Maggie May Ch. 01

"I'm gonna cum soon!" Brian groaned, quickening the pace.

"Thank God," thought Mackenzie. She torqued her neck a bit to peer up at his face; "What is that expression?" she thought. "Does he think that's erotic? Wincing? 'Ah, yes, baby, I love staring into those sexy, moonbeam eyes -- those sexy, squinting, pained eyes on that contorted grimace you call a face.'" Mackenzie chuckled internally at her own joke, and relaxed. She let her muscles loosen, did not worry one whit about her self-consciousness regarding her body (which, though beautiful, she had a tendency to do), and generally took an attitude of amused disinterest in what was going on. "I guess this is happiness," she thought. She was comfortable; not just that she was laying prostrate on the bed as if in a coffin, but comfortable, in general. Her job was generally little more than a distraction or time-consuming hobby; college was thus far uneventful, and the one campus function she attended regularly, Campus Crusade for Christ, was more a psychic drain than a fulfilling cause. Nevertheless, she was with a decent guy, and Mackenzie had for the first time in her life reached a kind of emotional homeostasis; for that, she was sort-of grateful. She guessed. Whatever.

"Oh, God, Mack! Oh, yeah!"

Oh yeah! Sex. "God, does he have to call me Mack?" wondered Mackenzie. "It sounds so masculine. Why can't he call me Maggie like everyone else? I certainly hate 'Madge,' that's for sure.." Mackenzie's mind wandered to and fro, anything to keep her mind off of what she had come to think of as this mildly enjoyable chore -- she loved Brian and all, and he was a real sweetheart, but he was just too... too... something. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she supposed that, had Brian been carved out of wood, it would be some flimsy, plastic kind of wood, like balsa wood. She wanted an oak man. With plenty of knots in the grain. Ah, hell, she didn't know what she wanted, but she did know that she was ready to be done. "Better start contributing," Mackenzie thought.

Maggie started bucking her hips, trying to get some vertical friction on each of Brian's thrusts. Brian grunted a bit and looked down at her, smiling a bit, the thick vein in his forehead becoming more prominent. Maggie smirked at him and cooed, hardly audible, "C'mon Brian, give it to me. Fuck me." Brian began to tense, every muscle in his body exhausted from the brief session of missionary fucking, and he felt his balls begin to shrink and tighten.

"I'm ready, baby! I'm gonna cum!"

"That's it!" Maggie felt Brian unintentionally brush up against her clit a few times, and felt a preorgasmic shiver run down her spine. Maggie bucked her hips a bit harder. She was suddenly frustrated that she hadn't thought of doing this earlier, but it was too late now. She bucked her hips and felt her clit grinding up hard against Brian's lower stomach, and closed her eyes. As she did so, an image flashed in her mind, stark and sudden. She imagined Brian's face instantly changing, from pained and goofy to stern, serious -- even angry. Yes, very angry. His eyes grew wide and clarity returned; he set his jaw hard and square; he gritted his teeth. His entire expression darkened and contorted; he looked almost possessed, demonic. It was terrifying. And, even more bizarre, Maggie felt her clit suddenly swell with blood and tingle with heat, and she closed her eyes tighter and bucked her hips wildly against Brian, trying hard to keep that image in her mind. Oh, God, she was actually going to cum for once. "Jesus, Brian, Jesus! Don't hurt me. Don't hurt me, please?!" thought Maggie, enthralled with the thought of this face; this angry, violent face. She imagined a sick, sadistic smile creeping over his lips, she imagined one of his hands (in her mind, thicker, rougher, and wider than it actually was) slowly closing down over her throat, pinning her down into the pillow beneath her head...

"Fuuuuck yeeeeeessss!" Maggie screamed, a feral roar from some internal depths that she didn't even know existed, and her mind went blank and white. She tensed every single muscle in her cunt and made two tight little fists just above her neck, grasping at some phantom arm. The orgasm rifled through her body, and the intensity of the sensation wiped her clean; a blank slate. Her only remaining sensation was sound, which went first tinny, then silent. She lay, clutching at the demon in her mind, every muscle motionless, her skin twitching uncontrollably, goosebumps spreading across her shoulders, arms, and back...

After a couple of minutes, she could feel herself returning to consciousness, her mind prefacing its return to the body like the telltale hum of a phosphorescent light before it finally flickers back on. She finally tried to relax her eyelids, and open her eyes.

Brian was agape.

...

