But he didn’t. We only ever did “it” the one time. I have no idea if we’ll ever do “it” again.
I wonder about that. We play games that are increasingly sexual in nature, but he always stops the action before things go too far. That time was no exception. Mr. Stevenson kissed me a while and it was heavenly, but then abruptly, he pulled away and stood up, still completely composed, though his eyes were glittering.
“You may button your blouse,” he said without a trace of emotion. “Then come to my office. Bring your typing.”
Well, of course there were typos galore, but whose fault was that?
I stood in front of his desk, my blouse untucked, lipstick smeared across my face, my hair a mess. My bottom was twitching in anticipation of the ruler I was sure was coming.
But instead of ordering me to bend over to take my well-earned punishment, he said, “Olivia, I’ve sensed that you are coming to, ah, enjoy our little punishment sessions. Which really isn’t surprising, as I had you pegged as a masochist from your first week here.”
I blushed, as usual, but also as usual, he was right on the money.
“Today we’re going to try something different. The punishment will be more overtly sexual in nature, but I think you are at the point where you can handle it, slave.”
Don’t think I didn’t notice him calling me that. He hadn’t called me that since the hotel, and I hadn’t called him Master either.
He went on. “Today you have a choice. You may either fellate me, or use your own hand to bring yourself to orgasm in front of me.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. Fellate him? Who even uses words like that? But beyond the words is the deed. Though I’m perfectly aware there are women who do this for their husbands, I’m certainly not one of them. It’s not that I’m horrified by the idea, but Frank would never tolerate it, if it even occurred to him, which I doubt it has.
Of course, masturbating in front of Mr. Stevenson wasn’t a whole lot better of an option, but it was at least the lesser of the two evils. The thing is, I’ve touched myself before, but it’s never amounted to much—certainly not an orgasm like the kind Mr. Stevenson has given me. It’s more like scratching an itch.
At first, I just stood there staring at him. He stared back, his gaze making me shift and shuffle like a nervous kid.
“Well, slave?”
“I really couldn’t—” I hedged, but he interrupted me.
“Of course you can. You can do what I tell you, because you belong to me. Did you forget that so quickly?”
His words were like a warm, heavy blanket settling over me. It’s hard to explain, but when he talks like that, it both calms and thrills me all at once. “I-I’ll touch myself,” I managed haltingly.
“Speak up. Don’t mumble, slave.”
I cleared my throat, my cheeks burning. “I’ll touch myself, Master.” I felt both ridiculous and somehow empowered by calling him that.
A smile of approval lifted his lips. “Very good, slave. I’m delighted you have the courage to proceed.” He gestured toward the couch.
As I sat, he said, “You may leave on the skirt. I want you to hike it up and remove your panties.”
It was humiliating to sit like that, my skirt bunched up around my waist, my privates exposed, and it only got worse when he ordered, “Scoot to the edge of the couch and spread your legs wide. I want to watch.”
I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t meet his gaze, but I did as he said. Closing my eyes, I rubbed myself vigorously, nervous as a cat.
After a few minutes, he said, “Slow down and ease up a bit. Take your time. I want you to lick your fingers and then lean back while you’re touching yourself. I want you to relax.”
Though I kept my eyes shut, I could feel his gaze moving over me. I hoped I didn’t look too ridiculous, splayed out, my hand buried between my legs. Frank would have been horrified, but Mr. Stevenson said, “You look so beautiful like that, Olivia. So sexy.”
A rush of happiness and warmth flooded through me at his words, and I actually began to relax, at least a little. It started to feel good, and I sighed with pleasure, though I remained keenly aware of his eyes on me. Knowing he was watching me, while embarrassing, was also what made it so exciting. The experience was nothing like the occasional fumbling I’d done alone from time to time.
“Olivia. You are my slut. You bare yourself for me and make yourself come for me because you belong to me. Right now, I could call in one of our clients to join me here, if I wanted to. It’s my prerogative. I might say to him, ‘This is Olivia, my personal slave. She does precisely what I tell her to do.’ And you know what you would do in that situation? You would stay right where you are and keep rubbing yourself like the slut you are, until I told you to stop.”
If any man had spoken to me to me like that in any other context, I would have slapped him into tomorrow, but with Mr. Stevenson it was…perfect. If I’d been processing his words with my brain, I would have been outraged, but my brain had vacated the premises. His words entwined with my fingers, as if they were touching me directly. I began to get dizzy, and my breath was ragged as I stroked and rubbed myself with increasing abandon.
“Come for me, Olivia,” he said softly.
And, heaven help me, I did.
This was way more than just scratching an itch. I forgot to be embarrassed. I was barely aware of Mr. Stevenson for that brief, suspended moment in time. I was just sensation. Pure, raw ecstasy.
When I came back to myself Mr. Stevenson was kneeling right in front of me, his hands on either of my bare thighs. “You never cease to surprise me, Olivia,” he said, smiling broadly. Gently, he brought my thighs together and smoothed my hair from my forehead. It was a lover’s touch.
I was completely spent. It was like I had run a race. I also felt wonderful—euphoric. That’s the word. It was better than…than ice cream!
