Chapter Eight
The light woke Melinda. Though she had no way of telling, it felt earlier than she was usually woken. But the door, which usually opened as soon as the light was switched on, remained closed. Instead, the little whir of the electric motors that controlled the video camera attracted Melinda's attention. She was being watched again. The lens zoomed in on her body.
As usual she was lying on her back, her hands cuffed above her head, her legs forced open by the metal block. The thought of being watched made her nipples harden. She stared back at the camera.
It must have been half an hour before the computer lock sprung open and Marion entered, followed by the make-up woman, who carried clothing as well as her make-up box.
Marion looked stunning. Her long hair was pinned in a neat chignon at the back of her head, revealing her neck and the delicate whorls of her ears. Her slim body and heavy bosom were complimented by a simple yellow dress that clung to her bust and waist and the strong contours of her hips. Melinda had thought a lot about Marion. She could remember the details of her body under the white silk teddy, the richness of her breasts, the long stretch of her flank from waist to thigh. Now, as Marion knelt by the mattress, she felt a surge of desire. Whether she desired Marion for herself, or because she knew that Marion meant something special to the Master, she did not know.
With deliberate slowness, Marion ran her hand down over Melinda's neck, between the channel of her breasts, to the leather belt that girded her waist. Melinda shuddered at the touch.
'Special day,' Marion said quietly.
Her hand trailed down over Melinda's belly until her fingers caressed the shaven flesh of her pubis. She rubbed it with her fingertips as if testing to see how much stubble there was.
Quickly, she freed Melinda's hands and removed the metal block. She unlocked the bathroom door and ordered Melinda to shower and shave.
As soon as Melinda was dry, the make-up woman came in to begin her work. She applied the usual make-up. This time she paid more attention to Melinda's hair, styling it with a spray and combing it, as far as Melinda could tell, into a different shape. When she'd finished, she asked for Marion's opinion.
'Yes, that's fine,' Marion said.
Lastly, she applied lipstick with a brush. She held a tissue between Melinda's lips when she'd finished. Melinda pressed her lips together on it to remove any excess. She did not tell her to do it; just expecting her to act like a well-trained dog.
Back in the cell, the clothes had been laid out on the mattress. That was not the only thing that had been placed there. Marion picked up a stout leather belt, much thicker than the one used to hold the metal block in place.
'Stand still.' It was an unnecessary command. Melinda only moved when she was told to. Marion wrapped the belt tightly around her waist and buckled it in the small of her back. From each side of the belt hung a leather strap, attached to the end of which were two loops of leather. One was smaller than the other and they were firmly fixed together. Marion quickly opened the large loops, wrapped them round the very tops of Melinda's thighs, and buckled them tight, positioning them so that the smaller loops were on the outside of the thigh. As soon as this was done she picked up a pair of trousers and a light pink shirt from the bedding.
Melinda saw the lens of the camera move. Was the Master watching her bondage?
'Put these on.'
Melinda donned the shirt. It was a man's shirt, buttoning on the opposite side from a woman's blouse. She pulled the trousers up over the strange arrangement of leather straps. They bulged unnaturally. Marion held the jacket. Like the trousers it was a man's jacket, in a subtle pinstripe. Melinda was being dressed as a man. She slid her arms into the sleeves.
'Put your hands in the trouser pockets.'
Melinda obeyed. To her surprise there were no pockets and her fingers encountered her own flesh and the leather straps. Marion quickly wrapped one of the smaller leather loops around Melinda's left wrist and buckled it tight inside the opening of the pocket. She repeated the process on the right, effectively binding Melinda's hands to her thighs. But the bondage was completely concealed. To a casual observer it would look as if Melinda merely had both her hands in her pockets.
The make-up woman pulled up the collar of the shirt and fed a blue silk tie around Melinda's neck. She knotted it in place. She was made to lean against the wall while her feet were clad in pink wool socks, and men's black brogue shoes.
