For my Master('s) (8 page)

Four

I can feel his hands wandering lower, grazing along my belly, gently tickling my with faint little touches by his fingertips. I flinch and open my eyes, following his hands down my body. He comes even closer, leaning over me now.

"Look at me," he says. "And don't you dare looking away."

"Yes, Sir." I hurry to say and look up at him, catching his mesmerizing green eyes.

I stand his unyielding gaze as his hand wanders down my belly, soon reaching my mound and what little hair I leave there, only sparing a narrow landing strip to lead the way. He skims along the landing strip until he reaches my folds. I cannot help but start panting as he stops for a moment before he moves on, using two fingers to gently spread my lips and a third to touch my clit. Even a touch as soft as this feels electric, making me flinch in pleasure. I moan as he slowly puts pressure on my clit, moving in very faint little circles.

I can literally hear how wet I am when he starts stroking my slit, each movement accompanied by a subtle noise that reveals the moisture between my legs. I am embarrassed by it, feeling the urge to close my eyes and hide my face - and he loves it. He can see the struggle in my face.

"What a lucky man I am," he whispers close to my face. "Having a beautiful little girl tied to my bed, with her cunt so fucking wet."

He lets one his fingers slide inside me while he continues to massage my clit with his thumb. I arch my back, yanking on the rope as I lean into him, my entire body squirming with pleasure.

"What on earth has gotten you so wet, baby girl?" He asks. He quickly flicks each clamp, making me painfully aware of their presence. "Could it be these? Do you like to be tortured like this?"

I instinctively shake my head, not because what he is saying is wrong, but because I am unable to reply.

"No?" He presses. "You're so slick and wet, you little slut. Your body doesn't lie. What caused this then?"

"You, Sir." I breathe, still withstanding his unyielding green eyes.

"Me, huh," he presses. "Are you wet for me, baby girl?"

"Yes, Sir."

The look on his face is sexiest expression I have ever seen. Confident, calm, visibly pleased with my reaction to him. He shoves a second finger inside me, and a third shortly after, stretching my center with delicious pain. I groan with relish and close my eyes.

"Look at me!" He warns and I obey immediately.

"I want you to see who is doing this to you. I am your Master. You need to remember who you belong to from now on. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," I pant, trembling with lust beneath his touch. His thumb continues to rub my wet clit as he bends his fingers inside me, pushing them in a little deeper. My eyes flicker at the soft pain his forceful intrusion causes. And then he finds it, the sweet spot he has been looking for. He pushes against it, causing me to flinch with a suppressed shriek.

"There you go," he says, nodding in approval. He keeps pushing against my g-spot while intensifying the pressure on my clit.

I gasp, staring into his intense, green eyes, forcing myself to resist the urge to close my eyes and throw my head back.

"I want you to come," he whispers. "Come on my fingers, you little slut." I whimper. My eye lids are fluttering, trying to shut away my sight. I struggle against it with all my strength. It gets harder with every moment, with every circle he draws between my legs.

My orgasm hits me by surprise. Sudden and powerful, increasing the pressure to close my eyes and shut myself away. I almost give in to the temptation to fully savor the pleasure that is taking over my body and ignore his orders. But I resist. Instead I open my eyes wide, reciprocating his gaze.

The look on his face changes as I feel my muscles clenching around his fingers. He starts smiling, a broad, particularly satisfied expression. He hums in approval as the waves of my climax roll over me.

Without removing his hand from my center, he quickly opens his pants with the other, pulling it down just enough for his erected cock to spring free.

"I'm sorry baby girl," he says as he withdraws his hand from my clenching center and instantly replaces it with gorgeous cock. "I need to be part of this."

I yelp in pleasure, still clenching from my orgasm when he forces himself inside me with brute and deep thrusts, prolonging my climax in a way I have never experienced before. I have felt his size before, but am still amazed at it, soaking in pleasure and pain as he fills me with one deep and unyielding thrust after another.

I stare at him in a dazed state, unsure if I am still climaxing or already floating through the dreamlike sphere of the orgasmic aftermath as I feel him tensing up inside me, finding his own release. He finishes off with a handful of slow and especially deep thrust, eventually shoving himself inside me with his entire length as he comes. Hard. It is the first time that he is the one who interrupts eye contact, closing his eyes and throwing his head back in pleasure during the peak of his climax.

We freeze for a few moments, placed on the bed like a bacchanalian sculpture, panting heavily.

"Fuck," he whispers, lowering his head to look at me. "You fucked up my plan, you little minx."

I grin naughtily. "How is that, Sir?"

"Your delight is contagious," he whispers.

He leans over, still inside me, resting on his elbows as he plants a gentle kiss on each of my blushed cheeks.

