Melinda and the Master

by Susanna Hughes

  Without a word he stared at her naked body, standing with his hands in the pockets of a silk navy blue robe that seemed to deepen the colour of his blue eyes.

  Melinda's mind filled with questions. There was so much she wanted to ask him. She wanted to ask him about Scotland and Harriet, about Marion and what had happened in the black room, and about the Frenchwoman this afternoon. She wanted to tell him how she felt, how he made her feel. But she knew she must not say a word. It was another need he had created that she was forbidden to fulfil.

  Silently, the Master wheeled the metal chest of drawers over to the examination table. He opened the top drawer. Neatly packed inside, each one coiled like a snake, were a mass of leather straps. He saw her eyes looking into the drawer and smiled at her indulgently.

  'Sit up,' he said quietly.

  She obeyed, her arms by her sides. She had seen the look in his eyes before. It was the look he'd had as he'd watched Harry using the dildo on her in Scotland.

  'Perfect,' he said to himself.

  He uncoiled a leather strap from the drawer, looping it round her back and arms just above the elbows. He fed the end of the strap into the buckle and jerked it tight, very tight, fastening the buckle at the side of her arm. He picked another identical strap from the drawer, and looped this around her shoulders and body at the point where her breasts rose from her chest. A third belt went around her lower body cinching her waist. All the buckles were fastened on the side of her arm, her breasts pinched slightly between two straps.

  He worked slowly, uncoiling each belt carefully, treating them as if they were the sacraments of some arcane ritual, of which he was the high priest.

  'Lie back,' he said, his voice barely audible. Melinda obeyed. She could hardly contain her excitement. She was alone with the Master. Before, there had always been someone else in the room, someone else to obey his commands. But not now. He was binding her; he was using her. There was no one between them. Why he had suddenly granted her such intimacy she did not know or care. She wanted only to feel his touch as his fingers manipulated her body, as he gradually took away her ability to move. Her sex was already wet, her nipples corrugated and hard. All she could think about was what he was going to do to her next.

  It occurred to her that this might be another test, that he would leave her suddenly and not finish what he had started. Another hope of intimacy dashed on the rocks of indifference. Another way of telling her that her desires and feelings had no importance.

  It might be. But not from the look in his eyes... His hand was on her belly. He had touched her before, but never like this. The expression on his face was glazed, almost vacant. A bulge had appeared in the front of his robe. It rested against the side of the padded table.

  He opened another drawer in the metal chest. This, she saw, was full of dildos and vibrators. Every size and shape. Some stubby, wide but not long, others bigger than she'd ever seen. He selected a small dildo, its shape like an elongated oval. While one hand still pressed on her belly, gently stroking her shaved pubis, he pushed her thighs apart with the other and inserted the dildo between the lips of her cunt, pushing it home until it disappeared completely. It needed little encouragement. It went in rapidly as though sucked in by Melinda's eager sex.

  Using both his hands he closed her legs, pressing her thighs together. A strap from the drawer was looped under her ankles, then pulled up until it was at the top of her thighs. He buckled it tight at the side, burying the dildo inside her. Another strap followed the same route, this time being fastened above her knees. He strapped her below the knees too. He strapped her ankles and even ran a strap around the soles of her feet. Each strap was jerked as tight as it would go.

  She was completely helpless. She could not move a muscle; only her head was free. In all her fantasies, in all the times she had enacted her fantasies, she had never been bound like this. Though the dildo was not large, its effect on her body seemed to be out of all proportion to its size. It filled her cunt as effectively as it filled her mind. She half expected to be left now; that being left alone like this would be a new torture, a punishment for the secret rebellion that morning. She deserved it, after all.

  But that was not what the Master had in mind. Slowly, he took off the silk robe and let it drop to the floor. She had never seen his upper body before. It was lean and well muscled, his chest covered with a thick mat of hair as white as that on his head. His big, smooth cock was fully erect; a tear of fluid forming at its tip.

