Mastering Maeve

by Tara Finnegan

  “I’ll miss you, when do you have to go?”

  “The day after tomorrow, if I can get a flight. Can you take tomorrow night off? I’d like to take you out to dinner.”

  “I’ll make sure I get the night off, even if I have to bribe Granny by offering to buy her a new broomstick,” she joked. He still got annoyed with her for comments like that, as Bridie charmed the pants off him all the time, but Maeve liked to tease him just to watch his reaction. He was learning though.

  “I know you’re really asking for a spanking by that comment, and your punishment is you’re not going to get it,” he laughed. “Besides, she has a ton of them out back, and they’re all in working order. I saw her bringing them for a test run.”

  “Oh dear, it looks like I’m going to have to swear at you instead,” she smirked. “Or I could just ask you to smack the arse off me.”

  “Schoolhouse, now,” he replied. Maeve spotted Bridie watching them from an upper window as they made their way across the path. She wondered if she had any idea what they got up to in there. Nothing about that woman would surprise her. She was probably looking into her crystal ball, watching the whole scene unfold. She might joke about it but honestly, sometimes Maeve thought she was scarily shrewd. And then when she heard the old dear talking about the folk cures and the banshee and such like, it was almost proof that there was more to her than met the eye. She shuddered at the thought, drove it from her mind and thought instead of what was awaiting her.

  “Beautiful,” Larry said appreciatively as she allowed her skirt fall to the floor.

  “I knew you’d like them, that’s why I bought them,” she grinned. At this stage she knew exactly what he liked in underwear. She stood away from him and deliberately bent down to pick up her skirt, showing as much of her rounded bottom as possible in the white cotton panties with pale pink polka dots and pink lace trim, cut in his favourite shorts style. She wiggled her bum for him before straightening up.

  “Get over here, wench,” he demanded in a husky voice and she inwardly gloated. This would be one of the last memories he had of her before he left; it would encourage him to come back for more. Feigning shyness, she approached him slowly.

  “Lean over the desk,” he ordered.

  “Should I remove my panties?” she asked.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  As she leaned over treating him to another wiggle, he hiked her panties up firmly between the cheeks, exposing her buttocks. Rather than starting straight into the spanking, he rubbed her bottom, then fingered the soft cotton.

  “Wear these again tomorrow, I want your scent on them.” he told her. He raised his hand and brought it sharply down on one cheek, then before she had even drawn a breath he had repeated it on the other.

  “Ahh, beautiful!” he breathed. His reaction added a new dimension of spice. She really had connected with his desires. It made her feel a sublime mixture of powerful and submissive as she gratefully accepted his firm swats, each one increasing in intensity and pleasure. She loved this intimacy. Maeve writhed and wriggled, not so much to escape his hand—although there was an element of that as it stung badly—but also to increase her pleasure as the mixture of endorphins and increased blood flow to her maidenly regions sent her into a forbidden frenzy. He continued to spank over and over. She wanted it both to stop and to go on forever. At each stroke she was tempted to call “Enough,” but as soon as his hand landed and the shock subsided, she knew she wanted more. Every time, she was torn like this. A little part of her wished he would push her beyond what she thought was her limit, but he always stopped just short. And yet when he did finally stop, she would have sworn on her life it was absolutely the last wallop she could have endured. He seemed to understand her limits better than she did.

  When he felt she’d had enough, he paused, waiting. He fingered her clit over her panties and she rubbed into him harder, greedy in her need. He increased the pressure. Her juices smeared into her panties, soaking them.

  “All the better to smell you with, my dear,” he said with a wicked glint in his eye. She was delirious by now. She let go of the desk and dropped to her knees. Her fingers fumblingly undid his fly. He was so hard it was difficult to release him without undoing the button, but she managed, releasing his engorged cock.

