“But you never asked for anything, really, did you? You never put this into words before, did you? With your fiancée, or those robbers or the Judge?”
“No,” she admitted. “I didn’t. But wouldn’t they have sensed it on me? Wouldn’t I have sent signals, a silent invitation to one and all?”
“I don’t know, baby. I’m not God, just a girl, like you. We all have fantasies, but that doesn’t mean people can hurt us against our will. For a stranger, or even a loved one to do things to you when you’re saying ‘no’ is wrong, even if at another time and place you might freely choose the very thing they’re doing to you by force.”
Melanie turned her head to look in Gretchen’s eyes. There was more here she needed to figure out, much more. “You were bought by the Judge, Gretch. Tell me what that means—being purchased by a man.”
Gretchen’s cheeks pinkened almost imperceptibly. Could it be the woman was capable of shame after all?
“It’s nothing, honey. Just words on paper.” Gretchen moved her face into a tense smile, her eyes suddenly evasive as she re-commenced stroking Melanie’s hair. “Now why don’t you get some rest?”
“You’re a bad liar, Gretchen. And a sinner, too,” said a new voice, soft and silky.
Melanie’s mouth went agape. It was Lyla, standing over them both, hands on her hips, a wicked, self-satisfied smile on her face. Eyes lit up, like a cat’s, her prey in hand. Taunting before the kill.
Gretchen sat up, wary, protective. “You shouldn’t have come in here, Lyla.”
“And you shouldn’t be fucking the new school teacher.”
Gretchen pointed her finger, one of the ones that had brought Melanie to orgasm just a few minutes ago. “Get out, now, Lyla. Before I lose my temper and do something you’ll regret.”
Lyla snorted, lifting her nose contemptuously. “For your information,” she said, addressing Melanie alone. “Being owned by Judge Cyrus Van Der Mere isn’t just words on paper. Gretchen and I are property, Miss High and Mighty School Teacher. Do you know what that means? Do you?”
Lyla bent to take Melanie’s chin in her fingers, compelling eye contact. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, you little tramp.”
“That’s enough, Lyla.” Gretchen’s voice was low and menacing as she reached up, but Lyla managed to shake the older girl’s hand from her arm with little effort.
“Lay off me, Gretch, or I’ll go and tell the sheriff what you’ve been up to.”
Gretchen frowned. Lowering her eyes, she moved from furious to sullen.
Lyla made a little sneer. “I thought that would get your attention. You see, Melanie, there are rules here for us girls, a lot of them. Some are small and foolish, while others are big. No sexual contact, female to female, is one of those big rules. Very big. Gretchen knows that all too well.”
The buxom woman made no response, though her breathing remained heavy and troubled.
“Now, where were we?” Lyla crooned, faking her fingernails down Melanie’s chin to the valley between her breasts. “Oh, I remember. We were talking about being owned and what that means. May I sit down?”
Lyla’s voice was sweet as could be, but Gretchen appeared to take it as a command, reluctantly relinquishing her spot on the bed in favor of the younger, slimmer girl.
“Thank you so much, dear,” Lyla chirped, delicately tugging down the thin black shoulder straps of her long, tight dress. Melanie envied the girl for her tiny, curvaceous figure, with her deliciously shaped little breasts and her tiny feet. Her look was all the vogue in Paris these days, not to mention New York.
“Have you ever seen one of these, Melanie?”
Melanie gasped at the mark on Lyla’s left breast. It was a tattoo, a tiny flower encircled in a ring of what looked like briars. Outside of a traveling gypsy show she had once seen near Budapest, Melanie had never beheld such a sight on a woman. “Is it...permanent?”
Lyla threw back her head, laughing like a mad woman. “Permanent? Would you like to see permanent? I can show you permanent.”
“Lyla, don’t,” said Gretchen, her voice listless now, despite the obvious plea being made. “You’ll scare her.”
“Poor school marm,” Lyla fretted in mock worry. Another long laugh and then she was on her feet. This time she was baring herself from below, skinning the dress up above her waist. It took a good deal of shimmying, the motions mesmerizing Melanie in spite of herself.
“Behold, the mark of sin,” Lyla pronounced, twisting about and bending herself at the waist to reveal the indented ‘S’. Melanie felt woozy. It was a brand, like the kind put on steers.
