The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

by Krys Antarakis

  Maggie accompanied Alan to the front lobby and watched him leave. As she stood in contemplation Hazel passed, heading out for lunch. Hazel’s dark complexion hinted of exotic ancestry. Blessed with a classic figure, she possessed a timelessness that enhanced her appeal. She carried herself well and Maggie felt a sense of envy as she noted the delightful way Hazel’s steps made her plump breasts quiver within their firm cradle.

  ‘Was it good? He seemed very pleased.’

  ‘Oh yes, very good.

  Carly entered the lobby at that moment, starting her lunch break. ‘Hi!’ she called lightly, rapidly passing out onto the street.

  ‘She’s a very attractive girl,’ Hazel remarked, ‘and bright too, when she allows herself to be. She seems to look up to you.’

  ‘I feel she’s wasting herself, but there are encouraging signs.’

  ‘She lacks self discipline; some people respond to firm control.’

  Maggie regarded her perceptive secretary with admiration, Hazel was frequently surprising. ‘Yes, well I’m off to lunch. I’ll speak to the staff this afternoon. I’m going home to change and I may be a little longer than usual. There’s nothing in the diary, is there?’

  ‘No, it’s a clear afternoon. Go – relax!’

  Maggie tore off her clothes and tossed them into the washer. In the bedroom she regarded her naked body in the mirror, running her hands over her skin, plumping her breasts, fingering her clitoral hood to set the nubbin tingling – wallowing in sensual pleasure. By twisting she could just discern the fading marks of the cane and whip. She sighed deeply.

  Sex slave! If I was, I’d get a good spanking right now. Reaching round she smacked her own flank. The sound fell dull and flat in the heavily draped room, ineffectual, like the feel in her bottom. Self-flagellation, she decided, was ineffective, perhaps a whip or a scourge, like monks and nuns of old. Do they still practise it? Suddenly she was empathising with real people who had previously been only images on the pages of history books. She fingered the choker, smiling conceitedly at its significance. That will remain, she promised herself. Cupping her vulva she noted the first signs of stubble – Must book another waxing. Her fingers drifted to her navel, plucking at the stud and noting how pleasant it felt, enhancing puckered skin. She touched her clit again.A piercing there would be good!

  Turning from the mirror she padded softly to the kitchen; enjoying being nude. So natural, so free. Preparing an omelette, she took care to prevent the hot pan from spitting, a natural precaution. It might be a lovely hurt. The brief experience in the slave role had adjusted her perspective on several issues. Nudity was not necessarily sexy, but being ordered to go naked was somehow different; enforced exposure switched on a unique set of desires. And experiencing pain while naked also carried changed overtones: acceptable, even pleasurable. At the slave party the extended punishment had never amounted to its implication and the pleasure had been proportional to the pain that induced it. The thought intrigued her and for a moment she was tempted to take a drop of boiling fat and let it fall on one very stiff, very prominent nipple.

  At that moment the pan spat, splattering a spray of hot particles across her belly. ‘Ouch!’ she cried, jumping back and rubbing the assaulted skin vigorously before splashing cold water on the tiny scalds. Ouch, that hurt!

  She returned cautiously to cooking. Yes, it did hurt, but not so much that I’d avoid it every time. Boiling oil on a tit might be too hot, but what if something less injurious was offered? The thought lodged itself in her memory and she began to wonder whether it was possible to learn how to extract pleasure from every kind of pain.

  As she ate, such thoughts jostled in her brain. Recalling Vanda suffering under the cane and, considering how she herself might react, she studied her bosom.

  Well little titties, are you ready to be tested?She slapped both breasts hard, striking upward and sideways in turn. Like spanking her buttock, the sting was pleasant though not arousing. The explanation burst upon her.

  It’s all about expectation; being spanked by another person heightens the anticipation.

  In the midst of these deliberations she glanced at the clock.

  Damn, just as it gets interesting along comes work. Being a sex slave beats being a wage slave any day. Now, come on Maggie Moon, be true to yourself.

