Faithe and Salvation

(c) Dean Askin writing as Aden Kains

Part one – Requiem

For an instant Morgan feared he had forgotten the small blue velvet-covered box. It had rested atop the bureau for almost two whole years, waiting, needing to be dusted regularly. Then he felt it bulging in the pocket of his tailored St. George slacks and his mind refocused on Faithe, within reach across the table from him. He knew instinctively that he'd at last found his kindred spirit again and that the time was right to offer her the collar of consideration. Tonight, on this damp late-summer evening, he felt Faithe would recognize her true desires. Soon, they would begin their journey together, willingly making dominance and submission the focus in their lives, devoting themselves entirely to their bond with each other. Just as he and Belinda had done a lifetime ago:

Morgan could still clearly remember how Belinda — he'd always called her "my beautiful slave Belinda" — had worn the chain heart lock collar in public with pride whenever she ran errands, or was permitted outings by herself, or accompanied him on business trips. And when she was within the privacy of Tremayne House and its grounds or their own property at the end of the lane, she had willingly obeyed his desire that she be collared and naked but for a leather chastity belt, with her nipples clamped, chained and erect, twenty-four seven. The black leather posture collar that had kept her head held high and her tongue respectful when she was addressed, had also enhanced her beauty.

Humble pride still overwhelmed him whenever his mind recalled the mild spring Saturday afternoon of her eighteenth birthday. As she became a woman Belinda finally recognized her secret submissive desires, and willingly entrusted him with her life, body and soul.

There had been an instant bond between them from the moment he said hello on the day her family had moved into the 1858 Shipwright's house at the end of the lane. She'd smiled shyly back at him, her seventeen-year-old blue eyes glinting in the October sunlight and strands of her long blond hair blowing astray in the autumn winds that swayed the branches of the oak tree in her front yard. Both of her parents were photojournalists, she'd said, and were often away in places like Afghanistan, Bali or South America.

"Then who takes care of you?" he'd asked, and she said she'd mostly looked after herself since she was twelve.

"I don't think I know my parents much at all anymore. In fact I don't think I remember what it's like to have anyone look after me. Maybe you could be my friend."

"I'd very much like to be your friend," he'd answered.

When, at dinner that evening his father asked the usual question about how his day of college classes went, he said, "Father, I think I finally found my kindred spirit today." He felt, he knew, that he needed Belinda as much as she needed him. Morgan knew he wanted her and longed to possess her mind, body and soul, and that he would be deeply devoted to her always.

"Then it's time," his father answered, and smiled his understanding smile while his mother concentrated on finishing her meal, making eye contact with neither father nor son. A tiny morsel of beef fell off her fork and landed on the black Lycra full-body stocking in the channel between her breasts, and she dabbed at it with a napkin. The 20-karat gold chain clamped to each nipple that protruded from cut-outs for her areolas in the Lycra swished back and forth as she dabbed at the piece of meat. After their meal, while his mother wrote her blog entry for the daily slave blog she was expected to keep for the world to read online; while his college classmates were working their part-time jobs, hanging out at Pizza Haven, or drinking themselves to oblivion and fucking any willing girl at college parties; Morgan was at last taken under his father's wing and began learning the Tremayne ways.

From that very first night of his initiation and instruction, his father had taught him that true submissives will eventually recognize their desires within, and so he simply courted Belinda, imagining their lifetime together and fighting the hardness of his cock each time he saw her.

Through the fall and winter of their respective senior years, she taught him an appreciation of Ansel Adams, and olives with peanut butter; he made her read Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice, for all she read it seemed, was J.D. Robb novels, and photography books. Always slung over her shoulder wherever they went together was her Nikon D-7x, which her father had bought for her fifteenth birthday. Sometimes it annoyed Morgan that she could go nowhere without bringing the camera. But she had inherited natural photographic talent, and Morgan was always amazed at how she could capture a landscape, a bird in flight, or a sunset and create a stunning image. It made him crave her even more.

Sometimes he would casually remark that she should try wearing her hair a certain way because he thought it would look good that way, and she would; when he told her he thought every girl looked hot in black, she would wear her black skinny jeans; when he told her her face glowed when she wore peach lipstick, she made it the color she wore on her lips most of the time.

As winter gave way to spring and they watched friends break each other's hearts, their emotional bond only grew stronger; when her friends began going to second base and then all the way under the bleachers, they pledged to save themselves for each other when the time was right. Patience was a virtue of every worthy Dominant, Morgan knew.

And so he practiced patience until the day Belinda entered her womanhood. As they sat naked on his bed in the Tremayne House guest house, both feeling awkward about being naked with each other for the first time, she finally told him about the dreams that often made her wake in a cold sweat, fully aroused. He said he understood and that she shouldn't be afraid of the dreams; that maybe they were a manifestation of her inner self. Then Morgan confided to her the Tremayne way of life that had been so for generations, and confessed how long he had desired her, how he had longed to guide her, to possess her; to be her Master if she would have him.

He explained how their lifestyle of submission, dominance and devotion to each other — their total power exchange — would be: He would be devoted to her, protect her, care for her, teach her, never punish her without cause; never intentionally cause her pain she could not bear simply for his own satisfaction; guide her on a journey of self-discovery.

