by Monica Belle
Her fingers were shaking as she burrowed into the envelope; thrilled, scared and embarrassed all at once. The only other thing in the envelope was a small piece of expensive grey notepaper, carefully folded and bearing a single line written in a neat, flowing hand – ‘You are acceptable. If you wish to proceed, come on the train tomorrow without knickers or brassiere.’ It was signed The Controller.
Laura read the note several times before putting both it and the picture back in the envelope. Excitement and fear vied for attention in her head, mixed with a dozen minor emotions. The picture had obviously been taken from the top of the municipal car park, and with a powerful lens, which, along with the mention of the train, left little doubt that the Man had nothing to do with EAS at all, but was one of her fellow commuters.
Whoever it was had her name, her email, her work address, her home address and very possibly more. She found herself reaching out to pet Smudge’s head for reassurance, unsure if she was being stalked, or courted in the most delightful, arousing way, or whether the distinction was purely in her head. One thing alone calmed her fears, that she had been given a choice, to proceed, or not.
Something deep within her and immensely strong wanted to obey, and yet her reservations were equally powerful. What if the Man proved to be Hovis Boy or some other spotty teenager trying to get a rise out of her, or worse, hoping to start an affair, or he might prove unattractive for a dozen other reasons. She needed to know who she was dealing with before making any sort of commitment, and yet there would always be the chance to back out later, however embarrassing it might be.
Taking the photo and note from the envelope once more, Laura began to study them for clues. The picture gave very little away, save that he had access to the top of the municipal car park at lunch time and enough money to invest in an expensive camera and a long lens. The note was more telling, with the rather formal language and the use of ‘brassiere’ rather than ‘bra’, suggesting an older man, which fitted with everything else she knew about him.
The deduction was reassuring, calming both her doubts and fears although not eliminating them entirely, yet there was only one sure way to find out who he was, and that was to comply.
Laura’s sleep was troubled by vivid dreams, in which the Controller turned out not to be a man at all, but Hazel Manston-Jones, who dished out a spanking on the train along with a lecture on the impropriety of surrendering to men in public places. Three times Laura awoke, only to sink back into the same dream, a cycle she only broke by masturbating over what had been done to her.
In the morning she felt off balance, her head crowded with the same conflicting emotions which had troubled her since she had first received a message from the Controller. Once she had showered and dried she went to her drawers, hesitant, only to reach a snap decision. She would do it, and cope with the consequences when they came, because not to was to give in to the dull routine of her working life.
To put on stockings with a suspender belt and to leave her knickers off was straightforward, but to go without a bra under her work blouse presented a problem. Her bust was a little too full to get away with it without somebody noticing, certainly Mr Henderson and very possibly others. If Brian and Dave noticed they would have a field day, so at work it would be impossibly embarrassing and very unpleasant, although on the train that same embarrassment would be crucial to her excitement.
The sensible choice was to bring a pair of knickers and a bra in her bag, which she could put on when she arrived at work, which she did, while wondering at the subtlety of the distinction between arousal and distaste. The wrong man, the wrong place, the wrong time and a delicious thrill could become a nightmare.
Fully dressed, she still felt as if she was naked. Nothing showed, save for the dark rings of her nipples beneath her cotton blouse and the curve of her right breast if she stood at a certain angle to the mirror. With the warmer weather other women on the train would probably be showing as much if not more, but her exposure was deliberate, a signal to a man she didn’t even know that she was available, or at very least approachable.
Walking to the station gave Laura a thrill, with the sensation of the lining of her skirt moving on the bare skin of her bottom and the way her breasts moved with no bra to support them. Several of the men she passed seemed to notice, one even giving her a dirty grin, and she was sure that they not only realised she had no bra on but knew she was deliberately flaunting herself. Yet only one man had the right to respond, a man she knew would be on the train.
From the moment she got into the carriage she could feel her heartbeat picking up, while the skin of her neck felt warm and her nipples had grown obstinately erect, giving her the choice of keeping her jacket closed or letting them show. The decision to let them show put a lump in her throat, even though she was sat in her favourite window seat with nobody to see. She turned a little and took out her book, pretending to read although she knew that anybody coming in at the open doors would get the crucial angle that allowed them to see inside her blouse.
Her fingers were shaking, her face flushed hot with embarrassment, her arousal stronger than on many of the occasions she’d been naked with a man or even had somebody inside her. Hovis Boy got on and she quickly moved into a less revealing position, but he ignored her. A glance to the platform showed Darcy walking towards the train, tall and handsome and confident, bringing her pulse up until she could barely restrain herself and hold the position that would show him that she’d been a good girl and done as she was told.
He reached the doors, and stopped, turning aside to address a question to a member of staff. Laura stiffened, pushing her chest out a little and letting her jacket open fully, to leave a slice of her flesh on plain show and her nipples sticking up through her blouse in blatant betrayal of the state she was in. He stepped into the train, glanced from side to side, caught sight of her, his eyes flicking across the front of her straining blouse, and turning away even as her mouth had begun to curve up into a welcoming smile.
