Maggie and the Master (17 page)

‘Good God, not at all man!' Sir Hugh bellowed good-naturedly. ‘Thank you for letting me have first view of your latest acquisition. I'll see you later - I promised Monty that I'll try out his new pony team.'

As he left Max stroked her cheek. ‘Well done,' he said. ‘I know Sir Hugh, and I know you made a good impression on him.' The compliment made Maggie feel warm inside and surprisingly secure, considering where they were and why they were there. ‘Now, we have a suite in the west wing. I suggest we go upstairs, unpack, have a little something to eat and then explore the house. There are things here that will be very new to you. The whole house, in fact the whole estate, is a hedonist's paradise. The auction always generates a lot of interest and even those who aren't buying or selling like to come along and, well, exhibit, meet old friends, catch up, show off a little. But before we put you on the block there are some things I'd like you to see.'

Maggie looked at him questioningly, knowing her expression betrayed her apprehension.

Max pulled her close to him. ‘Don't be afraid, my little one,' he comforted. ‘I won't let anything happen to you that you're not ready for.'

Maggie held her tongue; despite wanting to tell him that she wasn't sure if she was ready for anything the rambling house may have in store for her.

Inside the main door the hall opened up into a huge galleried space. Even though it was summer a log fire burned in a large fireplace. The area was lined with panelling and hung with ancestral portraits, and she could see the family resemblance between the faces depicted in the oil paintings and Sir Hugh. It was a magnificent reception area that implied permanence and a sense of unbroken husbandry.

In stark contrast to the gravitas of the surroundings, on stone plinths either side of the fire stood two iron cages, like oversized bird cages, and in each was standing a naked man, hooded, wrists manacled together behind their backs. Their cocks and balls were encased in a series of leather and metal hoops that held them in a state of semi-erection. Beside one cage a tall bald man dressed in a white ball gown and silver high heels was feeding one of the caged slaves grapes on the end of a long stick.

In open-mouthed awe Maggie followed Max towards the sweeping staircase, finding it impossible not to glance to one side through open double doors into what looked like a ballroom. It was full with people, some naked, some dressed, the general hubbub drifting out to meet them. That gave her some idea of how big an event the auction was. The hall seemed to be full of people mingling, talking - masters, mistresses and their slaves, dressed in all manner of costumes or naked except for collars and chains.

Max, following her gaze, smiled. ‘All in good time, my dear,' he said. ‘All in good time. Let's go upstairs and get settled first.'

Maggie hadn't realised how hungry she was until she got to the room. In a handsome suite that overlooked the deer park someone had laid out a cold buffet on one of the side tables. She must have looked at the delicious spread with hungry eyes, for Max, taking a crop from the desk, said, ‘First things first, my dear. First things first…'

He approached her. ‘I am delighted to see you're correctly dressed,' he said. ‘I want you well marked before you go on the block tomorrow.' He indicated the sofa. ‘Now bend over.'

Maggie hesitated; she had a love-hate relationship with the crop, and other implements Max used on her. She hated being beaten and yet at the same time she loved it. It was a shock to know that it turned her on in a way like nothing else did. She realised with a terrible sense of surety that anticipating her punishment, enduring it, and revelling in the memory of it afterwards was one of the most exciting parts of her relationship with Max. It was a symbol quite unlike any other of just how much she was prepared to give to him. Combined with the sexual pleasure and sense of total submission and humiliation this subtle game was quite unlike anything she had ever experienced.

She took a deep breath, turning her thoughts inward, gathering herself in some secret place that allowed her to relish and ride the pain. She heard the crop cut through the still air and gasped as the leather cracked raw and angry across her buttocks. ‘One!' she snorted. He hit her harder than she'd anticipated and the first stroke brought tears to her eyes.

‘There is no need to count, my dear,' he informed her, and she wondered if that meant he would go on until she could take no more?

The crop found its mark again. This time Maggie shrieked, but before she could recover he hit her again. After six his fingers massaged the glowing flesh, a mixed blessing for although she was delighted by his touch, at the same time rubbing made the blood flow all the faster through the welts.

