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.”

My blood went both hot and cold at once, my heart instantly skittering into a rapid beat. It was the moment I’d been waiting for, but now that it had arrived, did I have the nerve?

I reached back to unzip my dress with trembling fingers. Carefully, I laid it over a chair, keenly aware of Mr. Stevenson’s intent gaze.

I stood there in bra, panties, stockings and heels, fidgeting like a schoolgirl in the principal’s office, not sure what to do with my arms.

Cool as a cucumber, Mr. Stevenson looked me up and down like he owned me, his eyes raking my body as heat washed over my face and chest. “Very nice,” he finally pronounced. “You are beautiful, Olivia.”

I’ll admit it here. Though I’m sure I was red as a beet, I was ridiculously pleased with his compliment.

He got to his feet and approached me. I could smell his cologne—something spicy but subtle—and the faint scent of starch on his fine, white shirt. I forgot to breathe as he dipped his head toward me. Very lightly, almost tentatively, he touched his lips to mine.

I stood very still, not quite sure even as it was happening that he was kissing me. But that’s what it was. He gave me a kiss. A chaste, closed-mouth kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. Then he brought his arms around me and let his hands rest on my bottom! He stroked the fine satin panties he’d paid for.

A shudder moved through me and my nipples hardened. I longed to put my arms around him, too, but something held me back. I just stood there, frozen in place, a statue for him to fondle.

His hands moved over my body, his fingers warm against my bare back. He took a step back and placed his hand between my legs, cupping my sex over the satin panties.

I thought I was going to faint.

Something odd was going on inside my body—as if some kind of dark, liquid fire had replaced my blood. I was literally burning with desire. My heart was rattling around in my rib cage as we locked eyes. His fingers moved down between my legs, though still over the panties.

A part of me couldn’t believe this was happening, but at the same time, what had I expected? Maybe the question wasn’t, “How could this be happening?” but rather, “Why has it taken so long?”

Instead of throwing me to the ground in a fit of passion, however, Mr. Stevenson calmly took his seat again, fully in control. Looking up at me, he said in a voice that brooked no argument, “Take off your panties, Olivia.”

I was surprised, not so much that he wanted me naked, but that he’d asked me to take off my panties first. I was still wearing my shoes, for heaven’s sake. And I would have thought he’d want to see my breasts first.

While I stood there blushing like a fool, he lifted an eyebrow. “Olivia? Did you hear me?”

“I-I-I,” I stammered like Norton when Ralph used to yell at him on the Honeymooners (Frank’s favorite show in the fifties. Heaven help me, what would Frank think of what I’m doing? I must be out of my mind.)

A half smile lifted Mr. Stevenson’s lips. “Your modesty is charming, but I have given you a specific task, and I expect you to execute it—that is, if you are still my submissive, obedient secretary.”

I didn’t move. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, I simply couldn’t find the will to make my hands obey.

“Of course the choice is ultimately yours,” he said after a beat. “You will choose either to obey or refuse.” He exhaled the hint of a sigh. “I’ve enjoyed our developing relationship and had believed you were ready for the next phase, but you’re under no compulsion to continue. You’ve done an admirable job as my secretary, and if that’s all you wish to remain, I’ll be happy to provide two weeks salary and whatever references you need to procure a similar post.” He paused meaningfully before adding, “Do I make myself clear?”

He did. Crystal clear.

Strip or you’re fired.

That was the bottom line, wasn’t it? And yet, why should I take offense? I’d gone along with each bizarre, thrilling, strange request to this point. I’d fantasized endlessly about a torrid love affair, even as I’d been terrified by the thought. And now, here we were.

I knew one thing for sure—I didn’t want to quit my job. I didn’t want to be fired. I didn’t want two weeks of pay and a reference letter, and it wasn’t about the money. I wanted the thrill of whatever had been going on between us to continue.

I wanted him.

