He actually raised his eyebrows, as if he were surprised by my choice, and a ghost of a smile hovered around his mouth. “Very well. Take off the skirt. It’s too narrow to hike up.”
And I did it.
Mrs. Old Married Woman unzipped her skirt and laid it carefully over a chair. I stood there in my girdle and underpants, feeling very self-conscious indeed.
Though I feel kind of sorry for his wife—look what he’s doing behind her back—in a way knowing that he’s married makes me more comfortable. He’s obviously seen a woman in this state of undress many times before. Probably doesn’t even think twice about it.
He looked me over with a frown while the heat crept up my cheeks as usual. “I don’t like girdles. Why do slender women like you wear girdles?”
Well, I liked that he called me slender. But married or not, he obviously didn’t know much about women’s undergarments. “To hold up my stockings, of course,” I snapped, and then bit my lip, worried I had sounded “impertinent.”
He let it pass, answering, “There are much nicer ways to do that, Olivia. Next Monday on your lunch hour, you will go to Slone’s Dress Shop in the village and pick up a package. It will be in my name at the counter. You will not wear a girdle again in my presence, once you have the garter belts that will be waiting for you. Understood?”
The man was buying me underwear!
Instead of slapping his face and quitting again, I nodded, but I was thinking, “Garter belts?” I was going to dress like a common whore for this man who was my boss. I knew I was going to do it and I’ll admit here, the notion excited me.
He drew me back to the matter at hand. “Come here and bend over my lap.”
I felt awkward and sort of ridiculous, a grown woman balancing over a man’s knee in her girdle and stockings.
But I did it.
Thwack! He smacked me really hard. Much harder than the little taps I’d been getting up until then.
“Ouch,” I yelled involuntarily.
“Come now. This is nothing. Take it like a true submissive, Olivia. Silently.” Again he smacked me, and I managed not to yelp out loud, though I did kind of grunt. I mean, it stung, even through the rubbery fabric of the girdle and my panties. Imagine it on bare skin. He did it eight more times, covering my entire bottom.
Here’s the really weird thing.
The secret thing.
Afterward, my panties were soaked.
I was so aroused by that paddling that I couldn’t wait to get home to Frank. Lucky for me it was Friday, so I was pretty much assured of some sex.
When Frank made love to me, after I finally got the kids off to bed, I think I actually might have had an orgasm. I’m not exactly sure, but I think I did. Anyway, it felt really good, and when he pressed my sore bottom against the sheets, it just made me so hot. I’m sure Frank must have wondered what had gotten into me. He isn’t crazy about a woman showing too much emotion during sex. “Isn’t seemly”, he’d say if pressed. Not that he’d talk about it, but after eleven years, I know that’s what he thinks.
I wonder what it’s like for Mr. Stevenson and his wife. Does she get punished too? Or would she divorce him if he tried this stuff with her? And where is this going with Mr. Stevenson? Are we having an affair?
What am I doing????
October 23, 1961 – later
I’m spending too much time writing in this thing, but Mr. Stevenson assures me it’s not a waste of time, so here goes—entry number two of the day.
The garter belts are beautiful. Elegant satin, one in cream, one in black and one in pearl gray. The place was so upscale. Nothing I’d ever go into on my own. They actually keep the door locked and have to buzz you in, and there’s no price tag on anything. I guess if you have to ask…
The saleslady was very posh and sophisticated, and she acted like I was the Queen of England as she handed me the beautiful box wrapped with a pretty ribbon. When I got back to the office, Mr. Stevenson told me to open the package and select a belt. He says I’m to leave them at the office each evening, and put one on each morning when I arrive. He said I could wash them out here as necessary.
I’m wearing the pearl gray garter belt with my stockings. It really does feel better than a girdle, though it doesn’t control my figure as well. I feel almost naked under there. I’ve been wearing a girdle for so long. I mean, everyone does. Still, I have to admit, it feels really sexy. Right now, as I’m writing, I’m fingering one of the satin ribbons at the bottom of the garter.
I can’t wait for him to call me in to show him!
It’s 4:15 and I have to leave in fifteen minutes so I’m home in time to cook dinner for Frank and the kids, but I have to get this out first.
I’m so annoyed. And confused!
I’ve been waiting all day, but nothing. Zilch. When he called me in for dictation, I thought, this is it, he’ll ask me to raise my skirt and show him. The whole time he was dictating, I could barely keep my mind on what he was saying. Finally, he said, “Thank you, that will be all.”
I just sat there, dumbfounded.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Was there something else, Olivia?”
I had to bite my tongue, let me tell you. Mr. Stevenson has yet to experience my sarcastic side. I lost my nerve though, muttering, “No, Sir. I’ll get these typed up.”
The whole rest of the afternoon went like that. When 4:00 came, I thought, well, this is it. Finally. Now he’ll call me in to show him the sexy garters.
Well, 4:00 came and went, and nothing happened. Just now Mr. Stevenson came out of his office, barely stopping as he said, calm as you please, “Good night, Olivia.”
That’s it! Just good night. He took his overcoat and his hat, and, after reminding me to lock up, left.
