Melinda and the Master Read online

  They did not look like the doors to a cloakroom. She listened for any activity. There was only silence. She couldn't even hear the noise from the dinner party upstairs any longer. She was alone. She should go back and retrace her steps. She must have taken the wrong turn. There must have been another staircase she'd missed.

  But she did not move. Something made her want to look into these rooms. Was it just curiosity? Or something else? Her hand grasped the handle of the first door. The door was locked, but even in the dim light of the corridor she could see the key was in the lock. Now she hesitated. Actually unlocking the door was a far more fundamental step than merely blundering into a room by mistake. It required a conscious effort.

  Melinda turned the key as quietly as she could. It rotated with a sharp grinding of metal that echoed down the corridor. She opened the door. The room beyond was dark. There was no light switch. As far as she could tell the room was empty.

  What had she expected? It was just an empty room in the basement of a huge house. She closed the door again, relocked it and started back down the corridor. As she did so, something stopped her and drew her back to the second door. It was an extraordinary feeling, like the invisible pull of a magnet. For some reason she suddenly saw Walter's eyes. She could hear his voice too. She could not hear what it was saying, but she realised she was excited and trembling with anticipation. Where did she get these feelings from, and why? She had no idea.

  The second room was as empty as the first.

  She did not hesitate to open the third door. It was locked. She turned the key and did not flinch at the noise it made as the barrel of the lock retracted and the door opened. A strange bluish light, seemingly transfused with a smoky mist, leaked out of the room as the door swung back. As it was lighter than the corridor her eyes took a moment to adjust.

  She stepped through the door, closed it after her and leant against it. Another extraordinary feeling filled her mind, as though she had done this before. Deja vu. She felt she had opened this door before, seen this peculiar light. Had she dreamt it?

  What she saw in front of her eyes was like a dream. The room was lit by a single spotlight set in the ceiling. Its strong beam of light was directed onto a small circular dais about two feet off the floor.

  Standing on this dais was a naked woman; naked, that is, apart from a pair of white, patent leather high heels. The heels were so high her feet were almost on tip-toe. They needed to be. The woman's hands had been strapped into a pair of padded white leather cuffs, suspended from a chain of bright chrome links dangling from the ceiling above her head. Without the shoes the woman's feet would hardly have touched the base of the dais.

  The woman's body had a strange hue, a bluish-white all over. As Melinda's eyes got used to the light she realised that this was only partially caused by the colour of the spotlight. In fact the woman's body had been covered in a thick white pancake of make-up. Even the triangle of her pubis, which had been completely shaved, was as uniformly white as the rest of her body. At first Melinda thought the woman's head had been shaved too, until she realised that her hair had been tucked up under a tight-fitting white rubber cap, like a swimming cap. The cap emphasised the woman's remarkably beautiful face, her high cheekbones and strong fleshy lips.

  Tentatively, Melinda walked towards the woman. She should have fled, run back upstairs to the party and forgotten she'd been in this room, or seen what she had seen. Instead, in a daze, her heart beating so fast she could hear it, she walked forward. Her excitement was absolute, her body shivering.

  The woman's eyes looked at Melinda. There was no way of telling whether she was blonde or brunette, but her eyes were a dark brown. They looked on with no expression, showing no interest, no concern, and surprisingly, considering her position, no pain.

  'Beautiful, isn't it?'

  The voice startled Melinda so much, she jumped back in alarm.

  'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.' Walter stood in the shadows. The room must have had another entrance as he had not come in by the door behind her.

  'Yes,' was all that Melinda could think of saying. She tried to get her breath back.

  'Woman in White,' he said as though announcing the title of a sculpture. 'Tell me what it makes you feel.' He said 'it' instead of 'she' as though the woman was only an object.

  It was Melinda who should be asking the questions, she thought, not Walter. Her mind was full of them. She looked into Walter's hypnotic eyes again. Even in the shadows she could see them clearly like they were their own light source.

  'Please tell me...' he said.

  'You want the truth?'

  'It would interest me a great deal.'

