Maggie and the Master (8 page)

He bound her wrists tight together in front of her and then threw one end of the rope up and over a branch above her head, pulling it tight so that his newest student was stretched taut, taking her weight on the balls of her feet, hands bound high up above her head. With more rope he tied each ankle apart, spreading her legs wide.

She was totally still and silent, although as he worked he could feel every sense in her body reaching out to him, begging, hoping, searching for clues as to what might happen next. Standing behind her he ran his hands over her, both to enjoy her body and to reassure her. Her flesh was silky and cool.

She moaned behind the gag as his fingers worked down her spine and around her lithe torso to cup her breasts. She gasped, instinctively thrusting her body back towards him. Max smiled to himself; beneath her cultured and rather aloof exterior Maggie Howard had the heart of a whore. When he turned his attentions to her sex he discovered that she was already wet, her silky juices coating the tops of her thighs.

Stepping back he slipped off his jacket and took a flogger from the inside pocket. Very gently he drew the soft leather strands across her thighs and buttocks. Maggie mewled, tugging against the restraints. Max stepped back a little to check his stroke, and then hit her, not hard, but enough to make her muscles tense. She gasped and twisted at the end of the rope, instinctively trying to escape. He hit her again, harder, and she whimpered into the gag. Harder still he struck her and she let out a stifled sob, the noise spilling out from around the gag.

He beat her again and she shrieked as the tail of the cat wrapped around her ribcage and clawed hungrily at her breasts.

Max smiled. Through the trees he saw a flicker of movement and knew his activities were being observed. He hit her again, ignoring their uninvited guest, deliberately lower so that the tails of the flogger wrapped round the tender flesh of her thighs. Her whole body convulsed. Again she cried out, sharp and raw despite the gag, and then he struck again, from the corner of his eye spying an elderly man creeping closer, totally mesmerised by Maggie and her naked, whipped body.

Max hit her again and her head snapped back. He knew from the tone of her muffled protests that even though she was still at some level registering the pain, her mind was floating in a sea of endorphins, the body's natural pain relief.

The next blow wrapped around her waist and she twisted on the rope, gasping, saliva seeping around the gag onto her chin. Her body seemed to glow with an inner light as the pain speared through her. She looked superb, and Max glanced to his left and eyed the old man, his expression frozen with carnal hunger. It was as if Maggie's passion and pain had drawn him out into the open.

‘Would you like a closer look?' asked Max.

The old man looked around uncertainly, clearly unable to believe his luck, and then nodded. It was obvious from the bulge in the front of his trousers that he was hugely aroused.

Maggie was trying hard to still her breathing as she reached out for clues as to what was happening. The old man circled her like a hungry scavenger, studying her beauty and her vulnerability, breathing it in. Max stepped close behind her and reached round to open the lips of her sex, so that the old man could see the ripe pinkness within. She was wet, her clit a hard bud longing for release. The old man leered and licked his lips, and fumbling with his trousers pulled out a gnarled and wizened cock.

Max beckoned him closer, so he could touch her, and feeling a second pair of hands on her flesh Maggie let out a shriek of dismay.

‘Be nice to our new friend, my dear, or I'll take the whip to you again,' Max threatened, his lips brushing her ear.

The old man wiped his mouth and then ran his shaking hands over her face and throat, before cupping a breast in each hand, then moving even closer, lowered his lips hungrily over one nipple and sucked noisily. His twitching cock brushed against her thigh, leaving a sticky trail across her creamy flesh.

Maggie swallowed as if trying to still her fears, while the old man's fingers and lips pulled and slobbered on her breasts.

‘Help me untie her,' said Max, and the old man needed no further encouragement. He stooped stiffly to untie her ankles, his face within inches of her sex, drinking in the enticing scent of her arousal.

Max untied her hands and then turned and eased her forward so that she was bent at the waist, her hands against the tree to support her. The old man leered again as Max undid his trousers and, without prelude, sank his raging cock into Maggie's waiting and vulnerable body.

She moaned and threw back her head, her sex closing around him like a clenched fist, her muscles drawing him deep, deep inside her. Despite the gag she cried out as Max began to fuck her. He could sense her longing for her own release, while beside them the old man groaned too and mauled her nearest breast while with his other hand he avidly pumped his straining shaft.

