Melinda and the Countess Read online

  MELINDA AND THE COUNTESS

  by

  SUSANNA HUGHES

  Melinda and the Countess first published in 1994 by Nexus. Published as an eBook in 2012 by Chimera eBooks.

  ePub ISBN 9781780801506

  mobi ISBN 9781780801513

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.

  New authors are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

  This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Susanna Hughes. The right of Susanna Hughes to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Chapter One

  'Please, Master, please...'

  Melinda was naked. Her arms had been drawn behind her back and held there by two thin straps, cinched tightly around her elbows and her wrists. The leather bit into her flesh, forcing her shoulder-blades together and making her thrust her very firm, very round breasts with their hard, puckered nipples out in front of her. They felt vulnerable and sensitive. She was kneeling, her buttocks resting on her heels. In front of her was a big full-length mirror.

  She could see her Master in the mirror. He was sitting on a plain double bed that was stripped of everything but a black silk sheet. There was light in the centre of the room but elsewhere it was dark and Melinda could not see into its corners.

  'So you want me to touch you?' he repeated.

  'Oh yes, Master.' She would not have spoken if he had not asked her a question. That was the rule of silence.

  'Look at yourself, child,' he ordered.

  Melinda stared into the mirror. Her short blonde flaxen hair was cut to the same length, and straight; it seemed to shimmer in the light. She had green eyes, a much darker green than was common. They stared back at her, intense, questioning. She looked down at her thighs, the muscles flexed by kneeling, tapering to delicate dimpled knees. She examined her narrow waist and the way her hips flared out from it. She looked at her iron-flat belly and below it her pubis where her blonde fleece had been shaved away. She could not see her labia, but knew they too were hairless.

  'So obedient,' her Master said, standing up. His heavy dark red velvet robe swished slightly as he passed behind her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them, and saw his knuckles in the mirror. They were covered with white hairs. He leant forward, his hands moving down to her breasts, the velvet of the robe pressed into her back, and gathered the mounds of pliant spongy flesh into his fingers and weighed them. His eyes were looking at her in the mirror.

  'You want this?'

  'Yes, Master.'

  'Like this?' His fingers became like claws, digging into the unresisting tits.

  'Oh...' Melinda felt her body throb. She tried to remember she had to answer. 'Yes... yes, Master.'

  He found her nipples. Taking them between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, he pulled them up towards her chin until her breasts were stretched and she could see, in the mirror, the two purple marks normally hidden by the weight of the flesh: the two Ms that had been left there, indelible, a symbol of what she was.

  He was looking at them too. 'What is your name?'

  'Melinda, Master.'

  'Melinda and the Master.' That was what the two Ms stood for.

  He laughed and abruptly dropped her nipples; her breasts fell back, quivering, covering the purple marks.

  She couldn't understand why she hadn't seen the small table and chair. He sat behind her at the table drinking dark red wine, which he poured from a crystal carafe, and eating bread and cheese. This he cut with a knife whose blade was curved like a small scimitar. He ate noisily and spilt red wine so it dribbled down his chin.

  Melinda dared not move. She hardly dared watch. Her arms and legs ached, her shoulder-blades were numb, but she embraced the sensation of being powerless. She could not relieve her own suffering. That depended, like everything else in her life, on someone else. She was no longer an individual. She had no decisions to make. She did as she was told.

  'Come here, child,' he said at long, long last. 'On your knees.'

  She crawled over to him, finding it hard not to pitch forward with her bound arms. He moved the upright chair out from the table and the lower part of his robe parted, exposing his legs. It was obvious he was naked under the robe.

  When she arrived at the side of the table, he held a glass of red wine to her lips and she drank thirstily. He tilted the glass too far and red wine escaped down her chin. He mopped it up with the sleeve of his robe.

  'What do you say?'

  'Thank you, Master.'

  'You may open the belt of my robe, child,' he said, parting his legs.

  The belt of the robe was tied at his waist. She padded forward on her knees so that she was between his thighs and bent forward to take the red velvet between her teeth. She tilted her head back to pull the sash open. Her naked breasts brushed his inner thigh and the contact made her body pulse. The belt unravelled and the heavy material fell away to expose his sex.

  Melinda's instinct, and her need, was to drop her mouth on to his cock, swallow it up; but she knew better than that. She knew she must do nothing until she was told.

  She watched as his cock unfurled from its bed of thick black and white curly pubic hair. It was circumcised and its glans was very smooth, as though it had been polished.

  'Do you want to suck my cock?'

  'Please, Master.' How much those words thrilled her. They expressed so neatly, so perfectly, her situation, summing up everything she was and wanted to be.

  'Do it, then,' he said.