  'The truth is it makes me incredibly excited.' Melinda used 'it' too.

  'Why?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Yes you do,' he said firmly.

  Melinda knew precisely. She said nothing.

  Walter extended his hand. He ran his forefinger down between the white woman's breasts, and then up round over her breast to her nipple. The nipple was caked with make-up, more so than elsewhere so as to transform its darker brown to the same white as the rest of her body.

  'Tell me why.'

  'May I touch?'

  'All good sculpture should be touched. Didn't your Henry Moore say that?'

  'Sculpture?'

  'These are my sculpture rooms.'

  Melinda cupped her hand to the woman's breast. Her breast was large, fat and heavy. Melinda had never felt the weight of a woman's breast before. She felt a surge of excitement course through her body. When she let go her hand was smeared with the white make-up. Her body was throbbing. It felt like it did during sex.

  'Please tell me,' Walter persisted.

  'What?'

  'You're turned on, aren't you?'

  'Yes.'

  'Tell me why.'

  She didn't need to think. She knew. 'Because I wish it were me. Tied like that.'

  'You find that exciting?'

  'Yes.' It was true.

  'Good.'

  'Why good? What is all this?'

  'I wanted you to see it. I had the staff direct you down here.'

  'I might not have opened the doors. I nearly didn't.'

  'But you did. That was the choice. Your choice.'

  'I don't understand.'

  'You are a beautiful woman, Melinda. And I am a very rich man.'

  'What has that got to do with it?'

  'Rich men are used to getting what they want.'

  'And what do you want?' She looked into those hypnotic eyes again and immediately found herself under their spell.

  'Some rich men collect art, rare books, postage stamps. I collect women.' He paused. A thousand questions welled up in Melinda's mind but his eyes stilled them all. 'Tomorrow I'd like you to have breakfast with me. Just the two of us. Alone. I have a proposition I want to put to you.'

  'A proposition?'

  'I'll explain everything in the morning.'

  He looked at the Woman in White. As soon as his eyes left her, she felt as though she had been released, suddenly cut loose from her bondage, freed to think for herself. She remembered what the brunette had said about the X-list. Was that all part of this?

  'I think we'd better go back to the party,' he said.

  'What do you want from me?' Melinda said bravely.

  'Tomorrow...'

  'Tell me now.'

  'Look at her.' For the first time he said 'her' and not 'it'. 'That's what I want from you. Your submission.'

  Melinda felt a flood of emotion overwhelm her. It was as though Walter had walked into her dreams, read the books of her secrets. She felt exposed. Open. Prised open.

  'How did you know?' she mumbled, not at all sure she wanted to know.

  'I knew from the first moment I saw you.'

  Walter took her hand and led her out of the room, into the dimly lit corridor. He locked the door behind them.

  Chapter Two

  'Unzip me, darl
ing, I have a surprise for you,' Melinda said. She had told her husband nothing about what had happened between her and Walter. She hadn't the slightest idea why not.

  'I think he's going to do it, Mel. I really think he is. Last thing he said to me was that he's looking forward to working with me. His exact words. That must be good.'

  'Great,' she said.

  He pulled the zip down. He was searching for his pyjamas in their case. He stopped when the dress fell to the floor.

  'Oh Mel,' he said.

  'You like?'

  'Magnificent.'

  They were in the west wing of the house, a huge bedroom complete with its own log fire and an antique carved four-poster bed. Melinda saw her husband's eyes on her body. Hooking her thumbs into the thin sides of the lacy knickers she pulled them down her thighs until they reached her knees and fell, of their own accord, to the floor. She stepped out of them.

  Her excitement surged. She knelt on the floor, her hands resting on her knees, her head bowed. It was the beginning. Mark would know what it meant. It was a ritual; their ritual. And tonight, with her mind full of the Woman in White, of Walter's eyes, she needed it, needed the comfort of knowing. She felt her body trembling with her need.

  'Where are they?' her husband snapped, his voice cold and hard, as she wanted it to be.

  'On the bed,' she replied almost in a whisper.

