Part One

 

1.1

 

Margaret came from the shower naked, pausing to critically assess her reflection in the full-length mirror. She was always relieved to see that she had retained the firmness of youth: a slender body, smooth and softly rounded: of good height with big firm breasts that had not yet surrendered to gravity; the body of a woman who took pride in her appearance. She smiled contentedly, comfortable in the knowledge that cultured, handsome Greg admired her, approved of her figure and her looks. Her full features framed by luxurious, honey blonde hair worn shoulder length enraptured him. She fingered the blonde bush adorning her mound, remembering how Greg loved to comb its softness, re-living for the moment the feel of him gently probing the lips between her legs, seeking her altar of sex.

Yes Maggie Moon, you’re a sexy madam. The thought sprang spontaneously, shocking with its blatant conceit. Thrusting it aside, she turned sharply away, gliding seductively across the bedroom.

He lay uncovered, his cock flaccid again. She sank down reaching to hold it lovingly, savouring the feel of it, so soft and pliable, sticky from her secretions. What power we women have to change this so easily and how time denies our pleasures when we most need them. Easing the loose skin back, she rolled it gently, provoking him to smile. ‘Love you!’ she whispered, ‘Love you better hard and inside.’

He returned her gaze, eyes smiling, expression warm. ‘Have you time?’

‘Sorry!’ she replied with genuine apology, releasing him to pick her clothing from the floor. She stood to pull on her knickers and the neat grey skirt, fastening it deftly. Sitting again, she gathered her tights. Lovely, so sheer, so smooth, so sensual when they clasp the smooth flesh.Easing into the nylon she felt a nail snag. ‘Damn!’ A scowl of annoyance contorted her handsome face, ‘Now I’ll have to buy another pair.’ There was still an afternoon’s work to face and her personal dress code would not allow her to meet her staff while incompletely dressed. Maggie firmly believed in standards and while modern attitudes forbade the imposition of strict dress codes in the workplace, she advocated leadership by example.

Brightening again she enquired, ‘Coffee? We’ve time for that.’

He nodded approval and she stood, moving toward the kitchen, breasts bare, just as he liked.

Switching on the filter machine, she reached for cups, rising on naked toes to open the cupboard. He came up behind reaching round to cup her stretched breasts. Oh ecstasy! Sighing with pleasure she slowly subsided, luxuriating in his caress. He remained nude and she could feel his hardening organ pressing through layers of fabric. Oh yes, oh yes! His hand slid downward, lifting her skirt. She could feel the hard, living rod pressing into her crease through the flimsy panties and close to the sensitive skin surrounding that most private opening. That would be lovely.For a moment she fantasised about him crushing her against the unit to slide his cock sliding into her anus until shame and guilt kindled a surge of revulsion and she thrust the dangerous thought away.

But I so want you, lovely man. She turned, hoisting herself onto the unit, spreading her thighs to admit him. He plucked aside her panties and pierced her with wild passion, his feral embrace crushing her nipples against his chest with boiling passion.

He slid home, hot and vigorous, deep and wide. ‘Oh, I do love you!’ she sighed as she settled on him, riding his thrusts as he banged her against the unit with untrammelled lust.

 

‘No, leave it off.’ he said later when she reached for her bra, ‘You don’t need it, go without, celebrate your beauty.’

‘I might not need it for support, but I do for decency,’ she retorted looping it round her chest.

He shook his head, ‘You’ll be wearing your jacket, no-one will see.’

‘But I’ll know.’ She clipped it together and started to pass her arms through the straps, but he checked her, touching her arms above the elbow gently but emphatically. She paused, regarding him with mixed feelings, love mingled with respect and rebellion. No, I am me: I am woman; no man will ever dictate to Maggie Moon.

For a moment he neither spoke nor moved, his fingers remaining in contact with her skin. Reaching round he unclipped the garment and took it gently from her grasp. ‘For me:’ he pleaded. ‘Let me remember you like this.’ And stooping, he planted a kiss on each protruding bud. Maggie stroked his hair, kissing his small bald patch. ‘Just this once, for you!’ She took the garment from him, rolled it and popped it into her handbag before slipping into the crisp, white cotton shirt.

The July day was seasonally hot and the jacket was really too much to wear, but the alternative of carrying it was alien to Maggie’s nature. It was bad enough being bare legged, but to leave the jacket off would be tantamount to slovenliness. And she needed its concealment with her nipples now standing out like hat pegs. Just a touch, no-one will notice a quick pass inside the jacket. She faltered, missing a step in shock at her wantonness. A new determination seized her. This has got to stop; sex is not the be all and end all.

The sentiment was right, she knew that, all her upbringing and education insisted that self fulfilment came first; pleasure, self indulgence far behind and sensuality last of all. Meeting Greg had toppled the immutable, thrown her standards into disarray, for this was new sex, the like of which she had never imagined. Gone were the dreaded mechanical couplings that left her feeling soiled and used. Greg acted from respect, his concern for her pleasure equal to his own. It was good sex honest sex, totally carnal yet still romantic. These lunchtime assignations, occasioned by Greg’s work patterns, tinged the whole affair with a dash of decadence; the implied illicitness spicing the pleasure. As she walked, pondering on these thoughts, she recognised how her affair might intrude on work and ambition. Balance – balance and proportion. I must keep control.

Maggie focussed positively on her purpose: reach the office and get to grips with the work awaiting. This was an important time, the time to be making an impression if she was to be certain of consideration for regional training officer. By hurrying she could make time to pop into the loo, put on her new tights, restore her bra and her self-esteem. She hurried on.

A tap on the shoulder and a soft ‘Hello’ caused her to turn sharply.

There was no one there. The only people in any proximity were several yards away and going in the opposite direction. Puzzled, she paused, heart beating and mouth dry, not exactly frightened, but anxious and more than a little annoyed. Stupid practical joker! She resumed her course, heading into the shopping precinct crowded with lunchtime shoppers. It was then she became aware of someone close by, walking at the same speed and just behind her shoulder. She glanced round to discover a woman there, slender, attractive.

‘I hope I didn’t startle you back there,’ the woman said.

Maggie stopped. ‘I don’t know what your intention is, but I consider your action wholly irresponsible. You frightened me out of my wits.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry about that, it’s okay now.’

‘In my opinion it’s very far from okay. Do I know you?’

‘You’d probably say no, but I know you very well indeed.’

‘You’ll have to explain that.’

‘Yes, I suggest we slip into here and have a coffee.’ Starbucks stood opposite the department store.

‘I’ve just had coffee and I’m late for work. I must go. I’ve some urgent shopping to do as well.’

‘Of course you do, hosiery is on the ground floor. I’ll come with you. It will help you to get to know me better.’

‘There’s no need. I don’t know you, and I’d rather like you to stop spying on me. What’s your name?’

‘Margaret!’

‘That’s my name!’

‘Confusing isn’t it? Just call me Meg.’

‘There’s no need. I don’t want to see you ever again,’ Maggie snapped, spinning on her heel and darting into the store. She felt more than angry when she saw that Meg had followed. Pretending not to have noticed she hurried through to the hosiery section, scanning the racks of tights to find her preferred brand. Picking up a packet she was conscious of Meg close beside and shaking her head.

‘Don’t interfere, I always wear these.’

Meg merely shook her head again and tilted it indicatively.

Maggie followed her direction to the rack containing hold-up stockings.

‘Are you seriously suggesting I should buy those?’

Meg nodded.

‘All right, if it will stop you from following me.’ Maggie selected a packet and set off toward the checkout.

Meg reached over, took the tights and slipped them back in the rack.

Bugger the woman. Maggie’s protest didn’t make it into speech: she could not afford to provoke a scene that would attract the security staff; she had wasted enough time already.

Meg watched her pay and moved in. ‘Come into the washroom and put them on.’

It was neither command nor suggestion; more like a thought popping into Maggie’s mind and she found herself complying, albeit reluctantly.

Maggie took refuge in a cubicle, but Meg occupied the doorway, preventing the door from shutting while she watched. Maggie glared back, trying to interpret the expression being directed at her as she hoisted up her skirt. ‘What?’ She inquired irritably.

‘You can’t wear those, they’re soiled: you should really take them off before you fuck.’

Maggie stared. This woman’s becoming a serious nuisance. ‘No way! I will not remove my panties and if you don’t leave this minute I shall scream and when Security arrives I’ll have you detained for assault.’

‘Where’s your evidence? Now be sensible and do as I suggest: you know you want to.’

‘I do not!’ It sounded emphatic, but lacked real commitment, for although the idea was repulsive, the thought was exciting. What a lark! Chair the meeting without knickers, my secret, braver than them. Who was this woman who could read the deepest depths of her mind?

Maggie probed those eyes: pleasant eyes, deep eyes, the steady gaze so compelling. Hardly believing her own actions, she slowly hooked fingers into the elastic and slid her panties down.

