Maggie Home Again

The sounds of the night owl echo outside her bedroom window.

Drawing the front of her dressing gown together she leans to the glass, peering out into the dark night. The dim light of the candles offered a shimmering glow to those who return her look... the creatures of the night.

She leans back in the rocker again and smiles to herself, a lazy warm night in the comfort of her own home.

She looks around her room, the beautiful antique bed of her great grandparents. The bed they lovingly brought with them from their homeland in Indiana at the end of the 1800's, the mahogany gleaming from the years of wax and polish. And as in a rush of memories, she draws the afghan up to her chin and remembers.

It was not so long ago, that night. And it was because of the personals ad, of all places. She still cannot believe she answered a personals ad. But answer she did.

~*~

Sitting at Starbucks, drinking her usual double tall latte with one packet of Sweet and Low. She settled back to enjoy the early morning with the local alternative paper. Sipping her latté and thumbing through page after page she came across the personals section with a bemused smile.

Drawing her foot up on the edge of the chair, arm wrapped around her knee, she began to skim the page. She laughed softly as she read of the lonely little girl looking for a Daddy, of the Dominatrix in search of her obedient slave boy, and the gay men and women seeking like kind for secret daytime trysts.

As she read down the page she froze. Sugar Magnolia.

She looked... and looked again, thinking she must have misread. But no. There it was in black and white. The headline of the ad in clear, bold print. Sugar Magnolia.

She read the text that followed. A clear, precise, neatly typed ad.

Where are you, my little Sugar. Jack Straw has been waiting. Jack has been very patient. Now, Jack waits no more. Its time for Sugar Magnolia to come home. And baby... don't forget your ribbons.

Her hands shook, her arm tight around her leg, the other white knuckled as she clenched the paper. All sounds ceased in the little coffee shop. There was nothing but the circle of her table, the pounding of her heart, and the ad calling her home.

She dropped the paper, vision hazing over as memories race back in a swirl. Could it possible be? She shakes her head with a laugh.

"Goodness girl, shape up!" A rueful laugh. There are zillions of Sugar Magnolias, and just as many Jack Straws. Songs so popular, glorified by many.

She looked at the ad again. There was the clencher. The ribbons. She always wore ribbons. Her hair is long, very long... erratic curls and waves that have a mind of their own. She is always trying to tame it with combs, or pins, or tying it back with satin ribbons. She had a rainbow of ribbons.

Its amazing how one looses touch over the years. She had not seen nor heard from Jack in a long long time. His work took him away, she became ensconced in her work, and they just drifted apart. But now he is back. She knew it was her Jack Straw.

There was an identifying number at the end of the ad. With shaking fingers she dialed the access number on her cell phone, heart pounding as it rang. She almost didn't punch in the access code to hear his message... her finger hovering over the number pad until she quickly pressed it in.

And his voice filled her ears, filled her with a familiar, cozy warmth. And it was just like yesterday.

"My sweet Sugar Mag. I am back, back to claim you. You were always mine, and you will always be mine. Leave your number baby. I love you. Master"

How did he know she would see this ad!!! She replayed his short message again and again, the voice so familiar now triggering a myriad of feelings, of emotions. Her belly pulled tight, her panties warm.

She had left her number. It never crossed her mind to do otherwise. Her Master had returned. She looked at the date of the newspaper. Monday! And today was Friday. Oh my gods! She folded the paper, tucked it into her huge bag, pushed between the paperbacks and day planner, and bolted out the door.

~*~

She looked around the room, making sure everything was in place. Clammy hands clasped together as she paced through the living room, making sure every thing was in place, wanting every thing to be perfect.

On the small table before the sofa she had set out the finest wine glasses. Two from the service she had found in that little obscure antique shop up on Queen Anne.

The bottle of vintage Pinot Noir set beside it. She hoped it was still his favorite. A small plate of fresh fruits: ripe, red cherries, plump juicy strawberries, and sweet grapes. And heating in the small chafing dish a chocolate glace'... semisweet chocolate blended with a bit of Cognac and Grand Marnier. He used to love this blend. She prayed he still did.

And the room was perfect. Warm, bathed in the golden light of over a dozen flickering candles in this room alone. Scented candles, the earthy natural scent of patchouli, sandalwood, sage and frankincense an aphrodisiac to the senses.

She saw the headlights in the window and her heart skipped a beat. Quickly she moved to the door, looking into the mirror. Would he still think she was beautiful? The years had been kind, but, she was older, nonetheless.