“Like it, honey?” Lyla was beaming at her, head between her own legs, long, lustrous black hair hanging to the floor. “That’s a little souvenir from the Ranch. Even Gretchen doesn’t have that…yet.”
“Lyla, why are you doing this to her?”
Lyla smoothed the dress back down and spun artfully in Gretchen’s direction. “Why?” she echoed, an inch from the woman’s face, on tiptoes to better simulate eye contact. “Because I can. And because it’s fun.”
Lyla giggled, twirling about, enjoying a few moments of private ballet. “So, dear sisters, let me tell you where things stand. From here on in, you belong to me. Both of you. Call it a new pecking order. The men own us, I own you. Sound good? Or would you rather face the music with the Judge?”
“But Lyla,” the still bound Melanie heard herself object meekly. “If...if you take advantage of us, won’t that be against the rules, too?”
Lyla stopped mid spin, a look of utter disgust and shock on her face. “Do you think I’d actually want sex from you two? Don’t be a pig, Melanie. We have one pig in the room already and that’s quite enough.” She paused to smile contemptuously at the subdued Gretch. “No, what I want from you two is something else all together different and more petty.”
“Gretchen isn’t a pig,” Melanie blurted, unable to hold her tongue despite her fear of Lyla. “She’s a beautiful woman. Not every pretty girl is as slender as you and I.”
Lyla made a face. “Don’t lump us in one category, sweetheart. I saw how you looked in my dress—like a sausage.” Turning to Gretchen she added, “Congratulations, you found yourself a cow-in-training. A few months of doubling up on the dumplings and gravy and she’ll look just like you.”
“I hate you!” cried Melanie, straining her wrists against the leather.
Lyla sighed and shook her head, playing the part of disappointed elder. “Melanie, Melanie. Why did you have to go and say that?”
“Don’t touch her, Lyla.” Gretchen clenched her fists. “I mean it. I don’t care what they do to me, I’ll wring your smug, spoiled little neck.”
Lyla shook out her long, lustrous hair. “You forgot to say my thin, pretty neck. Anyway, it isn’t what they could do to you that will stop you, but what they’ll do to her. How long do you think your little teacher would make it at the Ranch? You wouldn’t know, but I’ll tell you. I’d give her a day, two at most. What’s the matter, Gretchen? Is the big tough cowgirl going to cry on me? You make me sick! The way you lied to this poor girl; telling her you’d protect her and how she could teach you to read. What a joke!”
“All right, Melanie,” Lyla continued in the wake of Gretchen’s silence. “It’s time for you to get a little lesson in the kind of petty cruelties I enjoy so much. You are to remain chained like this the remainder of the day. Gretchen will let you up when she’s done with work tonight. Meanwhile, she will stand by your side – and I do mean stand, Gretchen, no sleeping on the job. You will be allowed to leave her at supper so you can get ready for work. You’ll be alone for a while after that till Gretchen is done. In the meantime, neither of you is to eat today. I will have your food brought directly to me. I will eat what I want and throw out the rest. Any questions?”
She looked back and forth between the two women. “Good,” she nodded when there were none. “I’ll be going, then. Gretchen, you will assume your place now. No mov
ing. Not even to go to the bathroom. When you bring me my supper, Gretch, you can beg for permission to use the toilet. Good day, ladies.”
Lyla spun on her heels, disappearing in an insolent little swirl.
“I’m sorry,” Gretchen said softly after she was gone.
Melanie looked at her friend, still boldly and brazenly bared. “It’s okay, Gretch.”
“Get some sleep if you want.”
“That’s okay.”
In truth she was terrified someone else might find them like this, one of the men. What would happen then? she wondered. It was too much to think about. Too much to absorb. It had to get better, she thought to herself, focusing her eyes on the white, wood trimmed ceiling. Certainly, it could get no worse.
Then again, she thought, even as the leather straps began to bite into her helpless skin, she’d been saying that all along, to no avail. Forcing her eyes closed she sought the deep breath of forgetfulness. The breath of tomorrow. At last, unconsciousness came, and with it, the kindly face of Uncle Martin.
