Magnolia's Mercy

"Good..." she whispers. "I was worried I went a little hard on you with the whip, last time. But those welts healed up nicely, didn't they? Just like I told you they would. My cruelty does have its limits, after all. I'd never leave a man permanently marked."

At the end of our last rendezvous, she rubbed my back with a cool, sweet-smelling ointment before she sent me on my way, fussing over my scratches and welts like a worried mother. By the time I dressed myself and hugged her goodbye, the pain of my whip-marks had nearly faded—but the lingering ache of sexual frustration remained.

While her slick hands glided over my naked back, she had refused to lay a finger on my cock, which was still rock-hard with arousal. I knew better than to ask her to touch me, but I harbored some faint hope that she would take notice of my swelling erection and give me some relief. She did notice—but that night, she wasn't in a merciful mood.

"Remember..." she'd said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Don't even think about jerking yourself off when you get home. Even when you're not under my roof, your cock is still under my control. That means you won't be cumming for a while. You'd best get used to that idea."

The feeling of her hand on my shoulder snaps me back to the present. She gives me a gentle nudge.

"Turn around, honey," she says. "Walk towards the bed, and lay your head on the pillow."

Again, I do as I'm told. Feeling her eyes riveted on my bare ass, I turn around and tiptoe toward the bed. The silk sheets are like woven water against my bare skin as I lay down and rest my head on a silken pillow stuffed with soft feather down. It's a comfortable bed; if it weren't for my racing heart, I'd love to close my eyes and drift off to sleep in it.

As that thought passes through my head, she's already rummaging through a drawer in her bedside table. As she slides the drawer shut, she pulls out a shiny silver object that glitters in the sunlight streaming from the window. She smiles mischievously as she dangles it in front of my face.

It's a pair of plastic handcuffs—an unassuming little novelty toy designed for the bedroom, but nearly impossible to escape when properly locked. It's been forty-three days since she used those cuffs on me, but I remember them well.

"Remember these?" she asks playfully. "Remember how much you squirmed, last time I used 'em on you?"

"I remember everything about that night..." I whisper. And it's true. I've replayed the details in my mind every night since we met.

"I suppose that's a compliment," Miss Maggie says. "But before tonight's over, I think you'll have a few more cherished memories. Now... Put your hands up. Raise your wrists above your head. You're going in the cuffs."

Again, I do as I'm told. She leans over my body—thrusting her breasts tantalizingly close to my face—and slips the chain of the handcuffs through the wooden slats on the headboard at the back of the bed. With a gentle grip, she takes my left wrist in her hand and clamps the plastic ring of the cuff down on it, then cuffs my right wrist.

The cuffs are loose—allowing me just enough wiggle room that they're not uncomfortable. But as soon as she snaps them shut, I know I'm not going anywhere until she lets me free. As that fact sinks in, I feel my heart rate speeding up.

Miss Maggie bends her knees and pulls herself into a kneeling position, resting on the empty space on the mattress beside me. The bed is beg enough for at least two people to lay side-by-side; laying my head upon a pillow at the middle of the bed, I feel oddly small.

She lays her hand upon my chest, and feels my heart beating and thrumming against my ribcage.

"Relax, honey..." she coos. "You're in excellent hands. But you know that, don't you?"

I nod hesitantly, and she gives a cocky grin as an answer.

"That's right... You know there's nothing to be scared of. I'm not gonna hurt you. Not permanently, anyway... And you want to do this, don't you? You've been dreaming of this moment for weeks. I can tell..."

Her gaze strays to my exposed penis, helplessly twitching and bobbing with arousal as adrenaline courses through my veins. Anticipation is a powerful drug, and it makes me more giddy than most. She doesn't say a word as she idly gazes at my twitching member, but her thoughts are clear.

I haven't even touched it yet...

She knows I'm eager—that's a simple fact. But if it gives her joy, she doesn't let it show.

"Focus, Joe..." she whispers. "Don't think of pleasing me. Don't think of what I'm gonna do to you. Just focus on this moment. And relax. Take a few deep breaths."

"Yes, Ma'am..."

I let my body go limp, and imagine myself sinking into the mattress. I focus on the coolness of the room as it envelops my body. And I let my lungs fill with air, slowly letting each breath out through my mouth.

