Free To Seek a Master by Monica Belle Page A

Man, the Controller, was very different, calmer by far, with more authority, what Mr Henderson might have been in a fantasy world where bosses spanked their secretaries and nobody thought it wrong or even unusual.
    She glanced across the room, but Mr Henderson was bending to return his appointments book to its drawer, apparently oblivious to her. New determination fired her. Chris or no Chris, she would find out who the Controller really was. That meant responding, playing him at his own game, although even as she began to consider her reply she was doubting her ability to outwit him.
    It seemed pointless to answer his question, especially as she was pretty sure he knew the answer, or at least had a strong suspicion what it would be. Nor would admitting to her need help to identify him, while denying it seemed pointless. She considered conducting the experiment she had intended to, making changes to the way she was dressed in accordance with his instructions and seeing how he responded in order to eliminate each possibility until only one remained, only to dismiss the idea. Not only did it seem likely that he would catch her out, but he hadn’t given her a specific instruction.
    What his question did suggest was that she had been disobedient, presumably because she was wearing tights that morning, implying that she’d done it on purpose in order to provoke him into punishing her. Yet he hadn’t threatened, but asked, which suggested that he wanted affirmation. If she gave it, perhaps he’d come into the open, but the thought of turning up at some private rendezvous ready in anticipation of getting her bottom smacked and finding Hovis Boy or Brian and Dave waiting for her was too appalling to be countenanced. Not only that, but it was not at all sensible to go to a meeting with a strange man on her own and she could hardly bring a friend who might end up watching her getting it knickers down across the Man’s lap.
    For a long while she sat staring at the screen before remembering how Hugo de Montvilliers had flushed the Human Chameleon from his hiding place by setting fire to the house in
The Marquis of Montauch
. She would set the Controller on fire, although not literally. He was a man after all, and obviously fancied her, so it surely had to be possible to prick his imperturbability? She nodded to herself, clicked on the reply button and began to type. I’M VERY SORRY, SIR. TOMORROW I WILL BE IN STOCKINGS AND SUSPENDERS, AND FOR MY PUNISHMENT I WILL GO WITHOUT KNICKERS .
    Having completed the message she hesitated, then clicked the Send button before her doubts could get the better of her. It was a good scheme and, after all, she didn’t actually have to leave her knickers off. What mattered was that he would think she was bare under her skirt, and surely the man who could resist the opportunity to peep if he knew a girl was knickerless had yet to be born?
    Conscious that whoever he was now had every reason to assume she was interested, she found herself nervous, sure that he would make a move at any moment, and dreading the approach of a leering Brian. Nothing happened, not a single one of the people she saw behaved in any way out of the ordinary, but with just a few minutes to go before leaving time another message arrived. DO SO NOW .
    The words gave her a jolt of emotion worthy of the most hypersensitive of her literary heroines. It was an order, and the instinct to obey was so strong that she found her hands wanting to go to her hips. She closed her eyes, telling herself that she was now in a relationship, and that even if she hadn’t been it wasn’t right to take her knickers off for strange men. Another voice came back, a wicked insidious voice, telling her that it would do no harm, that it would be fun, and that it would change the journey home from work from a boring routine to a thrilling ride.
    His message also suggested that he’d know if she obeyed, which had to mean he was watching, or at least