Seeing the look of confusion and shock on Brian's face, Maggie snapped back to reality. Realizing her skinny fingers were clenched into tight little balls above her neck, she immediately loosened her grip and threw her arms around Brian's waist, trying to pull him close to her for the usual post-coital hug. Brian stayed propped above her, rigidly refusing to be pulled close to her. His eyes never left hers. "Shit," Maggie thought, "Maybe I shouldn't have done that." Maggie looked up at Brian and slackened her grip around his waist. Uncomfortable silence. "Well, I'd better say something," Maggie thought, and was just about to open her mouth to explain --

"What were you thinking about?" Brian interrupted.

"What?" Maggie played dumb.

"Just now, when you came, what was that? Why were you holding the air?" Brian pressed.

"Uh, I just tensed up when I came, that was all."

Brian shot her a look. "What were you thinking about, Mackenzie?"

Oh no. Not her full name. This couldn't be good. "I was just fantasizing a bit, that's all, Brian."

"Fantasizing about what?" Jealousy boiled in his voice.

"About you, baby. Don't be jealous, okay?" Maggie used her most patronizing voice, trying to placate Brian, who was prone to these little fits of jealousy. In moderation, Maggie found jealousy cute, and almost a turn-on. She liked the feeling of being lusted after, and even possessed -- not that she would ever admit that to herself. But she did admit that she liked a little jealousy; she just didn't know why. In any event, Brian's jealousy was not a little jealousy -- it was immature, it was stupid. Maggie had had more than her share of dealing with it.

"What, fantasizing about having sex with me, while we were having sex?" Brian prodded impatiently...

"Brian --" Maggie began, deflated.

"Well what was it, Mackenzie?"

"I fantasized about you getting really mad with me and choking me, okay!?" Maggie snapped. Oh, shit. Brian remained silent for a beat. Then --

"Choking you? You think I would choke you?" Brian huffed and pushed himself off of her. He stood up near the foot of the bed, awkwardly pulled the condom off and threw it into the nearby wastebasket, and began to pick his clothes up off the floor. "That's sick, Mackenzie."

Maggie felt her face flush with embarrassment. "He's right," she thought. "It is."

"Brian, no, it's not that --" Maggie tried weakly to defend herself. God, this was so ridiculous. She almost felt like it was none of his fucking business, anyway.

"I don't know, Mackenzie. Is it something you want?" Brian paused momentarily, arms crooked through the sleeves of his faded t-shirt, neck slightly bent. He looked a little less offended, now, and a strange humility spread across his face. He was curious, and upset.

"I don't know, Brian. I'm not sure."

"Okay." Brian silently continued dressing.

"Maybe?" Maggie punctuated the silence.

"Like, what?" Brian was shuffling his socks back onto his feet. "You want me to choke you?"

"Not necessarily just that..."

"What, more?!"

"No! I mean, well maybe, but that's not what I meant." Maggie fumbled, embarrassed. Why was this such a big deal? She didn't normally have a problem communicating her desires to Brian, or anyone else, for that matter -- she was always forthright and up-front with her concerns; candid to the point of annoyance. But this was different, somehow. It was unnerving. "I meant that you wouldn't necessarily have to choke me."

Brian shot her a look. "Well, thank God!"

"Jesus, Brian, nevermind. Look, can we just stop fighting about this? We'll talk about it when you get back." Maggie tried her best to be diplomatic during arguments, and sometimes even downright motherly. It was a tremendous chore.

"You're right. I guess that's a good idea." Brian acquiesced to her reasons, as usual. He secretly resented Maggie, on occasion, for being always right. He wished he could be right from time to time. "What guy doesn't, though?" was his typical inner justification. In any event -- it was too much for him to think about right now -- he was leaving for France in about an hour, and had to get home. This was supposed to be a goodbye; he wouldn't see Maggie for another four months. NYU had an exchange student program with l'Ecole Polytechnique for software engineers. Some really exciting work in multi-agent systems and cooperative emergent behavior was being done, and that was Brian's specialty. He had spent most of his life on computers, and it showed -- he was attractive enough, but thin and gaunt, and quite pale. He subsisted mostly on Doritos and Mountain Dew, and was very physically weak. Maggie once joked that the next time she needed help moving her furniture, that she would call Brian for help -- to program a robot to move the furniture for her. Brian was not amused.