A half hour later Lyla came back, holding a pair of handcuffs and some rope. “I thought you might need a little help,” she chortled, her eyes looking ravenously on Gretchen, “with standing still, I mean. Hands behind your back, please,” she dangled the handcuffs. “Now.”
Chapter Five
“Melanie, I have a plan,” Gretchen whispered the next morning as the pair knelt naked on Lyla’s hardwood floor for inspection. “When you see the Judge today, tell him I need to meet with him tomorrow. Tell him it’s urgent. Can you do that?”
“What is that I’m hearing?” Lyla demanded, looking up from the three breakfast plates arrayed before her on the table – one hers, the other two theirs. “Are you daring to speak in my presence without permission?”
“We’re sorry,” Gretchen replied, her tone carefully neutral. “It won’t happen again.”
“No,” agreed Lyla, resuming her efforts at scraping the best bits of food from the girls’ plates to her own. “It won’t.”
Melanie watched longingly, the hunger pangs in her stomach rising in nauseating waves. It had been a horrible night. Tied down, hopelessly aroused, she’d been given no satisfaction whatsoever. Lyla had even come in during the night just to torment her further. And now, knowing how hungry the two of them were, here was Lyla playing games with their food. She had to hand it to the girl – she really knew how to be cruel and controlling. Gretchen might be trying to resist, but she herself was more than ready to submit in exchange for a few basic luxuries, such as food and the right to sleep without having one’s limbs chained to the bed.
“There,” Lyla proclaimed proudly, holding up the two sparsely filled plates. “Now it’s just right. Come and get it, ladies.”
Melanie was half way to her feet when Lyla ordered her back down. “On your hands and knees, Little Cow. Same for you, Big Cow.”
Gretchen heaved herself onto her hands. “The Judge,” she managed to reiterate to Melanie between clenched teeth. “Get me in to see the Judge.”
“This is for talking,” Lyla announced, rolling her mouth round and releasing a mouthful of spit on top of Gretchen’s hot cereal and eggs. “No using your hands, please.”
The plates were laid at their feet. The only possible way to retrieve the food would be by mouth, like a dog. Yes, Melanie decided as she gave in to the overpowering smell and lowered her head, she would talk to the Judge for Gretchen. She didn’t need to have the details spelled out to know that her friend intended to use her influence with Old Man Van Der Mere to turn the tables on the dictatorial little Lyla. And it wouldn’t come a moment too soon, either. A few more nights sleeping in chains on starvation rations and she’d be ready to do something drastic, no matter how self-destructive it might prove to be.
A tremor passed through her as Melanie endured yet another of the shock waves of near orgasm that had been plaguing her all morning. She clenched her damp thighs, praying Lyla would not notice and tease her any further. There was something about being controlled and dominated like this that drove her mad. Was she losing her mind or just over tired?
“I got some interesting news today, girls,” Lyla chirped, ignoring the scent of Melanie’s arousal. “If you kiss my feet, I’ll be happy to tell you.”
Melanie eyed Lyla’s short but shapely legs, swinging on the chair, her bare feet crossed at the ankle. Other than the silk dressing robe, which hung to mid thigh, the woman was nude. Hateful as she was, Lyla had a gorgeous little body. Like a china doll. Right about now, in fact, she looked good enough to eat.
“Go to hell,” hissed Gretchen.
Taking her lead from Gretch, Melanie ignored the offer, though she declined to comment on it.
“I’ll throw in one of these,” Lyla added seductively, waving a small breakfast steak in the air.
Melanie’s resolve crumbled as the smell wafted to her nose. She was famished, and the meat looked so irresistible. She couldn’t hold out any more. Guiltily, quick as lightning, she bent her head and planted her lips onto the top of one of Lyla’s dangling feet.
“Good girl,” Lyla smiled, dropping the meat to the floor.
Melanie inhaled it, sputtering, her eyes stinging with tears of shame as she chewed.
“The news – and I guess it’s just for you, Melanie – is about that most stalwart of citizens, our friendly neighborhood marshal,” Lyla announced.
Mel’s spine stiffened. Desperately, she fought to conceal her true emotions.
