Mastering Melanie

by Reese Gabriel

  Melanie put down the costume. Tonight would come soon enough. For now, she was free, even if only within the confines of the tiny room. Ignoring the various racks and torture devices prominently displayed, she eyed the desk. There was an inkwell and a quill, along with a stack of stationary. Everything she would need to compose a letter to Uncle Martin. Settling herself on the polished wood chair, she began to collect her thoughts. There was much she could not tell him, but in the midst of her ordeals there were one or two bright spots. She had a roof over her head, the protection (in a manner of speaking) of the local sheriff and she’d even made a friend, whom she identified by the name of Gretchen.

  It was important to her to reassure her uncle. The man had been worried sick about her and he deserved not a moment’s more distress than was necessary. Let him think she was happy and well, free of the dark entanglements of Cavanaugh’s perfidy. Her former fiancée was another reason she was determined to speak well of her situation. If at all possible, she wanted him to suffer the agony of defeat, having believed himself to be outwitted by her escape.

  All in all, writing the letter was a pleasant occasion, one that brought back many memories of her life in New York. Her uncle had given her so much, and she must never forget her good fortune at having been raised with so much love despite being orphaned at such a young age. She’d had occasion to visit an orphan home once, and she was well aware of the conditions endured by most children unfortunate enough to lose their parents to death’s untimely call.

  She would, she decided now, make a regular habit of writing. It was only when she’d sealed the envelope and commenced to addressing it that a distressing thought occurred to her. If she sent her uncle a letter, might she be revealing her location to the authorities? Would the police be watching for such correspondence? Her uncle was beyond reproach, but what if one or another of the servants got hold of the envelope and turned it in for a reward. Cavanaugh would almost certainly pay handsomely for any such information that might lead to her capture.

  Her capture. The words filled her with mixed emotions. She dreaded the idea of being returned in shackles to her native city, but at the same time, she’d had discovered in the rigors of bondage a most delicious release. If she were to turn herself in to Cavanaugh, she wondered, would he use his influence to have the charges dropped? He would expect payment, obviously. She had naught but her body to offer, but did this not already belong, if not to him than at least to men in general?

  A mixture of cold and heat surged through her hands, and down her neck. Was it too late to fall on her knees before Cavanaugh and beg the man to take her as his wife, his slave? She would face fierce punishment for defying him, first in the garden and then for running away. And yet perhaps she was due this suffering, perhaps she’d brought it all on herself, and perhaps her life would only be right when she faced the truth about her nature, her need to submit, her secret servile heart.

  Melanie forced the thoughts from her head. The letter – she must concentrate on the letter. How could she send it, without alerting anyone, even her uncle of her true location? Clenching her fists, Melanie looked down and realized she was still nude, sitting at the desk, happily writing she’d never even noticed her lack of clothes. Her face heated with shame. Since when had she become so brazen?

  Her outfit. She must put it on, to see if it fit. She’d not dared to do so thus far, for fear of its brevity, its outrageousness. Lifting the heap of red silk, Melanie held it against herself. The material felt wicked and exciting on her skin. Her breath skipping like a pebble on the pond, she brushed it, ever so slightly against her nipples. A moment later, it was on her, scandalous and tight. She’d been given no undergarments and as her nipples swelled, the material reflected the arc of their sweet nubs.

  She posed before the mirror, running her hands over her belly, then across her hips. It fit like a second skin, detailing perfectly her flawless figure. The buttocks protruded just so, the breasts, barely contained. It was like a walking aphrodisiac. If it had this effect on her, she shuddered to think what it would do for the men.

  Melanie went back to the bed, her hips already beginning the sort of undulation that seemed inevitable with such attire. There were black shoes, she noticed now, wispy and scandalous. They would leave her feet nearly naked. Surely there were stockings, a garter, something? She descended to hands and knees, feeling for what ever might have dropped from the bed. There was nothing. It was only when she looked back up at the bedspread that she saw the choker.

