For my Master('s)

by May, Linnea

  Liz is still out when I finally brave myself to go out. One last - and very long - check in our big mirror in the hall and I am out of the apartment, only wearing a large but light scarf over my shoulders.

  Even the nights are uncomfortably hot right now. I am not looking forward to spending the next few minutes squeezed between hundreds of commuters on the subway.

  I head out our front door downstairs and don’t even notice the black car in front of the house, until someone is calling my name.

  “Miss Storm?”

  I look around in confusion and can’t see anybody at first, because I am still not paying attention to the street.

  “Miss Storm?” The voice repeats.

  And now I see him. A middle aged guy in a suit, standing next to a black limousine. He is waving with his right hand, beckoning me to come closer. I slowly approach him, my eyebrows raised in question.

  “Miss Storm, am I right?” he confirms.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Frank Barnes my name. Mr. Jones sent me to offer you a ride, in case you were thinking of accepting his invitation for tonight.”

  I role my eyes. “I told him, that is not necessary.”

  Frank Barnes smiles apologetically. “Yes, he said so. He also told me to remind you that there might be not air conditioning on the subway.”

  I sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Barnes. But I can find my way, really.”

  “Miss Storm,” he says with a soothing voice. “I will have to drive to the bar either way - a little company would be more than welcome.”

  He looks at me with an apologetic smile, looking a bit like a little boy. “It’ll be much faster - and more comfortable.”

  I give in and mirror his smile. “Alright. Thank you very much.”

  He nods and comes around the car to open the door for me.

  “Please,” he says, gesturing for me to get in.

  The air inside the car is much cooler than outside, almost a bit chilly for me, because of my light getup.

  “I’ll adjust the air conditioning,” Frank Barnes promises when he notices me shivering through the rearview mirror.

  “Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

  “Oh, call me Frank,” he says. “If you don’t mind. I feel old when people call me Mr. Barnes.”

  “Alright, Frank,” I reply. “Please call me Cynthia, then. I don’t like the whole Miss-thing either.”

  He laughs and quickly types something on his phone, before he steers the car out of its parking position. Probably letting the boss now that he could convince me to board the car.

  I have never been in a limousine, but try to act cool about it. It sure is comfortable. The engine is eerily silent and the leather feels soft and neither too cold nor warm and sticky. Everything looks extremely clean, expensive and new, but the car doesn’t have that characteristic new car smell that personally, I never cared for that much.

  The drive is a lot shorter than I expected. We come to halt directly in front of the entrance to the bar. Just as I unfasten my seatbelt and want to reach for the door, it gets opened from the outside. Mr. Jones greets me with a smile and extends his hand to help me out. I am a bit weirded out by all of this and neglect his offer. I need my hands to hold up my scarf anyways.

  “Very glad you could make it, Miss Storm,” he says with a stunningly charming smile. He has changed into a black suit with a white shirt and a grey tie. His dark hair is combed to the side - and he smells incredible, as I have to find out when he pulls me in for a little welcoming kiss.

  “Cynthia,” I say. “Please call me Cynthia.”

  I turn around to thank Frank again, but the car is already gone.

  “I am happy you decided to accept my offer, Cynthia,” Mr. Jones says as I turn back to him.

  “Well,” I say. “It’s not exactly like you left me an option.”

  He smiles and beckons me to follow him.

  “The decision to leave the house tonight was all yours,” he says as he opens the door for me.

  The bar is on top of a hotel on the 39th floor and promises a stunning view across the city. Or so I have heard.

  I try not to gawk when we leave the elevator and enter the bar area. It is pretty dark, only lit in dim blue lights and candles on the tables.

  We are led to one of the best tables at the other end of the room, right beneath one of the giant windows that are revealing the aforementioned view across the city skyline.

  “Wow,” I breathe as we sit down. My attempts of not gawking are instantly forgotten.

  “They always keep it a bit dark up here,” he explains. “To not disturb the view with too much reflection.”

  “Good thing they do.” I say. My eye are still glued to the window.

  “Is there anything in particular, you want to drink?” he asks.

  I turn to him with a blank face. “I… no.”

  “If you don’t mind,” he says. “They have a very nice house special here. A vodka based cocktail with mint.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I like vodka.”

  He laughs. “I thought so.”

  He orders two of the house specials for us and I turn back to the window, even though I realize how impolite this must appear. I can feel his eyes on me, but don’t dare to turn around before he says anything.

  “I hope I didn’t catch you off-guard earlier,” he says eventually.

  I turn around and smile at him. “You did. I certainly did not expect that when I got ready for my job interview this morning.”

  “Neither did I,” he says.

  “No? So, this is not your usual way of interviewing?”

  He smirks. “I can honestly tell you, it’s not. I was just lucky enough for someone special to walk in today.”

  I blush and - luckily - our drinks are brought in that exact moment. To my surprise, they have a milky color, a very light green streaked with thin waves in a darkish brown. They are served in a cocktail glass with the edges dipped in something that I mistake for dark sugar at first, but appears to be chocolate cookie crumbles.

