Melinda and the Master Read online

  Opening his robe, Walter circled his cock with his hand. It was slowly unfurling.

  He switched to the second camera as Mark untied the white silk gag and pulled it from his wife's mouth. 'I'm not finished with you,' Mark said.

  'No, please,' Melinda said quietly.

  'I'm going to leave you like this.'

  'No, please. You're hurting me. No more please,' she said, meaning the exact opposite.

  'That's what you like,' Mark said. He found the vibrator. He held it up in front of her eyes.

  'Please...' She struggled, the silk cutting into her flesh.

  'You have no choice.'

  Mark positioned it between the open lips of her cunt. Walter switched cameras again and zoomed in to watch the hard plastic shell being pushed between her labia.

  'Nooo...' she screamed, as it drove into her over-sensitised body.

  Walter was completely hard now. He wanked himself aggressively. He could have picked up the phone and had one of half-a-dozen women come up to his room instantly to do whatever he bid, but this was private. Melinda was special. He wanted to be alone. He could hear the vibrator hum, the sound muffled by Melinda's sex, as Mark turned its motor on. He could see her body beginning to tremble again, filling the large television screen.

  He watched intently as Mark knelt over her face, holding the vibrator with one hand, feeding his cock into her mouth with the other. His cock was still flaccid, she sucked it all in eagerly. She reeled in the balls, until they were both in her mouth, and her lips were up against his pubic hair. Walter could see her using her tongue, and watched as her cheeks bulged, as Mark grew rapidly. It was not long before her mouth could not contain him all. His balls spilled out between her lips. The camera picked up every detail.

  Walter saw Melinda's body arching up off the bed, her muscles taut. The vibrator was bringing her off again. She was helpless to prevent it, to prevent anything that was done to her. That was, Walter knew, the feeling she loved. She wanted to be free to tear the vibrator away. At the same time the feeling of being unable to, of being helpless, of having no will, no control, was the feeling that swamped her body, as it did now, making her come hard over the head of the unyielding plastic shell.

  As he watched her orgasm rake through her nerves, stretching her like an elastic band against her bonds, Walter smiled to himself. He had trained so many women to love these pleasures, to allow themselves to be bound and spread and opened, to free themselves as a result of their bonds.

  The Master - Walter liked the sobriquet and encouraged its use - watched as Mark pulled his cock out of Melinda's mouth and started to wank. As soon as her orgasm subsided, and Mark let the vibrator slide from her body of its own accord, she reached up to lick at his balls. His balls were obviously sensitive. Mark was coming again, wanking himself while Melinda licked his balls. He knelt above her face, staring down at her spread-eagled body encased in black satin and lace, her legs sheathed in stockings pulled taut by suspenders, her fine pubic hair now wet with sweat. Suddenly his cock spat spunk out over her breasts and the lacy constraints of the basque.

  Walter spunked too, almost at the same moment, his fist hammering at his cock. Hot, pearly-white spunk flooded over the circle of his thumb and finger, like lava from a volcano, flowing out from the summit...

  The sun shone brightly through the gaps in the heavy curtains at the bedroom windows. It was the beams of light that woke Melinda from a light unsatisfying sleep. She stretched her body like a cat. She felt a soreness in her muscles, which was not surprising considering how they had been abused last night.

  But her first thought was of Walter. His deep, calm voice, those ice blue eyes, and his 'proposition'. She could not suppress a shiver of anticipation.

  Melinda slipped out of bed without disturbing Mark, who was still sound asleep. She found a black silk teddy and pulled it over her naked body, then wrapped a matching black negligee over her shoulders. The lace panels of the teddy, on either side of her hips and over her breasts, gave tantalising glimpses of her milky flesh when the negligee wafted open.

  She had no idea how she was going to find Walter, but as soon as she stepped quietly out of the bedroom door the problem was solved for her.

  'This way, madam,' a white-coated servant said. Presumably Walter had stationed him outside the door to wait for her emergence.

