by Roxanne Carr
Antony stood up as Alexander did and followed him out of the cubicle.
Maggie stretched languorously as she pulled on her robe. There was a pleasant ache between her legs caused by Jason's youthful enthusiasm and the taste of Con's sperm and Hilary's softer musk coated her mouth. She felt replete, soaked in sex. She smiled to herself. How licentious she had become!
In her private bathroom, Maggie ran a deep, hot bath, pouring in a generous portion of floral fragranced bubble-bath. She hummed happily to herself as she brushed out her hair into a soft, dark cloud and piled it up on top of her head.
The mirror began to steam over as she creamed her face and neck, tissuing it off before splashing her face with warm water. The bubbles had risen to the brim of the bath now. Turning off the taps, she stepped in.
She sighed as she sank her entire body into the sweetly perfumed water. It washed over her, caressing her over-sensitised skin as she leaned back on the inflatable cushion and closed her eyes.
She gasped as hard, male hands suddenly reached down and hauled her out of the water. Her eyes flew open as the draft from the open door whipped her wet skin and she found herself caught in the coldly furious blue eyes of Alexander.
'Alex! What are you doing. Oh!'
She found her feet dangling inches from the floor as he lifted her up. His gaze was a flinty, icy blue and Maggie's eyes flickered nervously to where Antony stood in the doorway. The light was behind him, so his features were in shadow, but there was a peculiar tension in the way he held himself that sent shivers of alarm chasing across her skin.
Alexander never said a word, half dragging her over to the toilet where he sat down on the closed seat and pulled her, face down, across his lap. Maggie struggled desperately to right herself, but her arms and legs were flailing helplessly, her movements ungainly and uncoordinated.
Antony came to sit on the edge of the bath, his knees spread, one either side of her head. It was he that spoke.
'You're wasting your time, Maggie. Lie still or you'll just exhaust yourself.'
Maggie's frantic struggles stilled in response to his reasonable tone and she strained her neck upwards to see his face. Alexander's hand came down on the back of her neck and forced her head back down so that all she could see was the cream carpet, spattered with the soapy water which was dripping from her wet body.
Her legs dangled helplessly, her toes barely touching the ground as Alexander dragged her further over his knee, the harsh denim of his jeans burned the tips of her breasts as they fell, without ceremony, over his knee.
Even then, Maggie hadn't realised his intention and the first short, sharp crack of his bare hand on her backside made her jump and yelp in protest.
'Hold still, Maggie, what's the matter with you?' Antony's bored voice came from above her.
'He hit me!' she shrilled indignantly, struggling vainly against Alexander's restraining hands.
There was another sharp smack as his open palm once again came down on her squirming bottom, swiftly followed by another and another. The sound of his hand against her wet skin seemed magnified in the small room, echoing off the walls.
And it hurt. No matter how much Maggie fought against it, there was no escape. Her bottom began to burn as he spanked her mercilessly. Tears started in her eyes and ran, unchecked, down her face. Why was he doing this?
Raising her eyes in a mute plea to Antony, she saw that he had unzipped his fly and was slowly masturbating himself. He smiled slightly at her, almost kindly, before nudging at her trembling mouth with the tip of his cock.
Maggie tried to turn her head away, but Alexander's fingers tangled cruelly in her hair at the back of her neck and held her still. Inch by inch Antony eased his erect penis past the barrier of her lips and teeth and into the hot, wet cavern beyond. Maggie gagged as Antony's stem pumped in and out of her unwilling mouth while the spanking went on and on.
Suddenly, Alexander's fingers entered her from behind. She heard him laugh derisively and realised that she must be wet. A wave of shame swept over her and she closed her eyes against it. That she should have derived pleasure from this . . . this humiliation! The tears trickled down her cheeks as Alexander ruthlessly manipulated her clitoris so that, in spite of herself, her legs opened wider, her bottom pushed higher in the air as if to meet her punishment half way, welcoming it.