  She had laid the six white silk bands out carefully on the foot of the bed.

  'So they are.'

  She could not see him, but she heard him pull off the rest of his clothes. She knew he would be erect.

  He picked up one of the bands of silk and came round behind her. She raised her head and he slipped the silk over her eyes. Almost more than anything that followed, she loved this moment. Deprived of sight, plunged into darkness. It was her dream after all. He tied the silk tightly. She could feel his cock nudging between her shoulder blades.

  'Open your mouth,' he said.

  She obeyed. She heard him walk over to the bed and return with a second band of silk. He fed it into her mouth. She could feel the silk on her tongue. It became wet instantly. It was not a proper gag. It did not physically prevent her from speaking. It symbolically prevented her, however. That was enough.

  Mark's cock must ache, it was so hard. It had become moist. Their ritual always made him hard. 'Stand up,' he ordered.

  Melinda obeyed immediately.

  'Walk forward.' In front of her was the log fire. She had no way of knowing how many steps away it was. She walked without hesitation, trusting him. 'Stop,' he said.

  She could feel the heat of the fire on her naked thighs, and on her belly and breasts under the basque.

  'Come on, Melinda, you know what to do.' Immediately, she parted her legs, planting her feet wide apart. Then, bending over, she grasped each ankle in her hands. In this position she knew her sex was completely exposed, her labia opened, the corona of her anus on view. She could feel the heat of the fire on her shoulders.

  He took his time. He always took his time. That was the point. The stockings and the black basque made the position she was in more alluring, the tight black suspenders straining to hold the stockings, her plump arse so white by contrast. He would be able to see a wetness glistening between her legs.

  Melinda wanted to beg. The wet silk in her mouth reminded her that she must not.

  Mark found what she had tucked away in the side pocket of the case. She heard him take it out. Her back began to ache, but it was a pain she welcomed. It was a pain she revelled in. She grasped her ankles tighter, feeling the harshness of the nylon on the palms of her hands.

  She heard his feet on the carpet. He stood right behind her. He poured the oil onto the neat round target of her anus. It was cold. In her position it was able to pool there before it overflowed the banks and ran down into her labia. She could not suppress a moan. He dipped the tip of the vibrator into the middle of the little puddle of oil.

  'This is what you want, isn't it?'

  She moaned a 'yes'.

  Slowly he pushed the vibrator down into her arse, twisting the hard plastic shell in his hand, inching it down. It filled her as it always did. Violated her, a violation she wanted. It made her gasp for breath. When it was deep inside her he turned on the motor.

  Vibrations coursed through her body. She felt her clitoris, only inches away from the source of vibration, quivering. Her cunt quivered too. She could hardly bear the pleasure. Her breasts had fallen out of the bra of the basque. They seemed to be shaking too. She knew she could not stop herself from coming. As she felt her orgasm powering into every nerve in her body, her mind saw the Woman in White, saw her eyes, saw her submission.

  Melinda screamed as her climax locked her muscles and she fought not to collapse onto the floor.

  Mark turned the vibrator off. He did not take it out. It stuck vertically up like the stump of a tree. He was wanking himself, using the fluid his cock had produced. She knew better than to move until he ordered her to do so. Little aftershocks of orgasm trembled through her.

  'A four-poster. Very convenient. I think it's time for you to please me, don't you?' He removed the hard plastic phallus.

  She straightened up. The pain in her back was so close to the feelings in her sex that they seemed to be joined. She felt her nerves kick out another shock of pleasure so strong that it took her by surprise.

  He took her hand and guided her to the bed. She lay down on her back. Immediately she felt the white silk being tied round her wrist. It felt cool. She was hot. The heat of the fire and the heat of her body had made her hot. Her arm was dragged by the silk up over her head, then out to one side. In the darkness she felt a surge of passion. Silk being wound around her other wrist. Cool silk. Tied tight. Her other arm jerked up. Both arms were spread apart and tied to the posts of the bed.

  Now her ankles. She kept her legs pressed together. When he pulled her leg over to the bed post to be tied, she moved the other leg too, stretching herself across the bed to keep her thighs closed.