‘Pass them over. I’ll take the laddered tights, and the bra too; we can’t have you popping that on again can we?’

What the hell am I doing? Hardly able to believe her own gullibility, Maggie delved into her handbag to conform. While she pulled on the stockings Meg made small bundles of the discarded garments and fed them into the sanitary incinerators. ‘Much better,’ she said as Maggie stepped from the cubicle. ‘Now one more thing before you go back to work. Come along.’

Maggie followed her from the rest room. I’ll slip away. Why am I doing this? I don’t have to do these outrageous things. I’ll get to the office and send Hazel out for fresh clothes. But Meg seemed to anticipate the move and as Maggie twisted she found her shadower blocking the way. Meg smiled sweetly; she really was attractive both in looks and dress: the simple summer frock with its spaghetti straps sat on her figure exquisitely, filling Maggie with envy.

‘This way!’ Meg commanded. Again it was more suggestion than command, but Maggie’s power to resist seemed to have been neutralised.

Meg entered a bookshop, the kind that sells off remainders, and began delving into a display filled with paperbacks. Pulling out a book she handed it to Maggie. ‘You’ll enjoy that. Just pay and we can go’

Maggie gaped at the title, Slave of the Harem, and its cover shot of a scantily clad female bound by ropes. ‘I can’t buy this. Why would I want to read this kind of stuff?’

‘You’ll enjoy it. Trust me!’

No I will not! It was a token protest and she actually said ‘You haven’t given me much to base my trust on so far.’

‘You haven’t seen everything yet. Come on now, I’ll walk you back to the office.’

Blushing with embarrassment, Maggie paid and resumed her journey complete with escort.

‘Just who are you and why are you harassing me in this way?’ she demanded.

‘A friend who has your best interests at heart. Everyone benefits from an occasional nudge in the right direction.’

As they walked into the public foyer, Maggie spun round intent on dismissing the unwelcome shadow. Now go! The words died on her lips for Meg had gone. Stepping outside Maggie looked up and down: there was no sign of the vivacious woman with the bobbed hair.

 

The afternoon did not go well, so Maggie concluded on later reflection. Apart from insecurity generated by her lack of clothing – she had chickened out of revealing anything to Hazel – the delayed meeting with her team leaders had to be cut short and the two staff appraisals proved fallow, the second in particular.

Carly had been with the department just twelve months and protocol demanded that this, her second appraisal, be done by the senior manager. Maggie looked at the file: the notes made by Carly’s mentor did not impress. A graduate entrant, the girl was doing a job that was in essence that of junior clerk, glorified by a pretentious title. Stupid directives! Carly seemed to be marginally adequate, but clearly lacked any commitment and displayed little ambition or initiative. Her response to Maggie’s discussion-based interview did not extend beyond answering questions, making no effort to move things forward.

Maggie considered the girl critically. What can be done with her? She was young and obviously intelligent enough to cope with university, although her grasp of written language appeared tenuous; a slender girl with a neat, pleasing figure and finely sculpted ‘cupie doll’ features. Her straggly jet-black hair was worn short with a quiff partly shielding her black eyes in an attempt to create a menacing smoulder that did not match with her facial structure. Carly had a habit of looking at people from a tangent in an expression of studied contempt that could be unsettling or challenging according to the circumstances. She was using this ploy now to neutralise the interview.

Carly was dressed in the ‘uniform’ preferred by most of the younger staff: T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops. Maggie did not approve. Refuge dressing masquerading as rebellion; what is she afraid of? Nice though, good bum and cute little tits inside that pretty bra. I bet she looks stunning nude! Maggie took a grip, ashamed at the way her mind had drifted.

‘Tell me, Carly, how do you spend your time away from here?’

The eyes did not flicker for one moment. The response came flat and automatic. ‘Clubbing mostly, go down the pub some nights; or just chill out with mates.’

‘Anything else: are you trying to extend your qualifications perhaps?’

‘No point is there? There’s no prospects in this job, nor any other round here: so just have a good time and don’t get stressed out.’

‘You’re a graduate; perhaps this job isn’t making the best use of your degree. What did you study?’

‘Geography!’

Useful, adaptable!’

‘It was a right bore.’

‘But you have good honours, that says much for your abilities. I’d like to see you show more initiative, apply that intellect of yours. We might discuss setting a personal goal.’

‘Yeah, well perhaps. It wasn’t worth it you know. Geography ain’t negotiable in the workplace and all I’ve really got is a massive overdraft to pay off.’

‘There must be something, though. Teaching perhaps?’

Carly sniffed, ‘Turn out more geographers to fill dead-end jobs? What’s the point? Am I done now?’

‘For the moment,’ Maggie said sadly; it had been a strange, perplexing day.

 

God, I feel like shit. Maggie was relying on her natural grit as she made her way to work. I should have gone to sleep earlier.She had read until late. Slave of the Harem had been hard to put down once curiosity had overcome antipathy. It was not the plot of a girl forced to be a concubine that had gripped her imagination, but empathy with the unwilling protagonist forced to suffer endless physical punishments. The concept of linking pain to sexual fulfilment was puzzling and disturbing. Finally surrendering to nature Maggie had slept restlessly and risen early, determined to regain some equilibrium, only to return to the book, finishing it over breakfast.

Work – work will clear my head. A noble sentiment that saw her now walking from the car park, neatly and conventionally turned out ready for a very normal day.

A fresh suit today – help me forget yesterday’s aberration. She had chosen a favourite dark blue outfit with a demure knee-length skirt, its tailored jacket tightly waisted to flare out over the hips. Pleased by the combination of good tailoring, shiny brass buttons and pristine frilled white blouse, and feeling secure in her favourite shade of black tights and patent-leather heels, she felt it made a calculated statement. This is me; this is the real Maggie Moon. She felt good.

With head held high and definitely alone, she entered the deserted lobby and passed herself through the security door into her little empire. This early in the morning only the cleaning contractors were in possession.

Sweeping imperiously into her office she stopped short. What the hell? Reclining in her chair, behind her desk, and smiling broadly was Meg.

‘Hi, did you enjoy it?’

Maggie ignored the question. ‘How did you get in? This is a restricted area.’

‘Your security is very slack.’

Cheek! ‘Never mind that, you’ll have to leave.’

‘Not until you’ve answered my question: how was the book?’

I’ll never admit to enjoying it. ‘You will not persuade me that such things actually happen.’

Meg regarded her slyly, ‘But don’t you wish they did? I gather you read it, even finished it?’

Maggie grudgingly conceded the point. Meg flashed a smug smile that quickly faded, replaced by an expression of censure. ‘You’ve reverted to type?’ she said accusingly. ‘Now, do be sensible Maggie, if you aim to please me, remove those awful tights and the panties.’

I do sooo not!

‘Who says I want to please you? I still don’t know who you are or why you are hounding me in this way. I shall keep them on.’

‘You want to please me because your own nature says you should. It’s time to change, Maggie. Time to take control and get a life. Come along now, do as I tell you.’

Curse this woman, why does she keep echoing those thoughts I want to forget? ‘There was a constant nagging in the back of her mind, continually urging her to embrace pleasure. It had appeared the very first time that she had consented to intercourse with Greg, as if a locked part of her consciousness had been released when that first real orgasm had possessed her body. She’s right, these damned tights feel like medieval armour and these knickers are making me sweat.

‘All right! Just this once, but leave them here, put them in the right hand drawer where I can get them later.’

‘Of course!’ agreed Meg, smiling sweetly as Maggie kicked off her shoes and eased up her skirt to strip away the symbols of propriety. Truculently she handed them over. Meg separated the knickers and examined them: white lace, matching bra; Maggie was a thoughtful dresser.

‘Delightfully feminine,’ Meg conceded. ‘But cunt is primordial, pure woman: remember that. Now the bra!’

No! Maggie made to protest, but Meg’s glint killed it. Meekly she stripped off her jacket and blouse to remove the cherished foundation garment.

Standing, Meg held out a hand. ‘Good girl; I’ll have the blouse too if you please.’

No, that’s enough, I know when to stop. ‘I shall have only my jacket.’

‘And very pretty it will look, too. Come along, resistance is futile.’ Meg took the blouse from Maggie’s unresisting hand and used it to make a bundle while Maggie hastily covered herself with the jacket.

‘This is ridiculous!’ she declared as she buttoned it, ‘See, it shows my navel.’ As indeed it did where the front flared.

‘You should have a stud in it; that would look charming.’

Maggie moved round the desk, taking possession of her chair and office. ‘This is ridiculous. I can’t work like this, what will my staff think?’

‘You will not be here much today. First of all you are taking me to lunch and this evening Greg is taking you out to dinner. I’ve rescheduled your appointments so you can take the afternoon off to buy an outfit worthy of the occasion.’