Now I’m sitting here, just fuming! Is the man made of flesh and blood, or stone and metal? Aren’t I an attractive woman?
I just reread what I wrote, and I think I’m losing my mind. Here I am, furious, because I’ve been waiting around all afternoon like an idiot for my boss to call me in and demand to see the garter belts he paid for. There is definitely something wrong with me. I wonder if I should see a doctor.
Chapter 3
October 25, 1961
Hope springs eternal, right? Surely if he hadn’t asked to see the garters on Monday, he would on Tuesday. I managed to arrive early enough to put on my satin undies and sexy garter belt before Mr. Stevenson arrived. I chose the black set, with the pair of sheer black stockings I usually only wear when Frank and I go out somewhere fancy. Whether or not he was going to look at them, I was going to wear them. If I had anything to do with it, I was going to get that man to look at them.
When Mr. Stevenson came in, after a brusque good morning, he said, “I need the Masterson file right away. And a cup of coffee, if you please.” Now, normally, I would have jumped up and gotten that file and brought it to him right away. Then off to the kitchenette to pour him a cup of coffee, prepared just the way he likes it, one sugar and plenty of cream. But not too much cream, or the coffee won’t be hot enough.
Well, I didn’t do either thing. I pretended to make a phone call, actually calling First Fidelity for that recording of time and temperature. Then I buffed a nail and reapplied my lipstick. Then I meandered to the kitchenette and made his coffee, but darn if I didn’t add too much cream, whoops. Then, and only then, I got the file he wanted, but oh dear, it was the Masters file, instead of the Masterson.
I chickened out when it actually came to spilling the coffee. That would have been overkill, and God knows I don’t want to be the one responsible for destroying his family heirloom. I set the cup and saucer on his desk alongside the incorrect file.
He didn’t look up or act as if he knew I existed.
I went back to my desk.
After a while, he came out and got the proper file himself, dumping the wrong one onto my desk without looking at me. But still he hadn’t said a word.
Damn him, the morning went on as any
other. I kept waiting for him to call me in, but not a word. I was too nervous to eat my lunch. Here I’d gone and messed things up on purpose, just to see what he would do, and he didn’t do a thing.
But then, at 4:00 on the nose he intoned, “Olivia.”
Finally!
I got up and went into his office, after a quick check of my makeup. I knew I’d earned a punishment, and I was both terrified and thrilled.
Things didn’t go precisely as I’d planned them. To put it mildly.
I’m not even exactly sure what happened, but I figure if I write it down here, it will help me sort it out.
When I entered the office, Mr. Stevenson said, “Close the door.” He had never said that before, since we’re the only two in the office, but I obeyed, my heart pounding a mile a minute.
He just stood there behind his chair for a while, looking me up and down. “The mouse,” he finally said, “is toying with the cat. The mouse,” he went on, “likes to play, and sees this all as a little game. The mouse”— now he stared at me until I blushed and looked down—“will have to learn this is no game.”
Well, I was squirming like a kid again and wishing I could start the day over. What had I been thinking? Sophisticated Mr. Stevenson wasn’t going to fall for my obvious little ploys.
“You need to be punished. That much is clear. Not because you brought me the wrong file, but because you did it on purpose. Not because my coffee had too much cream, but because you did that on purpose as well.
“You are toying with me, and I must say, your manipulations lack subtlety.” I blushed at this, let me tell you, but he wasn’t done. “Some clarification apparently needs to be made. You need to be taught that it is I, not you, who initiates punishments, who decides what is and what is not an infraction, and who determines how you will behave when you are here. Go to the corner.”
“What?”
“Go to the corner, and put your nose against the wall. Women who act like naughty little girls will be treated as such. You willfully tried to manipulate me into using a ruler on you, like a kid trying to trick her daddy into buying her candy. So, go on, little girl. Nose against the wall. Hands behind your back. Grab each elbow with the opposite hand and stand perfectly still. Go on. Do it, or get out.”
Well, I had no intention of obeying such a ridiculous order. You can bet I wasn’t going to. But something in his tone compelled me to obey. My legs felt like rubber, but somehow I got myself over to the corner. In an almost trancelike state, I leaned over and touched my nose to the wall. He made me stand out farther from the wall, so that I had to stick out my rear to keep my nose in place.
I was mortified. That’s the best word for it. Mortified and humiliated.
And on fire.
I felt so ridiculous with my nose pressed against the wall, holding my hands behind my back. But that tingle was there too. I realized I was waiting for him to come up behind me. To press slowly against me, like in the movies, and maybe let my bun down or something. I don’t know what exactly I was expecting.
Stop lying, Livvie. You know exactly what you were expecting, or even hoping, would happen.
I fantasized right there on the spot that he would lean over me and kiss my neck, and maybe whisper something sexy about me belonging to him. My ears were pricked, waiting to hear him approach. I was so excited, even though I felt so silly with my face in the corner. Something was about to happen. He could say what he liked about manipulation, but here I was, waiting for the exciting, sexy, dangerous thing to happen—the thing I’d willed into being by my actions.