At twelve he stopped again and Maggie whimpered, rubbing her head against his steadying arm.

‘I'm going to miss you so much, Maggie,' he stated, and held the crop out for her to kiss.

Stunned, she murmured her thanks, her heart aching.

Max helped her to her feet. ‘Now go and tidy yourself up and eat, we have a long night ahead of us.'

He smiled indulgently while she ate a very late lunch. As she gazed out of the window a small cart trundled by on the gravel path below, and then another. Maggie watched them, and then realised with a start that they were being pulled by women - heavily built naked women, with plumed headdresses, harnesses and bells, trotting in step, whipped on by a liveried driver. They were matched pairs and fours, some blinkered, all turned out as smartly as any show ponies she had ever seen.

Max stood behind her and handed her a glass of champagne. ‘Pony girls,' he said, in answer to her unspoken question. ‘They are Sir Hugh's particular passion… those two in the front are identical Swedish twins. All trained, bred, beaten, treated as close to the real thing as he can manage. He likes more sophisticated creatures for the house, although in other most households pony girls double as house slaves or bed mates.'

‘Will I end up as a pony girl?' she asked uneasily.

Max shook his head. ‘Unlikely,' he said. ‘Possible, but unlikely. You'll be sold as a companion body slave. A decorative creature to share a discerning man's bed and maybe his life.'

Max adjusted the rubber corset so that her buttocks were shown off to their best advantage, the marks of the crop still red and fierce, and then he rolled down the bra cups so that her breasts were fully exposed.

Maggie stared at him as he picked up the crop again. He smiled thinly and she cringed. ‘Put your hands behind your neck,' he ordered, and Maggie felt an icy chill grip her, guessing what was about to follow.

He stroked the loop of the crop under her chin and then said, as if to still the anxiety and fear in her eyes, ‘Six quick strikes, they will hurt and then they'll be done. Do you understand?'

Maggie nodded and closed her eyes in readiness. He was right, they were quick, they did hurt and she screamed as the crop cut across her delicate flesh.

‘That looks better,' he said as she squirmed into his arms for comfort. ‘Now finish your lunch.'

Half an hour later Max clipped on Maggie's lead and led her back downstairs. Nervous and extremely apprehensive, she felt quite overawed by her surroundings.

On low dais and plinths in the ballroom were all manner of things to bemuse and amuse and electrify the senses. On one was an oiled, naked man, manacled to a great cross. Behind him a muscular coloured master dressed in leather shorts and a full facemask applied a whip with force, raising great welts on the slave's golden skin.

On another dais a small muscular man was hog-tied and suspended from an ornate metal frame. On yet another stood a petite Eurasian girl entirely covered in tattoos, her expression icy cold and empty.

‘Are these people all for sale?' Maggie whispered in amazement.

Max's eyes narrowed venomously and Maggie knew she had broken one of the fundamental rules and spoken without permission, but even so she was still horribly curious.

‘No,' he snapped, ‘some are here for their masters and mistresses to show them off. To put them through their paces, to let us all enjoy their special tricks and skills.'

He pointed across the room to where two beautiful blonde girls in plumes stood strapped into the little cart Maggie had spotted earlier. On either side of the magnificent hearth, in wicker baskets, were two redheaded youths, sitting to attention like two well trained and perfectly matched dogs.

In one corner a large man dressed in no more than leather cuffs and a thong was juggling melons, while alongside him a naked female contortionist, collared and at the end of a fine silver chain, had the undivided attention of at least a couple of dozen men. On a stage three male slaves had weights attached to their balls and a man was taking bets on who would last the longest before calling enough.

They walked slowly along rows of human exhibits, until they finally got to an area that Maggie began to realise was for sale lots.

Eventually it seemed they had reached their destination, where stood a row of women chained to blocks, dressed much as she was in some nominal garment that barely covered their bodies. They were of all sizes and ages, the only common denominator that they all wore collars and were chained to the little dais upon which they stood.

