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Authors: Linnea May

For my Master('s)

BOOK: For my Master('s)
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Copyright © 2015 by Linnea May

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

 

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short story:
‘Anniversary’

 

A steamy scene with the protagonists of my other BDSM Romance
'I am Yours'
.

 

 

For my

Master('s)

 

Short synopsis

Cynthia Storm is about to finish her Bachelor's degree. She wants to continue her studies to pursue a Master's, but has no way of paying for it. Her unfulfilling sex life with random college boys adds up to her frustration.

Her life drastically changes when she meets Nathan Jones, a handsome self-made billionaire who makes her an attractive offer.  He wants to take her on as a submissive provided that she is willing to agree to him supporting her studies financially.

She struggles with the moral justification of his offer, but it is hard to say 'No' to someone like him, especially after she has gotten a taste of his dominant nature. 

But will Cynthia ever be able to get closer to Nathan, who - despite their increasingly steamy encounters - insists on keeping her at distance?

This steamy Romance contains explicit scenes with BDSM elements and is aimed at audiences 18+. It is a standalone with no cliffhangers and a HEA ending.

Content

The first Chapter

The second Chapter

The third Chapter

The fourth Chapter

 

The first
Chapter

 

One

"But I don't want to hurt you!"

I sigh. Not that bullshit again. I am stripped naked, on all fours, bent over on my elbows with my wrists tied to the headboard. The knots are too tight. They were too lose at first and when I told him to tighten them, he went all in, fastening them as if he was tying luggage to the roof of his car.

I am in my favorite position. Ass up, face down. Almost down. I keep having to raise my head to give instructions.

I thought he had potential. His name is Brad, he works out, a lot. That's how we met actually, at the university's gym. He was in the weight lifting area, looking hot as hell, drenched in sweat, with his shirt sticking to his wet skin, highlighting his ridiculously well sculptured body.

He made the first move. Asked me for a date after just a few minutes of chit chat. He was in charge. Polite, courteous but demanding. Good looking with his dark blond hair and a body that shows the amount of work he has put into it. Smart enough to make it in the university's graduate program. So much potential.

And now he is sitting next to me, giving me what he calls "a good spanking". Nothing but silly little slaps. There is no passion in them. He doesn't dare to use his strength against me - or he is not capable of controlling it well enough to properly play with it.

Once again, I lift my head and turn around to him.

"Don't worry about hurting me," I say.

He looks at me with his eyes wide open. Worried. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I hiss. "That can't be all you've got. I can hardly feel it. More like a girlish tickle."

"If you say so." He says, sounding offended. Truly offended, not in a playful way.

Then, two more slaps, harder this time. It actually hurts and makes me flinch. But I can feel it. His response to my flinching is not triumph, not joy. Just worry and confusion. I know he's not into this - so I can't be either.

"Untie me," I say, defeated.

He's right at it and jumps to my rescue. "Sure."

Of course he has lost all the wood that had been building up during our foreplay. I take him into my hands and start stroking, looking up at him seductively. He starts shivering and gets harder within seconds. Of course.

Okay, so this one was another failure. But he is still pretty and I won't let him get away without giving me something. I know his tongue is just as useless as his hands, but he has a beautiful body and a cock to match. Remarkable in size and girth and only growing more and more gorgeous beneath my touch. Even though I am mad at the guy, I can't resist his perfect body and his equally stunning cock. I start licking his tip, already dripping with precum, and slowly take him inside my mouth. He moans as I wrap my lips around him, sucking and licking passionately.

And then I stop, looking up at him. "Fuck me."

He nods apathetically and grabs one of the condoms I had laid out for his visit.

"Lay on your back," he demands as he pulls the condom over his erection.

I oblige and rest on my back, legs spread, seductively playing with my clit. At least, worshipping his gorgeous cock as excited me a little - and I won't get nothing out of this, even if it is just a vanilla orgasm.

He slowly pushes himself inside me until his entire length is filling me. I moan. As I had hoped, being stretched by his beautiful member would make this "making the best of the situation" a lot easier.

He fucks gentle at first, but reacts to me edging him on, pushing my legs apart with his hands while he thrusts harder and deeper.

"Play with yourself," he demands.

No problem at all! I start caressing my clit, enjoying the sight of his beautiful chest, but avoiding eye contact. Looking at his face would just remind me of that worried boy he had become when I asked him to tie me up and spank me. I want to forget that face. All there is now is his muscular body and his remarkably sized cock inside me. This he can do well - but I feel that he can't last long.

I increase the tension on my clit, trying to match his rhythm.

"I'm gonna cum!" He warns. "Hurry!"

Yeah, that is going to help. I don't even try, but fake it when I can feel him climaxing inside me. At least this way it will end sooner. His throbbing cock feels great, his buff, sweaty chest looks irresistible. But it's not enough for me.

