Maggie and the Master

by Sarah Fisher

  She couldn’t have been more frank, but to her horror he smiled, still utterly undeterred. ‘Whatever you say, Maggie.’ And then he actually winked! She wanted to slap him. How could he possibly believe this was another round of her playing hard to get?

  ‘Simon, I want you to know that I’ve found someone,’ she said, trying a different tack, but he just shrugged.

  ‘Funny you’ve only just thought to mention it, Maggie,’ he said dismissively. ‘But don’t worry, I’m a patient man. I can wait.’

  As she watched him walk away she wondered if it would ever be possible to have an ordinary relationship again, not with Simon but with any normal man. She suspected there was no way back from the place that Max Jordan had taken her, or the things he had shown and taught her so far.

  Part of her was aware that this was only the beginning of her education.

  The rest of the day was full and busy. Maggie opened her email, cleared her post, working quietly and effectively through the things on her desk and on the computer without being disturbed again by Simon. But as the day wore on she found it harder and harder to concentrate, wondering if and when she would hear from Max, after all it was Friday, wasn’t he supposed to ring her?

  Just before five she got a call from reception. ‘Courier for you, Ms Howard, with a parcel. Shall we send him up or will you come down and collect it?’

  Intrigued, Maggie headed downstairs to pick up what turned out to be a large flat black box tied around with an enormous silver ribbon. The security guy on reception grinned and winked. ‘Looks like you’re in for a good weekend, miss,’ he said.

  ‘Probably just a cake from my mother,’ she joked.

  The man laughed and handed her the box. On the form attached to it was the name Max Jordan in heavy typeface.

  Back upstairs, safely installed behind her desk, Maggie pulled off the ribbons and then had second thoughts.

  Although it was quite quiet - those who could had already left for home - maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to open Max’s present there. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, she headed down to the women’s cloakroom.

  Once safely inside a cubicle she pulled off the wrappings. In the box was a black PVC miniskirt, a matching camisole top and high-heeled black boots - and a card that read, Guido will pick you up at18:00. The Master.

  It was Friday evening and the main offices were more or less empty. She could get changed and then slip out the back way down the fire escape to the car park without anyone seeing her.

  Ten minutes later she stared at her reflection in the cloakroom mirror and smiled; no one who saw her in the PVC outfit would recognise the refined Maggie Howard who wrote magazine home and style articles. The vixen who looked back from the mirror had style all right, but not of the publishable kind. The hem of the tight skirt came to just below the cheeks of her bottom, and the little black top pushed her breasts together and forward, the plunging neckline barely covering her nipples, offering her breasts like ripe fruits. And the boots? Maggie giggled; the boots were wonderful. They emphasised her slim legs and she could only walk by swaying her hips.

  Dressed in her play-clothes, Maggie pouted and touched up her mascara and rich red lipstick. Her reflection offered the promise of pure sex. With her eyes still firmly fixed on the wanton image in the mirror she slipped her hand down between her thighs and stroked the moist folds of her sex; she was getting wetter with every passing second. She glanced at her watch, wondering if there was time enough to bring this to its natural conclusion. Meanwhile busy fingers worked over her pleasure bud and she moaned softly as the pressure increased low in her belly. The whore in the mirror copied her move for move, writhing and pressing forward, legs apart, revealing the deep pink of her sex beneath the hem of the skirt. Maggie watched herself, watched her nipples harden within the shiny black top.

  Then without warning she gasped for breath as an orgasm overtook her, making her convulse with delight and cry out with pure pleasure, and then she was still, slumped against the basins, trembling with sweet aftershocks.

  It was nearly six, time to go and find Guido. Maggie glanced down at the boots and then slipped them off and put on the shoes she’d been wearing for work. At least this way she could hide the rest of her outfit under her coat.

  Out in the corridor she hurried towards the fire exit.

  ‘So there you are,’ someone called, halting her in her tracks. ‘I wondered where you’d got to.’

  Maggie groaned inwardly. This was not happening to her. How had Simon Faraday tracked her down this time? He must have her on radar.