‘You’ve what? This has gone too far. I have responsibilities; I can’t just swan off when I feel like it.’

Meg was regarding her with that irritating amused expression she had displayed repeatedly during their brief encounters. More expressive than words, it emphatically declared the futility of protest.

‘Look at you, not yet thirty and already District Controller, queen of your own empire. What use is flexi-time if you can’t capitalise on it once in a while? Who’s going to complain? Seize the day, it will never come again.’

She’s right, damn it, she’s right!

Meg marched swiftly to the door, breasts jiggling within her crimson boob tube, matching brief skirt dancing teasingly against bronzed thighs. At the door she turned briefly. ‘Twelve thirty in the City Bistro!’

‘My things!’ Maggie rushed to the door, but Meg was nowhere to be seen, just an empty corridor. Dashing to the desk she punched the keypad for Reception: no reply; too early for the front office staff. She slumped into the chair, elbows on desk burying her face in her hands to stem the tears welling up. What have I done, what’s wrong with me? – this is the price of conceit. I shall be a laughing stock.

1.2

 

 

By the time the staff began to arrive Maggie had recovered somewhat. She buzzed her secretary asking for her diary. Hazel came in wearing a light frilly blouse and a printed cotton skirt. Maggie, standing beside a filing cabinet, stared at the apparition; in the four years they had worked together Hazel had never worn anything other than strict white with black trousers.

Hazel returned the stare with a generous smile. ‘You look very chic, but the skirt could be three inches shorter, you have gorgeous legs. My sister could easily do it for you.’

‘Thank you!’ Maggie replied coolly. She worked well with Hazel and the relationship of secretary and boss had become friendship. ‘You look nice too, very fresh. Remind me, what appointments do I have today?’

‘Just internal stuff this morning. I’ve already cancelled the afternoon as your note said.’

‘Let me see it!’

Hazel handed over a standard memo sheet. The words ‘Cancel all pm appointments, first thing,’ were exactly as she would have phrased it and in her own handwriting. ‘When did I give you this?’

Hazel’s countenance briefly registered surprise. ‘You left it on my desk!’

Bluff it out; no one will believe the truth. ‘I have to attend to some private business this afternoon; something came up unexpectedly, so I shall be out of the office. Now, if you will get the mail sorted, I’ll do any dictation and you can sign for me as usual.’

Hazel received the instruction without comment and left the office. Maggie watched her leave with relief, knowing once again how fortunate she was to have a secretary of this calibre. She held Hazel in great affection; feeling honoured to be served so loyally by such an attractive woman and wondered, not for the first time, why Hazel had never married. With her superb figure, dark complexion, sleek brown hair, comely features and sunny personality, Hazel was so attractive.

 

It was twelve thirty-five when Maggie reached the snack bar that went by the name of City Bistro in the shopping mall. Her faint hope that Meg would not show up proved vain. Meg was already seated at a table out on the piazza. As Maggie took her place a waitress came to take orders. The expected questions did not come; instead Meg started on trivia. It was only when their light meal was finished and they turned to the coffee that Maggie received instructions.

‘You have an appointment in Black’s salon for three o’clock: waxing first, then hairdo, so ample time to do your shopping. Greg will pick you up at seven fifteen giving you plenty of time to prepare. And as tomorrow is Saturday, you will be able to sleep in, or whatever.’

Maggie was speechless. This woman beggars belief. She sat staring for what seemed an eternity before she could marshal a protest. What came out sounded lame. ‘It’s as if you were running my life. You’re not just making my decisions you’re thinking my thoughts. I don’t know how to handle this.’

Meg flashed her enigmatic conceited smile. Sitting confidently, like a modern Mona Lisa, she said, ‘Go with the flow! I notice you didn’t say I was making you do any of this. I detect a fundamental shift.’

‘Maybe it’s because I want to go out with Greg.’

‘And enjoy yourself; or should I say indulge?’ Meg leered, her smile ripe with encouragement. ‘Enjoy it Maggie, ditch those inhibitions, follow your instinct. Now I must go!’ So saying she stood quickly and hurried into the crowd, that tiny pleated skirt bobbing saucily.

Maggie finished her coffee, ordered another and paid the bill. This can’t be real; sitting here in full public view, nearly naked and no knickers; yet it’s exciting and I almost believe it’s my own decision. So, I can cancel Black’s, go home and get dressed – if I want to. Why can’t I; am I bewitched or just plain crazy?

Maggie rose to walk purposefully from the precinct. What the hell!

Black’s department store stood at the top of the hill. An independent store of long provenance, it was an exclusive outlet serving the prominenté, still trading on the principal that its customers’ convenience took priority. Hence the muted background music, the deep pile carpets, tactful signage and discreet, almost obsequious, sales staff. Maggie made her way to the first floor where the whole space was given over to fashions. A neatly attired assistant approached. ‘Does Madam require any help?’

Maggie held eye contact, speaking decisively: ‘I would like to see some light day dresses, something cool and comfortable.’

‘Certainly madam, we have some excellent possibilities. Please step this way.’

Well that was easy enough. The real problem was choosing from the comprehensive range on offer, but two suitable dresses were eventually packed into bags. I expect Meg would have cajoled me into buying something outrageous. She turned to the saleswoman again. ‘I would also like to see some evening wear, something suitable for a tête-à-tête, not a grand occasion, but with quality.’

‘Certainly Madam.’ The assistant went further into the empire where the carpet pile was deeper and the displays even more restrained. ‘Black is always a good choice on those occasions, teamed with white is very popular at the moment. Might I suggest this?’ She drew a lacy blouse from a rack. Magic! A surge of pure desire. So sheer it must be woven from cobwebs, so white it seemed to glow. Elegantly simple in style it had just enough frills to rise into the realm of the exclusive.

‘This has style, Madam,’ crooned the assistant. ‘Madam could wear it with a camisole or by itself if she was in a daring mood. And real quality: the label speaks for itself.’

Maggie looked and swooned with desire. ‘Oh, yes!’ she breathed.

She felt fabulous emerging from the fitting room to pose before the mirrors. The long velvet skirt flowed sensuously, while the top, lighter than a cloud, concealed nothing. Her nipples, sensitised from being rubbed by her jacket, glowed a deeper shade of pink and stood proud. Maggie could feel no shame, the quality of the clothes lending her a confidence she hardly recognised. This is exquisite, bugger the price, this I must have!

And pricey it was: having obtained matching footwear she wrote a cheque for a value greater than she could earn in a fortnight. She did not care.

Brimming with excitement and eager to show off to Greg, she headed into the salon where a white-coated beautician whisked her into a secluded cubicle. ‘Madam requested a full bikini-line waxing; madam will require legs too?’

Maggie gawped incredulously, stammering, ‘I what…?’

The woman remained placid. ‘Whatever Madam wants of course. There’s no need for embarrassment, most ladies now have the full treatment: it is very hygienic.’

‘Of course - just as I ordered, please.’ Through the jumble of confusion, anger and excitement, a thought burst into her mind dazzling her with its audacity. ‘Tell me, do you offer a body piercing service?’

‘Only selected applications. What did Madam have in mind?

‘A navel stud, something tasteful.’

‘That would certainly be possible. We have some delicate studs set with appropriate gems: I would suggest a sapphire would suit madam’s colouring.’

‘That sounds good. Might I see some examples?’

‘Of course Madam, I will bring the tray for you to inspect. Perhaps you will undress and put on this robe; then we may begin when I return.’ With these words the white coat tripped away.

The afternoon was well advanced by the time Maggie headed for the exit, de-nuded, pierced and coiffured, but with that million-dollar feeling.

The last display before the door sold costume jewellery. Maggie would not normally have given it a second glance, except that Meg was picking through the racks of brilliants. She spun round to trap Maggie.

‘Excellent choices!’ she declared. ‘The evening outfit is stunning; it needs but the slightest of finishing touches.’ She hooked a black velvet choker from a rack. ‘Put it on. Try the effect.’

Maggie put down her bags. How could she know? And this – ugh, so cheap!Taking it in trembling fingers she held the band round her neck. Somehow, Meg had got the size right and it fastened easily, quite tight to her skin: snug, but soft enough to avoid discomfort. Studying her refection she knew that Meg was right: the black would provide exactly the right touch to set off the ensemble. She turned and nodded, smiling at Meg.

Meg edged closer. ‘Now don’t forget to pay and remember – no knickers!’ With that she cheerily sped away, calling over her shoulder, ‘Enjoy your evening. See you soon!’

 

The vision of Greg’s face when he saw the outfit would remain with Maggie forever. He’s smitten, but I’m not crowing, I think I can distinguish admiration from lust. The satisfaction of being admired was profound.

‘You are superb!’ he gasped once the power of speech returned. ‘I do not deserve such a compliment.’