  It was a tawdry thing. Black velvet, with a tiny red jewel, crusted in silver. She fingered it, her hands trembling. The jewel was glass, the kind of things worn by the cheapest of floozies. Melanie swallowed hard. Not daring to rise from her knees, she held it round her neck, tentatively, just to gauge its feel. A tiny moan escaped her throat. It was like a collar, like the collar of a pet, or a slave.

  A voice in her head was telling her to attach it. She must attach it, because it was what they expected. Sheriff Harkin, the deputy, and all the players of the poker game. The sound of the clasp was so faint, it could scarcely have been heard by mortal ears. But to Melanie, it rang loud and clear. It was real; all of this was real.

  “Hello, Melanie.”

  Melanie leaped to her feet. She’d recognized the voice at once. “Gretchen!” she cried with abandon, preparing to run and give her a hug. “You have no idea how much I missed you!”

  Gretchen smiled faintly, keeping her place in the doorway. Melanie got a good look at her and drew a sharp breath. It was like seeing a different girl.

  “You look very beautiful, Melanie,” said her friend.

  “So do you,” Melanie said, though the words sounded strange to her ears, incongruous. How could a girl appear beautiful who was stripped to the waist, her full breasts pierced with heavy rings, a chain hanging between them? There were hash marks as well, angry red streaks, welts and cuts, the clear result of a thrashing with some sort of whip.

  With her hands at her side, her chest out thrust, Gretchen was making no attempt to conceal her wounds. Melanie had a strong suspicion there would be similar evidence beneath her full-length skirt, on her legs and thighs and buttocks.

  “I–I’m sorry,” Melanie shook her head, realizing how foolish her words must sound. “I didn’t mean that. Are you very badly hurt?”

  Gretchen laughed, inclining her head just enough to draw attention to the leather collar encircling her neck. “Don’t be sorry, honey. Everything you see was done to me by Homer. He’s my master now, and I love him.”

  Melanie tried to reconcile the picture of the obnoxious, portly deputy and the near bliss on the girl’s face. “You love him? But I thought you hated him? From the first night I met you both, you did nothing but ridicule him.”

  “I did, it’s true.” Gretchen closed the door behind her and went to the bed. “Sit beside me, and I’ll explain.”

  For some reason Melanie didn’t understand, it gave her a thrill to be so close to the punished, collared girl. It was as if, vicariously, she was sharing in the glow of her possession by a strong, beloved man.

  Taking a deep breath, grasping Melanie’s hand, Gretchen began. “You see, honey, it’s real complicated being a girl. You have all these feelings, these needs you can’t even articulate, and all you know is, they have something to do with these creatures out there, big and hairy and rude, called men. You hate that your feelings draw you to them, but they do. Because you know you’re better than they are: smarter, more refined, and Lord knows we smell better.”

  Melanie laughed uneasily, not altogether certain she liked where the conversation was going.

  “It’s okay when it’s a general thing, but then, sooner or later, it all gets focused on one man in particular – usually the worst of the bunch, too. Then all of a sudden, we start acting like foolish, helpless little flirts. We fall all over ourselves, we dote, we preen, we display. To put it bluntly, we beg to be taken and used for sex. Men, being as obtuse a
s they are, never get it. They act put off, they run away. So we have to chase, prod, and usually nothing happens till we so infuriate them they have no choice but to come after us and put us in our place.”

  Melanie shivered. It was one thing to think such things in her heart, but to hear them out loud, or to say them to another human being…that was going too far.

  “No, that isn’t right,” she argued, politely but firmly covering her ears. “That is not how the world works. Ladies are to be treated properly by gentlemen, they are to be courted, and…”

  Gretchen pulled her hands from her ears. “Sweetie, who are you kidding?” she interrupted. “This is me you’re talking to. Remember the bath, the velvet ropes? Remember lying with me in bed, hmm?”

  Melanie’s cheeks flushed red. Her imprisoned hands went limp. She’d told Gretchen things. Shared her fantasies. About how she longed to be possessed by a strong man, one who arouses her by force, who would compel her to submission. “You’re hurting me, Gretchen,” she lied.

