Maggie and the Master by Sarah Fisher

when dressed, in public,’ Max continued as they stepped back into his suite, ‘a good slave will always look and behave impeccably, like a lady; elegant with appropriate clothes, good shoes, subtle make-up and perfume. My slaves are always well presented.
    â€˜My main interest has always been in the initial training of suitable girls - in recognising those who will make good slaves and interesting companions. I train them in the basics and then sell them on. We have regular auctions. There is always a lot of interest in my girls.’
    â€˜Sell them?’ Maggie echoed, unable to contain herself.
    Max smiled, apparently forgiving her for speaking without permission.
    â€˜Yes, sometimes we sell privately but for the most part we auction off our spare stock, or those we’re tired of, or whatever. Besides that we often have auctions where slaves are sold for just a night or a weekend.’
    Maggie felt her colour draining. He was talking about his slaves as if they were animals, and worse still, as she considered what he said, was the realisation that somewhere - just below the surface of the life she knew - was a culture where this kind of behaviour went on.
    The idea not only unnerved her but also, she realised, excited her. Max took her hand and led her into the bedroom.
    â€˜Lie on your back on the bed,’ he told her. ‘Legs parted.’
    Maggie stared at him in disbelief, and then at the four-poster bed that dominated the room. Surely he couldn’t be ready for more - he’d only just spent.
    â€˜Come along, there is no place for coyness now, Maggie,’ he snapped, his mood volatile. ‘You will follow my instructions instantly and to the letter. Now!’
    She looked at him uncertainly, heart beating fast, and then did as she was told, closing her eyes to block out the images that filled her head.
    â€˜Very nice,’ he said. ‘Now hold yourself open so I can examine you.’
    Maggie froze… examine her?
    â€˜What are you waiting for?’ he growled.
    â€˜I can’t,’ Maggie whispered. ‘Please, I… I can’t.’
    The silence and the seconds ticked slowly by, and then Max said. ‘For every minute you keep me waiting I will add six strokes of the crop to your punishment. Now open your cunt for me.’
    Maggie let her fingers trail down over her belly, eyes tightly closed. This was ludicrous. Why should she obey him? But then taking a deep breath she let her fingers slip between the outer lips of her sex, warm and wet with excitement. She opened herself a little, praying the gesture would be enough.
    â€˜Wider,’ he snapped.
    Maggie did as she was told, feeling herself flush scarlet. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Max touched her, but he didn’t, he was just watching and waiting.
    â€˜Guido, come in here,’ he eventually called, and Maggie cringed with shame, wanting to pull her fingers away and close her legs. ‘Stay as you are,’ Max ordered, anticipating her reaction. ‘Did I tell you to move?’
    â€˜N-no, master,’ she stammered.
    â€˜What do you think?’ Max said conversationally, and Maggie knew he wasn’t talking to her.
    Guido mumbled something and she felt him moving closer, felt his eyes and breath on her.
    â€˜Get up on all fours so Guido can have a better look at you,’ Max ordered, and she stiffened, feeling her stomach tighten with shame and apprehension.
    The driver ran his hands over her buttocks and hips, letting his fingers stray down to her sex, thrusting, exploring, probing inside her with none of the finesse employed by Max Jordan.
    â€˜Nice and tight,’ he observed, as her sex instinctively tightened around him.
    â€˜Indeed… indeed,’ Max concurred, and embarrassed beyond all measure Maggie let her head fall to the mattress, feeling she would die of shame. Guido parted her further and pushed another finger inside, her flinch doing