The Brand Ch. 06

But still; what about it, she asked herself. The first slave sold, a brunette, lovely and large breasted, was auctioned off for six hundred and fifty dollars. Then the second slave, a shimmering blonde, tawny and athletic, sold for seven hundred and seventy. Melody couldn't imagine why her bidding price had gotten so high, but she could safely assume that every eye in the room had come upon her scar certainly more than once. Presently, as her eyes bounced from face to face, Melody removed the hand from her scar, and then nestled it into the palm of the other hand behind her back. An instant more and she finally noticed the bright eyes and warm smile of the red head Latina that happened to be kneeling by the foot of Victria's chaise.

"Turn around once for me dear." asked the white haired woman.

Melody slowly turned one hundred and eighty degrees, allowing the rest of the group the same perspective the old woman had sought.

"Hmm." Said the woman sharply, "Seventeen hundred. You may turn around again."

"Seventeen fifty." called Victria.

"Nineteen hundred." said Pam.

Both the white haired woman and Victria turned to regard Pam. Pam smiled back at them both, and gave a slight shrug.

"Really Pamela?" Victria intoned, "Has it been that long that you're between slaves?"

"Now now Ms. Charpentier." Pam replied, "Don't be nasty. No worries; I'll bring her back the way I got her. Promise."

"Three thousand." The white haired woman announced.

Hoots and hollers burst from the crowd. Melody shrieked, and then tried to tone down her giggling fit by putting her hands before her smiling mouth. Victria raised an eye brow as she regarded the woman. Pam burst into laughter and scanned the faces of her fellow guests.

"Three thousand five hundred!" shouted Pam before taking another sip of her brandy.

The crowd returned to silence.

"Thirty-seven hundred." Bid the older woman as she went back to her seat by the Christmas tree.

"Four thousand." said Pam as she leveled her gaze at the woman, "You're Eleanor, Eleanor Hydleman, right?"

With a look of smug contempt, the white haired woman met Pam's gaze.

"Forty-five hundred." She said; staring Pam squarely in the eye.

"Ten thousand."

The astonishing bid had been uttered by a new voice. Huskily feminine, her tone was somnolent, imposed upon, as if intimating that her time would have been better spent asleep. A murmur of inquiry percolated through the assembled guests. The white haired woman got to her feet to better scan the room. Victria leaned forward, her view only to be blocked by milling bodies. Pam remained as she was, though she'd raised an eye brow and smiled slightly just before she took another short draft of her brandy. Melody stood motionless and wide eyed, her hands still covering her mouth. Dr. Geralynne Tucker peeked back through a wavy curtain of blonde hair, raised her glass to Melody, and then took a sip.

The view from Geralynne's penthouse was dazzling; a moonlit city scape, twinkling ribbons of flowing traffic, towering high rises and gleaming spires and the black river meandering through the snow blanketed distance. Melody stared through her own dim reflection, lamenting the phantom of herself as she studied the scene beyond the glass.

The party had ultimately not ended well for Melody. Though flawlessly executed, its guests leaving full bellied and jubilated, her confidence and excitement had suddenly devolved and withered into a dry husk of degradation and self-loathing. Blinded by her own happiness and contentment, Melody had made an error in judgment, there by displeasing her mistress.

"Oh I certainly am her model." she'd confessed to a keenly interested Pam, "She does absolutely amazing work. Has she ever shown you?"

There was a break in the auction as Victria's guests returned to the kitchen and refilled their dishes. Geralynne and Pam approached Melody after she'd descended the block and dressed. There they stood together for a time while Victria organized the second round of the evening's slaves.

"Actually," said Geralynne; regarding Pam, "We had no idea. Is she really that good?"

"Oh Dr. Tucker," Melody continued; excitedly animated, "My Mistress's really just incredible. You really must see it; her paintings, photographs, film! "

Victria's slave raved on and on. She described her domme's inspired efforts, the full body painting ; turning her into various things, animals or objects that stood out from the background of an installation, and were quite worthy of recording through photography or short film . Melody made particular mention of the series Victria had taken of her; describing off hand the shaving of her vulva so that Victria could paint every last inch of her in the colors of the changing foliage, camouflaging her so flawlessly, so undetectably that it took nearly an hour alone to find her eyes.

"And not to mention her experiments in the psycho automatic-"

"Slave?"

Melody turned immediately, tuned to the familiar voice.

