The Dark Side of Maggie Moon

  Title Page

  THE DARK SIDE OF MAGGIE MOON

  By

  Krys Antarakis

  Publisher Information

  Published in 2011 by

  Cambridge House Publishing LLP

  Digital Edition Converted and Distributed in 2011 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright 2007

  This edition published2011

  The right of Krys Antarakis to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyright and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

  All characters and events depicted are entirely fictitious; any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely coincidental

  THIS IS FICTION. IN REAL LIFE ALWAYS PRACTISE SAFE SEX

  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.

  Magg
ie 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 othe
r 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.