Melinda and the Master Read online

  She heard footsteps behind her, but could not turn her head to see who was coming. She felt the brush of air as a man in a tail coat walked past her and opened one of the walnut doors, closing it again behind him. He did not look at her.

  A few minutes later the door opened again, flooding the corridor with the full volume of sound from inside. The tail-coated butler emerged. Once again he did not look at Melinda, and strode past her down the hall.

  He had left the walnut door ajar, and the gaiety and conversation of the dinner party inside spilled through, together with the smell of expensive cigars, high-class perfumes, and heat. The marble floor made the corridor cold. Melinda could feel a wave of heat radiating from the open door, warming her body.

  More footsteps behind her. Two men and two women, followed by the butler. They were all dressed in servants' uniforms. As they passed, one of the women, in a plain black dress and white apron, glanced down at Melinda. Their eyes met for an instant. The woman giggled, nudging the other waitress in the ribs. But her companion did not look down.

  The staff went into the dining room and quickly emerged with trays of empty and half-empty dishes, wine glasses and plates of half-eaten desserts. They paid no attention to Melinda. The waitress who had looked before did not look again. Eventually, after several trips, the dining table must have been cleared because the traffic stopped. The walnut door was closed from the inside by the butler. At the same time, a sudden silence descended on the dining room.

  Melinda could hear a single voice speaking but could not hear what it was saying. Her physical discomfort was becoming acute. Not only did her knees ache, but her toes, crammed into the shoes and bent by her position, protested at their prolonged constriction. Her back ached too, unable to straighten properly. The pain was the accompaniment to her situation, to her acceptance. It was real, tangible, proof that she would submit. And that, after all, was what she wanted.

  The single voice stopped and the butler opened the walnut door again. But conversation was not resumed. There was an expectant silence. The butler bent forward to untie the leash from the brass ring. The sleeve of his jacket brushed Melinda's breast, but he did not look into her eyes, nor did he say anything to her. He merely jerked the leash upward to indicate she was required to stand. Supporting herself with her shoulder against the wall, Melinda struggled to her feet, her knees unlocking with a sharp pang of pain.

  For one half-second she saw the butler's eyes on her body, flitting down from the roundness of her breasts to her blonde, wispy pubic hair. He was a middle-aged man, white-haired, with a ramrod straight back and dark hooded eyes. He allowed himself no further indulgence. Pulling on the leash, he turned and led Melinda into the dining room.

  Set in the middle of a large spacious room was a huge rectangular dining table laid with white linen. Around it were sitting, in what looked like genuine Chippendale dining chairs, twenty people. At its head sat Walter Hammerton, the Master. One wall of the room was formed entirely of French windows overlooking the garden, which had been lit like a stage set; floodlights under the mature trees, small spotlights in the more colourful shrubs, the lawn a wash of green. To Melinda's right was a gothic fireplace, ablaze with a log fire.

  The table was decorated with fresh flowers and silver candelabras burning long white candles. In front of each guest were coffee cups and brandy or dessert wine glasses in leaded crystal. Brandy and port decanters were dotted around the table. Four silver platters were piled with a mountain of every conceivable fruit, and some of the guests still munched on grapes or slices of mango.

  Melinda was brought to stand between the fire and the table. All the guests had turned to look at her. She saw Marion sitting two or three seats away from the Master. She also recognised another face. It was the young brunette she had talked to at the country house party who had told her about the X-list. Suddenly, of course, she realised what she had meant. The twenty people at the table, the twenty pairs of eyes trained avidly on her naked body, were on the X-list.

  'Good evening, my dear. So glad you could join us,' the Master said, as if addressing a newly arrived guest, and not a naked and enfettered slave.

  Melinda did not reply. It was not a question. 'Well, ladies and gentlemen. I think you'll agree, a very beautiful addition to our collection.'

  There were murmurs of agreement. Those with their backs to Melinda had pulled their chairs out from the table, and half-turned them so as to get a better view.

