But no. Let’s be honest, Livvie. It’s not like that. It’s something very different. Something dark and dangerous and exciting that I still don’t really understand, but that I am somehow compelled to obey.
This morning as I was getting ready in the bathroom at work, I had a brief fantasy that he opened the door while I was putting the stockings on and just stood there, watching. I imagined the two of us in some kind of sultry film noir, my leg raised provocatively as I eased the soft silk up a firm calf, and he watched, mesmerized.
Well, that didn’t happen, of course. But about a half hour after he arrived this morning, he called me in, his quiet but commanding tone sending a shiver over my skin.
“Olivia.”
He was seated at his desk when I entered the office, and I stood in front of him, trying to appear calm. I had missed our daily interactions more than I would care to admit.
“Take off your skirt and slip.”
Just like that. No building up to it. Just take your skirt right off in front of your boss.
“Excuse me?” I said, to buy time.
“Do I need to repeat myself? Am I unclear?”
“Well, um, it’s just you haven’t asked that before, I mean, not since that punishment, and I don’t think I’ve incurred any infractions—”
“You have now. Don’t question me. Do as you’re told.”
Well, I did, all the time thinking, be careful what you wish for. You wanted him to look at your garters, and now he’s doing it, so what’s your problem? Yes, I did want it—I’ll admit that straight out. I think I hesitated because it was sudden, so unexpected, and I felt rather shy. No man but Frank has ever seen me like that.
But he sat there, a calm look on his handsome face, as if what he were asking was nothing out of the ordinary.
This is it, I thought. No turning back now. The side zipper stuck a little and my fingers were trembling as I fumbled with the little tag. I pushed the skirt down my legs, hoping against hope I wouldn’t trip in my heels and make a fool of myself. I lay my skirt and slip over the back of a chair and then stood there in my garters and stockings, and of course my underpants, bra and blouse, nervous as a colt as I fidgeted from foot to foot.
Instead of looking pleased, or at least lecherous, the man looked horrified. I blushed from the tip of my ears down to my toes. How dare he look at me that way? I mean, I may be no spring chicken, but I’m not that hard on the eyes.
But apparently I wasn’t the problem.
“What is that ridiculous underwear?” he demanded.
Can you imagine? They’re just nice practical cotton underpants. Does he think I have drawers full of skimpy satin panties like those young models are wearing? I’m a grown woman. I’ve had three children. I retorted something along those lines.
He smiled slightly, but his tone remained stern. “Olivia, I don’t want you to wear that white cotton underwear at the office ever again, do you understand? It goes the way of the girdle. I will have another package prepared for you at Slone’s tomorrow.”
Beyond the humiliation and irritation at his insulting my perfectly fine underpants, I was miffed—I’ll admit it. He hadn’t said a word about my legs, which I know are still nice, or the garters, or the fact that I had obeyed him without protest and taken off the skirt.
I tell you, the man is driving me to distraction.
Later: Just time to write a few words here. Mr. Stevenson called me in again and gave me detailed instructions about Slone’s. I’m to go over as soon as they open in the morning. I’m to ask for Miss Wilson and tell her I’m there for a fitting. He says she will tell me exactly what to do and I must obey her to the letter, no matter what she instructs me to do.
My initial reaction was to demand just what he meant by obeying this woman to the letter. What “orders” could a saleslady possibly have for me? Aren’t I the customer? I very nearly asked, too, but a look from Mr. Stevenson kept me from forming the words.
He went on to say he will receive a full report from her about my actions and behavior, and he’s confident I will do just exactly as I am told. I don’t mind saying—I’m nervous as a cat now. Just what am I letting myself in for?
I could just refuse.
But I know I won’t.
~*~
Ryan gave a low whistle. “Man, this stuff is incredible, Tess. I feel like I’m getting to know Olivia, and she’s definitely someone I would have loved to meet.”
“I never met this particular Olivia,” Tess replied. “I would have liked to meet her, too.”
