Her hands trembled as she placed the towel over his crotch. Was that an erection she saw through his pants. Feeling utterly wanton and helpless, she put herself now into the desired position.
Van Der Mere delivered an immediate brutal pinch to her upturned buttocks. “The Reverend Fortesque indicates you are an unredeemed soul, entirely promiscuous. Is this so?”
Melanie thrust her ass higher, making herself an even more tempting target. “Yes, sir,” she braced herself. “I beg for correction.”
The Judge landed a solid hit, the greatest to date. “Are you being impudent?”
Heat radiated across her backside and round to her gaping sex hole. How she longed to touch herself, to bring herself off. “No, sir! It is just that...I need your help.”
“My help?” He punished her with a second blow. “What on earth for?”
“It’s Gretchen,” she explained, deciding to tell of the matter as plainly as possible. “She wishes to see you.”
The Judge’s hand clamped over the still twitching left buttock. “Gretchen? Why does she want to see me?”
Melanie rubbed herself as subtly as possible on the Judge’s crotch, hoping if at all possible to excite him beyond reason. “I don’t know,” she lied, “but...but I think she has feelings for you.”
The Judge stood so abruptly that Melanie ended up on the floor. “Never speak of such matters again,” he warned. “Gather your clothes and return to the school house. Zechariah is waiting for you.”
Melanie elbowed her way to his feet, wrapping her arms around his legs. “Please, sir,” she blurted. “I realize I am an impudent tramp. I ask only one thing more and then I shall go. The marshal, the one who saved my life. I heard – I heard he was dead. Is this true?”
Van Der Mere shook her off, lifting his legs one at a time. “That is quite enough, Miss Jones. Quite enough, indeed.”
In silence, then, she reassembled her teacher’s ensemble. She was already at the door when the old man called out, “I will tell you one thing, Miss Jones, and one thing only. Tomorrow, when you see Powatan braves gathering here to speak of peace, rest assured that they have come on the personal assurance of your Marshal Cole that nothing will happen to them in the town and that the white chiefs will honor any peace they make. He spoke with them two days ago on his way south, while in search of a group of cattle rustlers. He confirmed the matter to me earlier this morning.”
This morning. So Trent was alive after all!
Melanie fought back the beaming smile, not wanting to tip her hand completely. “Thank you, sir. Yes, that is good to know,” she nodded, downplaying her own emotions—a passion so strong it was surprising to even her. “In order to satisfy my womanly curiosity, you know, nothing more.”
“Go,” he pointed a bony finger, acting every bit the imperious slave driver Lyla had been.
Melanie didn’t care, though, and all the way to the little schoolhouse, her feet never touched the ground. Trent Cole was alive. And one day soon he’d come back; if for no other reason than to check on the progress of the Indian negotiations. And once that happened, he’d look for her, too. She was sure of it. As for the rest, what difference did it make now? If she could just see him, somehow she’d be reassured about her own existence, about the possibilities of life itself.
Melanie felt a surge of heat as soon as she saw the youth. Zechariah Van Der Mere was slumped in his seat, his long, sturdy legs spread carelessly, his handsome chin forged into a pout as he laid his head on his hands. He was a fetching sight, at once amusing and devastatingly sexy.
“Zechariah?” she called, her voice a warm whisper, the sound of the name sparking like lightning from her lips. “Are you all right, honey?”
It was good, she thought, to inquire about his well being in a motherly way. He was obviously not fully mature, despite his years. As poorly prepared as she was to teach, the boy was still her academic charge. She must see him that way. Her romantic feelings, her secret needs belonged elsewhere. With Trent, locked away in her dreams of a happier tomorrow. A homestead, some farmland, a small family of their own.
“You left me alone yesterday,” he said, not bothering to look up. “You were gone all day.”
Resisting the urge to touch him, she replied, “I know, and I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t help it.”
Zech fixed her with a sudden glare. “Yes,” he corrected, his voice imbued with sudden depth. “You could. It’s your fault and you need to be punished.”