  As she turned away toward the bedroom, her mobile rang – it was Greg.

  ‘Hi, how’s the conference going?’

  ‘Predictably boring, how is with you; has the ogre left?’

  ‘Alan’s no ogre: I told you so. Yes, all done and dusted; I have his approval for the training job.’

  ‘I never doubted it for a moment. What are you wearing?’

  ‘Skin!’

  ‘That’s one way to impress.’

  ‘Idiot! I came home to lunch, I miss you.’

  ‘So how will you dress; surely it’s too hot for a suit?’

  ‘It’s too hot for anything, but I’m wearing a dress today. Hurry home, I miss you.’

  ‘Sure!’

  Why didn’t he order me to leave off my undies?

  At the office Hazel greeted her with characteristic familiarity. ‘You look very nice!’

  Maggie smiled, appreciating the compliment and spinning to set the skirt swirling. The ankle-length, off-the-shoulder cotton dress was luxuriously soft, its floating skirt springing from a gathering under the bust, which was amply soft and supported by slender straps that almost blended with those of the delicate, matching lacy bra. ‘I bought a couple of new dresses last week, much lighter than a suit when it’s hot.’

  ‘It’s lovely. You could wear that without a bra.’

  ‘A little over the top perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t know, you wore your suit without one.’

  God, I didn’t think it was that obvious. ‘So you noticed?’

  ‘Of course; the natural line suits you best! And I think the dress is delightful. You should try the same thing with a short skirt; with your legs you’d look stunning.’

  Flattery, but I like it. ‘Which reminds me, I’ve brought three skirts for shortening, is that too many?’

  ‘Not at all. How much do you want taken off?’

  ‘What do you think? I’d value your opinion.’

  ‘Short skirts are in again. My sister’s oldest wears her impossibly short: flashes her knickers every time she sits, but looks stunning. Jenny, my sister, wanted to tell her off, but you have to be so careful with teenagers. I told her, “Hide all her knickers, she’ll soon learn”, but Jenny said, “No, she wouldn’t, she’d just go without to spite me.” I said, “Good luck to her.” ‘

  Maggie felt a little thrill.Time to confess?

  ‘I’ll get Jenny to do them different lengths: you can ring the changes and I guarantee you’ll look best in the shortest, especially if you leave your knickers off.’

  Maggie stared. Heading for her office she paused, turning at the door. ‘Hazel, I’m applying for Regional Training Officer, if I’m successful, will you come with me?’

  ‘Yes!’ Hazel replied without hesitation. It was the icing on the cake. She closed the door and swiftly slipped off her bra. That’s better. I wonder if Hazel could tell I’m already knickerless.’

  Maggie left at the end of the afternoon feeling on cloud nine. The routine work had gone through without a hitch and she felt a new confidence, fresher than the smug self-assurance that had so far characterised her tenure as head of district. It was something like the buoyancy she had felt on graduating: young and conceited, with the world at her feet. This was different and she knew in her heart that it was because she was becoming a nicer person. There was a spring in her step as she swung into the shopping zone, heading for Blacks. Going first to the in-store salon, she booked in for a hairdo and re-waxing. With that settled, she headed for th
e footwear section and spent time selecting some light summer mules before setting course for the jewellery counter where she bought four more plain black chokers. Dressing might have become minimalist, but that was no reason for letting standards slip. In high spirits and carrying her precious purchases after what had proved to be a thoroughly satisfying expedition, Maggie used the exit linking to the shopping mall. She was not entirely surprised to hear the click, click of heels slipping in beside her.

  ‘We’ve time for a coffee,’ said Meg sweetly in that special voice devoid of options, and Maggie allowed herself to be shepherded into the piazza, sitting meekly at a table beside the rail that partitioned it from the main concourse. She ordered cappuccinos and looked expectantly to her self-appointed mentor.

  ‘Saturday was a triumph, an impressive performance for a novice.’

  ‘I didn’t see you after the first few minutes.’

