Maggie and the Master (2 page)

Maggie shook her head. ‘I write a lifestyle section, Kay; mid-30's angst, looking for Mr Right, getting a cheap loan to buy the car of your dreams, building a garden, buying a sofa. And anyway, all that kind of stuff, whips and things, it's a joke, isn't it?'

Kay smiled. ‘If you say so,' she said. ‘Tell you what, I'll give you a couple of website addresses, go and take a look and then tell me what you think. It's another world out there. People who treat sex as a hobby - an addictive game, worth playing well.'

Maggie pulled her best sceptical face, at which point the doorbell rang. ‘Prince Charming?' she suggested.

‘I should think so, unless you're expecting someone.'

‘Hah - don't rub it in unless you want me to double your rent.'

Giggling, Kay picked up the black leather coat Mike had bought her the week before and went to answer the door, while Maggie turned her attention back to the book. She could hear muffled voices in the hall and waited for the sound of the door to close and for silence to descend again.

She'd been divorced for almost two years, and although generally life was better - there being nowhere lonelier or more soul destroying than a bad relationship - any lingering optimism about how good life would be out on the far side had long since faded.

Own house, own job, own lodger taken in to make ends meet. Maggie sighed; it wasn't such an exciting story as she'd imagined. It wasn't that she was short of men, it was just that she was short of the
right
men.

Maggie glanced unseeing at her novel, wondering what was taking Kay and Prince Charming so long, hoping they hadn't decided on a quickie in the hall before going clubbing.

Kay put her head back around the door.

‘What, don't tell me the pumpkin and six has broken down already,' said Maggie.

‘No, Mike said that if you're at a loose end tonight maybe you'd like to come along with us.'

Maggie laughed. ‘Are you serious? What, in my pyjamas?'

‘Don't be so daft. I'll lend you something. I've got loads of things upstairs.'

‘Thanks,' Maggie said, ‘but I really don't feel like it tonight. You go and have a good time.'

‘He meant it,' Kay said. ‘It would do you good to get out. Treat it as research.'

‘I'm touched, but I'd feel totally out of place,' said Maggie flatly. ‘And besides, I hate playing gooseberry.'

Kay wrinkled her nose. ‘Okay, but here…' she pulled a card out of her handbag and scribbled something on it. ‘Go and have a look. Whatever you want, whatever your wildest dreams, you can find it on this site - really. It's where I found Mike.'

Maggie smiled indulgently and took the card. ‘And that's meant to be a recommendation?'

Kay smiled, waved, and was gone.

Maggie glanced down at the card, intending to drop it in the bin. ‘Darksecrets-dot-com,' she read aloud, and then smiled. What the hell had she got to lose? After all, Simon in the office had asked her out for coffee just last week; Simon Faraday with his thinning hair and bad teeth; Simon who seemed to think he was doing her a colossal favour by paying her any attention at all.

She glanced up at the clock; there was still time enough to do a couple of hours work before turning in, although it seemed like a pretty poor way to spend a Friday evening.

She looked at the phone, wondering who to call. Simon had told her she could ring him any time. She got to her feet and headed up to her office; she could always pick up her email too and maybe just take a quick look at Darksecrets. After all, there was no harm in looking, was there?

Max Jordan rolled back amongst the tangle of sheets, sated. As she had been taught, Katya rested her head on his hairy belly, and took his spent cock in her mouth to lick away the traces of both his excitement and her own.

During the long hot evening Max and Jack had shared her in every possible way, using her arse, her mouth, her hands, her face, her breasts, and her cunt, taking themselves and Katya to the very edge of oblivion. Finally Jack had cried enough, his body slick with sweat, his eyes rimmed with fatigue.

Tonight Katya would sleep between them, ready and eager to please if either man woke and had need of her.