She cursed under her breath as she relaxed her body. He had turned the other way, taking a free double seat further down the carriage rather than any of the vacant singles near her. Only the thought of his wedding ring soothed her disappointment, and when the far less appealing Mr Brown got on a moment later and didn’t even glance at her she felt only relief. Three of her regulars remained, and Miss Scarlett could be safely excluded. She hadn’t seen the Tramp for a long while, which left the Grey Man and the Devil, unless the Controller was subtler still and had managed to completely avoid her attention.
With the train in motion she settled down to read her book, half-heartedly taking in the descriptions of the beautiful heroine, a fiery red-headed adventuress, and a hero who was Mark Frobisher in all but name. Yet the book helped her to relax, making the state of her nipples less embarrassing and helping the urge to play with herself to subside. Only when the train was pulling into Downham Market did she perk up again, wondering if the Grey Man’s cold detachment might make it exciting to have him give her highly personal orders, but he came in through the other set of doors and took no notice of her whatsoever.
That left the Devil, who not only fitted her imagined description of the Controller better than any of the others, but who had the most authority. It was all too easy to imagine herself being put across his knee for a stern, no nonsense spanking, or kneeling naked at his feet as she attended to his cock and balls with her tongue, all of which increased her anticipation as the train drew nearer to Ely, until she was fidgeting uncontrollably and could no longer bring herself to concentrate on her book.
He wasn’t going to be able to sit near her anyway, the only remaining seats being at the far end of the carriage, but her heart had begun to hammer once more as she adjusted her position to give him the best possible display of her breasts as he got on. That also meant showing off to Hovis Boy, who had begun to eye her cleavage with a sly, sideways look as the train slowed. Laura ignored him, doing her best to enjo
y the humiliation and watching the doors as they slid slowly apart.
There was no sign of the Devil, until he came in at the other set of doors. He glanced around, ignored the two vacant seats nearby and began to walk down the aisle. Laura felt as if her heart was about to burst as he came nearer, and stopped, his hand closing around a support rail as the train shuddered into motion. She knew he was looking down at her, and turned to him, unable to look away, to find his bright pale-grey eyes looking into hers, then lower, to feast on the crescent of pale flesh showing within her blouse. He smiled, cool and certain and knowing. Laura felt her body tighten, a reaction like a small faint orgasm and a gasp had escaped her lips before she could stop herself. One edge of his mouth curled up, giving his smile the wry wicked edge she remembered from before. He spoke.
‘Good morning, Laura. Stand up.’
She complied without hesitation and was rewarded with another smile for her obedience. The man next to her gave her a curious look, but it barely registered as she passed him to join the Devil in the open space between the doors. He looked her up and down, apparently in approval, then spoke again, softly enough to ensure that his voice was hidden from other passengers by the noise of the train.
‘You have done as I said?’
‘Yes.’
Laura had struggled to answer, wondering if she was about to be asked to exhibit herself to prove she had no knickers on, knowing she wanted to, but scared of the possible consequences. He glanced down to the front of her skirt.
‘Good. You and I will get on very well indeed, I suspect, but naturally you will want to be sure of me first?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sensible girl. Perhaps you would care for dinner this evening? Shall we say seven-thirty at Brooke’s?’
‘That would be wonderful, but my dog … no, never mind, he can cope, but I mustn’t be back too late …’
Laura stopped, aware that she’d begun to babble, but he merely returned his amused smile, then continued.
‘Wear red, it suits you. Otherwise, come as you are.’
Laura nodded, despite an instinctive touch of rebellion at the order, unwilling and unable to argue the point. She could buy a dress at lunch time and change at work, while she was already naked beneath her clothes at his command. He spoke again.
‘Excellent, I look forward to it. My name is Charles, by the way, Charles Latchley, although you may prefer Mr Latchley at times.’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good. I had hoped we would understand on another.’
‘Or … I always think of you as the Devil.’
He laughed, openly this time, a deep, resonant sound, brief but without restraint.
‘That might be very appropriate, on occasion.’
Laura shivered.
‘How did you know?’
‘How did I know who you are, or how did I know what you are?’
‘Both, really, I mean …’
‘I have know what you are for quite some time, and so naturally I wanted to know who you are. My chance came when I found your bookmark the other day …’
‘My bookmark?’
‘Yes, the one you’ve been using since Christmas. It was on the seat one evening when I chanced to come back into town late, an opportunity I was unable to resist, although I freely confess I had never expected you to respond so well.’
‘Oh. You were watching me all along?’
‘Yes. I do apologise if I caused you any alarm, but I am sure you will understand that I needed to test the water, and you do like stockings, don’t you?’
