calf muscles soon tired and she had to relax back into the shoes, causing the pain in her wrists to resume. Nothing she could do mitigated the strain in her shoulders.
There had been an occasional no
ise during the time she had been chained against the wall - a telephone ringing, a typewriter, the muffled staccato of a computer printer - but far off. Now, Melinda could hear voices. They seemed to be coming from the door to her left.
The voices got louder. The door opened. A tall, red-haired woman emerged, followed by the Master. The woman was the picture of elegance. Her hair was the reddest of red and combed out into long, soft waves. Her face was thin and sharp with high cheekbones and a delicate straight nose. Her body was slender, though her breasts were obviously full. She wore a black Valentino suit, with a vivid red silk blouse under its exquisitely tailored jacket. The skirt of the suit revealed half of her long thighs and all of her finely shaped calves. Her ankles were narrow, the Achilles heel perfectly formed, her feet shod in patent leather shoes, a tiny gold chain sewn across the leather of the toe.
She walked with grace and poise, like a model on a catwalk. Her long fingers were bejewelled, with two rings on one hand and one on the other. Beneath the hair, Melinda caught the glint of diamond studs set in her pierced earlobes.
She was one of the most beautiful women Melinda had ever seen. She exuded style, and a feeling of being completely at ease with herself.
'So you see, it is just not possible at that price,' she said. Her English was perfect, but she spoke with a French accent.
The Master smiled indulgently. 'That is the lowest price I can offer.'
The woman had not even glanced at Melinda. 'Then I'm afraid my trip has been something of a waste of time.'
'Not entirely, I hope,' the Master said. 'Everything is a question of price.'
'And quality surely? Quality is important.'
'Bien sur. But I have to think of my customers.'
'But what about when you think of yourself?'
The woman smiled, her thin lips parting to reveal a set of perfectly regular and very white teeth. She turned her emerald green eyes to Melinda.
'When I think of myself? That is different, I think.' She walked up to Melinda, who immediately smelt her musky and expensive perfume. 'She has green eyes too,' she said, looking Melinda up and down as if examining a painting. 'This is what you wanted me to see?'
Melinda felt her body pulse with excitement.
'Yes,' the Master said quietly.
The Frenchwoman looked again more closely, examining the details, Melinda's eyes, the rise of her breasts, her waist, the contours of her thighs.
'Very,' she struggled to find the word, 'interesting.'
'I'd hoped you'd think so.'
'You know me, Walter.'
'It occurred to me this morning. Since you were coming in anyway. I thought we could combine business and...'
'The business of pleasure.'
The Master laughed. 'Neatly put.'
The woman stroked the soft leather hood. Her hand dropped to Melinda's shoulder.
'She has something special, doesn't she?'
The woman did not reply. Instead she took the hem of the dress in both her hands and wriggled it up over Melinda's hips to her waist. Melinda's belly was exposed, the shaven triangle of her pubis revealing the first fold of her sex. Taking her hips in her hands, the woman pulled Melinda round to face the wall. Her hands caressed her apple-round arse.
'She hasn't been whipped.' The woman's voice was surprised.
'Just the faintest of tastes.'
'Why is that?'
'She is very new. Her training hasn't begun.'
'I would have her whipped.'
'I know.'
'I would have her whipped every day. She has the arse for it. And the belly...' The woman pulled Melinda round again to face her. She reached into the low neckline of the dress and extracted one of Melinda's breasts. 'And the breasts.'
'I knew you'd think so.'
The woman's long fingers delved between Melinda's legs. She fingered her labia, found her clitoris and pinched it, then, casually, crudely, pushed two fingers into her cunt, right up to the knuckle. Her other hand fingered the exposed breast; squeezing it like a lemon.
Despite her admiration for the woman, Melinda got no pleasure from the handling. It was curiously unsexual. If the Master had done exactly what this woman was doing to her, she would have been swooning with passion.' But the Frenchwoman provoked no such response nor, clearly, intended to. It was as though she was examining an animal to make sure it was healthy, nothing more.
Apparently satisfied, the woman removed her hands. The fingers that had been inside Melinda's sex she licked tentatively.
'Very good quality.'
'Yes.'
'But not trained?'
'That is the attraction, isn't it?'
'Mais oui. A considerable attraction.'
'So we return to the question of price.'
The Frenchwoman laughed. 'Walter, Walter. You will never change.' It seemed so strange to hear the Master's name.
'I'm doing it as a favour. Otherwise you'll have to bid with the others.'
