By His Command (House of Submission 2)

‘What does Miss Wells think?’ asked Miss Frost dryly, taking out a tape measure and a notepad and pencil.

‘Oh … well … it’s OK, I …’

But Jasper spoke over me.

‘Miss Wells will do as she’s told.’

He put a hand in the small of my back and shoved me gently, helping me to my feet. I needed the help. My legs had gone quite wrong. The way he had said that … it was shocking and it was exquisite. But what on earth must Miss Frost think of us? My face was so hot it must have matched some of the bright scarlet basques and teddies on their hangers behind me.

When I slunk my gaze in her direction, I was surprised at what I saw, though. She was smiling broad approval, looking me up and down with a frankness bordering on the lascivious.

Oh, I get it.

‘We miss you, Mr Jay, at our little gatherings,’ she said. ‘We were wondering if your tastes had changed. But I think we needn’t have worried.’

‘Oh, no, my tastes haven’t changed. I’ve been busy, that’s all.’

‘So might we hope to see you again one fine evening?’

‘I can’t make any promises, I’m afraid. Perhaps.’

During this exchange I stood like a lemon, trying to decipher it.

Miss Frost snapped her fingers and I nearly jumped.

‘I can’t measure you clothed, you know,’ she said. ‘Do you need help undressing?’

‘No, of course not.’

My fingers were clumsy with the fastenings and I shook my hair well over my face, attempting to hide away from this assault on my modesty.

It was absurd that I should care about being seen naked. Miss Frost was a professional and Jasper was my lover. But something about the pair of them together had thrown me completely off course and made the situation pregnant with mortifying possibilities.

‘I’m surprised you can’t tell a woman’s vital statistics straight off, with your wealth of experience,’ said Jasper. ‘Do you even need the tape measure any more?’

‘You flatter me. I can make a good estimate, but with a corset one must never use guesswork. The intimacy of the garment demands perfect accuracy. You want it to clasp the female frame like a possessive lover.’

Actually, corsets were starting to sound more interesting now. I pulled my shirt over my head and tried to think nothing of standing there in just my bra and knickers, being spoken of as if I were a mannequin.

‘But if you had a gun to your head and you had to make a guess?’ Jasper obviously wanted to make me feel objectified, and it was working. I wondered why I didn’t mind it more.

‘If I had a gun to my head, I imagine somebody’s bust size would be the last thing on my mind,’ said Miss Frost, sealing her lips in a tight line.

‘Fair enough,’ said Jasper. ‘Our mannequin doesn’t seem to want to peel off the final layer.’

Rolling my eyes, I unclipped my bra and tried to look oblivious to the erect state of my nipples.

‘That’s marvellous, dear,’ said Miss Frost, stepping up with the tape measure. It was so cold against my bare skin, winding around my back and then underneath my breasts. She resumed her conversation with Jasper, pulling the tape taut. ‘If I had to guess, well, it would be easy enough, of course. She’s a C cup, probably 34 inches, perhaps a little more, perhaps a little less.’

She was right. Without consulting her figures yet, she had told Jasper my bra size. This was impressive, considering we British women are always being scolded for wearing ill-fitting foundation garments.

She moved the measure up to encompass the full swell of my breasts, pressing the cold length of tape against my pebble-hard nipples. I shut my eyes, unnerved by Jasper’s unbroken stare. If I couldn’t see my surroundings, I could pretend I wasn’t there.

‘What do you think?’ asked Jasper.

Of what? Who are you asking?

Of course it wouldn’t be me. I didn’t open my eyes but waited instead for Miss Frost’s reply.