Friday, September 6, 2013

The Good Girl - Chapter One

My name is Maxi McConnell and I live a double life. Don’t worry. It’s not nearly as nefarious as it sounds. It’s more a simple case of perfection vs. reality. The Perfect Maxi is just that… perfect. Impeccable clothes, immaculate hair and make-up, topped off by a sparkling personality. The Real Maxi…not so much.

I’ve happily played the role of Perfect Maxi for Thomas Graham, my sexy attorney boyfriend over the last several months. But something happened recently that sent our relationship careening into uncharted territory. It seems Thomas doesn’t want Perfect Maxi, he wants Good Girl Maxi. The only problem is I’m not sure how Real Maxi fits into the equation, or if she does at all.

The Good Girl
By Fiona Summerville

Chapter One

If this happens again, I'm going to spank you.

Something shifted within me when Thomas said those words. A key turned. A door opened. And part of me wanted to run like hell.

I eyed him warily. Apparently, Real Maxi was starting to rear her not so perfect head, and Thomas was less than thrilled with her. I sat, trying to figure out how I might let him down, how I could let him see I wasn't the right girl for him. Self-sabotage? Yeah, pretty much. But then again, that's my middle name.

Truth be told, Thomas and I are at the point where we’ll either stay together or split up and move on. And to be honest, my track record isn’t great. I've only made it past this point once before.

See, for the first two to three months of a relationship, I have the perfect girlfriend persona down to a science, and then, right around this point, somehow, I fuck it up. I look really good on paper, but there’s just no follow-through. I’m like a climax that never reaches its peak.

But there’s something different enough about this relationship for me to want to make it work. What might that be? I like him.

Ok, that’s an understatement. The man is under my skin. I think about him constantly. At the office, I lose myself in daydreams of him while I stare at the computer screen, reading the same dull pleading over and over without registering any of the words. I fantasize—and I'm confessing one of my “things” here—about his forearms and big strong hands. Specifically, how sexy he looks with the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled up just below his elbows. How the muscles of his golden tanned forearms work as his hands fondle whatever object he’s grasping at the time. In my fantasies, it’s usually me. Go figure.

His forearms aren’t the only thing I think about, because, let’s be honest that would be a little weird. I think about his eyes too. At first glance, they’re dark blue, indigo, like Levi’s pure unwashed blue denim. But then there are times that his eyes turn almost black, as dark and inky as the sky on a moonless night. I could get lost in them, but then again, maybe not. I can see every dark desire I've ever had in their fathomless pools, and that terrifies me.

Do you want to know what else I think about? And this one is new for me. His cock. Sure, I love sex. I always have. But I never actually cared enough to think about a man's dick before. If the equipment worked and the guy knew how to use it, it was all good. But Thomas is different. I spend hours picturing how he fills out his well-worn 501s. I imagine running my hand over his cock through the jeans. I even daydream about going down on my knees in front of him, undoing the buttons of his fly, and working him inch by inch as he pops free.

He is sexy, good looking, and great in bed. So what’s my problem? Why am I even thinking about ending the relationship?

Well, aside from the fact that I’m not sure I’m ready for commitment, the simple reason is as Popeye would say, I am, what I am.

I can pull off the grace period. I can be Perfect Maxi, the girlfriend of your dreams for those two to three months. But eventually the mask cracks and, little by little, the Real Maxi starts to emerge, as she apparently did tonight.

Who is Perfect Maxi? 

She's sweet, polite and always well dressed. She rocks her high-heeled sandals, and sexy floral sundresses, with her hair pulled off her face into a high twist. Her apartment is immaculate, filled with sunshine and brimming clean linen scent. And, she's always on time.

Who is Real Maxi?