  'Please walk around the table, my dear, so my guests may examine you more closely.' The Master's eyes gazed into hers for the first time. Immediately Melinda felt their power. She could not suppress a shiver. Was it excitement or a sudden chill? His eyes were cold, touching her body with ice. She felt her already puckered nipples harden more. She felt her sex throb.

  The butler dropped the leash. The chain fell between her breasts, its lower links brushing her thighs.

  Slowly she began to walk around the table. There was a mirror to one side of the fireplace and she caught sight of herself in it. She hardly recognised what she saw. The make-up she wore was completely different from anything she had ever done for herself; thick, dark eyes, dark red lipstick. Her hair was brushed differently too. Only her naked body was familiar, her round breasts quivering as she walked, her dark nipples erect, the downy pubic hair hiding little of what lay below it.

  'Closer in, my dear,' the Master chided.

  Melinda moved towards the table where the guests had turned their chairs. As soon as she was close to them, she walked slowly towards the Master again.

  'Not so fast.' A woman caught her by the arm. Melinda stopped. The woman's eyes roamed over her body. She was young, her hair an auburn red. Her shoulders and the tops of her ample breasts were revealed by her tight, strapless white dress. Her hand pinched Melinda's flesh. There was cruelty in her eyes. 'She's very nice,' she said.

  The man sitting next to her stroked Melinda's buttocks. 'Nice arse,' he commented.

  'Come on,' the Master commanded.

  The woman released the arm immediately. Melinda continued up the table. A man, who, like all the others, was dressed in black tie and dinner suit, groped out to feel her tit. His hand grazed her nipple. Another hand felt for her thigh, pinching the long muscle at the front. She did not stop walking. She passed Marion, who did not touch her.

  She arrived at the head of the table, wanting to look into the Master's eyes again, but he was not looking at her. He was watching his guests, looking at their reactions. A look passed between him and Marion. A look of desire, Melinda thought enviously.

  Melinda walked around the back of the Master's chair and down the other side of the table. More hands groped at her body. She arrived at the young brunette she had talked to at the party.

  'So now you know,' she said, smiling broadly. 'I told you you're his type.'

  'Is she wet?' a man shouted.

  'I can see it,' a woman said.

  'Yes, look at her. It's on her thighs. It's running down her thighs.'

  'That's sweat,' a woman claimed.

  'See if she's wet.' The voice belonged to the Master. His eyes were back on her again.

  The man she was passing caught the leash in his hand and brought her to a halt. He jerked the leash down hard so she was forced to bend over, her face inches below his. He was bald, short and fat, with little piggy eyes that danced with his excitement.

  'See if she's wet, Sybil,' he said to the woman sitting beside him. She was wearing a bright, lime-green evening dress covered in little glass beads, her ginger hair cut short and brushed with a parting like a man.

  Melinda felt Sybil's hand working up between her thighs. She knew what she would find there. Two fingers penetrated roughly into her labia.

  'She's soaking,' the woman in green declared triumphantly. She thrust her fingers deep. Involuntarily, Melinda pulled at the leash, but the man held her tight. The fingers left her body. The man released the leash.

  'Continue,' the Master
ordered calmly.

  Melinda circumnavigated the table and arrived back at her starting point next to the butler, who had not moved.

  'Well, ladies, gentlemen, the climax of this evening's festivities seems to have arrived. Edward, would you be so kind?'

  'Certainly, sir,' the butler said, bowing slightly.

  It was his turn to walk around the table. In front of each guest, Melinda saw two small black balls, each inscribed with an identical number in red. The butler took, or was handed, one of these balls from each of the guests and dropped them into a large silver fruit bowl. As he progressed, conversations developed. Melinda heard snatches of comments that were clearly about her. ('Good long legs', 'no, but I like bigger tits', 'what about that tight little arse', 'not much hair on her', 'she's very submissive'.) She noticed that neither Marion nor the Master was talking, but they exchanged glances. There were no black balls in front of the Master.

  Finally, all the black balls were collected. 'Marion...' the Master said.