  “And it’s making you hot, too, isn’t it?” she challenged. “The very idea of it is almost enough to make you come. Look at me, Mel. Look at the marks of the whip, look at the nipple rings, look at my collar. Want to see my ass cheeks? I’m a woman, Mel. I’m sorry, but I am. I fought it as hard as I could, I guess, so I’d make sure the man was strong enough. Well, Homer – my master – is that man. He took possession of my body, and now it’s his. It took a lot to prove it to me. He whipped me, caned me, gave me a five-minute orgasm with his fist – his fist, Melanie – and then, exhausted as I was, he made me crawl into the saloon and pleasure every man there. He drank whisky at the bar while I sucked cock after cock after cock. He told me if I wasn’t pleasing enough, I’d be beaten again. I had to swallow it all, too, every last drop of it. Then, after I was done, with everyone watching he pushed me down over a table and took me in the ass. A cheer rose up from the cowboys when he made me come that way. Imagine that – my poor little sex wasn’t even being touched, and still I went off like a geyser, just from the abuse he was heaping on me. The whole time, he was telling me, telling everyone what he plans to do to me. I’m going to have his name tattooed on my ass, Melanie. I’ll have rings, too, for my labia lips.”

  Melanie went limp in Gretchen’s arms. “Poor sweet, naive little Melanie,” Gretchen whispered, lowering her to her back and stroking her forehead. “It’s all been so much for you and so fast. But you’re ready, baby. You are. Your master will find you. Not Harkin, but your true master.”

  Tears welled unbidden in her eyes. “No,” she shot back. “I will never find such a man. No one will love me or want me. I’m ugly. I’m worthless. Lyla is right; I’m a cow.”

  A hot flood was released, and before she knew it, Melanie was in the older girls’ arms weeping, her head against Gretchen’s whip marked breasts. She hadn’t intended to make a spectacle of herself this way. She hadn’t even realized all those feelings were inside her until it was too late. And now she couldn’t take them back, either.

  “Melanie, you listen to me very carefully.” Gretchen’s words reverberated all along Melanie’s breastbone. They were melodious and pleasant, but they carried surprising force. Was this what a mother sounds like to her daughter? Melanie wondered.

  “Girls are by nature cruel and petty. Our only hope is to be tamed. Lyla is screaming out for that louder than anyone I’ve ever heard in my life. She hasn’t a tenth of your intelligence, wit or beauty, and she knows it. She’s jealous of you, Melanie, and she’s afraid, because she knows once you unlock your female potential, the men will be so taken by you, they won’t even see her anymore. Don’t you ever listen to her, and don’t you be afraid of her, either. If anything, feel sorry for her. She’s lonely, frightened and in desperate need of enslavement. True enslavement.”

  “Will he ever come for me?” Melanie asked at last, in the tiniest, most desperate voice.

  It was the marshal, of course, to whom she was referring. For all her thoughts and feelings, for all her meandering worries and hopes, it was his face, his image that came to her over and over. Too much to hope for, she realized, too much to ask, and so better pushed back to the recesses of her mind.

  “I don’t know about that, honey,” Gretchen answered truthfully. “All I know is, you have to follow your destiny. Give yourself completely to each man the sheriff hands you to. He’s your guide right now; he’s the one who has charge of your body. Hold nothing back, be slave to all and your true master will show himself.”

  Melanie’s lips trembled, dry and thirsty, craving a nourishment they’d never known, never even imagined. “But I don’t know how.”

  “You don’t have to know, Melanie.” Gretchen smiled down at her, again reminding her of what a mother is like for a child. “Just be.”

  “But a man would be ashamed of me; he’d think less of me for responding like a slut, a slave, wouldn’t he?”

  Gretchen cupped her ripe breasts somberly. “See these? When my master claimed them, along with the rest of me he was so aroused, he took me four times consecutively. It’s in their nature to own us, Melanie, just as it’s in ours to be owned. Conquest isn’t a part of sex, it is sex.”

  Melanie crossed her wrists over her head. “Make love to me, Gretchen. Tie me and make love to me, like a man, like you did before.”