His admiration received further expression in his controlled response to the prodigious attention they received when entering the restaurant, approbation also evident in the level of service at table. ‘I’m so glad you suggested this place,’ he said softly as they dined in the glow of universal acclaim, ‘I cannot find words to express the privilege of accompanying someone so supremely beautiful.’

But I didn’t suggest it. Maggie checked the exclamation before it reached her lips. Best preserve the illusion.

Admiration was extensive, total strangers voiced compliments as they passed or stopped to exchange pleasantries. Maggie was loving the experience of being the centre of attention.

She had to concede that the choker added just the right touch of implied sin. One visiting admirer stared at it in a way she found flattering and disturbing, unable to associate any meaning to his interest as Greg introduced him. ‘This is Mike, a colleague from work.’

Mike possessed charm. ‘Delighted to meet you at last, Maggie. I’ve heard so much about you, all flattering and all justified. I hope to be seeing much more of you in the future.’

Maggie considered him carefully. Do I take that literally, or is there a hidden reference? She did not dislike the man, just wished that she could pin down his agenda.

‘Mike was telling me recently about some regular parties he attends. They seem to be quite adventurous affairs; he suggested we might go along, what do you think?’

Mike smiled encouragingly as Greg put this suggestion forward.

‘By adventurous, I assume you mean sex?’

‘Of course, no point in beating about the bush,’ Mike allowed. ‘Not sordid though – safe; no drugs and well ordered. Come and see for yourselves; participation is not enforced.’

I wonder if Meg will approve. Now why should I want to please her? No, if we go, it will be my choice.

‘We’ll think about it, seriously we will.’

Mike looked pleased. ‘I’m certain it will amuse you. I see more food’s arriving and it’s time I rejoined my guests. Look forward to seeing you.’

While the waiter served, Maggie studied her companion closely. ‘It sounds as though it could be fun.’

 

Maggie snuggled into Greg’s embrace. They lay spoon-style, the tip of his cock just inside her vagina while he cupped her breast. She was at peace and in heaven, having just woken from a post-orgasmic nap. Three times she had climbed that pinnacle and now refreshed, she was ready for another assault though not in any hurry. The more often they coupled, the more she liked to extend it: long lazy sex suited Maggie best.

She pushed back rubbing against his springy chest hair. Their postures changed and he slipped out. Adjusting himself, Greg moved from her breast, lingered briefly on her pierced navel then began stroking her silky smooth pubis. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered, ‘And this was inspired.’

‘It was!’ she admitted mysteriously. She had not told Greg about Meg, partly because she did not fully believe her experiences were real and mainly because at this moment she was not inclined to debate the issue with herself. She had no motivation to pursue enigmas in this state of complete contentment. To emphasise her feelings she snuggled even closer, reaching round to part her buttocks to allow his stiffness to better lie in her cleft. ‘Hmm, that’s lovely,’ she breathed as his glans touched that shy, puckered bud.

Responding to the comment, he pushed a little harder, causing her to moan.

‘You don’t mind?’

‘No: it feels really nice. You could try more if you want.’

‘Love you!’ He pressed some more.

‘Let me up. I have an idea; I’ll come straight back.’

Greg relaxed, watching her lovingly, celebrating her naked beauty as she crossed to her dressing table. Scooping cream she squatted to apply it before scuttling back to resume her position.

Holding her firmly, he positioned himself, locating the little anointed bud; it was quivering now, tiny little trembles passing through as he touched it. Maggie crooned, pulled her buttocks again and pressed against him.

Slowly, firmly, he moved in, slipping easily over the lubricated skin to open up that tight, tight ring. ‘Oh yes, oh yes, oh please!’ she gasped.

He was part in now, feeling the heat of her, sensing the throbbing pulse, meeting virgin resistance.

‘Let’s do it properly,’ she said. ‘Let me kneel up.’

She adopted the new stance eagerly, parting her legs and pulling her bottom open before dropping her hands to support herself.

Greg took position: she was open and ready, blatantly inviting. Guiding his super-stiff cock with one hand he drove home. Part way in he moved about to work more cream into her and she pushed back passionately. ‘I want you, I want you!’ she cried.

Greg pushed, her resistance ceased and he drove deep. She gripped him fervently: vice-like and he thrust against it. Suddenly the barrier broke and he slid deep, burying himself to the hilt.

‘Oh my god, oh glory! Fuck me, fuck me: fuck me hard. Oh that’s wonderful,

wonderful: harder! Harder!’

1.3

 

 

Summer dusk marked the impending close of a fine summer’s day as Greg piloted the whispering Jaguar down the winding country road.

I could do with a bloody good fuck right now, dare I suggest it?

‘Not far now!’ Greg cut across her thoughts as he consulting the sat-nav screen. The houses were scattered, set haphazardly between extensive arable fields. ‘This one I think!’ he announced, turning into a narrow lane marked by a cul-de-sac sign. A gateway on the right gave access to a substantial property with a number of cars parked on a tarmac apron.

Maggie’s heart sank as she viewed the dark mock-Gothic brickwork. The house, for she supposed it to be a conversion, projected a sombre aspect despite the addition of a tastefully designed, glazed, contemporary porch. Some deep-rooted aversion to indulging sexual desires on consecrated ground suddenly erupted into active thought. Who would choose to live in a church? Some nutter perhaps? If anything weird kicks off I’m out of here!’

‘We might be going to an orgy,’ she remarked, giving expression to her disquiet.

‘We might,’ agreed Greg. ‘We can always turn round if you feel uneasy.’

Maggie was quiet for a moment. The unexpected response had killed the growing excitement she had been struggling to contain. An appetite for sex, admitting to desires she had suppressed for years, had dominated her recent life and, caught up in its diversions, she had defied several taboos to embrace promiscuity.

What now, Meg? Who are you in league with? Do you really have my interests at heart, or is this all temptation to test my resolve? Who do I want to please most, you or me?

‘I’m fine: let’s do it!’

The plate glass doors hissed apart. The inner gothic doors stood invitingly open and through them could be heard the busy, welcoming sound of happy, contented guests. Maggie drew herself together, knowing that she looked devastating in the glorious lace top and velvet skirt.

A slender, elegant blonde wearing a short cotton robe stepped forward in greeting. A simple, loosely knotted belt formed the only fastening and Maggie knew instinctively that the woman wore nothing else.

Excitement gripped: it was happening. She, sexually reclusive Maggie Moon, stood on the brink of an immense erotic adventure.

‘So glad you’ve come. You’re new aren’t you? I’m Angelina.’ She embraced Greg generously, kissing him passionately on the cheek while scanning Maggie with practised professionalism. Her eyes fastened on the choker round Maggie’s neck. ‘Oh what luck, we shall be three after all; poor Joe has called off.’

Greg said nothing; overwhelmed it seemed by the power of his reception.

Angelina gushed unabated. ‘Go through: dressing room is off the balcony when you need it, sir; the slave master is waiting in the study – on the left through the main room. Toilets are upstairs too, or opposite the study. Despatch the slave then make yourself at home, do exactly as you please.’ Without a pause, Angelina spun round to direct an equally profuse greeting at further newcomers.

Slave, what slave? Perplexed, Maggie hesitated until someone took hold of her arm.

‘I’ll show you where to go!’

Maggie turned to find Meg leading her into the room.

‘I might have known!’

Without replying Meg purposefully propelled her charge across a large reception room whose vaulted ceiling was supported on robust timber trusses: the ecclesiastic theme again. The floor was polished wood. Along one side, doors let into folding partitions indicated additional rooms. On the opposite wall two of the arched casements had been enlarged to form picture windows looking out over rolling countryside. What furniture there was consisted of seats in various styles arranged around the perimeter, leaving the extensive central space free of obstruction. In one corner stood a large pine desk with a wicked looking, curved-handled cane hanging from a hook. The penny dropped: desk, cane, partitions and gothic windows all added up to one conclusion; this was never a church, it had been a rural school. Maggie’s unease vanished and was instantly replaced by irritation as she tried to pull free from Meg’s relentless grip. ‘Leave me alone. Stop interfering in my life.’

Meg held fast, propelling Maggie into a room lined with books. Once inside she released her hold. ‘You’ll thank me one day. Believe me; I have your best interests at heart.’

‘Why you, why me? Just who are you?’

Meg smirked; that same disarming smile. ‘All in good time. Now, ditch the impatience, chill out, relax: lie back and enjoy the ride. That thrusting ambition is more burden than asset.’

Maggie blinked, mentally groping for a riposte. When she looked up the room was empty.

She had little time to ponder further. A stunningly beautiful woman entered, attired in a skin-tight black cat suit. The shimmering Lycra clung to every subtle contour emphasising exquisite breasts with nipples jutting against the clasping fabric. Her short blonde hair was artfully cut and a black eye mask emphasised a carefully contrived air of mystery.

‘You’re late!’ she exclaimed. ‘The others have gone through already. No matter: strip! I want you in place before they start on the eats. I’m Lady Jane.’

