With head held high and definitely alone, she entered the deserted lobby and passed herself through the security door into her little empire. This early in the morning only the cleaning contractors were in possession.
Sweeping imperiously into her office she stopped short. What the hell? Reclining in her chair, behind her desk, and smiling broadly was Meg.
‘Hi, did you enjoy it?’
Maggie ignored the question. ‘How did you get in? This is a restricted area.’
‘Your security is very slack.’
Cheek! ‘Never mind that, you’ll have to leave.’
‘Not until you’ve answered my question: how was the book?’
I’ll never admit to enjoying it. ‘You will not persuade me that such things actually happen.’
Meg regarded her slyly, ‘But don’t you wish they did? I gather you read it, even finished it?’
Maggie grudgingly conceded the point. Meg flashed a smug smile that quickly faded, replaced by an expression of censure. ‘You’ve reverted to type?’ she said accusingly. ‘Now, do be sensible Maggie, if you aim to please me, remove those awful tights and the panties.’
I do sooo not!
‘Who says I want to please you? I still don’t know who you are or why you are hounding me in this way. I shall keep them on.’
‘You want to please me because your own nature says you should. It’s time to change, Maggie. Time to take control and get a life. Come along now, do as I tell you.’
Curse this woman, why does she keep echoing those thoughts I want to forget? ‘There was a constant nagging in the back of her mind, continually urging her to embrace pleasure. It had appeared the very first time that she had consented to intercourse with Greg, as if a locked part of her consciousness had been released when that first real orgasm had possessed her body. She’s right, these damned tights feel like medieval armour and these knickers are making me sweat.
‘All right! Just this once, but leave them here, put them in the right hand drawer where I can get them later.’
‘Of course!’ agreed Meg, smiling sweetly as Maggie kicked off her shoes and eased up her skirt to strip away the symbols of propriety. Truculently she handed them over. Meg separated the knickers and examined them: white lace, matching bra; Maggie was a thoughtful dresser.
‘Delightfully feminine,’ Meg conceded. ‘But cunt is primordial, pure woman: remember that. Now the bra!’
No! Maggie made to protest, but Meg’s glint killed it. Meekly she stripped off her jacket and blouse to remove the cherished foundation garment.
Standing, Meg held out a hand. ‘Good girl; I’ll have the blouse too if you please.’
No, that’s enough, I know when to stop. ‘I shall have only my jacket.’
‘And very pretty it will look, too. Come along, resistance is futile.’ Meg took the blouse from Maggie’s unresisting hand and used it to make a bundle while Maggie hastily covered herself with the jacket.
‘This is ridiculous!’ she declared as she buttoned it, ‘See, it shows my navel.’ As indeed it did where the front flared.
‘You should have a stud in it; that would look charming.’
Maggie moved round the desk, taking possession of her chair and office. ‘This is ridiculous. I can’t work like this, what will my staff think?’
‘You will not be here much today. First of all you are taking me to lunch and this evening Greg is taking you out to dinner. I’ve rescheduled your appointments so you can take the afternoon off to buy an outfit worthy of the occasion.’
‘You’ve what? This has gone too far. I have responsibilities; I can’t just swan off when I feel like it.’
Meg was regarding her with that irritating amused expression she had displayed repeatedly during their brief encounters. More expressive than words, it emphatically declared the futility of protest.
‘Look at you, not yet thirty and already District Controller, queen of your own empire. What use is flexi-time if you can’t capitalise on it once in a while? Who’s going to complain? Seize the day, it will never come again.’
She’s right, damn it, she’s right!
Meg marched swiftly to the door, breasts jiggling within her crimson boob tube, matching brief skirt dancing teasingly against bronzed thighs. At the door she turned briefly. ‘Twelve thirty in the City Bistro!’
‘My things!’ Maggie rushed to the door, but Meg was nowhere to be seen, just an empty corridor. Dashing to the desk she punched the keypad for Reception: no reply; too early for the front office staff. She slumped into the chair, elbows on desk burying her face in her hands to stem the tears welling up. What have I done, what’s wrong with me? – this is the price of conceit. I shall be a laughing stock.
1.2
By the time the staff began to arrive Maggie had recovered somewhat. She buzzed her secretary asking for her diary. Hazel came in wearing a light frilly blouse and a printed cotton skirt. Maggie, standing beside a filing cabinet, stared at the apparition; in the four years they had worked together Hazel had never worn anything other than strict white with black trousers.
Hazel returned the stare with a generous smile. ‘You look very chic, but the skirt could be three inches shorter, you have gorgeous legs. My sister could easily do it for you.’
‘Thank you!’ Maggie replied coolly. She worked well with Hazel and the relationship of secretary and boss had become friendship. ‘You look nice too, very fresh. Remind me, what appointments do I have today?’
‘Just internal stuff this morning. I’ve already cancelled the afternoon as your note said.’
‘Let me see it!’
Hazel handed over a standard memo sheet. The words ‘Cancel all pm appointments, first thing,’ were exactly as she would have phrased it and in her own handwriting. ‘When did I give you this?’