  “I can’t, baby,” she soothed. “I’m my master’s property now. What I do and touch, even what I feel is up to him. Besides, it’s getting late. We need to finish getting you dressed and get you downstairs. The game will be starting soon and the men will want to see you first.”

  Melanie’s eyes widened. “So it’s true, then. I really will be given tonight, to whomever wins?”

  “Yes, Melanie, it’s true. The winner will have the right to use you in any way he sees fit, without mercy, without limits for the space of the entire night. From the moment you are awarded until the first light of dawn, you will be that man’s slave.”

  “Only one man will have me, then?” she asked hopefully.

  “For tonight, yes.”

  Melanie sat up with a start. “What do you mean, for tonight?”

  Gretchen smiled indulgently. “You’re fresh meat, Melanie, and these men are very competitive. The losers will want a second chance. And after that, a third. You had better prepare yourself; your body is likely to be the stakes for many days to come. Weeks, even.”

  Melanie stared open mouthed. She hadn’t entertained such a possibility, not really. She’d fooled herself into thinking there’d be just one man, and that he’d keep her, whoever he was.

  “Cavanaugh,” she whispered in her desperation, drawing a confused, pitiful look from Gretchen. “Is it too late to call you master?”

  “Who’s Cavanaugh, sweetie?”

  “The devil,” she muttered. “The devil I know opposed to the ones I don’t.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Melanie waited at the top of the stairs, unseen. Lyla was behind her and both girls were listening to the men’s conversation downstairs round the poker table. Harkin was setting the stage at the moment, trying to whet the men’s appetites for the special prize he was offering for their upcoming game. Melanie’s pulse rate increased with every piece of graphic description. In a moment, they’d be seeing her, the tingling flesh of her body clad in the scandalous red costume, fit for a whore. To complete the look, Lyla had fixed a leather collar round Melanie’s neck attached to a chain. With it she was enjoying terrorizing the hapless former schoolteacher enormously.

  Harkin shifted the subject now, laying out the rules for the night.

  “What the hell do you mean a ‘cover charge’, sheriff?” a deep voice suddenly thundered, one she did not recognize.

  “Yea, Harkin,” added a second man, “and where do you get off telling us we’re going to finish before midnight? I won’t even be drunk by then.”

  “Calm down boys,” the sheriff chuckled. “You’ll get a better night’s sleep for the train robbery yo
u’re planning tomorrow.”

  There was a scraping of chairs on the floor and the unmistakable sound of a Colt being cocked. “That’s a lie, Harkin!”

  “Settle down, gentlemen. Can’t you tell the man’s joking?” This came from Colonel Beauregard.

  “Of course, it’s a joke,” Harkin said. “I know for a fact the robbery isn’t till next week, and I damned sure better get my cut.”

  “Yes,” added the colonel, “and seeing as how we all know now, we’d better all get a cut.”

  “I say,” chimed Doctor Lassiter. “With this many mouths to feed, I believe you fellows may be the first villains in history to incur a deficit after a heist.”

  There was laughter around the table, the tension easing considerably.

  “All right, Harkin, we’ll stop at midnight. I still ain’t paying no fee, though,” said the deep voiced man a few moments later. “Especially if there ain’t no gold in the pot for the winner.”

  “Don’t need gold, boys. I told you, we got a real prime filly up for grabs. Lyla, get the slut down here on the double!”

  That was the girls’ cue. As if Melanie weren’t smart enough to figure it out for herself, Lyla gave her a crisp smack on her thinly covered buttocks. “You’re on, you stupid cow. Better make it good, cause the sheriff says if you’re not pleasing enough tonight, I get to beat you tomorrow.”

  “What did you do to earn that right, Lyla?” Melanie spit at her over her shoulder. “Or should I take a wild guess?”

  Lyla twisted Melanie’s arm behind her back. “I gave him pleasure with my body, Melanie; something you’d never understand, being the spoiled, frigid little brat you are.”

  Melanie cried out as Lyla shoved her forward till the leash was taut, choking her neck. The girl was as cruel as she was stupid. And yet Melanie secretly envied Lyla for her easy femininity, the way the men looked at her, wanted her and used her. Would she ever be that attractive to the opposite sex?