Felicity's Journey

"I think it would be most pleasurable to watch you making love with another woman — perhaps bound together in a sixty-nine position," Morgan said. "If you desire me to let you do it."

Felicity quivered.

Morgan brushed her lip with a forefinger and sat back in his chair. "There are some men who do understand a woman's needs," he said. "I understand your needs, and your desires. Perhaps even more than you do. Even though you have not spoken of them yet. Deriving one's own pleasure from simply pleasing a woman — sexually or otherwise — is very erotic and stimulating for some men. Especially when it is a woman who is very self-aware and recognizes her true submissiveness. What pleases you most, my Felicity? Receiving carnations every day? Quiet walks together in the evening as the sun sets? Walking around naked just because you desire to do so, or because you are told to do so? Cunnilingus? Being taken from behind? Being bound and ravaged by your lover? Coming on your lover's command? Taking him in your mouth?"

As he finished speaking, his mind focused on a mental image that made his cock instantly hard: Felicity stood before him, legs wide enough apart to expose her sex and allowing him to probe her with his fingers; her full, round breasts swelling out of a black leather corset, nipples erect and chained with the intricate gold chain and clamps specifically designed for the purpose of stimulating the sexual senses and generating waves of erotic pain and pleasure. Her head was thrown back; her eyes closed; her breathing heavy.

"Stop, please, Morgan," Felicity pleaded. She felt a bead of sweat trickling under her bra and down her skin, and her heart racing. "I . . . don't know . . . I don't know."

"I hope you will let me help you find yourself again — in so many ways, my Felicity," Morgan continued. "I am very attracted to you. I desire you, as I have already confessed. I believe we are kindred spirits. I hope you will let me be your teacher, your guide, your Dominant. There is chemistry between us, Felicity. I will be devoted to you, and to our relationship. I believe you would be devoted to me. I have chosen you, my Felicity. And I hope you shall accept me. And yourself. You must remain with me at Tremayne House. I think eventually, you shall be a different person, with a different outlook on your life. Perhaps I shall be a different person, as well."

"I don't think I've ever met a man quite like you," Felicity said. "You've chosen me. And what of me? Do I have the choice of telling you to go fuck yourself? You're sitting there telling me you want me to be your sex slave at your beckon call. Like the people in the book I told you about — like that boy and girl over there, apparently." She heard her voice crack as she finished the sentence. The thought of being nothing more than a sex toy repulsed her and yet her heart raced as she said the words.

Morgan laughed and took a sip from his mug. "I can see I will have much to teach you, my Felicity. On the contrary, I am merely asking you to choose your destiny. Whether you choose to be my submissive or my slave, would be entirely up to you."

"Pure, raw, sex alone, is no basis for any kind of devoted relationship, let alone ours that would be a lifestyle. We Tremaynes are a line of wealthy men with honour, my Felicity. Never, ever did my father treat my mother as nothing more than an object to be used purely for his own sexual gratification. He was entirely devoted to her in their total power exchange. Her cared for her deeply, and she for him," Morgan said.

"Yes, there will be sex and you will learn how to present yourself; to come on my command or only when I permit you to; or pleasure yourself or another woman whilst I and guests at Tremayne House watch. But you will also learn to discover your own true sexuality and your own limits, and what in life makes you truly happy. And to revel in life's simple pleasures together — like watching the hummingbirds in the garden in spring; the sunset over the harbour; sitting with me, naked, silent and still, doing absolutely nothing on a Sunday afternoon."

He reached into his pocket for the velvet-covered box and flipped the lid open. "This collar is a symbol of devotion," Morgan said. "It has been worn by eighteenth-century debutantes; suffragettes; secretaries; prominent business women. For three-hundred years, the submissives chosen by my ancestors have worn this collar with pride. I am offering it to you."

Felicity sipped her latte and gazed at the chain heart lock collar. She felt uncomfortable, yet at ease in his presence, at the same time. She closed her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts, but her brain was racing as the confusing emotions swept through her.

Morgan shook his head. "I sense that right now you are wrestling with your own emotions and the submissive desires you have harbored ever since you happened uponA Portrait of Sensual Slavery — and perhaps even before that," Morgan said. "Tell me again how seeing those images made you feel."

