Mastering Melanie by Reese Gabriel
Falsely accused of murder in New York, beautiful society girl Melanie hopes for a fresh start in the Wild West. Her hopes are dashed, however, as she encounters a series of men intent on exploiting her ripe young body for their deviant pleasures. Escaping near rape at the hands of stagecoach robbers, the twenty-two year old blonde finds herself in the clutches of a corrupt sheriff who coerces her into being a nightly poker game prize.
Among the town's other residents are a lecherous doctor with a taste for leather, a perverted judge who enjoys taking the young beauty over his knee, and the 'student' she's supposed to teach - eighteen year old Zech, who may be slow at reading, but he knows how to handle females! The boy coerces her into performing humiliating acts, threatening to tell his grandfather she is a bad teacher - which will only mean more punishment and abuse.
Things go from bad to worse when Melanie is whisked away by Indians. And though a cavalry colonel eventually rescues her, instead of setting her free, he sends her to a special ranch where wealthy and powerful men are entertained by human ponies. Her only hope of escape from a life of degradation and misery lies in a dangerous and handsome US marshal who's vowed to make Melanie his own. Will the beautiful blonde find true love in the arms of the deadly lawman or will she find herself subject to a more permanent and terrible form of servitude?
Penned by bestselling Bdsm author Reese Gabriel, this novel contains lots of hard S&M - corporal punishment, spanking, whipping, bondage, sexual servitude, anal and oral, pony girl training and submission.
Melanie screamed as the masked riders thundered past the window of the stagecoach. There were three of them, pistols drawn. A moment later she heard gunshots as the vehicle lurched to a halt in the middle of the dusty, dirt road. The momentum threw her forward, onto the opposing row of unoccupied seats. Before she could straighten herself, one of the robbers burst through the coach door, his Colt .45 pointed at her temple.
“Get up, little lady,” the invader announced from behind his tightly drawn bandanna. “This here’s a robbery.”
“Let go of me!” she cried, utterly helpless as the ruffian hauled her down the steps, throwing her into the arms of a second masked man, tall and broad shouldered, wearing a black cowboy hat, leather vest and chaps.
The man laughed as he passed her off to a third, a short fellow with a yellow bandanna and a bowler hat. This one decided to keep her, turning her about so she was firmly in his grasp from behind.
“Give us your valuables,” ordered the first man, the one who’d pulled her from the coach. She winced at the presence of him so close to her delicate face; he was foul smelling, with an eye patch and a tall, rounded hat of the sort Melanie was fairly certain her uncle had told her was called a ten gallon. It was hard to remember. He’d had to teach her so much about the Wild West, and in such a short period of time. As it was, she had barely gotten out of the city in time.
“Please, sir,” she cried. “I have nothing of value. I’m a penniless maiden on my way to Big Rock to serve as the new school marm.”
The man snickered behind his greasy red bandanna. “You hear that boys? The lady’s headin’ for a posting in Big Rock.”
They all started laughing as they cast significant looks in each other’s direction. Was there something about the town she didn’t know?
“A posting?” howled the tall one. “Yea, they got plenty of them out in Big Cock—I mean Big Rock.”
“Yes, I’ll bet there’s plenty you can teach them in Big Cock—on your back that is!”
Melanie flushed red. Uncle Martin had warned her of the coarseness of men in the west, but this was more than any lady could bear. “Have mercy, sirs. Can you not show some civility to a lady of breeding? One who belongs to the family of—”
She stopped herself just in time. She’d been about to reveal her lineage, forgetting that the whole reason she was out here in the middle of this cactus filled, rock strewn desert wasteland was to hide her identity and secure a fresh start, free of the legal entanglements which had nearly ended her up on the hangman’s noose in New York.
“Family of what? Whores?” The one with the eye patch supplied. He nodded now to the one holding her. Without warning, hands reached round and ripped open her black silk traveling jacket. Melanie gasped, for now she had only the white silk blouse and camisole to protect her creamy, well-shaped breasts.
“No. That’s not true!” she cried, trying to free herself. A fugitive she might be, but she was no lady of the evening. As to her false identity (she was traveling as Melanie Jones, a middle class teacher) it was a fact born of necessity, designed to protect her from unjust prosecution in New York.
“The hell it ain’t.” Small grubby hands pawed her breasts through the material. Melanie commenced to squirming, but quickly realized her actions were only serving to stiffen her abused nipples. It was a shameful thing, but not unexpected. Though a virgin, just twenty-two years old, Melanie was a woman of strong passions. Many were the boys and men who’d sought to woo the curvaceous, blue-eyed blonde in hopes of winning her for their very own, and yet she’d held out.
Cavanaugh Reinhart III, until recently her fiancée, had sought more than her kisses and when she refused his advances he had visited upon her the nightmare of her life. It was his fault that she was here now, her once comfortable life in the city ruined forever.
“You know,” the one eyed man said, “I believe you’re right. You ain’t no whore.”
Melanie did not care one bit for his tone of voice. Nor did she like it when he cocked the trigger of his nasty black revolver and shoved it to her lips.
“Cause a whore’ll do a man for money, but, little lady, you’re about to do us all for free. How do you like that idea?”
Melanie swung her head away only to have him bring it back round with the tip of the gun barrel pressed to her cheek.
“I asked you a question,” he menaced, pushing the gun to her mouth. “I said how do you like it?”
She accepted the gun between her trembling lips. “I–I don’t like it,” she managed to say, the words wrapping round the slender yet deadly barrel.
“Boss,” said the little man, his equally foul breath hot on her neck. “Want me to get at them titties for you?”
“No. Let her go. She’ll do it for us. Then she’ll lay her fine, uppity body down on the ground and spread it for us. Isn’t that right? Unbutton your blouse, sweetheart.” He grinned at her lasciviously. His good eye was cold and probing, his voice dark and brittle, belying the term of endearment he’d just employed.
Melanie felt the hot tears spring from her eyes. No one was holding her now, but there were still the three of them, with guns, strong nasty men, eyes intent like wolves. Numbly, her fingers rose to do the man’s bidding. What choice did she have? The tiny pearl buttons felt smooth on her fingers. One by one they yielded. It was ironic, really, that she’d picked this particular outfit for its conservative bent– the long black skirt and severe jacket with high button shoes and a simple, unadorned blouse. She might as well have worn one of her dazzling and risqué gowns from back home considering how she was being treated as a mere sexual object.
“Take it off,” he commanded when she had undone the final button.
© Lara Addams www.lara-addams.co.uk