  He wound the silk around her other ankle. Knotted it. Then he pulled, forcing her legs apart, opening her. It was the moment she loved. Her heartbeat surged, her breath coming in shallow pants. She struggled to keep her legs together, but inexorably they were opened. He tied the silk to the last bedpost. She was spread-eagled on the bed.

  He tortured her. Was it torture? His fingernails pinching at her nipples. His fingers wanking the hard, swollen knob of her clitoris. His tongue in her ear. Never knowing where he would touch her next. She writhed on the bed, unable to control herself, arching her body up towards him, trying to use it to ask him to take her. His mouth kissed and licked and sucked at her. It was hot and wet. It sucked on her neck, on her thigh, on her breast. It sucked at the satin and lace of the basque, at the shimmery nylon of her stockings. It made her want.

  In the darkness behind the blindfold she saw Walter's eyes. She heard his voice. 'Your submission...'

  She was on the brink of coming again but she knew he would not let her. His finger would not stay long enough on her clitoris to bring her off. It would tease. She struggled against her bonds, loving the feel of them holding her so tightly. She shook her head from side to side, wanting to scream at him to put his cock inside her, to fuck her, to take her. But instead she only gasped.

  He knelt between her bound legs. He wanked his cock slowly in his hand. As always there was so much temptation. He could come over her belly, watch his spunk shooting out in great white gobs, let her feel it splash onto her flesh. He could push his cock into her mouth, past the white silk. He'd done that before. Or he could plunge between her legs, into that hot, wet cunt.

  She arched up off the bed again, her limbs fighting her bonds to allow her cunt to get nearer to his cock. The silk was so tight, so unyielding. She was so close to the edge of the precipice of her orgasm that she only needed the faintest of touches. She tried to bring her thighs together to give herself that touch, but her legs were tied
too far apart.

  He looked down at her struggles. Her cunt lips were wet, wet from the oil that had trickled from her anus, and wet from her own excitement. The long crease of her sex, from puckered anus to pink clitoris, glistened.

  He had no real choice. He could feel her cunt radiating heat. He couldn't ignore it. With all his strength he threw himself onto her bound helpless body, his cock instantly finding passage; sliding into her cunt like part of a well-oiled machine. She was lubricated with her own wetness and he had never felt her so hot. As his cock hit the neck of her womb, she came. He felt her body shudder, felt the walls of her cunt contracting around his fleshy sword; heard her wail, helplessly, hopelessly, every muscle of her body locked, fighting her bonds. In seconds, in three or four quick-darting strokes, he was coming too; jamming his cock as deep as it would go, its base grinding against her clitoris, then waiting, not moving at all, letting his cock spasm to jet his spunk deep into her dark, wet cunt.

  There were two cameras. Neither Melinda nor Mark had seen them. They were well hidden. There were four microphones equally well hidden. The sound quality was exceptional, but then he had specified that it should be. He wanted to be able to hear every word. And what Walter Hammerton wanted, he got.

  He watched with intellectual interest but he was not, at the moment, excited. He lay on his bed in a silk robe, propped up against his pillows with the remote control beside him allowing him to switch from one camera to the other, and zoom in on the figures on the screen.

  He had sensed something in Melinda when he had first seen her. Something rare. Now he saw it confirmed. He smiled to himself in anticipation of pleasures to come. She was an exquisitely beautiful woman. Her unusual sexual proclivity was an unexpected bonus. Most women had to be carefully trained. They all had the potential but not all realised it. Melinda was a natural. Walter knew she had initiated the ritual he was watching now; her husband enjoyed playing his part but this was a game played by Melinda's rules. She would need no training.

  Walter concentrated on the television monitor as Mark rolled off the prostrate body of his wife. Picking up the remote control again, he had the camera zoom in on her open sex, exposed so graphically by the bondage of her legs. The gash was red, wet, wrinkled and used. It filled the screen, her labia so thick and puffy they looked almost unreal. Walter felt a pang of excitement. Melinda lay completely still, not struggling now.