Hazel’s countenance briefly registered surprise. ‘You left it on my desk!’
Bluff it out; no one will believe the truth. ‘I have to attend to some private business this afternoon; something came up unexpectedly, so I shall be out of the office. Now, if you will get the mail sorted, I’ll do any dictation and you can sign for me as usual.’
Hazel received the instruction without comment and left the office. Maggie watched her leave with relief, knowing once again how fortunate she was to have a secretary of this calibre. She held Hazel in great affection; feeling honoured to be served so loyally by such an attractive woman and wondered, not for the first time, why Hazel had never married. With her superb figure, dark complexion, sleek brown hair, comely features and sunny personality, Hazel was so attractive.
It was twelve thirty-five when Maggie reached the snack bar that went by the name of City Bistro in the shopping mall. Her faint hope that Meg would not show up proved vain. Meg was already seated at a table out on the piazza. As Maggie took her place a waitress came to take orders. The expected questions did not come; instead Meg started on trivia. It was only when their light meal was finished and they turned to the coffee that Maggie received instructions.
‘You have an appointment in Black’s salon for three o’clock: waxing first, then hairdo, so ample time to do your shopping. Greg will pick you up at seven fifteen giving you plenty of time to prepare. And as tomorrow is Saturday, you will be able to sleep in, or whatever.’
Maggie was speechless. This woman beggars belief. She sat staring for what seemed an eternity before she could marshal a protest. What came out sounded lame. ‘It’s as if you were running my life. You’re not just making my decisions you’re thinking my thoughts. I don’t know how to handle this.’
Meg flashed her enigmatic conceited smile. Sitting confidently, like a modern Mona Lisa, she said, ‘Go with the flow! I notice you didn’t say I was making you do any of this. I detect a fundamental shift.’
‘Maybe it’s because I want to
go out with Greg.’
‘And enjoy yourself; or should I say indulge?’ Meg leered, her smile ripe with encouragement. ‘Enjoy it Maggie, ditch those inhibitions, follow your instinct. Now I must go!’ So saying she stood quickly and hurried into the crowd, that tiny pleated skirt bobbing saucily.
Maggie finished her coffee, ordered another and paid the bill. This can’t be real; sitting here in full public view, nearly naked and no knickers; yet it’s exciting and I almost believe it’s my own decision. So, I can cancel Black’s, go home and get dressed – if I want to. Why can’t I; am I bewitched or just plain crazy?
Maggie rose to walk purposefully from the precinct. What the hell!
Black’s department store stood at the top of the hill. An independent store of long provenance, it was an exclusive outlet serving the prominenté, still trading on the principal that its customers’ convenience took priority. Hence the muted background music, the deep pile carpets, tactful signage and discreet, almost obsequious, sales staff. Maggie made her way to the first floor where the whole space was given over to fashions. A neatly attired assistant approached. ‘Does Madam require any help?’
Maggie held eye contact, speaking decisively: ‘I would like to see some light day dresses, something cool and comfortable.’
‘Certainly madam, we have some excellent possibilities. Please step this way.’
Well that was easy enough. The real problem was choosing from the comprehensive range on offer, but two suitable dresses were eventually packed into bags. I expect Meg would have cajoled me into buying something outrageous. She turned to the saleswoman again. ‘I would also like to see some evening wear, something suitable for a tête-à-tête, not a grand occasion, but with quality.’
‘Certainly Madam.’ The assistant went further into the empire where the carpet pile was deeper and the displays even more restrained. ‘Black is always a good choice on those occasions, teamed with white is very popular at the moment. Might I suggest this?’ She drew a lacy blouse from a rack. Magic! A surge of pure desire. So sheer it must be woven from cobwebs, so white it seemed to glow. Elegantly simple in style it had just enough frills to rise into the realm of the exclusive.
‘This has style, Madam,’ crooned the assistant. ‘Madam could wear it with a camisole or by itself if she was in a daring mood. And real quality: the label speaks for itself.’
Maggie looked and swooned with desire. ‘Oh, yes!’ she breathed.
She felt fabulous emerging from the fitting room to pose before the mirrors. The long velvet skirt flowed sensuously, while the top, lighter than a cloud, concealed nothing. Her nipples, sensitised from being rubbed by her jacket, glowed a deeper shade of pink and stood proud. Maggie could feel no shame, the quality of the clothes lending her a confidence she hardly recognised. This is exquisite, bugger the price, this I must have!
And pricey it was: having obtained matching footwear she wrote a cheque for a value greater than she could earn in a fortnight. She did not care.
Brimming with excitement and eager to show off to Greg, she headed into the salon where a white-coated beautician whisked her into a secluded cubicle. ‘Madam requested a full bikini-line waxing; madam will require legs too?’
Maggie gawped incredulously, stammering, ‘I what…?’
The woman remained placid. ‘Whatever Madam wants of course. There’s no need for embarrassment, most ladies now have the full treatment: it is very hygienic.’
‘Of course - just as I ordered, please.’ Through the jumble of confusion, anger and excitement, a thought burst into her mind dazzling her with its audacity. ‘Tell me, do you offer a body piercing service?’
