Mastering Melanie

by Reese Gabriel

  He stroked her hair and licked the side of her face. “You want to come, is that it, little darlin’?” Deputy Homer chuckled. “Sheriff don’t like for you to do that, does he? If you ask me, it’s cause he don’t know how to please a woman proper even if he wanted. Me, I know what a lady likes. I drive you crazy, don’t I?”

  “Y–yes,” she cried, unable to deny the humiliating truth.

  “I do that to all the girls. I tame ‘em first, then I drive ‘em wild. I tamed Gretchen real good. She begged me for it, and in the ass, too. You ever been taken that way, schoolteacher? Gretchen’s gonna get it that way real regular from now on. You know what she was doing when I came over here a few minutes ago? She was sucking cock in the saloon. There were twenty men in there and she was halfway through. Sheriff calls it ‘house arrest.’ Yep, she was going from one to the other, just as nice as you please, on her hands and knees, her hands cuffed behind her back, just sucking. If you ask me, that’s what a smart mouth like hers is for. Don’t you think, little teacher?”

  Melanie was beyond speech. The orgasm was welling inside her, though now she didn’t want it. Not with this man; not with a man – a mere animal – who’d just humiliated and abused her friend.

  “Give it to me, little teacher,” he growled, his voice crackling with sudden authority. “Come for me, or I’ll beat your ass like I did Gretchen’s.”

  The words were too much. She was being commanded to climax by a man she despised, a man who was violating her chained body. The very idea of being so servile repulsed her, and yet it was also an aphrodisiac. As if of its own will – or rather in accord with the deputy’s will – the feelings washed over her, unstoppable. Powerful, mind shattering. Wave after wave, as she gave herself to the loathsome, fetid, sniggering lawman.

  “Like I told you,” he gloated, his sandpaper tongue at her neck like a lizard’s once he’d finished slobbering and spurting. “I drive all the girls crazy.”

  The deputy stayed inside her till his organ went flaccid. Only then did he pull out, leaving her full of his seed. A moment later, he was gone again. She remained this way well into the night. Sleep, improbable though it was in her current predicament, came to her finally, deep and dreamless, and full of mercy.

  “Honest, sheriff,” Melanie heard in the darkness sometime later. “I only had one teensy weensy little drink!”

  Melanie started at the sound of the man’s voice. It was a stranger’s, very drunk. Someone was fiddling with the lock. The voice was coming through the outer door from the other side. She was still in the jail cell, she realized, hanging by her arms, numb, cold and scared.

  “Save it, Otto,” she heard the sheriff say as the door to the cellblock opened, sending a shaft of light pouring into the dark corridor. “I’m doing you a favor letting you sleep it off in a nice safe jail cell, and you know it.”

  Otto was a short, stout balding man in filthy clothes. He wore gloves with no fingers and there was black grease on his bowler hat and jacket. His nose and cheeks were beet red. The sheriff had to keep him from stumbling as he walked.

  “What in tarnation?” Otto’s eyes grew wide as saucers as he saw the girl adorning the door of his usual cell. He rubbed his eyes. “Sheriff, I think I done died this time and gone to heaven.”

  Harkin shoved the oversize skeleton key into the lock. “Consider it a bonus, Otto, for all your stays with us.”

  “I ain’t dreaming, then?” he drooled hoarsely.

  “Nope.” The sheriff swung the door wide, inducing Melanie to shuffle forward on tiptoes as best she could. “This one’s as real as you and me. And she’s ready and willing to do whatever you want her to. Aren’t you, Melanie?”

  Melanie drew in a sharp breath as Harkin smacked her sore buttocks hard. “Y–yes, sir.”

  She’d stopped short of calling him master in the drunk’s presence.

  Fortunately, Harkin appeared to take no notice. “Hear that, Otto? She’s a real eager beaver.”

  Melanie winced as he undid one of the manacles, pulling her arms free so he could reattach them cruelly behind her back.

  “Don’t be shy, Otto. Melanie sucks real good. She likes it rough, too.” He shoved her forward, into the arms of the stunned drunkard. Melanie nearly wretched from the overpowering smell of the alcohol, combined with days, maybe weeks of body stench.

  “Give Otto a nice kiss, Melanie.”

