To Seek a Master (5 page)

Back in Mr Henderson’s office she explained Mr Bannerjee’s reservations and returned to her desk. Her emotions were complex, an almost savage satisfaction for what she’d done, mixed with the urge to burst into tears and undercut by a bitter disappointment. It had turned out to be just one more silly office prank, and from Brian, who had even less potential as a figure in her fantasies than Hovis Boy.

She hid a sigh as she tapped her computer off stand-by. Only now that the solution to the mystery had proved to be mundane did she realise how badly she’d wanted it to be something more. All the positive emotion she’d invested in the event was gone, leaving only the fear and resentment he’d managed to impose on her, but she found herself earnestly wishing the email had come from some attractive man.

As she checked her mail she was wondering if he’d sent something else, perhaps some smug little taunt or one of his stupid jokes. There was nothing from him directly, but there was something from the same address as before, and as before from the Controller. There was a sudden tightness in Laura’s throat as she clicked open the message, expecting some predictable quip from Brian but praying it would be something else. It was.
VERY PRETTY, BUT HOLD-UPS ARE SO UNFEMININE. TOMORROW YOU WILL WEAR SUSPENDERS.

Laura froze, her hand still on the mouse as she reread the message, and again, taking in the implications of each and every word. He’d seen. He knew, and whoever ‘he’ was, it could not possibly be Brian, because the message had been sent pretty much at the exact moment she’d been hauling him from his chair by his tie. She glanced at Mr Henderson, but if he was
responsible
then he was a superb actor, his brow furrowed as he tracked a pen down a column of figures.

A lump had risen in her throat, forcing her to swallow before she read the message yet again. There was something horribly compelling about the way it was worded, filling her with angry resentment, but also a sense of weakness and need. It was not ‘you should wear suspenders’, not even ‘you must wear suspenders’, but ‘you will wear suspenders’, a statement that went beyond mere confidence to an arrogant certainty that she would obey.

Her immediate instinct was to defy him, perhaps to send back a curt note telling him that he was a filthy pervert and that she would never obey his commands. It would have been a lie. She desperately wanted to obey, despite her resentment, despite knowing that it would be utterly inappropriate to submit herself to a man’s will. In truth, none of that was important or, at least, not important enough to make her submerge her desire. What was important was to know who had sent the message. If it was Mr Drake, perhaps Darcy, Mr Henderson even, then she would wear suspenders, and anything else he thought right, but if Brian had somehow managed to trick her, or if it was Hovis Boy, then they were going to get their faces slapped.

Mr Henderson was still hard at work, and paying no attention to her whatsoever. Laura pretended to be busy, while desperately trying to decide on the identity of her lover, or tormentor. It had to be somebody who knew she’d worn stockings that day, and specifically stay-ups. How could he have known; from the tension in the material, because he’d expected the see the lines of her suspender straps under her skirt, because he’d seen far enough up to be sure?

In any case it couldn’t have been Mr Drake, and was almost certainly somebody at the office, somebody she’d seen that day, or who had seen her. She thought of where she’d been, to
accounts,
to the canteen, to the loos, to production, which had meant taking the walkway above the factory floor. That had always made her feel uncomfortable. Some of the cruder men tended to ogle the girls, some openly, some not, some even wolf-whistling or making cheeky remarks. She had quickly realised that if she walked near the edge she’d be giving the men a view up all but the tightest skirts, and had always stayed close to the wall if possible. Nevertheless, somebody might have seen, most likely one of the machinists.

She had never had much to do with the men on the factory floor. A few were attractive, but it was very hard to imagine them as the sort of calm, arrogant alpha male she pictured as sending the emails. Some of them certainly qualified as alpha males, it was true, but in a much cruder way, all rough power and self-certainty, which had its appeal but came a very poor second to what she really liked.

