Mastering Melanie

by Reese Gabriel

  “Not bad, Zechariah,” called a voice from the doorway, genteel and pleasantly southern. “For a beginner.”

  Zech froze in mid stroke. “Doctor Lassiter. Is it time already?”

  “Yes, Zechariah.” He plopped his bag down on the table. “I let you have an extra half hour, but now it is time for me to examine our little poker prize.”

  Without complaint, he got to his feet and put away his throbbing erection. “Whatever you say, doctor.”

  Doc Lassiter winked at him. “Why don’t you take your little friend somewhere, Zech. I need privacy for my exam, and I bet you’d like some too, eh?”

  Zech nodded. “Lyla’s my slave, doc,” he explained as if the physician had no clue. “She has to do everything I tell her. I’m going to marry her and make her my slave-wife and then she’ll have to crawl to me if I call her and she’ll eat out of a bowl on the floor and if I want, I can whip her when ever I like.”

  Lassiter patted his broad, youthful shoulder. “That’s nice, son. Now why don’t you run along.”

  Zech gave Lyla a very serious look, apparently missing the doctor’s blatant condescension. “Come here slave,” he snapped his fingers at her. “Crawl beside me downstairs. I am going to take you to the barn and tie you so I can put my thing in you all day long.”

  Lyla scooted across the floor, tail in the air as she made her way to reclaim her man. Melanie smiled to herself, feeling a subtle degree of superiority. She’d never do such a thing, she told herself. She’d stand her ground, no matter who was wielding the whip.

  It was a lie, but for the moment, it was a necessary one. She had work to do with the doctor, and she needed to have her full confidence to win him over for her cause, that of her freedom.

  “Take your dress off,” the doctor said most graciously to Melanie when the other two had left. “I’d like to get right to business.”

  “Of course, doctor,” she smiled. “But first, may I ask you a question?”

  The doctor’s features darkened suddenly. “I don’t like questions.”

  “You haven’t heard mine,” she challenged, sauntering towards him. Not daring to say the words aloud, she repeated her observation in the form of a whisper, gently spoken into his ear. She’d found him out, she was sure of it. And now she’d know the reason why he treated her so…inconsistently.

  Lassiter’s fists clenched, the knuckles turning white as she spoke. He stood this way for the longest time, until at last he stumbled to the room’s only chair, slumping down beside his battered medical bag.

  “Have a drink with me?” he asked, the phrase coming more as a command.

  “Yes,” she replied bravely, noting the single tear on his left cheek. “Yes, doctor.”

  Doctor Lassiter settled himself down on the bed. “Thank you,” he said as Melanie handed him one of the two tumblers of whisky. “Sit here beside me, will you?”

  Melanie opted to sit at his feet, deftly holding the glass she’d poured for herself. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she offered, looking worriedly at his moistened cheeks.

  He tussled her hair. “Not at all, child. It is just that the question you asked affected me more than you could know.”

  Melanie nodded. She’d asked him why he didn’t want her, why he didn’t try seriously to win her last night when she knew full well he had the skill to do so, and lastly why he’d turned so callous after seeing her whip marks during her first exam.

  “You see, Melanie,” he began, taking a deep sip of the whisky. “I once loved a girl not so different from you. Yellow haired, bright and proud, from the finest family in Charleston. Her father was a prominent merchant, and mine was a state legislator. The arrangements had all been made. Everyone was in agreement, except for Allison, who was the young woman in question. She had eyes for a fellow named Thompson, a young cadet at the local military academy. He was handsome, much more so than I, and quite a firebrand as well. Naturally, I was exceedingly jealous. One night, when I had a brief opportunity to be alone with Allison, on the balcony of her father’s riverfront home, I confronted her on the matter.

  “She pretended ignorance, which was the only proper thing for a lady to do. I pressed the matter, in a most ungentlemanly fashion. She had done nothing untoward, of course, having in no way acted upon her feelings for the young man. Nevertheless, I had it in my head that she had thrown herself at him. Twice, she tried to escape from my badgering inquiries, and twice I blocked her egress. Finally, I grabbed her by the arm and forced her back inside. Throwing her down on the bed – we were quite alone in this portion of the house, thanks to the inordinate trust her father had for me – I demanded she reveal to me the truth, or face physical punishment. Her angelic features turned ghostly pale, and her green eyes lit with bald-faced terror. When she threatened to scream, I slapped her hard across the cheek.