  'You see how you have excited me,' he said.

  'Yes, master.'

  With one hand wrapped around the stem of his cock he began to wank slowly, while his other hand touched the leather straps. They were buckled so tightly, Melinda's flesh bulged from either side of them, especially at her thighs and belly. But he touched only the leather, not her flesh.

  From the drawer of the metal chest, he took a thin leather strap and looped it around the base of his cock and under his balls. He buckled it tight. Melinda saw veins swell on the long shaft, the blood trapped by the strap. He started to wank again, coming round to the head of the table until his cock brushed her blonde hair.

  Melinda was so mesmerised by seeing his naked body for the first time, she had temporarily forgotten her own feelings. Or perhaps that was just a defence. Perhaps her mind was unconsciously telling her this was all a tease, and was trying to protect her from a massive disappointment. But now she knew it was not. She knew the Master was not going to leave her. He was too excited.

  The bondage freed her, freed her to do nothing but feel. The straps that held her felt like a giant hand, squeezing and pressing her onto the dildo that was completely enveloped by her body. Her breasts throbbed; her nipples ached. Her whole body, every nerve, every muscle and tendon, sung with excitement. He was going to use her. Alone. Together. Almost like lovers...

  She strained back to look at his body towering above her. His hand was wanking his cock with more purpose. Before it had been leisurely, its length slick with the fluid from his own secretions. Now the rhythm was more urgent. Every so often he moaned faintly. What was he going to do? Was he going to come on her face? She didn't care, as long as he came.

  His eyes played up and down her body, taking in the shape the leather straps created. The bondage excited him as much as it did her. He'd said as much in the car, she remembered. His cock twitched with pleasure.

  For a moment he stopped. Melinda sensed a hesitation in him that she did not understand. Whatever it was he resolved it. Reaching forward, he hooked his hands under the leather strap around Melinda's shoulders and used it to pull her up the table until the nape of her neck was right on the padded edge, and her head dropped below the level of the table.

  She knew what he intended, and almost before her body could register its thrill of pleasure at the idea, she was proved right. As soon as her head was lowered he moved forward so the underside of his cock brushed Melinda's lips. She licked and sucked at it eagerly. He moaned.

  He grasped the shaft of his cock again. While her mouth suckled at its base his hand wanked its whole length, brushing past her lips on the downward stroke. He pushed forward more, levering her head down further and making her arch off the table. Her mouth could reach his balls now, pushed out by the strap around his cock. It was easy to get them into her mouth, one by one. She felt him shudder with pleasure.

  Her position was excruciating but at the same time exciting. Her bound body was churning. She knew she was coming, and coming like she had never come before. The leather straps constraining her so totally that reaction and counter-reaction became the same thing, like the recoil of a gun recoiling only on itself. Her body was concentrated, distilled down to the lake of juices in her cunt, and the dildo drowning in them. She was just managing to hold back. If she came, she would not be able to concentrate on the Master and what he wanted. That was what mattered. His pleasure. Pleasing him.

  She sucked and licked at his balls. She could see his hand draw b
ack one last time, then squeeze and pull the sword of flesh until it jerked in his fingers. He cried out, as she felt great gobs of white hot spunk bursting from his cock and splattering down on her throat and collarbone, and on her bound and constricted tits.

  That was all she needed. Her body spasmed and the first wave of orgasm broke. But, as the convulsion shot through her it was held back by the bondage, doubling the sensation as she felt the tight leather holding her in. Like an echo trapped in a canyon, her feelings reverberated unable to escape just as, physically, there was no escape for her either.

  When finally the feelings died, the ripples diminishing, though still not entirely gone, she opened her eyes. The Master had disappeared. Only his white spunk remained, spattered over her body.