And I believed his threat. I didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d let me go, just like that. The thought of never seeing my dark, dangerous, peculiar boss again left me bereft. Yes—that’s the word. My life would be bleaker without him in it. The thrill, the verve, the excitement, would be gone.

But it was even more than that. Standing there practically naked in front of a man who was not my husband was thrilling. I was excited—sexually aroused (let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?)—in a way I’ve never been in my life. And not only that, I didn’t want to let Mr. Stevenson down. I wanted to please him.

And so, I did it. My eyes on his, I pushed my panties down my legs and kicked them aside, my heart beating so hard I could hear it. But I stood my ground, lifting my chin with determination, refusing to cover myself or run away.

He rose from his chair, his eyes hooded in a way that sent a pleasant, thrilling shiver down my spine. He really is quite a good-looking man. He approached me again, and this time, when his lips touched mine, his tongue slipped into my mouth.

His arms went around me, and he unclasped my bra with sure fingers. I kept on kissing him, a part of me thinking if I didn’t acknowledge what was happening, it wouldn’t count. He let the bra fall between us as I pushed close against him, shy about his seeing my breasts.

Reaching down, he cupped my now bare sex. My impulse was both to push him away and pull him closer. I was terrified but also more excited than I’ve ever been in my life.

He stroked me, pressing a finger inside me, moving over me in a way I’ve never been touched. I don’t even have words for it. It was like this warm, dark, buttery feeling spreading from his fingertips through my body, leaving me weak in the knees. His touch was at once as soft as butterfly wings, yet at the same time firm and insistent, as if he had every right to do what he was doing.

Until that moment, I’d never really understood what all the hoopla was about. Let’s face it, sex with Frank has always been about Frank. I mean, I know that’s normal and all, as men have a higher sex drive and what have you, but my husband has never touched me the way Mr. Stevenson did.

A part of me whispered that what he was doing was dirty. But you know what? I don’t really believe that. What’s wrong with giving and experiencing such pleasure?

Dropping his hand, he led me to the couch and pressed me gently down. He knelt between my legs and placed his hands on my thighs. There I was, decked out in garters, stockings, heels and nothing else, while this fully clothed man who was not my husband stared down at my privates.

I could have died.

Then he placed his hand again on my aching sex, and God help me, I moaned like an animal in heat. He began to move his fingers again in that magic, astonishing way and I knew I was heading toward something powerful. Right or wrong be damned, I didn’t want him to stop. Ever.

I began to pant, unable to control myself, my whole body on fire with pure, unadulterated lust.

“Yes,” he said softly. “That’s it, Olivia. Give yourself to me in this way. I demand it.”

Something clenched inside me, hard and tight as a ticking time bomb. Then, all at once—wham! I exploded into a powerful climax that lifted me right out of myself.

I have wondered from time to time if I’d had an orgasm with Frank, but I understand now I’d had no idea—simply no idea.

I lay back sprawled against his sofa, any trace of modesty vanquished by the raw pleasure coursing through me. He just watched me with those blue, impenetrable eyes of his, like I was some kind of specimen or experiment. It was disconcerting, but also, in a strange way, deeply exciting.

After a while, without a word exchanged between us about what had just happened, Mr. Stevenson got to his feet. Holding out his hand, he hoisted me upright. “You may dress and return to your desk, Olivia.”

Just like that, I was dismissed.

And here’s the thing—I didn’t protest. I didn’t ask him if we were now officially having an affair. I didn’t wonder that he’d remained dressed during the whole bizarre, astonishing event. I was still reeling from the orgasm, the first real orgasm of my life.

Truth be told, I wanted another one, right then and there.

Am I turning into some kind of crazed nymphomaniac? I wish I could talk to someone about this. Another woman. A friend. Can you imagine Betty’s face if I tried to tell her any of this? She’d think I needed to be committed to a psychiatric facility. Electro-shock therapy would definitely be called for.

