by Sarah Fisher
Gently Max helped her to her feet. ‘Look,’ he said, and stood her in front of a large mirror. Maggie turned and looked at her bottom, the blotchy welts rising across both cheeks. Max slipped a hand between her thighs and she closed he eyes with a mixture of shame and resignation, knowing without being told that her rogue body was wet already and eager for more.
‘Now, get me a sherry and then come and kneel at my feet like a good slave,’ he said, and Maggie did as she was told, aware of his eyes on her as she moved around the room. Then she handed him his drink and knelt at his feet on the carpet, and he idly stroked her hair as he talked.
‘Our guests tonight know you have only just begun your training, but that is no reason for bad behaviour,’ he said. ‘You will do exactly as you are told, when you are told. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, master,’ she acknowledged.
Max smiled. ‘I understand this is hard for you, my dear, but you must trust me. I will show you things that until now you have only dreamed of.’
Although he was speaking quietly the tone was strong, the tone of man who had experienced many things, who commanded respect, and without thinking she settled her cheek on his knees, relishing the feel of his fingers stroking her head. It struck her as odd that a man who could be so cruel was also so capable of such tenderness.
Max sat for a while, soothing her as he might a favourite pet, and as he did she felt the tension in her easing. How odd that this man who gave her so much pain was also the one to offer her such a compelling sense of comfort and reassurance.
‘So, as I said, we’ll have lunch and then you can rest, my little one,’ he said, then sipped his sherry.
‘Yes, master,’ she whispered, and realised how natural the words were beginning to sound.
Maggie’s room was on the top floor, tucked up under the eves of the large old house, with a small en suite bathroom attached. The antique pine bed was made up in delicate white bed linen, and fluffy white towels hung from a rail by the open bathroom door. On one wall hung a large ornate mirror, and on a linen chest under the window a vase of white jasmine filled the room with a heady scent.
While she and Max had been downstairs having lunch her clothes were being neatly hung in the wardrobe, her clean shoes neatly tucked onto the bottom rail.
Then once Mrs Griffin had drawn the curtains and turned down the duvet, Maggie slipped into bed and despite everything going on in her life was asleep in a matter of seconds.
For a few moments when she awoke Maggie wondered where on earth she was. The light had subtlety changed as the day slipped slowly from afternoon into evening, and refreshed by her sleep she sat up in bed wondering what she was expected to wear for the dinner party. She’d brought a couple of nice outfits with her that could be dressed up or down as the occasion required. Maybe she ought to try and find her way downstairs and ask Mrs Griffin.
Just as she was considering what to do there was a knock on the bedroom door and the housekeeper appeared, and she quickly pulled the bedclothes up to cover her nakedness.
‘The master sent me up to help you get ready,’ the woman announced, her expression unchanged.
‘I’m fine, thanks, really,’ said Maggie pleasantly. ‘There’s really no need to go to any trouble. I was wondering what I ought to wear though?’
‘The master sent me up to help you, Miss Howard.’ The woman smiled thinly. ‘Surely you know better than to disobey his instructions. I’m to bathe you, wash your hair and then help you dress.’ As she spoke she set a box down alongside the vase of jasmine.
‘Oh,’ Maggie said, a little surprised by the announcement, not sure that she wanted to be treated like a child by the woman. ‘And what am I to wear for this evening?’
Mrs Griffin’s expression still didn’t alter. ‘You’ll find out in good time.’
Maggie got up, and conscious of her nakedness she headed into the bathroom to use the toilet, when it struck her there was no door.
She looked back at Mrs Griffin, blushing furiously, but if she was expecting sympathy or privacy, none was forthcoming.
‘I need to use the loo,’ she said, but the woman seemed oblivious to her sensitivities. She followed her into the en suite, bent to put the plug in the bath and turned on the taps, but made no attempt to avert her gaze or leave Maggie alone. Defeated, Maggie sat on the toilet, careful not to catch the other woman’s eyes.
When she was done Mrs Griffin added a stream of bath oil that filled the room with the scent of sandalwood and ylang ylang, and helped her step into the deep tub.