No, I won't, Felicity thought. I can't. "Like I wanted to be one of the women in the photographs," she finally confessed, hanging her head. "And I hated myself for feeling that way."

"There is no need to hate yourself simply because you have finally understood something about yourself," Morgan said philosophically. "Surrender to your submissiveness and begin your journey of self-discovery. The pleasures will be many, and intense."

Felicity took a last sip of her latte. The sun was down and dusk was giving way to a chilly September night. She gazed out the window. "It's getting late, Morgan. We should be going. I need to think; I need to sleep. I start teaching Grade Five French in the morning."

"I shall give you until tomorrow evening to give me your answer, Felicity. We can dine and you shall tell me about your first day at school — and perhaps your first sexual experience, or the true first time you felt the need to be dominated by your lovers. I shall make you a calamari salad, accompanied by some fine Australian wine, I think. We shall dine in my private quarters, at the back of Tremayne House, so as not to be disturbed by my guests from Maine who arrive tomorrow afternoon."

The following evening, the box was at her doorstep when Felicity entered the foyer of Tremayne House, at the end of a first day of school that almost made her wish she hadn't accepted the position. All day long, she hadn't been able to concentrate on the classroom. She hadn't been authoritative enough with the boys who kept disturbing the class's first-day activities. At lunchtime, she'd gone for a walk around the block, but nothing would quell the confusing thoughts and emotions racking her brain and body. She knew she hadn't done a very good job of controlling the rowdy Grade Five boys because all her mind was focused on was what awaited her at dinner.

Felicity unfolded the note slipped underneath the red ribbon wrapped around the box that said "Sonya's Fine Lingerie" in stylized silver lettering.Black is your colour. Wear this. I shall look forward to seeing all of you at dinner, was all the note said. She lifted the lid.

The sheer black bodysuit with a thin neckstrap was crotchless, and also had openings that would completely reveal her breasts. I'm not wearing this, she was thinking when she heard the latch in the hallway door and Morgan appeared, dressed in casual gray slacks and a pale green sportshirt that offset his complexion and graying around the temples. He looked . . . attractive.

"I see you have received my second gift," Morgan said. "I do hope you like it and I know you will look stunning in it."

"You expect me to wear this to dinner? I'll be half naked."

"Precisely."

"Morgan, please. You can't make me wear this. I'm . . . not your slave."Yet, she thought.

"Are you sure of that, Felicity? Honestly? I hope I shall see you at dinner in 30 minutes," was all he said, and disappeared back into his private quarters. The door clicked quietly shut behind him. Felicity glanced into the first-floor living room that was free for guests to lounge in, and was relieved to find it empty.

What am I doing, her thoughts said to her as her street clothes and underwear fell to the bathroom floor in a heap and the shower head spewed steam when the hot water started to jet out. She stepped, hesitantly at first, into the tub and drew the curtain. Felicity closed her eyes, and breathed deeply as the hot shower water soaked her hair and ran down her shoulders.

She lathered her body in slow, circular motions with her hands. When the flowing water had washed away the last suds clinging to her skin, Felicity squirted an extra palm full of body wash into her hand and reached for the razor. When her entire lower body was completely lathered, Felicity moved the razor in long, slow, careful strokes until every inch of skin, from her ankles to her bikini line, was smoothe; then shed the stubble under her arms. You've already started bearing your soul, she thought, now it's time to bare your body. She would be more naked, totally shaved.

Her body trembled in both fear and anticipation as she climbed out of the shower and slowly, deliberately patted her skin dry with an over-size towel. Felicity took a deep breath again, and felt the quivering charge from her toes, to her pubis, to her areolas, to her earlobes. From the medicine cabinet, she grasped the twist-top tube and carefully applied a hint of Enticing Rose to her lips and pressed them together to work in the colour. Then with trembling hands, she gently cupped one breast and then the other, and added a touch of colour. With a forefinger, she massaged the Enticing Rose until the skin of her erect nipples and areolas glistened peach. I'm ready, she thought.

"Master Morgan will be pleased," Felicity said to the naked reflection in the mirror.

-The end-