Catching Maggie

by Hayley Faiman

  Master Elliot hands the auction card to the den mother who looks it over and then smiles at me.

  “You’ve agreed to the terms listed here?” Her voice is soft, but I have no doubt she could go cold-hard-bitch in a second if need be.

  “I have.” My voice is strong, and even a bit confident. A complete false bravado.

  “Good. Enjoy.” She waves us off to take the initialed card from the people behind us.

  “I will go over there and sit in that leather chair facing the bar, little one. I want you to go get a cold light beer. I want you to bring it over to me and sink to your knees between my thighs as soon as I take the drink from you,” he orders. My eyes go wide at his words. I said non-sexual, I am not sucking this guy off; I don’t even know him.

  He must sense my worry because he shakes his head with a smile tipping his lips.

  “Calm down, my little one. You’ll just sit there, ready to serve me but not to service me,” he says with a smirk. I giggle a little at my own freak-out as he tugs on my braid.

  “Beautiful smile, now go.” He pats my ass and I yelp softly, listening to his deep masculine chuckle as he walks toward the leather chair. I slowly make my way toward the bar, on my impossibly high heels, and add a little extra sway to my hips, hoping that he is watching me.

  “That was quick. Knew you would be snapped up in an instant by Master Elliot, you lucky bitch,” states the bartender from earlier. I give him a wobbly smile. I am so nervous that if I open my mouth, I know for sure my teeth will start chattering. The bartender slides an ice cold light beer at me and winks.

  I wrap my fingers around the sweaty bottle and turn toward Master Elliot; his light blue eyes are focused solely on me, even though a man is sitting next to him talking. I inhale and then exhale my nerves on high, unaware of what is going to be happening next. Master Elliot smirks as I make my way toward him. I roll my shoulders back and hand the drink to him, as soon as he takes the cold bottle from me I do exactly as ordered. I sink to my knees between his thighs my hands to my sides and my eyes staying pinned to his.

  Master Elliot takes a pull from his beer without acknowledging me, at all, as the man next to him continues to babble. I was standing before so I hadn’t seen the woman at this other man’s feet, her knees pulled underneath her body and her forehead pressing to the ground while the man rests his feet on her back.

  This must be the human furniture thing I read about. Iit doesn’t look appealing.

  Master Elliot tugs my braid back and forces my neck to arch and my face to look up into his. Our eyes collide and I watch as a small smirk appears on his lips.

  “Good girl,” Master Elliot mutters his hand slowly sliding from the top of my head, down to my shoulder over my hair. He is petting me and I can’t help but slightly lean into his palm. It reminds me of the time that Jackson did much the same thing. I loved it then and I love it now, even though it is with another man. I am such an attention whore.

  He repeats the motion as he answers a question from the man next to him. I have no clue what they are talking about. I have no clue what is even going on around me because all I can see, hear, and breathe is Master Elliot. My eyelids flutter and close at the soothing feeling of his hand petting my hair. I shift closer to his leg and rest the side of my head against the inside of his thigh, slightly aware that the level of comfort I feel around this man is astonishing.

  Master Elliot doesn’t talk to me the rest of the hour that I am in his service; he does, however, continue to touch me. Subtle soft touches. He pets my hair, cups my cheek, runs his thumb over my bottom lip, and wraps his hand around the side of my neck, all the while conversing with the man to his left.

  I still can’t concentrate on the men’s words. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears and the thrumming between my legs – my body begging to be touched, caressed, and satisfied by the long, strong, fingers that haven’t released me since I sank to my knees.

  “I’ll see you around. I think I have made this little one suffer long enough,” Master Elliot says with a chuckle. I drag my eyes from my lap to meet his cool blue ones, which are crinkled from his smile.

  “Come, little one. I believe we have a little spanking session.” He smirks and I practically moan.

  Oddly enough, I want his hands all over me and I don’t care how. I should have negotiated some sexual services because, in this moment, I am so turned on that I feel like I might combust.

  Master Elliot stands and holds out his hand for me to take. Carefully, I rise to my feet. Immediately, I sway and fall into his embrace; my legs are asleep and feel like jelly. Strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me close, swallowing me in an embrace.

  I feel Master Elliot’s nose at my neck, inhaling my scent, and then his teeth and lips wrap around my earlobe before he bites down hard, causing me to moan. I automatically wrap my arms around his strong biceps as my back bows, pushing my torso even closer into his chest. My breasts press against his strong body, the cool leather of my bustier turning hot against my heated skin.

  “Keeping away from your pussy tonight is going to be my greatest control challenge to date. I’m going to spank you ten times and when you go home with your pussy drenched and throbbing with need, I want you to make yourself come imagining it’s my fingers on your clit and inside of you. I won’t touch you because I want to earn your trust. You will be my greatest reward, little one.” I whimper at his words. He chuckles before sliding his hand around my waist and leading me toward, thanks to orientation, what I now know is called a spanking bench.

  “On your knees,” he barks his hand offering a slight pressure on my waist, causing me to fall to my knees. The overwhelming urge to please him erupts throughout my body.

