Maggie and the Master

by Sarah Fisher

  He led her across the room and guided her back onto a chaise longue. He pulled her hands up above her head and secured them to the frame, and then spread her legs, tying each one at the ankle so that her feet were on the floor on either side of the narrow chaise. The rope was slack so she had a little movement. As he worked she thought how strong and insistent he was, but at the same time how oddly gentle his touch, which put her at ease until she realised that bound and blindfolded Max Jordan didn’t need to be rough with her - she was his to do with exactly as he wanted.

  Once she was secure he ran his hands over her body, lingering on the curves of her breasts and the mound of her sex.

  ‘Do you know how wet you are, my dear?’ he drawled. He teased a finger between the lips of her sex, and she knew then, hearing and feeling the wetness.

  She whimpered, wondering what on earth was coming next. And then she knew. She felt his breath on her throat and then his teeth nipped her nipples, teasing them into aching hardness before moving down over her belly, slowly down to the heat of her quim.

  Surely he wasn’t going to… he pulled the outer lips of her sex apart, holding her open while his tongue eased into her, over and over, his mouth and lips joining in sucking and lapping at her pleasure bud. And then there was pain like a bite on the outer labia as he clamped something to it - and then again on the other - the pressure and the nip making her gasp in shock, she cried out and then winced as he pulled her wide open.

  She mewled in pain, although her excitement began to build further. She heard him ripping off some sort tape and fixing the clamps back against her belly so that she was totally exposed. His tongue teased and nibbled a counter point to the pain. She pressed her body up against his face, letting him drink her, surrendering totally to his exquisite caress. Despite the clamps she knew she was teetering on the brink of release and so it seemed did Max. As she groaned, eager to reach the point of no return, he pulled away making her instinctively thrust her hips up to him, seeking his tongue.

  ‘Do you want to come, Maggie?’ he whispered, and there was no way she could deny it.

  ‘Yes, master,’ she sobbed, pressing herself towards the sound of his voice.

  ‘You must ask my permission.’

  ‘Please, master, may I come, please?’ she begged, her voice tight with desire and emotion.

  His fingers found her clit again, his touch no more than the tiniest brush, the lightest caress, and for an instant Maggie thought she would go mad if he didn’t make her climax. Another finger gently pressed at the tight puckering of her anus, teasing and stroking the sensitive nerve-endings, making her writhe and buck against her restraints, and worse still, making her whole body sing. To her horror she felt his lips working towards his fingers, his tongue licking her dark little rosebud with as much skill as seconds earlier he had lapped her clit.

  It was so intense, so all consuming that without thinking she begged over and over, not sure whether she was pleading with him to stop or pleading with him to go on.

  ‘That’s it, beg me, Maggie,’ Max said.

  ‘Please, please make me come,’ she pleaded, wriggling against him, now oblivious of the bite of the clamps.

  ‘When?’ he goaded.

  ‘Now, please make me come now.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said cruelly, and pulled away. Maggie tensed in frustration, her body lifting towards him as far as the restraints would allow, but before she could protest any further he pulled off the clamps ands tape. She wailed and gasped as the blood rushed back into the sensitive flesh. Then he took off the blindfold and freed her wrists. She was stunned by his coolness and found it impossible to meet her tormentor’s eyes - while between her legs a fire burned so fiercely she was afraid she might be engulfed by it, the temptation to slide a hand down between her thighs almost too much to bear.

  Once he had unfastened her ankles, he tipped her chin up to him. ‘Look at me, Maggie,’ he said, and reluctantly she did as she was told. To her surprise he was smiling. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Don’t touch yourself, for today your body is mine to do with as I please. Here, drink your champagne,’ he said, and handed her the glass.

  At that moment there was a knock on the door, and Maggie gasped and instinctively bent forward trying to cover her nakedness and her arousal.

  ‘Stay exactly as you are,’ Max snapped. ‘If you cover yourself I will give you to whoever it is waiting outside.’ And then he called, ‘Come in!’