"Mistress! I-"

She was about to relate to her domme the nature of her conversation. But, Victria's eyes had shown her that she already knew. Suddenly fearful and ashamed, Melody stopped herself from speaking any further, and then looked away.

"Victria!" said Pam, "Melody was just telling us about your art work. We had no idea! Can we have a look?"

Victria didn't answer, but continued to stare intently at her slave's reddening face.

"Come on Charpentier," Geralynne appealed, "Surely there must be something hanging around here we can take a look at. Slave? Go and fetch something."

"I'm sorry Mistress Geralynne," Melody intoned; her voice unsteady, "But I can't do that."

Geralynne and Pam glanced at each other. Victria regarded them both coolly, giving them a single slow nod.

"But you were so excited to show us!" said Pam; staring sympathetically at the slave.

Tears welled then at the corners of Melody's limpid green eyes and her cheeks reddened more deeply.

"I, I presumed too much Mistress Pamela." answered Melody; crying softly, "I have over stepped my boundary as a slave, and I mustn't say anything else."

"Victria?" said Pam; regarding her hostess disapprovingly.

Victria tapped at the wrapped gift she'd been holding, making Melody and the other two suddenly aware of it. Leveling her gaze at her friends, Victria gripped one edge of the box in her right hand, and then began to beat its opposite edge rhythmically, firmly, against the open palm of her left.

"It is not my wish to be inhospitable." she stated; her words measured, icily sincere, "But the slave is correct. Please do not take offense, but understand that there will be no impromptu art show. Slave?"

"Yes Mistress." sniffed Melody; her cheeks shining.

Victria turned to face her.

"I want you to stop your crying and be a big girl now." she said; extending the package to her slave, "It's still a party, and you've done a marvelous job. We'll discuss your punishment when you get back. Now Buck up, Cowboy."

Melody dried her eyes, smiling slightly.

"That's right." Victria continued as her friends looked on, "Now; take this, and open it.

Melody did as she was instructed, removing the festive bow and opening the box to reveal a gleaming choker of solid platinum, a series of seven small emeralds mounted along its front and its rear meeting in twin loops. Resting at the bottom center of the box's lustrous cushioning was a matching platinum padlock and key. Her tears then falling anew, Melody let herself get turned around by Victria. That done, she fit the collar around her slave's neck, passed the padlock's shackle through the collar's twin loops, secured it, and then dropped the key into her pocket.

Hours later, her eyes dry, her face refreshed, still poised before the window in Geralynne's apartment, Melody regarded her collar's reflection. Slowly, she reached keen finger tips to it, and felt its closeness to her skin, its warmth, and its obdurate firmness. Sighing, she glanced to the stretch of window to her left and saw that Geralynne Tucker, still dressed in her slacks and ugly Christmas sweater, was standing on the far side of the room, regarding her.

She'll want to know more about me, thought Melody. That's what we're supposed to do, people; we learn about each other. Beyond chasing dragon orgasms, that's really all there is to do here while we build ourselves up to who we want to be or tear ourselves down or just wait to die, waiting to just; die. Shush Melody. Play your own game. Lie. Tell her whatever the hell you want while she has her way with you.

"I need to apologize to you."

Melody turned briskly, her long skirt swinging and settling back to stillness around her legs. Victria had picked the plum colored dress for her to where for Geralynne that evening, the very one she'd caught her wearing months before. She'd been told that morning to remain nude until told otherwise, but Melody had tried on clothes as she'd tidied her domme's room and earned her first major punishment. Yet it hadn't been a punishment at all. She'd been afraid of the first few lashings, but it had only been an excuse for Victria to show Melody, to teach her Exactly how good her body could feel once she surrendered and trusted the hand that wielded the whip.

"I should have asked someone else to examine you that afternoon." Geralynne continued; no longer seeming as tired as she'd been at the party, "It was unprofessional, an impropriety resulting from my desire to; satisfy my curiosity."

Geralynne's words had initiated a silence. Beautifully demure, her light brown hair artfully gathered upon her head, her lovely neck, her gleaming collar and soft white shoulders exposed and her fingers loosely interlaced at her midline, Melody remained silent and waited. Beneath her flowing skirt, she clenched the muscles around the places that the good Dr. Tucker had investigated, and squeezed the second gift that Victria had given her that night. On the bed, beside the dress, had been a tube of anal lube and a bright green silicone vibrating butt plug. It was comprised of five fairly large beads, largest at the base and smallest at the tip, the tip diminishing to a point.