Then, from downstairs, a sudden sound shatters my concentration and brings my heart rate right back up. It's the sound of the doorbell.

I breathe in sharply at the sound, but Miss Maggie barely seems to notice it. Perplexed, I look Miss Maggie in the face, my face betraying my confusion. She puts her index finger to her lips, silently ordering me to stay quiet.

She steps across the room, opens the door a crack, and sticks her head out into the hallway. In a casual tone, she calls a woman's name.

"Kara!"

Kara Treeborne's a college-aged girl, not quite twenty-two years old. For at least three years now, she's waited tables at Magnolia's—Miss Maggie's famous café—while studying chemistry at Ole Miss. When money got tight, Miss Maggie let her stay in one of her many spare bedrooms while finishing school, and she's lived with her ever since.

Kara's a sweet girl, but she's shy as hell, and she spends most of her time poring over textbooks in her bedroom. Every time I've paid a visit to Miss Maggie's house, I've barely heard a peep from her. If not for Miss Maggie calling her name, I wouldn't have known that she was here.

From another room down the hall, a young woman's voice responds.

"You need somethin', Miss Maggie?"

"I do, darlin'. Be a sweetheart and get the door, would you? I think the guests got here sooner than I was expecting."

"Sure," Kara says.

As Miss Maggie shuts the door, I feel my heart shudder with a twinge of panic. Did she seriously just say "guests"?

She turns to face me. My face is a mask of shock, my surprise nearly overcoming my apprehension.

"Did...did you just say 'guests'?" I sputter. "You never told me anything about any guests!"

I come dangerously close to raising my voice at her. She raises one eyebrow, silently challenging me.

"No, I suppose I didn't," Miss Maggie says. "I'd say it slipped my mind, but that would be a lie..."

I feel my chest growing warm, my mind swimming with feelings of betrayal.

Suddenly, all of the odd details about our rendezvous start to make sense.

That's why she went to the trouble to grill a whole cut of brisket: she was inviting company over for dinner.

And that's why she summoned me two hours earlier than usual: she wanted me to arrive before her guests did.

"You... You can't be serious... I've never told anybody about what happens between us here! Nobody knows that I'm—"

She raises one hand to silence me.

"Calm yourself, honey," Miss Maggie says. "They don't know about you either. And they won't. You have my word: none of my guests are ever gonna know you're here. If you want it to stay that way, you'll be a good boy and stay quiet. Won't you?"

Gradually, my shock gives way to confusion.

"But I thought... You called me here, didn't you? We're not going to—?"

"Gonna what, honey? Gonna have a tussle in the bedroom? Gonna spend the evening being naughty libertines? Maybe. There'll be time for that. But first, I've got a dinner party to host. I like to do this once every few months. I whip up something nice in the kitchen, and I have a few of my friends over for a little get-together. Tonight just happens to be my night. I hope you won't be insulted if I don't invite you to the table. But if you behave yourself, maybe I'll bring you a plate."

In the living room downstairs, I hear the creak of hinges as Kara opens the door, followed by a chorus of enthusiastic greetings, and the click-clack of high-heeled shoes against the tiled floor. I hear at least six voices—all female. If I had to guess, I'd say they're all at least Miss Maggie's age, if not a little older. The sound of conversation carries through the house as Kara invites them in. The smell of warming brisket is faint but noticeable, and it makes my mouth water.

"You invited me over on the same night you were planning a dinner party? But why?"

Miss Maggie looks herself over in the mirror as she considers the question, adjusting the lacquered sticks in her hair as she fusses over her makeup and straightens the neckline of her dress. Before she answers, she raises one foot and inspects her leather pumps; they're a dark midnight blue, which nicely complements the flower pattern on her dress.

"I've got my tendencies, and you've got yours," she says. "You like to feel powerless, and I like to feel powerful. But power comes in many forms, honey. I could torture you, if I wanted—and enjoy every moment of it. Or I could tease your cock until you've got tears in your eyes. But there are other ways to feel powerful. Like keeping a secret, right under somebody's nose. Tonight, you get to be my secret. Doesn't that sound fun?"

"I... I don't understand..." I stammer.

She purses her lips in a playful pout.