  Melinda followed him along the beamed Tudor corridors into the central part of the house. After a considerable walk they finally arrived at two large oak doors. The servant knocked on one as a prelude to opening it. He stood aside to let Melinda through, then closed it after her.

  Walter's bedroom was vast. He was sitting at a circular rosewood breakfast table in front of the main window, overlooking the gravelled drive and the two wings of the house on either side. The strong August sun was streaming through the leaded glass, back-lighting his head and making his white hair appear like an iridescent halo.

  He got up immediately. His eyes locked on hers. 'My dear, how lovely you look. Please...' He indicated a chair at the table, and pulled it out for her. She sat down. 'What can we get you? Coffee, orange juice, champagne?'

  The idea of champagne appealed. This was such an unlikely adventure, champagne for breakfast seemed somehow an appropriate way to begin it.

  'I would love champagne,' she said.

  Walter picked up the cordless phone on the table and ordered quickly.

  'Coffee meantime?' he asked.

  She nodded.

  The table was already set for breakfast. A large Georgian silver coffee pot sat on a small electric warmer. Walter poured steaming black liquid into a white porcelain cup and passed it to Melinda. As she took it he noticed a red ring around her wrist. 'What have you done to yourself, my dear?' he said solicitously.

  'Nothing,' she said quickly, managing not to blush and keeping the other wrist, which was equally marked, out of sight. Unconsciously, she crossed her marked ankles too. The marks never lasted long, but last night she had struggled harder than usual. She knew why. The reason sat in front of her.

  'Well, it is a beautiful morning.' Walter did not pursue the subject of her wrists.

  'Yes.'

  'Did you sleep well?'

  Before she could answer, a knock on the door heralded the arrival of a servant. He brought in a bottle of Krug, in a silver wine cooler. He set it on the breakfast table with two champagne flutes. The bottle was already opened.

  'I'll pour,' Walter said, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand. He poured the wine without spilling a drop, his hand steady. They clinked their glasses. 'Chin, chin. Isn't that what you say in England?'

  'Not any more.' She smiled, sipping the wine. 'So good...'

  'I'm glad you like it.' He paused for a moment, then continued, 'In business, I like to come straight to the point. Would you mind if I do the same this morning?'

  'No.' She had hoped he would do just that.

  'My proposition. I find you a very beautiful woman, as I said to you last night.'

  'You hardly know me.'

  'Beauty is something that appreciates with time, I agree. But it is my experience that initial impressions never lie. I wanted you from the moment I set eyes on you.' His eyes looked into hers again. She felt their incredible power. 'I would like you to become part of my collection. To be with me. Exclusively. For one year. You will do whatever I tell you to do. Without question. I will ask you to do some unspeakable things. You saw an example last night. I don't want you to have any illusions.'

  'What about my husband?'

  Walter studied her face, leaving a long pause before he spoke. 'That is an interesting question, my dear. Of all the questions you could have asked, you ask only about your husband. Not about my demands. Not about what will happen to you. Only about your husband. Why is that?'

  Now it was Melinda who hesitated. 'The truth?'

  'You were truthful last night.'

  Melinda thought carefully for a moment, trying to analyse why sh
e was feeling so excited again, why her heart was beating like a steam hammer under her ribs.

  'The idea...' She hesitated, then started again. 'You are a very attractive man. Very knowledgeable. Very worldly-wise. The idea of giving myself to you makes me feel... alive. I don't want to know the details.'

  'You must give me control.'

  'Yes, I know.'

  'You will have no will, Melinda, no ability to choose.'

  'That's what I want.'

  Her heart surged again. She had lain awake all night thinking about Walter, about the woman bound in the special room in the basement, about what it all meant. She had played games with her husband, games she loved but in the end they were only pale shadows of what she craved for, what her body wanted, and what her mind had, for so long, cherished and cultivated in fantasy. The truth was, her fantasy was about to become reality.