  Marion got up from the table. Melinda saw that she had a long strip of black satin in her hand. She came up behind Melinda, the velvet of her dress brushing her naked back, and slipped the silk over Melinda's eyes, plunging her into darkness. Melinda felt a surge of passion, transported back instantly to another time, another darkness, when all she could do was see and feel. She managed not to moan, but she swayed slightly and felt Marion's hands on her shoulders, steadying her. The silk was tied tight. She could feel it pressing against her eyelids, cold and slippery.

  'Now, my dear,' she heard the Master say. She heard him get up from his chair and take the silver bowl from the butler's hand. Melinda did not need to see to know who came to stand beside her. It was as though his whole body radiated an aura of power. It made her feel weak. He raised his hand to the back of her neck. In the blackness it felt as though he were touching her most intimate parts. His hand seemed to be charged with sexual electricity. She swayed back against Marion again. This time she could not suppress a moan.

  'Now, my dear, as is our custom, you must choose. Dip your head, and take one of the balls in your lips.' His hand pressed her neck down until she felt her face being thrust into the silver bowl he held in his other hand. She felt the balls against her face. They were hard and heavy. She opened her lips and groped around, trying to suck one into her mouth. It was not easy. The balls skidded away from her.

  'Come on. Don't keep the guests waiting in suspense,' the Master chided, his hand firm at the back of her neck.

  She managed to capture a ball with her lips, suck it into her mouth and hold her head up.

  'Well, we have a winner,' the Master announced. Marion's fingers extracted the ball from Melinda's mouth and handed it to the Master.

  'Ladies and gentlemen, the winner is number sixteen.'

  Melinda heard a whoop of victory and a loud burst of applause. She felt the Master and Marion return to their seats, and heard the clink of glasses and words of congratulations and envy. She heard the walnut doors open, and the smell of fresh coffee being poured. She smelt the sulphur of matches and the rare tobacco of cigars as they were cut and lit.

  Conversation turned to other things. For a moment she was forgotten. She had ceased to exist, inanimate again. She wondered if anyone was still looking at her, if eyes were glancing her way, roaming her naked body. It had been an elaborate way to draw a winning number and the assembled company seemed to have enjoyed it greatly. But what was going to happen to her now?

  'I'm going,' a man's voice said above the din of conversation. His announcement was greeted with a cheer.

  'You know the way?' the Master asked.

  'Yes.'

  'Marion can—'

  'No. I'll find it.'

  'Ladies and gentlemen, a toast to our winner,' the Master said.

  Glasses clinked. Applause broke out. Then the hand clapping turned to a regular beat measuring the winner's strides across the room. It was only then, as Melinda felt a hand pick up the chain leash from the top of her thighs, that she realised she had not been brought to the room merely to pick the winner. She was the prize.

  She felt herself being pulled forward. She was sure she would stumble with the blindfold still on, but dared not ask for it to be removed. She concentrated hard on putting one foot in front of the other. She felt the coldness of the hallway outside, as the rhythmical clapping faded and the dining room doors were closed.

  On the marble floor she could hear the man's shoes, but they were not alone. She could hear another pair of high heels, besides her own, clacking on the tiles. The man was leading her by the leash, but a woman was following. It was not Marion. Melinda could smell her perfume and it was different from the one Marion was wearing; much heavier, more flowery.

  Melinda felt the marble floor give way to carpet. They turned a corner and she bumped her shoulder against the wall.

  'Careful,' a woman's voice said.

  They seemed to walk on forever, turning left and right until Melinda lost all sense of direction. In the blackness behind the satin blindfold, Melinda's heart was beating rapidly. Where were they taking her? What were they going to do to her? She tried to push aside the excitement that crowded her mind.

  Finally, she felt the leash go slack and a hand on her shoulder brought her to a halt. She heard a door being opened in front of her.

  'This is it,' the man said.

  'Oh, this is definitely it,' the woman said. Melinda felt her brush past into the room. Then she was pulled forward. She heard the door close. The leash was dropped to hang between her breasts again.

  The room was warm, much warmer than the corridors.

  'Look at all this stuff,' the man said.

  'All the toys you could ever want,' the woman added.

