For my Master('s)

by May, Linnea

  “Oh, fuck this,” I whisper and start typing.

  Just one word.

  “Yes.”

  The third

  Chapter

  One

  No reply. Not after five minutes, not after ten, not after an hour. He might be sleeping already. Tomorrow is a working day after all and unlike me he probably has to be at the office early.

  I eventually force myself to sleep. Staring at my phone won’t make him reply any sooner. The night is as restless as I expected it to be. Saying yes would change the course of my near future. Even though I had applied for both, the graduate degree and the scholarship, I had not really anticipated to continue university this upcoming fall. Hence the job hunting. And I have told no one about the applications to begin with - except for Liz.

  And him.

  He messages me back early in the morning, almost two hours before my own alarm goes off to wake me for my part time job.

  ” Frank will pick you up this Friday. 8pm.”

  That is all it says. Again, he is not asking whether I am free, but just assumes that I will be. I frown at my phone while waiting for my morning coffee to be done.

  “Has it occurred to you that I might have other plans?” I reply.

  I mean, I am free, but this is a matter of principle.

  “Do you?” He asks back.

  I sigh. “No. You’re lucky.”

  “Friday then,” he writes back. “I can’t wait to spank that attitude out of you.”

  Attitude, huh. Fair enough. I am beginning to get a better idea of what I got myself into.

  And I like it.

  He sends one more message before I leave the house. “Wear a dress for me. Hair down. No tights. No bra. And a black thong.”

  I freeze, rereading the message, once, twice. My brain calls for a bratty reply - an “Excuse me? Who do you think you are?,” while my heart is doing somersaults in excitement. This could be fun, a lot more than I thought.

  I spend the following three days until Friday to work on my plan. The lies I would have to tell - and the conditions under which I would be willing to agree to his offer.

  No one except Liz knows about my applications, and it would be easy to simply tell her that I got the scholarship, even if I don’t. A small part of me is still hoping, even though chances are getting slimmer by the day. I know they would inform those who got it first - and they have started sending out notifications weeks ago. There is not much time left for the redemptive letter to arrive. It is not impossible, but extremely unlikely.

  My parents on the other hand don’t even know about the applications to begin with. All they know is that I am job hunting and have given up any hopes for a higher degree a long time ago. Neither one of them has a college degree and they think it is best for me to gain some work experience instead of continuing to pore over books that no one outside academia deems useful. After all, I could still get a graduate degree after I have had a taste of the real world - if I still want to by then. And I am pretty sure they expect me to lose interest in schooling once I start earning money. They would be mad to hear that I have applied without telling them anything. But they might take it a little better if they know I would no longer be a financial burden on them, despite continuing the book poring.

  And then there is Nathan. The handsome billionaire who wants to make all of this possible under the condition that I would become his sub. My understanding of what that could entail is still faint to say the least. And I have no reason to trust him either.

  My head is full of questions as I head out on Friday night. Some of them are written down in a little notepad that I carry in my purse. I am wearing a different dress. Number two in regards to elegance - out of the three dresses I have in total. I would have to go shopping if he wants me to wear a dress - a different one no less - every time we meet. No tights, a request that I follow gladly, because it is another hot summer day. Yet, I feel quite naked as I step outside. I have not been outside without a bra since my early teenage years. My boobs have started to grow early and stopped late. I like their size and am kind of proud of them, but feeling them bounce as I walk outside is eerie, an unfamiliar feeling. I feel exposed, even though I am quite sure that an outsider could not tell by simply looking at me, because my dress is doing a good job in covering my remarkable cleavage.

  Frank is already waiting outside and greets me with the discrete and polite demeanor of a servant. I awkwardly smile at him as he opens the door for me to get in the car. Just one of many things I will have to get used to, I guess.

  “How are you doing?” I ask him in a helpless attempt at small talk when he starts the engine.

  “Very good, thank you,” Frank replies, casting me a smile through the driving mirror. “And the young Miss?”

  “Same, same,” I say, absently looking out the window. “Very good.”

  That is all we say for the entire drive. I don’t even know where we are going. Another bar? A hotel? Nathan’s home? Somehow, I feel embarrassed about asking Frank. I don’t want to appear like a dumb sheep.

  I can’t help but wonder about how much he knows about his employer’s preferences. How many young women he had chauffeured around for Nathan. And how much he knows about the things Nathan does to these women. At their wish.

  The drive is longer this time and we are heading to a different part of town. I never owned a car since I moved here four years ago, so I am not too familiar with the road network, especially of this part of the city. The far west, as far as I can tell. An area I have always had little reason to visit. A wealthy area. We are still close to the city center, but the further we go, the fewer skyscrapers are blocking our view. They are steadily replaced by smaller high class residential houses.

  We eventually stop in front of one of them. Frank pulls the car up on a curved driveway in front of an approximately ten story building. It is rather new, with a sparkling white exterior wall and huge windows surrounded by black frames.

  Nathan is waiting for us at the front door and hurries to the car as soon as we come to a halt. Wearing a black suit just like last time. An expensive one, I am sure. It fits perfectly. My heart flutters just looking at him. I am still baffled by the fact that a man like him could show any interest in me.