Max suspected that neither of them would last long. Maggie cried out as he pulled her back onto him again and again. The old man snorted and grunted and an instant later a flood of sperm hit her back and arm and then Max was there too, filling her with his offering.

As he pulled out of Maggie the old man sank slowly to his knees and began to lick hungrily at her quim and bottom. She mewled wearily and then Max watched as her body and her raw animal need began to take over. She began to move, instinctively grinding her wet quim over the man's wrinkled face until his tongue and fingers carried her over into oblivion, the waves of orgasm crashing over her. Between her trembling legs the old man, his face slick with sexual juices, pulled away, leering broadly. Max moved forward and rubbed his flaccid cock across her lips, and watched with satisfaction as her tongue emerged and she performed her duty for him. To his delight she drew his limp wet cock between her lips, and he enjoyed the devoted movements of her tongue.

Chapter Six

Back at the car Maggie sat quietly trying very hard to regain some sense of composure. She was wearing her coat, the leather slave collar, hold up stockings and shoes, the latter now a little grimy from their walk and activities in the woods. In the rear-view mirror Guido watched her discomfort with evident interest.

‘Home now, I think,' Max decided, ‘for a little lunch and relaxation. You can leave your clothes and bag in the car; Guido will see to them.'

Maggie had almost forgotten that she'd agreed to stay with him, and realised with a growing sense of apprehension that whatever was going to happen to her, the experience in the woods was just the beginning.

Working from home meant that she could come and go as she pleased. Although she had a desk at the magazine's office no one would comment on her absence as long as her stories were filed on time. She sat back and closed her eyes, trying hard not to let her imagination run away with her. For a moment she tried to imagine what it might be like if she never went home. What if Max kept her? What if…? She bit her lip, struggling to get a grip on her rampant imagination.

Max Jordan's home was an elegant four-storey townhouse tucked away in an affluent city side street. They were welcomed at the door by his housekeeper, Mrs Griffin, a tall, sour-faced woman of an indefinable age. She was elegant and icy, dressed in a dove-grey coatdress that seemed deliberately cut to hide her figure, almost as if designed to render her asexual. Her thick straight hair, a shade of grey fractionally lighter than her dress, was pulled back into a severe bun that did nothing at all to soften her angular features or cold blue eyes.

‘Would you like me to take your coat?' she said to Maggie as they made their way inside. Maggie stopped mid-stride, and Max turned to look at her. It was obvious that he expected her to hand it over, and Maggie was beginning to understand only too well that it didn't do to keep Max Jordan waiting or to disobey him. The rules of the game weren't so hard to fathom out, but were at odds with everything else she had ever believed in or known. She slipped off the coat and handed it to Mrs Griffin, painfully aware of her exposure, but the older woman's expression didn't change, she said nothing, her eyes taking in both Maggie's nakedness and her discomfort in a single glance.

‘Give Mrs Griffin your shoes as well, Maggie, they need cleaning,' Max said, and naked, barefoot, feeling like a well-trained puppy, Maggie padded along behind him into an elegant sitting room furnished with black leather chesterfields and a cream carpet. The drapes at the floor to ceiling windows were black velvet caught back with gold ties, and the room had an air of male elegance, of good taste and understated luxury.

‘Today, my dear, you will begin basic training, you will begin to understand how it feels to be a fulltime slave. This evening we have guests coming for supper. But now we will have a little aperitif, lunch, and then I'll have Mrs Griffin show you to your room. You might like to have a little rest before this evening.'

He smiled and settled comfortably on one of the sofas. ‘I would suggest you take a nap. It will be a long evening. Now turn around; I want to see if you're marked.'

Maggie did as she was told, reddening slightly as Max turned her first one way and then the other. ‘Hardly anything,' he said, sounding disappointed. ‘I like to see where I've been, to leave my mark. Go to the side table and bring me my crop.'

Maggie hesitated.

‘Did you hear me?' he asked.

‘Yes, master,' she said. ‘I heard you.'

‘Then do as you're told. For a little while you will be allowed some leeway, but trust me, young lady, that luxury will rapidly be coming to an end.'

Maggie went over to the table, where set out in a neat row was a braided leather crop, a whip, the tails arranged in straight lines, a schoolmaster's cane and a leather paddle that looked a little like a short oar.

The tools of Max's trade.

Maggie gulped and picked up the crop as instructed, then with her eyes downcast she returned and handed it to him.

‘Get down on your hands and knees,' he ordered.