  As if he was reading her mind, he said, ‘I asked the guys on the front desk if you’d already gone home, and they told me you hadn’t. What’s this then,’ he went on, admiring her make-up, ‘out on a heavy date with your imaginary boyfriend?’

  Up until now Maggie hadn’t looked up; she knew exactly what she looked like and had no desire at all to see Simon’s lecherous expression.

  Simon caught hold of her arm. ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘A little too near the mark, am I?’ He pulled her towards him with a degree of unexpected aggression and her coat fell open.

  Simon gasped, his eyes drinking in her mouth-watering appearance. ‘What the…?’ he began and stepping closer, tipped her face up to his and drooled at the breathtaking look of her.

  ‘Well, well, well, what’s going on here?’ he said.

  Maggie was speechless; what on earth could she say?

  Simon grabbed her arms and pulled her closer. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Does your new man like you to dress up like a slut? Is that where you’re going now? Maybe you like it a little rough, eh? Maybe our little bit of fun in the shower was just the thing that gets you off? Was it? Tell me, because trust me, I can play that game any time if that’s what you want.’

  Breathing heavily he pressed her back against the wall, forced his fingers between her thighs and with the other hand he molested her breasts.

  ‘Stop it,’ she warned, wriggling away from him, her mind racing. ‘Don’t you dare touch me. I have some say in this, you know. What I do is my business, not yours. As it is you’ve got it all wrong. I’m off to do a piece on a fetish club, and I can hardly go dressed in a flowery skirt and blouse, can I? This just arrived and I wanted to try it on, that’s all.’

  The lie sounded barely plausible, even to her. For a moment Simon froze and his eyes darkened; it seemed she’d hit a raw nerve, but she wasn’t sure how or why.

  ‘Are those the kinds of games you like to play then, Maggie?’ he challenged. ‘Fetish clubs, and things like that.’

  ‘I’m not playing any games,’ she snapped. She’d really had enough of obnoxious Simon. ‘I’ve already told you, it’s research. Now get out of my way. I’m meeting someone and I don’t want to be late.’ And remarkably, for once, he did as he was told.

  Maggie made her way briskly towards the fire exit, and at no point did she look back to see Simon watching her go, his expression indicating the thoughts forming in his head.

  Guido was waiting for Maggie in the car park, and touched his cap as he opened the rear car door, looking at her inquisitively.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked, taking her bag as she slipped off her shoes and pulled on the boots.

  She nodded, a little bemused that Guido of all people should sound so concerned about her well-being. Looking back at the office block she saw Simon in a window watching the car draw away, and couldn’t help wondering just what he was thinking, and perhaps more to the point, what it was he thought he’d discovered.

  Chapter Ten

  Once well out of town Guido pulled over into a quiet lay-by, got out of the car and opened the rear door.

  Maggie looked out at him in surprise. ‘What are we stopping for?’ she asked.

  ‘You forget the rules so quickly, don’t you, Maggie?’ he said. ‘You’re the slave here, remember? You do as you’re told, you don’t ask questions. Open your coat and get in the front.�
�

  Maggie did as she was told, and Guido pulled a black leather blindfold out of his pocket and slipped it around Maggie’s head, snugly over her eyes.

  ‘There, now isn’t that better?’ he murmured. ‘All wrapped up and ready to go. Max’s pretty little toy.’ He ran a hand over her face and then down to cup her breast, fingers teasing a nipple through the PVC and squeezing it hard until she gasped with pain. With his free hand he pulled the seatbelt across and buckled her in tight.

  ‘You look a real treat, Maggie,’ he said, pulling her hands together in her lap and cuffing her. ‘Comfortable, are we?’

  Maggie winced at the loss of freedom. ‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘Why are you doing this, Guido? There’s no need; you know I’ll do whatever Max tells me.’

  ‘Come, come, you must understand that sometimes obeying isn’t enough, Maggie. You have to realise that in our world obedience implies you have a free will, that you can choose - where as in fact, Maggie, you can be used, abused, discarded on a whim. The mistake you make is in thinking you have any choice or any power.’

