Melinda and the Master Read online

  He opened a drawer in the bedside table. At first she didn't realise what it was he took out - a piece of material shaped like a party mask, but with no holes for the eyes. A blindfold. He was going to blindfold her. As the realisation struck her, another wave of exquisite sensation rushed through her body. She was trembling, but not with fear.

  He fitted the blindfold over her eyes, the tight elastic holding it firmly against her face, the material moulded to her nose and cheeks. Darkness descended. She would never forget that sensation for as long as she lived. She felt a rush of pure sexual passion. Now she could only hear and feel. She could hear her heart beating so fast she thought it might explode.

  She heard a rustle of material and felt something being wrapped around her wrist and knotted tight. Then her wrist was pulled back over her head and to one side. It was tied down. The experience was repeated with her other wrist. Then her ankles. He spread her legs wide apart; so wide she could not close her thighs at all. He tied her tight. Spread-eagled. Spread open. She was helpless.

  Noises stopped. There was only silence. And the blackness.

  There was only the beating of her own heart, and the sound of her shallow breathing.

  There was only sensation. Her breasts heaving, her clitoris alive. It felt like a tiny snake between her legs, hot and hard. It felt like it was moving.

  She knew he was looking down at her. She knew he was standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes on the long crease of her sex which lay exposed and open to him. She wanted him to see it. She arched her hips off the black sheets pointing her cunt at him, her young wet cunt, so sparsely covered with hair that he would be able to see every detail, every line. She wanted to tell him to look at it. But something told her she should not speak.

  That was when she came. Suddenly, unexpectedly, an orgasm coursed through her body like a current of electricity, flashing out from her throbbing clitoris to every nerve in her taut, bound body. Spontaneous combustion. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. She rolled her head from side to side. She fought her bonds, wanting to feel their constriction, that feeling sending another shock of sensation sizzling through her prone body.

  She would never have believed it possible. To come like this, without even being touched. Only his eyes had touched her.

  'Take me, take me. Fuck me,' she wanted to scream, but knew she must not.

  Like a bolt of lightning, his finger touched her clitoris. No other part of her body, just the tiny snake that still throbbed with the aftermath of her orgasm. He was not gentle. He pressed it down hard against her pubic bone, then, with equal force, pushed it up and down.

  'Ah...' she moaned, pulling against the bonds, her body as taut as an archer's bow.

  'You like it,' he said. It was not a question.

  'Yes, yes, yes.'

  He was bringing her off against his finger; relentlessly, unyieldingly. She felt her body arch again, the sensation too much to bear, the orgasm stronger, harder, higher. She screamed aloud, unable to stop herself. It was the bonds that were doing it, her bondage, her inability to do anything but take.

  'Bitch,' he said, 'you love it you little bitch.' He took his finger away. 'Don't you?'

  'Yes, yes, I love it.'

  He fell on her like a wolf on its prey. His cock plunged into her cunt, right up so deep she thought it would fill her entirely. He moved so rapidly she could hardly believe it. In and out like a piston, faster and faster. She could not believe the feeling, the heat of his cock, her own wetness. Her cunt felt like a river; felt like she'd spunked. In the blackness she felt everything: felt every inch of his hard shaft; felt the stem banging at her clitoris; his balls at her arse; felt the glans at the neck of her womb. She could feel his hands groping for her tits, then pinching her nipples.

  She met every stroke, pushing off the bed as far as the bonds would allow. He was so deep. The first time, she kept saying to herself, it felt like the first time. As if she'd never been fucked before. It was so perfect. It had never felt like this before. She had never come like this before.

  She was coming again, rolling her head from side to side again. She fought the bonds that tied her to the bed, knowing now that the constraint was turning her on, intensifying all her feelings. She loved it. Loved being bound, being taken, not having a will.

  'Oh, oh...' she gasped.

  'I'm going to spunk in you,' he said, his voice as hard as his cock.

  'Do it,' she begged.

