51 Shades of Maggie, Liverpool Style

by Leesa Harker

  Then I said, ‘It’s Maggie, fuck’s sake!’

  Then he said, ‘I will call you Margaret.’

  Then I said, ‘Well, I will call you cunty bollocks.’

  Well, the contract was a load of old shite. Here’s what it said.

  1) Margaret will allow me to punish her on a daily basis without as much as a whimper coming from her cutely bitten lip.

  (I thought, that’s not too bad – big Billy Scriven slapped the face off me after I punched him for shitting himself on my bed.)

  2) Margaret will eat three meals a day. These will be foods agreed by me. Any extra portions will be agreed by me. No junk food or snacking allowed.

  (Boss! How will he know if I get a KFC or not? An I can spend my benefits on fags an fake tan!)

  3) Margaret will get waxed regularly and have any other beauty treatments that I want her to have.

  (No lesbo is puttin her mitts on my minge – a bit of fluff doesn’t do anyone any harm.)

  4) I will provide clothing expenses for Margaret and choose what she wears and when.

  (Yeehaa! No more shopliftin in Primark!)

  5) Margaret agrees to be whipped, flogged, spanked and to do whatever I say, whenever I say.

  (Yes sir, no sir, shove it up your arse, sir!)

  6) Margaret declares that she does not suffer from herpes, hepatitis or any other sti.

  (What’s a dose of VD between friends?)

  7) Margaret will travel to destinations that I decide and I will pay her travel expenses.

  (Yee haa! Ayia Napa here I come!)

  8) I will not lend Margaret to any other Dominant.

  (Don’t touch what you can’t afford, ya divvies!)

  9) All sex toys will be kept clean and hygienic.

  (They don’t need cleaned. I have a bath once a week and I’m clean!)

  10) Margaret will not look into the eyes of the Dominant – she will keep her eyes down.

  (My eyes aren’t movin from those chinos, babe.)

  11) Margaret will go to the gym four times a week.

  (I’ll go an see my Uncle Jim, that’s about it.)

  12) Margaret will not smoke, drink alcohol or take drugs.

  (Do one. Deal-breaker, babe.)

  13) Margaret will not touch me unless I say that she can.

  (Try and stop me, babe. Those chinos are coming off.)

  An then I was moist again. But I wasn’t sure what to do about this contract so I told him I would have to think about it. He said, ‘Take it home Margaret. Read over it and get back to me if you have any questions, which I’m sure you will.’ An then he put those eyes on me again an I’d a severe case of Niagara knickers.

  So, I took it home to read over it again but I ended up gettin locked watchin Dirty Dancing with Will. He usually comes round to mine with the dvd when he gets dumped an we sit an watch it, an he wishes he was Jonny Castles with his snake hips, an I wish I was Baby Houseman with her tan skin an thin thighs. An then by the time it’s over, an we have reenacted the last dance on my livin room mat, one or both of us is usually cryin an then we call it a night. An that’s just what happened that night so I didn’t look at the contract at all.

  But the next day didn’t John the postman knock at my door with a package? It wasn’t a summons cos they’re in brown envelopes, so I took it. An wasn’t it a new iPhone? Well, I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. This was the life I’d always dreamed of. A knight in a shining Topman suit. I was imagining all sorts – me lyin on Mr Big’s piano, with a diamond necklace on, gettin my back door smashed in. Then he sent me a text: ‘Well, Margaret do you like your phone? I want you to look on the internet at bdsm and check out the things we will be doing in my red room of pain.’

  So I took a look. Fuck a duck! It was men an women gettin tied up, hangin from the ceilin with all their bits on show, gettin whipped, slapped, bit, nipped, spat on, the lot. I said, ‘Naaaaaaaaaa.’ Like there are some lengths I’ll not go to to get the man of my dreams. So I texted him back, saying, ‘You’re a Fruit and Nut. The man from Del Monte says yes, but Maggie Muff says NO.’

  But, that night, I regretted sayin no without even gettin a look in those chinos. An I thought, I could always try it an see if I liked it. Cos I didn’t think I’d like it when Big Billy Scriven wanted to take those sexy photos of me, but in the end, I loved it! I was writhin around on the bed with the Muff in the air thinkin I was on Britain’s Next Top Model with your one that rode George Clooney – it was empowerin. It’s a pity Gospel Gail down at the chemist wouldn’t develop the pictures. When Billy went down to collect them, she beat him around the head with her Bible.