"Mistresses," Melody said finally, "Can afford to; satisfy their curiosity."

Geralynne, one arm folded under her breasts, the other holding up the first upon which she'd perched her chin, slowly closed her eyes, and then opened them again. There, Melody mused, you're forgiven. So now what? For a long moment, the two women continued to regard each other. Melody recalled preparing herself, not an hour earlier, for her two nights with Geralynne; packing her bag, washing up, lubing her ass, calling Victria upstairs to insert the gift into her ass, getting dressed, and then doing her hair.

She'd then descended the stairs, prepared to leave, and saw that the party was still in full swing. Geralynne was seated on the arm rest of the sofa, by the Christmas tree, where the white haired woman had been sitting. She watched as her temporary mistress swung her ring of keys quickly around her long index finger. Following her gaze, Melody saw that Geralynne was looking at what everyone else was looking at; the latest slave on the block. It was the Puerto Rican girl; her bright red hair loose around her naked, shining, olive shoulders, her beautiful slightly outer weighted round breasts, her flat tummy, long brown legs and the pale brown clef of her cleanly shaven vulva. The woman, Yazmina, was Geralynne's girl. Again, she smiled back at Melody, though there seemed something more to it, something less friendly than the smile before.

"The auctioneer bids eighteen thousand!" shouted Victria from the chaise upon which she still held court.

The guests screamed with approval. Melody was suddenly stunned, embarrassed and crestfallen. Eighteen thousand dollars, she thought. What the fuck is that about?

"You're drunk Victria!" Pam howled; seeming drunk enough herself, an arm around the shoulder of a fairly soused Eleanor Hydleman.

"Oh God Pam please." laughed Victria as she raised an arm, "Going once!"

Victria pointed an index finger at the pretty, collared, creature on the block. An attractive bald man was standing close by, in tight leather pants and a bare chest, his nipples apparently pierced with a matching pair of gleaming spheroid ornaments plucked from Victria's tree. Defeated, he wagged his head.

"Going twice!"

Victria extended a second finger. Geralynne, seeming resigned, yawned.

"Sold; to me!" Victria shouted, leading the crowd in an uproar, "Yay me! Wrap her up! No wait; stay just like that! You can put that back on later. What's your name again honey? Oh yeah, Slave; forgot."

Melody remembered how Victria's prize had bounced on the block, sending her undeniably lovely breasts into a jiggling fit for her audience, for her Joan domme. As she stood there in Geralynne's vast living room, watching her taking her first steps to decrease the distance between them, Melody still felt the sting of jealousy. It was wrong, she knew, selfish, to let such feelings linger.

There were mutually agreed upon standards. It had been explained to her, to Yazmina; there was to be no kissing on the mouth nor any attempts to put anything into any private place that happened to already be filled with something. The somethings, Melody's anal plug and Yazmina's very expensive Vulvulator, were each Victria's and Geralynne's reciprocal lines in the sand and talismans of control. Everything else; was fair game.

"Who are you?" asked Geralynne as she stepped behind Melody and began to undo her hair.

"I am Slave." Melody answered with conviction.

"Why do you exist?"

Geralynne walked slowly back around to face her slave for the evening, and then began to run her fingers gently through her hair.

"To serve my mistress." answered Melody, looking away.

Stepping in closer, Geralynne began to sniff at Melody's left ear, temple and forehead; her lips caressing her slave's skin as she made her way along the delicate contours of her face.

"Who is your mistress?" she asked, lowering her voice.

Melody raised her head, and leaned back slightly, so as to better look upon Geralynne's face. Then, a recognizable impudence in her eyes, she said:

"Victria Charpentier."

Geralynne paused to study Melody. Her slave did not look away, not until the domme resumed the lingering of her lips along Melody's cheek and jaw line.

"And who is your mistress through this night and the next?"

Geralynne had spoken the words softly against Melody's chin. The slave closed her eyes as she began to tighten her lips in uneasy anticipation. It was in that instant, as Melody's perfect stranger's lips verged dangerously close to Melody's, that Geralynne's cell began to fitfully vibrate, its buzzing bounce echoing from the counter across the room.