~*~
Tess laughed aloud. She could almost hear her grandmother saying those words—she had loved ice cream—especially mint chocolate chip—above all things. She glanced at Ryan, but he wasn’t smiling.
His expression was intense, his green eyes hooded with lust. “Would you do that for me, Tess? If I asked it of you, would you spread your legs for me at the office and make yourself come?”
Tess laughed, assuming he must be joking, though a frisson of excitement shot through her at the thought. “Oh, yeah, right,” she said lightly. “Which one of us would be accused of sexual harassment when they caught us, huh?”
“Who says we’d be caught?”
~*~
The next day at six o’clock, Ryan stuck his head into Tess’s office. While most of the support staff had gone, many of the attorneys were still hard at work, or milling about in the open areas of the large suite of offices, discussing cases or just shooting the breeze.
Ryan had been waiting all day for this. “Hey there,” he said softly.
Tess looked up from her laptop, distractedly at first, and then with a sudden, sunny smile that shot like an arrow directly through Ryan’s heart. She wore a button-down silk blouse, her suit jacket hung over the back of her chair. Tendrils of her dark, shiny hair had escaped her chignon.
He entered her office and closed the door, discreetly pushing the lock button in the doorknob. “Remember what we talked about last night?”
She gave him a blank look, so he elaborated.
“What you’re going to do for me today. In your office, as Mr. Stevenson had Olivia do for him?”
“Oh,” she said softly, a pretty, pink flush moving over her cheeks. “I-I do remember”—she glanced at the closed door—“but—”
“No buts,” Ryan interrupted. “Go sit on the couch. Lift your skirt and take off your panties.”
She swallowed visibly, but she got to her feet and walked over to her couch. Her big brown eyes on his, she pushed her panties down her smooth legs and lifted her narrow skirt so her bare bottom rested on the leather upholstery.
/>
“Scoot to the edge,” Ryan commanded, consciously recreating the scene that had been enacted so long ago. “Spread your legs and make yourself come for me, Tess. And don’t close your eyes. Keep them on my face.”
“Yes, Sir,” she breathed, her eyes shining, though her hand trembled slightly as she placed it between her legs.
Ryan’s cock swelled and hardened as he watched his beautiful lover stroking herself on her office couch, her gaze on his face, her breath coming faster and faster as she neared climax.
Ryan took a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, swiveling it so he was facing her. It took all his self-control not to yank off his clothes and fuck her right then and there. He contented himself instead by unbuckling his belt and opening his fly so he could adjust his erect cock.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she began to pant, clearly about to come.
Now for the test.
“Stop,” Ryan ordered.
She furrowed her brow in obvious frustration but, he was pleased to note, dropped her hand. She glanced toward the office door. “Is someone coming?” she whispered anxiously.
“No. I just don’t want you to come yet. You’ll wait for permission.”
Tess took a deep, shuddery breath. He could almost see the fight taking place inside her. She’d been so close to climax, but she also craved the submissive relinquishment of erotic control. After a moment, she nodded slowly.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
She rose to her feet and started to pull her skirt, which was bunched up around her hips, down over her thighs.
“No,” Ryan said. “Leave it hiked up like that. I like seeing you exposed.” He pointed to the carpet. “Get on your knees and crawl over to me.” He reached into his underwear and pulled his erect shaft free, his intention obvious.
Would she do it?
Ryan’s heart skipped a beat as Tess dropped to her knees and began to crawl toward him, the very picture of erotic submission. She knelt up in front of him, her lush lips parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with lust.
She flashed an impish, decidedly un-submissive grin toward Ryan, who, despite his efforts to maintain a stern Master persona, grinned back. He glanced over her head at the office door. This wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, having his lover suck him off at the office, but he was no longer thinking with his big head.
Tess cupped his balls through the thin fabric of his underwear as she lowered her head over his exposed shaft. He sighed with pleasure as she licked around the crown and then closed her lips over his cock. He placed his hand lightly on her head, guiding himself into her mouth.
He groaned as she suckled and teased him. He let her work her magic for a minute or two more. The pleasure was nearly unbearable, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet. He had another idea. He pushed her gently but firmly away.
She looked up at him in surprise. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. But I have something else in mind.” He got to his feet. “Crawl after me into your bathroom.” He couldn’t quite believe she was actually on her hands and knees behind him. Her submission was thrilling to him, and he recognized what an extraordinary gift it was.
Once they were inside Tess’s small, private bathroom, Ryan removed his tie. “Kneel up and put your hands behind your back.”
Tess did as he said. He could feel her excitement, which radiated from her like an erotic force field as he bound her wrists together. Returning to stand in front of her, he pulled his trousers and underwear to his knees. Reaching down he unbuttoned her blouse, pulling it free of her skirt to reveal her lace-covered breasts.
His cock throbbing, he crouched in front of her and put his hand between her legs. “Are you wet for me, sub girl?” he asked as he pressed a finger into her tight heat. He laughed softly. “Yes, you are. Hot and wet for your Master, as you should be.”
She moaned as he stroked her, and though she was blushing, her nipples were fully erect, her breathing ragged.
