“Hold your tongue, girl, or you’ll earn us both a beating,” Gretchen warned, not unkindly. A moment later, seeing the girl’s distressed face, she relented. “If you must know, Mel, it’s not Zech, or the doc, and it’s certainly not any of those scoundrels that used to hang about. The marshal’s cleaned things up. It’s going to be different from now on. And I’ll tell you something else, too. Red Wolf’s alive. He was rescued and now he’s to be high chief of the Powatans. But don’t you breathe a word. I’ll get my hide tanned if Homer finds out I told you any of this. He’s the new sheriff, you know, and he doesn’t tolerate disobedience in me or any of the others.”
Melanie cried out with joy. “Red Wolf’s alive? Homer is the new sheriff? But that’s wonderful!”
“Shh!” she chided. “It won’t be wonderful if we get caught.”
“I’ll be quiet,” whispered Melanie eagerly. “But tell me, what else has happened? Is it as all as wonderfully amazing as it sounds?”
Gretchen laughed. “Better. As we speak, Zechariah is teaming up with my master and Chief Red Wolf to set up a new government for both the town and the tribe. An honest one. Rumor is, their first targets for justice will be that wicked old Reverend Fortesque and his wife. No more questions now. It’s time to get you ready for your master.”
Melanie shook her head. “But this can’t be. I’m going back to New York to stand trial. For murder.”
Gretchen brushed past her, headed for the closet. “There are clothes in here for you now,” she ignored. “Let’s pick out something suitable, shall we?”
Sometime later, bound spread eagle on the bed, a blindfold once again covering her eyes, Melanie heard Gretchen close the door, plunging her once more into a lonesome silence. There was nothing for her now but the sound of her own breath and the occasional rustling of her silk dancing dress. It was long and blue, cut low on her bosom. With no underwear to impede the lines, it made for a stunning presentation of her firm, young body. She hoped her new master would be pleased, whoever he was.
Not that it would matter, with the gallows awaiting her. That was her true master, she mused darkly, the true owner of her soul. It seemed like forever till she heard the door open. A second later it closed and she knew she was in the man’s presence at long last; the man who owned her body and soul. Sweat collected on her forehead. She could hear him breathing. By the clicking of his boots on the wood floor she knew he’d come quite close. And yet he was refusing to touch her, to command her or even to let her see him. It was terrible, this waiting. Worse than any torture she’d been put through. If it went on much longer, she’d begin to cry.
“Master?” she whispered aloud, unable to contain herself any longer. “Did I displease you? Do you not want me?”
The boots took another step forward. She could feel his body heat. There were hands at her head, rough and strong. The blindfold was yanked from her head. Light flooded in, bright and overwhelming. It took a moment to adjust her eyes. She saw the twin holsters first, then the black vest and above it the star, a five pointer inside a circle of silver.
“Trent?!”
A frown crossed the face of the handsome marshal. She’d forgotten to call him master! “Forgive me,” she said hastily, lowering her eyes. “Forgive me, master.”
The hand raised her chin from her silk clad chest, compelling eye contact. His look was stern, his eyes burning holes in her own. She was nearly ready to faint. “Trent, how can this be?” she whispered fiercely. “Why haven’t you sent me back to New York?”
A smile flicked across his lips, like a whip snapping. A second later he was expressionless once more. “You ask a lot of questions for a slave. If you must know, I have friends in New York. They did a little investigating.” Trent’s hands went to his hips. He looked at her soberly. “You should have told them the truth. About Reinhart.”
Melanie swallowed.
“It didn’t take long, you know. The man cracked rather easily. Signed a full confession, in fact.”
Melanie gasped with joy. She strained at her bonds, wanting desperately to hug him. “Trent! I mean, master! Is it true, is it really true?”
“You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you! Please, you have to tell me every detail!”
Trent’s fingers were at his gun belt. “Actually, I had something else in mind other than conversation…slave. Something involving your mouth and my prick.”