"I am enjoying you way too much, little girl," he whispers before his lips meet mine for a last, passionate kiss.

Five

"How are you feeling?" He asks after his lips leave mine. 

"Good," I reply. "Great, actually."

He smiles and straightens up. "This will hurt a little."

His hands wander to my breasts, softly cupping them before he carefully removes each clamp respectively. I flinch a little, surprised at the sensation of dull pain as the clamps get removed and my nipples slowly expand, returning to their natural form.

"You might be sore," he whispers, winking at me. "Just a little."

"Totally worth it," I say, reciprocating the wink.

"Let's take a bath," he suggests and starts untying my wrists. 

"You didn't even get undressed," I remark, underlined with a hint of accusation.

"You didn't let me any chance," he says. "You were having too much fun, I had to join. Earlier and different than I had planned, little one."

"What did you have planned?" I ask.

He is shaking his head as he removes the last knot, freeing my numb wrists. "I'm not going to tell you. It might still happen next time."

He moves off the bed and I sit up, massaging my wrists. Without saying anything, he disappears through a door next to the dresser that I haven't notice before. I hear water running soon after. He returns, in the process of taking his jacket off, catching my eyes as I observe him. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," I hastily say. "Regretting that I didn't get to see you gorgeous body earlier."

"Greedy girl," he comments while he places his jacket on the bed next to me. "I am nowhere as interesting to look at as you are."

I look up at him as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Why would say that? You're gorgeous. Perfect."

He looks at me with an inflictive look. "Stop charming me, baby girl."

I frown at him. "Alright, alright."

He gets undressed in front of me, proving everything I said before, but I remain silent, just letting my loving eyes rest on him.

"Come," he says, offering my his hand. "The bath will be ready by now."

The bathroom he leads me to is just as exquisite as the one we used in the hotel, but - surprisingly - a bit smaller. The bathtub is very similar, though.

We soak in the hot and soapy water for quite a while. He sits behind me, wrapping his arms around me and using a tiny white towel to clean my body, gently massaging my shoulders with it. I am getting drowsy with relaxation.

"You're too good me, Sir."

"I am not nearly doing enough, little girl," he replies. "I am the one who should be thankful."

"Why is that?" I breath, closing my eyes in pleasure as he gently moves the towel along my upper arm. "You spoiled me today."

He chuckles behind me. "You have no idea."

"Tell me, then."

"What you let me witness today," he whispers close to my ear. "That is special. The way your body responds to me - so gratifying. What I saw in your eyes when you came - divine. No words could describe what I was blessed to witness tonight."

I gulp, unable to reply anything to his overly poetic words.

"I thrive on the things you showed me tonight," he continues. "True pleasure, true devotion. Honesty. You let me see sides of you that no one else sees, because they don't know how awaken them."

I freeze, slightly irritated at the truth behind his words. I feel exposed, uncovered. How could he get under my skin this easily, this soon. We have just met. We don't share anything - except this.

The skin at our fingertips is badly wrinkled when we get out of the bath. He dries my skin with a fresh and soft towel and wraps me in the most comfortable bathrobe I have ever come in touch with.

"How about that vodka now?" He asks as we step out of the bathroom.

My eyes widen with excitement. "I would love that!"

He smiles and leads me back to the living room area.

"There's one I want to show you," he says as we reach the seating area. "Sit down."

I eagerly follow his gesture and drop down on the sofa, wrapping the insanely soft - and slightly too big - bathrobe around my relaxed and freshly washed body. God, I wish I didn't have to leave and could stay the night. The thought of having to get dressed, get out there, endure a car drive and return to my comparably crappy home just seems so unattractive right now.

He is standing next to the bar table, wearing the same bathrobe I am wearing and pouring our drinks.

"Here," he says, turning around and handing me a small glass with just a finger's breadth of liquid in it.

"Look at it first," he orders as I reach for the glass. "See the color?"

I hold the glass up to my face. "Yeah, it is a bit... green?"

He nods, sitting down on the sofa next to me. "Yes, it has a subtle green color. Have you ever had Polish bison grass vodka?"

I shake my head. "I usually take whatever is not too expensive at the supermarket."

He raises his eyebrow. "Take a sip. A cautious, little sip."

I do as he tells me. Just like any other strong liquor, the vodka burns on my lips, then on my tongue.

"Leave it in your mouth for a moment before you swallow," he hastily adds.

I look at him, cocking my eyebrows. But I follow his suggestion, letting the vodka fill my entire mouth with a warm and toxic burn before I swallow it. And he is right, it tastes great! Completely different to any other vodka I have had before.

"Wow," I mumble, staring at the glass in bewilderment.

"What do you taste?" He asks.