Max led Maggie to an empty dais at the end of the row, and she began to tremble as several of the browsing masters, each with a catalogue in hand, turned their attentions to her.

Max snapped her lead into a ring on the surface of the low dais. ‘Don't panic,' he told her. ‘I won't leave you and I'll be here tonight if you need me.' Maggie suddenly felt sick and faint. Although she wanted more than anything to please him and show him she was a good slave, this was almost more than she could bear. Her loyalty was to him, and she couldn't imagine being with any of the others who approached the dais and looked her over like prime horseflesh. Would one of these men be her eventual keeper?

‘Very nice,' said one of them to Max. ‘May I?'

Max lifted a hand in a gesture of invitation. ‘You know the rules, Rupert,' he said warmly. ‘You may touch but no more. If you would like more then you must register your request with the auctioneer.'

Maggie watched the men come and go from lowered eyes. It seemed they were allowed to inspect her, ask her to turn this way and that, look and carry out a perfunctory inspection, but no more. Max answered what questions they asked, although she guessed that as soon as he felt she was settled he would leave her to her own devices to go and look at what else was on offer.

And she was right, for eventually he nodded and made his way back into the crowd.

Alone and unguarded Maggie kept her eyes demurely downcast, trying hard not to attract attention to herself. She heard one of the men explaining to his companion that if a would-be purchaser wished for more access to any of the lots then their name was added to a list under the lot number. Then the auctioneer decided who got what for the night and whether such an encounter was public or private.

Maggie had finally begun to settle a little when a group of men came in through the double door. They made a noisy entrance, at odds with the polite hum and murmur of conversation that filled the hall. The noise made everyone look up, and instantly Maggie realised with horror that amongst the new arrivals was none other than Simon Faraday!

She immediately dropped her gaze again as she saw him scanning the room, wishing she could make herself invisible. This couldn't be happening. There had to be a mistake. Maybe it was someone who closely resembled him.

She peeped again and then quickly down. No, there was no mistake. It was most definitely Simon Faraday. How on earth could he be there? How was it possible? Simon Faraday showing up was the most unbelievable and worst thing that could possibly happen.

To her horror he caught sight of her, his eyes widening momentarily, and then he smiled triumphantly and sauntered over. He didn't speak, not a word, but instead he arrogantly looked her up and down.

Casually he cast his eye down at the list of bids, marked something on the sheet and then moved away without so much as a word or a backward glance. Maggie shuddered, instinctively aware that there was no way this would be the end of it.

A little while later a man dressed in dark green livery came up to the block. He had a chain fastened to his waist on which hung a large key ring, weighed down with dozens of keys, one of which Maggie assumed would open the lock that attached her lead to the plinth.

‘You've been selected by one of our patrons to keep him company for the night,' he said as he bent to unlock her, then straightened up, his eyes greedily devouring her vulnerable beauty.

Maggie suspected that he had his fair share of the goods on show when the masters and mistresses weren't looking. She bit her lip anxiously and glanced around the room, searching for Max, trying to guess who'd had enough influence to secure her already. She had assumed the decisions were made at the end of the day.

He jerked the leash and pulled her down to his level. ‘Maybe I'll try you out myself,' he hissed, ‘when the master has done with you.'

Maggie shuddered as he slid a cold hand over her thigh and cupped her sex. ‘Nice tight arse, nice tight cunt, that's what it says in your auction notes,' he leered, licking his lips. ‘Wouldn't mind trying you out for myself…'

Before she could react he clipped a pair of handcuffs on her, then against a backdrop of appreciative looks and comments he led her through the crowd. She reddened, trying hard to block out the crude comments and avaricious stares. It seemed that everyone knew where she was destined, if not with whom. As they reached the doorway she looked around again, frantically trying to spot Max amongst the sea of faces. Did he know she was being taken away? Had he given his permission? Her stomach tightened into a tangled knot of disquiet.