  He squeezed a hand between her thighs. ‘You don’t need to know why you’re being bound, just that you are and if you make too much noise or ask too many questions, I’ll gag you as well.’

  Maggie took a deep breath, trying to settle herself; it didn’t do to let her imagination run amok. Guido’s hand squeezed towards her sex, and she shuddered as a finger grazed across her sex lips.

  ‘Mmmm, you feel so good.’ The finger parted the moist flesh, and Maggie’s instinctive reaction was to try and close her knees against him.

  ‘I wouldn’t try to resist if I were you,’ he threatened menacingly. ‘That would be unwise.

  ‘Mmm, you’re so tight and so wet, you dirty little bitch,’ he went on as her thighs relaxed a little and gave him freer access to her. ‘You’re lucky Max is waiting for us, or I’d fuck you here and now,’ he stated confidently, pressing kisses to her face and throat. ‘Maybe I’ll fuck you on the back, when he’s done with you. What do you think?’

  She shook her head, afraid to answer, and from behind the mask she felt him move away, felt his fingers leave her body, then the engine hummed into life and they pulled away.

  It was a longer journey than she’d expected, but eventually the car drew to a halt, one of the doors opened, and Maggie immediately heard Max’s voice.

  ‘Good evening, Guido,’ he said. ‘Any problems?’

  ‘None at all, sir,’ the driver reported.

  ‘Excellent. I’ve parked the other car over by the trees.’

  Maggie heard some keys exchanging hands and then was aware of Max swapping places with Guido. ‘Good evening, Maggie,’ he said in a low tone.

  She turned unseeing towards him. ‘Good evening, master.’

  Maggie felt him moving closer, felt his breath on her throat, felt him taking in the details of her appearance. She shivered, aware that every part of her, body and soul, longed for his approval and that in that moment she was totally his.

  ‘You look magnificent, Maggie,’ he said, stroking her arm.

  ‘Master, please can you tell me where we’re going?’ she ventured.

  He stroked her cheek and very gently kissed her lips. ‘Maggie, you know better than that. You will learn only to speak when spoken to.’ He stroked a finger across her lips, and then pushed something firm and hard between them into her mouth.

  ‘Open wider,’ he commanded, and Maggie didn’t dare do otherwise. ‘Did you talk to Guido on the way here?’ he asked, and she shook her head.

  ‘Do you know what this is, Maggie?’

  She shook her head again.

  ‘It’s a leather gag, and unless you learn to be quiet I will make you wear it all weekend. Do you understand?’

  Maggie nodded, struggling to swallow.

  ‘Good. Just one more thing.’

  She felt the soft leather collar slip around her throat, marking her as his property, although oddly enough far from being intimidated, it gave her a strange sense of comfort.

  ‘There,’ said Max, then turned the key in the ignition and the car slowly drew away.

  Showered and comfortable in a white towelling robe, her tarty clothing discarded on the floor of the pretty cottage’s bathroom, Maggie brushed her hair in the mirror, feeling happy and relaxed.

  She went downstairs, where Max sat waiting for her in the quaint lounge, the table set with linen and crystal, champagne chilling in an ice bucket, Guido dressed in livery waiting to serve them.

  She looked at Max, aware of how vulnerable she must look.

  He smiled at her and extended a hand. ‘Come over here, Maggie,’ he beckoned. She did as she was told and stood in front of him. He slid a hand up her thigh, beneath the towelling. ‘Undo your robe,’ he ordered, and she did without a second’s hesitation. ‘Now take it off.’

  Again she obeyed, aware of her nakedness, but aware that above everything else that doing as she was ordered pleased Max. Was this the true nature of slavery?

  ‘Bend over the table,’ he instructed, ‘and spread your legs.’

  Slowly she did, settling herself on the crisp linen, amongst the fine crockery, and even before Max touched her she felt a great wave of desire roll over her. She wanted him, and whatever that wanting brought.

