Maggie and the Master (3 page)

‘I'm afraid,' she said, her voice tight with emotion.

‘I know, come to me,' he said, and she took one step and then another until they were face to face. ‘Now give me the crop,' he said. ‘Let me teach you, let me show you what your heart already knows,' and as he spoke Maggie did as she was told, struggling all the while to maintain some shred of composure.

‘And now, my little Maggie, you must ask me to punish you,' he said, bending the crop into an arch between his fingers.

Her cheeks flared crimson. ‘I must what?' she gasped incredulously.

His voice was low and even and yet incredibly powerful. ‘You must ask me, you must say, “master, please punish me”.'

‘But I can't do that,' she insisted. ‘I can't.' All the while she could feel a surge of heat rushing through her and a raw flurry of excitement growing between her legs.

Max shrugged. ‘Very well,' he said, and set the crop down on a side table.

Standing there in the silence Maggie wrestled with her fears and her inhibitions, until finally she said, in a voice barely above a whisper, ‘Master… please punish me.'

‘Very good,' he said as he took her hand, and resistance gone she allowed him to lead her to a large leather armchair. ‘Bend over,' he ordered, and she did as she was told. ‘Lift your skirt.'

Maggie let out a long slow breath, closing her eyes in shame as she fumbled with the garment, imagining the picture she presented to Max Jordan. Then she leant forward, her hips and bottom in the air, her feet apart to maintain her balance over the chair, her white knickers taut across the rounded contours of her buttocks. She shivered, wondering if she was already wet enough for him to see the moisture seeping through the thin fabric. Her stockings and suspenders framed her bottom as neatly as any picture frame.

She felt Max moving closer and held her breath. She felt his hand brush across the contours of her rear, felt them move between her thighs to the intimacy of her sex, cupping and kneading her through the silky material.

Her colour deepened. He must be able to feel her heat, feel the wetness and the excitement. She moaned and without thinking thrust back against him, some instinctive part of her hoping he would brush her pleasure bud.

‘You are a shameless little slut, Maggie,' said Max Jordan. ‘You are going to be such a pleasure to train.'

Maggie whimpered with fear and embarrassment as he unhurriedly removed his hand, and the next sensation she felt was the flexible length of the crop being drawn very slowly across her buttocks as if it too were exploring her, letting her know what to expect. Max teased the looped tip across her thighs, between her legs, setting every nerve alight as he caressed her.

‘Well, Maggie,' he whispered, ‘are you ready?'

She held her breath, then nodded.

‘Oh no, my dear, you have to tell me.'

‘I… I'm ready,' she whispered uncertainly.

‘Then count for me,' he said, and an instant later she felt the crop crack across her waiting flesh. The first stroke was hard enough to make her cry out, her body arching under the blow, a dark pain flooding through her.

‘Oh, my God!' she gasped. So this was what it felt like.

‘Count,' he snapped.

‘One.'

He ran the crop's length under the curve of her buttocks, making her painfully aware of its threatening flexibility - and then just as she began to relax he hit her again, no harder but lower. Maggie shrieked, feeling the breath catch in her throat. It was all she could do to gasp, ‘Two,' in a voice she barely recognised as her own.

‘Good girl,' he murmured, letting the whip hang in the air for a second. Max watched the way the girl reacted, observing her with the eyes of a true master, watching for signs of her panic and fear, reading and relishing them like a good book. She looked exquisite, bent over the chair, her creamy flesh reddening under his ministrations.

The next stroke was a fraction harder and she cried out again, wondering how hard they would get, whether she would be able to stand the pain, whether having come this far she had made a terrible mistake, and whether she should get away now.

He hit her again and Maggie gasped, ‘Four,' between gritted teeth.

Max smiled, feeling the stirring in his groin and more than that, the stirring deep in his soul. He adored hearing his women scream - both with pleasure and with pain He drew back the crop for the fifth stroke; it wouldn't take Maggie long to realise that pleasure and pain were just different sides of the same coin and no more than a heartbeat way.