Melanie swallowed hard. “Let’s not think that way, Zech,” she dodged, her bottom still ripe from the grandfather’s treatment. “Let’s think of our lessons, shall we? The alphabet. And our words, too. Can you tell me a word that begins with ‘A’, Zech? A word that means to feel anger towards a person? It’s a big word, but—”
“I know how to punish girls,” Zech continued, oblivious to her attempt at redirection. “I know what to do with them when they’re naughty. I punish Lyla sometimes. She likes when I do that. I punish Becky, too. She’s going to marry me. She’s eighteen and I’m almost nineteen. There’s an old horse barn where I take Becky when she’s a bad girl. Becky is so pretty. She has yellow hair like you and it’s very curly. We have a fight sometimes, but then I tell her to stop it. I tell her we have to go to the barn and she gets very quiet and puts down her head and she follows me. My dog follows me that way, too sometimes. My grandfather says it’s because I’m the dog’s master. I must be Becky’s master, too, huh, Teacher?”
“Here, Zech,” said Melanie, her voice rising in pitch. “Here’s your composition book. Let’s think about the letter ‘A’.”
Zech’s hand shot out like a lizard’s tongue, seizing Melanie’s wrist. “I don’t want my book, Teacher. I want you to listen to my story. It’s very rude of you not to listen. I was telling you how Becky comes to the barn whenever I say. When we get to the door, she has to take off all her clothes, even her underwear and shoes and stockings. The barn is far away from all the other people. It takes a long time to ride there and no one ever comes to bother us. After all her clothes are off, she waits until I tell her what to do. She waits for me naked, Teacher.
“Sometimes I make her go and get a whip down, to punish her with. Should I do that to you, Teacher? You were very bad. When you were gone yesterday I had to rub myself five times. I saved the sticky stuff, Teacher. It’s on your desk, in that jar. Go and get it, now, Teacher.”
Melanie looked at the glass jar. The bottom was covered with a milky white fluid. Zechariah released her wrist and told her a second time to bring it to him. She did so, her mind in a fog. It was amazing, really, that one human being could produce so much of the stuff in a single day. Did Becky, his fiancée have to take up jars like this, too—before or after being whipped by her man? Cavanaugh would probably have played games like this with her, too, if she had stayed in New York and become his slave instead of running away from him and making him kill her friend Patricia to punish her.
“Open the jar, Teacher.”
“Zechariah, you don’t want me to do this.”
“Yes, I do, Teacher. Open the jar now, before I have to make you take off all your clothes and get me a whip.”
Melanie’s small hands trembled as she obeyed the suddenly domineering young man. The lid unscrewed heavily, the grooves sliding over one another with a chilling, metallic sound. The sound of chains, the kind worn by slaves. Melanie could smell the jism clearly enough as soon as the cover was off. It was a sour sweet scent, not unlike clean damp earth after a thunderstorm. Five times he’d squirted himself in here, she reminded herself, and all in her absence the day before.
“Take some out with your fingers, Teacher. Taste it.”
“Zechariah, please.”
The boy moved his hands to the buckle of his thick belt. Slowly, deliberately, he opened it. “My grandpa says that when you can make a girl do what you want by showing her something bad that might happen, it’s called training. Becky is trained, Teacher. When
I open my belt like this, she knows I am going to punish her with it and she does things I tell her even if she doesn’t want to. I make her put my cock in her mouth. When we’re riding in the carriage sometimes, or walking in the canyon. Once I made her do it in a room with her grandmother sitting there. Her grandma is blind, but Becky was still afraid. She had to keep talking to her grandma while she was licking and sucking me and when I squirted I made her swallow it all. And now you have to swallow, too, Teacher. You have to swallow what’s in that jar. Eat it,” he threatened, “all of it.”
Melanie’s lips refused to close. The skin was swollen, pouty and filled with blood. Her muscles felt slack, deliciously, terrifyingly weak. Her hand moved like it was someone else’s, like a robot under remote control. The jism was cold, well preserved. At first she merely smeared it on her lips, but at last she began to taste it. There was so much of it. She had to gulp and gulp and gulp.
Zechariah took out his shaft, stroking it as he watched. “Now I’m training you, Teacher. Say that. Say that I’m training you, like Becky and like my dog.”