  Otto was an inch shorter than her. She had to lower her head. His lips burned of whisky. Eyes clamped shut, she pressed her mouth as lightly as possible.

  “That’s not a real kiss, Melanie,” Harkin chided. “You know better than that. Open your mouth up, or you’ll earn that whipping sooner rather than later.”

  A shudder of defeat passed through Melanie’s body. She’d hoped to endure the man’s touches without feeling anything herself, but Harkin was not going to give her that luxury. No sooner did she relax her jaw than Otto’s tongue was between her lips. She kissed him back, with passion. His greasy hands grabbed at her, pulling her against him. The feel of his rough clothing on her smooth, bare skin was an offense all its own.

  “Otto, make sure she’s wet, will you? I want you to have a nice, easy access. Melanie, open your legs for him.”

  Melanie wanted more than anything to clamp her thighs tighter, to run away if possible. But Harkin was blocking the door. Besides, she was cuffed and naked; where would she go? Desperate, now, she made an appeal directly to Otto. Harkin would try to punish her, to control her, but with another man present, she might yet regain her dignity and end the present insanity. “Sir,” she offered boldly. “I beg you to consider what you are about to do. I am not a virgin, I admit, but I am a lady. To take advantage of me now would be a terrible crime.”

  “Give me your belt, Otto,” said the sheriff.

  “Wha–what did you say?” Otto mumbled, trying to follow the words.

  “Your belt, dammit.” The sheriff pushed them apart. Grappling at Otto’s waist, he pulled the thick, worn strap of black leather from the tattered belt loops. “Are you stupid as well as drunk? The girl is disrespecting us.”

  Harkin took Melanie by the scruff of the neck and moved her to the single, thin mattress built into the wall. Shoving her down face first on her knees, he made her lift her buttocks into the air. “Spread,” he ordered, tapping her thigh with the belt to force them apart.

  Melanie turned her face to breathe. The wool blanket scratched her cheek. She heard Harkin repeat the order, this time with menace in his voice. Obediently, desperate to appease the man, she spaced her feet as far apart as she could manage. For her reward she was treated to a whistling lick of the leather.

  “Ow!” she cried in shock.

  Harkin struck her again, harder. “Silence, slave. You’ll take your punishment without comment.”

  Biting her lip in anticipation, Melanie splayed her cuffed fingers, doing her best to shield her exposed buttocks from the next hit.

  “Hands away from your arse, slave!” Harkin barked.

  Shocked by her own easy obedience, Melanie complied, opening herself to whatever pain the man wished to bestow. He gave her six blows, all of which she absorbed in silence. The pain of the belt was not nearly that of the cane, but she stung with the humiliation of it. She was grateful at least for the doctor’s healing cream, which seemed to have done much to soothe the original wounds, rendering the experience not nearly so terrible as it might have been.

  When Harkin had finished with her, he pulled her to her feet by her damp, matted hair and tilted her head in Otto’s direction. “Apologize.”

  “I’m sorry,” Melanie managed, the man’s hand tight on her scalp.

  “I’m sorry for disrespecting you, Mr. Otto,” he prompted. “My body exists only for your sexual pleasure and I had no right to deny you. I offer you now my mouth and cunt and ass for your use.”

  Melanie mouthed the degrading words, in effect, pronouncing herself to be the property – albeit temporarily and vicariously
– of the filthy drunk. Otto’s mouth hung open in response, indicating that he was no less shocked than her at what was being said.

  “Mr. Otto seems undecided with what to do with you, Melanie. Why don’t you begin by showing him what you can do with your mouth?”

  Melanie dropped to her knees as soon as the sheriff released her. She was not for a moment fooled by the polite and easygoing tone Harkin had used with her. It was a command, issued by a master to a slave. A chastised slave who’d already taken punishment on her bare behind for disobedience. It was as a slave that she took Otto’s flaccid cock between her lips, having first helped him with his pants. He proved difficult to arouse in his intoxicated state and twice the sheriff had to lay the leather belt upon her back to increase her diligence.

  With each blow she felt a surge of heat as though she’d been touched intimately. At last, Otto began to swell. Pressing his hands to her head, he tried to steady himself. “What a mouth,” he muttered. “What a sweet little mouth. And what a sweet little tramp to go with it.”

