Marion brought Melinda to a halt in front of the table. The six men on one side of the room had a clear view; the six with their backs to the wall could not see unless they turned their chairs. None of them did. The meeting continued uninterrupted.
Pulling at the red satin, Marion tugged it down Melinda's hips. It was tight and only moved an inch or two at a time. The first tug revealed Melinda's nipples, the second and third the whole melons of her breasts. Soon, the dress was at her ankles, its tight bodice still standing upright like the armour of a breastplate. Melinda stepped out of it only when Marion indicated that was what was required.
Six pairs of eyes locked on her nakedness. The black stockings cut her body in two. Below they were dark and sheer and sleek; above, her skin was white and smooth and naked. The little triangle of fluffy pubic hair seemed to point at the thick, black lacy welts of the stockings, so high up on her thighs.
Marion did not speak. She indicated that Melinda should sit on the table. Melinda did so, the movement rattling the glasses on the tray. Then, with her hand, Marion pulled Melinda's shoulders down so she was lying on her back in the middle of the table, staring up at the ceiling.
Like an artist arranging a model, Marion posed Melinda's body. She swivelled her around so she lay along the length of the table. She rested her arms by her side and pulled the leg nearest the wall up, its knee bent, the red high-heeled shoe flat against the table top. The other leg she left flat, only opening it slightly so that Melinda's labia were exposed. She took the shoe off on this foot and placed it on the table. She moved Melinda's head to one side so she was looking into the room and facing the Master. She had no need to tell Melinda she must be still; Melinda understood. Finally Marion squeezed both Melinda's nipples hard, though she had no need. They were already both fully erect.
The work completed, Marion returned to her seat, the red dress over her lap.
Melinda could see the men's eyes on her body. Occasionally, one of the men with their backs to her would sneak a surreptitious look over his shoulder.
Melinda's body was burning with excitement. She could feel Marion's fingers on her nipples. Her sex was throbbing. It was difficult to keep herself still. She wanted to squirm against the table top. She wanted to cram her fingers into her sex. She wanted to perform for all the sets of greedy eyes that looked at her with such secret longing.
Instead, she did nothing. Just as surely as if she had been set in stone she lay as Marion had arranged her. That became her performance. She tried to channel her energy, her incredible sexual energy, into that stillness.
She knew she was wet. She suspected her labia glistened with her juices. She had no control of that function of her body. She could not stop her excitation, cool her ardour, no more than she could get up from the table. The two were inextricably linked, of course. She had wondered why she had not been bound this morning. Now she knew. This was a test, a test of her ability to obey. The more she remained passive and inert, the greater her submission.
She felt so turned on that she began to wonder if it were possible to come without moving. She wanted to moan so badly, she had to clamp her lips together. Her whole body ached for a double release. Release from the invisible bonds that held her so tight, so she could roll and writhe and squirm and abandon herself to pleasure; and release from the sexual tension that stretched every nerve and sinew of her body as tight as piano wire.
'Well gentlemen, that seems to conclude our business for today. Thank you for your time...' There was a hum of conversation, a scraping of chairs, the sound of papers being tidied away into briefcases. 'Please feel free, gentlemen...' the Master said, indicating Melinda.
One of the men who'd had his back to her sauntered over to her, as though she were some curiosity in a museum. He stood by the edge of the table, looking down at her. Two more men soon joined him.
'Beautiful body...' the first man said.
'Great...'
A younger man approached. 'Can we touch?' he asked, obviously new to the proceedings.
'I wouldn't,' the first man advised, looking back at the Master who still sat at the head of the conference table.
Melinda held her head to one side, not moving to look up at them. In her eye-line now were the flies of their trousers. She would have given anything to be touched. She would have given anything to have been able to reach out, unzip one of those flies and delve inside.
Eventually, all twelve men stood around looking at her.
'So what is your opinion, gentlemen?' the Master's voice boomed out.