Yet they couldn’t be ruled out, making the situation more confusing than ever. Once again she felt a little frightened, adding to the muddle of her emotions as she finished up her work. Still Mr Henderson behaved as he always did, and she found herself starting for the station more puzzled and anxious than she had been that morning, only to reach a decision before she was halfway. She would reply to the email, promising to obey if the sender revealed himself.

She felt an immediate sense of disappointment, knowing that however sensible the idea seemed it was pointless. By trying to take control she would either drive him away or make him more determined to exert his authority, if he was the type of man she wanted. If he did as he was told then he wasn’t the type of man she wanted and the thrill would be gone.

Still she told herself that she would not be going to work in suspenders the next day, even though there was no harm in taking a detour to look in the window of Pretty Things.
Nor
was there any harm in going inside, as she needed some new stockings anyway if she was going to be wearing them regularly. They had some beautiful designs, and there was a sale on, so it was only sensible to buy a couple of packs of plain knickers, and some pretty ones just in case. Having spent so much, and while she was in there, it seemed silly not to buy one of the rather tempting suspender belts they had on display, or maybe two, although obviously she wouldn’t wear them the next day, or if she did, it wouldn’t be for him.

Back in King’s Lynn, Laura went though her evening routine feeling even more nervous than she had the day before. It had been a long and trying day, and on the way back from walking Smudge she bought a bottle of red wine, telling herself that a single glass wouldn’t hurt and that the rest would keep well enough for Friday night when she normally allowed herself some.

The wine was smooth and strong, very easy to drink and very soothing. After washing her dinner down with the first glass she decided that she needed a second, just to help her sleep and dispel the doubts crowding her mind. It didn’t work, but the third did, leaving her feeling mellow and tired as she kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the sofa.

As she poured the fourth glass she was wondering why men made such a fuss over women’s underwear. It was pretty, yes, and then there was the thrill of seeing something secret or forbidden, but that didn’t explain their obsession with detail. Tommy Fuller had liked her to wear knickers that tied up at either hip, but that at least made sense. He’d enjoyed tugging the bows open to make her knickers fall down so that he could get at her more easily. But then Tommy had always been very practical, and an unashamed pervert.

She’d read somewhere that men got fixated on the sexual
imagery
of their youth, so that a young man who’d got used to girls in suspenders might come to associate them with sex for the rest of his life. That raised an uncomfortable possibility, because suspenders hadn’t been normal wear since the 1960s, the 1950s even, which meant that her man might not only be older than her, which was good, but positively ancient, which was not.

None of her suspects were over fifty, and she dismissed the idea, concentrating on the idea of him being fixated with the way she dressed instead. The idea was both weird and exciting, to think of herself a doll, for him to dress as he pleased, and to undress. Maybe he would treat her the way she had once treated her dolls, none of which had ever kept any clothes for long, while her youthful attempts at fashion design and hair styling had quickly left them looking as if they’d just escaped a war zone.

He would be rather more gentle, hopefully, but he would also be fixated on sex. He would cut her skirts down, preferably while she was wearing them, so short that her knickers showed, also the stockings and suspenders he’d have put her in. It would be the same with her tops, the buttons snipped off her blouses so that she was unable to close them properly, and, with no bra, unable to prevent herself from showing off her breasts. He’d cut her T-shirts up too, so high that the underside of her breasts showed and that the slightest movement would risk baring them completely.

She imagined herself in her ruined clothes, walking around the house as his doll, her body displayed for his entertainment as he sat and watched, coolly sipping a drink she’d served to him. The thought made her shiver, and only the curious look in Smudge’s large brown eyes prevented her from tugging up her skirt and slipping one hand down the front of her knickers. Instead she poured out the rest of the bottle into her glass, filling it almost to the brim, and went upstairs.

Her purchases were on the bed, thrown casually down when she first came in. Now too drunk and horny for reservations, she quickly pulled open one of the suspender belt packages. Her fingers were shaking as she tugged her skirt high, but the little shocked voice in her head only served to increase her excitement. The long mirror on her wardrobe showed her in reflection, the exposure of her stocking tops and knickers in striking contrast to her neat office suit, and deliciously naughty.