Melanie’s eyes grew wide as she beheld the erection tenting his trousers. If anything, this news shocked her more than finding out she’d been exonerated of murder. “B—but they all said…you were…”
A sly smile came across the stony face. “Impotent?” he supplied, pulling out a rock hard shaft from his opened trousers.
Melanie nodded, stunned.
Trent’s eyes narrowed, indicating he was all business now. “Open wide,” he commanded. “Slave.”
Melanie obeyed as Trent climbed onto the bed, straddling her face. Most eagerly, she took her new master between her lips. Greedily slurping she listened now as he explained himself.
“I never was incapable of arousal, Melanie,” he told her as he plunged himself to the back of her throat. “I let people believe that for my own reasons. The truth is, I am only aroused by women who are submissive to me. Preferably, slaves. As a federal officer, I thought it improper to seek out such a relationship, so I stayed celibate. Then along you came. You did something to me, girl. I’ll admit that.”
Melanie smiled, cat like as she surrounded the now hardened penis with her silky mouth. So he did care for her after all.
“Don’t get a swelled head,” he joked, tousling her hair. “I don’t intend to be easy on you. I invested a lot, and I intend to get it all back. I don’t mind saying you’re in my debt, Melanie. For starters, there are the times I rescued you. And then we have to consider the strings I pulled for you in New York.”
Melanie stiffened, thankful she wasn’t in a position to point out that he’d also been responsible for her kidnapping by Red Wolf.
“I’m not letting you go, Melanie. You’re a born slave, and you know it. Your friend Cavanaugh saw that, too. He has a long history of preying on women, you know. He didn’t find you by accident. He’ll hang, of course. Which leaves you and me…if you’ll have me. It’ll be a life sentence, of course, no parole.”
Melanie wanted to cry. Could she be hearing all this correctly? Did he really want her for his slave?
“Well?” he grumbled, pulling himself free. “What do you think of all this?”
Melanie whimpered, suddenly deprived of his cock. “Oh, master…yes, yes, I will belong to you…I have, since we met…but may I ask you one question?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ask, then, insolent slave. And quickly, because I have plans for you today.”
She felt a rush between her legs as she thought of what he might do to her, and of all the things his voice implied for her, now and forever. “Master, I have only one question. Am I dreaming all of this?”
Trent Cole reared back his head and laughed. It was a mighty, healthy sound, like the proud and playful roar of the lion. “Do you know how much I adore you girl?” he asked jovially, rising to his feet. “More than you will ever know. As for your question, we shall prove to you this is no dream. Not with a pinch, but with something a little more potent.”
A surge of pleasure rushed unbidden to her loins as she watched her new master pull the long, leather belt from the loops. She felt weak all over. He was going to use it on her.
“Beg for it, slave,” commanded the marshal, his voice fierce and dark. “Beg for your first beating at my hands. Beg to be marked by leather.”
Melanie threw back her head, the waves of an orgasm overtaking her helpless, silk clad body. “I beg it,” she said, her voice a husky moan. “I beg to be beaten by my master…to be marked.”
Trent tore the dress from her cringing body, from top to bottom. “We have a lot of work to do, sl
ave,” he informed her, baring her naked slave flesh.
“Yes, master,” she managed, her hot squirming body straining against the bonds, craving his touch, his harsh abuses. “I can hardly wait, master.”
Trent Cole laughed, even as his arm delivered the first blow to his slave’s quivering belly.
“I love you,” Melanie groaned when she’d recovered from the surge of pain, not to mention her second orgasm.
He laughed again and Melanie swore it was the most delicious sound she’d ever heard in her life. As for the others who heard it, too, they would later testify to the very same thing. The lonesome, troubled marshal had come home, they all agreed. Not to a place, but to a body, a soul, soft and feminine and which, for Melanie’s part had been as lost and lonely as his.
Uncle Martin was right, she thought as he turned her over sometime later, running his fingers over her brand in preparation for taking her between her quivering ass cheeks. There are happy endings to every story. At least to hers.
The End
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Mastering Melanie Page 25