  'And my husband?' she said.

  'Leave your husband to me.'

  'If it were a few weeks. But a whole year...'

  'Shh,' he said firmly. 'I will tell your husband that you are going to work for me for a year. I will tell him I have decided to give him my legal work. If he does not wish to lose you for a year then I will find another firm of lawyers. There are many. Not all with such compliant wives.'

  Walter sipped his champagne.

  'He won't believe you,' Melinda said anxiously.

  'Look into my eyes, Melinda,' he said firmly. She obeyed. Suddenly she forgot everything. She saw the Woman in White, her arms stretched above her head, as though she was reflected in those ice blue eyes. 'I will make him believe me. I can do that. Do you understand?'

  'Yes. I think so.'

  He looked away. For the second time, she felt as though she had been released from invisible shackles.

  'In one week.' His tone had changed. They were no longer equals. 'You will come to my London house. You must wear nothing of your own. Nothing. Not a hairpin. No make-up. No nail varnish. The servants will bring you clothes and shoes to wear before you leave. You must be punctual. If you have not arrived on time, I will assume you have changed your mind. Will you change your mind?'

  'No.'

  'Now go back to your room and tell your husband to come and see me.'

  He handed her a white card. On it was printed an address. Written by hand were the words, 'Seven p.m. 26th.' It was exactly one week from the day.

  'Go now. I won't see you again before you leave. Next time, the circumstances will be different.'

  The words thrilled Melinda. She got up and went to the door.

  'You could make me, couldn't you?'

  'Make you what?'

  'Make me come to the house. Anything you wanted.'

  'Yes.'

  'Why don't you?'

  'Because, my dear, that would be no fun at all...'

  Mark could hardly contain his excitement. He used the phone in the Rolls that had picked them up from the improvised helicopter pad to book a table at their favourite restaurant. Getting Walter's business was cause for a major celebration, he told Melinda. Like Walter's party, no expense spared. The whole journey home he talked endlessly about Walter's company, Walter's ambitions, Walter's money, and Walter's magnetic personality and charm.

  Melinda inserted the odd word of approbation into Mark's monologue. But they were unnecessary. Mark's enthusiasm was total. It was not until they reached home - and were no longer in the company of Walter's employees - that she thought it safe to broach the other aspect of Walter's offer.

  'Did Walter mention me?' she asked tentatively.

  'What do you mean?' Mark said as they unpacked their overnight bag in the bedroom.

  'He said he was going to...'

  'Oh that. Yes, yes, he did.' He made it sound as though it were something of no importance.

  'And?' Melinda persisted.

  'Well, it's good, isn't it? I mean you wanted to go to work again. I'm sure you'll find it fascinating.' His tone of voice had changed. He spoke as though repeating lines he had learnt.

  'You don't mind?'

  'Why should I mind?' He looked astonished at the thought.

  'I'll be away...'

  'Walter explained all that, darling. He explained everything. Everything. It will be wonderful for you. An opportunity. And I'm going to be so busy. All the work I'll be doing. I mean it's ideal really, isn't it? Ideal.'

  Melinda could see Walter's eyes, see him coaching Mark; getting him to repeat the perfectly reasonable grounds for making no objection.

  'Did he tell you what I'd be doing?'

  'Sort of personal assistant. It'll be so interesting for you. Exciting.' But his voice reflected no feeling. It was flat and unemotional.

  Melinda hesitated, wondering whether to push it any further, but fascinated to know what else Walter had said.

  'You'll be starting in one week's time,' Mark continued in the same tone. 'Seven p.m. on the 26th.'

  'Yes,' she said quietly.

  'It's an opportunity. And I'm going to be so busy. All the work I'll be doing. I'll hardly miss you at all.'

  'For a whole year.'

  'Yes, seven p.m. on the 26th, for a year. That's the agreement. Walter explained everything.'

  'He's a very persuasive man, isn't he?'

  'Oh very. Very charming. Did you notice his eyes?'

