The Brand Ch 02

I just wanted to mention my thanks for the encouraging comments. I'm glad to have the support of interested readers.

*****

Victria smacked her alarm's snooze, and rolled over to find that Melody had already gotten up. The stretch of mattress was still warm, evidencing her recent departure, and Victria breathed in the lingering scent of her new help. Had she gone down to the kitchen to make breakfast to serve in bed? No; that was too presumptuous. Melody was too abruptly immersed into her new reality, and still too distressed by the events of the night before to assume that she'd do such a thing for her new employer. However, Victria was certain at least that there would be a breakfast of some kind.

The pleasantly sobering aroma of dark roast gradually came to overpower the fragrance in Melody's pillow. Victria eventually drew herself out of bed, and trudged to the master bath to wash her face. Still in her red and pink striped boxers and her late grandfather's "Kill Them All" t-shirt, Victria dazedly made her way downstairs. At the bottom of the steps, she could see into the kitchen. Melody, still in her pink night gown, was seated at the right end of the table, sipping from a mug, reading through what appeared to be her copy of their contract.

Melody met her new employer's gaze as she strode into the room. Victria thought she looked fairly fresh faced in spite of having been traumatized the evening before, and having cried most of the night afterward. She saw that her help had fetched the morning paper and, rather than spreading it apart to read for herself, set it along the opposite edge of the table.

"Are you feeling better this morning?" asked Victria as she padded around the opposite side of the table to the coffee maker.

Melody eyed her benefactor, keeping pace with her every step, her expression conveying a somewhat restrained astonishment.

"I am." Melody answered; her tone soft and distant, "Thank you. How about you?"

Having a knack for processing harrowing experiences in an uncannily speedy and efficient manner, Victria gave a small shrug as she recalled the masked thieves in the town grocer's and the two shots one of them had fired over her head and left shoulder.

"I heard one of the other customers in the store say that you; you didn't even flinch."

"There's no point in flinching when you don't know when it's coming." Said Victria as she took a mug from the dish drain, "I figured that their being masked was going to make it harder for the police to catch them, so I decided that they ought to leave a shell casing or two behind."

A glassy look came into Melody's eyes as she watched Victria pour herself some coffee.

"By the way;" the bold young executive continued, "Did you step out to get the paper this morning in just your night shirt?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Bare foot?"

Melody paused, her eyes widening slightly and roving brief, dubious circles before fixing them back on Victria.

"Yes." Melody sang; an uncertain smile coaxing her dimples out of hiding, "Why?"

Victria glanced at Melody as she leaned her hip against the counter and spooned sugar into her mug.

"No reason." She said; an irreproachable shine in her brown eyes, "I see you're looking over the contract?"

Melody didn't take her eyes off of Victria as she held down the bottom right edge of the document's last page with the finger tips of her right hand and then brushed its surface with the palm of her left.

"Yes. She answered; her astonishment now tempered with some degree of unease, "I thought I should take a second look, especially at the release of liability clause."

"And?" intoned Victria as she took the opposite chair, set her coffee down and unfurled her paper.

She turned to the financial section and checked the stocks while keeping Melody in the corner of her eye. Victria was very familiar with the language of the liability clause. She had drafted it herself, though she'd received some assistance from one of the lawyers in her Business Women outreach group. She knew it by wrote; admiring its sophistication, its all-encompassing essence and its boldly elegant subterfuge. Although, given that Melody was smart enough to read between the lines, and given her acquiescence and obedient entreaty the night before, Victria gathered that her deception was surely exposed.

"I, said Melody; reading aloud, "In consideration of my participation in the Charpentier Work Study Mentorship Program, hereby release Victria Charpentier, and any other people officially connected with this Work Study Mentorship program, from any and all liability for damage to or loss of personal property, sickness or injury from whatever source, legal entanglements, imprisonment, death, or loss of money, which might occur while participating in this program. Specifically, I release said persons from any liability or responsibility for my physical condition and or mental stability as they pertain to the extent of rigor inherent in said individuals' selection of instructional, vocational or behavioral habituation and for the presence or actions of any other participants."