Maggie hadn’t been bathed by anyone since she was a child, but Mrs Griffin lathered and then rubbed her down, her fingers skilfully working through her hair, down over her breasts and belly, and lower still into the intimate places between her legs. Maggie, although deeply embarrassed, knew it was pointless to resist. It was an odd thing to share so intimate an experience with a complete stranger, and sensual on the most basic of levels. She wondered if the woman could sense the flutter of arousal and pleasure in her belly, but if she did it was not apparent.
When she was done Mrs Griffin held out a fluffy white bath towel and dried Maggie with brisk efficiency.
‘Stand still,’ Mrs Griffin instructed, standing her in front of the large mirror while she oiled Maggie’s body. Maggie shivered, but Mrs Griffin’s face remained unerringly impassive while her skilled hands carried on rubbing her breasts, nimble fingers working over her nipples, tweaking them into hardness, sliding down over her tummy, sex, and the ripe curves of her bruised bottom. Maggie blushed furiously, but it seemed to go unnoticed as the woman worked diligently.
Behind the two-way mirror in the small room, little bigger than a cupboard, Max enjoyed a deep mouthful of brandy and settled down to watch Maggie being dressed, enjoying the familiar stirring in his groin.
When she was done the older woman opened the box on the linen chest, and as she lifted out the contents Maggie gasped in shock. Inside was a black leather harness, held together with rings and studs. It went around her torso like a jacket, large rings fitting tight over her breasts, forcing the nipples to jut forward. Straps snapped onto the D-rings on her collar, with another broad strap fastening tightly around her waist, and then between her legs was another one, with a slit in it so that once securely fastened in place it held the lips of her sex open. She swallowed hard and looked across at the housekeeper.
‘It doesn’t pay to keep the master waiting,’ said Mrs Griffin.
Once Maggie was dressed the austere housekeeper handed her a pair of high-heeled knee-length boots, and then looked her up and down before very carefully outlining her eyes in dark brown kohl and her lips in red lipstick. Caught in the reflection of the dressing table mirror Maggie looked like a sexual toy, ready and available, her body a sexual invitation.
Mrs Griffin took a step back to admire her handiwork, and then as a final touch took a lead out of the box and snapped it to one of the D-rings.
Maggie felt a chill; it defined her status. Then she obediently rose and followed Mrs Griffin downstairs, her stomach churning.
‘Ah, there you are, Mrs Griffin,’ said Max, looking up as they entered the room. ‘I was just telling Freya that you’ve cooked venison for us this evening.’
‘Yes, Mr Jordan, although it’s farmed,’ said the housekeeper, entering into a conversation about cooking with Max’s guest, a statuesque blonde dressed in a smart pinstriped business suit. She was sipping a cocktail and didn’t even bother to look in Maggie’s direction. But what really caught Maggie’s attention was the naked man crouched on all fours at the woman’s feet. He too was wearing a harness and a collar and lead. He looked at Maggie, drank her in, his eyes bright with lust and a very obvious hunger.
Max noticed Maggie looking at the man, and Freya caught the man looking at Maggie and admonished him sharply. ‘Beau!’ she said, snapping the lead taut and wrenching his neck.
‘Sorry, mistress,’ he whined, and Max smiled as Maggie’s fac
e registered her surprise and discomfort.
‘On your knees, Maggie,’ he commanded, and she knelt at his feet, trying to avoid the longing look of Freya’s slave. She noticed that around his cock and balls, which were shaved and oiled, was a series of rings and leather straps, linked to the harness that appeared to keep him in a state of semi-arousal.
Mrs Griffin departed to the kitchen and Freya and Max were talking again. Under normal circumstances, at any normal dinner party, Maggie would have been chatting with them, or at least been politely involved in their conversation, a glass of quality wine in her hand. But here, crouched on the floor, it seemed that their chatting bore no relation to her life or where she was in the order of things.
Guido, smartly dressed in the guise of a butler, appeared and announced that dinner was served. Max smiled to his beautiful guest. ‘Ah, splendid,’ he said. ‘Shall we, dear Freya?’ and indicated that she should accompany him.
Freya again tugged Beau’s leash and to Maggie’s total amazement the man scurried behind her on all fours. When Max took her lead she looked up at him in silent appeal.