  He opens the door for me and once again offers his hand to help me get out of the car. Only this time, I take it.

  He smiles at me, looking very pleased. “Good evening, Cynthia.”

  “Good evening, Nathan.”

  I notice him scanning my body from head to toe, even though he is trying to do it discretely. He appears to approve of my getup - and I wonder if he can tell how well I have followed his orders.

  “You look beautiful,” he simply concludes, still holding my hand.

  “Thank you,” I reply and sheepishly lower my head.

  He leads me inside the building, where we are greeted by a friendly doorman in the lobby. We head straight for the elevator at the end other of the entrance area.

  “Is this where you live?” I ask while we are waiting for the doors to open.

  “When I am in town, yes.” He says, casting me an intense side look. “Have you been a good girl?”

  Those words are enough for my heart to jump, unwillingly causing my pulse to race. It is not only what he says, but how he does it. This calm, confident intensity that characterizes his voice. In combination with his incredibly good looks, I cannot imagine how anyone could ever say no to him. I sure as hell would try, though. I don’t want to make this too easy, or miss out on the fun of teasing him - and earning the punishments. The rewards. I can take more than what he gave me last time.

  Yet, for now I turn into a shivering mess beneath his gaze. “Yes, Sir.”

  The elevator invites us in and he beckons me to enter before him. He enters a short code into the panel inside and pushes the button for the top floor. As soon as the doors close and the elevator starts moving, he turns around to me.

  “You don’t mind if
I check, do you.”

  It’s not a question, but I still nod quickly, before he pushes me back until I am standing with my back to the wall. He grabs my wrists and pulls my arms up, keeping them pinned above my hand with his right hand, while the other wanders down, towards my breasts. He starts kneading my right boob, squeezing it aggressively. I moan as he starts pinching my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress.

  “Good girl,” he whispers and presses his lips on mine. I welcome his tongue with mine, exploring him just as eager as he explores me. He tastes so good, fresh and clean with just a hint of sweetness.

  He lets go of my boob and reaches beneath my dress without further ado, gently stroking my center above the fabric of my thong. I blush, fearing he might notice just how wet even this little intermezzo has gotten me.

  He doesn’t leave much room for speculations and skillfully moves my thong to the side so that he can get a feel of my clit without any fabric disturbing his intrusion. I am slick with lust and he smile at the realization, gently rubbing my clit with his finger. I flinch in arousal as he lets that same finger slip inside me with ease.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, amazed and ashamed at my insane excitement.

  He smiles triumphantly. “You’re such a little slut. I love it.”

  The elevator stops and almost simultaneously, he withdraws his finger and licks it with relish as the doors open behind him. I stare up at him and literally feel my cheeks glow with heat as he whispers: “Delicious.”

  Two

  “No need to be shy.”

  He invites me to leave the elevator before him and I reluctantly follow his gesture, subtly fixing my thong in the process. I hear him chuckle behind me.

  Much to my surprise, we are already there, stepping right into what appears to be his living room. A wide and open area reveals itself in front of my eyes, giving way to a giant glass front that takes up the entire wall in front of me. There is a rooftop terrace along the entire length of the panoramic glass wall. The left side of the hall-like room is used for a seating area with a suite of stylish designer furniture that looks comfortable, but doesn’t seem to be used often. It’s unnaturally clean and untouched. Book cases and a little desk, much smaller than the one in Nathan’s office, take up the right part of the room. I sigh at the pleasantly cool temperature of the apartment. Liz and I do not have air conditioning in our cheap place on the other side of town. All we have is fans, lots of them. And they do not work the miracles that air conditioning achieves in here. It is almost chilly, but I welcome it greatly.

  Everything is kept in white and black with a hint of grey here and there. He really has a thing for monochrome color schemes, it seems.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” He asks, standing behind me.

  I turn around and nod. “Yes, please.”

  “Come,” he say, beckoning me to follow. “Pick one yourself.”

  I follow him as he approaches the seating area. There is a bar table that I had not noticed before. And unlike the sitting furniture, it looks well used. The table - also in black, with a glass plate - is well equipped with all kinds of hard liquor. Most of the bottles contain Whisky, as far as I can tell. And they all look expensive, I don’t recognize a single brand.

  “You like Vodka,” he assesses.

  I nod. “Yes, I prefer it to Whisky. But…”

  He turns around, raising his eyebrows in question. “Yeah?”

  “Well,” I reluctantly say. “I usually mix it with something and never drink it straight… and I don’t know what’s good.”

  “I’m sure you don’t,” he says, with a matter-of-fact tone that irritates me a little. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be drinking Vodka, anyways. Not yet.”

  Now I am the one who is raising her eyebrows. “Okay. What am I allowed to drink then?”

  “Something light,” he replies. “Do you like bitter orange and rhubarb?”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  He fetches two glasses from underneath the table and starts pouring a light red liqueur in them. An aperitif, I assume. Just a little bit, the width of two fingers, adding soda water until the glasses are almost full. He adds one ice cube to each and turns around, offering one of the drinks to me.