Ryan nodded. “Her writing style is really engaging. It’s so hot but so funny, all at the same time.” He shook his head. “Imagine if that dude tried something like that today at the office.”
“Hashtag Me Too, right?” Tess agreed with a laugh. “Though clearly whatever was going on between them was consensual. Olivia was definitely into it.”
“Sure, why wouldn’t she be? Imagine how it must have been for her, Tess.” Ryan’s voice deepened, and the room was suddenly charged with sexual tension. “It’s hot to be dommed by a man who understands your intrinsic need to submit.” He brought his arm around Tess’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. He cupped her breast, his fingers closing around her nipple. He squeezed it, lightly at first, then harder.
Intrinsic need to submit.
The words bypassed her brain, sending a sudden, hot jolt directly to her pussy. His grip was tight on her nipple, the sensation a confusion of pain and pleasure. Startled at her own powerful reaction, she focused instead on the obvious as she blurted, “That hurts, Ryan.”
“But it’s a good pain, isn’t it, Tess?”
Tess swallowed hard, unable to respond, a flush of heat moving over her skin.
Ryan released her nipple and pulled his arm from around her shoulders. Taking the journal from her hands, he set it on the nightstand. Turning to face her, he lifted her chin as he lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was both tender and commanding, and Tess melted against the pillow as their tongues entwined, her body yielding and ready for him.
But when he finally pulled away, instead of making love to her, he picked up the journal again and said, “Lie back and close your eyes. I’m going to read the next entry to you.”
~*~
October 31, 1961
This may have been the strangest day so far. I left at 9:45 in the morning, right in the middle of our workday, as Mr. Stevenson had instructed. The shop is only two blocks over and the morning was pleasant, but I barely noticed, intent on my mission. They buzzed me in, and I went right over to the counter and asked for Miss Wilson.
A plump, pleasant-looking young woman came out from the back and held out her hand to me. “You must be Olivia. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please come back to our private fitting area. I’m all ready for you.”
As we were walking through the boutique, I was struck by the woman’s usage of my first name, but maybe that’s all Mr. Stevenson had told her. She unlocked a door that was covered in brocaded pink satin, very posh, and gestured for me to go into what turned out to be a rather large fitting room with floor-to-ceiling mirrors hung on all the walls. A number of satin undergarments had been set out on a low counter.
Miss Wilson took a seat on the only chair in the room and looked up at me. “I’ve brought a few things in for you to try. Mr. Stevenson did give me some direction, but he trusts my discretion.” She regarded me with a tilted head for a moment, cupping her chin and tapping her mouth while I stood there, as self-conscious as a schoolgirl.
“Now that I see you”—she rose from the chair and walked over to the counter— “I think we should try this one, and this, and this.” She picked up a pair of the underwear and handed them to me.
I stared at her. Was she suggesting I try on the panties with her just standing there watching me? I didn’t want to be rude and order her to get out, so I said instead, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“My apologies,” she
said smoothly, smiling in a rather superior but still kindly way. “Mr. Stevenson instructed me to treat you as usual.”
“As usual?” I replied, thoroughly confused. “Usual what?”
She colored very slightly. “He, uh, didn’t tell you what to do?”
Now I was the one to blush. “He said to, um, to obey whatever you told me to do.” I looked down, my cheeks on fire. What in God’s name was I doing there? I very nearly turned on my heel and walked out the pink satin door, Mr. Stevenson’s directions be damned.
Miss Wilson touched my arm. “Please, Olivia,” she said gently. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. I can see this is new for you, and you aren’t sure what to expect.” She bit her lip and then seemed to come to some kind of decision. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to make a quick phone call. Please wait just a moment. I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft click behind her.
Again I thought about just walking out, but I had to admit, the gorgeous lingerie had got my attention. I had never seen anything quite so lovely in my life, and I walked over to the counter to examine it more closely.