‘Come on, Maggie,’ he said, and to her shame she also followed on her hands and knees behind him, cringing with the degradation of it all.
‘Nice markings,’ Freya said casually, her fingertips brushing Maggie’s welted buttocks. Max nodded his appreciation for the compliment; in that instant Maggie felt more like a prize possession than ever.
Across the hallway heavy double doors led into an elegant dining room, decorated in cream and the richest crimson.
A long mahogany table, set with crystal and silver and an ornate silver candelabrum, dominated it. Without being told Beau got to his feet and pulled Freya’s chair out. Maggie decided she’d better follow suit for her master, and noticed the magnificent table was laid for only two.
Only two place settings?
She was hungry and had assumed, wrongly and somewhat foolishly it now seemed, that they would all be dining together. Instead Guido handed her a dish and indicated that she should serve Freya and Max, and as she began to she noticed that on a sideboard were two heavy-bottomed dog bowls. As she completed and task and set the serving dish down Guido nodded towards the bowls. She looked at him uncertainly, and then realised that she was supposed put food into them too - food she knew was for Beau and for her. She stiffened and stood her ground, but Guido nodded again and reluctantly she spooned vegetables into the two bowls, and then Beau added meat.
She looked down at the food. No knives, no forks, just fingers and tongues - like animals. This was impossible, but then Guido nodded towards the table where Beau was shaking out a linen napkin and settling it on Freya’s lap. The elegant blonde appeared to take no notice of her slave; instead she gave Max her full attention, laughing gaily at some comment he’d made. Maggie looked at Max, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement, so she shook out his napkin and dropped it onto his lap. He rewarded her by running a hand over her thigh, but it did very little to settle her.
Beau served the wine, while Max and Freya continued chatting. Beau then stood beside his mistress until she looked up and said, sounding decidedly bored with his presence, ‘You may go and eat now.’
Guido placed both bowls on the floor side by side. Beau was immediately on his hands and knees again to eat, while Maggie stood looking down at him and the vacant dish. Guido had cut the food up into small pieces, and she was very hungry, but there was no way she was going to grovel like Beau.
‘Is there something wrong with your dinner?’ said Max, and it was obvious from his tone that he didn’t take kindly to having his meal interrupted.
‘No, master,’ Maggie said contritely.
‘Then eat it,’ he ordered, and indicated the bowl with a sharp hand gesture.
Maggie looked at him beseechingly. ‘Please, master, I can’t,’ she began, her voice quavering. There was no way she was going to eat like an animal, no matter how hungry she was. Meanwhile Beau was snaffling up his dinner like some obscene parody of an obedient pet dog.
‘Can’t, or won’t?’ said Freya icily.
Maggie looked down at her feet, painfully aware of her nakedness, accentuated rather than covered by the leather harness.
‘Answer me!’ the blonde snapped angrily, her veneer of refined elegance vanishing in an instant.
There was a long pause while Maggie summoned her resolve, and then at last she said determinedly, ‘Won’t.’ She was instantly aware of the tense silence in the room as Max, his guest, and Guido all stared at her in apparent disbelief, and the grovelling man beside her stopped shovelling his face into the bowlful of food and looked up at her, his chin and nose smeared in rich sauce and his mouth open in shock.
‘Won’t, mistress,’ Beau whispered sarcastically, but it was too late for Maggie to retract her insolence.
‘Take her away!’ Max roared at Guido, waving his hand in dismissal and throwing his linen napkin onto the table beside his meal, as though she had just ruined his appetite and the whole evening. ‘Get her out of my sight!’
‘Big mistake,’ said Guido, as he marched Maggie out of the dining room and down the hall. ‘Showing him up in front of his guests. Big mistake.’
‘But I didn’t,’ Maggie protested.
Guido snorted. ‘That’s not how he’ll see it.’ He led her upstairs, unlocked a door at the far end of the landing, and pushed her inside, the room beyond making Maggie gasp with shock.
It was a dungeon. There was no other word for it. In one corner was an awful rack, and in another a large, foreboding cross-shaped frame. The walls were hung with whips and crops and gags and manacles, clamps and clips and all manner of other things, many of which Maggie didn’t recognise and had no idea what they might be used for.
