Mastering Melanie

by Reese Gabriel

  “Behold, gentlemen! A rare flower from back east. A genuine high society girl all the way from New York!”

  Melanie blinked. Six pairs of eyes were on her, all of them lust filled. The colonel and Harkin and the doctor she already knew. Three other pairs belonged to strangers. One was a huge, bearded man with a black hat. By his side was a lanky mustachioed man in a white hat. Their faces were hard. Melanie was fairly sure these were the two train robbers. The sixth man was a puzzle. He wore a checkered suit, very elegant and a loud green tie. He was smiling, and he beheld Melanie for only a second before shuffling a deck of cards.

  The big man spit onto the saloon floor. “She’s a whore, Harkin. A dime a dozen whore. Why in hell should I risk perfectly good gold for a little bit of cunt?”

  “That’s right, sheriff,” agreed the lanky one, a sly little grin crossing his face as he patted the Colt holstered sideways under his jacket. “If we want a woman, we don’t pay, we just go out and take us one.”

  The checker-suited man cleared his throat. “That’s not what they say in Haines City, my friend.”

  The little man whipped out his gun and put it to the fancy man’s head. “Oh? And what do they say in Haines City, friend?”

  “They say,” he continued, not batting an eyelash, “that the reason you boys have to rob so many trains is to get enough gold to pay Bertha the Hag to spread her legs for you.”

  “Why, you son of a—”

  The little man’s partner had to hold him back. “Percy, knock it off,” he growled, lifting the man by the scruff of his neck an inch off his chair. “Can’t you see, he’s just trying to get you riled up. I say we settle down and clean all these bastards’ clocks.”

  “Fine,” whined the one called Percy, pulling gold coins from his pocket as soon as he was returned to his seat. “But I want to see what we’re playing for-without no stinking clothes in the way.”

  “Me, too,” said the big man, adding his own gold to the stack in front of them.

  “You heard them,” Lyla barked, tugging on Melanie’s leash. “Lift up your skirts.”

  Melanie hesitated, prompting Lyla to swat her on the ass again, hard enough to make her wince. Hands trembling, she reached for the hem of the pathetic little skirt. Pulling it up to her waist, she bared her yellow thatch, still warm and glistening from the orgasm Lyla had compelled her to endure at her own hand prior to getting dressed.

  “Not half bad,” said Percy. “Doesn’t look all stretched out yet like most of the meat you got around here.”

  “You’re right,” the sheriff agreed. “Not half bad at all. I think I’ll double the cover.”

  “What?!” exclaimed the two robbers almost in unison.

  Harkin shrugged, looking bored. “That is, unless you two don’t want to compete for the girl’s anal cherry.”

  “A backdoor virgin,” snorted the big man. “Around these parts?”

  “Turn around, Melanie,” said Harkin, “and grasp your ankles.”

  Melanie whimpered, but at a sharp choke pull from Lyla, she relented.

  “Lift your skirt over your head and spread your buttocks, Melanie.”

  Melanie complied, feeling the cool air on her helpless, exposed openings.

  “Melanie, I ask you on your honor as a school teacher, as a member of one of New York’s finest families, have you ever taken a man into your anus?”

  “N–no,” she sputtered. “And I’m not about to, either!”

  Lyla unhooked the leash and thrashed her exposed buttocks with it. “Say you’re sorry!”

  The metal bit cruelly.

  “I’m sorry!” Melanie wailed.

  “Lyla, that will be all,’ Harkin instructed. “Go upstairs now and chain yourself to your bed. Naked.”

  Lyla bit her lip. “Yes, sheriff.”

  Melanie watched her scamper away, just another girl being ordered by a man.

  “Come here, Melanie,” the sheriff called to her, not unkindly.

  She approached him, warily.

  “Bend down.”

  Melanie stooped forward, allowing the sheriff to run his fingers over her face. “You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you?” he coaxed, inserting a thumb into her mouth.

  Resisting the urge to bite him, Melanie nodded.

  “Suck,” he commanded.

  Closing her eyes, she yielded herself to the sensation, servicing the thumb as if it were his member.

  “Five card stud, gentlemen. Deuces wild,” she heard Harkin say. “Melanie, please take the men’s drink orders.”