  ‘That’s no surprise, you’re still learning.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Stop trying, trust me. I have your best interests at heart.’

  ‘You have one then?’

  ‘Oh Maggie, that was unkind.’

  ‘Sorry!’

  ‘So you should be, a slave should know better. I see you’ve accepted the collar.’

  Maggie fingered her neck, ‘Oh, you mean the choker; well yes, I didn’t think I had a choice.’

  At that moment two girls meeting right beside her diverted her attention as they engaged in the curious patois of youth. The words passed over her head, but Maggie’s attention was captured by the smaller girl. Tiny yet curvaceous, cotton vest barely covering small exquisite breasts, hard nipples jutting against the thin cotton, brief skirt hugging plump buttocks. Maggie found herself salivating.

  Delicious! So suckable, so spankable, Oh yes please.

  Meg’ voice cut across those lustful thoughts. ‘You don’t! Slaves have no choice, so stop denying your orientation, seize your destiny: indulge your fantasies.’

  Maggie was torn between Meg’ words and the girls now walking away, their brief skirts bobbing seductively. She swung round, questions queuing in her brain.

  ‘Of course you can!’ Meg declared, answering them all at once. ‘Come with me!’ she commanded, heading for the bookshop. As they walked, Meg remarked, ‘The assessment went well; you’ll take the job.’ It was neither question nor statement, more a resolve generated in Maggie’s mind.

  I expect so!

  ‘Follow your destiny: broad horizons are preferable to narrow ambitions.’

  Did she say that, or did I think it? This is weird!

  In the bookshop, Meg began turning over the paperbacks. Maggie thumbed another stack idly, the only alternative to concealment. Although much of her previous embarrassment had gone, being with Meg always made her feel conspicuous.

  Meg removed a book with a triumphant flourish. ‘This’ll do the trick. Take it home, strip off: enjoy your evening. Tell Greg the story when he returns.’

  Maggie took the book, automatically scanning its title, Sex Puppet, and went to pay. Leaving the shop she searched for Meg, but the familiar, beautiful, disturbing figure was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Well, don’t you look the business?’ declared Hazel as Maggie entered the office.

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Maggie was anxious to have an objective opinion, having taken the plunge to ‘road test’ her newly shortened skirt. Jenny had done her job well. As chance would have it she had chosen the blue skirt to be the shortest of the trio and Maggie had been unable to resist the temptation of parading exposed navel and maximum thigh.

  ‘You look absolutely fabulous, to coin a phrase.’

  Maggie regarded her friend with affection. ‘Will you come to lunch with me today?’

  Hazel smiled across the table, unsuccessfully concealing her delight. The intimate bistro in a square adjacent to the commercial sector of the city was busy with smart people from the surrounding offices.

  ‘I suppose you will be lunching like this every day when you move to regional headquarters.’

  ‘If I move; I have to get the job first?’

  ‘What does Greg think about it?’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘It’s hard to say, outwardly he’s keen, but my extra travelling and his variable schedule will reduce the time we have together.’

  Hazel would have been blind to miss the change in Maggie’s enthusiasm. ‘Is everything all right between you?’

  ‘We went to a party the weekend before last; quite a frisky affair in fact. I thought Greg had enjoyed it. It should have brought us closer together.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Rather the opposite actually. We’ve been talking quite openly about things: no secrets, no inhibitions, you know the sort of thing? Now there’s a growing awkwardness…’ she paused searching for an appropriate word, ‘reluctance, a reduction in commitment.’

  ‘Someone else?’

  ‘It wasn’t my first thought, but I’m coming round to it. You never married, did you?’

  ‘I was engaged once and we lived together for a while. Then one day I thought, do I want to be with this guy for the rest of my life? After a while I found myself answering, no! It was clear that neither of us were committed enough, so we parted amicably and I’ve never looked back. I’m not the marrying kind, I’m too bossy.’