  “No!’ he protested, but she wasn’t listening. She pushed him back against the desk into a semi-sitting position. She took him in her mouth, savouring his taste and his scent. The salty, musky essence entered her subconscious. Reason was out the window. She forgot about her own satisfaction as she sucked hard, teasing him, nipping lightly on the head of his purple swollen head. She flicked her tongue beneath the helmet, tantalising the sensitive nubs, and traced the outline of the protruding, bulging veins. His groans spurred her on. She was in charge now. She switched to harder, longer mouthfuls, taking him in as deep as her mouth would allow. He grabbed her head with both hands, intending to steady her thrusts, but somehow he just pulled her down more on him. She started using her hands at the base of his shaft too and he was weak, powerless to resist. She could feel him stop fighting his pleasure and he melted into her mouth, becoming one with it. Working with her. She could feel his cock engorge still further, even though she’d have sworn that was impossible. Then she could sense a small vibration, like an electric current. She knew his seed would follow and she was ready; as the hot, salty liquid hit the back of her throat, she accepted it willingly. She had conquered him for once. A look of sheer unadulterated relaxation settled on his features.

  “Judging by the look on your face, that’s exactly how I feel after a good smacking,” she giggled affectionately.

  “If this is how it makes you feel, I’m going to spank you much more often in the future,” he promised.

  * * *

  Maeve left his side early. In order to have the evening off, she had a lot of things to take care of. He was happy about that. Much and all as he enjoyed the pleasure of snuggling into her before the craziness of the day began, today he had a lot on his mind. He really needed to speak with Bridie, one to one. Then hopefully he’d make a trip into Galway city, getting back on time to change and take Maeve out to dinner. But much of that depended on Bridie.

  He made sure he was up and dressed before Bridie’s usual rising time. He had the kettle boiled. He knew by now there was no talking to Bridie until she had had her first cup of tay, as she called it. He put an antique ceramic pot stewing on the range, just the way she liked it when she came into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Larry,” she grunted. He couldn’t help but smile. Maeve was exactly the same in the morning, non-communicative until her first cup of coffee; easy to see where she got it. He sat quietly, sipping his coffee until she indicated that she had woken up.

  “Maeve asked me to do her shift in the dining room tonight, are you taking her somewhere nice?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her in spite of her sleepy state.

  “Actually, ma’am, there was something I wanted to ask you before then, in loco parentis if you like.”

  “Ask away, sonny, but I’m damned if I know what local parents means. You know I’m the nearest relation she has.”

  He was too wound up about what he had to say, so he didn’t bother explaining the term to her. “I’d like your permission to ask Maeve to marry me,” he blurted.

  “Bless you, lad, you don’t need my permission, you need her to say yes! Good luck with that, sure I’d be delighted to have you as a grandson-in-law.” She rose from the table and gave him a very uncharacteristically demonstrative hug, catching him completely off guard; he had never even seen her embrace Maeve as long as he’d known her. If he knew her better he would have recognised the smug smile as look of victory, but he was still inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt and presumed it was just natural happiness to see her granddaughter’s future secured.

  The pressure was on, he needed to find a ring; he was an old-fashioned guy and wanted to be able to go down on one
knee and present her with a box. He wanted something that would announce to the world that she was taken, so nothing too small or discreet! He wanted a great big chunk of a diamond. He’d pinched a ring she wore on her right hand from her dressing table and hoped that the jewellery store would be able to figure out her size from that.

  Sheesh, he thought, standing in the jewellers, how on earth can there be so many different types of rings. The sales assistant had tray after tray laid out in from of him. There was white gold and platinum, yellow gold in nine, eighteen, or twenty-four carat. How was he supposed to know which she’d prefer? He’d only ever seen her in costume jewellery. No, wait; she always wore yellow gold earrings while she worked. Great, yellow gold it was. That eliminated three of the eight trays.

  The assistant measured the ring he had taken from her room and he was relieved to see another tray removed.

  “These are all close enough in size to be able to be adjusted to fit without destroying the ring’s aesthetics,” the attendant patiently explained.