  Max ran his hands over her naked back, slid them between her legs, adjusting her position slightly so she was easier to explore. Maggie knew she was wet; she knew she was ready.

  Max stepped back to admire his possession. Spread out on the table she looked an absolute feast. He beckoned to Guido, who handed him the crop. He didn’t need a reason to punish her. He would punish her because he could. He would punish her because she wanted to.

  Maggie was trembling as she waited for whatever was to follow. She didn’t look round, but waited patiently. At last she was learning. He studied her, eyes moving appreciatively over the ripe curves of her buttocks, the wetness of her sex, engorged with pure desire. He knew Maggie was expecting him to fuck her - but first there was the matter of a punishment to dispense.

  Max drew the crop back and relished the gasp of shock and horror as it found its mark across her bottom. On the table she convulsed as the pain coursed through her, her fists clenching on the fine white linen of the tablecloth.

  ‘One,’ she gasped after a few seconds.

  ‘Very good, my dear,’ said Max. ‘I thought for a moment that you had forgotten the most basic of rules.’

  The crop cracked down across the tops of her thighs. ‘Two!’ she sobbed.

  Three and four were slightly less painful, striping the fleshy orbs of her backside. Her skin flushed scarlet under his attentions. Five and six were lower again, making her squeal as they caught the tender flesh. He could hear the tears in her voice as she called out the number of strokes.

  He ran a hand over her glowing skin. ‘Good girl… only another nine to go.’ He felt her shudder as the realisation that there was much more to come hit home, and with it came stroke seven. This time Maggie screamed, giving in to the acute pain.

  Eight. Nine. Ten; knowing the end was some distance away, lost deep in the pain. The crop rose and fell, each stroke counted out after the gasp or whimper or shriek in response to the hurt.

  ‘All done,’ he announced, having delivered number fifteen with added intensity. He placed the crop beside her on the table, where she could see the implement that had caused her so much discomfort and humiliation. His hands kneaded her raw and angry welts, and Maggie instinctively lifted her hips to absorb his touch. She was grateful for his punishment and even more so for the rewards it brought. Max smiled thinly and without any prelude unzipped his trousers and sank his throbbing cock deep into her cunt.

  Maggie gasped and pressed back to encourage him deeper still. Max sighed appreciatively; she was as wet and hot as he had ever known her.

  He slid a hand under her belly to seek out her clit, and then pulled her hand down to join his. Maggie writhed
as his fingers found the engorged ridge, meeting him stroke for stroke, their bodies working in sexual harmony.

  Max felt his orgasm building, coming closer and closer. He felt her sex pulsate around his cock, felt her shiver and writhe beneath him. He grabbed her hair and pulled her up off the table. She cried out his name, her back arching as he clenched his jaw, stabbed with his groin, pinning her hips to the table, and filled her with his seed.

  Her sobs of pleasure filled the room, and then she slumped forward again as if fainting.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maggie woke the following morning, safe in her bedroom back at Max’s elegant townhouse; her body marked by the crop, her mind indelibly marked by Max’s power over her.

  She showered and made her way downstairs, naked except for her collar, for that was all that had been left out for her on the dresser.

  Mrs Griffin served breakfast in the dining room overlooking the park, and Max invited her to join him at the table and not, as she suspected he might, on her knees at his feet.

  ‘I’m very pleased with your progress, my dear,’ he said, as they sat in the sitting room a little later, drinking coffee and relaxing in each other’s company. ‘You’ve come a long way in a remarkably short time, Maggie.’

  She smiled at him, basking in his approval. Her body was at his disposable. Her marks were his marks. He sat on the sofa with her legs over his lap, reading the morning newspaper and stroking her thighs, as one might a much-loved cat.

  ‘Your basic training will very soon be coming to an end,’ he said casually, not lifting his attention or his gaze from the paper.

  Maggie stiffened and felt the colour drain from her face, the sense of well-being evaporating instantly. Surely he couldn’t mean what she thought he meant; it was too soon. Max looked at her, his features softening as if he could read her mind.