What the hell’s going on? Maggie felt incensed, angry that this girl, Lady or not, thought it right to dictate to someone at least eight years her elder. ‘What did you say?’ she demanded.

‘I said strip. I don’t know where you’re coming from, but I’m not accustomed to being disobeyed by a slave; think yourself lucky that I’ve not entered this as a misdemeanour. Or is this a clumsy attempt to provoke punishment?’

‘What do you mean, slave? I’m nobody’s slave, not even mildly servile!’

‘Then why are you wearing the symbol?’

‘What bloody symbol?’

‘The choker! Slaves wear the choker, you must know this.’

Maggie gulped, inwardly cursing for allowing herself to be duped so easily. Suddenly all became clear: Meg’s imposition and Mike’s lecherous leer. She attached no blame to Greg, she was certain that he had been manipulated too. The moment of choice: do I depart with what little dignity remains, or comply and enjoy the ride? Why did I use that phrase?

She had no conscious memory of making the decision and the form of words came instinctively. ‘I’m very sorry my Lady, please accept my humble apologies.’

Maggie slid down the zip fastener.

‘At last – the slave conforms!’ Lady Jane thrust a large couturier’s bag at Maggie who quickly folded the precious top and skirt into it.

‘Shoes too! Follow me!’

They re-entered the main room. Maggie guessed it had once been the assembly hall. Under strong lights all focussed onto one central spot, stood two naked girls, one slender the other well fleshed but delightfully proportioned. The slender one was blonde and young; student, guessed Maggie. Her companion was black, densely pigmented, with smooth skin that gleamed beneath the lights. She was also totally bald; the whole package reeked of blatant sexuality.

Lady Jane marshalled them into line. ‘Only three slaves!’ she grumbled, ‘We need a fourth. Vanda, strip off and come here.’Lady Jane possessed a commanding voice, melodious and powerful. Her cry cut through the noise of the room and from a corner a comely brunette broke away, scampering across the room on bare feet adorned with twinkling toe rings. Slipping off a simple diaphanous shift as she came, she arrived naked except for a metal necklet and the jewellery on her toes. Maggie decided that the silver neckband, set at the front with a sizeable stone, possibly a ruby, was equivalent to a choker: could it be that this girl was also a slave, pampered and privileged, yet submissive to someone?

Lady Jane addressed the room. ‘Good evening friends. Time to begin our little party. I was promised that four slaves would be available this evening and four we have, although I have had to call Vanda into action to make up the number. Marcia and Ted were unable to deliver Cat because they have been involved in a road accident. I understand that they are both well and that Cat is being thoroughly fucked as we speak to keep her in trim. I have no idea what has prevented the Wrights from delivering Sukie, but a new friend, Greg, has brought his slave and we have enjoyed the pleasure of little Kim and Mitzi before. That brings us up to date and up to strength.

‘We have the usual format: some activities with thrashings to finish. Tonight we are doing Trolley Dollies, Sniffer Dogs and Bouncing Betty. The handlers have already been chosen by ballot: Kate, Shane, Sally and Thor, with Karen, Mike, Garth and Charlene as their assistants. So, if those eight would like to come forward, I will deal with the arrangements while they harness their charges.’

Maggie absorbed the information without actually concentrating on it, her mind being fully occupied with trying to assess what she had let herself in for. She was certain that what sounded like a menu of party games disguised something far more rigorous designed to humiliate. They would doubtless reveal her for the sexual novice she was. I wish I could die! Normally self-assured, she felt extremely vulnerable and timid. Her eyes cast round the room in desperation, hoping to find a means of escape appropriate to a mature nude female.

Hope abdicated. Maggie trembled with trepidation.

Lady Jane was launching into another phase of her spiel. ‘The thrashing this evening will use paddle, tawse, cane and quirt in that order.’

Oh my god! Maggie shuddered, hoping that she had not actually heard that terrifying list. Surely she could not be expected to submit to chastisement? Her memory stumbled back to Slave of the Harem where thrashings had been routine and much desired by the dedicated slaves. This is a nightmare, I’ve dozed off: my imagination’s responding to that bloody book. When we arrive Greg will wake me and there’ll be a pleasant little party with a bit of flirting.

‘Time to set the tariff,’ Lady Jane continued. ‘The usual rules apply. This evening’s deal involves three slaves, two well-tried plus one novice. As a paragon slave, Vanda is excluded from the bidding. I’ll take fives; the novice determines the minimum at twenty-five, so who will start me at thirty?’

The offer came instantly and the figure began to rise steadily as more bids followed. Maggie viewed the situation with alarm; untutored in the protocol of this curious auction, she could only assume that it reflected the degree of suffering and the rapidity of its rapid increase made her quail.

‘I have one-sixty, any advance on one-sixty?’ There was a long pause as Lady Jane scanned the crowd.

‘One-six five, one-seventy?’ she continued – another pause.

‘One-seventy, closing at one-seventy – one-seventy, closed!’

Maggie felt faint, so faint that she hardly felt the touch of hands on her body, preoccupied as she was at the prospect of being beaten nearly two hundred times. Her handler was young and handsome, fair of face with vibrant blue eyes and fashionable stubble accentuating the strong square jaw line. Athletic in build with sturdy thighs covered in golden down, he was naked except for a white t-shirt clinging to his muscular torso. When she did regain enough composure to begin absorbing detail, she experienced a lustful surge at the sight of the powerful erect penis jutting beneath the brief garment. The front of his shirt carried the printed slogan, My name is Ozymandias…, with the final word crossed through and the name, Shane, scrawled below.

Shane was fitting a harness, a set of pliable leather straps surrounding her bosom like a vestigial bra. Other hands were working below, fitting more straps around her pelvis: a waist strap supporting a single broad strap that passed loosely between the thighs and up over Maggie’s bottom.

Shane unhooked this looped strap, saying, ‘Thank you Karen, now the device please.’

He reached between Maggie’s thighs to take it, using his free hand to probe the exposed labia, parting them and provoking a flow of juices. Maggie balked at being so blatantly assaulted, lurching backwards to escape. Shane restrained her by catching a ring set in the waistband. He continued with his intrusion as Maggie adjusted to her enforced role. Stay calm, this is what they expect. Once accepted, it was quite pleasant, and his magnificent cock held immense promise. His fingers confirmed her reaction, rapidly waking responses and liberating multiple desires. She was soon well lubricated and his attention transferred to her clitoris, rousing it with a gentle circling massage of the hood. The pressure increased, getting harder and easing into the interior. Maggie tensed as his finger caressed the nubbin itself, encouraging the hood to retract. A soft sensation of bliss settled on her as Karen handed him something.

The touch of that something nosing at Maggie’s vagina was gorgeous. Instinctively she opened in welcome, urgently desiring its big firm presence in her sheath. She pushed down, encouraging it to go deep, filling her so beautifully.

Working from behind, Karen settled the dildo firmly in place, manipulating an extension that replaced Shane’s finger in direct contact with Maggie’s clit. Shane refastened the loop, tightening it to press the dildo firmly into place. Maggie was consumed by joy, a sense of well-being possessing body and mind, so that when Shane inserted a gag and buckled it tightly behind her head, she submitted meekly. A lead rope was clipped to her harness and she followed humbly to be paraded round the room in a file of four accoutred slaves. The unaccustomed bulge between her thighs caused her to waddle awkwardly, this, the harness and the deeply buried dildo made every step obvious: a strange yet exceedingly pleasant experience, generating anticipation of pleasures that must surely come. I certainly need that shag now; I reckon I could enjoy a spanking if it guarantees a good fuck. I bet Meg approves of this.

As they circulated, she found herself scanning the faces to find her mysterious tormentor or Greg, but found neither for the room was crowded to capacity.

Shane steered her into one of the side rooms. Here were four large trolleys, each laden with a different type of food or drink. The handlers began connecting the slaves to them.

At one end of each trolley a pair of handles curved up to waist level with leather tabs that clipped over the wrists, locking her to it. While parading she had been conscious of something dangling between her knees: this proved to be a connecting cable that Karen now plugged into a socket beneath the trolley.

Will I be electrocuted as well? Alarmed at the prospect, Maggie looked expectantly toward Shane.

‘Your duty is to circulate the main room. Guests will help themselves to food from the dishes. You must keep a look out for requests. If you are called, you must go to them as soon as possible. You must never keep a guest waiting. Slaves must be obedient.’ As he spoke, he reached beneath the trolley and Maggie heard two firm clicks.

The device in her vagina burst into action causing surges of pure delight as it pulsated from rim to apex, setting every erotic centre trembling with desire: clitoris, nipples and anus, all tingling as the device internally fucked her. Oh glory! She leant heavily on the handles to contain her reactions. This caused the trolley to move and instantly the extension touching her clit seemed to explode; Maggie thought she must die from delight and stopped to recover her composure. Shane smacked her rump sharply. ‘Keep moving!’