  Maggie hesitated. ‘A few weeks ago I met a woman in curious circumstances; I think she’s related, but I can’t make the connection. She’s been encouraging me to change. I didn’t want to, but as time goes by I’m beginning to see she’s right. I realised there was a disconnection in my life, things not lining up, so reluctantly I let myself be guided. I am changing. I think Greg was attracted to the old me and maybe he’s frightened by the new me.’

  ‘I’ll give you my opinion if you want it, but I suspect you already know the answer.’

  2.2

  The Jaguar’s muted purr contrasted with Maggie’s unease. The sentiments she had shared with Hazel tumbled around her brain. Anticipation had ruled the previous week, starting a holiday with a weekend of extreme sexual indulgence had appeared a perfect combination, the perfect scenario. It lay in shattered ruins now, eroded by misgiving about Greg’s commitment. Have I done a stupid thing? I ought to be flying east, ten days diving off Elat and seven days cruising the Nile and I changed all that to spend a day stark naked being fucked, whipped and god knows what else before I spend a fortnight with someone I no longer trust. Truth is, I’m almost looking forward to the sex; am I weird or what? But Greg – if only I was sure of his motives, who lies at the centre, him or us?

  The corrosive doubt had turned round, attacking her self-image. Do I really want to be doing any of this? What would Meg say? Meg had been strangely absent, with no contact all week. I’ll disgrace myself, my resolve will collapse, then what?Meg might be there: she’ll laugh and make me feel inadequate.

  Greg consulted the sat-nav and declared, ‘Almost there, shirt off.’

  Maggie reluctantly unclipped the seat belt to tug off the simple cotton shift. Now wearing only perfume, she looped the belt between her breasts and clicked it home. No longer protected by being an absolute novice, Maggie knew that she would be under close scrutiny and she felt so vulnerable

  ‘The Farm’ was exactly what it purported to be, a highly efficient modern industrialised agricultural installation. So much was clear from the smartly tended and expensively fenced concrete drive flanked by vast fields of ripening crops. The driveway ended at a big modern house surrounded by a range of large buildings. Three thoroughbred horses grazed an adjacent paddock.

  A pleasant young man in shorts and shirt stepped out to greet them as Greg slowed over the guardian cattle grid. The man stooped to peer into the car, smiling in approval as he registered Maggie’s preparedness. ‘Hi! Parkin
g is round to your left. Walk to the right of the tractor shed and keep going until you reach reception.’

  They did as instructed, Maggie stayed silent, walking slightly behind Greg, as befitted her station. Misgivings still rumbled noisily in her mind, but the novel sensation of walking nude in the open air was stimulating. The concrete had been thoroughly swept of any farming detritus, but its surface was rough and the discomfort in her bare feet seeped through her body in a most agreeable way lifting her spirits a little.

  ‘Reception’ was a nubile naked girl, naked that is except for the standard black choker and a broad leather belt around her waist from which another strap passed between her legs. A small notebook hung from a chain linking her nipple rings. The girl enquired Greg’s name and entered it in her notebook. The movement altered the pull on her nipples and imagining the sensations it was generating made Maggie’s throat go dry. ‘I am Toni, sir. It is my duty to secure your slave to the gallows. My Mistress invites you to join her for refreshments.’

  ‘Gallows?’ enquired Greg, trying to conceal his concern.

  ‘It is customary for the visiting slaves to provide amusement for the guests until the events begin.’

  ‘Tell me, have you ever been secured to the gallows?’

  ‘Many times sir, and sweet times too; it is a slave’s greatest privilege to be used for the pleasure of their betters. Now sir, if you please, I have duties to complete.’

  ‘Of course,’ Greg murmured uncertainly as he turned away.

  A thrill of anticipation had run though Maggie at the mention of gallows, though she would have had difficulty in explaining why. Committing herself to the unknown, she followed petite and perfect Toni with trepidation into the paddock. Down its centre two rows of frames had been set up. Some of them were already occupied by naked slaves facing inward. Most were being chastised by guests using whips and straps.