'Follow me,' Marion said after she'd minutely examined the finished article, carefully brushing something off the lapel of the jacket and patting down a stray wisp of hair.
They walked through the stable block and out into the covered courtyard. Melinda found it was best to hold her hands open and flat against her thighs. She could feel her muscles moving in her legs as she walked. In the marble vestibule at the front of the house the front door was open, and Melinda could see the stretched Jaguar waiting.
Marion led her outside and told her to get into the car. But all its doors were closed and the chauffeur was nowhere to be seen. Melinda tried to reach out of the pocket with her fingers to clutch the door handle, but it was impossible. Marion looked around to see why she hadn't obeyed the order, a glare on her face. Seeing the problem, she opened the door for her, but caught her by the arm as she was about to get in.
'When you get back, it's my turn,' she said, smiling. 'My turn with you. Do you understand?'
'Yes, mistress.' Melinda did not understand. Marion's hand released her and she climbed into the back of the car. With her hands bound at her sides, it was not an easy manoeuvre. Marion closed the car door behind her and walked back into the house.
The car was hot. Melinda shifted uncomfortably. How long it would be before she got back she did not know, nor what Marion's 'turn' would involve. She sensed Marion's attitude to her was complex; changing from moment to moment, just as her relationship with the Master seemed to change. Presumably, she was the Master's overseer in charge of the stables. But what that meant, Melinda did not know. With the three chatelaines and the number of cells in the stable block, there must be other slaves - perhaps men as well as women - but, apart from the man in the Master's bedroom, she had seen only the staff.
In the rear-view mirror of the car, Melinda suddenly caught a glimpse of herself. She looked like a man with rather long blonde hair. Her hair had been slicked back and parted like a man's; her make-up was minimal. Even the lipstick was a natural shade, not the flame red they had used before. Standing up, the line of her bust would have shown more, but while sitting down, her unsupported breasts were not much in evidence. At a casual glance she would appear masculine.
The front door opened. The chauffeur emerged, opened the rear passenger door of the car and stood aside as the Master left the house and climbed in beside Melinda on the back seat. He wore a pinstriped suit identical to hers. His shoes were the same too, and his shirt. The car door slammed shut.
'Charming.' The Master looked her up and down. 'Really charming.'
The car set off down the gravel driveway and through the gates.
'You make such a pretty man, my dear. Such a pretty boy.' The Master seemed totally enchanted with Melinda's appearance, smiling broadly like a young child with a new toy. 'And of course, you're in bondage. Marion's so clever.' He said the word 'bondage' with a special emphasis. 'All tied up and helpless. Do you feel uncomfortable?'
'Yes, master.'
'Poor thing. Where does it hurt most?'
'My wrists, Master.' These were the first words she had said to him that were not 'yes' or 'no'.
He felt down by her side until his hand was hooked under her forearm. He pulled, pulling it against the binding. 'Here,' he said.
'Yes, Master.' He was hurting her, but she tried not to cry out.
He took his hand away. 'I have always found the idea of bondage exciting. Well, you've seen my sculpture room. The idea is immensely appealing to me. I wonder why? There is something about having another
human being giving you control suppose. Gifting you their... will. Allowing you carte blanche to do whatever you wish with them. I think that's what it is. Whatever I want, whenever I want it...' He slipped his hand inside the jacket of the suit and rested it on her breast as if to demonstrate. 'Quite lovely breasts. Quite lovely.' He found her nipple and teased it out until it was hard. 'You see,' he continued intensely, 'the limbs are the symbols of freedom. Without them it is impossible to express our will. Don't you agree?'
'Yes, Master.' His touch was making her body ache again. She had not had human contact for five days, other than the harsh probings of the chatelaines. His hand rested against her breast so tenderly, the side of his body pressed against hers.
The car stopped at traffic lights. Pedestrians stared into the impressively large car to see who might be inside. Two men. Two business-suited men, one with his hand inside the jacket of the other. A woman peered through the window, trying to see more. The car sped away.