“Melanie, you met the marshal, I believe? On your way to town, I think it was?” Lyla paused for rhetorical effect. The way she was carrying on, it was almost as if she knew about Melanie’s infatuation for the man. “Yes, I remember now; he carried you into the saloon. Stop looking at me, Gretchen, or I’ll have to whip you.” She lowered her own heaping plate to the floor. “Here, finish my scraps. And you better eat all of them, Big Cow, or else.”
Gretchen chewed furiously. After watching the scene for a moment, Lyla looked at Melanie. “They think he’s dead, Melanie. Killed by the Powatan braves,” she shrugged.
Melanie leaped to her feet, reaching out to grab Lyla by the collar of her robe. “That’s a lie. Take it back!”
Gretchen restrained her, hands on Melanie’s trembling shoulders. “Ignore her, Mel. She’s just trying to get you riled.”
Lyla, who’d been yanked to her feet, was on tiptoes as Melanie held her fast, nose to nose. “Go ahead, punch me,” she challenged. “You know you want to.”
Gretchen pulled at Melanie, who refused to let go of her victim. “Don’t Mel! It’s a trick!”
“You think I’m lying, Big Cow? How about you, Little Cow? Think I’m making this up? Just ask the Judge. He’ll tell you what happened to your precious marshal.”
“Let her go, Melanie.”
Melanie’s hands were clenched so tightly on the girl’s robe, her knuckles were turning white. It took several long seconds of persuasion for her to finally obey. She never thought she could hate anyone so much. But she had to remind herself that Lyla was not responsible. She’d been tattooed, branded, abused, made to submit in ways even Gretchen seemed ignorant of. Could she be blamed, then, for behaving like the men who so ruthlessly used her?
“Lyla,” Melanie said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
“Get out of here,” said Lyla, her voice tremoring slightly. “Get the hell out of here, now!”
Gretchen led Melanie by the arm. Lyla had her back turned to them, but as they closed the door behind them, Melanie could swear she heard sobbing. Was it the harshness of the attack that had so rattled her, Melanie wondered, or the unexpected act of compassion afterwards?
“The Judge,” Gretchen reminded her, giving her a quick hug as they reached their respective bedroom doors. “Remember to talk to the Judge.”
Melanie nodded, her features lackluster at best.
“It’s not true about Marshal Cole,” offered Gretchen, grasping her
arms. “Lyla is just a jealous, bitter little creature who has no one to love so she makes up hateful stories, okay?”
Melanie managed a half smile. The Judge. She had to talk to the Judge.
***
“I want you to know, sir, how much I value your discipline.”
The words hung in the air of Judge Van Der Mere’s office as the pert and pretty schoolteacher dropped her skirts to the floor. She was nude now from the waist down, and determined to win the Judge over for a meeting with Gretchen—and also perhaps to learn the truth about the marshal’s condition.
“I’m ready, sir,” she whispered. “For my correction.”
The Judge scowled, holding out his hand to prevent her seductive, hip swaying approach. “I won’t be softened by fawning behavior, Miss Jones. You will receive your due, no more no less. As for your charms, I assure you they have no effect on me; I am not now nor have I ever been a partaker in whore flesh.”
Melanie froze, a mere foot from his lanky, seated body. Her heart was pounding. She felt both profane and absurd dressed as she was, her upper half clad in a silk blouse and cameo and her hair tightly bunned above her head while down below, she throbbed in naked need. “I am sorry your honor,” she mumbled, eyes focused on his shiny black shoes.
“You’ve liquefied yourself,” the Judge accused, in reference to her aroused state. “Haven’t you, girl?”
She crossed her legs, one foot resting on top of the other. “Yes, sir,” she conceded, acknowledging the all too familiar juicing that seemed to come now with every fresh humiliation.
He shook his head. “I can see I must consider using the cane on you. For now, fetch me a towel from my bathroom, girl. Lay it across my lap to protect my clothing, then lay yourself down for a spanking.”
Melanie obeyed without hesitation, the bathroom being connected to the Judge’s office by means of a small door. She told herself this slutty behavior of hers was all an act, designed to make it easier for her to obtain the needed information about the marshal, not to mention permission from the crotchety old man to bring to him the luscious Gretchen. His favorite. His pet.
Mastering Melanie Page 8