The sting in her buttock merged with the myriad sensations coursing her body. Subconsciously she registered that the dildo and the clitoral vibrator operated separately, the clit probe being somehow actuated by the wheels. Movement started it; stopping switched it off. She desperately wanted it to continue, hating the moment when she had to stop to provide service. It was difficult to concentrate on the task while mentally cruising on the frontier of paradise. Making it harder was the constant attention she was receiving from the crowd. Hands roamed over her body without restraint, breasts and nipples under constant attention as they were pinched, squeezed, palpated, rolled and squashed, all things that Maggie loved, even to excess.

The trolley was laden with desserts, dishes brimming with cream. Much of it was finding its way onto her nipples, spread there for others to lick off. Syrup trailed down her spine, eager tongues removing it over and over. And all the while the dildo pulsed within, its ceaseless rhythm smothering conscious thought.Shane smacked her buttock, ‘Look lively, you have customers over there!’ Maggie surged forward. The tickler burst into life. Sensations soared through her clit and up, up into her brain, setting her body alight. She had neither the skill nor desire to resist. The orgasm detonated, overwhelming thought as she strove to waddle swiftly toward her impatient consumers.

The eating and drinking continued endlessly, so it seemed. Maggie was lost in a miasma of whirling sound and touch, interspersed with mind-blowing orgasmic rushes almost every time she changed location. Her body tingled and glowed where Shane and Karen had urged her forward. Twice the trolley was replenished and emptied before, finally, Shane steered her back to the side room.

1.4

 

 

Un-strapped and disconnected, Maggie was directed to help stack soiled dishes in the large kitchen before being paraded once more in the main room where the now quiescent dildo was removed. With her skin tacky from constant sweating and her pussy oozing juices provoked by the unrelenting dildo and its insistent sidekick, Maggie felt soiled and dishevelled. Her instinct was to slip away to clean herself and dress. This was not to happen.

Lady Jane resumed control, striking a pose in the centre of the room. The thronging guests displayed their awe of the woman by holding back, leaving a clear space around the paraded slaves and their self-appointed mistress. There was a minimum of decorum. It was obvious that much sexual congress had accompanied the feasting, for clothes and costumes had been discarded or disarrayed in varying degrees; some were more naked than the slaves.

‘The sniffer-dog trials!’ Lady Jane was announcing. ‘Twelve balls have been secreted around this lower floor. Each was carried here in a vagina so they are nicely perfumed with girl-scent. The bitches must first find a ball then seek to identify the guest who carried it. If they are successful the carrier must put the ball back into her cunt and attach a rosette to the bitch’s harness. The winner will be the bitch with the largest number of rosettes. Remember the bitches must not be impeded in any way: if they want to sniff or lick you must comply, it’s quite pleasant I can assure you. Handlers will decide whether the bitch is likely to find the correct carrier or whether it might be better to seek out another ball and so gain success. The winning bitch will be awarded a free piss. The losers will have all the unmatched balls stuffed up their cunts to carry for the next event. I hope all this is clear! Handlers, you have two minutes to prepare your bitches.’

Karen was already unfastening the gag as Shane pressed Maggie into a stoop. She felt her sphincter being parted; a perverse pleasure tempted her to resist, but logic told her that submission was wise. The outcome was unavoidable and pleasure grew alongside discomfort as the alien intruder relentlessly forced entry. The object was thick. She felt the plop as it breached the sphincter and again as it wormed deeper, its bulk very evident, provoking beguiling discomforts. It hurts, but it’s so nice!

Shane broke into her thoughts. ‘This must stay in place. Any ejection this evening, whatever the reason, will add five strokes to your tariff. Now down on all fours!’

Maggie obeyed, the hard intrusion making itself apparent in a different way. It had some sort of rim or collar that she could feel pressing against her anus, a nagging irritation that was turning her on, sending tremors through her body to set her clitoris and nipples tingling again. Looking round she saw that the other three had been similarly equipped, but not just plugs, for out of each anus sprouted a plume: these were tails. This is more than demeaning. Though resentful, she could not deny the pleasure, not even when the humiliation was capped by a lead being clipped to her shoulder harness. A shrill whistle sounded.

‘Get on: look, smell!’ cried Karen, flicking the lead to emphasise the urgency. Maggie shot forward scurrying across the floor towards a corner; common sense telling her this was a likely hiding place. The first attempt proved fruitless and she spun toward another only to find that Kim was heading in the same direction. Flinging herself into the chase, Maggie dragged her handler along to win by a short whisker. Sure enough there was a ball, a small rubber sphere labelled with a number.

‘Find, find!’ came the call.

She responded; it was a matter of pot luck. Choosing a young woman close by, she scampering up to push her head under the hem of the short cocktail dress and nuzzle the well-filled pouch of the brief thong. The girl obligingly pulled this aside, allowing Maggie to sniff at the soft delights within. Parking the ball in her cheek, she thrust her tongue between the fleshy lips to taste the abundant girl-nectar. Maggie guzzled greedily, entranced at discovering how palatable it was. When she encountered fresh urine, she knew this girl had recently visited the loo and how its taste had got onto the ball. Feeling victorious she withdrew to nod vigorously.

‘Oh, clever doggie! Well done!’ crowed the girl in a rather affected Sloane Square accent. ‘Give, give!’ she continued, holding her palm to receive the ball. Maggie let it drop and the girl deftly popped it back into her vagina.

‘Hurry, hurry!’ came the command. Duly rosettèd and flushed with success, Maggie scampered across the room. This search took longer, but she was lucky to find a second ball behind a radiator. It took time to dislodge using only tongue and lips and she bore it away with a sense of triumph. Her conceit was short lived: with so many women in the room and only one definitely eliminated, the search became protracted. Her tenth target was already naked, clad only in waist beads as a token of superiority over mere slaves. The woman parted her legs eagerly, bending to clasp Maggie’s head to her crotch. She was creaming liberally and the girl-scent was overpowering. Oh rapture! Maggie lapped ravenously, already addicted to the flavour, inhaling deeply to savour this overtly sexual woman. Karen gave an impatient twitch to the lead. Convinced that she had a match, Maggie looked up to nod emphatically. The target took the ball, examining it swiftly. ‘Naw, that’s nae mawn,’ she declared, ‘Y’r one’s number seven, mawn wur eight: but she’s a braw wee licker.’

‘One more!’ commanded Karen. Maggie targeted a heavily built older woman who readily lifted her hem. She was knickerless and smelled strongly of wee. Maggie buried her nose eagerly into the moist crotch. ‘Oh, you little witch!’ her target cried with passion and proceeded to release a torrent of urine that splashed Maggie’s face. Urrgh! She broke contact in disgust, but her open mouth was filling rapidly. Some deep-rooted reflex made her hold still and as the warm golden stream began to overflow, she swallowed.

‘Good bitch!’ carolled her target, stooping to pat Maggie on the head. ‘I’m sorry little doggie, I didn’t have one, only my own, to exercise my cunt.’ Using her finger she hooked out a silver ball displayed it briefly before thrusting it back into her obviously well-exercised vagina.

Maggie surrendered her dud ball and the search resumed. She found one more, but Lady Jane called time before she was able to explore for its carrier. The sniffers were lined up and the results announced.

Spoilsport, I was enjoying that.

‘Kim found two balls and collected two rosettes, so Kim wins. Mitzi and Vanda found two balls each and collected one rosette each while Maggie found three, but was unable to collect more than one rosette. The five identified carriers may share the privilege of loading the three losers: that amounts to two in each cunt with one extra for Maggie. And while you are doing that Kim can take her prize. Bitches might squat to piss, but here slaves always stand. The losers will lick her dry before they lap the puddle off the floor.’

 

Bouncing Betty was revealed as an endurance test. Obstacles were placed around the room in a compact circuit and each slave was fitted with nipple clamps. Maggie still feeling discomfort from having three balls stuffed into her vagina was less than co-operative about receiving the clamps, finding it difficult to remain silent as the jaws were tightened despite Shane’s admonishments. Deemed to be placed last in the sniffer test, she was selected to go first. Led to the start line and ordered into a crouch, she realised that it would be really hard to retain the inserted balls for very long. Already she could feel one stretching her vaginal rim. On the command she launched forward, proceeding in bunny hops as she had been instructed. Each obstacle had to be cleared in one hop; none was large, but its presence required extra effort, which was tiring. In addition, the repeated hopping caused her breasts to bounce. Normally Maggie enjoyed this feeling in short bursts, but now the movement provoked pain in her throbbing nipples. Pragmatism took hold: she knew she was unlikely to win this challenge. Who cares?