Various comments filled the air. 'Beautiful', 'Exceptional', 'Such lovely legs', 'Odd pubic hair, so fine', 'She's wet, you know', 'Those nipples are hard too, really hard'.
'Yes, I think she is exceptional. And what is more remarkable is that she is quite untrained.' The Master had risen. Two men made way for him to stand by Melinda's head. 'Aren't you, child?'
It was a question. Melinda was slow to realise that she had to answer. 'Yes, Master.'
'Quite untrained. A natural talent.' He extended his hand to the fine fleece of her pubic hair. He teased out individual strands, pulling it up until the flesh from which it grew was stretched into tiny pyramids. It felt like being stung by a nettle.
His hand made no firm contact. How she yearned for him to slip it down between her legs. Couldn't he feel her heat? Couldn't he feel her body throbbing, the engine of her sex turning over like a car idling, but stationary? Didn't he want to propel her forward? But all he did was tease out her hair, like a spinner teasing out the wool, rolling it between his fingers now, forming little clumps of twisted hair.
'Well, lunch I think,' he said firmly. His hand left her. He walked away. The men followed, talking among themselves. The young man was the last. Checking they all had their backs to him, he leant over and cupped her breast in his hand, squeezing it hard. The action was so sudden and so unexpected, Melinda only just managed to suppress a moan.
Quickly the man caught up with the others at the door. As they filed out, Melinda could see Marion had gone too. She was alone in the vast room.
Another test she knew. There would be a camera somewhere. Someone would be watching. She had to remain as she was. No one had told her to move. The performance must continue.
Her body ached. The table top was hard. Her weight rested on her buttocks and her shoulders. There was an ache in her neck from holding her head to one side, and the leg Marion had raised was cramped and painful. Even the welts of the stockings seemed tight and uncomfortable on her thighs. But Melinda did not move. The engine of her sex continued to throb, her mind and body full of anticipation. Was this like the raffle at the house last night? Would one of the men be allowed to come and use her after lunch? Perhaps while they all watched?
Or, better still, perhaps the Master would walk through that door. Perhaps that was why she had been brought down here. To satisfy the Master. He had seen her last night, seen her body and her attitude. He had, she was sure, watched as she was being fucked. It must have aroused him. Surely he wanted her, his latest acquisition?
As she lay prone on the table, she was convinced that was the explanation, that all she had been asked to do was a prelude. She was here to satisfy the Master, to satisfy the craving she had created in him.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see the clock. An hour passed. She waited.
She heard the door open. Her whole body tensed. Ready. Only too ready.
But it was not the Master. It was Marion.
'Get up,' she ordered. Melinda obeyed instantly though her limbs needed some coaxing to resume activity. Marion picked up the shoe that stood on the table and dropped it on the floor, indicating that Melinda should put it back on. 'This way.'
Melinda was unsteady on her feet, the blood rushing back into the leg that had been raised. But she was not downhearted. Marion was taking her to the Master. She had to be. She even stopped her to brush out the hair that had been flattened by the table top.
&
nbsp; 'Poor cow,' Marion said. She could see what was written on Melinda's face, her excitement, her anticipation. The back of her hand caressed Melinda's cheek. She trailed her finger over her lips. 'You wanted it so badly, didn't you?'
The disappointment registered immediately. Melinda's heart sank. She was not being taken to the Master.
'Follow me,' Marion said.
It was another crisis point. Melinda stopped by the door as Marion walked through it.
'Do it,' Marion snapped.
Melinda looked at her. She felt strange, ill almost, as though all her sexual frustration had turned to poison in her body. Mechanically, she walked forward. Once again she seemed to be seeing herself from on high, watching this near-naked woman trudge through the door, her unsupported tits quivering from the movement of walking, her nylons rasping against each other as her thighs met.
She saw herself standing by the lift in the anteroom. She could not form thoughts. She could do nothing but tell herself to obey.