  “I do not know what came over me,” Lassiter shivered, the shame still burning from deep within, “but it is all true. My Allison gave me no trouble from that point on. I instructed her to remove her dress, and she did so. I then commanded her to let down her hair and strip away her petticoats. I did not give quarter until she was completely naked.

  “’Do not hurt me,’ she begged me plaintively. Stone faced, emotionless, I informed her I would make no promises, but that her continued obedience would greatly increase her chances of coming through without a scratch. I’d resolved already, you see, to have her. She knew it, too, though she continued to softly plead. Putting her to her belly, I tied her down with the silken cords from her draperies. Stuffing her mouth with her own camisole, I left her temporarily as I went in search of a suitable instrument. There was a buggy whip in the foyer, left by one of the coachmen. Retrieving it, I went back to my beloved.

  “Though sobbing bitterly, I saw she had been unable to free herself. Her quivering white buttocks, so smooth and shapely remained just as I left them, positioned perfectly for my pleasure. And my revenge. Pulling out the make shift gag, I quickly reasserted my authority.

  “’If you scream,’ I warned her, ‘you will be subject to the lash all the more stringently.’ It was necessary at this point to give her a taste, and so I chose the meatiest part of her ass. I hadn’t expected to see the welt, so pretty and red. Nor had I expected to hear her groan, in both fear and need. It was the first time I’d ever done such a thing and it had not occurred to me a woman could be aroused by such treatment. Not wanting to lose the initiative, I began to interrogate her, ascertaining the details of her treachery. She had nothing to confess, of course, but in my blind, almost demonic fury, I would not accept the truth.

  “Little by little, her poor wits driven to distraction, I got her to admit to crimes she had not committed, to kissing the young man, to leading him on, even to giving herself to him sexually. She wept bitterly, and in between her desperate outbursts, I continued to apply the crop. Allison whimpered and begged. She was nearly out of her mind with the emotion of it all, not to mention the overwhelming sensations. She went so far as to beg me to take her, though she was in all ways a virgin.

  “Eventually, I gave in to her lust and mine. To my astonishment, I found her wet and ready for me. In a single thrust, I sank to the hilt, easily breaching her hymen. Beaten and humiliated, naked and covered in sweat, the virgin Allison came beneath me, on her belly like a whore, spasming again and again as I pumped myself between her whip marked cheeks. I myself was in a frenzy, a frothing mania that put me beside myself. Abandoning all reason, my own clothes half torn by the very hands that had so abused my lover, I lifted myself from her abused body, my own virility still intact.

  “That’s right,” he nodded, a look of strange calm on his face now. “I did not deign to fill her with my seed just yet. I had another desire, you see, something darker still. Undoing her bonds, I helped her up to her knees. She’d imagined she was to be freed, even comforted, but instead of granting solace, I took her mouth and pried her lips apart to receive my still swollen member. Warning her to take i
t softly and lovingly, though completely, I pushed to the back of her throat, making of her mouth a pocket, every bit as soft and warm as a girl’s vaginal recess.

  “Holding fast to one of her creamy, milk white breasts, and employing the whip instructively on the meat of her folded thighs just above her knee, I quickly taught my fiancée to suck and swallow with enthusiasm. Tears staining her doll-like cheeks, she pleasured me eagerly as any whore. Like a madman, eyes rolling in my head, the cacklings of lunacy on my tongue, I spilled myself into and down her throat. Even then, my lust slaked, I continued to debase her, taking her by the hair and compelling her to lick me clean, both my cock and my balls.

  “Pushing her down face first, I leaped then from the bed and went to the window. Allison was sobbing, but I had felt her heat. I suspected she’d come herself perhaps some half dozen times, in spite of, or more likely because of her ordeal.