The panties were made with heavy satin and edged with exquisite lace, beautifully sewn in creamy beige, black and crimson. I touched the fabric to my cheek, enjoying the smooth, soft slide of it on my skin. I was sure they must cost more than I made in a month. But hey, it was Mr. Stevenson’s dime.
She came back, slightly out of breath. “I’ve talked to Mr. Stevenson, and he explained the uh, newness, of your situation. I understand things better now. Mr. Stevenson says we are to take our time, so don’t worry about hurrying back to the office.”
Sitting down again, she said, “I’d like you to try on a pair of the underwear so I can assess if the fit and style is right for you.” She made no move to get up and leave.
I glanced around, as if a privacy screen had materialized in a corner of the room while I wasn’t looking. “Um, right in front of you?”
“Oh,” she waved her hand airily, like this was an everyday thing, which perhaps for her, it was. “Don’t be shy. This is my profession. I see women in a state of undress all the time. Mr. Stevenson would like you to remove your clothing so I can properly assess the full effect. You can leave on the garter belt, stockings and brassiere, but please do remove everything else.”
Talk about baptism by fire!
What the heck was I doing there? Was I really going to strip in front of a stranger and try on sexy panties that I was to wear only at work? Were things moving to a new level between Mr. Stevenson and me? If I obeyed, did that mean I was tacitly agreeing to become Mr. Stevenson’ paramour?
We’ve never even shared a kiss. I call him Mr. Stevenson, for heaven’s sake. Yet, there I was, trying on that gorgeous lingerie in front of a stranger, because Mr. Stevenson had commanded it.
My hands are shaking as I write this. God help me, I did it. I took off my things, keeping my burning face averted as I tried on the panties, which included a paper insert to keep them fresh.
She was extremely complimentary, and after a while, I did relax some, though my heart never stopped pounding. I had to admit, I did look pretty darn good in all those mirrors. What in the world would Frank think if he saw me in one of those getups? Maybe I should get something like this for home—might spice up our sex life.
Frank aside, the experience was both strange and thrilling in the extreme. I can hardly wait until Mr. Stevenson calls me in to show him what he paid for. Maybe we’re not lovers, but something is definitely going on between us. And I won’t lie—it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me in my life.
~*~
Tess had kept her eyes closed as Ryan had read aloud to her, but she was clearly listening. Her lovely nipples were round and hard, her hands clenching as the words came to life on the page. A flush had risen on her chest, spreading up over her cheeks, and her lips were softly parted, as if waiting for his kiss.
Ryan had been amused at first at the prospect of reading Tess’s grandmother’s diary, prepared to dismiss it as casual kink. He hadn’t been prepared for the power of that young woman’s words reaching out to him from across the decades. While his own sexual fantasies regarding BDSM took a much darker twist, it was clear Olivia “got it”—she understood the potential of dominance and submission on a gut level, even if she lacked experience and knowledge about the lifestyle.
Ryan had had a few serious relationships over the years, but they had fizzled out over time. The girls were perfectly nice—he’d been the problem. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing, even eager, to find true intimacy with a woman, but with each girl, from the beginning, if he were totally honest, he’d already visualized the ending, aware at least on some level that the essential spark between them was missing.
With Tess, however, it was more than a spark. A flame had ignited between them. He was excited by Tess’s powerful reaction not only to Olivia’s depictions, but to his subtle dominance over her during sex. It was clear that she, like Olivia, was treading in uncharted territory, but was eager to continue the exploration.
Ryan set the journal down and reached for Tess, taking her in his arms.
She wrapped herself around him, pressing her warm body against his. Her soft breasts were crushed against his chest as he held her close. They kissed for several minutes until Ryan pulled away long enough to murmur, “It’s about control, Tess.”
“What?” Tess said breathlessly, her lips still parted and shiny with his kisses. Her hair was wild around her face, her pupils dilated. Ryan put his hand lightly on her chest. Her heart was pounding, her breathing ragged and shallow.