The first ball popped free over the third obstacle, a footstool. She let it roll away with a sense of relief although her pride would not let her release the others before she must. The task was physically testing; she knew she did not exercise enough, but determination forced her on, completing a full circuit before dropping the second. The others had started after her, but Kim was now catching up and Maggie was pulled aside to let her pass. This did not amount to a rest, because Karen made Maggie keep hopping on the spot. I will not give up. With grim determination Maggie rejoined the circuit, doing four more obstacles before the inevitable happened and the final ball was lost.

Feeling ashamed and defeated, Maggie was shepherded away to where Shane lay supine, stroking his erection to keep it firm. Karen declared, ‘Mount him and keep him hard, but don’t bring him off. When all four have joined their handlers, then you may fuck him properly. The longer you can keep him going the more points you gain.’

Maggie grimaced as she lowered herself onto Shane’s magnificent shaft: she had waited so long for this moment and now her legs felt like jelly and her breasts ached beyond description.

To hell with it, I don’t care what’s expected, I shall do just enough to keep him rigid: go slowly and rest between each plunge.

Taking this resolution to heart, she dropped onto her knees, adjusted her body angle and rose until his glans was just inside her threshold. A pause then slowly she eased herself down until her pubic bones were resting on his pelvis. The heat of him inside felt wonderful and she ground her mound against his, provoking her clitoris into life, no longer aware of being on full view.

This is the first man you’ve fucked since meeting Greg. In fact this is only the second man you’ve fucked in the last year. And it’s wonderful.

‘Not fast enough!’ came Karen’s voice.

‘Look, the way I feel, I’ll have him coming in seconds, then what?’

‘Silence! Slaves are not permitted speech. Fuck him or you’ll be whipped.’

‘Go to hell!’ Maggie retorted.

A line of fire etched itself across her shoulders and Maggie screamed as the quirt bit viciously.

Against her will she lifted her body, feeling the blissful slide of his flesh inside her. Instinctively she gripped him, provoking a jerk in that glorious rigid stem. As if by some magical formula the pleasure of that wonderful intimate sensation merged with the scorching pain spreading from her shoulders, lifting her into a realm of delight beyond comprehension as if all her sexual experiences, pleasures and failures, had aggregated into one whole. She paused, immersing herself in the beauty that possessed her.

‘Not fast enough!’ Fire scorched her buttocks as the quirt drove her down. His cock pierced her, banging against her cervix. The exquisite sensation exploded into a kaleidoscope of wonder and, casting aside all self-control, Maggie fucked him for all she was worth, wallowing in the agony of her bouncing bosom and letting the orgasms roll continuously as she took his spend while the whip sang its bizarre accompaniment.

 

What’s happening to me? Maggie viewed the scene from a position of mild detachment as Vanda pissed for an admiring audience. Still overcome by her own audacity, Maggie had no regrets even though her buttocks burned from Karen’s unrelenting assault. The pain was severe, even excruciating, yet she harboured no resentment, unable to explain why it felt exactly right and just. Neither could she explain the creeping acceptance that chastisement was something to be yearned for.

An assessment of Bouncing Betty was in progress. It was no surprise that she had not won. Nor was she dismayed by the announcement that ten strokes were being added to her tariff for disobedience. Only the memory of the clamps being removed echoed clearly in her mind, the agony of recovering circulation had been so unexpected that she had howled and this had earned her another five.

At last Lady Jane’s words began to penetrate the haze. ‘Chastisement time at last,’ she was saying. ‘We’re using gates this evening, always an interesting scenario. Betting will commence shortly. You have had a chance to see how the slaves perform, use this knowledge to judge whether your favourite will achieve the tariff, exceed it or fall short. The odds are better if you want to predict the actual results. The tariff is one-seventy so the time allocation is seven minutes. Each slave is allocated two executioners. They, of course, along with the umpire, are barred from gambling in person or by proxy. All proceeds will go to a medical charity as usual.

‘Vanda, being a paragon slave, is exempt from the betting and has no exit. She will take her standard two-fifty on her tits plus the aggregate of the numbers by which the others exceed their tariffs, if they do. Vanda’s demonstration will take place concurrently over to your left, but the excess will be done after the main event and ten strokes will be added to compensate for any interval. Betting commences when the slaves are mounted. Handlers please continue.’

Maggie found herself being shepherded outside; the night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the crowded room. A van was parked by the main door. The four slaves were made to carry wooden stands resembling five barred farm gates. There were three, which were set up in a row across the main room. The top bars stood waist height and were polished smooth with patches of deep staining.

‘How does the betting work?’ Maggie asked of Karen as they returned to the van for a second load.

‘You should not be talking. I ought to report you and add five more strokes.’

‘Do that, but tell me all the same.’

‘I think you’re a rebel, not too wise either, but okay, if that’s what you want. People decide whether you can take your tariff or not. You’re an unknown quantity so they will tend to back you to fail. They can either take a straight yes or no bet, or they can try to predict the amount of strokes above or below. You don’t see that, all the betting takes place in the side room. Now, you know, so pick up this frame and take it inside, it’s for Vanda. Do you think you could take three hundred cane strokes on your tits?’

Maggie shook her head, but it was not entirely honest. I couldn’t at this moment, but given the challenge… The concept of paragon slave appealed to her psyche and, appalling as the prospect was, she thought that if she should find herself in this situation again, it would be an achievement to aim for. I must be out of my mind. Feeling suddenly betrayed by her own naivety, she groped toward reality. No, this is strictly a one off – slavery isn’t for me.

Maggie approached the frame diffidently and mounted it using the bars. The top rail was just wide enough to support her seat bones. Shane indicated how handles in front and angled footrests behind offered support. Taking hold of them Maggie found herself lying along the top rail. Her clitoris was just touching.The staining: I understand now, other girls have creamed while being spanked. Will I? Until tonight I would have thought it crazy.Her experience on top of Shane was fresh in her mind.

Shane put a rubber bulb into her hand. ‘If you reach your limit, squeeze this. You’ll get a break and the betting on you will cease, but you’ll be expected to continue after a rest providing you’re not injured. Just relax, keep your balance: let your mind drift, savour the experience and love the pain.’

Gripped by anxiety, Maggie waited. I mustn’t weaken; I will not use this thing. She was determined if not confident. Matched against experienced girls, committed slaves who were regularly tested to extremes, she knew no latitude would be allowed. What she faced was minuscule compared to Vanda’s task. She wriggled to ease her posture: lying prone, breasts either side, feet pressed firmly into the rests. Someone pulled her, checking she was secure. The ordeal was beginning.

A hand rested on Maggie’s bottom, slowly circling the plumpness of a buttock. It withdrew. Slapped down. Setting whip marks alight.

Maggie yelped. The hand circled, spreading the hurt. ‘She doesn’t need warming up – she’s on fire already.’ This was Karen.

‘Don’t bother then – let’s move on – ten for the record!’ This was Shane.

Ten slaps, all hard, all on the plump curve of Maggie’s buttocks. Fire burning deep, flesh boiling, she whimpering. Trembling, she gripped the handholds, pressing her feet against the rests to tense her body, anything to try and contain the heat in her assaulted bottom, mentally cursing her pussy now throbbing with arousal. This is no time to be aching for a good fuck, or is it? She imagined the feel of flesh on flesh, cool flesh on burning flesh, hot rod of flesh in sheath of flesh. Pure lust.

‘Paddles?’

‘Sure! Use the perforated ones; they leave good marks on the skin.’

Thwack, thwack. A rapid tattoo on burning skin. Hard and wicked on tender flesh. Maggie sobbed. Hell’s teeth! Thwack, thwack again. And again. And again, ten times in all, twenty hard, unforgiving smacks from stiff inflexible blades, the sound echoing in Maggie’s ears as she fought to absorb the suffering.

‘Thirty!’ called a voice. ‘One hundred and sixty to go!’

Maggie shuddered, a great spasm racking her body. This must be how hell is!

‘Hey don’t fall off or we’ll have to start again.’ cried Karen. I won’t, I mustn’t.

‘Tawse next?’ Karen again, to Shane.

‘Cane would be better, a bit sharper, heighten the suffering, she’ll enjoy that.’

Bastard! Maggie silently heaped curses on her tormentor.

The canes whistled in concert, cutting across her mounds with only a micro-pause between one side and the other. The prognosis was right: the pain was sharper; it sliced into her flesh, no mere flick, but powerful lashing incisions capable of breaking skin. The weals seared her soft tissue, burning white hot. She felt wet.Blood or sweat? O mercy! No time to dwell as swish and crack continued to assault the already hot and injured dome of her bottom. No matter how much she wriggled or squirmed, there was no escape.

Eight more double cuts: that totalled twenty. They changed target – across her thighs, twenty more, scribing a lattice on virgin skin.

Then – nothing! The anticlimax was disturbing.

A hand touched the mass of rawness that was Maggie’s rump. She reacted to the initial featherweight touch as if branded, the lurch almost dislodging her from the bar, but as the hand circled, smoothing the pain, she became calm, regaining her posture. She lay still, fingering the bulb in her grasp, her “get out of jail card”.