  “It was at this moment, looking out the window, that I made my decision. I could well have begged forgiveness, and perhaps even received it. Allison was a true submissive. This was obvious to me now, and I knew it would take little to master her. I still had the option of confession, to her father, of course, that I might be meted the justice I deserved, but as the cold clear light of the Charleston night poured onto my face through that pane of glass, I came to another conclusion. Far more dastardly.”

  Lassiter’s lips were drawn tight and thin. Melanie saw the stretching in his trousers, though he sought to cover it with his hand. “Ordering Allison to get dressed, I set my plan in motion. I would need her torn undergarments, and the whip, all of which would serve as evidence. Compelling Allison to put on a cloak, I took her downstairs, for a carriage ride. Just as now, I was not then a man of great strength. This was a crucial part of my strategy, or should I say my alibi. Another part involved paying the coachman a sum of gold sufficient to make him a wealthy man. It was to be an investment on my part, one wisely made.

  “Employing the coachman to bring us through town, we first made several prominent passes, making sure we were seen by one and all. To all eyes, we were a leisurely, pleasant couple. This accomplished, we went out to the college. I had the coachman deliver a message to her young man, knowing he would come out to meet her. What he did not expect, was a sharp blow to the back of the head, rendering him unconscious. Allison screamed at the sight. With the back of my hand I silenced her. The fresh blood appearing at the corner of her mouth fit brilliantly with my plan. As did the blow to my own neck which I instructed the coachman to deliver to my own person.

  “Leaving the young cadet on the road, the coachman drove us straightaway to the police. There he told the story I had supplied for him, and what a tale it was. Taking one look at the two of us in the back – and mind you, Allison still wore beneath her cloak the torn clothing and the marks of the whip—the police were easily fooled. The young man was found, just as we’d said, knocked out on the road. Imagine his surprise when he awoke in irons, having been accused of assaulting both Allison and myself outside the very gates of the academy.

  “The trial was set, and its conclusion foregone. To a man the jury was convinced he’d struck first, while the coachman had struck him in self-defense. Allison took to her bed, and rose for no one. The doctors called it catatonia, brought on by shock of the assault. She did not even react when news reached her of the suicide of her beloved young cadet in his jail cell. Her father wished Allison’s marriage to myself to be carried out at once, so that I could attend to her more fully. I had succeeded, beyond my wildest dreams. And yet I took no joy in my victory. Guilt plagued me. I could not look upon Allison’s face nor that of any of my fellows. Indeed, the very city I had so loved now seemed a curse to me. Close to suicide myself, I determined to leave Charleston, to begin my life anew. A life of atonement. Relocating to Atlanta, assuming a new identity, I enrolled in medical school.

  “I would cure others, I decided, and thereby gain some small measure of penance. Alas, my guilty conscience pursued me, and I was unable to establish a practice of my own due to my drinking. Though my studies came easily to me, I found my only solace in the bottle. After a series of tragic mishaps, the details of which I will spare you, I ended up here, as personal physician to Judge Van Der Mere. And there you have it. My pathetic life.”

  Melanie had her head in his lap by this time. She wanted more than anything to comfort him. Refusing her caresses, he stood abruptly. “I will take no pity, Miss Jones. I am here to examine you. Nothing more.”

  She rose to her feet, assuming a position of attention in front of him. Stiff, alert, arms outstretched at her sides. She watched as he went to his bag retrieving the familiar instruments. It’s better this way, she thought. Clinical, impersonal. And yet she pitied him his guilt. How long must a man suffer, she wondered, even for the worst of crimes. Was it guilt, too, that plagued Marshal Trent Cole?

  “Open wide,” said the doctor, though Melanie had already gaped her jaws.

  A shudder passed through her as he put the device in her mouth. It was an organ. Her third within an hour. It was getting worse, she thought. Or better, depending on your perspective.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A flash of lightning seared the stormy sky. Hot on its heels came the thunder, like a bomb, shaking the saloon to its foundations. The reverberations jarred Melanie’s nerves, nearly as much as the presence of the soldier’s hands on her bare breasts. Only a half hour into the game, she lamented on her fourth night of duty as the poker game prize, and nerves shot already.