  “An Italian aperitif,” he comments as I take the glass. “Made of bitter orange, gentian, rhubarb and a little cinchona. Tastes a bit bitter. The perfect drink for hot summer days.”

  I smile and hide the fact that I don’t know half of the ingredients he just mentioned. “Cheers!” is all that comes to mind.

  He mirrors my smile and we clink glasses. I take a cautious sip, while he observes me, curious for my reaction. It tastes bitter alright, very bitter actually. But refreshing, just as he said. And just like his kisses, the drink contains a subtle sweetness.

  “I like it.”

  “It’s very popular in Europe,” he says. “Usually comes along with some orange, but I was too lazy for that today. I have other things on my mind.”

  He casts a seductive look my way, narrowing his eyes as he takes another sip without taking them off me.

  I gulp and smile helplessly. It takes a lot of effort not to forget my intentions. We still need to talk before anything happens.

  “Please have a seat,” he offers as if he can read my mind. I follow his gesture and sit down on the designer sofa in the seating area. He joins me, sitting extremely close. I shiver as his knee touches mine. Suddenly, I am very aware of my nakedness underneath my dress.

  And he starts the conversation by making it worse.

  “I know you probably want to settle a few things before we start playing,” he says in his ever so confident and calm way. “But I’d like you to take off your panties first.”

  He says it in such a nonchalant way. As if it was the most normal thing to ask of someone after you have just sat down to have a conversation. My eyes widen and another rush of blood finds its way on my cheeks.

  He reciprocates my confused look with a stern and expectant expression. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I’m… what you’re asking is just a little bit-”

  “I’m not asking,” he interrupts. “I’m telling you to.”

  I only dare to hesitate for another moment before I put my glass down on the black coffee table in front of the sofa and get up. He does not take his eyes off me, as I obediently reach beneath my dress and pull down my thong, realizing with embarrassment that it is sticking to my center. I let it fall down to my feet and step out of it as elegantly as possible.

  He smiles and nods approvingly. “Good girl. Now, give it to me.”

  I bend down to pick my thong up and hand it over to him. He takes it and pushes it up to his nose, taking a deep breath, inhaling my scent while his eyes are still fixated on me. Of course, I blush at seeing him do that. I don’t move until he tells me to sit down again. As I seat myself, I make sure for my dress to cover my behind so I am not sitting on his furniture with my bare behind. It might not bother him, but I am scarily aware of the wetness between my legs.

  “I just want you to know what you are about to agree to,” he says. “To feel it. Every minute you are with me.”

  I nod. “Yes, Sir.”

  “So, are you?” He asks.

  “Am I what?”

  “Agreeing,” he says. “Do you still adhere to the Yes you sent me?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” I reply. “But I do have a few things I would like to clear up first.”

  He raises his right eyebrow, looking slightly amused. “Sure, go ahead.”

  “I am very grateful for your offer to pay for my schooling, and I am willing to accept it,” I begin. “But I don’t want you to cover all of my living expenses. I have a part time job and I would like to continue earning money on my own. And I won’t rely on you paying for everything - I will still try for other scholarships. I don’t like the idea of completely depending on you. Especially when…”

  I pause for a moment, thinking about a way to phr
ase what I want to say without insulting him or seeming ungrateful.

  “Yes?” He presses.

  “Especially when you could end it at any time.” I conclude, catching his unyielding gaze. “What if I displease you along the way? What would happen?”

  He puts his drink next to mine on the table and leans over to me, taking my left hand with both of his.

  “That is a very reasonable concern you have,” he says. “And I am glad you mention it.”

  I can feel myself tense up, getting a little worried about what he might say next.

  “I can understand your concern of me cutting you off before you finish your degree,” he continues. “And I can promise you, that will not happen. I will give it to you in writing. If you disappoint me, I will punish you. It’s called training, baby girl.”

  He smirks and plants a little kiss on my cheek before he continues.

  “However, I will expect you to work hard. I want you to thrive in your studies, and if that part time job gets in the way of our play time and your studies too much, I will ask you to cut down on your hours, understand?”

  “Yes, Sir. But-”

  “No but,” he interrupts. “I have told you before, I admire your determination and desire for independence. But if you are to be my sub, you will have to let go of a certain degree of sovereignty - not only in the bed room.”

  I lower my head, staring at my fiddling hands on my lap. He shifts closer to me, lifting my chin with the tip of his index finger, gently turning my head around, so I am looking at him.

  “You will be mine,” he whispers, intently staring at me. “I will own you. It is your duty to please me and receive pleasure in return.”

  “What if I can’t?” I ask. “I mean… please you? What if I fail in doing that?”

  He subtly shakes his head. “I can trust my instincts. You have already proven yourself worthy, baby girl. And I know you are wet right now. You are trembling with lust every time I see you. Melting beneath my touch. I can feel your body burning with sensual heat. Everything you are is calling for me to touch you, play with you, fuck you. You want nothing more than to be taken by me right now - isn’t that right?”