  The thumb was plucked from her mouth. She tremored slightly. She’d been on the brink of orgasm, just from the feeling of the rough, calloused digit on her silky tongue. How would she ever make it through the night? she wondered.

  “I want whisky, bitch,” said Percy. “Same for my partner.”

  Melanie nodded numbly. The rest of the men called out their orders and before she knew it, she was going to the bar, publicly humiliated, in the process of waiting on a table of uncouth men, one of whom was going to possess her sexually in the most disgusting manner imaginable.

  “I’ll see your ten,” the big man was saying when she returned with four shots and two beers on a tray. “And raise you twenty.”

  “Reckon you’ll need to rob two trains next week,” said the sheriff, adding his own money to the growing pile.

  They’d all ordered whisky except for the man in the checked suit and the sheriff who preferred bourbon. After giving them the frosty mugs of yellow foam covered brew for chasers, she began laying out the shots. The doctor said thank you, while the colonel merely grunted.

  “I asked for a bottle of whisky,” Percy sneered when she got to him.

  “Me, too,” the big man concurred.

  “I–I didn’t realized,” said Melanie meekly, looking to the others for help and receiving none.

  “That’s because you’re a stupid little cunt.” Percy pushed back his chair. “Drink both these here shots yourself, then lay across my lap for a spanking.”

  “Harkin?” the checkered suit man asked, his focus on the game. “You folding or what?”

  “I’m out,” said the sheriff, ignoring the ensuing scene. “Too rich for my blood.”

  “Mine, too,” the doctor agreed.

  Melanie looked at Percy’s lap. His pants were tented. Grimacing, she swallowed the bitter liquid, one tiny glass after another. It felt like pure fire burning her throat.

  “Let’s go,” Percy barked, indicating it was time for her spanking.

  Melanie hesitated.

  “You ain’t disrespecting my partner, are you, whore?” the big man menaced.

  She shook her head no and laid herself across the disgusting surface of his pants. At once his small fingers yanked up the skirt and inserted themselves disgustingly inside her wet sex. “When I say I want a bottle,” he exclaimed, punctuating every few words with a snap of his palm on her pink cheeks. “I mean…I want...a bottle.”

  “Get up,” said the big man gleefully. “Do what Percy says. Bring us a whole damn bottle of whisky. We’re gonna drink it down, then afterwards, when we win you, we’re gonna stick it up your arse.”

  Percy howled. “That’s a good one Bear!”

  “Hey,” complained the colonel. “Are you boys here to play cards or ramble on like a pair of washer women?”

  “Let ‘em dream, Colonel Beauregard,” said the suited man laying down a pair of jacks and tens. “It’s as close as they’ll get to the real thing.”

  Percy swore at the man as he raked in the first pot. “You’ll get yours,” he muttered. “Bitch, why aren’t you getting our whisky? Run, dammit!”

  Melanie took one look at the brandished pistol and took off. Breathing heavily, she returned with the bottle. There was a thin layer of sweat on her now, and her insides were warming from the whisky she’d been forced to imbibe. Nervously, she stood there as Percy looked up at her glaring.

  “When you serve us, slut, you
go on your knees, understand?”

  Melanie lowered herself to the floor.

  Percy inclined his head to the bottle held in both her hands. “Suck it, whore. Show me how you’re gonna do my cock later.”

  Melanie formed her lips into the approximate shape and lowered her head.

  “Better not spill a drop, either, or you’ll get a taste of my bull whip.”

  The glass was smooth. Sliding her mouth down over the top, careful not to spill or swallow any, she took the bottle as deep as she could. Several times, then, up and down, she worked the whisky bottle as though it were indeed a man. Her buttocks clenched as she recalled the words of the other one, the man called Bear. He intended to use this bottle inside her, in her tender, virgin asshole. The remark was intended to intimidate her, but somehow it had the opposite effect.

  The very audacity, reducing her to a cringing, sucking slave, the abject servant of a mere utility object, was arousing her, allowing her to feel a depth of subjugation she’d never dreamed of. Kneeling before them now, her head bobbing with her long blonde hair flowing about her face, her sex sopping and nearly exposed, she continued the humiliating task, even as the passions, the roiling heat began to build between her clamped thighs, pushing her over the edge.