  “More whisky, wench,” barked a stubble faced cattle rustler across the table, “or I’ll put a branding iron on your arse to liven up your steps.”

  Melanie tried to free herself from the clammy hands of the army captain, the head of artillery at Fort Collins. Her tits were proving irresistible tonight, naked as they were above the tight leather corset. The sheer silk skirt that comprised the rest of her outfit was popular as well, as it came only to the middle of her thigh, inviting both hand and eye to speculate on what lay beneath.

  “I’m going, sir,” she promised the rustler, yet another of the sheriff’s ‘business partners’. “Please, sir,” she begged the captain. “If you would let me go.”

  The mutton chopped officer tweaked her nipples as a parting gesture. “Hurry back,” he grinned.

  Melanie smiled as pleasantly as she could manage. As the property of the saloon—firmly under Harkin’s management – she had no right to object to her treatment at any of the players’ hands. As for the conflicts she found herself in as she sought to fill all the men’s needs at once, that was her problem to work out. Her only hope was to be extra nice to all of them in hopes of avoiding serious punishment by any of them should they win rights to her body tonight or any other night.

  Doctor Lassiter, who was sitting beside the rustler, made no attempt to help her, though Melanie wished he would. He’d lost half his stake already. Right on schedule, too. Melanie had seen him fold one hand already tonight with a full house. His trick was to mix the cards together after the hand so no one would notice his own. When asked for his cards after the hand, he would claim the gentleman’s prerogative for discretion. He had to be the only man in the world who cheated in order to lose, Melanie thought.

  “Dammit,” snarled the colonel who was also losing (though in his case it was stupidity and not gallantry), “are we here to sport with the wench or play cards?”

  Harkin, who’d won Melanie for himself the last two night’s running, having subjected her to a thorough going over with the whip on both occasions, laughed. “In your case, Beauregard, it’s only to play cards. The way you’re playing, in fact, I can guarantee you won’t get to touch the slut tonight.”

  There was general laughter. The colonel scowled, eschewing his usual witty retort. The fact was, the cavalry commander looked nervous tonight. Red Wolf had been reported to be in the area and there were two dead army scouts to prove it. Melanie would have expected the storm to keep even the n
otorious brave at bay, but Beauregard was taking no chances, having brought a half a dozen soldiers in from the fort as his personal bodyguards.

  “That’s right,” the rustler drooled, eying Melanie as she bent to retrieve his empty shot glass. “This little piece is all mine tonight, ain’t you sweet heart?”

  Melanie shuddered as he took full advantage of her presence to take a healthy feel of her ass cheeks through the skirt. “I belong to whomever wins me,” she replied judiciously.

  “And that’s gonna be me.” He patted his thick erection, more than a little evident under his pants. Winking, he moved his hand to his fly. “Have a seat on my lap.”

  She looked at the sheriff for help. Was the man going too far too early? “B-but I need to get more whisky,” she stammered, noting Harkin’s apparent disinterest in her plight.

  “It can wait,” he snapped, pulling her down on top of his leather chaps. The material was warm and rough on her bare buttocks. She was wet and she knew it would only be a matter of time till she soaked the material.

  “Please, let me go.”

  He seized both breasts from behind and began to nibble at her ear. “Why, slut?” he crooned. “You know you enjoy it.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I’m gonna fuck you right her on my lap. Open your mouth and you’re dead.”

  “No,” Melanie squealed, “you have to stop.”

  “Are you deaf, mister? The lady said to stop.” The voice, which belonged to no one at the table, was polite but menacing.

  All eyes looked up. A man in a black trench coat and hat, rifle at his hip, was eying them, the rain running from the brim of his hat in rivulets. His eyes were cobalt blue, his gaze penetrating the rustler as though he were some small insect about to be crushed under his silver tipped boots.

  Melanie’s heart stopped.

  “Marshall Cole,” the sheriff said thinly, the words confirming what Melanie’s eyes could scarcely believe. “It’s been a long time.”