  Then I was thinkin about Mr Big’s arse in those chinos an his smiley lips an I was moist again.

  Maggie Gets the Chinos Off

  The next day I was sittin havin a drink with Big Sally-Ann to cheer me up. We were watchin Columbo an that’s our favourite programme. We could sit all day watchin him walkin about with his cigar an his lazy eye, scratchin his forehead. I have a bit of a thing for him, but I haven’t told Big Sally-Ann. We’d been sittin talkin about the contract an I was tellin her about Mr Big’s arse in his chinos for ages. An then she told me about the time Joey Malone put clothes pegs on her nips out his ma’s backyard at the barbecue last year, when somebody rang my buzzer. So Big Sally-Ann said she’d answer it an she came back into the room squealin like a nun at a stag do.

  ‘Mr Big’s knockin the door in downstairs, he wants you!’

  An I said, ‘Ye wha?’

  An she said, ‘Yeah’

  An I said, ‘Ye wha?’

  An she said, ‘Yeah’

  An I said, ‘Ye wha?’

  An she said, ‘Fuck sake. I’ll answer the cuntin door.’ An away she runs, titterin like a schoolgirl, lettin him in on her way out.

  So he came into my flat and I said to him, ‘Listen up, babe. Didn’t I tell you Maggie Muff says no?’

  But he replied, ‘Margaret, are you biting your lip? You know that turns me on – I may have to spank you.’

  An I replied, ‘I may have to knock your bollocks in.’ An then he just laughed an came right up to me until his nose was nearly touchin mine. He put his hands on my hips an looked right into my eyes like he was tellin me somethin but without the words. An then I went all wobbly, an then he pulled me in an I felt his plug lookin to find my socket – oh mummy! – an then he smacks the lips on me an I’m tellin you it was the best snog I ever had. Well except for that lad in Turkey, but it turned out he was only fifteen.

  Then I went to get the chinos off an he said, ‘No, Margaret. Don’t touch me, only I can touch you.’

  I said, ‘Don’t think so babe. I’ve signed nothin … yet.’ So I gave his schlong a tug through the chinos an trailed him into the bedroom. We ended up on the bed! An he got his tie an started to wrap it round my wrists. So me and my inner goddess thought, it’ll be all right, so I went for it. An I was soakin.

  He tied my hands together behind my back an shoved me down on the bed so I was lyin on my hands an trapped. An then he whipped my Everton bottoms and my knickers off in one go an then he pulled up my top an out came my jugs. I went bright red – the light was on an everything! An I had sandpapered my jugs so much to get the Fake Bacon off, they looked like two cheese-topped scones.

  But he didn’t care, he just said, ‘Margaret, you’re delicious. I want to eat you up.’ So I said, ‘Work away, babe. Two tits an a spongy clunge – that’s a three-course meal, all right.’

  So, he kissed me from my baby toe right up my legs to the top a my head an I couldn’t move, I had to just lie there an take it. Then he started to suck my big toe and I thought to myself, Holy shit, my feet smell of onions and vinegar. An I’ve a bunion on my big toe. But he didn’t seem to mind, so I thought I’d just let him get on with it. Then he did it again an this time, he spent more time kissin my juicy bits an I was beggin him to fill me in quick. An he was just laughin an I thought that I could get used to this. All the men
I’d shagged before thought that foreplay was a quick tit-grope or a tweak or two before they mounted me. I just laid back an took it, writhin around on the bed an lickin my lips at him.

  Well, he gave it to me for nearly an hour. Big Billy Scriven only took ten minutes, an that included gettin his work boots off! I was wailin like a banshee … I’m sure old Bobby downstairs was twiddlin his sausage listenin to us! An Mr Big was so big! Like a tripod. An eye-waterin barge-pole. Made Big Billy Scriven’s look like an acorn. After we’d finished, Mr Big was puttin his shirt on an I saw all these red marks on his chest. An I said to him, ‘What’s that there on you? Hope you aren’t riddled.’

  And he said, ‘Ah, no. I’ll tell you about those another time. Now I must go. I don’t usually do it outside of the red room of pain.’