Antony was close to the edge now, his thrusts became more urgent, even less considerate of her as he used her mouth. Alexander took his hand from the back of her neck and reached down to toy with her dangling breasts. She felt hot, her vulva pulsating wildly as he pulled and tweaked at her nipples.
As Antony began to ejaculate into the back of her throat, Alexander delivered a series of short, sharp slaps to the undersides of her breasts and she came, thrusting her hips back onto his rough fingers as her limbs went out of control.
She had barely had time to recover as Antony withdrew from her mouth and Alexander pushed her off his lap, as if she disgusted him. She lay on the floor at their feet, staring up at them through her tears. Antony nonchalantly re-zipped his trousers before stepping over her without so much as a glance at her tear-streaked face.
Alex hunkered down beside her and studied it dispassionately.
'Tears suit you,' he said huskily, 'we shall have to see that you shed some more.'
Maggie stared up at him resentfully. Her rear-end burned painfully still, her breasts ached and her jaw felt as though it had locked in place. She gasped as he suddenly grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled her head up.
'It's time you learned the rules, Maggie darling. Have your bath, then come up to the apartment. I haven't finished with you yet.'
Rebellion flared in Maggie's breast.
'I could walk out the door!' she said, her voice shaking, 'I could leave. You can't stop me!'
Alexander let go of her and stood up. He towered over her, still lying naked at his feet and smiled at her in the strangest way.
'Of course,' he said after a long silence, 'you may leave whenever you wish. But I don't think you will.'
He laughed then, a small, cruel laugh which sent ice through Maggie's soul. She did not dare to move as he stepped over her and left her alone in the small bathroom.
She lay there as if frozen for several minutes, wondering what he meant. Eventually she began to shiver and her arms and legs began to cramp. Slowly, gingerly, she eased herself into a sitting position. She winced as her sore buttocks scraped against the carpet. Using the side of the bath to lever herself up, she climbed into the now tepid water.
Sinking into it, she touched herself gently between the legs. Her vulva was still swollen, her pleasure bud unsheathed. Tiny aftershocks ran through her and she closed her eyes. And at that moment she knew, with chilling certainty, that Alexander was right.
The Black Orchid Club had become her home. She would never leave.
16
Antony greeted her quite normally when she returned to the apartment.
'Ah, Maggie! You're just in time for lunch.'
She glanced around her nervously as she took her place at the table and Antony put a plate of homemade lasagne in front of her. She helped herself to salad and fresh, crusty French bread, realising as she did so that the table was only set for two.
'Alexander isn't able to join us I'm afraid,' Antony said, as if he had read her mind.
The awful tension which had been tying Maggie's stomach in knots began to ease as she ate. Whatever else Alex might be, she could not deny he was an excellent cook. Since she moved in with him and Antony she had never had to lift a finger in the kitchen and everything that had passed her lips had been delicious.
She felt Antony watching her and raised her eyes to his.
'What? What is it?'
He smiled enigmatically and shook his head.
'I like watching you eat.'
'Oh? Why?'
'Because you eat the way you make love – with gusto!'
Maggie laughed and bit into her bread. It turned to sawdust in her throat, almost choking her as Antony continued, his tone ominous.
'And without discipline.'
'I don't understand you,' she protested after she had slaked her sudden, inexplicable thirst with a tall glass of mineral water.
'No. But you will. Don't look so worried,' he soothed as Maggie was unable to hide a shudder, 'it's for your own good. Everything has to have rules, after all, and very often it is those very rules that, ultimately, lead to the most enhanced enjoyment.'
He smiled slightly at her anxious bewilderment and raised his glass to her.
'Have you finished?'
She nodded.
'Good. Then come with me – I have something to show you.'
They went into the bedroom and from the top of the wardrobe, Antony dragged down a large, flat, leather case like an artist's portfolio. He motioned for her to sit and she perched on the edge of the bed. A curious nervousness curled in the pit of her stomach, keeping her silent. She could not guess what the portfolio contained, but she had the distinct feeling that she was not going to like it.