Victria was seated backwards in one of her kitchen chairs, one arm draped over the back rest, the other holding her cell up to her ear. She was intently staring at Yazmina, standing across the room, naked but for her collar and a pair of dark green pumps, working at the kitchen's sink. She'd been instructed to put her dress back on after she'd come off the block, and remained clothed until Melody, Geralynne, and all the rest of the guests finally departed. Then, after the last straggler was ushered out, Victria commanded her eighteen thousand dollar slave to once again remove her clothes.

Yazmina Maldonado, Geralynne's slave of three years, went immediately to task. Then, after she'd draped her dress atop the chaise, the slave lowered herself to her knees at Victria's feet. In the silence, her eyes wide with sweet obedience, she peered up into her domme's eyes. Victria, her expression solemn and confident, stepped out of her slippers and kicked them aside. Smiling, Yazmina brought her face down to meet her mistress's bare feet, and then kissed them until they shown with the effort of her exquisite submission.

"It's a bit late, isn't it Victria?" said Geralynne, foregoing her usual polite hello.

"Then let me not cut into your precious time any more than I need to." answered Victria as she studied Yazmina washing dish after dish, taking particular interest in the subtle sway of her sweetly round ass, "Now, please; hand the phone to my girl."

Victria's eyes were tuned to the music of Yazmina's body, her quick steps between the sink and kitchen table, her tawny body stretched, wrapping left overs, her firm breasts jiggling slightly with her effort, carefully scraping serving platters clean, washing tray after tray; all the while humming serenely to herself.

"Hello?" came Melody's voice.

"Hi Cowboy."

"Hi Mistress. Oh my God, I just realized. A lot of the pots and trays I used have to soak!"

"It's all being taken care of. No worries."

"Oh."

"Now; are you being a good girl for Dr. Tucker?"

"I think so?"

Melody glanced at Geralynne. After having handed over the phone, she'd stepped into the kitchen, and had gone about pouring two glasses of wine. Her back was to Melody when she'd heard her begin to laugh softly into the phone. Eventually, as she carried one of the glasses to her slave for the evening, Melody began to answer Victria in hummed yeses and noes, with short giggling bursts in between.

"She says you should show me your bedroom." advised Melody as she took the wine from Geralynne; her expression soberly timid.

Geralynne quietly beckoned. With phone still to her ear and wine in her hand, Melody followed. Once inside the bedroom, Melody rounded the bed, drank two gulps of her wine, and then set the glass down on the night stand. Then, stepping briskly back to Geralynne, the slave turned her back and said:

"She wants you to take my dress off."

Sighing impatiently, Geralynne reached her long fingers to unzip the back of Melody's dress. A moment more, and she'd peeled it to the floor around the slave's feet, and then carefully removed it from around her ankles. Then, as Geralynne hung it in her closet, Melody, still humming and giggling in the phone, crawled onto the bed. By the time Geralynne returned to the foot of her bed, the slave had lain back, fit the pillows comfortably behind her head, raised her legs, and then spread them far apart.

"Please Mistress!" giggled Melody; still holding the phone to her ear, "Would you mind turning on my butt plug?"

Geralynne slipped out of her shoes, and then crawled onto the bed. Kneeling between the younger woman's legs, she located the button that buldged from Melody's anus and pressed it. Her crossness and impatience having given way to focused concupiscence, Geralynne sat back to admire the scene.

"Now watch." whispered Melody.

Extending her legs, the phone remaining at her ear, the slave began to stare at Geralynne.

"Yes." Melody sighed into the phone.

Geralynne's eyes wandered over every beautiful inch of the slave until finally letting her gaze come to rest on Melody's blossoming vulva.

"Yes." again she whispered into the phone, her stare, though intent on Geralynne's face, becoming glazed.

The good doctor continued to gawp, watching Melody's labia begin to part, swelling and glistening; light catching drops of dew forming along its inner most hairs.

"Yes." Melody whispered again; stretching the word, the lids over her eyes getting heavier.

With her free hand, the young slave gripped her left breast firmly, and then thrust its nipple into her mouth. Geralynne began to flush, her eyes flitting between the sight of Melody's sultry stare, the wet place between her tongue and her nipple and the gleaming bud of flesh that was rising from her pussy.

"Yes, yes!" moaned Melody as Geralynne watched the young woman's clitoris rise higher, peaked like a pink mountain in miniature, the valley below flooded with the juices of its tectonics.