Max groaned softly as her tongue worked its own particular magic over his shaft and balls. Some masters preferred their slaves to sleep on the floor, or be bound or chained to a low bed or mattress beside them, or even kept in separate quarters, but Max always enjoyed sleeping with his possessions. He relished feeling the soft flesh of an enslaved girl curled up against him. It strengthened the bond between master and slave, certainly in the early stages, and taught them what pleasures he expected from a submissive.

There was nothing better than to be roused from sleep in the early hours by the caress of eager lips around his semi-hard cock, or to be able to sink barely conscious into the compliant body of a slave taught that his pleasure was paramount.

In his heyday Max liked the girls to come to his room in rotation or in twos or threes, and he would use them as he saw fit. Now he had to take them one at a time, although it still seemed that he had more stamina than the younger Jack.

He stroked Katya's hair back off her face and pulled her up to him. ‘Sleep, little one,' he whispered, and without another word she settled down with her head on his chest. He reached over and before extinguishing the light took a long look at his slave. The last thing he saw before the darkness embraced them was the contented smile on Katya's lips.

Kay was right; it was like another world. Maggie stared at the computer screen completely absorbed in the images on the screen, cradling a mug of coffee. It was nearly three in the morning and she had been surfing Darksecrets and links to various other sites for the best part of four hours. What she found there had taken her breath away. All her life, in her darkest fantasies, Maggie had imagined what it might be like to be used and desired and taken by a dominant man, not that she would ever tell Kay that - she had barely dared acknowledge it to herself. And they were here, all her fantasies and more besides, laid bare.

She took a sip of coffee, wishing it were something stronger. Wasn't that why she married Barry, thinking, hoping he was a dominant male? Hadn't she been looking for a man who would instinctively understand what she needed, a man to look after her, a man to control her, a man who would see her as his possession and relish her submission?

Maggie reddened furiously as the thoughts formed. There was a part of her, a part she had long denied, that wanted a man to use her body, to make her do all those things she had always wanted to do but was too afraid to. Perhaps it wasn't too late to find what she had always known had to be out there, somewhere.

Maggie stared at the page that would let her post a profile in the contact section of the site. What had she got to lose? She didn't have to answer the replies if she got any; she would be anonymous. They wouldn't give out her email address or any personal details. Maggie bit her lip and then began to type, slowly considering every word carefully.

Not long out of a long-term relationship, I'm looking to explore some of the fantasies that have haunted me all my life. I want a real man. A man who understands me. A man who
… She paused, wondering how best to put it.
A man who can help me find what I truly am
. She typed with a surety she didn't feel.

Before her courage failed her she added details of her size and age, then watched as the words appeared on the screen, and then very quickly closed the computer down before she had a chance to change her mind. If anyone ever found out about the ad she'd bluff it out, tell them it was research for an article or a story - anything but the truth.

The following morning when Maggie got downstairs, Mike was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

‘Hi, late night?' he said, looking her up and down.

She smiled uncomfortably under his scrutiny. She knew she looked unkempt. ‘I didn't realise you were staying,' she said, as lightly as she could manage.

‘You don't mind, do you?'

Maggie shook her head. ‘No, as long as you don't make a habit of it.'

Kay came in, carrying the post. ‘Morning,' she beamed. ‘Did you take a look at Darksecrets, then?'

Maggie had already worked out what to say. ‘Yes, actually I did, and you're right, it really is amazing. It would make a great article.'

Kay grinned and settled on Mike's lap. It was impossible to ignore the way her nipples pressed through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. ‘See, I told you so.'

‘Okay, so I was wrong,' Maggie acknowledged.

Across the table Mike looked at her, his expression very different from the puppyish look on Kay's face. Maggie tried very hard not to notice the possessive way his hand rested on Kay's thigh, although as he met Maggie's eye she couldn't help wondering what it was he saw in her face. Did he see her envy, or perhaps her fear?

‘Actually, I know someone you should meet,' he said.

Maggie returned his gaze as steadily as she could. ‘Really and who would that be?'

‘A friend of mine, he taught me everything I know, he's a very interesting man. I'm sure you'll find he's exactly what you're looking for, and maybe visa versa.'