  He could imagine her calculating her commission in her head. There were cluster rings, rings with a few stones in a line, or his personal favourite, solitaires. In the end he opted for a slight compromise, a large solitaire stone but with smaller diamonds decorating the claw.

  The price tag was almost terrifying. He realised that if he was more patient he would probably get much better value in Texas, but patience was not his forte when he really desired something. He was determined not to leave her for such a long period of time without having this settled. Of course he knew a ring wasn’t going to hold her to him if she wanted to move on, but she seemed to be happy; almost as happy as he was. He wanted to stake his claim before he left her for a whole month. Truth was, he didn’t want that skinny little kid having any opportunity to oust him in his absence. He figured the price tag was well worth it.

  A sick, nervous tension was building in his tummy as he left the shop. What if she refused him? That would be even worse than the uncertainty. He realised he was taking a pretty big leap; he had only known her three-and-a-half months. And why was he so willing to jump into a marriage commitment with her after such a short time when he’d shied from it with Emily? And what on earth possessed him to get involved with a young woman from a totally different country? Why, he didn’t even know if she would agree to move to Texas or if he would have to sell all and move to Ireland. The practicalities didn’t even bear thinking about. The only thing Larry Williamson the Fourth was sure of this day was that he desperately wanted Maeve O’Reilly to say yes.

  He booked a table at the Renvyle House Hotel, twelve miles away and organised a taxi to come pick them up. The roads from Clifden to Renvyle were a death trap in his opinion, so he had no intention of attempting to drive them, especially in a stick-shift car and after a couple of glasses of wine (or as he hoped, champagne). Only when everything was under control did he finally allow himself to relax as best he could. It seemed the day was dragging on forever. He couldn’t wait until evening.

  Chapter Eight

  “What are you making such a fuss about, Granny, sure we’re only going out for a bite to eat,” Maeve harrumphed in exasperation. She didn’t know what had gotten into the old woman, fussing over what Maeve should wear. They never agreed on clothes anyway and there was nowhere in Clifden that would refuse her entry in a pair of smart trousers and sparkly top. That was dressed up enough in her book.

  “For once in your life, can you do what you’re told and put on a nice dress. Lord bless us, you’ll be the death of me.”

  “Fine,” she sighed.

  God, the things I do for a quiet life, she thought as she rummaged through her wardrobe. Skirts for work were one thing, but she really was not a dress person. She only owned a few; she always felt silly in them as she was so tall. She finally chose a knee-length, slim-fitting black dress that complemented her hair, which she allowed to hang down but pinned back from her face. A gold torc adorned her neck, which she hoped detracted attention from her ample cleavage. At least Larry was so tall it would be safe to wear heels, she figured as she selected a pair of black strappy sandals that emphasised her shapely muscular calves. Her makeup was subtle except for a rich red lipstick. She was ready.

  When Larry came in to shower, she had difficulty getting him to back off, but there was no way she was letting him ruin her makeup.

  “You look hot,” he proclaimed as she spurned his advances. “I want to make love to you.”

  “Oh, wind your dick in, you can fuck me later. So where are we going anyway?” she laughed as he swatted her behind deliciously. “Granny made me dress up; I wanted to wear trousers.”

  “Good ole Granny,” he said appreciatively, dodging her question. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes; why not go have a glass of wine in the bar. Brag to the customers how lovely you are.”

  “Shut up, you charmer! Ok. I’ll wait for you there.”

  She noticed an appreciative glance or two from the few guests that had assembled already and felt a bit silly; why had she not waited in the kitchen? She didn’t like being on display like this. A glass of red helped her mellow. Sure he was leaving for a month, but he’d be back. She’d miss him desperately, but why this fuss? She sat on a high stool beside a couple of guests who had been residents for the past week; it would have been rude to bypass them.