Melody paused to glance at Victria. Victria suddenly reached her left hand to a nearby drawer, withdrew a pen, and then proceeded to circle three sets of numbers.

Melody drew a slow, deep breath when she'd finished. The sound seemed to imbue some palpability to the ensuing silence, like the echoes of a lover's sigh; a resonance that remains constant whether uttered during the first mouthfuls of seduction or while reaching the crest of a climax.

"Imprisonment?" Melody repeated; sitting up and raising her gaze to Victria, "Death?"

Rather than meet her gaze, Victria shrugged slightly as she continued to circle another series of numbers.

"Those potentialities are in the liability clauses of most contracts," she dismissively intoned, "Corporate contracts; university sports programs, amateur stripper night. However, I must confess: my program can be very; arduous."

"I see." Melody guardedly intoned, "And what do you mean by; behavioral habituation?"

"Oh, well; we can go through some right now." Victria Answered; sitting back and putting her pen down onto her paper, "Ask me if I'd like some breakfast."

Melody glanced away, her gaze slightly bewildered.

"Uh, can I get you some breakfast?" she asked, her gaze flitting, lashes fluttering like the darting flight of a finch.

"Yes you can. "said Victria, gazing with an undefinably mirthful smile in her eyes, "I would like some Eggs please?"

Melody sat motionless for a few more seconds before eventually rising from her seat. Her movements were simultaneously graceful and irregular, as if her body was moving ahead of her mind's direction.

"How would you like them?" she asked, turning her head yet not making visual contact as she crossed to the refrigerator.

"I would like you to prepare them naked. The eggs I'd like over easy. Do you think you can manage that?"

Just short of the refrigerator, Melody stopped. Seeming uncertain as to whether she'd heard her correctly, Melody turned a weary eye on Victria, who was eyeing her back; alertly indifferent. For a time, they remained that way, and then Melody broke the stare, gazing down at the floor before her diffident feet, her steps slow, nervous fingers scratching the back of her head as she reached the other hand to the refrigerator's door. Opening it, she nearly fumbled the egg carton to the floor before closing the door again.

Victria watched her pass behind the table, set the eggs by the stove, and then search about the lower cabinets for the rest of what she'd need. Presently, Melody found a bottle of vegetable oil and a frying pan. Then, turning to place the items on the counter and the stove, Melody was startled by Victria's sudden proximity and the pair of kitchen shears in her right hand. Her left hand, one silencing finger aloft, stood firm between them.

Melody's anxious gaze went down to the heavy frying pan on the stove; her fingers still wrapped around its handle. Her eyes stared wetly at its Burnished steel elliptical edge as she felt Victria tug at the section of night gown four inches below her breasts. Melody sighed, and then looked away from the pan as she let go of its handle and dropped her hand to her side.

She then met Victria's stare as she made her first cuts, the cool depth of her brown eyes moving from Melody's gaze and the points of the scissors. With gentle, careful effort, Victria cut the night gown open, up to the collar, and then used the shears to expose Melody's left and then her right shoulder. Victria held her help's gaze for a moment; delighting in the infuriated beauty in their limpid green depth. She gave Melody a chance to remove the night shirt herself, but Victria soon realized that it wasn't going to happen.

So, as their eyes remained locked, she set the shears aside, and then ripped the gown open to the hem. Victria's effort wasn't hurried, though she saw Melody's fingers linger on the frying pans handle and the sharp scissors were quite within the maddened woman's reach. Unconcerned, the junior executive took her time to admired Melody's lovely feet, strong lean legs, smooth thighs and unruly dark brown pubus. Eventually, Victria rose back to her full height, stepped around her hire, and then tugged the ripped night shirt's sleeves down the length of her arms.

Melody was still motionless as the ruined garment fell to the floor. Victria heaved a prolonged sigh as she took in the extraordinary beauty of Melody's shapely buttocks and the inspiring clef that divided them. For Victria, a sweet ass wasn't just a secondary component to the visual aesthetic checklist or some ancillary bodily point of passing interest. It was the snazzy hot rod to take for a joyride, a mouthwatering delicacy to savor the musky juices of, and a mistress's ultimate means toward the end of her slave's opposition.