"Cinnamon," I say. "I think. A hint of cinnamon, and some kind of fruit maybe? I can't really narrow it down."

He smiles, looking pleased. "That is why it goes well with apple juice, some people say."

I ponder about that for a minute. "You wouldn't agree?"

"I'm a purist," he says. "I don't like mixing good stuff with mundane disturbances."

"It's not a disturbance if it just enhances the superior qualities of something great," I argue.

He looks at me, lost in thought. "I have never thought about it that way."

I smile at him. "Maybe that's just my poor student's excuse for mixing shitty hard liquor with equally shitty non-alcoholic components."

He puts his arm around me and pulls me closer. I curl up within his wrap, careful not to spill my vodka.

"You're not a poor student anymore, baby girl," he whispers. "You're mine now. Don't forget that."

My heart jumps, both with joy and worry. The thought of him being my patron still did not sit well with me, and I did not like for him to remind me of it in this moment. It drags a grey cloud over what could be so beautiful between us without this detail of our arrangement.

My heart sinks even more when he continues to speak.

"Let's finish our drink and I'll call Frank to bring you home, alright?"

I try not let him see the heavy weight of disappointment that bears down on me. I take another sip of the exquisitely delicious vodka before replying. 

"Yeah, sure."

One

Fall has painted the leaves of most trees in warm and luminous colors. It is that sweet, but short time of the year where summer says good bye with a bang, dipping nature in bright sun before the grey and dark winter sets in.

I like this time of year and it shows on my face when I leave my last class that Thursday afternoon, heading out to pass campus beneath an alley of dazzling yellow and orange.

Classes have started a few weeks ago and I am busy, but completely in my element. Now that I actually get to enjoy the benefits of Nathans generosity, I feel by far less uncomfortable with our arrangement. Of course, I still keep it a secret to everyone, even Liz. I have told her - like everyone else - that I had gotten the scholarship last minute, which I didn't. I am wait listed however. That doesn't mean a lot, because the chances of someone rejecting their scholarship or dropping out in the middle of the school year are very unlikely. I still hope for it to happen, though.

No one even knows that I am seeing Nathan on a regular basis. Not even Liz, even though she knows that there is
someone
. I have been away from home so much lately, it would have been impossible to hide the fact that I have some kind of boyfriend by now. She is hungry for more details, but stopped pestering me about it after I have put her off until a bit more time has passed. Until things are clearer, more serious. Though, that might never happen with Nathan, much to my sorrow.

Frank is waiting for me outside campus, around the corner. Like he always does. I have told him to wait outside campus for me, because I don't want anybody to see me get in the black limousine. My behavior might be similar to that of a pubertal teenager, but I just want to avoid questions. Not many students are picked up by a limousine after class. It would certainly draw more than a few eyes, especially in a small university like the one I am attending.

"Cynthia," he says, smiling at me in his usual polite but distant manner. It took him a while to actually call me by my first name as I have asked him to when we first met. Even though he has chauffeured me around so many times by now, our relationship is still more than distant, which is by part my fault, bust mostly due to his overly professional manner.

He opens the door for me to get in and I smile at him. "Hi Frank. Beautiful season, isn't it?"

"Yes, indeed," he says, closing the door behind me without any further comment. Classical Frank.

"Is Nathan home?" I ask as Frank starts the engine.

"Not yet," he replies. "But he promised that he will be as soon as possible."

"Okay."

I don't mind. I have been at his place alone before, quite often actually. He is a busy man and his working hours are not as predictable as my class schedule or the few shifts he still lets me pick up at my part time job. We usually meet on weekends. Today is an exception, because I wouldn’t have my first class until noon the next day and Nathan is flying out of town on Friday afternoon, so we wouldn’t be able to see each other during the weekend.

I like hanging out at his place. It is comfortable and luxurious, provided with everything I need - and more. Nathan even bought me my own laptop, despite my protest, so I can work on some homework or procrastinate on the internet while I am waiting for him. For some reason, he not only doesn't mind having me at his apartment when he's not home, but he also likes it when I am waiting for him. He often sends me orders shortly before he gets home, telling me what he expects to see when he enters the door. What I am supposed to wear - if anything - and how I should position myself. He often has me waiting on my knees, naked, waiting for him in the bedroom we usually play in. It is only one of three bedrooms in his apartment, as I found out later. And just as I suspected, it is not intended for sleeping, but just for playing. Hence the absence of pillows and blankets.

Once, he had me waiting in the living room, stripped naked except for a tiny apron, and I was to pour him a drink as soon as he entered the door. It had been a stressful day - he was aggravated and especially rough that evening.

I love it. I love everything about it. Following his wishes excited me. I love seeing his face light up and hearing him call me a 'good girl' when I do exactly as he pleases. And I love serving him, being used by him to deal with the stress and frustrations that his claiming life brings along.