  “How many cards, you want, doctor?” called the sheriff, who was dealing now.

  “I’m partial to three of them, Mr. Harkin. That leaves me two with which to take my chances.”

  “Two for the doc. And you, colonel?”

  “The cavalry stands firm, sir,” he announced, declining to discard. “To the last man.”

  “Look out boys,” Harkin drawled. “Beauregard’s standing pat. Time to lock up the women and the horses.”

  “Give me,” Percy whined, demanding the bottle from Melanie’s mouth. “Before you wear it out.”

  “She don’t want to give it up,” said Bear. “Look at her, will ya?”

  Melanie moaned, knowing the horny, smug men were watching her, confirming in their minds what the sheriff had promised. She was a sex toy, a prize for their pleasure. “No, wait,” she whispered, scarcely aware she was speaking out loud.

  Percy yanked the bottle from her clammy hands. “If that’s any kind of virgin,” he observed, pouring himself a shot. “I’m a full blooded Powatan.”

  “Women are natural slaves,” the colonel interjected, affecting the tone of a professor. “I’ve argued that for years. The best thing you can do for the poor misguided creatures is to corral and train them, like the fillies they are.”

  “That sounds like a medical matter to me,” Harkin said. “What about it, doctor? Is the fair gender to be considered on a par with man or beast?”

  “The question has no single answer, sheriff. If you’ll indulge me a moment of verse: the nature of woman is both complex and dual. She is man’s point of connection between heaven and hell. Within her beats the wings of angels and the tails of demons.” Doctor Lassiter held up his empty glass. “Melanie, a refill, if you please?”

  Melanie went to him gratefully. “Yes, doctor,” she whispered, lowering herself to her knees to take his glass.

  “There!” boomed Beauregard, pointing with a victorious finger. “See how she abases herself to us all after a mere word from Percy? I’m telling you, the little creatures aren’t happy unless they’re cringing at our feet. Doctor, you do them no favors giving them poetic airs.”

  “Be gone, then, fair wench,” he waved his arm at the prostrate female, “before one or the other of us is hopelessly corrupted.”

  “Yes,” the colonel agreed, addressing the female. “But first, you will kiss the doctor’s foot.”

  Melanie’s mouth went dry. The man’s shoe was patent leather, a fine coating of dust over the smooth surface. Could she really be expected to abase herself in such a manner?

  “Go on,” Percy prodded, leaping into the fray. “Do it, or you’ll be kissing my knob instead.”

  “If she can find it without magnification,” the suited man quipped.

  There was more laughter interspersed with cussing.

  Lassiter cleared his throat. “I thought we were here to play cards, gentlemen?”

  “I’m here to teach the little whore a few lessons,” corrected Percy. “What about you, Bear?”

  “Personally, I’m here to stuff her with my cock so deep, she won’t know which way is up,” Bear chortled.

  Melanie lowered her head, blonde hair cascading over the sawdust-covered floor. To cap her humiliation, at the very moment she was tenderly attending to Lassiter’s foot, the men had already returned to the game, oblivious. Closing her eyes, she let the leather, the scent, the slick feel become her world.

  “I’m going to be down to my epaulets, soon,” groused the colonel, forfeiting yet another hand.

  Alone and spurned, Melanie continued to lick at the doctor’s shoe, her thighs burning with secret need till at last the man bent to touch her shoulder.

  “That’s enough, Melanie,” he said, his voice thick with concern. “Why don’t you get us refills now?”

  What a contradiction the doctor was. Behaving like the southern gentleman at one point, examining her like a slab of beef the next. Tears in her eyes, the heat of neglect and need deep in her veins, Melanie went to fill their orders.

  “Way to wiggle that ass,” called out Bear, watching her walk.

  Upon her return, the huge foul smelling man bid her sit in his lap. He and Percy were more than halfway through their whisky bottle, and the man was quickly losing what little inhibitions he might have had. One paw on his cards, he clamped the other over one of Melanie’s barely covered breasts. “You’re gonna bring me luck, little whore,” he informed her.