The way Mike spoke hit a raw nerve and Maggie felt her stomach churn. ‘To be honest, I'm not sure exactly what I'm looking for, Mike, but if you leave me his number I might give him a ring some time,' she said.

Mike smiled and added milk to his coffee. ‘Oh, that isn't how it works,' he said. ‘No, I'll tell him about you, and if he's interested then he'll make contact. Did you put an ad up on the Darksecrets site?'

This time Maggie did blush. ‘Yes, I thought it might help with my research.'

‘In that case give me the nickname you used.'

‘Curious,' said Maggie.

Mike grinned. ‘As good a name as any, although you know what curiosity did, don't you?'

Maggie picked up her drink; she couldn't bring herself to reply.

‘Hello Maggie.'

It was a week later, Friday evening, and Maggie was curled up on the sofa in front of the television. Kay hadn't come home and left a message on the answer machine to say she wasn't likely to be back until Sunday evening, so Maggie had plans to indulge herself. During the week she made up her mind that Mike's offer had been at worst a bad joke and at best an attempt to humour her.

‘Hello, who is this?' she asked, muting the television.

‘Mike gave me your number.' The man spoke with a soft Irish lilt, his tone low and even, which was both compelling and oddly disturbing.

Maggie felt her pulse quicken. ‘Mike? Kay's Mike?'

‘An interesting way to describe him; Mike is one of my more able students. He told me you're curious, Maggie.'

She was unsure of what he expected her to say, if anything.

‘The thing is, Maggie, do you know what you're curious about?'

She took a deep breath, wondering if she dare tell him; the silence yawned as deep as the ocean and Maggie sensed he had no intention of filling the void.

‘There are things… things I've always imagined doing… being part of,' she eventually confessed, wondering what on earth possessed her to tell a total stranger the secrets she had kept hidden for so long. ‘Things I've always wondered about, fantasised about. And I write… I was hoping to maybe do an article, about those things, maybe.'

‘Things,' he repeated in the same low tone. ‘What sort of things, Maggie?'

‘I can't tell you,' she blustered. ‘I can't…' the words dried in her throat as she realised she longed to tell him but couldn't. ‘I don't know how to.'

‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘I'm sure we can find a way to help you discuss your thoughts and dreams.' He paused. ‘We should meet. Sunday, we'll meet for lunch.'

‘The thing is…' Maggie began, trying to come up with a plausible excuse.

‘Good, I'll email you your instructions. Oh, and Maggie…'

‘Yes?' she said.

‘My name is Max, but my slaves call me master.'

And then he was gone, and Maggie was left sitting on the sofa with the phone in her hand, the sound of her pulse thundering in her ears.

‘Oh, my God,' she whispered, wondering what on earth she'd gotten into, and at the same time feeling a compelling flicker of anticipation.

She hurried upstairs and booted up the computer. As Max had promised there was an email waiting for her.

Maggie,

In future you will refer to me as master.

On Sunday I will send a car for you at midday. You will wear a white blouse, loose dark skirt and high-heeled shoes. You will also wear white underwear and black stockings. You may choose whether to wear a suspender belt or not, although if you make the wrong choice you may expect to be punished. You may wear a suitable coat.

Prior to our meeting you will neatly trim your pubic hair. You will be examined to see that you comply exactly with my instructions. You will stand or sit with your feet parted by eighteen inches.

I look forward to meeting you
.

Maggie stared at the screen with a mixture of outrage and excitement; just who the hell did this man think he was? Master indeed! Had she asked for any of this stuff? How dare he assume that she would just do what he said? Trimming her pubic hair? Did he really believe she would just obey and… and… and what?

Angrily she snatched the phone off her desk and dialled Kay's mobile number. This was ludicrous. She didn't care where they were; she needed to speak to Mike.

Just as she was about to press
Call
she read Max's email again and shivered, letting the images trail through her mind; wasn't this exactly what she had always dreamed of?