On sudden instinct she put her hands on her head and made a slow turn, imagining him ordering her to display herself. Who he was no longer mattered. In her head he was male, tall, attractive, commanding, sitting at his ease as she tugged up her skirt to show off her stockings tops and her knickers, front and back, tight against her flesh to leave her with only a minimum of modesty.

He would order her to put the suspender belt on, which she did, fastening it behind her back and clipping each of the four straps to her stockings. It felt snug around her hips and she could feel the tension in her straps, while in the mirror they seemed to make the V between her legs and her bottom look fuller, more prominent. Maybe that was what he wanted, to make her show off, to make her feel sexual, for him.

Already she wanted to throw herself down on the bed and bring herself to orgasm under her fingers, but she held back, deliberately teasing herself. Once he’d got her skirt up he would want more, she was sure of that. First she’d be made to go without her bra, to let the shape of her breasts show beneath the thin silk of her blouse and betray the stiffness of her nipples. Then he’d order her to undo her buttons, one by one, with her excitement and sense of exposure rising as her blouse came wide, to show the sides of her breasts, and then everything, bare in front of him as his cool, knowing gaze took in the contours of her body.

She had suited action to thought, slowly undressing herself with her eyes fixed to the mirror. With her breasts bare she had begun to look like the dishevelled doll of her imagination, and her need to masturbate was close to desperation. Still she held back, knowing that he would want to inflict one final, delicious indignity on her, and make her take her knickers down. That she knew how to do, the way Tommy Fuller had taught her, and which had always left her feeling exquisitely rude. First, to thumb down the front, far enough to let him see the crease of her sex, then the back, with her bottom pushed out to make her cheeks as full as round and she could.

Tommy had never been in the least bit reticent. He’d have had his cock out by then, pulling at the shaft while he mumbled obscenities, telling her that she had a ‘pretty cunt’ and that he could see her bottom hole. Her man, the Man, would be less crude, but he would be admiring the same view, stripping her of both her clothes and her modesty.

Now bare in all the places that mattered, Laura climbed onto the bed, crawling over the cover and twisting her head around to admire the view in the mirror as she finally put her hand back between her thighs. She looked impossibly rude, her smart office suit rearranged to show off every intimate detail of her body, while the busy fingers between her sex lips betrayed her excitement as no amount of exposure could ever have done.

In her imagination the Man was watching. He’d have made her strip, enjoying the view and enjoying her helpless arousal at being dirty, as if she were his doll, his rude little sex doll to be adjusted as he pleased, made to dress how he pleased, made to show herself for his pleasure and, lastly, used as he pleased. With that thought she came, imagining him climbing up behind her to thrust himself deep into her body and hold her in place until he’d satisfied himself inside her.

5

IN THE MORNING
Laura found her enthusiasm dampened by a slight headache, which made the thought of dressing for sex less than appealing. Whereas the evening before arousal had been her dominant emotion, now it was resentment. Deliberately ignoring not just her new suspender belts but also her stockings, she put on a pair of tights under her most reserved skirt suit, with sensible shoes in place of her normal heels.

The wind had swung around to the north and east, bringing a cold drizzle in from the sea, which made her walk to the station distinctly unpleasant. She was still not entirely sure that the Man wasn’t one of her fellow commuters, so broke the habit of four years by taking the front carriage instead of the first she came to, at the rear. The fresh air had begun to clear her head, and in the warm, dry interior of the carriage, looking out across rain swept fields her mood slowly softened.

She began to consider whether she should respond to the last message and, if not with a demand, then how? Possibly her answer could help work out who he was without challenging him directly, just as Dr Faulkner had eliminated the suspects in
Steel Trap
, by a series of carefully planned acts each designed to reduce the total. In fact she had already started, by disobeying and by avoiding her usual group of commuters, so that if she arrived at work dressed as she had been instructed the next message she received would very probably allow her to eliminate one group or the other.