"Oh, Joe... Doe I really have to spell it out for you?" she asks. "For the next few hours, I'll be downstairs, playing the gracious hostess for a roomful of guests. They'll be enjoying my hospitality and complimenting my cooking, and we'll be catching up over a few glasses of wine. And all the while, you'll be here—locked away in my bedroom, naked and helpless, and tied to my bedposts while you wait for me. My friends won't know anything about our little arrangement. It'll just be between me and you."

"You mean... You're just going to leave me here?" I stammer.

Her smile broadens.

"There we go..." she purrs. "Now you're starting to understand! I get to keep a naughty little secret from my friends—and all the while, I get to keep you in sweet agony. You'll be lying in the dark, waiting while the minutes turn to hours. Your poor heart's gonna be racing with anticipation as you work yourself into a tizzy, wondering what cruel torment I've got planned for you. If you let me, I'll keep you on the edge for hours. But if that sounds like too much for you, this is your chance to back out."

In my mind's eye, I can already see Miss Maggie's friends, resplendent in their glittering diamond jewelry and their elegant dresses. I imagine Miss Maggie lounging on her leather couch with a glass of bourbon in her hand, sitting queen-like in the center of the room as her friends gather around her, filling the room with joyous laughter and idle chatter. And I imagine Miss Maggie's naughty smile as she thinks of me—her dirty secret—tied up in her bedroom and awaiting my punishment.

Again, I feel that distinctive prickle of humiliation as my cheeks grow warm. Cuffed and laid out in the center of that massive mattress, I can't help feeling small. I know she'll let me go if I ask her—but after forty-three days of wondering what she's got in store for me, I know I'll never forgive myself if I back out now.

I've been waiting for forty-three days. I can wait a few more hours.

"I can do it," I whisper. "I'll do whatever you want."

She smiles.

"Excellent. Just what I wanted to hear, honey."

She casts a furtive glance at the door. Downstairs, the noise from her friends' conversation grows louder as Kara keeps them entertained.

She knows that she'll have to greet them soon, but she takes one last moment to look over my naked body. With my wrists securely cuffed together, I can't cover my exposed cock—but I don't give her the satisfaction of watching me struggle.

She puts one hand to her cheek, a pensive expression crossing her face. For a moment, I wonder if she's forgotten something. But then her eyes light up.

"One more thing..." she says.

Again, she crosses to her bedside chest and pulls out a drawer—the same one where she retrieved her handcuffs. After a moment of rummaging, she pulls out a tiny object, small enough to grasp with two fingers. As she examines it in the lamplight, a naughty grin crosses her face.

"Perfect..." she purrs. "Hold still, honey. Let me slip this on..."

Without waiting for permission, she reaches out with her left hand and moves to gently cup my scrotum in her palm. I gasp in surprise as she reaches out to pinch my cock between her thumb and forefinger. By now, my erection has drooped and grown soft with my nervousness—but as soon as I feel the warmth of her fingers on my exposed penis, it gives another twitch.

When she reaches over with her right hand, I finally get a clear look at the tiny object held in her fingers: it's a tight ring of shiny black rubber, its inner surface covered with soft bumps at regular intervals. My heart quickens as I recognize it. It's a cock ring.

"Shhhh..." she coos, stilling cupping my balls. "Don't worry yourself, now. It's a tight little squeeze, but it won't hurt you..."

She slips it on with a practiced touch, pulling it over the swelling head of my member and nudging it down to the base of my shaft. Just as she warned, I instantly feel the hard rubber ring clamping the base of my penis, growing tighter and more snug as my cock grows harder and thicker, filling with blood.

For forty-three days, I've been plagued by fierce and throbbing erections, always forbidden to touch myself and relieve the terrible pressure of lust. This time, I know my erection won't fade—at least not until she releases me.

"There..." she says, satisfied. "Now you're ready. And this is where we part ways. For a while, anyway..."

She stands up from the bed and walks to the door, giving me a sly wink before she flicks the light off. As I watch her hips sway under her tight dress, I feel my trapped cock growing harder in the grip of the ring, and I swallow back a groan of discomfort.

"Bye, now..." she says, pulling the door shut. "I'll be back in a little while to check on you. Try not to miss me too much..."