She watched in silence as Antony unzipped the case, then untied the purple ribbons holding together the contents. He spread them open on the bed and looked at Maggie, his expression intent.
'You were drawn to Alexander from the moment you first set eyes on him, weren't you?'
Maggie nodded, dropping her eyes before the inexplicable light burning in his steely grey eyes.
'He has that effect on people. That's how it was with me. You love him, just as I do, and in the name of love, you let him hurt you. Oh, I know you think you're too clever to be drawn into Alexander's little games,' he laughed, almost bitterly as she murmured a protest, 'but you're not Maggie, any more than I am. And, though you haven't accepted it yet, like me, you are lost already. Look.'
Reluctantly, Maggie dragged his eyes away from her own folded hands and looked at what was on the bed. Her eyes widened and she gasped. There were photographs, huge, glossy black and white photographs professionally lit. Antony had spread some half dozen over the bed so that image after image assaulted her shocked eyes. Quietly, he slipped off the bed and left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
After a few minutes, Maggie picked up the nearest photograph and pulled it onto her lap. It was a man, back to the camera, his arms tied high above his head, wide apart, to a support which was out of shot. He was naked, standing with his legs apart, his face half turned to the camera, but in shadow, so his features were indistinct.
There was something familiar about the broad sweep of his shoulders, the smooth, strong length of his back . . . Antony! There was a tension in the way he held himself, the muscles bunching under his skin as if he was anticipating pain. Between his legs, his testicles were just visible. They looked horribly vulnerable.
The second photograph was posed at the same angle, though now the man was slumped, his legs bent at the knees, his head lolling forward, so that his face was out of sight. Maggie gasped, bringing her fingertips to her lips as she saw the clearly marked, raised weals across his back and buttocks. They had been carefully criss-crossed over his velvet smooth skin, applied with a precision that chilled her. Slowly, she traced the marks with her fingertips before reaching for the next shot.
Head and shoulders only, this time. Antony's face, tense with concentration, his eyes closed and a frown etched between his brows. His lips stretched around the wet, bulbous head of an anonymous penis.
Picture number four, head and shoulders again. This time Antony's head was thrown back, the strong arc of his neck exposed. The fair hair was dark with sweat, plastered against his brow. His mouth was open, as if he was crying out, his face suffused with the most exquisite expression of pain. Though the picture shocked her, Maggie realised she had never seen him look more beautiful and, to her dismay, she felt a familiar tingle between her legs.
The next photograph she picked up was a lovingly recorded close-up of a male arse, presumably Antony's. His fingers were also in shot spreading his own buttocks and exposing the perfect tattoo on his inner cheek, the Black Orchid. His anal opening appeared as a dark, forbidding cavern, glistening as if recently oiled.
And finally, a woman, naked but for thigh-high leather boots, gleefully inserting the biggest dildo Maggie had ever seen into that gaping arsehole.
'Pretty pictures.'
She jumped as Antony's hot breath caressed her ear. She hadn't heard him come back in and she dropped the last photograph, feeling ludicrously guilty for studying it so thoroughly.
His lips twisted in an ironic little smile and he gathered the photographs up, laying them carefully in the silk-lined portfolio and putting it back on top of the wardrobe. Then he turned and smiled at Maggie with such sweetness that she felt tears start in her eyes.
'You see?' he said softly.
Maggie wasn't sure that she did see, but she nodded, smiling gratefully at him as he handed her a martini. He watched her closely as she drank, waiting patiently for the inevitable questions.
'But why?' she blurted eventually. 'He treats you so badly, yet still you love him.'
'Alexander isn't like other men, Maggie. He'll never give you what you want, but he'll keep you hanging on, just in case the possibility arises. He's a control freak. A puppet master. And we're his loving puppets.'
Maggie considered this for a few moments.
'And is that enough for you?' she asked after a while.
Antony shrugged slightly, a faint colour creeping along his cheekbones.