It had been deliberate, of course. Another lesson. It was as though the Master had reached inside her, found all the levers and pulleys that operated her psyche, and used them to reduce her to nothing, to what she felt now: bereft, empty, totally alone and undesired. Untouched. Unwanted. It was all part of the plan.
It was only in the lift that she realised she had not been given her dress back. Was that part of the plan too? Were they going to make her walk through the streets naked? Or did they think she would rebel at that? Another test.
The lift doors opened. Marion led the way out, but did not head back in the direction of the door out into the passageway. Instead, she headed through another door and down a long corridor, at the end of which a half-glass door opened onto a loading area. The Jaguar waited, the chauffeur standing by the open rear door.
Marion took Melinda's hand as they crossed to the car. Two men were loading a truck. They stopped and stared, open-mouthed.
'You have been very good, the Master will be pleased,' Marion said comfortingly.
Why doesn't he want me then? Why doesn't he take me? Melinda wanted to scream out. She said nothing.
They got into the car. The chauffeur looked at Melinda's nakedness, his eyes lingering on her breasts and loins. The leather seat was cold against her flesh.
'Get on the floor,' Marion commanded. 'Lie on the floor.'
Melinda slid off the leather and onto the thick pile rugs. They felt soft and warm.
Marion had taken a silk blindfold from her bag. She leant over and fitted it around Melinda's head, pulling it down over her eyes.
'That is your reward,' she said.
And it was true. The blackness behind the mask was welcome, anonymous, healing. Melinda lay on her side and curled herself into a foetal position. In the darkness she faced no further humiliation, no more eyes that devoured her but did nothing. No more disappointments, no more torments. For the moment at least, she was, like the darkness, featureless.
Her thigh had come to rest against Marion's foot. She could feel the leather toe and the nylon on top of her foot. She had thought Marion would draw her foot away, but she did not. Instead she seemed to press it forward. Or was that just the movement of the car? It didn't matter. To Melinda it felt good, almost too good to be true. Contact. Touch. Human touch.
Chapter Seven
Melinda had been taken straight back to her cell. Without removing the blindfold, she had been told to lie on the mattress while her hands were cuffed to the wall and the cold metal block chained between her legs. The stockings and shoes had been stripped away.
Whereas before she had welcomed the blindfold, now it was a curse. It turned her mind inward, allowing her to do nothing but listen to the pulses and rhythms of her body, allowing her to see only mental images. There was nothing to distract her. Had she not been prevented physically, she would have been unable to stop herself from masturbating. Her sex throbbed almost painfully for some attention, some relief. But, of course, they knew that. That was the point of this morning's exercise. And why she had been so effectively prevented from even the slightest contact with the part of her body that would bring her release. The metal block chained between her thighs allowed no contact. No amount of squirming and writhing of her body could bring anything to bear on her swollen clitoris but the unpleasant rasping harshness of the upper surface of the metal. And with her hands cuffed above her head any sexual fulfilment was simply impossible.
The greater the need they created in her, the more they denied her the means to satisfy it. Or so it seemed.
Time passed. She tried to think of anything but sex, but that was impossible too. She thought of last night, of that big hard cock buried deep in her throat, and immediately wished she hadn't. Involuntarily, she'd pushed her sex down on the metal block and been rewarded by a cold stinging pain for her trouble. But her mind was not deterred. Image after image filled the darkness behind the blindfold, like pictures on a cinema screen. Graphic, inescapable. The hands reaching out to feel her body at the dinner table; being whipped by Cybele; lying naked in front of all those men; their eyes looking down at her, the younger man cupping her breast...
Eventually she must have drifted off to sleep. She had no idea for how long.
The lock on the cell door springing open woke her. Hera walked in, carrying a tray of food. Without a word she uncuffed Melinda's hands, and peeled away the blindfold. She leant against the wall and watched as Melinda ate. As soon as she had finished, she made her lie down again and cuffed her hands back to the wall. She did not replace the blindfold however and, after she'd gone, the lights in the room remained on.