  “Crème de Menthe Chocolate Mint Cookie Cocktail,” Mr. Jones enlightens me, lifting his glass for cheers. I imitate the gesture and take a cautious sip.

  “Wow, it’s delicious!” I blurt out, sounding like an overly excited child. “It tastes like a chocolate mint cookie!”

  He chuckles. “Glad you like it, Miss Storm.”

  “Cynthia,” I correct him.

  “Okay, Cynthia,” he says. “Call me Nathan then, if you prefer.”

  “Sure, Nathan.” I nod and take another sip of the cookie drink.

  “You look gorgeous,” he compliments me.

  I nod and smile. “Thank you, so do you.”

  “Look, Cynthia,” he says, now looking at me with a stern expression. “I don’t like to beat around the bush: I am very attracted to you. You have a very enticing aura and even now - I must admit - it is very hard for me not to touch you.”

  I gulp. My pulse has suddenly doubled its pace, as if my heart was yelling back at him “Yes, yes! Same here!”.

  “But I don’t want to fool you into thinking I could date you,” he continues. “You know. The real thing, going out for dinner, falling asleep cuddling, buying birthday presents for your mom - that sort of thing.”

  I frown. “Why do you think that’s what I want?”

  He looks at me, slightly confused. “Because you are a bright, beautiful young woman. It is surprising enough that you don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Maybe that’s because I don’t want one,” I say, rising my chin with pugnacity. It is not entirely true, but I am annoyed by him giving me the little girl speech.

  “Okay,” he says, raising his hands in defense. “What do you want then?”

  I hesitate for a moment and carefully look around, before I dare my reply. No beating around the bush? I can do that, too.

  “What I want,” I whisper, leaning forward so only he can hear me. “Is for you to tie me up like the women in your
pictures.”

  His eyebrows practically jump upwards, edging me on to say more.

  “What I want, is for you to use these gorgeous hands to give me a good and strong spanking, make me scream and beg until my eyes are teary,” I continue, pausing for a little emphasize on the last part. “And to fuck me, pound me hard until I pass out. I want to come again, like I did in your office - but with you inside of me.”

  Now he’s the one gulping. I triumphantly lean back and take another sip of my cocktail. I bet he did not expect that.

  He maintains composure, but can’t hide the fact that what I just said has turned him on tremendously. Good.

  “Okay,” he says. “We might be on the same page here. To some degree.”

  “Some degree?” I ask.

  “You see, there are quite a few things I would like to try with you. And I expect some of them will be challenging for you.”

  I look at him, cocking my head to the side, questioning.

  “Do you have experience in being someone’s sub?” he asks.

  My eyes widen. “Oh. Well, no, but…”

  “I thought so,” he interrupts. “But you are interested in trying?”

  “Yes!” I reply without hesitation. “Certainly!”

  “I would love to train you,” he says. “But I would ask a lot of you. A lot of loyalty, trust and - over all - obedience. Being a sub is challenging to begin with - but it is even more so when you are new to this.”

  He looks at me, still with that stern expression, trying to read me. But I don’t show any reaction to what he has said, even though my head is spinning. This does sound intimidating. Hot, but intimidating.

  “I am very demanding,” he clarifies. “But I also like to take care of my subs.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “If you agree to become my sub, I would want to train you. Strict and hard,” he says. “But I would also want to know that you are taken care of and that you can live your life the way you want to.”

  I take another sip of my cocktail and look at him with wariness. Where is he going with this? Is he trying to say what I suspect him to say?

  “Living my life the way I want to?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  “Yes,” he says. “You told me what you truly want - and if you were my sub I would want to make that possible for you.”

  “Just to clarify,” I say, putting my glass down on the table a little bit too harsh. “Are you saying you would… pay me?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t pay you.”

  “But you would pay for my Master’s degree?”

  He looks at me, showing no sort of emotion. “Yes, I would love to do that.”

  I need another sip of my drink.

  “That sounds awfully close to prostitution,” I whisper.

  “It’s not, though,” he says. “It is a Dom taking care of his sub in the way he sees fit.”

  I frown. This is a tempting offer, I have to admit. But what would I tell my friends? My parents? How on earth would I justify an agreement like this to anyone I know?

  “You don’t have to decide right now,” he says.

  “I wasn’t going to,” I say, sounding like a stubborn child. “But I would like a test run.”

  “A test run?” he asks, accompanied by a naughty smile.

  “Yes,” I say. “How am I supposed to make such a huge decision if I don’t even know what I am getting myself into?”

  He looks at me, stern but with a hint of a smile.

  “We can arrange that.”

  PART II

  One

  “Tonight?” I ask, nervously turning my glass on the table.

  He subtly shrugs. “If that is what you wish for.”

  I quickly take a sip of my drink. God it was good. Liquid sweets, chocolate with a strong supplement of mint and no taste of alcohol at all. He does not take his eyes of me the entire time. Waiting, observing.