  She felt his whole body tense. He pushed his cock as deep as it would go, arching his back so it would penetrate as deep as he could get it. She moaned again. Then he pulled it back slightly, found a place and stopped. He waited. With all her strength she squeezed. Deprived of her ability to use her lips, she concentrated on her cunt, squeezing it around the hot flesh inside her, swooning with pleasure as she did. He was as hard as a bone.

  'Yes,' he said.

  She felt his cock jerk and his spunk splash out into her cunt. In her mind's eye she could see it, pulsing and spurting great gobs of white spunk into the sticky depths of her body. She felt her body trembling, from tip to toe; trembling and quivering as another orgasm was wrung from her nerves by the hot spunk shooting inside her.

  'Oh god,' she screamed, her body stretched taut by her bonds, unable to do anything but cling to his cock and feel her orgasm raking through every nerve she possessed.

  It was a long time before the feelings ebbed away, before her body went slack and his cock slipped from her cunt. But he did not untie her.

  'You want more?' he asked, pressing his lips into her ear and speaking in a whisper.

  'Yes. Yes,' she said passionately, never having wanted anything so much in her life.

  He got up off the bed. She heard him crossing the room and opening a cupboard. He came back to the bed.

  'This is only the beginning...' he said. And it was.

  Melinda had lost track of time. Her whole mind was concentrated on the discomfort of her body. Just as in the taxi, her consciousness was restricted to purely physical concerns. She could not think of anything beyond ways of easing the constant aches in her legs and shoulders. She could not begin to think about what was going to happen to her next.

  The door opened suddenly, making her start. She hadn't heard any footsteps in the corridor outside. Marion strode into the room. The expression on her face was restored to one of unconcern. She did not look directly into Melinda's eyes.

  'You are required,' she said, leaning over to unbuckle the thin strap from the front of the collar. 'Stand up.'

  Melinda obeyed. Her aching muscles protested at this sudden activity. She could not suppress a moan.

  Marion stood behind her and began freeing her from the rest of the leather harness. If she noticed that the thin leather strap was stained and wet where it had rested between Melinda's thighs, she made no reference to it. She freed Melinda's arms and pulled the collar from her throat, dropping it on the pile of clothes that still lay on the floor. Gingerly, Melinda lowered her arms. The rush of blood to her limbs was a surprisingly pleasant sensation.

  Marion went to the inner door in the room and unlocked it. The door revealed a small bathroom. The walls were covered in large white tiles and it contained a cubicle shower, a toilet, a wash basin and a small dressing table and chair. It was roughly the same size as the room in which Melinda had been imprisoned: one of the old stables divided in two down the middle.

  'Shower. Use the toilet,' Marion ordered.

  Melinda walked through into the bathroom. She sat on the loo and peed, not realising her need had been so urgent. Marion stood in the doorway, watching her. Even this most private of activities was to be public from now on.

  A little uncertainly, Melinda turned on the shower. Having been deprived of the ability to do anything for herself, even stand up, it suddenly felt strange to be free to reach out and adjust the mixer tap. She stepped under the cascade of water from the powerful shower and let the spray play over her body. It was not a free
dom that would last for long, she knew.

  'Quickly,' Marion snapped.

  Melinda soaped herself with a bar of soap from a little tray at the side of the cubicle, then rinsed the lather away. She stepped out of the shower and took the single bath towel that was on a towel rail by the wash basin. In a few minutes she was dry.

  Another woman had entered, and was standing behind Marion, watching Melinda dry herself.

  'Ready?' the woman asked. The question was addressed to Marion not Melinda.

  'Yes,' Marion said, standing aside to let the woman into the bathroom. She was young, no more than twenty, with long fair hair tied in a ponytail, and a small round face. Her body was small too, short and very slim. She was dressed in a pair of shiny yellow Lycra leggings over a leotard in the same material. The V-neckline of the leotard revealed little cleavage. She was carrying a black plastic box, like a tool box, which she set on the dressing table and opened. Inside a concertina of compartments were stuffed with every description of make-up.