It’s not just that I’m having an affair with my boss. Because I can no longer pretend that’s not what’s happening here. But it’s so much more. This burning intensity I feel inside, this heightened feeling, this passion—it’s beyond words. Mr. Stevenson has awoken something in me. Something I didn’t know I possessed, didn’t know I needed.

That’s it.

I need what he offers, even if I don’t entirely understand it.

~*~

“Hey there. You have a second?” Ryan stood in the doorway of Tess’s office.

Just the sound of his voice quickened her heart. She looked up and smiled at her new lover. “Sure, what’s up?”

He looked crisp and fresh in his suit and tie, his hair slicked back, his strong jaw smooth. You’d never know by looking at him that they’d spent half the night making wild, passionate love, stopping only when exhaustion claimed them. She had awoken in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest, happiness blooming inside her before she was even fully conscious.

They’d stayed up late, taking turns reading Olivia’s increasingly astonishing journal to one another between bouts of lovemaking. Tess no longer thought of the woman who had penned those words so long ago as her Nana. She was instead becoming a friend, someone Tess would have loved to know, not as her grandmother, but as a person.

Though her situation with Ryan was quite different, without all the restrictions and taboos that pair had been facing, it was fascinating how Olivia and she were embarking on parallel paths in terms of the exploration of their inner submissive sexual desires.

Ryan stepped into the office and handed Tess a small, thin book bound in leather. Their fingers touched as she took the gift, an electric spark passing between them.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking down at the clearly much-read book, its cover worn soft, the pages inside yellowed with age. She read the title—Charlotte’s Awakening—which was stamped onto the leather in gold lettering, some of the letters partially flaked away.

“It’s something I’ve had for a long time. I probably read it a dozen times over the years. I found it in a used bookstore when I was a freshman in college. Though it’s not exactly a love story, the message in it is very powerful, and it resonated with me. I’ve never shared it with anyone else, but I want you to have it.”

“Wow,” Tess said, touched he was giving her something clearly important to him. “What’s it about?”

His smile was enigmatic. “Read it and see.” He glanced at his watch. “I have court in a hour. I have to get going. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

“Sure, yes. That would be great.”

He bent down and gave her a quick kiss, and then he was gone.

Tess stroked the book’s soft cover and opened it, her curiosity piqued. She hadn’t intended to read it until she got home, but the first sentence grabbed her attention, and she tumbled headlong into the story.

“The first time I saw him, the word Sir rose like an offering to my lips, and the knees of my heart dropped into a kneeling pose before him…”

 

Three hours later, Tess closed the book with a sigh. She had done more than enough billable hours that week, but even if she’d been in the middle of an emergency case, she doubted she would have been able to put the book down.

Copyrighted in 1960, around the same time as Olivia’s real life adventures were beginning, Charlotte’s Awakening was an erotic, sexually explicit story, written in sparse but powerful language that spoke directly to Tess’s darkest desires. Charlotte, a young woman in England at the end of the nineteenth century, takes a lover who exerts his dominant will on her, teaching her to submit in every aspect of her life. While not romantic, the book was deeply erotic.

The male protagonist, Sir Jonathan, was strangely cold and forbidding, but Charlotte’s immersion into complete submission and subjugation at the hands of her lover, and at the hands of the men he chose to share her with, made Tess’s face burn and her pussy throb.

Though Tess disapproved intellectually of Charlotte permitting herself to be treated as a sex object, used and debased as it pleased her “Master,” Tess’s heart, body and soul responded to the story on a visceral, intense level that left her breathless. As Tess read the stark descriptions of forced sex, intense bondage and erotic torture, she became dizzy with barely controlled lust, her nipples aching, her panties soaked. Unable to help herself, she slipped her hand into her panties, rubbing herself to several quick orgasms as she lost herself in the story.