  Larry soon joined her in the bar, standing behind her high stool with his hand possessively on her back. She was dumbfounded; normally she’d prefer they kept their personal relationship out of the customers’ domain, but as he was leaving the next day, she let it pass. He seemed edgy as he ordered a glass of wine. She was beginning to worry a little. Perhaps he was going to tell her he wouldn’t be back. There was certainly something up with him, but whatever it was, he wasn’t sharing it for now. Anxiety formed a knot in her gut as they made small talk with Granny and some guests until the taxi arrived, breaking up the little group.

  “Renvyle House, please,” he said to the driver.

  “Oh, great, I love that place,” she enthused. The long journey was tense and he seemed to be absentminded. In order to pass the journey she filled him on the reported ghost sightings in Renvyle House, telling him of the séance WB Yeats was reputed to have held there.

  “Apparently the ghost didn’t want to work with the automatic writing Yeats was using, but agreed to manifest for his wife. I can’t believe she agreed; I’d be terrified if it was me.” Maeve shivered at the horror of it all.

  “Aw, honey, you don’t really believe in that garbage, do you?”

  “Of course I do and you should too, just because you’ve never seen a ghost doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” she scolded, miffed at his scornful dismissal of a subject that was part and parcel of Irish lore and beliefs. They were driving up the tree-lined avenue as the evening sun was setting in a golden red masterpiece over the white house.

  “It sure is beautiful here, I’ll really miss it,” he sighed, taking in the breath-taking view of the house, the sea, and the verdant lush gardens. Maeve was more and more uncomfortable with his nostalgia.

  “Please tell me you will be back?” she asked urgently.

  “Don’t look so worried; of course I’ll be back, just as soon as I possibly can.” They entered the dark lobby and in spite of the warm evening, the reception area had its characteristic turf fire giving off an enticing warm glow and traditional smoky, earthy scent. He remarked on the old-style oak rafters, but she explained that, although very traditional in style, the house had in fact been destroyed by fire and had been rebuilt in the nineteen thirties.

  “I love the way you hoard all this historic information; you really need to find a way to put it to use,” he commended.

  Their table wasn’t quite ready, so they ordered their meal in the foyer and Larry suggested a walk outside while they waited. Maeve agreed, but wished she’d opted for more sensible shoes as he led her into the trees. He pulled her out of view of the avenue, lest any cars ca
me, backed her gently against a tree and kissed her. Romance was far from her thoughts as her dress got tangled in the undergrowth and she was praying it wasn’t torn as he released her from his grip. He got down on bended knee and seemed to be fumbling with his trousers.

  “What’re you at? Get up, you eejit, you’ll ruin your clothes,” she admonished. If he thought he was having her out there in such a public place, he had another think coming to him. She wasn’t quite that liberated.

  “Maeve O’Reilly, make me the happiest man in all of Ireland and Texas and say you’ll marry me,” he stammered, withdrawing the small ring box from his pocket.

  “Holy cow! Jesus. I dunno what to say, Larry. Fuck.” Total shock left her tongue-tied and incoherent. She hadn’t even contemplated this in her wildest dreams, way out from now. Could she really marry him? She knew she loved him, but how would it work? Where would they live? Would they be apart most of the time? These thoughts flitted wildly through her head in the space of seconds, but meanwhile his anxious face was looking up at her.

  “Normally people say yes or no, I believe,” he urged her on. “I love you, Maeve; I want to grow old with you.”

  Jesus, neither of them had even used the L word before and now he was proposing marriage. Could she? Could they? Had they a future?

  “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I’d like to grow old with you too.” She leaned down and kissed him. Realising he was still holding the ring, he took it out of the box and fumblingly pushed it on her finger, kissing it when he was done.

  “Oh, thank you so much for saying yes,” he gasped. “I’ve been so nervous.”

  “It’s so beautiful, thank you. I have no idea how we’ll manage it though! What about Granny? She’ll freak.”

  “No, she won’t,” he laughed. “You always think the worst of her. As it happens I already got her permission to ask you.”

  “You what? Oh, my God, that’s so old-fashioned and quaint. What did she say?”