I could use it; I can choose. I have the right to end this travesty. They claim mastery, but only because I delegate it to them; I hold the key. Kim, Mitzi and Vanda must know this too.

Thinking of her fellow travellers and the rhythmic sound of striking blows prompted Maggie to raise her head, seeking a degree of reassurance in sharing their agony. Up ahead Mitzi was stretched out along her frame with the ‘smack, smack’ of a tawse drifting back. Gazing as if hypnotised, Maggie was transfixed by the vision of the thick leather tongue sinking into Mitzi’s flesh. Magnificent, strike harder, let her feel some real pain! Shocked by her reaction Maggie could hardly believe the cold, analytic pleasure she felt. Empathy switched to the tormentors. How good it would be to see Hazel or Carly naked and thrashed like that. Maggie stopped short, frightened by the recognition of a new and merciless aspect of herself. Nor was this was the only revelation. The searing pain in her buttocks and thighs was changing: the hurt remained, but contrasting warmth was rising to meet it, an internal glow that somehow took the bite from her stripes, spreading and invoking new responses, reactions she had experienced only rarely when sex had been especially good with Greg. Can chastisement really induce sexual satisfaction, or is it the desire to see Mitzi suffer? Such puzzles remained unresolved, for at that moment another tawse bit hard and deep.

Shane and Karen granted no quarter; their brief was to discipline Maggie and they were determined practitioners. Twenty strokes of the tawse were followed by twenty more hard spankings and twenty more with the paddle. There was no reprieve, no more intervals or opportunities to gaze around and the bulb remained unused in her fist, denied by her innate obduracy. This relentless imposition scorched Maggie’s flesh: aware of the heat, she registered the pain as if at a distance, while the insidious sensations spread through her body. She found herself craving, not for the end, but for the climax. This must be going somewhere, there must be a resolution – bring it on!

The cane presaged its onset: twenty incisive strokes slicing like cold fire into crease of her thighs heralded the quirt. This short cruel whip bit harder and deeper than either cane or tawse, this was the ultimate test: real pain stoking the internal fires. Oh mercy me! Maggie was yelling now, loud heartfelt cries that rose above the tumult, drawing attention to her suffering, drawing applause and shouts of acclamation. She heard this without consciously registering it, intuitively understanding the cause and intention, knowing that if she were in that audience, she would be shouting too.

A pause: hardly acknowledged. She had long since abandoned counting, numbers having lost all meaning, the desire for that climactic ending overriding all conscious thought. It was of no importance to know she had survived one hundred and ninety lashes, when she had not mounted that final pinnacle.

‘I’m certain she needs more.’ Karen’s voice sounded distant, detached from Maggie’s reality.

‘The tariff is complete and she is inexperienced. She’s hot too, burning up.’ Shane placed his hand on Maggie’s boiling rump, sending quakes of reaction surging through her tortured body. ‘See how she trembles.’

‘Trembling with desire, believe me she is longing for release. Only someone who has been there can know.’

‘And you have?’

‘Once or twice – ask the umpire, take a second opinion!

There was a pause, relative silence in which the sound of other chastisement mingled with the baying of the crowd.

A strange voice broke the impasse. ‘The principle is that the slave has no say: you are the master; it is your decision. She has not sought a recess so feel free to continue. I would think a contrast to the quirt in the circumstances.’

‘We’ll take her to her limit then,’ Shane declared emphatically and Maggie swooned with dread.

Thwack, thwack. Two tawses launched a further assault that tested Maggie’s resolve. Pain and suffering in excess saturated her body: she was quivering and drenched in sweat. Her limbs ached from holding the position but they were also beyond moving to relieve the strain; any moment she must use the bulb and bring the agony to an end, pride must be sacrificed.

Even as she thought, a great tremor racked her body, a huge surge lifting her hips before flopping back onto the unforgiving wooden rail. All the pain and tension gathered into a single huge convulsion that overwhelmed her brain. Maggie had the sensation of bursting through, as if her whole self, body and mind had erupted.

After it came a profound peace. Her body went limp, dangling on the rail. The pain remained: real and harsh, but strangely welcome, the only evidence of survival.

‘She came!’ cried Karen. ‘Bloody hell, a total novice came under the strap.’

Yes! Inside Maggie’s brain the whisper was dramatic; and what an orgasm!

‘Time up!’ This was Lady Jane’s voice. ‘Umpire, what are the aggregates to add to Vanda’s tariff?’

Maggie was being assisted to dismount. Surrendering to the support, she allowed herself to be guided across the floor and urged into a kneeling position, vaguely aware being guided onto the rigid penis of a supine male. I know him, who is he? Ouch! The stretching of her posterior skin sharply reminded her of its bruised state, the prickling pain setting her vulva into sympathetic reaction. She was creaming freely and suddenly brightening she knew that a good, lusty shag was just the medicine she craved. Oh, yes! Eagerly she lowered herself, letting the thick hot rod pierce her, pushing down vigorously to ensure full, total penetration.

This was a super penis, long thick and fully hard, fired up and ready to go. Maggie felt vindicated, superior and alive.

On her knees, arms extended in support, she lifted her body and plunged down, revelling in the sensation of her vagina being stretched, pulled, compacted and reamed. ‘Yes, fuck me!’ she shouted in ecstasy. This was glorious. The body beneath responded vigorously, rising to meet her plunge, ramming hard, using her roughly; it was heaven and Maggie was determined to milk every drop of satisfaction. Together they struck a rhythm, each taking pleasure from the other and she soared gloriously into the realm of pure delight. This was the sex of dreams, the stuff of fantasies: partners totally dedicated to ultimate pleasure. She wallowed in primal pleasure with added zest injected each time her ravished rump was pounded.

Both being content to extend the pleasure as long possible after their first wild plunge, their passion modulated allowing Maggie to re-enter the real world around her. In other places both Kim and Mitzi were being pleasured, while in the centre, Vanda was receiving the bonus they had each bequeathed.

Vanda was supported by a simple wooden armchair. It tilted back to allow access to her bust, each breast being plumped and projected by her hands gripping underneath. Both breasts glowed red from countless strokes of the cane being wielded by a brawny, masked, leather-clad man. Each stroke was delivered with a powerful wrist action, not the sweeping strokes Maggie remembered being employed on her bottom, but precision cuts aimed at Vanda’s gorgeous dark nipples. Evidence that each stroke was hurting came from her yelps, but more impressive was the constant repetitive, ‘Harder!’ following directly upon the cry.

Rise and fall, the action of the cane was almost hypnotic and Maggie found herself plunging in time to its tempo. Lucky girl! Mesmerised by the cane’s compelling beat, Maggie drifted into a trance-like state detached from the suffering, immersed in the pleasure of being reamed and finding delight in the knowledge that she had contributed to Vanda’s desired distress. Imagining the cane cutting her own teats she was elevated toward the pinnacle, bouncing with abandon as the mighty orgasm burst and spilled over into echoes that rolled on and on.

Drifting peacefully in the post-orgasmic haze, Maggie regarded her benefactor, now lazing between her thighs. His eyes held hers; she smiled fondly, whispering, ‘Thank you,’ as recognition slowly dawned. Thank you Mike. It was his invitation that had led to this. She smiled wryly; yes, thank you was the appropriate tribute – a testing night, many trials, much learnt and much enjoyed.

Karen led Maggie away to dress the contusions with something smelling strongly of witch hazel, an action of the utmost tenderness generating responses of deep affection from Maggie. A succession of orgasms ensued as admiring guests lined up to sample the valiant novice.

In the small hours Greg reclaimed her and led her away. Lady Jane intercepted them at the door, handing over a dressmaker’s bag containing Maggie’s clothes. Addressing Greg she said, ‘Your slave performed magnificently, it’s hard to believe she’s a complete novice. So many have said that she is worthy of consideration as a postulant, she certainly displays the calibre expected of a paragon slave. Will we see her at The Farm?’

Greg considered briefly. ‘That depends on work commitments, but it is a possibility. Do I ring the same number?’

Say ‘Yes’, please say ‘yes.’ I hurt all over, so why do I want to do it again? Confused by her muddled responses, Maggie listened passively, aware that her attributed status excluded her from any decision and facing the prospect with ambivalence.

On reaching the Jaguar, Greg deposited the bag in the boot. Maggie regarded him with disbelief. Lady Jane remarked. ‘You might care to use the square of silk that I put in; it will save your seats from staining.’

Greg smiled, ‘Thank you, most considerate.’ retrieving the silk as he spoke. Catching Maggie’s challenging expression he added, ‘Take this and get in. And ditch that protest: slaves do not qualify for choice, only obedience.’

Yes Master! There was irony in the thought, but she dropped her eyes, arranged the silk square and took her place.