Finally closing the book, she sat back, wrung out from the experience as if she, not Charlotte, had experienced the dark, erotic adventure. The ending was upsetting, with Charlotte’s lover ultimately abandoning her when he was “done with her.” The final scene, with Charlotte bent over her needlework by an insufficient coal fire in the tiny room to which she had been relegated, was heartbreaking. Even with the unsatisfactory ending, however, the tale had lodged itself deep in Tess’s psyche.

As she gathered her things to leave the office, she thought about a younger Ryan reading these words, and about his statement that he’d read it a dozen times over the years. Clearly, he had been as affected as she was by the novel, but what was his take on it? He was no Sir Jonathan, thank goodness. Where that man was cold and forbidding, Ryan was warm, loving and even playful. But the two men shared an underlying dominance, a basic need to control and command, which spoke directly to the submissive Tess was finally beginning to embrace inside herself.

Just as she was heading out of her office, her cell phone dinged. Pulling it from her purse, she saw it was from Ryan.

Out of court. You home yet or still at work?

Just leaving now.

Great. I’m heading over to Nemo’s. Meet me there for a drink and a bite to eat?

Sure. See you in fifteen.

Nemo’s was a popular restaurant favored by young professionals and office workers. It was within walking distance from the office, and Tess decided she could use the fresh air. Leaving her car in the building’s garage, she stepped out into the cool evening, her sensible heels clicking on the concrete, her briefcase banging at her side.

She made her way through the usual throng to the bar where Ryan sat, jacket off, tie loosened, hair in his eyes. Miraculously, he’d managed to save her a seat on the barstool next to his. He stood as she approached and gave her a quick hug. Once they were seated and her drink order placed, he swiveled toward her. “You read the book?”

“Yes,” Tess admitted, a flush moving over her skin. “It was…powerful.”

He placed his hand on her thigh, his touch instantly electrifying her senses. The noise and chaos of the crowd around them was like a privacy screen in a way—no one paid them the slightest attention. “I want to take you there, Tess,” he murmured softly in his deep, sexy voice. “I want to teach you to submit—not like Sir Jonathan and Charlotte, but in our own way, the way we determine together.” He caught her in his gaze, his green eyes like crystal-cut emerald and black onyx. “Do you want that, Tess?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her breath caught in her throat, her nipples painfully erect. “Yes, please.”

He nodded slowly. “Good. I want you to go to the restroom and remove your panties. Then come back to me.”

His words penetrated the sensual web he had woven around her with his sexy words. “Wait. What?”

“You didn’t hear me?”

“I heard you but—”

“No buts, Tess. You say you want what I’m offering. Prove it. Do as you’re told.” He reached for a tendril of her hair that had fallen into her face and tucked it behind her ear as he said, more gently this time, “Trust me, darling. I know you want this as much as I do.”

“Yes,” she admitted, only able to speak in a whisper. “Yes, okay.”

In something of a daze, she slid off the stool and made her way to the restrooms at the back of the restaurant, taking her purse with her. She had to wait a moment for an open stall, and while she waited, she looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if her thrilled confusion and excitement showed in her face. But other than her heightened color, which could have been from drink or heat as much as anything, she looked like her normal old self.

She slipped into a vacant stall and pulled down her panties, still damp from her reading, and shoved them into her purse. She returned to the bar, where her drink was waiting. Just as she was about to sit down, Ryan placed his hand lightly on her arm. “Lift your skirt and sit directly on the leather. I cleaned it with the disinfectant spray I keep in my briefcase for my jail visits, so you don’t need to worry in that regard.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He frowned. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Slowly, she shook her head. She could have easily refused. She could have tossed her head with a laugh and told him she wasn’t interested in playing these silly games. But, the truth was, they didn’t feel silly. She was deeply excited, her heart hammering in her chest, her entire body on fire with lust.

“No, Sir,” she whispered, consciously echoing Charlotte’s first words to her Master.

With a glance around her, she lifted her skirt and settled herself carefully against the cool leather stool.