Chapter Two

The following Sunday morning Maggie stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and coolly appraised her naked body. She was slim with firm breasts, had a trim waist and shapely hips, and slender legs. At the junction of her thighs nestled a dark triangle of hair, a tight little pelt of curls.

But her mind wasn't just on her appearance. She was mulling over Max's call and the tone of his email.

When the car turned up she would tell the driver or Max or whoever it was driving that there had been a mistake, that she had changed her mind, tell them thanks but no thanks, that she wasn't looking for… for… Maybe she could tell Max that she wanted to talk to him as part of her research, and see how he reacted. He knew she was a writer, so she could ask him for an interview. Maybe she would just go anyway; where was the harm in that? She'd take her mobile, and enough cash to get a cab from wherever it was she found herself.

Still deep in thought she stepped under the shower and let the water wash over her skin. She took the razor off the side of the bath and began to shape the soft curls as Max had instructed. Feeling her excitement slowly begin to build, she let her mind toy with the idea of what it would feel like if she was
really
preparing herself for her master.

It was a compelling thought, and under the torrent Maggie washed and shaved and preened more thoroughly than she had on her wedding day, taking time over every stage.

Of course Max Jordan wouldn't really want to inspect her, she thought, massaging shampoo into her dark hair. It was ludicrous, some kind of mind game to try and rattle her. She soaped her breasts, feeling their warmth and the languid weight of them cupped in her palms, feeling her nipples harden, imagining what it might be like to be made to strip in front of a total stranger. The excitement began to build in her belly, a compelling ache. How would it feel to be in the shower, knowing a stranger was appraising her, watching her every move.

Maggie shivered. It was nearly eleven; another hour and Max would send for her. She threw back her head, relishing the Max of her imagination. If nothing else he had given her a whole new fantasy to enjoy.

Slowly her finger tracked down over her belly, following the path of the razor, Maggie imagining all the while that Max was watching her. Her outer lips were shaved bare now and felt soft and vulnerable. A single finger eased them apart, discovering the moisture already gathering there, her growing excitement clinging to the soft folds of her sex like dew.

With the fingers of her other hand she found her clitoris and circled it, pressing gently down on its sensitive hood. Unable to stop herself she moaned and arched back against the cold tiles; imagining Max Jordan moving closer, his unfathomable eyes fixed on hers; imagining the pleasure in his expression as she touched herself, talking to her, cajoling her, encouraging her to explore her body in the most graphic of terms.

With two fingers deep in her sex, the tight muscles closed around her caress like an eager mouth, sucking them deeper still. Breathing hard Maggie found herself trying to imagine what it would be like to be fucked by the mysterious Max. What would it feel like to have him buried to the hilt inside her? For an instant she imagined an unknown cock driving home, filling her to the brink, making her cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain as he forced himself deeper than she thought possible.

The first great wave of orgasm took her by surprise, overtaking her like a great flood. Her knees buckled and she slithered to the bottom of the shower, fingers still buried as she thrust onto them, rubbing hard on her clit to milk the last embers of intense heat that had overcome her. And then it was gone and for an instant Maggie reddened furiously, feeling ashamed. How on earth had she got so worked up over a single phone call?

‘Maggie?'

She nodded.

‘My name is Guido. Max Jordan sent me to pick you up. Are you all ready?'

‘Yes, I'm fine,' she said, not quite able to keep the tremor out of her voice, and locking the front door, followed Max's driver towards the black car that sat like a raven at the end of her drive. It was exactly midday and she was dressed as Max had instructed. After all, if she wanted to meet him, for whatever reason, it might be in her best interests to play along.

‘Is Max in the car?' she asked the driver. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored black suit that emphasised his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Walking slightly ahead as if guiding her, he swung round and smiled wolfishly.

‘Why?' he asked.

It wasn't exactly the response Maggie had expected. ‘I, um, just wondered,' she began, and then changed her mind. She would find out in a matter of seconds if her host was there. ‘So where are we going?' she did ask.

‘Lunch.' As he spoke his eyes moved slowly up her body. ‘Mr Jordan is waiting for you.'