  Percy grabbed the bottle, taking a swig. “We’re gonna share you,’ he said, as though the information were news. “Whichever of us wins, you do us both.”

  All the more reason to hope you both lose, she thought. But whom to root for, if anyone? Was there any of the men she’d prefer to serve with her warm, girl flesh? The sheriff she knew. With him, she could count on brutality, possibly in the company of Lyla who by now would be good and heated up in her self-imposed chains. The colonel flat out terrified her, which left the doctor and the mysterious, well-dressed gentleman who at the moment appeared to be ahead.

  Lassiter was a puzzle. He’d shown her kindness, but he’d also seemed capable of brutality. The checker-suited man, on the other hand, was a complete wildcard.

  Percy swore a blue streak as the suited man took another hand. “Mister,” he growled, laying his pistol down hard on the table. “Exactly how many aces we gonna see out of you tonight?”

  The man smiled at him. “I hope you’re not accusing me of cheating,” he said softly.

  Bear jammed a drunken hand between Melanie’s legs, apparently for confidence. “If the shoe fits,” he snorted, “card shark.”

  The well-dressed man moved so fast with the knife no one saw it coming, least of all the hapless Bear. By the time the man had blinked and cleared his fog filled head, the suited man had the tip of his blade buried deep in Bear’s beard, presumably all the way into his Adam’s apple.

  “What did you call me, sir?”

  Bear’s eyes were big as saucers. “Hey, now,” he laughed jaggedly, sweat pouring down his forehead. “There’s no need for that, is there, friend?”

  “I don’t know,” the suited man grinned, his easy expression belying the potentially deadly application of force now at his fingertips. “You tell me, friend.”

  “N–no offense,” stammered Bear.

  “None taken,” he nodded. “Now, how about taking your hands off my prize, huh?”

  He was indicating Melanie. Bear put both his huge hands in the air, his teeth chattering.

  “Miss, I would like a steak,” the stranger said to Melanie. “It will strengthen me for our night’s activities later on.”

  “Damned confident, aren’t you, sir?” Beauregard exclaimed.

  He pockete
d the knife and resumed his seat. “No, Colonel, I am simply speaking the truth.”

  By the time Melanie returned with the steak from the kitchen, the stranger had taken two more hands. The doctor was putting his hat on and bowing out. “I make my exit,” he offered magnanimously, “whilst I retain a few scraps of precious coinage, not to mention the shreds of my dignity.”

  “I shall be along presently to your office,” commiserated the colonel, “to see to my own wounds. I fear the blow to my purse may be fatal this time.”

  The next hand was taken by Percy, who commenced to gloating and exchanging war whoops with Bear. Giving Melanie a wink, he let his tongue flap in the air in a manner most suggestive and disgusting. “Hope you can spread it wide, sister. Cause we’re gonna screw your brains out.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Harkin snapped. “You’re interfering with my concentration.”

  “Sorry, sheriff. Got carried away with myself, that’s all.” Percy gave Melanie a tight glare, inducing the girl to shrink back down to her knees, eyes peeled on the floor. She had no doubt if the train robbers won her, she would spend the night in misery and anguish. Perhaps Sheriff Harkin would not be so bad after all.

  The stranger took another hand, inducing Bear to drop out. It was down to Percy, Harkin and the man with the plaid suit, the one who’d been accused of being a card shark.

  “Tens, jacks wild,” announced the sheriff, grimly dealing a fresh deck. “Mississippi showdown. Time to separate the men from the boys.”

  Melanie watched mesmerized as the cards flew across the table. All eyes were locked on their hands as conversation pared to bare minimum. She tried her best to follow as coin after coin, chip after chip was added to the growing pot.

  “Call,” said the stranger eventually, pressing his cards into a neatly fanned array on the green felt.

  Harkin gave a low whistle. Percy clenched his fists and pounded the table. “I’ve been cheated!” he cried, his voice a high pitched whine.”

  The stranger smiled as he collected his winnings. Percy leaped to his feet, making noises for a fight. When Homer suddenly appeared with a shotgun, however, backed by two other deputies, he decided to call it a night.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Bear. “This place stinks anyway.” He made a show of sniffing the air in Melanie’s direction. “Must be the odor of spent pussy.”