Dominant power and lust blended into something dark and potent inside Ryan. For the first time in his sex life, he felt right in his skin and just where he needed to be. He had found his sub girl at last.
Pulling his hand from her willing body, he got to his feet and leaned down to take her face in his hands. “I’m going to fuck your mouth with my cock. You’re going to submit with grace and take what I give you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” She stared up at him with such devotion it nearly took his breath away.
Ryan guided his aching shaft into her pretty, open mouth. As the head of his cock touched her soft palate, she gagged a little and tried to pull back.
He held her fast as he admonished gently, “Don’t resist me, Tess. Open yourself to me. Give yourself over to my rhythm. Surrender to me.”
She gave a slight nod, the only possible response with his cock down her throat, and let her eyes flutter closed.
His hands on either side of her head, Ryan guided himself slowly in and out of her mouth until she was taking his whole shaft without gagging. He began to thrust faster, his excitement building, his balls aching. She looked so fucking hot like that, her blouse open, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her hands tied behind her back, his hard cock deep in her throat.
Unable to hold on another second, Ryan whipped his cock from her mouth and fell to the ground beside her. He pushed her to her side so her back was to him, her arms still bound together. He pulled at the loose knot to release the tie, and spooned her with his body, using one hand to guide his cock between her ass cheeks.
He nudged the head against her hot, wet cunt, and then pushed inside. They groaned together, the sound primal and filled with animal need. Reaching around her body, he cupped her cunt and stroked the hard nubbin of her clit.
“Now, Tess,” he urged. “I want you to come for me.” He rubbed her clit as he thrust inside her.
Within a minute, Tess began to moan loudly, shuddering and gasping in climax.
Ryan clamped his hand over her mouth. With a laugh, he said breathlessly, “Hush, someone will hear you, baby.” Then his body took over, and he came hard inside her, one hand still over her mouth, the other buried between her legs.
He continued to stroke her pussy, pulling several more shuddering, sweet climaxes from her before finally letting his hands fall away.
“Oh, my god,” she sighed when she could catch her breath. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Ryan laughed softly and pulled her closer. Nuzzling her ear, he said, “But here’s the real question. Was it better than ice cream?”
Chapter 8
December 12, 1961
I’ve been moping around for a few days at work. It’s been too long since Mr. Stevenson used the ruler. As odd as it is to even write these words, I miss the sting, the sexual humiliation, the erotic power of the interaction. I feel so alive when I’m being punished. I guess that isn’t really much of a punishment, is it?
Lately I’ve been taking matters into my own hands again. I purposely left a sentence out of a letter yesterday. This morning I sloshed his coffee. This afternoon I forgot to bring in a key file.
The one thing I didn’t do, didn’t dare to do, was come out and ask for it. Admit aloud to him that I was craving the sweet heat of that ruler on my bottom. Or, let’s be totally honest here, Livvie—I can’t stop thinking about the flogger. The way the leather smacked down across my flesh—how it heated me up from the inside out.
Am I sick? Am I wicked?
Mr. Stevenson assures me this is all perfectly natural, and I want to believe him. Submission, he says, freely given and lovingly taken, is the ultimate sensual expression. What evil or harm can there be in a consensual exchange of power? And when he says it, it makes sense.
But it’s a lonely business, this secret submission to my boss. I should be sharing my discovery with my husband. Obviously, that’s not possible, ever, on any level. Even if I left out what I’m doing at work, even if I just tried to
add more “spice” into our sex life, Frank would be confused and horrified. He would never understand, not in a million years. Not that I blame him. He has no frame of reference.
So. I just have to keep these two worlds separate.
Back to Mr. Stevenson, he finally called me to account after one coffee slosh too many. “Olivia,” he said in that dangerous, sexy way he has when I’m in trouble.
Biting back a squeal of excitement, I entered his office, trying to look calm, my face a mask of innocence, though my panties were already damp with expectation. “Yes, Sir?”
But instead of ordering me to lift my skirt and bend over the desk or go stand in the corner, he said, “We need to talk. Please sit down.”
Was this a new game? What were the rules? I took a seat in front of his desk, curious.
He regarded me for a long while, looking into me in that way he has that makes me feel completely naked—body and soul. “Olivia,” he finally said. “I know what you’re doing. And I even understand why you’re doing it. You have come to crave the very punishments that are designed to prevent you from making the careless mistakes that you are now making on purpose. Am I correct?”
I started to deny it, even though it was true, but he cut me off.
“Please. If you’re going to lie and pretend not to understand, save us both time and go back to your desk. I want you to be honest, my dear. And to tell you the truth, I am not displeased that you have come to long for the pain and erotic humiliation that you now appreciate can deeply intensify any erotic interaction.”
Yes. He really talks like that.
He leaned forward, his expression earnest, even vulnerable. “I think it’s time we dispense with these little games, because that’s really what they are.” He smiled a little as he added, “We do actually have a law practice to run, and I hate to think you’re making errors just to satisfy your lust.”
I ducked my head, feeling like a fool. The man understands me sometimes better than I do myself.
The Master & the Secretary (Finding Master Right Book 2) Page 9