'Can you move your hands?'
'No, Master.'
'Try. Try hard.'
Melinda struggled against the leather straps. She could not wriggle her arms more than an inch or so upward. The pressure pinched the larger straps into her thighs.
'Helpless,' the Master said with obvious delight. He dropped his other hand into his lap and eased his erection out of the creases of his trousers until it was flat against his belly.
'You see,' he said. 'You excite me. Your bondage excites me. The gift you have given me.'
She wanted to speak. She had never felt the constraint of silence weigh so heavily as now. Why had he left her alone for so long, if she excited him so much? Had she offended him that night? Why had he let Marion touch him, and not her? She was his to command. Didn't he know she would do anything for him, would do anything to have him inside her? A thousand questions that had to be bitten back. She remained silent.
The car sped on. The Master's hand rested on her thigh now. He would be able to feel the leather strap under the trouser.
'Have you shaved this morning?'
He must have known she had. The chatelaines had been given instructions. 'Yes, Master.'
'So good.'
He lapsed into silence, but did not take his hand away. The air-conditioning had rapidly cooled the car's interior but Melinda felt hot. His hand was making her hot.
They were out of the city streets now and on a dual carriageway. The car turned left and swung through the gates of a private airfield. The uniformed guard on the gate saluted.
The car swept up to a Gulfstream Jet, its engines already running and its boarding steps extended. The Master got out of the car and mounted the steps of the plane. For a moment, Melinda thought she was going to be left in the car. Then the chauffeur opened the door on her side of the car. Clearly he expected her to get out. It was a struggle, bound as she was.
A man, dressed in the uniform of a flight attendant, took her arm and guided her up the steps of the plane. The interior was luxurious: leather armchairs; a bar; hand-crafted cabinets; thick carpeting; telephones; videos; and even a large television. The Master sat in one of the armchairs, already talking on the telephone. He looked up as she was brought in.
'Put her in the back, Charles,' he said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone, 'I have some calls to make. I may have time later.'
'Yes, sir,' the man said, leading Melinda through the cabin to a bulkhead door in the back of the plane. The rear cabin was less well appointed. A space was cleared for cargo. Two normal airline seats were bolted to the aluminium floor. The steward pushed her callously into one and cinched her safety belt around her waist. As she had no way of undoing it herself, she was effectively bound to the chair.
The steward smiled lecherously. He was thirtyish, with thinning ginger hair, crooked teeth and the first signs of what would later become a pronounced belly. Closing the bulkhead door behind him, he returned to the main cabin.
A few minutes later the plane began to move. As Melinda heard the engine noise increasing as it turned onto the runway, the steward returned, slumping into the seat next to her and doing up his safety belt.
The plane soared into the air.
'So you're the latest,' he said, as the plane's ascent began to flatten out.
Melinda said nothing.
Charles stood up and bent over her, his face inches from hers. He pulled the jacket of her suit apart and looked at her chest.
'Very nice. Pity it's such a short flight. Otherwise we could have had some fun.' With that he turned and disappeared.
From the position of the sun in the little oval windows, Melinda guessed they were heading north. Despite the steward, she felt happier than she had for days. The Master had not forgotten her. The intimacy they had shared in the car was real. She could still feel the touch of his hand on her breast and thigh. Whatever he intended for her, she was obviously still included in his plan of things. As long as that was the case, she didn't care in the least what he did. As he'd said in the car, she had gifted her will to him. And from what he said he regarded it as a precious gift at that.
Ten minutes later, Charles returned. He snapped open her seat belt and pulled her out of the seat.
'He wants you,' he said.
The words thrilled her. He led her back into the main cabin and pushed her hard, so she overbalanced into a big brown leather armchair opposite the Master, who was still on the telephone.
'Charles...' the Master remonstrated, putting his hand over the mouthpiece. 'That is no way to treat a lady.'
