Chapter Nine #3
Maggie couldn’t relax after the Marigold Murders season premiere.
Well, it wasn’t the episode, obviously. It was Blake.
She’d never have imagined he was a fan of the show, not with all the drama and sex, figuring instead he was going to watch Planet Earth or something similar.
Now she was having to reevaluate everything she knew about him in this framework.
He’d accused her of stereotyping him, and she had, but she’d had good reason for it.
Even after the show, they’d continued to hang out together in the living room, drifting into speculations about next week’s episode then sharing other shows they were each into.
Blake did indeed like Planet Earth and a bunch of other educational shows, but he was also into some reality TV and “guilty pleasure” programming that he admitted to watching on his laptop.
Maggie confessed to liking most of the shows on his list, and they made plans to watch more together.
Now, though, it was late, and she wasn’t sleeping, so she clicked around idly on her phone for a while and ended up on the Pimpernel’s website. She shouldn’t think of it as ending up there: she kept a tab open. Good thing, too: he’d dropped a new story earlier this evening.
At only halfway through her reading, he messaged her. She shouldn’t be surprised; they had been talking every night lately, and she was always excited to see his name pop up in her notifications.
You up? he asked.
Halfway through your latest story.
You’re fast! I just posted that.
I saw.
What do you think?
Thus far, the main character of the story was bound to a spanking bench and getting hit with many different implements, all of which she apparently enjoyed, and which Maggie enjoyed reading about.
You write well.
That’s a vague answer.
She smiled at her phone and tried again. I never thought much about spanking. It’s hot the way you write it. Then she added, What inspired this story?
Playing with you lately.
Maggie shivered from head to toe. He went and wrote that to her like it was no big deal. That’s really sexy, she admitted.
Maybe we could try it sometime over chat.
Maggie raised an eyebrow, even though he couldn’t see her. I don’t think it will have the same effect if I’m spanking myself.
I’ve got some ideas.
She was intrigued, but she could tell he wasn’t going to elaborate. You’re into spanking? she asked, pretending it wasn’t a dumb question.
I’m into most kinds of impact play. Giving and receiving.
That piqued her interest. Receiving?
I’m complex. He added a smiley face, incongruous with the content of their chat. Sensation is sensation. I’m not into submission but I like bottoming sometimes.
She wasn’t up on all the terms, but she could figure it out enough. I learn something new about you every day.
Ever try playing with pain? he asked. Biting, hair pulling, nipple twisting, that sort of thing?
Maggie could have laughed at the thought of any of the guys she’d slept with trying any of that. I’m not sure. Never tried it. Suddenly self-conscious, she added, Is that boring?
Not everything is for everybody. And nothing about you is boring, Rose.
She’d half expected him to pressure her. Her knee-jerk expectations of him were never flattering, and she couldn’t tell if it was because of Chauvel or because of her own past failed relationships. I guess I’m still figuring myself out too.
A lifelong journey. He sent another smiley face, and Maggie realized she had started smiling back without thinking about it.
Are you still learning about your sexual interests, too? she asked.
I’m open to discovery. I’ve only played with people under very specific circumstances, and there’s a lot of room to learn more.
How interesting. What kind of circumstances?
Play parties and kink events. A couple of conventions.
Now they were getting somewhere. Maybe she could find out about Chauvel’s friend after all. What about relationships?
Kinky friendships, but not kinky romantic relationships, he replied.
Maybe Chauvel’s friend had not been in a romantic relationship with the Pimpernel, or one the Pimpernel didn’t consider romantic. Sometimes people had different definitions of the same relationships.
Maybe the Pimpernel was lying. Or Chauvel was.
Again, she wished she could get Chauvel’s friend’s side of the story.
Chauvel had denied her request to make contact (“I’d hate for her to relive her trauma,” he’d said), leaving her at a frustrating dead end, but he’d given her an extra two weeks on the draft.
Her only source of information was the Pimpernel himself, but she couldn’t seem to think past her own horniness lately.
Do you want a kinky romantic relationship? she asked.
The Pimpernel didn’t reply for a few moments. Then, It would be nice, but I’m not hopeful.
She thought about asking, what about me? Which was ludicrous, since she didn’t even know this guy. More and more, though, the thought of meeting him had her brain working overtime.
If only Chauvel’s article wasn’t hanging over her head.