Maggie gave Brian a look -- an inviting, "come cuddle with me" look, and the mood instantly lightened. Brian chuckled a little and realized how ridiculous he was being. "So what if she likes a little 'S&M' or whatever? What's that mean, anyway? So we'll do a little of that from time to time. I'm a 90's guy." (He felt stupid saying that after 2000, but he couldn't think of another way to put it). "I'll cope."

Brian cuddled with his girlfriend for another half hour before leaving to go to the airport. Maggie put on some sweats and spooned dutifully, sighing and even expressing genuine sadness and insecurity before his departure. "Don't meet any hot French girls, okay? None that shave, anyway." She had implored. He promised that he wouldn't, and with a kiss on her nose, he was off.

As soon as Brian pulled out of the driveway, Maggie hurried to her bedroom, slammed and locked the door behind her, slid her sweatpants and panties down in one quick motion, hopped onto the foot of her bed, spread her legs wide, and slapped her clit as hard as she could, over and over, until she sobbed out an orgasm.

...

The next few weeks passed with elemental speed. A new semester was starting, and Maggie was eager to embrace her courseload. She tended to overcompensate for emotional trauma -- Brian's departure was no exception. Maggie bogged herself down with school and work, and became rather more active in her extracurricular activies than usual. She joined a Classics discussion group and volunteered for Habitat for Humanity, and found a renewed interest in the Campus Crusade. That was no surprise. Maggie had been developing quite an interest in religion lately, and to that end, had enrolled in an religions seminar -- the primary focus being on Near-Eastern religions, but also (as Maggie had noted in the syllabus) a curious aside into Renaissance paganism. It was an entirely compartmentalized unit, sandwiched in between units on Neoplatonism and Marxism. Maggie had been attending her classes for only a week, and had already decided that it was her favorite. It was in that class that she found herself on Wednesday morning.

"...ascribed, nevertheless, such things to Necessity. Nowhere in Christian iconography do we find 'Fortune' visited upon. It is therefore obvious that..." Dr. Lorentz paused. His keen brown eyes darted around the room. "That approximately one-third of you have reached that very state of mystical bliss!" A few sharp classmates chuckled. Maggie was trying hard to follow along. Dr. Lorentz tended to either speak very quickly or very slowly, and neither was easy to comprehend.

Dr. Lorentz turned to square his shoulders to the classroom. He was tall and solidly-built; handsome, fair-skinned, with dark brown eyes and raven-black hair which he kept short and immaculately styled. He was also rather young for a full-tenure professor -- he couldn't be much beyond mid-30's. He was a commanding presence merely to look at, Maggie thought, without his tendency toward histrionic shouting. His voice, when Dr. Lorentz was headlong into an intense exposition, or when demanding even a modicum of class participation, flowed from merely commanding to positively vicious. It was gravelly and then smooth; kind and then dark, bizarre; patient and then marrow-dry of patience. Maggie pitied his wife, if he had one -- Dr. Lorentz seemed to have such a mercurial temperament. Maybe it was just the material that excited him, though. In any event, Maggie wasn't about to miss a lecture -- every time he would thunder at the class, Maggie's breath caught in her throat. She loved the feeling of hesitancy she felt when asked point-blank to answer a question. "What if I answer incorrectly? What if it's obvious I didn't do the reading?" Maggie would wonder. "What would he say to me?" He was exciting. He was sexy.

Dr. Lorentz, however, was not feeling very sexy. He was feeling angry.

"Wake, the fuck, up!" he boomed. He put his hands on his hips and stared down the class, as if challenging them to start something. "Who am I teaching?" Dr. Lorentz pressed, regaining composure. "Who am I teaching? Am I teaching you, Angela?" he strode quickly to the left-hand side of the lecture hall and stood directly in front of a petite blonde in the first row. Keeping his hands on his hips, he bent over, slightly, encroaching into her personal space. "Am I?"

"Yes, Dr. Lorentz." Angela kept her head down, facing her flip-up desk. She hoped that Dr. Lorentz hadn't noticed the cell-phone now nestled between her thighs that she had been fidgeting with all class.

"Well, that's a relief. I'm glad you're learning, because I wouldn't want to interrupt the selection of your fucking ringtones." Dr. Lorentz barked, gnashing his teeth. He rapidly set himself back upright and walked quickly up the left-handed aisle to the back row. "And what about you in the back? Are you learning? I don't even know your fucking name, what's your fucking name?" Dr. Lorentz gestured exaggeratedly to the student, the lone student, in the back-left row of the lecture hall.

"James."