"It's okay Cowboy." Said Victria over Melody's shoulder, trying to reassure her, "You may continue."

Melody was still motionless as Victria used the toes of her right foot to pull the ripped night gown away. As Victria kicked the pink garment around Melody's bare heels, she could hear the frustration and anger in her breathing. She was pushing, sooner than she'd anticipated because everything, events Victria could never have predicted, had fallen into place; revealing to her the naked flesh of coincidence. Securing the kitchen shears once more and dumping the pink gown into the trash, Victria recalled the first sign of Melody's submissive inclination; her kowtowing to the big black woman, then the utter terror she'd exhibited during the robbery and the swiftness with which she'd first knelt before her; pleading for the chance to be comforted in her bed.

What sort and how many nightmares, Victria wondered, would have forced her to wake if Melody had slept alone the night before? And yet, there was Melody's obvious revulsion to being asked if she abused drugs, being told to kneel and instructed to remove her clothes. Victria liked knowing that there was at least some fight in Melody; some resistance in her she could exploit if the training went too easily. She was seeking a happy medium. The wonder in Melody's eyes, like a rock star groupie, was a pleasant thing to behold. But, total and complete submission, initially anyway, might only serve to turn Victria off. Ultimately, the humiliation game is all the sexier when the slave you humiliate fights it enough that she responds well to being put back in her place, even if her mistress has to beat her a bit to get her there.

"Make sure you make enough for yourself." Victria instructed as she returned the shears to the drawer from which she'd quietly removed them, and then went back to her seat, "I want you to eat with me."

Melody said nothing nor had she even given a nod of her head.

"You didn't acknowledge me just then Melody. I expect you to acknowledge me each and every time I address you. Is that understood?"

"Yes Ma'am." Melody said flatly; cracking two eggs in one hand and pouring their contents into the hot pan, "Will I also be having my eggs over easy Ma'am?"

"That won't be necessary. Prepare yours as you like."

"Yes Ma'am."

Victria set the paper down to devote her complete attention to Melody. Her hire limited her gaze to the task at hand, salting and peppering her employer's eggs, her expression vacillating between incredulity, apprehension, calculation, reflection and sorrow. Still studying her girl, Victria took up the pen and began to slide her fingers along its length, turning it end over end, again and again. She hoped the woman wasn't going to indulge in another crying fit, at least not yet. Ultimately, Melody regarded her employer with a look of pained defiance as she carried the emptied egg shells to the trash and dumped them. Victria checked the stove's clock before riveting her eyes back onto her girl.

Her naked skin, brightened with a lovely shade of shame, had the rough textured appearance of goose flesh. Victria took in the subtle curves of her ass, her lovely legs and the ugly red scar running horizontally four or so inches down from her right hip. What's this, thought Victria; her brow furrowing. Melody stepped to the refrigerator, fetched a gallon of milk, and then briefly glanced toward the front door as if contemplating the chance of running out. Turning, she met Victria's stare with the same venom she'd briefly trained on her the day before, when she'd asked her to show the insides of her elbows and ankles. Victria had to contain her smile as she watched Melody cross back to the stove, noting the smooth dual sway of her delicately conical C sized breasts and their candy morsel nipples.

A moment later, Victria gathered her paper and pushed it toward the center of the table as Melody brought her a dish of eggs and buttered toast. The eggs were fine, very tasty actually; not too runny or well done along the edges. It would be nice to have regular home cooked meals again. Glancing at her stark-naked personal chef scrambling another pair of eggs, Victria wondered how extensive Melody's culinary repertoire actually was. How divine the providence, she mused, how fortunate the accidents that led this one to me.

Upon Melody's plating of her eggs and toast, Victria quickly got to her feet and met her hire at the other side of the table. She was not as startled as she'd been the first time Victria had advanced to her that morning, but Melody was just as taken aback when her employer took her plate from her and returned to her side of the table. Then, saying nothing, though her eyes shown with the confidence of one who was never given no as an answer, Victria pointed her chin at the space of floor beside her chair. Fuming, Melody looked toward a variety of directions until she settled her gaze on the gallon of milk she'd left by the stove.

"Don't worry about the milk." Victria intoned, "Take your breakfast on the floor beside me."