After the sixth stroke he ran his hand over her glowing backside, stroking and kneading the tender flesh. She was wonderfully wet and he could feel her juices soaking into the thin fabric of her knickers and smell the soft musk of her growing arousal.

This time his finger strayed to rub the throbbing bead of her clitoris. As his fingertip found its mark he could feel her whole body tense and then slowly begin to move against him, seeking a release that, although she was unaware of it, was a very long way off.

Just as she found a rhythm Max stopped and pulled her knickers down to her knees. This time there was no tenderness. He felt her flinch and before she could recover he brought the crop down again across her bare buttocks.

‘Ohhh…' she wailed. ‘No, please… that hurt, that hurt.'

‘How many?' he demanded.

‘S-seven,' she sobbed, and he hit her again, her body twisting away. ‘Stand still and count, bitch,' he growled.

‘Eight,' she gasped. He could hear the tears in her voice but didn't hold back.

‘Nine,' she cried out and twisted away again, the weals rising white and then reddening on her creamy skin.

‘If you move again I will tie you down,' he warned. ‘Perhaps I should tie you anyway…'

Maggie, bent over the chair, trembling furiously, said nothing.

‘Well?' he said, drawing the loop of the crop across her legs, the merest touch enough to make her stiffen. ‘What do you say? Would you like me to tie you down?'

There was a heady silence, and then she said, ‘I don't know.'

He smiled. ‘Come, come, my dear, isn't that what you've always dreamed of, to be tied and beaten and used for some faceless man's demands? To be fucked, to suck cock until your mouth fills with spunk, to feel him fucking your cunt, and your arse…?'

Her reply was a muffled sob.

‘Well, I am that man, Maggie.' And as he spoke he hit her again.

‘Ten!' she cried, her whole frame quivering.

He slipped his free hand between the cheeks of her bottom. Her sex opened like a flower to him and he pressed two fingers deep inside her. She offered no resistance, and as he pulled back he smeared the juice from her sex over the tight little rosebud of her bottom. He felt her tense as he stroked it, and then let his finger move to rub down over the hood of her clit. She let out a little sob of pleasure and he pressed a little harder, dipping back into her sex to lubricate his caress.

‘Halfway, Maggie,' he said. ‘Well, would you like me to stop?' Silence fell and he felt Maggie wrestling with all the fears and doubts she'd ever had.

After a few moments she said, ‘No, master,' in a weak voice, and Max smiled knowingly. He let his hand drop away from the wet confines of her quim and brought back the crop, cracking it across her vulnerable buttocks again. She cried out once more, but this time they both knew something had subtly changed.

‘Eleven,' she hissed.

At fifteen he stopped again to caress her beaten bottom. Sixteen and seventeen were relatively gentle, allowing her to settle, the rhythm of the strokes he knew was oddly comforting, and then for the last three he struck hard and fast, the count of twenty lost in a tearful scream.

As soon as he was done he stepped closer to comfort her, touching her face and hair, wet with tears. And then he placed the whip by her cheek. ‘It's customary for a slave to thank her master for her punishment and kiss the instrument of her pain.' At once he saw the flash of indignation in her eyes, and smiled; oh yes, Maggie Howard was going to be a real challenge and a real delight.

Slowly, very slowly she looked up at him, her face alight with countless contradictory emotions. ‘Thank you,' she whispered, and pressed a fleeting kiss to the punishing leather.

He very delicately drew the loop of the crop across her chin. ‘Master,' he prompted.

She bit her lip and then let her gaze fall, cheeks flushed. ‘Thank you… master,' she said humbly.

‘Now, stand up,' he went on, and she obeyed, then as he turned to refill her champagne glass she moved to pull up her knickers.

‘What do you think you're doing?' he barked.

‘Getting dressed,' she said, bent over, frozen in the movement.

‘Did I tell you to cover yourself up?'

‘No, but I thought?'

‘No nothing, stay as you are. While you are here with me you are mine. You do as I say; you do not act upon some whim of your own. Do you understand me?'

She nodded.

‘Now strip completely.'

‘Strip?' she echoed.

He nodded. ‘And from now on you will not speak unless I ask you a direct question.'

