Maggie and the Master Read Online Free PDF

she longed for.
    Maggie took a deep breath to try and still her thoughts, and then very slowly she took the crop from the drawer. For a moment she held it in her hands, trying to imagine what it might feel like to have it crack across her flesh. The idea was both enticing and appalling.
    â€˜I’m afraid,’ she said, her voice tight with emotion.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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”.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Well, Maggie,’ he whispered, ‘are you ready?’
    She held her breath, then nodded.
    â€˜Oh no, my dear, you have to tell me.’
    â€˜I… I’m ready,’ she whispered uncertainly.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Oh, my God!’ she gasped. So this was what it felt like.
    â€˜Count,’ he snapped.
    â€˜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