‘Only selected applications. What did Madam have in mind?
‘A navel stud, something tasteful.’
‘That would certainly be possible. We have some delicate studs set with appropriate gems: I would suggest a sapphire would suit madam’s colouring.’
‘That sounds good. Might I see some examples?’
‘Of course Madam, I will bring the tray for you to inspect. Perhaps you will undress and put on this robe; then we may begin when I return.’ With these words the white coat tripped away.
The afternoon was well advanced by the time Maggie headed for the exit, de-nuded, pierced and coiffured, but with that million-dollar feeling.
The last display before the door sold costume jewellery. Maggie would not normally have given it a second glance, except that Meg was picking through the racks of brilliants. She spun round to trap Maggie.
‘Excellent choices!’ she declared. ‘The evening outfit is stunning; it needs but the slightest of finishing touches.’ She hooked a black velvet choker from a rack. ‘Put it on. Try the effect.’
Maggie put down her bags. How could she know? And this – ugh, so cheap!Taking it in trembling fingers she held the band round her neck. Somehow, Meg had got the size right and it fastened easily, quite tight to her skin: snug, but soft enough to avoid discomfort. Studying her refection she knew that Meg was right: the black would provide exactly the right touch to set off the ensemble. She turned and nodded, smiling at Meg.
Meg edged closer. ‘Now don’t forget to pay and remember – no knickers!’ With that she cheerily sped away, calling over her shoulder, ‘Enjoy your evening. See you soon!’
The vision of Greg’s face when he saw the outfit would remain with Maggie forever. He’s smitten, but I’m not crowing, I think I can distinguish admiration from lust. The satisfaction of being admired was profound.
‘You are superb!’ he gasped once the power of speech returned. ‘I do not deserve such a compliment.’
His admiration received further expression in his controlled response to the prodigious attention they received when entering the restaurant, approbation also evident in the level of service at table. ‘I’m so glad you suggested this place,’ he said softly as they dined in the glow of universal acclaim, ‘I cannot find words to express the privilege of accompanying someone so supremely beautiful.’
But I didn’t suggest it. Maggie checked the exclamation before it reached her lips. Best preserve the illusion.
Admiration was extensive, total strangers voiced compliments as they passed or stopped to exchange pleasantries. Maggie was loving the experience of being the centre of attention.
She had to concede that the choker added just the right touch of implied sin. One visiting admirer stared at it in a way she found flattering and disturbing, unable to associate any meaning to his interest as Greg introduced him. ‘This is Mike, a colleague from work.’
Mike possessed charm. ‘Delighted to meet you at last, Maggie. I’ve heard so much about you, all flattering and all justified. I hope to be seeing much more of you in the future.’
Maggie considered him carefully. Do I take that literally, or is there a hidden reference? She did not dislike the man, just wished that she could pin down his agenda.
‘Mike was telling me recently about some regular parties he attends. They seem to be quite adventurous affairs; he suggested we might go along, what do you think?’
Mike smiled encouragingly as Greg put this suggestion forward.
‘By adventurous, I assume you mean sex?’
‘Of course, no point in beating about the bush,’ Mike allowed. ‘Not sordid though – safe; no drugs and well ordered. Come and see for yourselves; participation is not enforced.’
I wonder if Meg will approve. Now why should I want to please her? No, if we go, it will be my choice.
‘We’ll think about it, seriously we will.’
Mike looked pleased. ‘I’m certain it will amuse you. I see more food’s arriving and it’s time I rejoined my guests. Look forward to seeing you.’
While the waiter served, Maggie studied her companion closely. ‘It sounds as though it could be fun.’
Maggie
snuggled into Greg’s embrace. They lay spoon-style, the tip of his cock just inside her vagina while he cupped her breast. She was at peace and in heaven, having just woken from a post-orgasmic nap. Three times she had climbed that pinnacle and now refreshed, she was ready for another assault though not in any hurry. The more often they coupled, the more she liked to extend it: long lazy sex suited Maggie best.
She pushed back rubbing against his springy chest hair. Their postures changed and he slipped out. Adjusting himself, Greg moved from her breast, lingered briefly on her pierced navel then began stroking her silky smooth pubis. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered, ‘And this was inspired.’
‘It was!’ she admitted mysteriously. She had not told Greg about Meg, partly because she did not fully believe her experiences were real and mainly because at this moment she was not inclined to debate the issue with herself. She had no motivation to pursue enigmas in this state of complete contentment. To emphasise her feelings she snuggled even closer, reaching round to part her buttocks to allow his stiffness to better lie in her cleft. ‘Hmm, that’s lovely,’ she breathed as his glans touched that shy, puckered bud.
Responding to the comment, he pushed a little harder, causing her to moan.
‘You don’t mind?’
‘No: it feels really nice. You could try more if you want.’
‘Love you!’ He pressed some more.
‘Let me up. I have an idea; I’ll come straight back.’
Greg relaxed, watching her lovingly, celebrating her naked beauty as she crossed to her dressing table. Scooping cream she squatted to apply it before scuttling back to resume her position.
The Dark Side of Maggie Moon Page 2