For a moment, there's a sliver of light in the crack of the doorway. But then she shuts the door behind her, leaving me in darkness. A moment later, there's a faint click as she locks the door behind her.

I breathe deep breaths all over again, the beat of my thrumming erection pleading for my attention.

Just a few hours... I tell myself. I can do this...

• • •

I kept my back straight as she led me to the bed. The blindfold was still tied snugly over my eyes, and my wrists were cuffed securely behind my back. I couldn't see, and I couldn't even feel my way across her bedroom; her touch was gentle as she clutched my arm and guided me forward, but it reminded me that she was in control.

She put a hand to my stomach to stop me as I reached the bed. For a moment, she was silent. But then she leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

"Bend over, honey," she ordered. "Face-down on the bed. Stick that ass out for me."

I bent forward, and pressed my face to the soft blanket. My breath became heavy as I buried my nose in the thick mattress. As ridiculous as it felt, I did as she told me: I stuck my butt out as far as I could, presenting my bare cheeks for a fresh round of punishment.

As I held that position, she finally lost her solid patrician composure. For the first time that night, she collapsed in a fit of giggles, laughing in earnest glee.

"Oh, honey... I wish you could see how pathetic you look right now! Like a naughty schoolboy waiting on his caning. Don't worry, though. I'll save my switches and paddles for another day. For now, I think a nice spanking ought to be enough to soften you up..."

With that, she brought her arm around and smacked her open palm against my right cheek in a fierce underhand swing. My whole body lurched with the impact of it, and my ass jerked and bucked as I struggled to keep my back straight. She kept her hand where it was, greedily grabbing at my bare ass as I stuck it out for her. As I kept my face buried in the soft mattress, I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment as she shamelessly pawed at me; I nervously wrung my hands, which were still helplessly chained behind my back and trapped in the grip of her plastic cuffs.

Something about it felt so damn unfair—though I didn't dare say it. Ever since the first day I met Miss Maggie in her dining room to discuss our "arrangement," I'd never failed to respect her physical boundaries. I didn't dare shake her hand, unless she offered her hand to me first; I'd never even dared to hug her, until she told me it was alright. Touching Miss Maggie was a cherished privilege, and she never let me forget it—but my body was hers for the taking, and she shamelessly fondled my most sensitive parts as often as she pleased.

How many times had I longed to rest my head in the tight space between her ample breasts? How many times had I dreamt of kissing the moist cleft between her meaty thighs, or coyly stroking the curve of her hip? How many times had I dared to fantasize about sneaking a naughty pinch of her pleasantly plump backside as she guided me up the stairwell to her room?

But it wasn't to be, and I had to accept that. For the few hours that we enjoyed together, my body belonged to Miss Maggie, but the pleasures of her body were hers alone to enjoy. While I contemplated that thought, I felt my cheeks grow warmer as the reality of my situation sunk in.

I would never take Miss Maggie as a lover, and I could offer her nothing but my pain and helplessness to sate her cruelty. At most, I could only hope to be an obedient plaything. And that thought stung me more deeply than any whipping.

"Such a cute little behind..." Miss Maggie cooed as she playfully pinched my right buttock. "It's almost a shame to spank it..."

She withdrew her hand, and I braced for another smack.

"Stay still, honey. Keep that backside right where I can see it..."

SMACK!

She brought her hand around from left to right, swiping my bare ass horizontally, trailing her fingers along my exposed skin.

SMACK! SMACK!

Again and again, my body lurched with the impact of each fresh blow, my skin stinging fiercely as her outstretched hand slapped against my bare flesh. On and on, she kept it coming, tirelessly spanking my poor backside until I moaned.

I suddenly felt grateful for the thick mattress, which muffled my piteous moans as I pressed my face deep into the soft coverlet of her bed. But as she brought her hand down for another punishing blow, I felt her free hand caressing my head. I was too weary to resist as she pushed my head to one side, allowing her to gaze at my anguished face.

Her soft hand lovingly stroked my face, and I heard the floorboards creaking as she walked around my body in a short semicircular path. A moment later, the springs of the mattress creaked as she clambered into the bed, and I felt her arms tugging at my shoulders as she pulled me up onto the bed.