Melinda looked up at the video camera, wondering if she was being watched, but though the camera was pointed at her there was no way of telling whether it was operating.
Hours passed, or perhaps they were only minutes. The cell door opened again. This time Marion entered. She was wearing a high-cut white silk teddy under a matching white negligee which was undone at the front. The teddy's lace panels were cut in a deep V-shape over Marion's breasts, revealing glimpses of their ample proportions. Its cut at the top of her legs was so high it almost reached her waist, making her long sculptured thighs seem even longer. A dark growth of pubic hair nestled under the translucent white silk.
Marion unlocked the bathroom, the handcuffs and the metal block.
'Use the toilet if you need to,' she said, and stood watching as Melinda peed.
'The Master wants you,' she said.
Melinda's heart leapt. Wants me! Wants me! She could hardly believe she had heard correctly. But she stopped herself short. This was probably another game, another exercise in disappointment. The Master might merely want to see her, as he'd seen her this morning. She must not allow herself to get excited. Her needs, she reminded herself, no longer counted for anything.
Marion stood with the handcuffs still in her hand. Without another word she clipped Melinda's wrists into one cuff, then walked behind her, pulled her other wrist round into her back and locked them together. Coming back to face her again, she took a loop of fine gold chain from around her neck, spread it between her fingers and lifted it over Melinda's head. In the middle of the chain was a small key, the key to the handcuffs. It rested between Melinda's breasts.
The red high heels Melinda had worn this morning had been left in the cell. Marion told her to put them on. There was something different about Marion's manner. Before, she had been cold, and then almost sympathetic. But this time she was surly, almost angry, as though full of resentment.
They walked through the house. Marion mounted the sweeping double staircase and Melinda followed. At the far end of the landing was a set of double doors, panelled and painted white. Marion knocked once.
'Come...' It was the Master's voice, but it sounded distant, only just audible.
Marion opened the door and pushed Melinda forward. She did not cross the threshold herself, but closed the door as soon as Melinda was inside.
Melinda f
ound herself in a small hallway. There were two doors, one facing the double doors and one at the far end. She did not know what to do. If she turned her back she could probably turn the handle of the door with her cuffed hands. But is that what she was required to do? Without orders she was lost.
She heard the distinct thwack of a whip, and a responding but heavily stifled moan.
The inner door opened. Melinda recognised the leather uniform and boots, but not the face. This woman was short and plump, but like Cybele, looked powerful and strong. Her hair was a reddish auburn, and her large eyes, too large for her rather small face, were green. The silver brooch pinned to the black leather leotard was inscribed: 'SELENE'.
She gripped Melinda by the arm, her strong fingers whitening the skin, and led her through the door. The Master's bedroom was massive. Large windows were covered by heavy white curtains. The floor was carpeted in a rich oatmeal long pile, the walls lined with a creamy silk fabric. Everything in the room was a shade of white or cream: the counterpane of the large double bed, the upholstery of the large sofa and the two soft comfortable armchairs. Only an occasional table, in front of the sofa, and the television mounted on the wall opposite the bed, were not. Both these items were black.
The Master was sitting in one of the armchairs. In front of him, on his knees, was a naked man. As Melinda entered the man was lowering his head to the floor and the Master was wrapping his white cotton robe around his body.
'Get your forehead down.' Cybele stood alongside the naked man. She raised her booted foot and rested it on his neck to ensure her order was obeyed.
The man's buttocks protruded obscenely in the air. From the red welts that criss-crossed his backside, and the whip in Cybele's hand, it was obvious that the man had been subjected to a severe lashing. What else he had been made to do Melinda could only guess.
'Get him out of here,' the Master said in a tone of voice Melinda had never heard him use before. Apart from the cotton robe, he was naked.
Cybele and Selene literally dragged him to his feet. Melinda recognised his face immediately. It was the young man in the conference room who had squeezed her breast. Was this his punishment for that? Had the Master seen it on a video camera as Melinda had suspected?
Melinda and the Master Page 10