  “Remember, Otto,” the sheriff pointed out helpfully. “You can hold back if you want to come in her ass or vagina. She’s yours completely.”

  Otto leaned heavily on Melanie’s head with his grimy fingers. “I have died and gone to heaven,” he slurred. “I know I have.”

  “Melanie, go over and lay on the cot, show Mr. Otto what you have to offer.”

  She released the penis with a large suctioning sound. More than willing to be had now, Melanie went to the mattress, torn and stained. Lying down upon it, manacled hands over her head, she waited now for her lover’s pleasure. “I’m yours,” she whispered to the staggering drunk.

  Otto was all but drooling over the curvaceous body, blonde and young, so utterly laid out for his disposal. Looking down at his cock, as though it belonged to another, he remarked, “I hope I remember where to put this.”

  “Melanie,” commanded the sheriff. “Spread your sex lips with your fingers. Show Mr. Otto where his cock is going to go.”

  She took the delicate folds of skin between her fingertips. Stretching them as best she could, she displayed her opening. The hot, slick hole into which he’d been given complete license to plunder, pummel and ultimately spill himself into.

  “Beg for it, Melanie. Beg for the privilege of being fucked by a man.”

  “I beg you, Mr. Otto,” said Melanie. “I beg you to use me.”

  “Pinch your nipples, now, Melanie. Make them harder.”

  She squeezed the pliant nubs. In short order she began to moan, digging her heels into the mattress, lifting her hips off the surface into the air. What a whore she was. No more a lady, only a hot, begging tramp, yearning for this latest humiliation at the hands of the cruel sheriff and his chosen vessel, the horrid derelict Otto.

  “Jumpin’ jehosaphat,” whistled the man. “Would you get a look at that? She’s hotter than a fire cracker on the Fourth of July.”

  “If you’d like to settle her down some, you’re welcome to use my belt.”

  Not one to miss a hint, Melanie dropped back down, her body suddenly rigid.

  “No, thank you, sheriff,” Otto resolved. “I need to just get up in the saddle. It’s been awhile, if you know what I mean.”

  “Of course, Otto,” Harkin replied indulgently. “And remember you have all night with her.”

  Melanie bit her lip. They were talking about her is if she weren’t there, or worse still, as if she were there, but only in bodily form. Like an animal, a dog or horse to whom one refers incidentally almost as if they were an inanimate object. And yet she was a live woman, with feelings and needs. A woman craving the attention of a man. Any man. Even Otto. Defensively, in a vain attempt to hide the truth, Melanie clamped her legs tightly shut.

  “Reckon I’ll give it a try,” Otto announced, having taken a swig from a small metal flask in his pocket. “What do you say, little lady? You ready to spread for a little action?”

  “Sure she is, Otto; unless she wants to be dropped off at Fort Collins to satisfy the entire Fifth Cavalry.”

  Melanie quickly re-opened her legs, spacing them as wide as the wall-buttressed mattress would allow. Serving the filthy Mr. Otto was one thing, lying for a fort full of soldiers was quite another.

  “Good girl,” praised the sheriff condescendingly, leaning down to rub Melanie’s head. “You’re catching on fast. Keep up the good work and there’ll be a little treat for you later.”

  Melanie wanted to spit right in his smug face, but she had other concerns now as Otto was at long last coming to take his prize.

  “Oh, yea,” Otto sputtered, the mattress springs creaking violently as he clamored up, his knees planted between Melanie’s splayed legs. “Now we’re talking.”

  Ignoring the man’s foolish grin, Melanie concentrated on the mass of flesh looming ever closer. With the pushing of his cock at her vagina came the flood of stomach fat, and the dual chins. Otto hadn’t even bothered to undress, except to open his trousers. She could hardly breathe as the man shoved himself down, the harsh fibers of his clothes scratching at her soft exposed skin.

  She didn’t want to react; she wanted to hold back, to show nothing but revulsion. And yet the very act of violation, the unbearable ignominy was itself an aphrodisiac. To her shame, she found herself clutching at him, encouraging him to increase his pounding speed. Her pride gone, she cried out her pleasure, letting Otto and the sheriff, too, know just what kind of girl she was.