Maggie wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. ‘Have you worked for him long?' she asked conversationally. The man opened the rear car door, and taking her hand, helped her inside, waiting while she settled on the cream leather upholstery. His fingers lingered on hers just a little longer than was comfortable, as did his gaze on the elegant curve of her legs.

‘Where exactly are we going?' she ventured.

‘You ask too many questions.' The driver's gaze did not falter. ‘It will get you into a lot of trouble. I'm taking you to a hotel for lunch, not too far. Don't worry, Max has impeccable taste, in food as well as women, and he is very generous.'

Maggie could hear all kinds of meanings in the words. Generous with his woman as well as his money? That was certainly the implication.

The man smiled as if reading her mind. ‘And it pays if you don't forget the rules,' he said as he was about to close the door.

‘The rules?' she echoed anxiously.

‘Your legs should be open,' he said. Maggie had automatically crossed them upon getting into the car. He leant in and slid a hand between her thighs, and Maggie was so shocked she didn't have time to resist.

‘Slaves are meant to be available at all times, legs open, you had better get used to it.'

Maggie felt herself colouring furiously. ‘But I'm not a slave,' she countered indignantly.

He smiled, his fingers rubbing her thigh. ‘Oh, I think you are,' he said. ‘And even if you aren't at the moment, you soon will be. Take my advice; make sure you do exactly as you're told. It pays to learn fast with Max.' And then the door closed and he was climbing into the front seat.

Maggie struggled to regain her composure. In her handbag she had slipped a notebook and pen, the tools of her trade, taken almost like a shield to protect her from Max Jordan. As the car drew away from the kerb she tried to convince herself that she was just playing along to get a decent interview. It would make a great story. Slave master in a modern world. She'd be fine. It wouldn't be the first time she'd felt a little intimidated by her subject, but she knew how to wing it, appear at ease and relaxed even if she wasn't.

The car headed towards the coast, and as Maggie settled she was aware of the driver's eyes in the rear-view mirror, and again she wondered what she'd let herself in for.

Max Jordan watched the car make its way slowly along the quay, then up the hillside towards the hotel. He had booked his usual suite with the sitting room overlooking the harbour. Suitably double-glazed, the French windows that opened onto a sunny terrace not only kept the sea winds out, but all sounds in. The rendezvous was far enough out of town to be private, but not so far as to unnerve his guest.

Max's usual waiter took the champagne from the ice bucket and refilled his glass, while the austere man watched the car's progress. Mike had told him that he considered Maggie a natural, someone who had perhaps suspected she was a submissive for years but fought her natural inclinations.

These were the kind of girls Max liked best - spirited and bright with a fire and passion that if harnessed and trained properly would be a delight for him to enjoy both as slave and companion. It was that combination and his ability to recognise it that ensured his girls always brought the highest prices, whether at auction or in a private sale.

One of the reasons Max loved this suite was the view it afforded him; out beyond the harbour a broad sandbank sheltered the little cove, and beyond that was the open sea. And below, as Maggie climbed the stone steps guided by Guido, he could see her clearly, and it appeared Mike was a better judge than he gave him credit for. He could see the mixed emotions on Maggie's face, in the way she moved. She was nervous, full of expectation and apprehension. He was delighted to see that she was dressed as he had instructed, but wasn't fooled for an instant, for Maggie Howard wasn't obeying him she was humouring him - although it wouldn't be long before she learned the difference.

‘Here we are,' said the chauffeur. He stood before the impressive double doors, knocked once and then stepped aside so it was Maggie who waited for permission to enter. As she heard Max Jordan's voice from inside her heart missed a beat. She bit her lip, fingers locked unmoving around the door handle.

‘Trust me, it doesn't pay to keep him waiting,' the driver said, and before she knew quite what she was doing, Maggie turned the handle and stepped into the cool room.