  Without hesitation she opened her mouth and plunged down over the big sword of flesh. She sucked on it, feeling its breadth and hardness, feeling her own sex throb as she did so. She pushed down deeper, trying to control her gag reflex, so that she could get it all in. His glans was forced into her throat and her lips grazed against his pubic hair. She heard him moan and felt a flush of pleasure.

  'Very good, child,' he said, though his voice was cold and betrayed no emotion.

  She sucked hard again, then drew her head back and forth, trying to make her mouth feel like her vagina would feel if he were ploughing her there. She tried to make it hot and wet and clingy. She tried to fight back the sensations in her own body, wanting to concentrate only on him, but her excitement bubbled up like boiling water, so glad was she to be allowed such intimacy with her Master. She thought she felt his cock jerk involuntarily. Could it be that he was going to allow her to make him come?

  'Get up,' he said suddenly, pulling her head back by the hair. 'Stand up.' His voice sounded angry. Its coldness stung her like a slap of his hand.

  Trying to cope with the change of mood, so close to intimacy a moment before and now so far, she struggled to her feet and almost fell over in the process.

  'Over to the bed. Lie on the bed.' He was wrapping his robe around him again.

  Melinda tried not to reveal her disappointment. She lay down on the bed as she w
as ordered to do, and wriggled over until she was in the middle of the big mattress. Her arms, strapped behind her back, forced her to arch her body upward. She looked at the Master but for some reason she could not see his face. It was all wrong. She had done something wrong. She was so close to him, so near to being allowed to give him pleasure. But she had offended him in some way, and she was being punished for it.

  She knew that if she could have seen his face, it would have been scowling at her. She wanted to beg, to beg to be allowed to make amends, but she knew such disobedience would only make matters worse.

  He came over to the bed.

  'Touch yourself,' he ordered in the same angry tone.

  It was impossible of course. She tried to stretch her fingertips up under her buttocks to reach her sex but could make no contact.

  'Touch yourself...' he repeated loudly.

  She could not see his face but she could feel his eyes, piercing steel blue eyes looking at her, watching her efforts with undisguised contempt.

  She struggled harder, spreading her legs wide apart and trying to push her body down on to her outstretched fingers, her hairless sex open and exposed, but to no avail. This was what she hated most. It was not for her to touch her own body; it did not belong to her any more. Was that why he was asking her to do it? Was that why she couldn't do it - was it nothing to do with the way she was bound? Why didn't he just use her? Couldn't he see how much she wanted him?

  'Please, Master...' She shouldn't have said it - he hadn't asked a question - but she was overwhelmed with emotion.

  'Is this how you reward my kindness?' he said sternly.

  'I can't do it, Master.'

  'You don't want to do it.'

  'I can't...'

  'You've disappointed me, child.'

  'No, Master, please... Give me another chance.'

  Where the woman had come from she didn't know, but she was laughing. Melinda couldn't see her face but knew she was looking down at her, laughing at her renewed efforts to obey.

  'Please, Master.' She wasn't sure whether she said the words out loud or not. They ran round in her head over and over again. Why didn't he ask her to do something else, something that was possible? It wasn't that she didn't want to do it, it really wasn't! Why didn't he understand?

  But he'd turned away from her, not even caring to look at her any more. She had let him down. The other woman was kneeling, opening the dark red velvet robe, fondling the Master's rampant cock, slipping it into her mouth, sucking on it greedily just as Melinda had done. But her laughter seemed still to be echoing around the room.

  'Please, Master,' Melinda begged one final time, arching her prostrate body up off the bed, angling at him, hoping against all hope he would look at her; look at her hairless sex, and change his mind.

  She saw his hands touching the other woman, stroking her hair with incredible tenderness and care. She could see his cock throbbing as it plunged in and out of her mouth. Melinda knew he was going to come. It wasn't fair. Tears were running down her cheeks. She had been so close to him, so intimate; now he wasn't even looking at her, now some other woman was going to take his seed, service the Master, be used by him.

  'No...'

  It was all her fault. He'd found her weakness. If she'd really wanted to she'd have found a way to touch herself despite her bonds. He knew that.

  The smooth glans slipped from the woman's lips and Melinda saw it jerk. White spunk, white like pearl, shot from the narrow slit of the Master's urethra, out over the woman's face, over her mouth, nose and eyes, over her hair and chin and breasts, over her belly and thighs, even over her feet. Strings of white spunk hung all over her, strings of pearls, spunk that should have anointed Melinda but hadn't.

  'No...'

  The room was full of laughter. The laughter was so loud it woke her up.

  The dream had been so real that when she woke she looked around the room, expecting to see the Master and the other woman, and the big full-length mirror. But she was alone. Her body was bathed in sweat and her heart was pumping at twice its normal rate.

  Judging from the faint rays of light that filtered in through the window high above the bed, Melinda could tell dawn was beginning to break. There was enough light for her to see her own body. Sweat was running off the curves of her breasts. The black panties she was wearing were damp, but not only from perspiration. The dream had aroused her and the crotch of the panties was set with the milk of her sex. She could feel her clitoris pulsating and demanding attention.