  Marion took the towel from Melinda. 'Sit,' she ordered, indicating the chair.

  'She's a pretty one,' the make-up woman said. 'Good figure.'

  Marion did not reply. Melinda sat on the chair in front of the dressing table.

  'How long have I got?'

  'They've only just started,' Marion said. She turned, and paused before leaving the room. 'You know you are not permitted to speak,' she said to Melinda. Melinda nodded.

  Marion left the two women alone. The outer door of the room slammed shut.

  The make-up woman pulled an elasticated towelling band over Melinda's forehead to keep the hair off her face. As it went on Melinda's face was tilted back and she noticed the bathroom too had a video camera set in the junction of wall and ceiling. It was pointed at her.

  'Now then,' the woman said, like a painter looking at a blank canvas.

  The woman began to apply make-up to Melinda's face. She worked quickly, expertly. Eyebrows, eye-liner, mascara, a blusher for her cheeks. It felt strange not to be able to see what she was doing. There was no mirror in the bathroom. The woman worked on her fingernails, coating them with a red varnish, a deep crimson red. She applied the same varnish to Melinda's toes, kneeling on the floor, paying, apparently, not the least attention to Melinda's nakedness. Last of all she applied lipstick, brushing it on thickly.

  'Very good,' she said to herself, standing back to admire her work after she'd brushed out Melinda's shining blonde hair. She adjusted the eye shadow slightly on one eye, and added a little more colour to the blusher on one cheek. 'That's it,' she declared, packing the tools of her trade back into the plastic box. She closed it, and without a word walked out of the bathroom, leaving Melinda on her own. She heard the outer door open and close.

  Throughout the procedure, Melinda had remained totally still, sitting with her hands folded in her naked lap, except when they had been required for varnishing. The make-up woman had worked on her as if she were inanimate, inert. She had looked at her as a piece of work, but she had not seen her as a person.

  Alone, but this time unbound, Melinda did not move. She remained totally passive, as though her body was bound by a thousand invisible cords. That was what she wanted. To move would involve a conscious act, a decision, however trivial. But decisions were no longer hers to make. She had gifted them willingly to someone else.

  She looked up into the video camera. She could feel the make-up on her face but had no idea what she looked like. She imagined her lipstick matched the crimson red of her finger and toenails, but what else had been done to her she did not know. She had been made-up to conform to someone else's idea of how she should appear. Her face, like her body, no longer belonged to her. It was for someone else to determine how she should look, what she should wear, when she bathed, when she used the toilet. None of these decisions belonged to her any more.

  To be done to, not to do.

  Chapter Five

  Time passed. With nothing to measure it by, Melinda had no way of knowing for how long, but it dragged by more slowly than when she had been bound in the harness. Then, she had had pain to contend with, to take up the slack. Now, she had nothing but her own determination to remain perfectly still.

  The outer door opened.

  'Come in here,' Marion's voice ordered.

  Melinda obeyed, walking back into the bare room. Marion closed and locked the bathroom door. She had changed her clothes. Her shapely figure was now wrapped in a full-length black velvet evening dress, its halter neck leaving her arms and back completely bare. Her make-up had changed too. Her eyes were much heavier and darker, her mouth a rich red. From the hem of the long dress, the toes of a pair of satin evening shoes glittered with diamante.

  'Put your hands behind your back with your wrists crossed,' Marion said.

  Melinda obeyed at once, and gladly. She knew it meant she was going to be bound again. She welcomed it. She was uncomfortable with freedom.

  Marion wrapped a white silk rope around Melinda's wrists, tying them tightly together. She produced a black velvet choker. The choker was, in fact, made of leather for strength, and covered in velvet for the sake of appearances. Marion buckled it around Melinda's throat. At the front it had a small chrome ring.

  'Turn round to face me,' Marion ordered. Melinda turned. Marion took a bright chrome leash and clipped it into the ring of the choker. The cold metal hung down between Melinda's breasts. Her nipples instantly puckered to erection. The end of the leash reached the apex of her thighs.