Granted, I have to keep up the Perfect Maxi persona at the office, but on weekends I don’t priss around in dresses and strappy sandals. I am the definition of ripped jeans, tank tops and black scuffed up cowboy boots that have no chance of ever being replaced because they know they own me. I have a foul mouth and sometimes mascara smudges ring my eyes because I've left my makeup on from the night before. And my apartment, which seems so clean at first glance, is a well-crafted facade. The dust ruffle hides magazines and laundry under the bed, a riot of office appropriate and rocker chick outfits jockey for space in the closets, and a month’s worth (at least) of newspapers are strategically tucked away in the nonworking oven.

Worst part about Real Maxi? Clocks and I just don’t get along. I like to say that, in honor of my heritage, I run on Irish Time. Which is anywhere between fifteen and forty-five minutes late to any given event on any given day.

Tardiness, by the way, is Thomas’ biggest peeve. He told me as much the first and second times I was late. Tonight, we missed the first showing of a new foreign film because of my lack of punctuality. When I finally got to his house, I backed him up onto the couch and kissed him, long and hard. My surefire, never failing, always accepted way of apologizing. I expected him to brush off my lateness as he had in the past. Instead, he said those words.

"If this happens again, I'm going to spank you.”

"Excuse me?"



"There is no excuse for your conduct, Maxi. You need to be taught a lesson."

"You’ve got to be kidding."

That's when his eyes did that weird, sexy shift from indigo to ebony. "Try me," he growled.

"How late am I?" I squeaked. He had to be joking. Okay, maybe he wasn’t joking. Actually, I could tell from the hard line of his jaw and his coal black eyes that he was bone cancer serious. Fuck!

"This isn't just about being late, Maxi. It’s about respect, or your lack thereof. I don’t tolerate disrespect in any part of my life; not from my family, not from my associates, and most importantly, not from you." He paused and heaved a heavy sigh. "Maxi,” he said as a smile tugged at the corners of his eyes which put me ever so slightly at ease. "I'm really starting to fall for you.”

"So you're going to…spank me?" I questioned incredulously. Wait. Did my pussy suddenly tighten when I said "spank"?

"If you show this kind of disrespect again, yes."

"What exactly do you mean by 'spank'?" Maybe he was thinking a quick, silly swat on the ass. Something we'd laugh about it afterward over pints of Guinness.

I went from standing to over his knee in less than ten seconds and was quickly getting the impression that his idea of spanking was a bit more entailed than I originally imagined.  I closed my eyes as he brought his lips to my ear, "I know you joke about being blonde, but do you really need me spell it out?"

I did. Really, I did. "Yes.”

"Fine. If you’re ever late again, regardless of where we are, I will bring you home, turn you over my knee and spank you."

I swallowed hard, squirming slightly on his lap. Wait. What's that? A thrill shot through me when I felt his erection pressing against my belly. Interesting. He was turned on, as much, if not more so, than I was. Then it dawned on me, this was about way more than my "disrespectful behavior". My heart began to race, but I willed myself to calm down. Thomas was telling me something significant about himself, and I needed to pay attention.

"Do you need more explicit details?"

I did, and I didn't. I was scared, indignant and turned on, all at once. But ultimately, I decided I needed to know. I nodded.

He let out a hot ragged breath against my ear. “I'll take you over my knee, lift up your skirt, slide down your panties and spank that pretty bare bottom of yours over and over until it’s bright red. And, trust me, baby, I can go a long time. I've got a strong fucking hand."

I gasped. I knew he did. I'd fantasized about those hands, hadn't I? Granted, I hadn’t fantasized about him doing what he was threatening me with now, but now that he'd said it, I couldn't think of anything else. I wiggled against his rock hard cock once more and bit back a smile. 

"Do we have an understanding?" He asked, clearing his throat as he moved me off his lap and stood me between his knees. His eyes were Levi blue again, and his face relaxed. I took a deep breath and nodded.

We went to a later showing of the film, then to dinner and when we got home, we fucked. Nothing kinky. Nothing different.

Except this time, I came harder than I ever had before.

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