'It has to be. Ask him for more than he's willing to give you and you'll end up with nothing at all.'
A look of sheer desolation shuttered his eyes for a moment and Maggie instinctively leaned across and pressed her cheek against his. He enfolded his arms about her and turned his face so that their lips collided. They kissed, languidly at first, lovingly, but then something caught fire between them and grew so that Maggie found herself clinging to him, rubbing her thigh invitingly against his aroused crotch.
She gasped as he suddenly pushed her away.
'No!' he shook his head and sought to bring his ragged breathing under control. 'You haven't been listening!'
Maggie laughed nervously and tried to get closer to him, but he pulled away.
'I don't understand – we've slept together before, countless times. You're aroused, I'm aroused – what is the problem?'
'Alexander hasn't given permission.'
Maggie stared back at him, not sure if she had heard correctly. She withdrew to the far side of the bed and shook her head.
'Hang on a minute . . . you mean, all those other times . . . it's all been on Alexander's instructions? You must be crazy!'
'Not crazy, Maggie. I just play the game. As you must, if you want to stay here.'
'I'm not sure I do!'
'Maggie, Maggie! Think before you do anything rash. You've liked these past few weeks, haven't you?'
She nodded, reluctantly.
'And you've never been left without fulfillment when you've wanted it?'
'No, but—'
'There you are then! Alexander can be generous too.'
'What about what happened earlier this morning?'
The humiliation of being dragged from her bath and spanked was still with her. And Antony had had no small hand in her punishment! She glared at him with remembered resentment.
'You got greedy, Maggie. Think about it – all the sensual experience your avid little heart desires, so long as you play by the rules.'
'Alexander's rules.'
'Quite.'
Maggie stood up and paced to the door and back.
'So far you've said a great deal about what Alexander wants and nothing about yourself. How do you feel about my coming here to live with you?'
Antony shrugged slightly, tracing the pattern on the duvet with his fingertip as he avoided her eyes.
'What I feel isn't important.'
/> 'Of course it is!' Maggie cried passionately, dropping to her knees in front of him and forcing him to look at her.
'You're important, Antony. Surely you believe that?'
Her display had startled him, but now he smiled, almost pityingly, at her.
'I made my choice, Maggie, just as you have. What Alexander says goes. And it's not often that I wish things different.'
He suddenly pulled her against him and kissed her, savagely. Maggie's lips were pulled back against her teeth and she tasted blood before he broke away. Shaken, she paced over to the window. All she could see was a never ending vista of rainwashed rooftops, the only signs of life provided by the pigeons.
'He said he hasn't finished with me yet,' she said when she could trust herself to speak, 'what was that supposed to mean?'
'The time has come, Maggie darling, to demonstrate your commitment to our exclusive little ménage à trois. Don't look so anxious – I promise you if you're good, you'll learn to enjoy all of Alexander's little games. Eventually.'
'Have you explained everything to her?'
Antony looked up from the book he was reading as Alexander walked into the lounge.
'I tried to.'
Alex smiled, the beautiful, toe-tingling smile which always melted whatever resistance Antony might feel towards him. He looked magnificent tonight, the white, pure cotton shirt taut across his shoulders, the black trousers melded to his hips and legs like a second skin. Antony sighed. But Alexander's concentration was all on Maggie for now and he knew better than to try to push himself in where he was not wanted.
'Where is she now?'
'She's sleeping.'
'Let her sleep. Tomorrow we'll start in earnest.'
Maggie felt groggy as she woke up. Antony was smiling down at her, a tray in his hands.
'Come on, sleepy head!' he whispered, 'breakfast is ready.'
She struggled to a sitting position and breathed in the rich, dark smell of fresh coffee.
'Hmm! Thanks Antony. What time is it?' she squinted at the bedside clock and swore mildly. 'Why on earth didn't you wake me up? Roll-call is in five minutes!'
She started to clamber out of bed, but Antony stopped her with a hand on her arm.