Well, it didn’t. Nothing. Zippo. Just me standing there, my nose against the wall, feeling more and more ridiculous. After a while, I got a crick in my neck. My arms started to ache as I tried to balance with my nose while holding my elbows behind me. All the while, he just stood there, or whatever he was doing. For all I knew, he had left the room. I didn’t dare turn around to find out.
I stayed in the corner for three hours. No, it couldn’t have been, but it felt like it. Finally, he spoke from behind me, the sound of his voice making me startle. “Good night, Olivia. I’ll see you in the morning. Try a stunt like that again and see where it takes you.” The bastard walked out of his office and left for the night.
When I turned around, the small gold clock on his desk read 4:28. You’ve never seen anyone pull on their girdle so fast. I barely made the bus, running and shouting for it to wait. If thoughts could kill, the man would not have made it home in his fancy Lincoln. He would have died of “natural causes” before his wife could serve him his meatloaf.
~*~
Tess grinned, even through her shock. Nana’s funny, sassy personality shone through her writing, even if the content was the last thing Tess would ever have expected.
It was definitely a lot to take in. Olivia had been living a secret life for who knew how long?
Though Tess still felt a little guilty over violating her late grandmother’s privacy, now that she had started, there was no way she could stop until she’d read every last line. She was glad she’d been the one to discover the journals. Her mom and sister would have been horrified—end of story.
Nana had kept plenty of secrets for Tess. This was the least she could do for her. Nana had never told anyone about the time Tess had shoplifted in fourth grade and gotten caught. She had stared at that Barbie doll for twenty minutes before furtively shoving it down the front of her windbreaker. Terror at what she had done drove her from the store at a run. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d screamed aloud as she ran, “I stole something. Come get me.”
Naturally, the guy behind the counter had run out after her, calling, “Little girl! Little girl!”
She had burst into tears as he caught up with her, and wordlessly held out the stolen Barbie doll. He had taken pity on her, only making her promise not to do that again.
Though she’d gotten off lightly, the guilt at what she’d done had overwhelmed her, as well as a need to confess to someone. Her mother? Even at that young age, Tess sensed that her mother would not have been as forgiving as the man in the store had been. Tess envisioned a spanking at the very least, and quite possibly a huge story blown all out of proportion by the time her father came home, late as usual and smelling of whiskey. Then off would come his belt and little Tess would pay a heavy price for her bad deed.
So she had stayed silent, huddled in her bed in the room she shared with her sister, Stacy. She had confided in no one for three days. But when Saturday finally came and she went to spend the morning with Nana, helping her in her garden and baking cookies, the words had come tumbling out at last, like a wound that had needed lancing to heal.
Tess had known instinctively that Nana wouldn’t betray her by telling her parents. Instead, her grandmother had scooped her up in her arms and let her cry out her shame. Stroking her head, she’d asked gently, “And will you do such a silly thing again, Tess sweetheart?”
And as Tess shook her head fervently, Nana kissed her round, wet little cheek and said, “No, I know you won’t, and no harm was done, so let’s put it behind us, dear. Now, would you like some chocolate chip cookies? I think they’re just about done.”
Tess sat now, smiling and blinking back tears. How could she reconcile her memories of her dear old Nana with the sexy secretary in the journal, who seemed to be describing the beginnings of a very bizarre love affair?
And Mr. Stevenson. James Stevenson, the man who had called Olivia’s home, who was still alive and had maintained contact with his old secretary all these years. Tess toyed with the idea of calling him back. But what would she say?
“I found those diaries and know all about your kinky affair with my grandmother. Explain yourself.” What right had she to demand any explanations? Nana had been an adult, making her own decisions decades before Tess was even born.
It was so much to take in.
Maybe Ryan would have some insight.
Should she even tell Ryan?
Ryan and she had connected while working on a lawsuit together. She’d been instantly attracted to him. He was tall and fit, with arresting green eyes, a straight, elegant nose and a mouth that lifted often into a smile. His light brown hair started out in the mornings slicked back from his forehead, but invariably had flopped forward into his eyes by the end of the long workday.
While he wasn’t overtly flirtatious in the office, there had been a definite sexual current humming between them from the minute they’d met. Long days and nights working on the same project had given them time, professionally and otherwise, to check each other out.
When the case was over, Tess was forced to admit she had a full-out crush on the guy. He was good-looking and hard-working, but didn’t take himself too seriously, or ever try to put himself above her, either professionally or otherwise. She had managed to suss out that he was single, and while he casually dated, had no steady girlfriend.
She’d been the first one to make the move, inviting him to dinner one Friday, making it seem as if it was a last-minute idea, though she’d been mulling the idea over in her mind for a few days.
That Friday morning she had worn a sexy new thong and matching bra, not that she expected him to see it, but just in case. And, just in case, she made sure the apartment was clean and neat, with fresh sheets on the bed. Not that she expected him to come back to her place, much less get into her bed, but just in case.
When six o’clock rolled around, Ryan was still bent over his work, his sleeves rolled up midway against the sexy muscles of his forearms. His hair had flopped over his forehead as usual, and he had a pen dangling from his mouth. Even in this digital age, his desk was covered in papers.
The Master & the Secretary (Finding Master Right Book 2) Page 3