  “Ride ‘em cowboy,” encouraged Harkin.

  Otto was groaning low in his throat. Melanie was afraid he might have a heart attack like the Judge. And yet there was naught she could do now but surrender to the waves of ecstasy that signaled her subjugation, her despoilment.

  “Nice work, Otto, you made her come,” she heard the sheriff say.

  One more final grunt, and Otto expelled himself, spilling his seed deep inside her womb. He collapsed now, like a landslide upon her. Melanie could hardly breathe. “Please,” she begged, “let me up.”

  “Better do as she says,” the sheriff announced, giving the man a swat on the shoulder. “Don’t want my new property dying on me the first night.”

  Otto stirred from his half snoring. “Wha–at did you say?”

  Harkin helped him to his feet just long enough to grab Melanie by the hair. “On the floor, slave, where you belong.”

  The drunk tumbled back onto the now empty cot, passing out almost immediately, while the sheriff walked Melanie painfully to the cell door. Releasing her left wrist, he reattached the cuff to one of the cell bars. Melanie was now left with the choice of standing as she was or lying down. She opted for the latter, rolling herself into a protective ball.

  Harkin loomed over her, his boots near her head and drawn up legs respectively. “Get up and suck me, slave.”

  Melanie got up onto her knees. She had to press her breasts and belly against the cold metal to reach him. Gripping the bars with her hands, the one confined and the one free, she wrapped her lips round the man’s cock, prominently displayed between the thin cylinders of iron. Naked and imprisoned, cold and hungry, Melanie pleasured her jailor, making sure to do a good job. She might earn the treat he talked about, or better still, a warm bed, some clothing. Maybe even a chance to go free.

  The man made no reaction as he climaxed, except to pour his seed down her gullet. Melanie swallowed every drop then continued to lick at him till he withdrew.

  “You’ll get better with practice,” he told her at last.

  She looked up at him, dumbfounded.

  “Cheer up, sweetheart,” he winked, cinching his trousers. “Tomorrow night you’re going to be the center of the action. Know much about poker? Don’t worry if you don’t. You don’t have to play, you’re just the prize.”

  Harkin started laughing and he didn’t let up. She could still hear him after he’d locked the outer door, shrouding her in darkness. For a long time, she leaned on the bars and wept until at last, at long last
, she slid to the floor and slept.

  Chapter Nine

  The Indian attack never came. Melanie waited all morning, hoping against all hope as she lay on her side in the jail cell, still chained by the wrist to the door. It was madness, of course, to wish for such a thing, but how else could a woman in her position be expected to react? Her day had begun with Otto nudging her awake with his foot, leaning down over her with a fresh hard on. She’d taken it inside her, splayed on her back on the cell floor. Afterwards he’d gone back to sleep, leaving her flooded with his thick, hot semen. Lacking so much as a rag to clean herself, she’d lain in their mutual juices, having no choice but to wait for someone to release her.

  It was Lyla who came for her. The little minx seemed unusually subdued as she walked meekly behind Deputy Homer. Acting quite out of character, she made no comment as she tossed the girl a horse blanket to cover herself with.

  “Take her back to the saloon and get her cleaned up,” Homer ordered, having removed the handcuffs. He delivered a crisp smack to the ass of Lyla, skimpily covered in a short black dress. Lyla bit her lip and looked longingly in his eyes.

  “Later, wildcat,” he promised almost tenderly. “Later.”

  Turning to Melanie, Lyla made a tiny bow, indicating with her hand that Melanie should precede her. Not a word was spoken as they crossed the street to the saloon. Melanie was grateful to have the blanket to shield her from the prying eyes. As soon as they were in Melanie’s old room, Lyla went straightaway to draw a bath.

  “I’ll only be a minute,” the seemingly transformed Lyla offered politely. “Have a candy, they’re on the night stand.”

  Sitting for the moment on the edge of her luxuriously soft bed, enjoying one of the chocolates conveniently deposited by her bedside, Melanie was beginning to think her rival had changed her stripes.

  “Bath’s ready,” called Lyla pleasantly after a few moments.

  Melanie mumbled her thanks, entered the small room and waited for Lyla to leave. When the girl didn’t, she asked, “I wonder if I might have some privacy, Lyla?”