'I know. I know. I'm grateful.'
'Good. I want you to be grateful.'
The Frenchwoman turned to Melinda again, looking her up and down as though trying to make up her mind.
'I had her gagged,' the Master said.
'So I see. Why was that?'
'In case...'
'In case I couldn't control myself? Is that it?'
The Master smiled. 'I like to think of everything.'
The Frenchwoman laughed again. She went over to the door they had entered by and walked out. The Master followed, and closed the door behind them.
Melinda was confused. Listening to the conversation, she couldn't understand what on earth they were talking about. She imagined the price they were discussing was the price of some item the Master was supplying and that the favour he'd mentioned was allowing her to agree a price before some sort of general auction. Melinda had presumably been brought along as an added inducement to get the woman to agree.
But the more she thought about it the more she thought the conversation had been, at least in part, about her; that the Master was asking the Frenchwoman to agree a price for her.
As the thought gained credence, Melinda's mood darkened. The pain in her shoulders had got worse. Her breast stuck out of the tight material uncomfortably and there was no way she could wrest the material back from around her waist. She could still feel the woman's bony fingers exploring her sex. Her clitoris still throbbed from the pinch she'd delivered.
Melinda felt used. She had only herself to blame of course. It was what she wanted. The Master owned her. She was his chattel. He could do with her whatever he wished. Her feelings did not count. She had to keep reminding herself of that. She was there to be used and abused. If she found that depressing, that too, counted for nothing.
Angry voices came from behind the closed door. She heard the Frenchwoman's voice shouting angrily. What was being said she could not tell. She heard the Master too.
Suddenly the door crashed open and the Frenchwoman marched out and over to the lift. She pressed the call button and the lift door opened. Inside she turned to face the door, looking straight at Melinda's helpless form. The vision seemed to provoke her anger again and she stabbed at the control button in the lift until its metal door slid shut and she was hidden from view.
What had happened, Melinda did not know. Clearly whatever the Master had tried to do hadn't worked. Melinda could not help but think that somehow it was her fault.
For the first time since she had come to the house Melinda felt an impulse to scream. She wanted to tear herself from the wall, cover her body, rip off the gag and hood, and escape. Escape into oblivion. No more eyes and hands pawing her body. No more of anything.
It was her rebellion. It came and it passed. There was no one there to see it. She said and did nothing.
Chapter Eleven
It was night. Melinda lay on the thin mattress of her cell, her hands cuffed to the wall above her head, the heavy metal block chained from the leather belt
around her waist, her body, as usual, naked. She would have liked to have slept, to have wiped the slate of the day clean, but her mind dwelt on everything that had happened. She thought about the strange Frenchwoman, and the cause of her row with the Master. There had been an air of cruelty about the woman as well as her air of elegance. Perhaps it was that which had provoked Melinda's rebellion. Whatever it was, she was glad she had not been consigned to the woman's perfectly manicured hands.
She was also relieved that she had managed to control her emotions, and contain the feelings that had so suddenly gripped her. What the consequences would have been if she had not, she had no way of knowing. She was pleased she did not have to find out.
Nor could she tell how long it finally took her to get to the brink of sleep, but as she was just falling over it, the bright fluorescent light blinked on again, and Hera strode into the room.
'You're required,' she said, kneeling by the mattress to release the cuffs and unchain the metal block.
With Melinda's eyes still adjusting to the light, Hera led her naked and barefooted out through the stables and into the house. It was obviously late and most of the rooms were dark. They mounted the stairs and headed for the Master's bedroom, but instead of going to the double doors, Hera opened a small door alongside them. Melinda found herself in a small, narrow, windowless room, with one inner door that clearly led to the Master's bedroom. The furniture reminded her of a doctor's surgery: a padded leatherette covered examination table and a metal chest of drawers on castors.
The make-up woman, looking as though she had been roused from her sleep, and wearing a towelling robe rather than her usual leggings and leotard, was waiting for them.
'Sit on the table,' Hera ordered.
Melinda obeyed. The make-up woman got to work. The make-up was not heavy. She brushed Melinda's hair and, as always, finished with the application of lipstick.
'Now, lie on your back,' Hera said. As soon as Melinda obeyed, the two women left the room, closing the outer door behind them.
The room was warm and dimly lit. Melinda found herself struggling to keep awake. The next thing she knew, she woke with a start as the inner door opened and the Master slipped into the room.
Melinda and the Master Page 17