  'This is the only toy I want.' Melinda felt a hand on her hip.

  'I can't believe we won. We never have before. Not in all these years,' the woman said.

  'So let's enjoy it.'

  'You enjoy it. I'm only allowed to watch, remember? If I'd won, you'd have had to watch,' the woman said with obvious feeling.

  'Thank God you didn't,' the man said with equally obvious relief.

  'Why?'

  'Because, Jesus, I'd never have been able to stand it. You and her together. I'd have had to do something.'

  'And you know what would have happened if you had?'

  'Don't remind me.'

  'That poor guy. How long ago was that?'

  'Alfie you mean?' the man asked.

  'Yes.'

  'Did you see him tonight? He looked petrified he might win again.'

  'After what the Master had those girls do to him, I'm not surprised.'

  'So behave yourself,' the man warned.

  'Don't worry.'

  Melinda heard a rustle of clothing and the noise of a zip. She heard shoes being kicked off.

  'She's very controlled, isn't she?' the woman said.

  'Very.'

  'So passive...'

  'Remember that one in the winter?'

  'God yes. It took two men just to get her into the room, even with that body harness.'

  'I'm glad I didn't win that night,' the man said.

  Melinda heard the sound of trousers being dropped to the floor.

  'Well, look at you. Look at the size of you.'

  'Don't touch it,' he warned.

  'I know, I know the rules...'

  Melinda felt him coming nearer. He came round behind her. She felt the tip of his penis brushing the cheeks of her arse as he reached up to the knot of the blindfold. His penis was hard and hot. Almost unconsciously she pushed her body back against it, desperate for the contact she had been deprived of for so long. She wanted to touch and be touched. Her body was liquid again, her mind filled with the image of his cock nudging its way down between her legs. Only now did she realise how she longed for sex.

  She felt the blindfold loosen and fall away. She screwed up her eyes against the light. Gradually she opened them. She w
as in a small square room, its walls and floor, even the door, covered in the same thick, light beige carpeting. Immediately in front of her, sitting in an upright wooden chair, was the woman in the lime-green dress with the masculine hairstyle, who had penetrated her body at the dinner table. She was sitting with her legs crossed, her eyes locked on Melinda's body. Though she was plump, she was not unattractive. Her body looked Rodinesque: rich round curves; pillows of flesh; her complexion smooth and unwrinkled.

  What they had said was true. The room was full of toys. Sex toys. Hanging from one of the carpeted walls was every description of dildo and vibrator, every type of whip or paddle. There were shelves of leather harnesses, handcuffs, chains and ropes. There were masks and hoods in rubber and leather. At one end of the room was a large wardrobe. Its door was partly open, and Melinda could see it was full of leather and rubber clothing. There was a rack of high-heeled shoes in unusually large sizes, and several wigs on wig blocks.

  The room had no conventional furniture. In the middle of the floor was a slatted wooden frame the size of a double bed, covered with a thin mattress. Leather cuffs were chained to the frame at each of its corners, and there were metal rings, clearly intended to be used to fasten further bonds, all round the frame. To one side of the 'bed' was what looked like a small vaulting horse, its top padded and covered in suede, straps screwed to opposite sides of its box-like structure, just above the floor. Standing against one wall was a narrow cupboard, the width of a coffin, its door open. Inside, Melinda could see heavy leather straps. The door was provided with a hole at the level a penis would be situated if a man were strapped inside. In the furthest corner of the room was a metal cage no more than waist high.

  Melinda shuddered. Presumably, she thought, the carpeting on the walls helped to muffle the sound from the hapless victims.

  The woman had seen Melinda's reaction. 'Don't worry,' she said, 'my husband's not into any of this.'

  'Oh, I don't know, Sybil,' the man said. He moved out from behind Melinda so she saw him for the first time. It was the bald, short fat man with piggy eyes. Naked now, his penis bobbed below his well-upholstered belly. It was out of all proportion to his size, a big sword of flesh, its uncircumcised glans still partly covered by his foreskin. 'We could put her over the whipping horse.'