Free For my Master('s) by Linnea May Page B

him like prey. The hallway is painted in white and decorated with black and white pictures of tied up women in black frames, similar to the ones in his office, but smaller. There are two doors on the left and two doors on the right plus another one at the end of the hallway - and that is the one he is leading me to.
    He stops in front of it and turns around. "On your knees."
    I obey immediately.
    "Keep looking at me," he snaps as I instinctively lowered my head again.
    "Yes, Sir," I whisper, raising my eyes to meet his.
    "I want you to always enter this room on all fours behind me," he says. "Unless specified otherwise. Understand?"
    "Yes, Sir."
    "Good girl."
    He turns around and opens the door. It reveals a spacious bedroom, just as I expected. Monochrome colors, similar to all other interior spaces that belong to him. But this one is darker. It is the first place where black and dark gray are the dominant colors and white is only used for decorative accents.
    He steps in and looks at me expectantly. "Come in."
    I crawl across the threshold, hollowing my back as good as possible, because I know it looks better this way. The flooring of the room is black laminate, exquisite as everything in this home. And surprisingly warm, despite the room temperature being equally cool as it was in the living room.
    "Sit there," he orders, pointing to an area next to the door. "Hands on your knees, facing me."
    I do as he orders and regard him with anticipation.
    "Stay like that," he says, turning his back to me. He walks towards a black dresser on the right side of the room, leaving me a moment to assess the room. It is definitely the biggest bedroom I have ever been to. Yet, the bed, that is placed in front of me, is not very big itself. A double, maybe even a small double. And there are no pillows or blankets on it, just a mattress with a silver silk sheet. It is obviously not intended for sleeping. The frame is made of black steel, with bars at the head and the foot - perfect to fix handcuffs or rope. The windows on the left side are completely shielded with black and white curtains.
    And there is a St. Andrews cross right next to me. My mouth unwillingly opens as I make the discovery, but I am soon distracted by him.
    "We won' be using that today," he says, now standing in front of me, holding black rope in his hands. "No need to be scared."
    "Who says I am scared?" I ask, looking up at him with a cheeky smirk. He smiles, shaking his head. "Don't get too cocky with me, baby girl. Up with your wrists."
    I lift my arms and present my wrists to him, holding them closely together. "Yes, Sir."
    "Good girl," he whispers as he ties my arms together with quick and skillful moves. "You wanted me to tie you up, right? Like the women in my pictures."
    I nod sheepishly. "Yes, Sir."
    "Well, that's not going to happen today," he says, tying the first of many knots. "We will start slowly."
    I silently nod and observe his hands while he ties my wrists together. It is such a difference to what that gym guy Brad had done when I asked him to tie me up. Nathan knows what he is doing, and he enjoys every knot, every noose he is fixing around my wrists with his strong hands. The procedure itself is so intimate and sensual it makes my heart jump with the thrills of anticipation.
    He holds the long end of the rope in his hand when he is done and gently pulls my hands up to him. "Get on your feet."
    I follow his pull and get up on my feet. He smiles as I stand in front of him, naked, with my wrists tied together and him holding the rope like a leash.
    Without saying a word he turns around and approaches the bed, me following closely behind, led by the leash.
    "On the bed," he orders when we are standing next to it.
    I look up him, unsure how he wants me positioned. "On my knees, Sir?"
    "On your back," he says.
    I follow his wish, trying to move as elegantly as possible, which is not easy, because he is still in control of my hands, holding them up at the rope