“Allowing another person to take erotic control. That’s what excited Olivia, and you, too, are feeling its power.” He reached for her again, this time pressing her down against the bed as he lifted her arms above her head. Holding both her wrists with one hand, he slipped his other hand between her legs.
Her cunt was wet, her little clit hard as a pea. “Fuck me,” she said throatily.
“No.”
Tess’s eyes flew open. “What?”
It was very probably the first time in her life she’d ever been refused by a man.
“You heard me,” Ryan replied with an amused smile, power coursing through his veins like a drug.
Her face twisted into an adorable pout. “Huh? Why not?”
“Because you haven’t earned it, Tess.”
She frowned and squirmed beneath him. “What are you talking about?”
He held her wrists fast. “I know you want it, but you need to be controlled, don’t you, little girl? You’re longing to surrender to the right man. To the right Master.”
Color rose on Tess’s cheeks, her eyes fever bright. “Ryan, I…I don’t know what…” Abruptly she turned her head away.
Letting go of one wrist, he reached for her face, gently forcing her to look at him. “You do know,” he said with conviction. “We both know. You have permission now, Tess. Permission to accept your true nature. You’ve been waiting all your life for this.” He stared into her eyes, speaking from his heart. “As have I.”
Her expression softened. “Yes,” she whispered, her body relaxing beneath his. “Yes.”
Ryan positioned his rock-hard cock between her thighs. “I’m going to claim you, Tess. I’m going to make you mine in every sense of the word.”
She moaned as he nudged the head of his cock into her wet, tight heat. He entered her with a groan. When he sensed she was close, her body trembling, her breathy cries rising with passion, he let go of her wrists and slid his arms beneath her. “Come for me, Tess,” he commanded. “Give me everything you’ve got.”
With a sharp cry, she jerked hard beneath him, her cunt spasming as she climaxed, dragging him over the edge along with her.
As their hearts slowed their pounding rhythms, Ryan rolled to his side, pulling her along with him so they were facing one another, his cock still inside her. �
�I’m going to take control, Tess,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “I’m going to teach you what it is to submit. Do you understand?”
Wordlessly, her eyes wide, she nodded.
Chapter 5
November 7, 1961
It was just a matter of time. I can’t fool myself anymore about what is or isn’t happening between us. And if this was just a game before, albeit a bizarre one, it has gone beyond that now.
And here’s the weird thing. I’m not sorry. I don’t feel guilty. I mean, maybe I do a little, or I wouldn’t be writing this, I guess. But Frank would never understand the feelings Mr. Stevenson has somehow awakened in me, or planted in me, or whatever he has done. What about Mrs. Stevenson? It’s hard to imagine her as a flesh-and-blood person. She’s more like a shadowy figure in the background. Perhaps she is his Madonna and I am his whore. Maybe between us, we give him what he needs.
Each day for the past week, I’ve worn the lovely lingerie he bought for me, and each day, though he has found a reason to use his ruler, it has always been over the skirt. I admit I was both frustrated and relieved by this. Did I expect him to ask me to model it as Miss Wilson had?
Yes, to be honest, I guess I did. You don’t buy a woman sexy lingerie and then not want to see it, do you? If you’re a normal man, that is. I guess that’s my mistake. While I find Mr. Stevenson exciting and even dangerous in a sexy kind of way, I certainly wouldn’t describe him as normal.
But I’m digressing.
Here’s what happened.
Mr. Stevenson called me in after lunch today. He wasn’t behind his desk, but was sitting in a relaxed pose in one of his wing-backed chairs. Without preamble, he said, “I presume you’re wearing the lingerie I purchased for you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, suddenly finding the air in the room to be short of oxygen.
“Show me.”
At first, I misunderstood, thinking he meant for me to go get the satin lingerie I keep in a hatbox under the sink in the office bathroom. I almost turned to go and get it when he clarified, “Take off your dress, please.” When I didn’t react, he added sternly, “Olivia. Do as you’re told. Now.”
The Master & the Secretary (Finding Master Right Book 2) Page 5