As her cheeks and chest reddened, Melody regarded the gleaming fork in her hand.

"I; I would like a glass of milk; Ma'am." Melody requested her voice tremulous.

And I'll bet you'd like to stab me with that fork too.

"Then by all means girl; get yourself a glass of milk."

Under Victria's watchful eye, Melody went about meeting her own request. Then, with glass in hand, the woman stepped around the table, lowered herself to her knees, and then rested on her heels as she set the milk down beside her. Victria extended Melody's plate to her. She obediently took it, held the plate up before her breasts, and then began to eat. As Victria made short work of her breakfast, she saw that Melody was taking small, indolent bites, as if there was an increasingly bad taste in her mouth.

"Eat up." Victria advised, "You'll need your strength. You still have the rest of the house to get through. Oh, but stay out of the basement for now. These eggs were wonderful. Thank you for making them."

"They're just eggs Ma'am." Melody remarked, her tone bitter and haggard.

"You could be a nuclear scientist and still fuck up an egg. Number one: never put down anything you do, even if it's easy."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Tell me about the scar."

Victria noticed a flashing fearful glance shot in her direction. In the same instant, Melody swallowed her last bite of food with some difficulty. Coughing, she cleared her throat, and then took a long draft of milk.

"There's nothing to tell Ma'am." She answered, setting her milk back down, "I got burned. I was dumb and little. We were having a big family picnic on the beach and we had a big bomb fire going. I wasn't paying attention and I was too cold from running back from the water that I didn't realize that I had backed up against this glowing stick of wood, and there you have it."

Victria leaned back in her chair, and gazed with warmth tempered incredulity.

"Really." She remarked, using her fork to herd the remaining bits and crumbs of her breakfast toward the center of her plate.

"Yep." Said Melody; nodding and looking away, "It could have been much worse. I was lucky."

"You were lucky."

Victria knew it was a lie, but chose not to challenge Melody about it. Instead, she waited her out, giving her the opportunity to say more. But, Melody never did. She only managed to finish her meal, and then waited for permission to rise. She doesn't want to talk about it, thought the young executive as she glanced at the stove's clock for a second time. Then I suppose I'll challenge her another way.

"When I'm finished with you this morning, you may clear the table and wash the dishes." Victria instructed, "For now, I want you to set your dish and glass on the table, and then go and get the box of wipes and the tube of lube I keep under the vanity in the downstairs bath."

Wide eyed, Melody leveled her gaze at Victria. Then, shaking her head, as if to rid it of some creeping, vile insect thought from inside her ears, she said:

"Why?"

It was the wrong thing to say. She should have known. But, she hadn't, and so Victria exploited Melody's error for her own good.

In a series of rapid actions, Melody realized the flying and crashing of her dish and glass, the seizing and jerking about of her body and then its seemingly effortless dragging through the kitchen and out into the hall. Through a whirl of colors and flashes of light, she felt herself drop to the tiled floor of the bathroom off the kitchen. Stunned, she watched helplessly as Victria hunkered before the vanity and withdrew a tub of wipes and a small pink tube.

Then Victria swiveled in her direction, and flopped her over with the frightening ease of a wild animal. Melody felt her legs being parted and straddled. A silence ensued, though it was punctuated with Melody's quick whimpering breaths. Then she felt the gentle application of a wipe along the inner walls of her ass and around her anus, which was followed by the feeling of something being lathered just inside the breach of her sphincter. Melody stopped whimpering suddenly as she felt a sudden pressure filling her ass. It too, like the application of the wipe and the cream was gentle. She assumed it to be Victria's long index finger; safe enough, though the feeling of it deepening and probing her rectum held some portence. Thinking it was wise, Melody relaxed her lower body and hoped for the best, or at least the not too bad. Ultimately, the pressure inside her ass steadily increased over half a moment, and she felt particularly full in there for a short while, until the pressure was gradually diminished.

"You do what I tell you without question. " Victria scolded; uttering the words in even, husky breaths, "Do you understand girl?"

"Yes Ma'am." Melody sniveled; unable to turn her head to face the woman, "I'm sorry Ma'am."