  The door slowly opened to reveal Guido, his driver, and the uniformed waiter pushing a covered lunch trolley.

  The two men set the table by the window as if there was nothing out of the ordinary happening, and once everything was ready Guido remained behind to serve.

  Max indicated the table and Maggie stared at him in astonishment, and then accepted the chair Guido held for her.

  ‘Keep you legs open; I want Guido to be able to see you,’ Max said as the driver guided the chair back under the table. ‘You must learn that as a slave you are available at all times - to whomever I choose.’

  As he spoke the driver, lurking behind Maggie, slid a hand over her shoulder and cupped her breast. As she was about to protest he slipped his other hand down to her tummy, two fingers brushing the little triangle of pubic hair.

  All the while Max held Maggie’s gaze. ‘Enough, Guido, thank you,’ he said, without letting his eyes leave hers.

  Guido’s hands moved away, but enmeshed in the look of relief on Maggie’s face Max saw a sense of loss too, and smiled to himself. A willing whore was almost more than he could have hoped for so soon after selling Katya.

  Chapter Three

  Lunch consisted of chicken in a creamy herb sauce that almost melted on the tongue, served with a selection of vegetables and the sweetest new potatoes. Maggie made an effort to concentrate on every mouthful, trying to regain some sense of control.

  Guido acted as their waiter, pouring the wine, serving with enviable ease, his expression totally impassive although Maggie sensed his eyes drinking in her nakedness. As they ate Max asked her about her job, her life, and despite Maggie’s initial reluctance and more than a little nervousness, she found herself opening up to him in a way she had never expected.

  Max Jordan was urbane and charming, his soft Irish accent inviting and almost hypnotic, but not for an instant did Maggie lose sight of her position, or her vulnerability, or the fact that Max’s confidence and easy manner masked a dark need to dominate - although what perhaps disturbed her most was that her body responded to it. For all the pain and humiliation she had already experienced at Max Jordan’s hands, there was a sense of relief, almost as if she had finally come home.

  Dessert, fresh strawberries and cream, was followed by coffee, and then from across the table Max said in that wonderfully melodious tone, ‘A good slave understands her place and is happy there. Her role is to anticipate her master’s every wish and obey his every command.’

  Maggie reddened. It was the first time whilst eating that the conversation had returned to the subject of slavery, although it wasn’t far from her mind. She longed to ask him how he had become a master and why, but despite her curiosity and the supposed article she was supposed to be writing, she couldn’t quite bring herself to voice the question.

  Max signalled to Guido, who set the two coffee cups down side by side on the tabletop. ‘You will serve me, Maggie, my coffee and a brandy,’ he ordered.

  Maggie nodded and he raised an eyebrow, quite clearly expecting something more.

  ‘Yes, master,’ she said hastily, the words sounding somewhat silly and clumsy.

  He smiled as her colour intensified. ‘And then you will get a taste of what it feels like to be a man’s possession. For the rest of the time you are here you’ll kneel at my feet, like a good slave, knees parted, back straight. Some masters will want you to keep your hands behind your head or neck, but I prefer them held neatly behind your back. You will sit like that until and unless I instruct you to d
o otherwise.’

  Maggie swallowed heavily.

  ‘Do you understand me?’ he pressed.

  Her gaze lowered. ‘Yes, master,’ she said meekly.

  ‘Stand up,’ he snapped, the warmth leaving his voice. ‘I will have my coffee on the terrace.’ Then without another word he stood and headed outside.

  Maggie looked at the coffee cups, and then anxiously at Guido, whose face remained as resolutely impassive as ever.

  ‘White, milk not cream, no sugar,’ he said as her discomfort grew, taking the second cup for himself and adding cream.

  He passed a tray to her with a brandy glass on it.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said nervously, arranging the cup next to the glass.

  ‘No need to thank me, slave,’ Guido said. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to find a way to work your debt off later.’