  'Put those shoes on.' Marion indicated a pair of black patent leather high heels she had set down on the floor. The heels were precipitous, higher than anything Melinda had worn before. Marion held her arm, knowing she would need support, as she slipped one foot and then the other into the shoes, and gained five inches in height as a result. The shoes tightened her calf muscles and tilted Melinda's pert arse into a distinct pout.

  Marion did not release her arm. For a moment she looked into Melinda's eyes. There was something there that excited her. Something she had not seen in the eyes of the other women, the many other women, she had trained for the Master. Melinda displayed no fear, only acceptance. An all-embracing acceptance. She would rebel, Marion knew, one day. One day they would take her too far and she would struggle and beg and plead for them to stop. They all did in the end. But for Melinda, Marion knew, that day might be a long time coming.

  Almost without realising what she was doing, she cupped Melinda's breast in her hand, feeling its warmth and weight.

  'I want you,' she whispered. And she did. She ached to take her, to try her, to test her submission, to order and command her, to make Melinda her own.

  This was not the time, however. She would have to wait for such pleasures. The Master and his guests were waiting, and Marion, in the end, was as much the Master's slave as Melinda. There would be time enough for her own pleasure, Marion told herself. The Master would want it. Want her to teach and explore, to introduce Melinda to sensations she had never experienced before, to submit to a woman's body. Marion felt a surge of passion as she looked at Melinda's fine, proud body; seemingly more naked and exposed by contrast to her own clothed figure. She let her hand fall away from Melinda's breast and pushed such thoughts aside. For the moment, at least.

  Picking up the chain leash, Marion pulled Melinda forward.

  'Follow me,' she said unnecessarily. Melinda could do nothing else.

  Melinda trailed Marion out into the long corridor. The high heels prevented her from taking long strides, but Marion appeared to be aware of this and walked slowly, the leash held in her left hand. Their heels clacked on the wooden floor.

  The dress was perfect for her, Melinda thought, as she admired Marion from behind. Her back was flawless, the scapulas of her shoulders well defined, the long line of her spine straight and clear. She moved with grace and elegance, her hips swinging her plum-shaped arse from side to side.

  Marion unlocked the outer door into the cour
tyard. They then walked through into the main house, and out under the double staircase into the marble-floored vestibule. Here, Melinda could hear voices in the distance.

  Marion led her through a large reception room dotted with sofas and armchairs, its walls covered with Impressionist paintings, and out into a short hallway panelled in walnut. She stopped outside a pair of doors, also walnut and panelled. Now the voices were loud, the noise of a dinner party in full swing behind the double doors. Glasses and crockery clinked, and laughter rang out. Conversations, one on top of another, created a hubbub of sound.

  'Kneel,' Marion said.

  Melinda obeyed, but slowly and awkwardly. The height of the shoes and the inability to use her arms made the manoeuvre difficult.

  A small brass ring was set in the wall beside the door, at what was now the same height as Melinda's head. Marion threaded the chain of the leash through it, pulling it tight until Melinda's cheek was forced right up against the wall. Knotting the leash securely, Marion stroked Melinda's fine blonde hair once, then turned and entered the dining room, closing the door behind her.

  Melinda was alone again. The floor of the hallway was marble; cold and hard against her knees. The leash pulled her over to one side, straining her neck and distributing her weight uncomfortably. She rested her cheek against the panelling, but she could not ease the pain in her knees by straightening up or crouching down. She was half kneeling, with her buttocks a foot above her heels. The position of her arms, tied securely behind her back, pushed her naked breasts out prominently.

  Excitement buzzed again through her body. Part of her mind floated away so she could see herself, from somewhere way above, kneeling on the marble floor, naked but for the black shoes and the velvet choker, her buttocks curled, her legs bent double, her thighs thick, the deep cleft of her arse running down to join the crease of her sex. Naked, prone, two feet away from a room full of people. She was wet again. She hoped it would not show, but she feared her juices were already leaking out onto the puffy thick lips of her cunt.