‘Yes … I mean, my boss … no, not really. I do. But how do you mean by what I am?’
‘What you are? Surely you know what you are?’
‘No. I don’t understand.’
‘You are an old-fashioned girl. A girl who likes to wear stockings, who likes to feel feminine. You are a girl who enjoys novels in which the heroine spends a good deal of time tied up, or in chains, at the mercy of some powerful man, or having to go naked, or being spanked.’
He chuckled, and Laura realised that the sudden tightening of her muscles at the crucial word must have given her away. The blood rushed to her face, but there was no distaste in his expression, or even the crude, boyish lust Chris Drake had shown, only a calm appreciation and, more importantly, understanding. Instantly it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and her voice was full of gratitude as she answered.
‘Yes. I like that, but I still don’t understand?’
His voice was rich with pleasure as he answered.
‘No? How charming. What you are, Laura, is a natural slave.’
12
THE DAY SEEMED to take forever to pass, with a hundred different thoughts crowding Laura’s head as she struggled to concentrate on work. For all her excitement, she was not completely easy in her mind about what he had said, particularly about her being a natural slave. It seemed too extreme, far beyond her fantasies of capture and punishment, and suggested a permanent and deliberate inequality in their relationship rather than a purely sexual one. She had also become very much aware of the gap in age between them, and the inevitable social consequences. He was roughly the same age as her parents, which would make introductions difficult if it ever came to that, while she could already hear Brian and Dave sniggering and the catty remarks from the other girls at EAS if he accompanied her to company functions.
Despite her misgivings she was determined to go through with it, at the very least dinner and whatever came afterwards, almost certainly more. Not only did he seem to be the answer to many of her most compelling needs, but it would be immensely satisfying if Chris Drake was to discover that she had found herself a new partner just two days after Hazel had brought their liaison to an end.
At lunchtime she made a trip to Talitha Tabitha, a shop specialising in clothes for the richer female students at the university. After just a few minutes talking to a shop assistant who looked and behaved like an impoverished duchess, Laura chose a beautiful evening gown in heavy deep-red silk. The fit was perfect but the price came as a nasty shock, leaving her feigning nonchalance as she passed the Duchess her credit card.
When five o’clock eventually came around she went to change, agonising over the details of her make-up and hair but going without bra or knickers as she had been instructed. As she left the EAS building she felt more naked than ever, sure not only that everybody who passed knew that her pretty dress concealed her bare bottom and sex, but they also knew what was likely to happen to her later. None reacted, save to compliment her and ask about the date she was obviously going on. She replied cautiously, trying not to be so mysterious that rumours began to kick off, while also not giving too much away.
She was grateful for the anonymity of the university town, where she only looked slightly out of place, and in Brooke’s not at all. Somewhat early, painfully nervous but determined to fit in, she ordered a glass of dry white wine and sat sipping it at the bar as she reflected on what the evening might bring. Charles, Mr Latchley, the Devil, had shown extraordinary confidence on the train, as if he already knew all about her, even her most private thoughts. It had been disconcerting, but also thrilling, especially to imagine that he would be able to fulfil her darkest fantasies without the embarrassment of having to explain them first. He knew.
At precisely seven-thirty he arrived, now wearing a perfectly cut dinner jacket and a black bow tie, giving him even more authority than before. Laura found herself smiling and rising at his approach, desperately eager to please, and yet her response felt entirely natural. He took command at once, announcing his name to the waiter, who escorted them to a table in the alcove formed by a bay window, ensuring perfect privacy.
Taking both menu and wine list, he spent a moment studying the selection with a critical eye, asked Laura a couple of questions about her personal preferences and ordered for both of them. The waiter bowed and withdrew, quickly returning with a bottle of Champagne in an i
ce bucket. Charles tasted the wine, approved it and watched as Laura’s glass was filled.
‘You’re very generous, thank you.’
‘Not at all. The wonderful thing about Champagne is that it can be drunk throughout a meal, unlike any other wine.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘It’s not something that’s widely appreciated nowadays.’
‘Are you in the business then?’
‘Oh no, merely an amateur. I run an antiquarian bookshop in Sturton Street, although to all intents and purposes I’m retired. Originally I was in the City. And yourself?’
‘I work for EAS, East Anglia Switchgear. We make sealed, middle and high-voltage units, but it’s all very dull.’
‘Not at all, although for a woman like yourself our modern world must seem stifling.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Don’t you find it so? The need to fit in with a society inimical to your personality, in which lip service is paid to individuality and yet you dare not openly express what is the very essence of your being.’
‘My sexuality? You’re right, and it’s wonderful to be able to talk to somebody who understands. What’s the right word, submissive?’
‘No or, at least, only in a technical sense. Unfortunately the word has been hijacked by people who merely play games, whereas for you I suspect it goes much deeper. It’s such a cold word as well, so scientific. I prefer to call you what you are in your heart, a slave.’