  Maggie stiffened, and would have asked him exactly what he meant if she hadn’t caught sight of Max waiting outside for her. ‘I’ve already told you,’ Guido said, ‘it doesn’t pay to keep him waiting.’

  Maggie went out through the French windows. The terrace was sheltered, a perfect suntrap, and to her relief extremely private.

  Max smiled. ‘Thank you, slave,’ he said, taking the coffee and brandy.

  The light breeze whipped at her hair, making her shiver both with cold and anticipation. She set the tray down on the table beside his chair, and then more reluctantly knelt down beside him on the warm deck. Max waited until she was settled and then ran a hand over her shoulders and hair, leaning forward to cup a breast and squeeze her nipples.

  ‘Slaves aren’t just marked by their obedience, little one,’ he told her. ‘Most wear a mark to show their position, to show who they belong to.’

  From the hotel room Guido appeared carrying a flat velvet pouch. Maggie looked up with a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

  ‘Did I tell you to look at him?’ Max barked. ‘Or move?’

  ‘No, master,’ she said quickly.

  Max pinched her nipple, making her wince and simper.

  ‘Get up,’ he ordered. ‘If you become a slave you don’t need to think or decide what to do; others will make decisions for you. You have no need to be curious at what things are, because trust me, what is yours will come to you.’

  They stood close, face to face, Maggie with her eyes still demurely downcast, trying hard to stop the little tremble that flickered though her body like an anarchic pulse. She wanted to protest, tell him that she wasn’t anyone’s slave, and that she had no intention of becoming one of his slaves, but something made her hesitate.

  Was it a fear that if she said the words aloud then he would send her away? Would he reject her? Although she found it hard to admit to herself, if that happened she would be consumed with regret and would never have or taste the heady secrets this strange liaison promised.

  ‘When you stand you will have your hands behind your back, legs apart.’

  Maggie nodded and took a deep breath to try and still her racing pulse, so caught up in calming herself that what Max did next took her totally by surprise. Drawing back his hand he slapped her breast, catching it squarely on the side, making her gasp in shock, and then he struck the other one, catching the nipple. She bit her lip and looked up at him in astonishment.

  ‘Count,’ he said flatly.

  ‘One…’ she responded hastily.

  He struck again, harder.

  ‘T-two.’ What was she doing, letting him do this? It seemed even more bizarre than letting him take a crop to her bottom. The sensation of heat and pain spread through her torso. ‘Th-three!’

  The forth blow made her shriek and twist away from him. ‘Guido!’ he barked, and the servant handed him a black ribbon with a white ball secured halfway along it. He smiled, eyes narrowing. ‘Do you know what this is, my dear?’ he asked.

  Maggie shook her head. ‘No, master, I don’t,’ she said honestly.

  ‘It’s a ball-gag,’ he told her. ‘Let me show you how it works. Open you mouth.’

  The ball sat uncomfortably between and behind her teeth, holding her mouth wide open and making swallowing difficult. Despite her best efforts a trickle of saliva ran down her chin. She looked at Max in horror, who smiled again, drew back his hand and struck her breast harder still. The gag successfully muffled her shriek.

  ‘We can’t go disturbing our fellow guests, now can we?’ he said, slapping her again. ‘And if you move again, Maggie, I’ll string you up on the railings.

  After twenty he stopped and she hoped he would remove the gag - but no. Instead he took the velvet bag from his driver and from inside produced a black leather collar set with a band of stainless steel. There were three rings set into the steel, and the collar was hinged at the back and fastened with a little padlock, which was stamped with what looked like an heraldic device. As Maggie stared she realised the emblem consisted of the letters M and J.

  ‘Would you like to try it on?’ he said.

  Maggie shivered, unable to work out the right answer; not that it sounded like a genuine question, and with the ball-gag in place her answer would be restricted to nodding or shaking her head.

  ‘And I did say try,’ he said, tipping her face up to his. ‘You will only be expected to wear a collar on a more permanent basis if you accept the terms of my contract, Maggie. Well?’