Maggie got to the floor in front of him, already feeling the rush of adrenaline, stunned at how quickly she obeyed. She remembered how the crop bit into her flesh and made her cry out in shock and pain. Closing her eyes she braced herself for what she knew would follow.

Max, the consummate sadist, trailed the looped tip gently along her spine and over her buttocks, exploring her body with all the self-assurance of a man examining his property.

‘Open your legs,' he said, and Maggie obeyed, exposing the delicate folds of her sex. Max cut the air with the crop, a practice swing, but still it made the kneeling girl cringe. ‘You're a little nervous, slave,' he commented.

She heard the crop cutting the air again and cried out almost before the blow cracked down across her poor bottom. Even though it wasn't overly hard it sent a white-hot glow through her body.

‘One,' she hissed instinctively, knowing it was what he wanted to hear.

‘Two,' she wailed as the next strike landed square across the fullest part of her buttocks.

‘
Three
…' The pain was intensifying.

‘Four,' she gasped. It hurt so much, hot and sharp.

‘Five.' The word nearly caught in her throat, vying with a protest for release.

‘Six.' Surely Max would stop soon? Surely six was enough?

‘Seven… eight… nine… ten…' a volley of rapid strokes.

‘Eleven… twelve!' Maggie shrieked, biting her lip to hold back the tears that threatened. And then it was over and she felt Max's cool hands on her skin, comforting the reddening flesh.

‘There we are, my little one, all done,' he murmured, and for an instant Maggie sensed and heard the arousal in his voice. He pressed the crop to her lips and without a moment's hesitation she kissed it. How had this happened?

Gently Max helped her to her feet. ‘Look,' he said, and stood her in front of a large mirror. Maggie turned and looked at her bottom, the blotchy welts rising across both cheeks. Max slipped a hand between her thighs and she closed he eyes with a mixture of shame and resignation, knowing without being told that her rogue body was wet already and eager for more.

‘Now, get me a sherry and then come and kneel at my feet like a good slave,' he said, and Maggie did as she was told, aware of his eyes on her as she moved around the room. Then she handed him his drink and knelt at his feet on the carpet, and he idly stroked her hair as he talked.

‘Our guests tonight know you have only just begun your training, but that is no reason for bad behaviour,' he said. ‘You will do exactly as you are told, when you are told. Do you understand me?'

‘Yes, master,' she acknowledged.

Max smiled. ‘I understand this is hard for you, my dear, but you must trust me. I will show you things that until now you have only dreamed of.'

Although he was speaking quietly the tone was strong, the tone of man who had experienced many things, who commanded respect, and without thinking she settled her cheek on his knees, relishing the feel of his fingers stroking her head. It struck her as odd that a man who could be so cruel was also so capable of such tenderness.

Max sat for a while, soothing her as he might a favourite pet, and as he did she felt the tension in her easing. How odd that this man who gave her so much pain was also the one to offer her such a compelling sense of comfort and reassurance.

‘So, as I said, we'll have lunch and then you can rest, my little one,' he said, then sipped his sherry.

‘Yes, master,' she whispered, and realised how natural the words were beginning to sound.

Maggie's room was on the top floor, tucked up under the eves of the large old house, with a small en suite bathroom attached. The antique pine bed was made up in delicate white bed linen, and fluffy white towels hung from a rail by the open bathroom door. On one wall hung a large ornate mirror, and on a linen chest under the window a vase of white jasmine filled the room with a heady scent.

While she and Max had been downstairs having lunch her clothes were being neatly hung in the wardrobe, her clean shoes neatly tucked onto the bottom rail.

Then once Mrs Griffin had drawn the curtains and turned down the duvet, Maggie slipped into bed and despite everything going on in her life was asleep in a matter of seconds.

For a few moments when she awoke Maggie wondered where on earth she was. The light had subtlety changed as the day slipped slowly from afternoon into evening, and refreshed by her sleep she sat up in bed wondering what she was expected to wear for the dinner party. She'd brought a couple of nice outfits with her that could be dressed up or down as the occasion required. Maybe she ought to try and find her way downstairs and ask Mrs Griffin.

Just as she was considering what to do there was a knock on the bedroom door and the housekeeper appeared, and she quickly pulled the bedclothes up to cover her nakedness.

‘The master sent me up to help you get ready,' the woman announced, her expression unchanged.