  'Yes.'

  'So blue...' Mark said. He had hardly moved since they had begun the conversation, standing by the foot of their bed, staring out of the window, not looking directly at Melinda. He lapsed into silence.

  'Mark...'

  'It's all right, darling. Walter explained everything.'

  Melinda felt a sudden chill. Walter Hammerton was a powerful man in every sense. He had done what he said he would do. He had convinced Mark that the sudden absence of his wife for a whole year was something to which he should make no objection. Mark was not going to save her from herself.

  'Unzip me,' she said, turning her back to her husband. She had worn a light, flowery, yellow cotton dress for the return journey, its long zip extending down her back. 'Oh... sorry.' He snapped out of his trance-like state. He pulled the zip down.

  Melinda shucked the dress off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She was not wearing a bra. Her breasts trembled as she stooped to pick up the dress, her silky white panties clinging to her pert firm arse. They were cut high on the hip, the band of material that passed between her legs not wide enough to cover the whole plane of her crotch.

  'I'm going to have a bath,' Mark said.

  The thought of Walter had started an engine running in Melinda's body. She could feel it throbbing like the engine of a ship, deep down below deck. 'Take your clothes off then,' she said, unbuttoning his shirt, then pressing her naked breasts against his hairless chest.

  'Melinda,' he protested.

  'What's the matter? Don't you like to feel my tits?'

  'Stop it,' he said, pulling away.

  Melinda cupped her breasts in her hands. 'I'm getting wet,' she said, squeezing the round hillocks of flesh as though they were made of sponge. 'Look how hard my nipples are.' As if to demonstrate, she took each one between thumb and forefinger and held it up, suspending her breasts by them, stretching them out till she felt the delicious sharpness of pain.

  Mark's eyes watched her. 'No...' he said.

  'No what?' she asked innocuously.

  'We can't.'

  'What do you mean, we can't?' She released her tortured breasts and stepped into his arms again, her hand feeling for his cock under his trousers. It was flaccid.

  'We can't. It wouldn't be right.'

  She squirmed her hand against his crotch. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Stop it.' He pulled her hand away.

  'What's the matter, Mark?'

  His face was creased in a worried frown. His eyes looked shifty, moving from side to side as though he expected, at any minute, someone to burst through the door.

  'It wouldn't be right. You know that.'


  'Why on earth not?'

  'Not now.'

  'Now?'

  'Now. Now you're going to work with Walter. He explained it all to me. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be proper. We can't.'

  'Walter?'

  'Yes. It wouldn't be right. That's what he said.'

  'What's it got to do with Walter?'

  Her words hung in the air. Mark did not meet her eyes. He turned and fled into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

  She could answer her own questions. She could guess precisely what Walter had to do with it. Everything. For the next year Walter was going to be her life. He would own her and control her. His power would be total. And it had already begun. He'd extended his power into their bedroom; no other man was going to take Melinda, not even her husband. Not now.

  Melinda shuddered - someone running over her grave, as her father used to say. But it was not her grave that was being interfered with. It was something deeper. Walter Hammerton had reached into the depths of her sexual psyche and found her secrets. They lay open and exposed in front of him, in front of those ice blue, cold, unblinking eyes. The Master's eyes.

  Chapter Three

  Melinda unzipped the small black nylon bag, like an airline bag, that the servant had delivered to her room before they left Walter Hammerton's estate. It had sat in the corner of the bedroom for the last week, a silent reminder of what was to come.

  The week had seemed endless; each day dragging by, each hour a new lesson in tedium. But now, at long, long last, it was time.

  What she found in the bag was not a surprise. She'd examined its contents as soon as she'd been left alone in the house after their return from the estate. There was a black velour tracksuit, in a very plain design, black cotton bra and knickers, both equally functional, and a pair of simple, soft black suede shoes with a low, almost non-existent, heel. Carefully, deliberately, she laid all the items out on the bed.