She smoothed the short black dress over her hips, over her dancing belly. The low neckline doing little to conceal the swell of breasts that threatened to spill forth with each ragged breath. She quickly moistened her lips, pinched her cheeks... and smiled. Her hair was drawn back in a red satin ribbon.

She turned to face the door, and breathlessly waited for a knock. There was none. She watched the knob turn, and suddenly the room came alive with a purpose. He stopped, and looked at her. She met his eyes, looking for signs of displeasure, but his eyes glowed... smiled... and her heart soared.

As she looked into his dark eyes her knees folded, and she knelt before him. Short dress rising high up her thighs as they parted, black silk hose pulling tight over her knees... lacy tops dark against the creamy softness of sweetly scented, creamy soft upper thighs. Her Master was home!

He approached her, a strong hand reaching to lift her chin, and he leaned down, his kiss light. "My sweet pet." And with this he withdrew from his pocket a soft black leather collar, wrapping it around the slender column of her neck.

He reached down, taking her hand and pulling her in to an enormous hug, his mouth claiming her as his own, taking from her any bit of will, any bit of resistance... feeling her yield fully, totally, completely. She belonged to him.

~*~

Her heart was pounding within her breast, yet nothing showed. Slowly, an eternity passing in the briefest of moments as she opens her eyes and focuses on him. His face is dark, the mask of passion and lust an aphrodisiac in itself. His eyes smoldered as he looked upon his handiwork.

She struggled to draw in a deep breath, her lungs so skillfully bound. She could see her reflection in his eyes. The plastic wrap wrapped around and around her bare body. Her chest ached, breasts crushed under the clear plastic, tender nipples aching to be free.

Her arms ached as well, outstretched and drawn tight to either foot post of the bed, and shimmering in the wrap of the plastic. She could hear nothing, the soft pliable beeswax filling her ear canal solid. And she squirmed as the tickle between her thighs continued, the slow, agonizing roll of her juices teasing the bare, widely parted lips of her sex. Her feet, still in the tall dark heels, were bound to the feet of both bedposts, and her legs matched her arms and torso, shimmering in the cocoon of plastic wrap. Even her hips were bound in the plastic, and deep in the darkness of his eyes she saw her own reflection... a shimmering chrysalis of his slave woman.

As if reading her thoughts he smiled darkly. "You are magnificent, my sluttish beauty. Absolutely magnificent. Now, are you ready?" His voice was dark, thick with passion and power, and she slowly nods... barely hearing his words.

She feels the pull. Atop her head, wrapped in the red satin ribbon, her hair is pony tailed and pulled tight, meeting the eyehook in the ceiling. She was most completely, utterly captive. She watches his massive broad chest rise with his slow deep breath, and he reaches to her and encircles her head in the first round of plastic, her eyes closing. He blindfolds her, catching her ears in each rotation, her nose and mouth left free, her sight and hearing gone.

Her body quivered, every sense on fire. She licks her lips, parched... swollen, trembling. And at that moment she feels the pressure of the small penis gag, her moistened lips stretching as it fills her mouth, the straps secured behind her plastic wrapped head.

It felt like an eternity, suspended in space... floating, without sight, without sound, only the aching in every part of her body, and the throbbing heat.

He reaches out and drags the tip of his switch upward, along the outside of her thigh... over her hip, and she shuddered, bound flesh alive against the plastic. As the tip drags around, up and over her belly... she groans around the gag, body drawn with the switch, pulling her scalp, her wrists, until the tip slides down between parted thighs, the uncovered flesh flinching.

And thus begins the incredible journey into dark fire. For what seemed like hours he teased her helpless, bound body. Such control he had. He could lift her to the brink of blinding orgasm only to leave her hanging on the edge... her helpless, bound body shuddering in agony.

And when he slid the thick dildo up into the drenched wetness, her body lurched, the muscles responding with a shuddering orgasm. Nothing else existed by the sensations of her body. As the waves slowly subsided she felt a new torture. The soft hum of the dildo, the wireless remote turning the voltage higher. Holding the pleasure just at bay, just out of reach, and he presses a button and a sharp jolt of electricity zaps her... biting down hard on the penis gag.

He sat back and watched his pet. Her body so helpless. His toy, his to take to the outer limits of pleasure, to soar in the clouds or to scream out loud, body in agonizing need.