‘I'm fine, thanks, really,' said Maggie pleasantly. ‘There's really no need to go to any trouble. I was wondering what I ought to wear though?'

‘The master sent me up to help you, Miss Howard.' The woman smiled thinly. ‘Surely you know better than to disobey his instructions. I'm to bathe you, wash your hair and then help you dress.' As she spoke she set a box down alongside the vase of jasmine.

‘Oh,' Maggie said, a little surprised by the announcement, not sure that she wanted to be treated like a child by the woman. ‘And what am I to wear for this evening?'

Mrs Griffin's expression still didn't alter. ‘You'll find out in good time.'

Maggie got up, and conscious of her nakedness she headed into the bathroom to use the toilet, when it struck her there was no door.

She looked back at Mrs Griffin, blushing furiously, but if she was expecting sympathy or privacy, none was forthcoming.

‘I need to use the loo,' she said, but the woman seemed oblivious to her sensitivities. She followed her into the en suite, bent to put the plug in the bath and turned on the taps, but made no attempt to avert her gaze or leave Maggie alone. Defeated, Maggie sat on the toilet, careful not to catch the other woman's eyes.

When she was done Mrs Griffin added a stream of bath oil that filled the room with the scent of sandalwood and ylang ylang, and helped her step into the deep tub.

Maggie hadn't been bathed by anyone since she was a child, but Mrs Griffin lathered and then rubbed her down, her fingers skilfully working through her hair, down over her breasts and belly, and lower still into the intimate places between her legs. Maggie, although deeply embarrassed, knew it was pointless to resist. It was an odd thing to share so intimate an experience with a complete stranger, and sensual on the most basic of levels. She wondered if the woman could sense the flutter of arousal and pleasure in her belly, but if she did it was not apparent.

When she was done Mrs Griffin held out a fluffy white bath towel and dried Maggie with brisk efficiency.

‘Stand still,' Mrs Griffin instructed, standing her in front of the large mirror while she oiled Maggie's body. Maggie shivered, but Mrs Griffin's face remained unerringly impassive while her skilled hands carried on rubbing her breasts, nimble fingers working over her nipples, tweaking them into hardness, sliding down over her tummy, sex, and the ripe curves of her bruised bottom. Maggie blushed furiously, but it seemed to go unnoticed as the woman worked diligently.

Behind the two-way mirror in the small room, little bigger than a cupboard, Max enjoyed a deep mouthful of brandy and settled down to watch Maggie being dressed, enjoying the familiar stirring in his groin.

When she was done the older woman opened the box on the linen chest, and as she lifted out the contents Maggie gasped in shock. Inside was a black leather harness, held together with rings and studs. It went around her torso like a jacket, large rings fitting tight over her breasts, forcing the nipples to jut forward. Straps snapped onto the D-rings on her collar, with another broad strap fastening tightly around her waist, and then between her legs was another one, with a slit in it so that once securely fastened in place it held the lips of her sex open. She swallowed hard and looked across at the housekeeper.

‘It doesn't pay to keep the master waiting,' said Mrs Griffin.

Once Maggie was dressed the austere housekeeper handed her a pair of high-heeled knee-length boots, and then looked her up and down before very carefully outlining her eyes in dark brown kohl and her lips in red lipstick. Caught in the reflection of the dressing table mirror Maggie looked like a sexual toy, ready and available, her body a sexual invitation.

Mrs Griffin took a step back to admire her handiwork, and then as a final touch took a lead out of the box and snapped it to one of the D-rings.

Maggie felt a chill; it defined her status. Then she obediently rose and followed Mrs Griffin downstairs, her stomach churning.

‘Ah, there you are, Mrs Griffin,' said Max, looking up as they entered the room. ‘I was just telling Freya that you've cooked venison for us this evening.'

‘Yes, Mr Jordan, although it's farmed,' said the housekeeper, entering into a conversation about cooking with Max's guest, a statuesque blonde dressed in a smart pinstriped business suit. She was sipping a cocktail and didn't even bother to look in Maggie's direction. But what really caught Maggie's attention was the naked man crouched on all fours at the woman's feet. He too was wearing a harness and a collar and lead. He looked at Maggie, drank her in, his eyes bright with lust and a very obvious hunger.

Max noticed Maggie looking at the man, and Freya caught the man looking at Maggie and admonished him sharply. ‘Beau!' she said, snapping the lead taut and wrenching his neck.