Charles did not apologise and went to the galley situated at the front of the plane. The Master finished his conversation and put the phone back in its mounting. He got up and came to sit on the arm of Melinda's chair.
'Would you like a drink, my dear? The heat must have made you thirsty?'
'Yes, Master.'
'Charles...'
But Charles was already on his way back with a tray. Two large tumblers were filled with mineral water, ice and a slice of lime.
The Master took one of the glasses and brought it up to Melinda's lips. She drank eagerly. A little water spilt onto the shirt and tie. She strained with her hands as if to grasp the glass herself, then felt the leather holding her back. It was a reflex action; her body had not accustomed itself to its bondage. Deliberately, she tried to make her hands relax. The Master took the glass away in order to let her have time to breathe, then put it back to her lips, tilting it right up until the ice slid down onto her lips.
Charles watched this peculiar performance, a grown man feeding a grown woman. Melinda could see the lust in his eyes, the lust at her helplessness.
The Master left the empty glass against her mouth. The ice numbed her lips. He was looking into her eyes. He brought his face closer and took the glass away. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he touched her lips with his finger.
'Cold,' he said. 'I've made your lips all cold.'
She looked deep into those hypnotic eyes. She tried to see what he wanted from her, what he intended to do with her, what she meant to him. But she could see nothing. His eyes were like mirrors. They seemed to reflect and amplify her own feelings - at that moment, joy mixed with bewilderment and longing - but betrayed none of his own.
Abruptly he stood up, took the other glass from Charles's tray and sipped at the cool water.
'We have landing permission, sir. If you could fasten your seatbelts, we will be making our descent...' the voice came over the Tannoy system almost at the same moment that Melinda felt the plane decelerating.
The Master leant over her, wrapped the seatbelt around her waist and snapped it shut. He pulled the loose end of the strap, tightening it unnecessarily hard around her hips.
He sat down opposite her. Charles walked back into the rear cabin.
'Perfect,' the Master said. 'You make a very convincing man. If your hair was cut short, your breasts strapped down properly...' he mused, moving his head from side to side l
ike a painter assessing a canvas.
The telephone interrupted his reverie.
Ten minutes later the plane was on the ground. As it taxied off the runway, Melinda could see two cars waiting on the tarmac, a silver Rolls-Royce and a blue Ford.
As soon as the plane was stationary, the Master unfastened his seatbelt and got up. He did not look at Melinda or say anything to her, his mind on other things. Charles came through the cabin and unlatched the exterior cabin doors. Hydraulic motors deployed the boarding steps from the fuselage of the plane, and the Master walked out. From the window, Melinda could see him getting into the Rolls, which drove off immediately.
Of course, he had no need to smile at her, say goodbye to her, no need even to so much as gaze in her direction, or make any of the little social gestures that people observe on parting. He was the Master. Effectively he owned her, just as he owned the plane or the car. She was not a person, not even an employee or a servant. Whatever the intimacy he chose to share with her, it did not change the fact that she was simply his.
For a while, no one paid any attention to her. Strapped tightly into the seat, there was nothing she could do but wait. The pilot and co-pilot came out from the flight deck, glancing briefly at her before leaving the plane. She could see Charles out on the tarmac, talking to a woman who appeared to be the driver of the Ford. Occasionally she would glance up at the plane, then back at Charles as if trying to confirm what he said. No one seemed in any hurry to release her.
Eventually, the chauffeuse and Charles mounted the steps back into the plane. The woman wore a black suit, its short tight skirt displaying her long shapely bare legs. Her hair was tucked up into the cap she wore, but from the wisps that escaped and from her dark eyebrows Melinda could see she was a brunette.
'He won't be back at the house before three...' Charles was saying as they walked into the cabin.
The chauffeur came over to Melinda's seat and looked down at her. 'I love blondes,' she said.
'We've got all the time in the world,' he said, working the mechanism that closed the exterior door.
Melinda and the Master Page 12