  “So,” I say eventually. “What would that look like?”

  “Well,” he replies. “There’s a hotel beneath us with plenty of rooms for us to play in.”

  “I don’t want you to go through any trouble, and I don’t have-”

  “Please,” he interrupts me. “It would be no trouble at all. I have a room prepared for us.”

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, I see.”

  He leans back and takes another sip of his own drink, calmly awaiting my decision. His green eyes don’t leave me even for a second, leaving little room to hide. Yet, he doesn’t seem impatient. He rather conveys the impression that he could sit there forever, in no hurry to go anywhere.

  “Okay,” I finally dare to say. “Let’s go then.”

  He smirks and raises his half empty cocktail glass. “Would you allow me to finish my drink first, Ma’am?”

  I blush. “Um, sure, of course.”

  My embarrassment makes him laugh. He raises his glass to me and I follow the gesture, taking an especially big sip in hopes to finish as much of it as possible. He does the same, but continues to watch me, visibly amused.

  “Okay, baby girl,” he says, putting his glass down. “Let’s get out of her before you lose your mind in that glass.”

  He gets up, once again offering me his hand. And once again, I refuse it and get up on my own. He comments my behavior with a raised eyebrow, making sure I would notice.

  We head straight for the elevator. I have a lot of questions in mind, but don’t dare to ask any. Except for one, a mundane issue.

  “What about the drinks? Have we paid?”

  He pushes the button for the elevator to arrive and looks at me with an almost annoyed expression. “I think there are lots of other things you should be worrying about right now.”

  Alright then. The door opens and he lets me enter before him. It is a well known secret that elevators have an effect on people in these situations. Being entrapped in a small, windowless space with a person one is attracted to can lead to interesting events, to say the least.

  His proximity is intimidating and he smells just as good as he had earlier in the office. I am standing close, casting him expectant side looks as he pushes the button for the 21st floor and the door closes in front of us. The elevator is put into motion, we are alone, hidden from all eyes for a few seconds - and he does nothing. He doesn’t even look at me. He just stands there, with a straight face, looking and smelling irresistible, but not even acknowledging my existence.

  “So,” I whisper. “You have prepared a room.”

  He nods, still not looking at me. “Yes, I have.”

  “So you expected me to come around?”

  “I didn’t expect it,” he says. “But I wanted to be prepared.”

  The elevator stops and the doors give way to the 21st floor.

  “Besides,” he says while leading me out. “You haven’t come around yet, have you? This is just a test run after all.”

  “Right,” I agree.

  We are entering a carpeted hallway that is obviously part of the hotel already. He leads the way to the left and I follow shortly behind him, anxiously casting looks from one side to the other.

  He eventually stops in front of a door at the end of the hallway and turns towards me.

  “A few things before we enter,” he says, looking at me with a stern expression. Incredibly sexy. I look up at him in anticipation.

  “I’ll go easy on you, because it’s your first time. But I have a few rules,” he begins.

  I smile. “Alright, let’s hear them.”

  “First,” he says. “You will call me Sir once we’re inside. You’ll ask for permission for everything you do, addressing me as Sir. Other than that, I don’t want to hear much else except for ‘Yes, Sir’ and ‘Thank you, Sir’. There will be no objections, no ‘No’ and no doing something on your own without asking me for permission. Understand?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  He frowns. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Sir!” I hurry to corr
ect. Damn - off to a good start.

  “I’ll be in charge,” he continues. “I don’t want you to make any decisions, not even to touch me without asking first. You are not going to make a single movement without my permission.”

  He pauses, awaiting my reply. I nod. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I don’t think you will need it today, but I want you to know that you can use a safe word, if things are going too far,” he says. “And that safe word is red. Not ‘Stop’, not ‘No’, not ‘Don’t’ - those will only edge me on. Okay?”

  Again I nod, now with a stern expression on my face as well. “I understand, Sir.”

  “What’s the safe word?”

  “Red, Sir.”

  “Good girl,” he whispers and gives me a kiss on the left cheek.

  He turns around and produces a chip card from his pocket to open the door. He pushes it open and beckons me to enter before him.

  The room is beautiful and a lot bigger than any hotel room I have ever been to. In fact, it is probably twice the size than anything I know. The style is very modern, sticking to monochrome colors in mostly white and black with a few hints of light grey. There is not much furniture except for a desk and a chair, a bed and a little seating area beneath the ceiling high window. Clean, white sheets and a ridiculous amount of cushions cover the giant bed that dominates the room.

  “Stay here,” he says. I remain close to the door while he walks up to the window to close the curtains. I notice a black carryall on the floor next to the desk and wonder if it belongs to him. It probably does. So he really has made preparations of some sort. My heart jumps with anticipation.

  “Do you want to use the bathroom and freshen up?” He asks.

  I look up at him, pondering for a second. “Actually, yes, Sir. If you allow…”

  He laughs. “Don’t be so shy, baby girl. Did you expect me to turn into a complete monster once we enter the room?”