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?"
"No."
"What?"
"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.
Well done!
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