Melanie’s eyes glazed over. “Yes, Zechariah,” she breathed, her hand straying absently to her left breast, to the pulsing, burning nipple under her blouse. “You are training me…like Becky…like your dog.”
“No touching yourself, Teacher,” he chided, his voice raspy. “That’s dirty.”
Melanie put the jar down on his desk and wiped her damp palms on her hips. She was filled now with an unholy resolve. “Dirty, yes, I know. But I need it, Zech. I need to be touched. Will you touch me?”
He shook his head firmly. “No. That’s dirty, too.”
“But Zech, you could do other things.” Melanie could scarcely believe the words now as they came to her. “You could put your beautiful cock inside me...inside my hole. The way you did to my mouth.”
Zech startled her with the suddenness of his movement. Without saying a word, he turned his seat round, picking it up and shuffling it in a tight semi circle till he was facing away from her. It was only then that it dawned on her; the strapping, mischievous and dominant young man with his suddenly trembling back to her was quite possibly a virgin, just like she was.
“Zech?” Melanie moved in front of him, kneeling so that her eyes made contact with his. “Zech, you don’t have to be afraid. You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll strip off my clothes, Zech, I’ll lay down on this floor.” She drew a sharp breath, the mental image sending stabs of pleasure through her. “I’ll spread my legs wide. I’ll belong to you.”
Zech’s hands shot up to cover his ears. His eyes squinted shut. “Playing in girl’s holes is dirty,” he announced.
“Give me your hand, Zech,” she countered, “and don’t be afraid. This is new to me also. I’ve never...never given myself to a man.” Melanie tugged at his left arm with both of hers. His resistance crumbled as she took his palm and put it on her chest. “Feel my heart, Zech? It’s beating so fast. It’s beating for you, right now. You can’t imagine how much I need you. All day yesterday I had to lay in my bed, nude, my arms and legs chained down, spread eagle. Lyla was punishing me. She made Gretchen watch, naked, standing over me, only she couldn’t touch me or herself because she was in handcuffs and tied up, too. I was burning up inside the whole time.
“Afterwards, when Gretch had to work in the saloon, I was alone. I could hear the men laughing downstairs. I was so terrified one of them would come up and find me and rape me. But I wanted it at the same time. I wanted one of them, or all of them to take me while I was bound and helpless. Twice Lyla came to check on me. She laughed and said the room stank of my heat. Can you imagine it? I was radiating my sex to any and all men, like a she beast, a tied down bitch in heat.
“She made me beg for her touch, and then she refused me, saying it was disgusting and unnatural to touch another woman. I was ashamed; tears stung my eyes. She called me a whore, threatened to bring in every derelict she could find, ne’er do wells, drunks, so they could have their way with me. She said it would be a humbling experience, good for my moral development. Can you believe it? I held my tongue, biting my lip as hard as I could stand. Had she asked me to, I’d have begged to be had by anyone. I was so filthy, Zech. I’d have begged for anything, anything at all just to be fucked.”
Zech blanched at the coarseness of the word. At the same time, his eyes lit up with an eerie light. It was as if hearing the word, coarse and disgusting as it was, was triggering something in himself. “Stop talking like that, Teacher. That’s very bad.”
“You have to stop me, Zech. You have to train me, like you do Becky and your dog.” Melanie lowered herself to all fours, putting Zech’s hand on top of her head. “Do you hear me, Zech?”
Zechariah pushed his chair back. Desperate, Melanie sought to entice him with her flesh. Her hands were at the buttons of her blouse, frantically seeking her own nudity. She had to be nude for him. She had to submit. “I’m on my knees,” she pointed out, “I’m stripping for you like Becky.”
“Teacher, I don’t like this anymore. I don’t like you anymore.” Zech was on his feet, towering over the woman. “Becky isn’t like this. Becky is a good girl.”
Melanie moved in at once, tearing at his clothes, pulling down his pants, freeing his cock. He made a little gurgling sound, thinking she was going to suck on him, but instead she bit at him, not enough to break the skin, just hard enough to get his attention.