  With a huge effort, Melinda managed to wriggle herself down the table. She knew she shouldn't do anything she was not told to do, but the pain in her neck was acute and the effort of supporting her head level with the table was too much to bear. Resting her head against the leatherette at last gave her some relief. It even sparked a little aftershock of orgasm, her cunt contracting on the hard plastic still trapped inside her.

  It was some time before the interior door opened again. Melinda's mind was so full of the residue of exquisite pleasure, that she had made no attempt to keep track of time.

  The Master returned. He was dressed in a pair of slacks and a white shirt, open at the neck. Behind him Melinda saw Marion. Marion was dressed for seduction. A black silk and lacy teddy showed tantalising glimpses of her big breasts, and the curls of her pubis. Her legs were sheathed in black hold-ups, shiny and slippery with Lycra, the band of white flesh above them appearing so much more exposed in contrast. A black silk negligee was wrapped around her shoulders. On her face she wore an expression like thunder.

  She had come to the Master's room unbidden, Melinda thought, only to find his energy spent. To add insult to injury, she could see his spunk on Melinda's neck and was under instructions to clean it away. A cold wet flannel in Marion's hand removed every trace. She glared down at Melinda while she worked. With equally bad grace she unbuckled all the straps from Melinda's body. She did not need to extract the dildo. It slid out of its own accord.

  'Stand up,' Marion said, her displeasure clear in her voice.

  The Master walked back into his bedroom. Marion pushed Melinda through the door and followed her, closing it behind them. The Master had gone to sit in the armchair he had used last time Melinda was in this room. A silver tray on a small table next to it held a decanter and two crystal tumblers. The Master poured an inch of a light golden liquid into the glasses, and handed one to Marion who took it and drunk it down in one gulp. From the smell, Melinda knew it was whisky, and from the pale colour she guessed it was a rare single malt.

  'Did you hear the alarms last night?' the Master asked, sipping his glass more delicately.

  'Yes, master,' Melinda replied, remembering the bells she had heard. Clearly, she had not imagined them.

  'It was your husband,' the Master said, his eyes staring into hers.

  'What!' The exclamation escaped her lips before she could do anything about it. It earned a smart slap of rebuke from Marion, who lashed her hand down on Melinda's naked rump, no doubt glad of the excuse.

  'He was trying to break in,' the Master continued. 'We have a very extensive security system. Naturally he did not succeed.' The Master sipped his scotch again. 'Apparently he has become convinced that you are being held in this house against your will. He was concerned for your welfare.'

  Melinda's mind was spinning. If she was honest with herself, she had hardly given Mark a thought since she'd left their house, wearing the clothes the Master had provided. All her connections with, all her feelings for, the outside world had been severed. The Master's world had its own reality.

  Her first reaction to Mark's intrusion was anger. He knew perfectly well she had chosen to come here. How could he be so stupid as to imagine she was being held against her will? She had no will. That was the point.

  Her second reaction was fear, like a cold hand gripping her heart. Fear that the Master would think her in some way responsible; would blame her for what had happened. Fear that he would make her leave, throw her out, out through the electric gates, back into the real world. She could almost see them clanging shut with terrible finality, excluding her from the world she craved so desperately, excluding her forever.

  What could she say to convince him she had no part of it, that her husband's actions were nothing to do with her?

  Her anger rose again. All this after such intimacy with the Master. All this after what had just happened between them. It wasn't fair. Tears welled in her eyes. She fought them back, determined not to cry.

  'He is downstairs now,' the Master said calmly, seeing her obvious distress. 'Presumably you do not wish to leave?'

  'No, master, no please!' She tried to make the words express all her feelings.

  'I was going to tell you all this tomorrow but as you are here...' He did not complete the sentence. 'I have decided to give him a little demonstration. To reassure him that, far from being held against your will you have fully embraced our little...' he searched for the right word, '...regimen.'

  The relief that flooded through Melinda's body was almost as strong as her orgasm had been. He wasn't going to throw her out.