He collapses next to me after his orgasm has died down.

"Fuck, that was good," he gasps. "I'm sorry... Did you cum?"

"Sure," I say and cast him a quick smile, while I get up to put some clothes on. I hope he belongs to the kind of guys who are happy when there is no cuddling involved. All I want right now is for him to get out of my room, but I don't want to be impolite. 

Luckily, he is smart enough to get the hint. He starts getting dressed and asks me, if I have time to grab a coffee.

"Actually, no," I reply, making an apologetic face. "I still have lots of stuff to do for... you know, this paper. My last one."

He nods. "Sure, right. You mentioned it."

Had I? I am surprised at myself.

He hurries to get dressed and I escort him to the door, everything happening pleasantly fast. When we pass the kitchen, I notice Liz standing in front of the opened fridge. What the hell was she doing home?

"Well," he says, already standing in the hallway. "Thank you. See you around!"

I nod and smile. "Yeah, see you."

That was that. I let out an audible sigh as I walk back to the kitchen, where Liz greets me with an empathetic smile.

"You don't seem happy," she states the obvious. A bunch of vegetables are spread out on the kitchen table. She starts chopping a bunch of red peppers. "You hungry? I have enough for two."

I shake my head. "No, thanks."

"So that guy was...?"

"Brad," I say, now sitting opposite to her at the table. "The guy from the gym."

She raises her eyebrows. "Uh, you were right. He is hot!"

"Yeah," I whisper.

"But?"

"Not my type," I say, shrugging. "Just another boring, uninspired college boy."

"Tzzz." Liz looks at me, her eyebrows higher than ever. "You keep saying that
Miss-no-one-is-good-enough-for-me
. Maybe you're just expecting too much?"

"Maybe."

But could it really be that hard? To find someone who could play the way I wanted? Who would not be afraid to test me, use his strength against me. Who would take the lead and show me my limits?

I am starting to doubt my knowledge of human nature. Brad was by far not the first disappointment to come along my way, even though I keep lowering my standards.

"How's the job hunt going?" Liz asks. She is obviously keen to dig into everything that is wrong with my life at the moment.

I roll my eyes. "Bad. I hate everything about it."

"Still got that interview with Jones tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "I don't know anything about public relations. I really wonder why my counselor wants me to go there."

"Besides," Liz says, while intently chopping an onion. "I heard he's weird. Like, fucked up weird."

I chuckle. "Yeah? Who says that?"

Liz stops chopping and looks at me conspiratorially. "Melissa said that someone told her that they know a girl, a graduate from last year, who interviewed with him and she said that he came on to her! Said he was flirting with her hardcore through the entire interview."

I raise my eyebrows. "So? That's it? Do you know how many girls feel like someone is coming on to them just because they're nice?"

She shrugs. "Still sounds kinda creepy. Also...," she hesitates for a moment to make room for emphasize. "I heard his office is plastered with weird pictures."

I cock my eyebrows. "Weird pictures?"

"Yeah, of naked, tied up women or something. He's a creep!"

"I don't care," I say. "I'm just going there to make my counselor happy. And my parents. They're the ones who want me to get a job..."

"Don't be such a brat," Liz scolds me. "You know they'd help you to get a Master's if they could. Besides, nothing is decided yet, right? Maybe you still get the scholarship."

I sigh and steal a cut off piece of sweet pepper. "Time is running out. If I don't hear from them until the end of the month, I might actually have to take one of those jobs they send me hunting for. If I even get one, that is..."

Liz rolls her eyes at me. "Stop whining. Just wait and see how tomorrow's interview turns out. Who knows, maybe you actually like it."

 

Two

Jones & Jones
- what an uninspired name for a company. As I take the lift all the way up to the 29th floor, I wonder who the second Jones could be. His father most likely.

I probably should be knowing these things. Hell, I don't even know what this Mr. Jones looks like. Or how old he is. I expected him to be an old man, but Liz said that she heard he's "younger". Whatever that means.

I check my face and outfit one last time in the big mirror that covers an entire wall of the elevator. My dark brown hair is tied to a bun in my neck, a hairstyle I only chose for job interviews or exams. It makes me look older, especially in combination with the red lipstick and my darkly painted smoky eyes. It is the middle of summer, but I still look as pale as always. "Working the snow white look," as Liz keeps saying.

I am wearing a short black pencil skirt, black thighs and a white blouse. Classy, but also extremely boring and uncomfortable. I don't feel like myself in these clothes and hate the fact that I have to play dress up for these interviews.

And it's too hot for the current temperatures, even without a jacket. My heels are a bit too high for me to be able to walk in them like a normal human being. I have tried, god knows, but somehow me and heels - it just wasn't meant to be. Still, I insist on wearing them once in a while. And I curse myself for not practicing to properly walk in them every single time.

I stagger out of the elevator as soon as the doors open, trying to look as professional as possible. Damn, it's not easy.