She turned to Guido. ‘Let me go back,’ she pleaded, unnerved by the ominous room. ‘I’ll eat my dinner, I will, it was a mistake. Just take me back. Honestly Guido, it was a silly mistake.’
Guido’s smile widened. ‘You’re right about that,’ he said, ‘but it’s too late to go back now. I suggest you cooperate, because if you don’t it will be worse for you… a lot worse.’
Maggie shivered. What choice was there for her?
‘Come closer,’ he ordered, and caught hold of her wrists.
A while later, after he and Freya had eaten and taken coffee and brandy, Max opened the door of the dungeon room and smiled. Guido had done a good job on his little charge. Maggie was nicely bound, blindfolded, her neck and arms held in a padded wooden yoke, holding her reasonably comfortably with her arms at shoulder level, her legs spread wide apart and manacled to a metal spreader-bar.
He watched his latest acquisition straining to turn, trying to make out who was there and what would follow. Beside him Freya smiled appreciatively and unfastened her tailored jacket, beneath which she wore a shiny black leather bodice. As he watched she dropped the jacket and then her skirt, rather like a seductive snake shedding its skin. Beau appeared and hurriedly picked them up, folding them neatly over a chair, his eyes bright with anticipation as his mistress stripped down to her beautifully styled leather basque. It was cut high to make the most of her long legs and the creamy flesh of her shapely thighs.
‘May I?’ she asked Max, without taking her eyes off Maggie’s restrained form.
He smiled. ‘Of course, my dear,’ he said. ‘Help yourself.’
Maggie trembled, responding anxiously to his voice.
Freya smiled calculatingly and surveyed the tools on offer, before taking down a fine leather whip.
In the restraints Maggie stiffened as she felt the approach of what for her was an unseen figure.
Freya walked around her, surveying her with assurance, pinching her nipples, feeling between her legs, pushing a finger deep inside Maggie’s vulnerable sex and then drawing the slick juices out and across Beau’s waiting lips. He licked her fingers and whined expectantly for more.
‘Nice and tight, Max,’ the woman purr
ed appreciatively. ‘What’s her arse like?’
Max smiled. ‘Untried, Freya,’ he disclosed. ‘It’s early days yet and you know my policy; it is for me and me alone. At least the first time.’
Freya laughed, the cultured sound like a tinkling piano. ‘You are such a traditionalist, dear Max,’ she mused. ‘And besides, she’d need stretching whoever fucks her tight little virgin rear passage. Perhaps I can help you with that?’ She ran her fingers over Maggie’s buttocks, before working them into the warm valley between them.
Max watched Maggie react to the blonde’s conversation with interested, seeing the tension in her neck and back, catching the slight nibble of her lower lip.
Beau whined again and leant up against Maggie’s legs, like a cat, his expression hungry, and Freya’s expression betrayed her affection and indulgent attitude towards her slave. She nodded and he began to touch and stroke, his fingers and tongue working into Maggie’s wet quim.
The bound girl shivered as Freya drew the soft strands of the whip across her hips. They dangled against Beau’s face and shoulders but he seemed oblivious to them, far keener to explore Maggie’s undefended sex.
‘Enough,’ Freya snapped, and barely pausing for Beau to crawl clear she brought the whip down across Maggie’s back. The strands wrapped around her, catching her breasts and making her jerk and shriek, although Max guessed that in her heighten state of anticipation even the lightest blow would extract such a reaction.
‘One!’ she gasped, her muscles tightening.
Freya laughed. ‘Oh, there is no need to count tonight, my dear,’ she said. ‘There will be too many to keep track of.’
After six strokes Max held up a hand and took something else down from the wall. Freya’s eyes sparkled approvingly. ‘What a wonderful idea, dear Max,’ she purred. ‘How very remiss of me.’
Behind her mask Maggie was struggling with a sense of panic, and worse still, the warm glow of pleasure that was already gathering in her belly. What dark magic was this? She closed her eyes tight shut. It was as if Max Jordan had opened a doorway in her soul into a world she had never really believed existed.