“What was that for?” he wailed as soon as she’d released him.
“For being obtuse, Zechariah. Have you not gotten to that word in your vocabulary yet?” Melanie was on her feet, too, backed up several yards away and taking off the remains of her outfit. Not till she was completely naked, free of camisole, stockings and even shoes did she address him again.
“Come and get me,” she teased. “If you can.”
“Teacher, where are you going?”
“Out!” She was at the door, swinging it wide. It was crazy; they were too close to town, she’d be seen. So why didn’t she care? Why was the only thing on her mind was finding ways to provoke him to action, to sexual domination?
“Teacher! No!”
“Stop me, then.”
Melanie felt the heat of the sun on her skin. She was running over the bare dirt. Headed back to town. The air was brushing her, heating her, even the dust was collecting on sweat-dampened skin.
Would he come after her?
“Teacher!”
He nearly landed on her back as he lunged. Melanie felt the hot dirt on her breasts and belly as he pressed her to the ground. Zechariah’s breath was ragged and wet in her ear. Spasms were shaking him. Was he going to lose himself, before he’d even gotten between her legs?
“Open your trousers,” Melanie beckoned, determined not to lose her opportunity. “Take it out. Put it in me, just like this.”
Zech rolled to the side, his hands occupied with the task. She gasped to feel his hardness a moment later, the smooth, hot shaft pushing between her buttock cheeks. “Yes, Zech, that’s it,” she urged from her face down position. “Find your way home.”
Zech was a large boy; he had more than enough range to penetrate at this angle. From underneath him, Melanie moaned as the cock probed then pierced her sopping, gaping sex. Zechariah groaned and after just a few tentative thrusts, she felt him pouring out, the hotness filling her, the fluid she’d known so far only by mouth. Melanie whimpered as he pulled himself free. She’d wanted so much more; it wasn’t fair.
“What did you do, Teacher?” he cried, looking at his member in horror. There was a thin layer of blood across the surface. “I’m going to die! The Lord is punishing me for sin!”
“No, Zech, that’s not it. It’s the blood from my first time – it happens when you’re a virgin. I thought after the other day in the barn, with the Fortesques, that I wouldn’t be able to bleed, but I guess that time wasn’t deep enough. It’s okay, really.”
Melanie was on her knees, reaching up, tryi
ng to console him, trying to keep him calm. Zech’s teeth were gritted, his eyes were lost somewhere in his head. “I’m going to be punished,” he muttered. “Grandpa will punish me. I am bad. I am bad.”
“Zech, no. You did nothing wrong. I made you do it. It was me! Punish me!”
Zechariah looked down at her, a puzzled look on his face. “It was you? Yes,” he nodded, the logic appealing to him. “It was you.”
Grabbing Melanie by her disheveled hair, he hauled her to her feet. “It was you, Teacher. You were bad. We have to find something to use. You have to be punished, on your behind.”
Melanie slipped a hand into her slick wet opening, praying whatever he did to her would make her come. “Yes, Zech. I deserve that.”
There was a certainty in her voice now, an otherworldliness that Melanie doubted would assert itself in a calmer moment. But here, in this time and place, she was alive with dark desires. Zech took her back inside the schoolhouse. There was rope in the utility closet and he used it to secure her. He was good with ropes. Putting Melanie on her stomach, he tied her wrists together behind her back, then secured the other end to her ankles.
“This is called a hogtie, Teacher. It’s for calves, but Colonel Beauregard taught me how to do this with girls, too. Colonel Beauregard is my friend. He ties lots of bad girls, Teacher. Girls like you. At his special ranch.”
Melanie shivered at the mention of the ranch. Surely it was the same one Lyla had spoken of, where females could be branded and beaten at will—a place so terrible she would not be able to make it through a single day.
“Zech,” she asked breathlessly, “is this colonel…nearby?”
“Why do you want to know?” the boy asked, suspicious. “Anyhow,” he double-checked the ropes, “he already knows you.”
“H—he does?”
“He saw you in the saloon, the first night you were here.”
Mastering Melanie Page 9