I find myself in a brightly lit hallway. Clean and sterile like most of these kind of offices. The reception is right in front of me, occupied by two beautiful women who are not much older than me. They look fancy in their matching suits - most likely the kind of women who do not share my heel-clumsiness. I approach the reception, carefully and slowly.

One of them looks up to me. A polite but distant smile appears on her face. "How can I help you?"

"Erm... Storm, Cynthia Storm. I have an appointment with Mr. Jones."

"Storm," she whispers, looking down on a calendar in front of her. "Ah, here it is. You might have to wait a few minutes - he is swamped with interviews right now and running a little late. Please take a seat."

She points to a waiting area next to the reception. It is not much more than a group of chairs arranged along the walls. All of them are empty, so I can - hopefully - expect my wait not to be too long.

I sit down, placing my purse on my lap and listen to the sound of other people working. I am surrounded by muttering, people talking on the phone or with each other. Once in a while, I see one of them walking down the hallway. Everybody is dressed in suits. Even though I am in my most fancy getup, I feel completely underdressed and misplaced.

This is certainly not a place for me. I look around for the weird pictures Liz has mentioned, but can't find anything out of the ordinary. There are a few random photographs of different landscapes, much like the ones that come with the newer versions of Windows. No naked ladies anywhere.

After a few minutes of waiting I see another girl walking down the hallway. She is young, probably about my age. It's easy to tell that she is not part of this company. Yet. The closer she comes, the more I suspect her of being the person who was interviewed before me.

She is accompanied by an incredibly handsome man. Tall, with dark hair, neatly combed to the side. A three-day beard adorns his edgy face. He is clearly older than her - and me - but still young, probably in his early or mid thirties. The dark grey suit he is wearing suits him perfectly. He is definitely working here. Probably one of Mr. Jones' assistants.

He politely dismisses the girl and I straighten up, expecting to be called up any moment now.

And I am right. One of the reception ladies gets up. She quickly exchanges words with the handsome man, before she leads him to the waiting area. "Miss Storm?"

I jump up. "Yes."

"Mr. Jones is ready for you now." She says, turning towards the man in the grey suit. "This is Miss Storm."

He looks at me, extending his hand for a shake. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Storm."

His voice is surprisingly deep. He sounds a lot older than he looks.

I shake his hand, dumbfounded by his incredible eyes. They are green, just like mine. But weirdly dark. I have never seen eyes like that. They are captivating, mesmerizing, dappled with black spots. His handshake is firm and confident.

"Pleasure... to meet you."

I wonder if he's wearing contact lenses.

"Please, follow me."

"Sure."

I follow Mr. Jones' ridiculously handsome assistant, nervously fiddling with my clothes. It is hard to keep up with his wide and confident steps. I am breaking a sweat trying to keep up with him without falling over my own feet. Damn those heels.

He is a bit ahead of me when he stops in front of a closed door at the end of the hallway. I expect him to knock, but he just opens it, gesturing for me to enter the room. "Please."

I pass him with a nervous smile. God, his good looks are intimidating. Thank god he will be gone soon.

I find myself in a surprisingly big office. Giant windows to my right reveal a marvelous view across the city skyline and the streets 29 floors beneath us. I always wonder how people can work in offices with a view like this. I would find myself staring out the window the entire day. Just as I am now.

I hear him say "Please" again and realize that he is pointing to the big, black desk across the room. There is one giant chair behind it and two slightly smaller ones in front of it. "Have a seat."

I approach the desk, casting a quick view to the rest of the room. The wall opposite to the window is entirely taken up by bookshelves, reaching all the way up to the high ceiling.

I notice the pictures when I sit down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. They are on the wall right behind the desk. Three rather big photographs right in front of me - and they all show the same woman. Naked, tied up with black rope.
Shibari
. They are stunning, very tasteful and well lit. One can tell that the woman in them is naked, but the pictures are dark, only dimly lit to emphasize certain features. She is even suspended in one of them, her back arched, head tilted backwards, with her long hair falling down to the floor, her mouth slightly opened.

The pictures are beautiful. I can't see anything weird about them - except for the fact that they are displayed here, in an office. Placed in such a predominant position. Mr. Jones might be an aged pervert after all.

I realize that I am staring and force myself away from the captivating pictures. To my surprise, the assistant is still there, standing next to me.

He is watching me.

Our eyes meet for a second when I look up at him. I blush. How awkward. Why was he still here? Did Mr. Jones not allow for anyone to be in his office alone?

"All settled?" he asks.

"Um, yeah, sure." I reply.

"Okay," he says and makes his way around the desk. "Shall we begin then?"

He drops down in the big chair behind the desk. Leaning back with his legs crossed he looks at me, smiling expectantly.

Fuck, he is Mr. Jones?

 

BOOK: For my Master('s)
13.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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