"James -- are you learning, James?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well good, good." Dr. Lorentz shrugged weirdly, and walked two steps at a time back down the left aisle and back out onto the lecture-floor, where he leaned up, casually, against his desk. "Is anyone else learning?"

The class was silent. A beat. Another beat.

"This is so ridiculous," said Dr. Lorentz. "I love you guys, that's why I'm angry! Aren't we all adults? I feel like I'm fucking babysitting! Are you here to learn? This course doesn't fulfill any general requirements! Speak up! Please!" He scanned the room left to right, right to left, appraising and judging. While doing so, he found his eyes lingering on one of his students in particular, a brunette in the third row, right. She was wearing a herringbone-striped gray and black skirt that covered about two-thirds of her thigh with her legs crossed. Dark nylons and strappy, black, three-inch heeled shoes showed off her long legs and slender ankles. She had on a tight-fitting white sweater which hugged all of her curves, and her more-than-ample breasts seemed even larger by virtue of the optical illusion of white clothing. Her shoulder-length, choppy brown hair framed a round, girlish face with a button nose, and a pair of black-framed glasses hid her cloudy brown eyes.

"And what about you, Mackenzie. You rarely ever contribute." Dr. Lorentz took a few long, slow strides toward Maggie.

"Oh shit," Maggie thought. She flew into a mental panic as she instantly began trying to calculate the correct response. Her heart pounded in her chest. She flicked her eyes downward and then back up, trying to show her professor the respect he deserved. "I-I'm learning," Maggie blubbered, girly and stupid. She could feel her heartbeat in her face as Dr. Lorentz approached. She imagined that she must look like a Christmas light.

"Are you?" Dr. Lorentz pressed, drawing within a couple feet, his pace slowing. "What about today's material? Have you been paying attention?"

"Y-Yes. I always do." Maggie's mind was racing.

Dr. Lorentz was now standing directly to the side of Maggie, just behind her right shoulder. He leaned in toward her to examine her notebook, and started reading aloud. "Roman numeral one. Christian Iconography. Letter "A." Pre-Medieval Art. Lower-case "A." Liturgical, Mosaic, Architectural." Maggie's entire body was an oven. She couldn't think -- she could barely breathe. She had never been so embarrassed in her entire life. She loved it.

Dr. Lorentz read a bit more, silently, and was seemingly pleased. A curious look crept over his face as he stood back up. He put one heavy hand on Maggie's thin, bony shoulder and squeezed hard, almost painfully so, and then walked lightly and rapidly back to his desk, and turned around to lean on the desk and face the class with the secure and calm ease with which he typically comported himself.

"Sorry, guys. It's frustrating to be a teacher." He seemed genuinely apologetic. "It's hard for me to accept that not all of you care like I do, and some not at all. That's not a fault on your part, but merely -- well, 'respect difference' as one of my colleagues would put it. But, look, I'm going to make it up to you. We're going to do a section on Renaissance paganism, remember? I actually did my dissertation on it, and in particular on the religious rites and ceremonies that came from and reflected this new burgeoning scientific thought, or rather, the disavowal of Christian thought. As such -- we're having a costume party."

A murmur spread through the lecture hall.

"A regular pagan costume gala, to be precise. At my home."

More murmuring.

"And anyone who participates gets their final grade bumped up one letter grade, no questions asked."

The murmur was now a dull roar. Dr. Lorentz looked satisfied.

"But we're going to have to learn about this, people, okay? Now, strictly speaking, Venetian costumes and masks have surprisingly egalitarian and a-religious origins, but that's not to say that they didn't eventually take on a religious significance. In any event, they are immensely interesting, and for any of you who have seen 'Eyes Wide Shut,' you probably already know the kind of mask that I'm talking about. Well, that's what we're doing. I mean, no, that's not what we're doing, not exactly like the movie." The same few students chuckled. "But, yes. We'll hammer out the details later. Now, back to work!" Dr. Lorentz finished, almost boyish with his enthusiasm. Until, of course, two minutes later in the lecture, when he once again visited Neoplatonic Necessity in mosaic.

By the time the bell rang, Maggie's mind was still racing. Her heartbeat had slowed and the ringing in her ears had quieted a bit, but her eyes were transfixed on a few words of small, cursive print on the bottom corner of her notebook paper, that she had jotted just moments before Dr. Lorentz had peered over her shoulder to read from her notes.

The bottom line of the page, clear as crystal, read: "Fuck me, professor!"