  Then I said, ‘I’ll have a red ring of pain in the mornin, babe. I’ll not be able to walk for a week!’ Then he left me to it, an I hadn’t even a fag to sit an have cos Big Sally-Ann had nicked my last pack of duty free. But then I thought of Mr Big an his middle leg an I was moist again.

  A Romantic Dinner an a Revelation

  Well, I was walkin like I’d had the shits for days. Big Sally-Ann got me forty fags off some fella who was only back from a cigarette run to Benidorm. He was stompin about like the Pied Piper of Toxteth, with a trail a nicotine addicts behind him, hopin he’d drop a fag or two. Fags mean power in Toxteth. Me an Big Sally-Ann were hopin to get away on a run ourselves if we could get the money up an I was thinkin about how we could get some cash when she told me that she’d tried to shag your man an he’d said, ‘Naaaaaah.’

  Then she’d said to him, ‘Will you not just give me a touchy-feely-no-putty-inny?’

  An he’d still said, ‘Naaaaah,’ so she was ragin the rest of the week. She doesn’t like anybody sayin no to her.

  Then I got a text from Mr Big on my new iPhone sayin to come to his flat to talk about the contract. So I said to myself … Right I’m tellin him if he wants me, he’ll have to drop the contract, I’m not gettin beaten up by some pervy bastard, even if he is gorgeous in those chinos. So I marched over to his flat to give it to him. But he was standin there with dinner for us! Now, we’re not talkin a bucket from kfc or a fish supper from the chippy – it was fuckin oysters!

  He said, ‘These are an aphrodisiac Margaret.’

  And I said, ‘Your what’s itchy?’

  Then I wondered if he meant that he’d dipped them in that date rape stuff an I didn’t fancy that cos I wanted to remember gettin shagged by him. Big Sally-Ann gave that stuff to half the Tranmere Reserves Football Team at their Christmas do. And she ended up riding about ten of them round the back of the boozer. And they never knew anything about it – still don’t ...

  So I was about to tell Mr Big not to bother wastin it on me cos I was a cert, when he lifted one of the oysters up an tipped it into his mouth. I nearly puked – it was like a big snot. So he told me to swallow it whole an I said to him, ‘I’d rather swallow you whole, babe.’ Then he gave me a glass of champagne and those bubbles went straight to my head and after about ten minutes I was eatin those oysters like a hungry whore.

  Then he said to me, ‘Margaret, would you like to come and see the red room of pain again? This time I have laid out some of my toys for you.’

  So in we went an I almost died. It was like a bomb had gone off in Ann Summers. There were whips, chains, sticks, metal balls (God knows what for) an the dildos!! Then he just laughed an told me to get on the bed. So I looked at his lips an his arse in those chinos an I jumped on to the bed with my tongue hangin out like a big thirsty hound.

  So I said, ‘How many slags have you shagged in here?’

  An he replied, ‘Only fifteen,’ an then he pushed me on to my front an said to get on all fours, then he whipped my knickers off an came closer to look at my arse! I was mortified.

  But he said, ‘You have a lovely bum, Margaret – very soft.’

  But I was thinkin to myself, if I do an oyster fart now he’s gonna get his eyebrows singed an end up with a squint! An then before I could do anythin the fucker walloped me across the arse with the whip! An I shouted, ‘Holy mother of fuck!’ An he whipped me again an again. But the mad thing was ... I was drippin.

  Then he said, ‘Call me sir!’

  An I said, ‘Call me “Bell” cos my knickers are ringin here!’ Then he took me from behind an went at me like a barn door in a gale, an I was lovin it.

  Then after, we were lyin on the big bed an I said, ‘Why can’t I touch you, Mr Big?’

  An he started telling me about his past and how an older woman who was a friend of his parents was whippin the shit out of him when he was only fifteen!! She used to shag him behind their backs. An I thought to myself, pervy bitch!

  ‘Fuck me, did she put fags out on your chest?’

  He said, ‘Oh no, Mrs Robinson wouldn’t do that. Not her style. She’s very discreet.’

  Then I was just picturing him and the old slag when he said, ‘We’re just good friends now. I meet her for lunch sometimes. She’s one heck of a lady.’

  An I said, ‘Some cougar whipped your ass when you were a kid? Can you not see that’s seriously fucked up? I’m away. In the words of the gospel accordin to Rihanna, you’re fuckin disturbia!’