  She expressed her gratitude by remaining absolutely still, resisting the temptation to throw herself at his feet. She would reward him with total passivity. That's what he wanted from her. That's what she wanted to give him. If he thought she was perfect before, from now on she would be faultless. He could do anything with her. She was his. His. Her relief knew no bounds.

  'In order for this demonstration to be thoroughly convincing,' the Master was saying, 'we need to be, let us say, outrageous. You will then tell him you wish to fulfil the rest of your contract. Is that understood?'

  'Yes, master.' Her response was crisp, unemotional. Perfect.

  'Good. Very good.' He turned to Marion. 'And you will make all the arrangements. Tomorrow night.'

  'Yes,' Marion replied.

  'Take her away then,' the Master commanded.

  Marion gripped her arm and led her to the bedroom door, the knuckles of her fingers turning white as they dug hard into Melinda's arm. Taking Melinda away meant taking herself away too.

  There was time to invite a few guests. It was going to be amusing at least. There was a possibility that Melinda would baulk at what they had planned for her husband. But he could not imagine it. Her submission, her obedience had survived every test so far, and he had devised many. But this test had been forced on him.

  It would be a pity if she failed. She was something special. He had known that from the first time he had set eyes on her. He'd sensed her proclivity. That's why he'd sent her down to the sculpture room. Most women would have been revolted or frightened or both. Not Melinda. Melinda had felt curiosity and passion.

  And since she had come to the house, she had been perfection. Other women had to be trained for weeks before they even approached Melinda's standard of acquiescence. The Master had sometimes enjoyed the training but not as much as he enjoyed Melinda's instant automatic submission. He had watched her with Marion, watched her in Scotland, watched her in his office. She was perfect.

  He had even broken his own rule for her. He had never taken any of the slaves alone, as he had her tonight. But his need had been too great. The image of her chained to the wall in the anteroom, her skirt up around her waist, one breast exposed, her little shaven pussy so soft and delicate, so alluring; the expression on her face, a mixture of the pain she must have been feeling and a profound and absolute acceptance, had stayed with him all afternoon, burning in his mind like a smouldering cigarette.

  He had to have her. He had to have her alone. He did not want Marion there. Or one of the chatelaines. He wanted only Melinda.

  Of course, he would have to send her away. That was the one rule
he could not break. L'Organisation Internationale de Maitres was very strict on such matters. He had hoped the French maitresse would take her before the auction so at least he'd know where she was going, but the woman had wanted to take her for six months, not three. Three months without Melinda was bad enough, the way he felt at the moment, but six would be intolerable.

  The problem with being rich was that it was possible to have almost anything, at any time. But there are some things money could not buy. Membership of the OIM was one of them. Of course you had to have a considerable fortune and considerable facilities to be eligible, but once a member it was not a question of money. No one was allowed to break the rules. If they did, their membership was revoked no matter how much money they offered in compensation. The rules were the rules.

  The Master, therefore, had no intention of doing so, however much he would have liked to keep Melinda for his own. As he hadn't been able to arrange a private sale before the stated deadline, she would have to be auctioned.

  He comforted himself with the thought that she would be back. And if her new maitre was not too cruel, or demanding, it was possible she would be little changed. Possible.

  The stage was prepared. Down in the cellar behind the black glass wall, guests had been seated after an excellent dinner. These were guests from the X-list. The seats were raked like a tiny auditorium, so everyone had a clear, unobscured view.

  'This way,' Hera said. The chatelaines had all drawn straws. Hera had won. It was a prize she coveted.

  Melinda was naked and barefoot. She followed Hera into the black room. The overhead spotlights still illuminated the bed, but another part of the room was also basking in their bright white light. Spotlights had been trained on the wall opposite the door. In their light stood Mark Elliot. He had been stripped of his clothes and was spread-eagled against the wall, his wrists and ankles strapped into leather cuffs and chained to strong metal rings. A thick band of leather held a gag in his mouth, so big his cheeks bulged. A leather blindfold covered his eyes.