I don't know how he does it. How he manages to carry this amount of responsibility. How he deals with this amount of power. He is super rich, living in a dreamlike penthouse, able to afford crazy luxuries and all sorts of amenities his wealth facilitates - yet I feel like I get to enjoy all of it a lot more than he does.

After all, I am the one lounging on his couch on a late Thursday afternoon, with a drink in hand - non-alcoholic, as he doesn't want me to drink before we play - while he is still out there, working his ass off, stressing about who knows what this time. It's astonishing that he still looks this great, so toned and fit, and looking younger than he actually is. He must spend every free minute he does not spend with me at the gym.

It is shortly after five pm when Frank drops me off at the apartment, once again assuring me that I can take whatever I want to eat and drink from the kitchen. I am not really hungry, but nibble on some nuts while browsing through a magazine that is lying on the end table next to the couch, repeatedly glancing on my phone. There have been days where he didn't send any instructions, but just showed up at the door at some point. Those were usually days where he was absent minded and least fun to play with. I am hoping for an order today, as I am quite eager to play.

Time passes without a message from him. I switch the TV on and off, browse through the internet and even consider getting started on some homework I have to do for the weekend. Eventually, I get my ass off the couch and walk over to the giant window front, watching as another spectacular sunset dismisses the day and makes way for night to cover the city beneath me. I was completely stunned the first time I got to witness this daily spectacle from up here.

By now, I have almost become accustomed to it. The view is still breathtakingly beautiful, but not as extraordinary and special as it had been the first time. I don't think I would ever get tired of it, but I start to understand why appreciation may decrease if one is exposed to certain amenities, luxury and beauty on a regular basis. I am not even close to this point, but Nathan may be. It has long become normal for him to live in a place like this, have this beautiful view across the city, surrounded by only the most expensive furniture, drinking the most exquisite drinks and never having to worry about the cost of his next meal. I have never seen him cook, nor did we ever prepare anything together. I am not a great cook myself and I highly doubt that he ever uses his kitchen for what it is intended to. There are mostly snacks in his cabinets - a lot of giant bags of expensive organic nuts. And a bowl full of fresh fruits that constantly change. I even tried dragon fruit for the first time thanks to him. A true - wealthy - bachelor's kitchen.

As familiar as I am with his home, as much time as I have spent lounging in his living room, drinking his drinks, browsing through his kitchen and nibbling on his snacks, playing with him for hours, usually followed by a drink on the sofa, me curled up in his arms - there is still one thing that is missing. I have never spent the night. I never asked to, because he has said in the beginning that it would not be part of the deal. But I hope for it every time I am here. I am starting to like him, to get more curious, even though he still remains guarded about any personal details and doesn't talk much about himself. It just makes me all the more curious. We are so close on one side, but so very distant on the other.

And I feel he knows a lot more about me than I know about him. He knows about my school work, my friends - at least some of them - my everyday life. He is mostly interested in my studies, trying to keep an eye on my progress. He even scolded - and punished - me once for delaying an assignment. I like it. His control and pressure keeps me on my toes - and on track with school, even with the stuff I do not enjoy about it. This week, I received an A for an essay I have told him about before, and I am eager to share the news with him.

But there is still no message. No sign of his impending arrival. It is getting late. Below me, the street lamps are being switched on as darkness has descended over the busy rush hour streets. He would usually be home by this time - or at least let me know where he is and where he wants me to be when he walks through the door.

Just as I start to wonder whether I should contact him - or Frank, to be less intrusive - I hear the elevator doors opening behind me.

I instantly turn around and smile at him as he enters the living room.

"Welcome home, Sir!" I chant, excitedly approaching him like a puppy greeting its owner.

He looks tired, extremely exhausted. His hair is unusually messy, the knot of his tie is loosened and he is sweaty. Still looking sexy as hell, though.

He smiles at me, lifting both his arms to take my face between his hands. He pulls me close, gently stroking my cheeks with his thumbs before he plants a sweet and tender kiss on my lips.

"My sweet baby girl," he whispers. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

"I am very happy to see you, too," I reply.

"I am sorry for making you wait that long."

I shake my head. "Did you have a rough day, Master?"

He sighs and lets go of my face. "It shouldn't concern you. I just want to leave it behind me."

He looks at me through narrow eyes, most likely plotting the proceedings for tonight. A thrill of anticipation wanders down my spine, making my heart jump and painting a sheepish smile on my face.

"You'll have to be strong tonight, baby girl," he threatens. "Do you remember your safe word?"

I nod. "Yes, Sir."

"Say it."

"Red, Sir."

"Good girl," he whispers. "Let's take a shower first. I definitely need one."