Very slowly, reluctantly, almost as if her hands belonged to someone else, he watched as Maggie began to unfasten the buttons of her blouse, pulling it back off her shoulders. Beneath was a white lace bra, exquisite against her smooth skin. Next she unfastened her skirt and let it slither to the floor. With her knickers around her knees, Max could see she had done exactly as ordered and neatly trimmed her pubic hair.

She hesitated and looked up at him, eyes full of appeal.

‘And the rest,' he insisted, waving a hand towards her.

She unfastened her bra to expose her breasts, the nipples erect, before bending to slip off her panties, suspender and stockings.

Totally naked her eyes filled with tears. She looked so vulnerable standing before him. Max indicated she should turn around, and she did. Her backside was beautifully striped with red weals that were already turning to a delicate shade of purple.

As she turned full circle he handed her the champagne. ‘You are very beautiful,' he said.

She blushed and he slipped a hand down between her legs to feel the wet contours of her sex. ‘Do you expect me to fuck you today?' he asked.

Her eyes widened. ‘I don't know, master,' she said, her brain and tongue struggling to express what she expected.

‘There are so many things you don't know, aren't there, little one?' He lifted a hand to cup her breasts, fingers pinching the puckered nipples. She winced, and he pondered with relish just how much more she would wince when he clamped them. From a pocket he took a silk scarf and carefully lifting her hair, he blindfolded her.

Plunged into darkness Maggie stiffened with apprehension. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, aware of Max moving, picking out a sound on the edge of her hearing, and realised with horror it sounded like metal on metal. Max Jordan took her wrists one at a time and she gasped as she felt cold metal snap shut around them. This was crazy. What was she doing there?

He led her across the room and guided her back onto a chaise longue. He pulled her hands up above her head and secured them to the frame, and then spread her legs, tying each one at the ankle so that her feet were on the floor on either side of the narrow chaise. The rope was slack so she had a little movement. As he worked she thought how strong and insistent he was, but at the same time how oddly gentle his touch, which put her at ease until she realised that bound and blindfolded Max Jordan didn't need to be rough with her - she was his to do with exactly as he wanted.

Once she was secure he ran his hands over her body, lingering on the curves of her breasts and the mound of her sex.

‘Do you know how wet you are, my dear?' he drawled. He teased a finger between the lips of her sex, and she knew then, hearing and feeling the wetness.

She whimpered, wondering what on earth was coming next. And then she knew. She felt his breath on her throat and then his teeth nipped her nipples, teasing them into aching hardness before moving down over her belly, slowly down to the heat of her quim.

Surely he wasn't going to… he pulled the outer lips of her sex apart, holding her open while his tongue eased into her, over and over, his mouth and lips joining in sucking and lapping at her pleasure bud. And then there was pain like a bite on the outer labia as he clamped something to it - and then again on the other - the pressure and the nip making her gasp in shock, she cried out and then winced as he pulled her wide open.

She mewled in pain, although her excitement began to build further. She heard him ripping off some sort tape and fixing the clamps back against her belly so that she was totally exposed. His tongue teased and nibbled a counter point to the pain. She pressed her body up against his face, letting him drink her, surrendering totally to his exquisite caress. Despite the clamps she knew she was teetering on the brink of release and so it seemed did Max. As she groaned, eager to reach the point of no return, he pulled away making her instinctively thrust her hips up to him, seeking his tongue.

‘Do you want to come, Maggie?' he whispered, and there was no way she could deny it.

‘Yes, master,' she sobbed, pressing herself towards the sound of his voice.

‘You must ask my permission.'

‘Please, master, may I come, please?' she begged, her voice tight with desire and emotion.

His fingers found her clit again, his touch no more than the tiniest brush, the lightest caress, and for an instant Maggie thought she would go mad if he didn't make her climax. Another finger gently pressed at the tight puckering of her anus, teasing and stroking the sensitive nerve-endings, making her writhe and buck against her restraints, and worse still, making her whole body sing. To her horror she felt his lips working towards his fingers, his tongue licking her dark little rosebud with as much skill as seconds earlier he had lapped her clit.