Caught in silhouette against a sunlit expanse of glass was a powerfully built man of medium height, probably in his early-fifties, with grey hair, dressed to her surprise in casual trousers and a white shirt, his sleeves neatly rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He had a trimmed beard, heavy but handsome features and a broad mouth. All this Maggie saw and absorbed in an instant. But what she noticed most of all were his eyes - blue-green, glinting, intimidating… yet there was something else, something lurking behind them that was quite impossible to fathom.

‘Maggie,' he said in a warm but formal tone. ‘How nice to meet you.'

‘Max,' she said, with considerably less assurance in her voice. Was she supposed to call him that, or master, and how preposterous an idea was that? She reddened, feeling uncomfortable and unsure in a way she hadn't felt since her teens. Tension crackled in the air between them like the edge of a storm. Maggie shifted her weight, feeling like a lamb waiting for the wolf to decide her fate.

‘So,' said Max, taking the champagne bottle from the bucket and pouring a second glass. ‘What is it you want? What excuse are you going to use? Are you going to tell me that you're here to interview me, or shall we dispense with the nonsense and the half-truths and the lies, and you tell me what you truly want?' As he spoke he brought the glass to her, all the time his eyes calmly taking in the details of her face and body. It felt as if he was looking into her very soul.

He offered her the champagne and she took it, murmuring her thanks while her heart beat frantically in her chest.

‘I don't know, I'm afraid,' she said weakly, almost to herself.

He smiled and gently stroked the line of her jaw. ‘I know,' he said.

Maggie trembled, shocked by her reaction to his touch.

‘And I do understand, my dear. Drink your champagne then tell me, did you do as I instructed? Did you remove your hair.' His open palm brushed her lower belly so lightly and so fleetingly it was almost like a breath.

‘Yes,' she said, eyes downcast, trying to avoid his gaze.

‘And what are you wearing under your skirt?'

Maggie felt so self-conscious she thought she might faint. ‘White underwear,' she began. ‘Although I?'

‘Yes, white underwear and what else?' he interrupted. ‘Are you wearing suspenders?'

She nodded.

‘And you understood my email, that if you made the wrong choice then you would be punished?'

‘Yes, but… but surely that was a joke? I mean, you didn't mean punished, not really.'

He pressed a finger to her lips in a gesture so intimate it took her breath away. ‘I'll ask you again, Maggie. Did you understand my email?'

‘Yes,' she said, still longing to justify or explain her choice, but he held up his hand to silence her.

‘Open the left hand drawer of the bureau and tell me what you find there.'

She looked up at him, eyes bright with fear. ‘I don't understand.'

‘You will, now do as you're told.'

Uncertainly she walked across the room, opened the drawer and let out a little gasp of panic. Inside was a white envelope with her name written on it, but it wasn't that that made her gasp; it was the leather riding-crop that lay across the envelope.

‘Well?' he said, sipping his champagne.

‘There's some sort of whip in here, and an envelope.'

‘Open the envelope, Maggie,' said Max, from somewhere behind her.

She picked it up, her hands trembling. Inside on a single sheet of paper were the words,
For wearing suspenders your punishment is twenty strokes
.

Maggie swung round as if he'd spoken the words out loud. ‘But this isn't fair,' she complained. ‘It's ridiculous. How was I to know?'

Max held out his hand to her. ‘Bring me the crop, Maggie,' he said, as if she hadn't spoken.

She stiffened, determined to hold her ground. ‘How was I to know?' she repeated.

Seconds ticked by, seeming like hours. Max Jordan didn't move, didn't reply, while Maggie's mind raced… and then froze. Wasn't this the very thing she had always imagined? Wasn't it the fantasy that had driven her to a potent climax in the shower? Wasn't this the act of submission that had fuelled countless such fantasies? If she walked away now, if she turned and left, then she might be turning her back on the very thing she longed for.

Maggie took a deep breath to try and still her thoughts, and then very slowly she took the crop from the drawer. For a moment she held it in her hands, trying to imagine what it might feel like to have it crack across her flesh. The idea was both enticing and appalling.