Ryan was watching her with hooded eyes. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You please me,” he murmured, and his words sent a warm jolt of pleasure through her. “Your bare ass on the seat is a symbol of your willingness to submit to me.”

Again, Tess’s intellect tried to intervene, ordering her to reply with indignant flippancy to his words, but her heart, body and soul ignored the protests. This was what she had been born for—what she’d longed for without knowing the words or understanding the vocabulary.

When their name was called, the hostess led them to a small booth toward the back of the room. After she’d gone, Ryan pulled a small spray bottle from his jacket and sprayed the leather bench, using one of the cloth napkins to wipe it clean.

“You enter first,” he said, taking a step back so Tess could move past him. “Bare ass on the leather. I’ll sit beside you.”

Tess slid into the booth and scooted along the bench. Once Ryan was seated beside her, she lifted herself and hiked her skirt so her bare bottom made contact with the bench, glad for the shield of Ryan’s body.

She felt at once vulnerable and empowered, and thrilled deep in her bones at Ryan’s taking such charge of her. She glanced shyly at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was busy perusing the menu, and she picked hers up as well, though she had a hard time focusing on the options.

“Want to share a pizza?” Ryan asked as if there was nothing unusual about what was going on.

Nemo’s was famous for their huge wood-burning oven and the fabulous pizzas they produced. “Sure,” Tess agreed, suddenly aware she was starving. “How about a pepperoni, sausage, mushroom and onion with extra cheese?”

“Sounds perfect to me,” he agreed with a grin.

After a waiter came to refresh their drinks and take their order, Ryan said quietly, “Are you wet, Tess?”

“Um,” she hedged, embarrassed to admit the truth.

He fixed her with his intense gaze. “Touch yourself and tell me.”

Her heart skipping several beats, Tess let her thighs part. She reached beneath the table and under her skirt. As she stroked herself lightly, an electric jolt of pleasure hurtled through her body.

“Tell me,” he urged.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’m wet…Sir.”

Sir. Just as for Olivia, and just as for Charlotte, it felt…right.

“I want you to masturbate, Tess. Right here. Right now. Do it for me.”

Forget grey. She was certain her face was fifty shades of red. At the same time, she was wildly aroused. Charlotte’s dark story still lingered in her mind, and Ryan’s powerful, sexy domination was an irresistible aphrodisiac.

Giving herself over to her need, Tess rubbed herself, her natural juices more than enough lubrication. With Ryan right beside her, his strong thigh touching hers, it wasn’t long before a climax began to build inside. She began to pant, trying to stay as quiet and unobtrusive as she could as her fingers flew over her sex. Closing her eyes, she focused on her task, desperate to finish before the waiter’s return.

“Tess, stop.”

She was vaguely aware of Ryan’s command, but too far-gone to obey. Just a few more strokes. She needed it. She had to have it.

“Tess, you need to stop.” His voice was more urgent, but at that moment, she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. The orgasm caught her by the throat and slammed her to the ground as she rocked in the booth, unable to stifle her low, husky moan.

When she opened her eyes, Ryan was looking at her with an amused smile. The waiter, tray in hand, was gaping at her open-mouthed, frozen with shocked surprise.

“Oh my god,” Tess gasped, slamming her legs together. Why didn’t you tell me he was there! she wanted to demand, but then, he had tried, hadn’t he? She’d ignored him, too intent on taking her pleasure.

Ryan turned to the waiter and said smoothly, “You can just leave the drinks, thanks. We’re good.”

“Oh. Yeah. Uh, right,” the young man said, a grin suddenly moving over his face that made Tess blush again. “Your pizza should be right up.”

Ryan lifted his eyebrows after the guy had gone. “See what happens when you don’t obey my command?” he teased with a laugh. “Though, I have to say, you probably made that dude’s day. Shit, his whole week.”

In spite of her chagrin, Tess laughed too.

Ryan put his arm around her, leaning close. “You’re so fucking hot, Tess. I can’t wait to get you home.”