  The bench is much shorter and more compact than the one I had seen at the penthouse party. I drape my body over the middle and wait. I feel wanton and wrong. So wrong.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  I shouldn’t be doing this with a stranger.

  I should be doing this with Jackson.

  I want to scream at him to stop, but I feel paralyzed.

  “Hands behind your back,” he whispers huskily against my ear, his trousers brushing the bare skin of my thighs. I put my hands behind my back.

  “These are soft cuffs; they won’t cut into your delicate skin at all. Remember, I am binding your hands together behind your back, but the rest of your body is free. You need a safe word, little one, just in case being bound and spanked is too much.” Master Elliot is all business as he binds my wrists together. I had been thinking of safe words since I began this journey and nothing has come to mind, until now.

  “Red,” I say, using the most common word that was given to me at orientation.

  “Red,” he repeats as his hand slides down my hair, my back, and palms my ass over my leather skirt.

  “I am going to lift your skirt, but I swear no sexual touches. I just want to give you the most effective experience possible,” he explains.

  I love how he is explaining each and every move before he makes it. I feel like I still have some type of control over the situation, like he hasn’t stripped me completely, yet. But it doesn’t stop the panic or the gnawing feeling in my gut that something is off, something isn’t right.

  “All right,” I murmur, trying to ignore the gut feeling.

  “Good girl,” he rasps as he lifts my skirt over my hips, exposing my ass to… well… everybody.

  However, I know that none of these people are concerned with my big pasty ass; they are involved in their own play, not concerned with this very vanilla spanking of mine.

  Thwack, his hand slams down on my ass without warning and I cry out in surprise. It hurts, really hurts. Slowly, he rubs the abused flesh, sending tingling sensations throughout my body. Then he repeats the motion on the other side.

  Master Elliot spanks me five times on each side, never in the same spot, until tears are streaming down my face. My pussy is pulsing with need and dripping
with want. I should be ashamed and embarrassed but, for some reason, all I can think about is coming. I just want to come and I don’t care how at this point. I would beg him to make me come if I thought it would do any good at all.

  “Come on, little one,” he says as he gathers me in his arms, after he releases my bound wrists, and carries me to the same leather chair he occupied moments ago.

  This time I am not on the floor instead, I’m in his lap, my face buried in his neck, inhaling the spicy scent of his cologne. His body is warm and his arms are firmly around me - but that nagging feeling is still there, just buried under a haze of lust, want and need.

  Master Elliot is not Jackson.

  “You were fantastic,” he murmurs, petting my hair once again, soothing me and turning me on all at once. I squirm in his lap and feel his hand tighten around the braid of my hair.

  “If you move like that, I will have no other choice but to make you come. Right now my control is hanging on by a thread, so I’ll end up fucking you and we will both regret it tomorrow morning. So be still and come down from your experience,” his insists, his words clipped. His tone is sharp and I can’t help, that my nipples pebble at the pure dominance that oozes from this man.

  “It was a pretty vanilla spanking,” I remark, sounding like a petulant child.

  “Being bound and hanging over a spanking bench with your perfect ass in view is not vanilla, little one. Your ass bears my mark and I can’t help but want to mark the rest of you,” he admits. I suck in a breath and look up to see him smiling down at me. He ignores my shock and holds a bottle of cool water to my lips, forcing me to drink until it is at least half gone.

  “Now go home and do what I have ordered you to do.”

  I nod and rise on still shaky legs. My eyes meet his and I ask the question I know I probably shouldn’t. I regret it as soon as I do because it feels so very bad.

  “Will you be here next week?”

  “I will, and you’ll not be auctioning yourself off. You will be attending as mine,” he growls. My eyes widen at his words and I can’t help myself, I just gape at him in surprise. I’m not sure how I feel about what he’s suggested, but I decide not to dwell on it for the moment.

  “Yes, Master Elliot. I will see you next week,” I add reluctantly, earning me a sweet smile as his eyes darken like the stormy sea, yet again.

  “Now go home, little one,” he orders. I nod before I scurry home, to touch myself, just as he has commanded me to do.

  I DO AS MASTER ELLIOT instructs and I make myself come. I try so hard to imagine it is his fingers touching my clit or plunging inside of me, but I can’t. All I can see is Jackson, my beautiful Jackson, who lied to me, hurt me, and made me want and need him like no other.

  I flop back on my bed and cry; I can’t help it, that man has ruined me. I still want Jackson. I still want him to touch me and my body is still very much his. Master Elliot seems perfect; he is tall, handsome, muscular, successful, dominant and yet gentle. But all I can think about is Jackson.

  I spend the rest of the week battling against my own self. Do I contact Jackson or do I forget he exists and go for things with Master Elliot? Tonight marks one week since I have seen Master Elliot. I am expected to show up to Master’s night as his submissive, as his, and I am terrified. In spite of my confusion over Jackson, I want to go. I need to see if there is more between us or if I still yearn for Jackson. I hope that my attendance will help me get a better understanding about who I want.

  I feel so lost.

