The Master & the Secretary

The Master & the Secretary is a Finding Master Right Series novel. Powerful, alpha male romance with a dark, delicious BDSM twist.

Excerpt from Chapter One

“Oh my god,” Tess breathed, stunned at what she’d been reading. She set down the diary and gazed absently at the sampler Nana had cross-stitched that had hung over the sink in Nana’s kitchen for as long as Tess could remember—“Blessed Are Those Who Clean Up.” Now that was the Nana Tess knew. Funny, homey, down-to-earth. Not a sexual bone in her body. Who the hell was this other woman, this secretary who had a boss with a ruler? A handsome Gregory Peck boss with very “exacting” standards.

And it had happened way back in 1961. People didn’t do stuff like that back then, did they? There was no internet, no postings on personals sites—Stern boss seeks submissive secretary. Must take dictation and spankings.

And yet… And yet, if Tess were honest, as honest as her grandmother was in her diary, were the feelings expressed there really so foreign? Tess, like her grandmother, had as yet unexplored submissive feelings of her own. Her secret fantasies of being held down and “taken” by her lover had remained just that—secret. But they were there.

The idea of working for some guy who was into control… While Tess rejected the idea on the surface, her body was responding otherwise. As bizarre as it was, what she was reading turned her on, even if it was her old Nana who had written the words.

Again she marveled, shaking her head. Her grandmother having submissive thoughts and feelings, all those years ago. It didn’t seem possible. Yet, here were these journals, written in Nana’s neat, precise hand, the blue ink faded on paper yellowed with time.

This Mr. Stevenson… Tess had half a mind to call him back and demand an explanation. And yet, she was the one reading someone else’s most secret thoughts and dreams. This wasn’t any of Tess’s business. She thought of herself as free and liberated, sexually and otherwise. Why should she expect a different set of behaviors for her grandmother, just because she was older and of another generation?

Don’t judge her, Tess warned herself. That was something Nana had often said. “Don’t judge someone just because they don’t think exactly like you do. Until you’ve walked in their shoes, you just have no idea.” Well, she was obviously speaking from experience, wasn’t she?

Tea forgotten, Tess picked up the journal and continued to read.

~*~

October 19, 1961
Frank was tickled pink about the raise. He’s never admitted it, but he didn’t think I had what it took to be a secretary. He use to say the secretarial school I attended after high school was just a front while I went after my “MRS” degree. He never thought I was cut out for much more than changing diapers and making cookies. But money talks, as Frank is fond of saying, and money is telling him now I’m worth something.

Since we had that little talk, Mr. Stevenson has said straight out he’s going to “train” me to behave in a way proper to my station—he actually used those words. The man is something out of a Dickens’ novel.

Things have been moving pretty fast. Maybe a little too fast for me.
Yesterday, when I brought in his coffee, I spilled a little when I set it down. The saucer slipped and the coffee slopped over the edge so that a little got on his precious walnut desktop. I had to go back to the kitchenette to get a dishtowel, and when I returned, he was standing behind his chair, holding that ruler. I felt a twinge in my belly.

“Olivia,” he intoned. “Have you any idea what this desk is worth? It’s been in my family for generations. I can’t have it being ruined by some careless secretary, now can I?”

“No, sir,” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat. He looked so handsome, so stern, standing there, tapping the ruler against the top of his chair.

“You’ve been here long enough to know the rules. But perhaps they need to be spelled out more clearly for you, since you continue to behave in such a cavalier fashion when it comes to precious antiques.”

It was just a drop of coffee, not some federal offense, for heaven’s sake. I actually blurted that out to him, and his whole countenance darkened.

“First rule, Olivia, is that you don’t offer your opinions, unless I ask for them. I am the boss here. You are not. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, looking down as heat seared my cheeks. This was crazy. I knew it, and yet it wasn’t crazy either. Something about it felt so right—so exciting.

Again the tap, tap, tap of that ruler. “Second rule. From now on, first infraction is ten strokes with the ruler. Either on your knuckles or on your bottom. I should warn you that I won’t be using it so lightly anymore. Now that you’re in formal training, your punishments will be real. Repeated infractions will receive escalated punishment. Do I make myself clear?”

“Um…” I hesitated.

“Speak plainly, Olivia. Do not say ‘um.’ You are not a schoolgirl. Do I make myself clear?”

I swallowed. “Well, Mr. Stevenson, not entirely. I mean, are you saying that you plan to, um, use that ruler on my bottom?” I blushed saying this out loud. But he had said it first. I kept going since he just looked at me, his arms folded over that nice broad chest of his. “Is that over the skirt? Is this legal? And if you hit my hand too hard, what if it marks me somehow? My husband might wonder.”

“Your husband is not my concern, Olivia. How you handle yourself at home is entirely your affair. While you are here at the office, you belong to me. If you are concerned that some easily visible possible bruising or mark might be questioned, I would suggest you avail yourself of the second method, that is, your bottom. And yes, first infraction will be over the skirt. After that, we shall see. As to legalities, you and I have not entered into any sort of legal contract. I consider what happens here between us to be on both a professional and personal level. That is, I expect you to behave professionally at all times, but our arrangement, by its nature, is personal. Legality doesn’t enter into it.”

He stood there for a moment, waiting. Maybe he expected me to tell him to go to hell. Maybe he was waiting to see if I would run out of there screaming.

I didn’t do either.

I just stood there staring at him like a tongue-tied idiot. Inside I was almost sick with the adrenaline rush I was feeling. My gut was churning like I was on a roller coaster and I felt giddy with anticipation, though not really sure of what. I suppose he took my silence for acquiescence, and I guess it was.

He went on, with a slight nod, as if I had spoken, as if I had given him permission. “Now, you have spilled coffee on my desk. That is infraction number one. Then you protested and argued that it was ‘just a drop coffee,’ which clearly indicates to me that you don’t value my property in a way that befits your station. That is infraction number two. I shall teach you the value of my things.”

He cleared his throat. “At the end of each day we shall tally your infractions, and I will decide upon a punishment. You will accept the punishment with grace. Failure to comply immediately with my dictate will incur another infraction. Am I clear, Olivia?”

My mouth felt dry. Part of me was furious with this arrogant man. How dare he talk to me like I was some kind of servant or slave from medieval times, and he the lord and master of the realm! But most of me was thunderstruck. Yes, that’s the word. It’s like he was speaking some secret language to me. Some language I didn’t know I understood. Something that bypassed my brain and went right to my nerve endings.

I responded in that secret language, I guess. Some kind of weird sense of peace seemed to fall over me as I bowed my head and answered, “Yes, sir. You are clear, sir. I apologize about the coffee. I’ll be more careful.”

“Good,” he nodded, looking pleased. “Now get your pad and take a letter. Punishment will be at 4:00 p.m. Sharp.”