  He held the collar out towards her and she stepped closer, afraid to think for fear of where those thoughts might lead her. Max fed the collar around her throat, snapped it closed and fastened the lock. It fitted snugly.

  ‘You look magnificent,’ he said, stepping back to admire her, his eyes studying her face, the ball-gag wet with saliva, the collar and then the glowing orbs of her breasts.

  ‘Good,’ he nodded, as if speaking to himself, his gaze moving lower still. She felt like a prize animal and tried not to let a growing sense of panic or unnerving desire overwhelm her. It wasn’t that the collar was uncomfortable, it was what it and the gag symbolised. Surrender, silence, obedience - and a terrifying glimpse of a trust of the most fundamental kind, that she realised would have to grow if she stepped into this ring of fire with Max Jordan. She would quite literally have to trust him with her mind, her body and her soul.

  He sat down and opened his legs. ‘Come here and lay across my knees,’ he told her, and without a word, still reeling from the snap of the collar, Maggie did as she was told. For a moment she lay totally still, listening to her own heartbeat, feeling the press of his trousers against the sensitive glow of her skin, trying to find a place where she felt balanced, and then Max said, ‘You are disobedient and wilful, and yet I know that in your chest beats the heart of a true slave, Maggie. I can feel it, I can see it.’

  How could he be so certain when she was so unsure?

  He stroked her buttocks, working his fingers against the welts left by the crop.

  ‘I can teach you, Maggie. I can show you.’ She closed her eyes, the glow simmering before lunch still there between her legs, hidden a little by fear but nevertheless within an instant of rekindling. ‘But you have to learn to obey me. Do you understand?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she mumbled through the gag, wondering why he hadn’t removed it, and then she found out why. His hand exploded across her bottom making her convulse, and as she shrieked in horror Max drew her arm behind her back and spanked her again.

  She sobbed and shook her head desperately, but his hand found the mark again. Tears coursed down her face and at the same time, and to her shame, the glow in the pit of her stomach began to build again.

  Four more spanks were delivered and then he pressed two fingers into her sex, roughly, and her hips lifted to give him access, desperate for his caress. She heard him laugh with pleasure, and no longer cared.

  Pushing her off his lap she rolled wearily onto the wooden decking. ‘Get up on all fours, you little bitch,’ he snapped, and without a second thought Maggie did as she was told, and was utterly shocked to feel his rampant cock drive into th
e wet confines of her cunt, filling her, making her gasp with shame and delight. She sobbed as he penetrated her, both at the ferocity of his entry and at the relief and joy of finally feeling his erection buried deep inside her.

  As he fucked her she met him stroke for stroke, gasping behind the gag as his hands sought her nipples, twisting and tormenting them before moving down to her clit, nipping and stroking the engorged bud until she felt the roaring wave of orgasm about to wash her away.

  ‘You may come,’ he panted in her ear, his weight on her back, and she was lost, borne up, carried away by the most intense sensations she had ever experienced. She cried out again and again as he drilled deeper still, riding the tightening of her sex cocooning him, and she knew he was with her every step of the way, driving deep, arching and crying out as the wave overtook him too.

  When they were done Maggie turned and slumped into his arms, sated, shivering and raw with emotion.

  ‘You’re not done yet, little one,’ he said, and she stared at him in weary bewilderment. He undid the ball-gag. ‘A good slave always cleans her master. With your mouth,’ he added, running a finger around her lips. ‘After I have taken my pleasure, you will clean me.’

  She looked down at his cock. Even spent it was impressive, long and thick with a smooth helmet, wet and glistening with their combined juices.

  ‘Well?’ he said, and without complaint Maggie knelt over him and took his cock into her mouth, tasting their salty flavours. He sighed and stroked her hair, and after a few minutes he gently he pulled her away and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, and together they rose. ‘A good slave always walks two paces behind her master,’ he informed her.

  Maggie did as she was told, trying to ignore the avaricious glint in Guido’s eyes as he stood by the door, watching her. He gave her the barest of smiles, and she couldn’t contain an uneasy shudder.