  An I got dressed an he was annoyed at me. But I legged it, saying, ‘See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya, babe.’ So I grabbed my clothes an ran out to the hallway.

  Then later on, I was lyin on my bed thinkin about her bitch-slappin him – an I was mad with jealousy! And I thought, I think I might love the bastard!! Then I thought about him in those chinos an I was ringin again.

  A Shag on the Bus Tour

  The next day Mr Big texted me sayin to come over an see him cos he wanted to talk to me. And I thought to myself, ‘What am I doin with this man? He’s torturin me!’ But then I thought about his arse in those chinos ... So, I put on my illuminous yellow miniskirt an my illuminous orange vest top with a blue suede belt to draw his eye down to the Muff area. I wanted to show him what I had that Mrs Robinson didn’t – sex appeal.

  When I got to his flat he said to me, ‘Margaret I want to take you out. On a proper date. A surprise.’

  ‘A date? Where to? It’s early – the Red Lion’s closed.’

  An he said, ‘Come with me, I have called a taxi for us.’

  So we sauntered down the stairs an on to the street, an he had a fancy taxi waitin, a big silver Merc – not a mini cab with fag burns in the back seat and a dodgy drug dealer driving it. So he took a blindfold out an wrapped it round my eyes an I was worried that he was goin to whip me in front of all the tourists in Hope Street.

  An he said, ‘It’s a surprise. No peeking.’

  When Mr Big took the blindfold off we were sitting beside the big white Liverpool Bus Tour.

  At first I said, ‘A Liverpool tour? Mate I could give the fuckin tour.’ An then he said, ‘Trust me Margaret – it will be fun.’

  Then he smiled at me, one of those wicked smiles an I was moist, so I said, ‘Whores on tour it is.’

  So he pulled me on an winked at the driver, who said, ‘No one else on this tour please, it’s a private one.’

  An I said, ‘Private tour? My ma would be so proud of me!’ I felt dead important, like. An there was two big fat Americans standin at the bus stop with cameras round their necks an lookin miserable cos they’d to wait on the next bus, so I give them the fingers on the way past an said, ‘See you – yiz yankers.’

  Mr Big trailed me up to the top, an it was an open top bus so it was freezin. Passing the Liver Birds Building, he pulled me over on the seat and snogged the face off me. Everybody was staring at us, but I didn’t care. It was like that time in Ibiza, me and Big Sally-Ann were shagging some lads in the sea. Then their mums came and we had to scarper – look, we didn’t know they were only 14 – they had chest hair and hard-ons and everything!

  Then I stopped kissin Mr Big an said, ‘Oh Mr Big, I’ve never done it
on the top of a bus before, only in the driver’s seat an against the side of one!’

  Then he said, ‘I’m hard, Margaret. You biting your lip like that is turning me on so much.’

  That was like a red rag to a bull, so going past the Mersey Tunnel, I opened the zip on his chinos an said, ‘What about a game of Hide the Sausage?’ Then I filled my gob up with him an he loved it!

  So there we were, with my head bobbin up an down on his middle leg, an he shouted, ‘What’s my name?’

  An I shouts, ‘Soooorrrrrrr!’ (Sir) – that’s what it sounded like with my mouth full.

  Then he shouted, ‘What’s your name?’

  An I shouted ‘baaaaaalllllllll, coootttthhh mm kkknnooocccrrsss rrrr rrooonnnggnnnnnn!’ (Bell, cos my knickers are ringin.)

  An then, when he was done, he sighed an said, ‘Now it’s your turn, Margaret.’ Then he flung me across the seat, whipped up my miniskirt, yanked off my thong, an flung it over the side of the bus. It landed on the steps of Liverpool Cathedral. I was mortified.

  Driving past Albert Dock, he had me from behind. I shouted ‘I’m King of the world!’ He says…

  He said, ‘Don’t you mean Queen?’

  I said, ‘You just concentrate on plunging your anchor in there.’

  Then when we were going past Liverpool Town Hall, there was a crowd of councillors standing outside and I couldn’t resist the opportunity so I mooned and shouted, ‘Hey ! Take a look at my manifest-hole!’

  Then, on the way off the bus, we passed a couple of fat Yanks and I said to them, ‘Wouldn’t sit on the top, love – seats are a bit sticky.’