  Of course, there was nothing to stop her running her fingers under the tight elasticated waistband of the panties, down over her belly and on to her clit. She had dreamt she was hairless but in fact it had been some time since she had been made to shave and her sex was covered with a light blonde fleece. There was nothing to stop her moving her clitoris from side to side in the way she used to masturbate so many times in the life she had lived before. Nothing to stop her but the fact that it was not allowed and that she hated to do it for that very reason. That didn't make her need any less, didn't make her body beg for attention any less feverishly, but it prevented her from doing anything about it as surely as if she'd been bound.

  She tried to take her mind off the subject. She looked around the room. Last night, when they had brought her in here, she had been so tired after her long, uncomfortable journey from Spain that she had fallen asleep almost immediately, paying little attention to her surroundings.

  The room was small and rectangular, a single wooden-framed bed and mattress the only furniture. The only door was thick oak with a large mortise lock. The floor was stone and the walls plastered and painted white, though now they were dirty and scuffed. A single clear light bulb hung down from the centre of the ceiling. On the wall by the door were the only other objects in the room. Screwed into the plaster wall above head height and about four feet apart were what looked like two medieval metal gauntlets, the sort knights would have worn. Each gauntlet was angled outward slightly and was hinged so the hand could be placed inside and held there.

  As she looked at them Melinda shuddered, imagining what it would be like to be held helpless in their metallic grasp.

  She had no idea where she was. The journey from Spain had taken two days, two days of confinement in the back of a windowless van. She had been told she was being taken to Paris and knew her new Master was a woman - what they called, in the Organisation Internationale des Maitres, a Maitresse - a countess whom she had encountered in London. But whether this was her final destination or a halfway house she had no way of knowing.

  She lay on the bed without moving, watching the light from the small high window gradually get brighter. It was too high for her to see out of even if she stood on the bed, and in any case she had no real curiosity about the place. Her only true concern was how her new Maitresse would treat her. She remembered her well from the one occasion she had met her before. She was a beautiful woman, slender and elegant with eyes as green as Melinda's and the reddest of red hair, and a haughty look that befitted her aristocratic pedigree. She had treated Melinda with such harshness in the few minutes they had been together, handling her with not the slightest tenderness, that the thought of being hers, of being her chattel, filled Melinda with dread. She could still see her eyes; they were cold and hard and determined. She was a woman who was used to getting her own way, with no compassion or concern. The Countess was interested only in herself. She would be an uncompromising Maitresse.

  The grinding of the key in the lock interrupted Melinda's reverie. A large woman entered, wearing a dirty grey suit which looked as though it might have been intended as a uniform. She was wearing a very cheap black wig that didn't fit properly and her face was layered with fat; she had several chins that made her look like a walrus. Hardly looking at Melinda, she beckoned for her to follow and headed down a short corridor. There was a door to one side at the end. She unlocked it and stepped aside to let Melinda in, then followed her through. The room had
a toilet and, in the corner, a shower head behind a plastic curtain with a drain set in the stone floor. The woman grunted and indicated the toilet.

  Melinda had got used to performing even the most private acts in public. She sat on the loo and peed while the woman watched her, though she seemed totally uninterested. Gratefully Melinda showered away the grime and sweat and cleaned her teeth with a brush and paste that had been left on a small wooden shelf with the soap. There was no wash basin, however, and she had to use water from the shower.

  She had taken the black panties off and hung them over the top of the shower rail but the fat woman had taken them and stuffed them in her pocket. There was no towel with which to dry herself and Melinda was returned to her cell still wet, a set of footprints marking her passage on the stone floor. A tray of fruit and a jug of water had been left on the bed while she had been away and the fat woman stood impassively while Melinda ate. As soon as the tray was empty she took it away and locked the cell door after her.

  Time passed slowly. The water drying on her body left Melinda feeling slightly chilled. She lay on the mattress and curled herself up into a tight ball to try and keep warm.

  At what she took to be lunchtime the fat woman with the walrus chins returned with a tray of bread and cheese and water. Again she stood watching Melinda eat and again she took the tray away as soon as she was finished, leaving the slave alone.

  It was deliberate, of course. Melinda knew this was how members of the Organisation Internationale de Maitres worked. This was all part of the way slaves were treated, all part of the intricate means by which they established psychological dependency. Endless hours stretching ahead, with nothing to do but think about what was awaiting you; your nakedness a constant reminder of your prime function and duty; your inability even to have a drink without it being arranged by them; all were tokens of your subjection. Melinda had experienced it before with her other two Masters. She no longer existed as a person, no longer harboured hopes or desires or expectations. She was there to be done to, but not to do. That was all she had to remember.