Slowly he rises and steps towards her... her head lifts, her sense of smell keen. Simply knowing he's near sends her body into a new level of anticipation and fear, of need and heat. She focuses on the moment and her body stiffens as she feels something new. Icy cold against the hot flesh at her breast, and he watches her face... contorted in fear of the unknown, yet she knows she is safe.

Blunt tipped, icy cold surgical scissors slowly snip the plastic as it travels around her breasts. The bound flesh shifts as the plastic loosens.. until it spills free, swaying creased, moist, the act of freedom sending her into another shuddering wave of orgasm.. the slow drone of the dildo never ending.

Both breasts free at last, swaying... dark tips swelling as she gasps for breath. And she finds the lost breath quickly as sharp clamps are closed around both nipples at the same time, the jolt of pain like white lightening, racing from the tips of her breasts to the still throbbing muscles of her sex, tightening around the menacing, beautiful dildo again. And her body knows the bliss of the blend of sensations.

Gently he begins to slap her breasts... fingers and palm bringing the creamy mounds to a hot pink. Her muffled cries ring out again and again with each agonizing smack, the weight bobbing helplessly on her chest, the clips pulling with each bounce.

As he continues she feels the sting of tears behind her lids... lids bound closed and tight under the wrap, and her shoulders shake with tears as helpless breasts ache and burn.

And as quickly as the torment began it stops, her mind keen... awaiting the next slap in the quiet darkness.

Saliva splashes on her breasts from grotesquely stretched lips, and little be known to her he smiles, enjoying the site of his beautiful possession. Such pride in knowing she is his for any and all pleasure. A man understanding her willingness to please him. Embracing her for it.

Suddenly he needs to see her face, to hear her soft cries. He unstraps the gag, sliding the thick penis from her mouth, and she swallows, jaw shaking. And he begins to unwrap her like the most precious of gifts, unwrapping her head until her wet face shimmers before him and she lifts spiked, wet lashes... his vision coming into focus.

Withdrawing the wax from each ear he looks into the eyes of his treasured pet. Her eyes shine with a blend of passion and love. He knows at this moment she would do anything for him. He also knows he will not allow her to slip through his fingers again.

He leans in and takes her mouth in a kiss, slow... needing to taste her, to know her. And with a slow flick of tongue he lifts his head from hers, and with a steady hand and the surgical scissors he begins the exquisite job of opening his package, scented, pink softness opening for him, and him alone.

As the snips part the thick layer of plastic he kisses the exposed flesh... and she watches, her heart ready to burst. And the tears fall hotter, faster... tongue flicking across her lips now in growing need and hunger.

As the scissors cut down her belly she draws it in tighter... his lips pressing to the quivering, hot moist flesh... diverting to her legs, opening each, his hands caressing the loved curves before moving back up the other to meet her hips.

He smiles, the lewd display of the dildo protruding from her quivering pussy. Silken smooth, nothing hidden from his view. And he looks up at her as his fingers part the silken folds of flesh, pushing them back and up to exposed the small, quivering cocklet of pleasure.

He studies her for a few moments, feeling the uncontrollable quiver of her hips, her groin as she is held so open before him, so vulnerable, so in need, so owned. Wanting to see her writhing he takes the tiny spike into his mouth and washes over it with his tongue, her knees shaking to the velvety heat, throbbing clit hungered for his touch. At that moment he dials up the dildo and sends his slave woman over the edge into a frenzied, mind staggering, complete slave orgasm. Her body rolling, rocking... convulsing as his mouth demands her yield.

He leans back... looking into the face, the body of his slave, so beautiful in her passion. He reaches to each foot, quickly freeing them before untying her hands and hair. He slides the gooey, drenched dildo from her spasming cunt before settling her shuddering, quaking body to the bed behind, reaching for him in a frenzied slave need.

His hands reach for her legs, drawing them up... and at that moment he sinks his hot thick, rigid cock into her, the buttery, spasming pussy embracing him fully and completely, and they both know exquisite pleasure.

As he fills her so fully, so right, her body arches, clamped nipples to his chest with a sob, and she looks into his eyes, soft hands finding his face and holding him close. As he takes his pleasure she worships his face in hot, tender kisses, lips pressing over his shoulders... any part of him her mouth can reach. Each kiss met with whispered words of adoration, of worship. She was home again.

~*~

She drew in a staggering breath, feeling the salty heat of tears. As she sat upright in her rocker the afghan slid to the floor, and there, before her stood her grandparents' bed, empty.

With a sob she thought... "Was it just a dream? Was it... just..." Her voice trailed off as she heard the bedroom door open, and the strong steps of Jack enter the room.