  “Delivery.” I hear my front doorman’s voice buzz through the loud speaker and I let him inside of my apartment. He carries a large bag from a fancy department store; leaving it on my entryway floor, he tips his hat and takes off again. I pick up the bag and carry it into my bedroom.

  “Oh my,” I gasp when I open it and see what’s inside…

  I pull out a short backless black dress; it is a chiffon type material that glides softly through my fingers. It looks like a slip, but I know it is a dress. There are also a pair of red Louboutin high heels and a note.

  Little Marguerite- Emma,

  Please wear this dress and the shoes this evening. No jewelry. I would also love to see your beautiful blonde hair down instead of braided. Minimal makeup and just sheer gloss on those gorgeous pouty lips.

  I have not been able to get you off of my mind since last week. I ache to know more about you.

  See you this evening; meet me outside of the club at seven sharp.

  Bye for now, Little One

  --Master Elliot

  My heart starts to beat out of control as the note flutters to the ground.

  How did he get my real first name?

  How did he get my address?

  What am I doing?

  Jackson.

  Elliot.

  Jackson.

  Elliot.

  I am truly terrified. For the first time in my life I feel scared beyond comprehension.

  My first thought is that I want Jackson to hold me and tell me everything will be all right.

  Tears start streaming down my face and I do the only thing I can think of, aside from crying to Jackson.

  I call Amalie.

  My closest friend.

  A person I have been avoiding for a month.

  A person who not only called but came over and pounded on my door, day after day, while I ignored her and wallowed in my own self-pity.

  “It is Maggie. No, smuk. I do not know,” I can hear her voice and it immediately calms me, even before she has acknowledged me on the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Amalie, it’s Maggie,” I say, feeling guilty and shameful all at once. She lets out one sob and instantly I begin to cry. I have been so cruel to her, leaving her like that. Ignoring her.

  “Are you all right? Safe? Talk to me,” her accent is thicker and I know it is because of her emotions.

  “I am okay, Amalie, calm down. I need to apologize. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t deal - first Sammy and then Jackson, I just couldn’t do it. I flew to Vegas, hoping to find answers, and it was just too depressing. I came back east to my apartment and that’s where I have been. Safe but closing myself off to everybody. I have been trying to find myself. But I think I’m in trouble,” I say the words without thinking. Am I in trouble? Truly? The words ring so true even though I hadn’t really considered them before speaking them.

  “Trouble? We come get you, where are you?” she says, and I can’t help but giggle at her.

  “No, it’s nothing like that I just… I met someone but…” I pause and she finishes my sentence for me.

  “Jackson.”

  “Yes, Jackson. I just can’t get him off of my mind. I thought if I met somebody else that it would help me move on. I thought that what I had with him wasn’t real, that it was me just rebounding.” My hands are shaking and I can’t stop my body from trembling.

  “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but he has been miserable without you. He has played so horribly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they cut his pay or traded him next season,” she says softly. I gasp at her words, trying to find my breath, trying to be calm. What if I have ruined his career? I would never be able to live with myself.

  “He will be fine Maggie, but you - you need to figure out what you want. It is all right to be a bit selfish, especially with everything that you have been through, but it is not all right to string two men along. This other man, have you…?” I almost giggle at her broken words, but I know that if I do, I will end up sobbing, so I just talk.

  “I met him last week, Amalie. At a club. A BDSM club. But what we shared was not very sexual. He wants to see me again tonight and I think he wants a bit more than I gave him last week,” I explain. I hear her hum with understanding.

  “This man, he is attractive, no? Just one thing missing…”

  “Jackson.” She clucks her tongue at my answer.

  “You must clear the air with Jackson. You must find out if you
r relationship is over completely or not. You need to speak to him, to hear him out. What you cannot do is become emotionally invested with this other man without resolving your feelings for Jackson,” she counsels.

  I know she is right. As much as I want to avoid the situation, it must be dealt with and it must be dealt with immediately. After asking about Axel and Jarrod, I thank Amalie. I then tell her that as soon as I figure things out, I’ll call her and we will schedule a spa and shopping day. I miss that blonde bombshell more than I thought was possible.

  My stomach is twisted in knots as I search through the contacts on my phone. I have never once called this man and now after weeks of ignoring him I am going to call him. I can only hope that he will accept my call and listen to me.

  “Jackson.” His voice is tense and stern as he barks into the phone. The sound makes my stomach flutter.

  “Hello, it’s Marguerite. I think we should talk,” I murmur. I am met with silence. I think for a moment that he has hung up on me.

  I wouldn’t have blamed him if he hung up. I left him; I overreacted and I left. I reacted immaturely and childishly, ignoring his phone calls and texts. At the time, I know I had every right to be angry with him. But to leave and not tell anybody where I was going? To not give him the chance to explain? It was mean and wrong of me.

  “I’m so fucking glad you called me.” His words are but a whisper. I feel my insides shatter.

  I am a cruel bitch and I punished him. I know that if he had told me he was a ball player at our first meeting, there would never have been a second meeting. I would have ignored and run from him. He knew it too. He has always seemed to know me better than I know myself.

  “I… I’m sorry I left before talking to you,” I apologize lamely.