In return, she must be willing to surrender completely to him. He explained the rules of their total power exchange: She must be secure in deriving her happiness from his pleasure, sexual and otherwise; must be content with his being in complete control of her life; must never touch herself in a sexual way because her release would always be a reward gifted by him, when he chose to let her orgasm; must never wear undergarments because she must feel naked even when not so; be completely shaven of body hair, including the region between her thighs, because this too would make her feel more naked; would be completely naked all the time during her lifestyle training; would afterwards wear only a chastity belt, nipple clamps and a posture collar when they were in the privacy of Tremayne House and its grounds; and would only wear clothes he approved of that accentuated her breasts and all the curves of her body when they were in public. Most of all, she would never keep secrets from him.

He would permit her to develop her photographic talent however she chose, her choices being subject to his approval, of course; might consider funding a gallery exhibition of her work with his trust fund; would even let her teach him the art of photography so they could enjoy it, discuss it thoughtfully and appreciate it together.

He gave her the choice of leaving him now, if she wanted to, reminding her that there would be no turning back for either of them if she decided to accept him as her Dominant. "Of course, you'll have a few days to decide. I'm not expecting you to make this kind of life commitment immediately," Morgan said. "You'll need to think about it for a few days, I know. And, if you do decide to let me be your Dominant, you'll need time to get your essential things together, and explain to everyone including your parents that we've decided to move in together, because you'd live here."

"I have only my best girlfriend that I would confide in, and my . . . my parents are missing," Belinda had said. "They've been missing for two months. They were in San Francisco on assignment." That spring of 2012, the world hadn't quite ended but the entire North American continent had shuddered violently as continental plates heaved and shifted, and the entire coast of California finally broke away and crashed into the Pacific Ocean.

"Belinda, I'm sorry. Why . . . why didn't you tell me? It's secrets like this that you mustn't keep from me if we're to be together and trust each other faithfully for the rest of our lives."

And as the summer sun beamed through his bedroom window, she planted a kiss on his forehead and relinquished herself to him, and both felt a sense of fulfillment and happiness.

Spontaneously, like a cat completely comfortable in its surroundings and with its owner, Belinda settled back on the rumpled sheets and spread-eagled herself before him. His Tremayne instincts, and all that he had learned from his father, took over. Pinning her outstretched arms down as their palms melded together and their fingers interlocked, he drove hard into her with a rush of adrenalin surging through him, making her cry out for an instant as he took her virginity. Then he repeatedly eased off each time she was on the brink of orgasm, pleading, only to drive hard and deep again and again. He finally gave her release, sternly whispering "Come now, my Belinda" in her ear. A long, reverberating moan came from deep within her as her body convulsed under him.

When the orgasm subsided, she rose to her knees and without instruction or hesitation, licked her nipples until they were erect again and cupped her breasts to receive his cock, forming a deep channel for him to drive through into her waiting mouth. Her flitting tongue made him explode quickly, and rivers of cum flowed over her lower lip, splashing on her breasts and areolas. She ran her tongue along her lip and then around the swollen areolas. With a finger she slowly massaged the other splashes of cum into the firm, silky smooth skin of her breasts while he watched part of him absorb into in her forever.

"I am yours, forever, my Master Morgan," Belinda finally said, her eyes darting lower when she realized she'd made eye contact and no longer should unless instructed or given permission to. As the evening shadows crept through the bedroom window, Belinda — his beautiful slave Belinda from that day on — accepted her punishment for the infraction willingly. He made himself comfortable in his grandmother's Khroler rocker, and gestured with a wave of his arm. "Please," Morgan ordered. Belinda stretched prone over his thighs. With her legs splayed, back arched and ass in the air for him to spread her cheeks and caress her rear opening, she never uttered even a whimper as they both mastered the art of fisting.

Afterwards, he rewarded her for controlling the urge to cry out: He traced figure eights on the warm, soft skin of her bare back while he fondled her moist sex, rhythmically probing her in both openings simultaneously with curled thumb and middle finger until her glistening pussy oozed wetness and her muscles tightened around his digits. She came with a quiet gasp then drifted off to sleep, still across his lap. As Morgan rocked gently he too closed his eyes for a few hours.

At midnight his eyes fluttered open and then he nudged her awake too. With quiet passion, tenderness and the authority of a caring teacher in his voice, he educated her about the collaring ceremony and its sanctity, finishing as the clock struck one-thirty. "Now at last it's time, my beautiful slave Belinda," he said.

She knelt naked before him with her forearms resting on her thighs and her palms upturned, her head bowed and her eyes worshipping his sex as he had instructed her. In the glow from the circle of candles around her, they decreed their devotion to each other, each reciting the vows he had written in preparation for this night, and she accepted the chain heart lock collar that had been passed from Tremayne fathers to Tremayne sons for three hundred years. After locking the collar around her neck, Morgan embraced her tightly, not wanting to let her go as her complete surrender to and acceptance of him as her Dominant overwhelmed him. He planted soft, gentle kisses on each cheek and nipple, smiling into her eyes.

"Now you must sleep," he said. "Please lay on the bed, and I'll get you ready for the night. Spread your legs wide, arms and hands at your sides, please." He locked each slender ankle into shackles attached to the foot of the bed, then secured her wrists to her thighs with the leather binders made to do so. Then he lifted her head gently, and secured the blindfold comprised of two large circular leather pads around her head, making sure the buckle at the back was not too tight. Then he pulled the light summer blanket over top of her so she would not catch a chill from the central air conditioning.

"This is how you'll sleep every night until your lifestyle training is complete, except the nights I desire you; and how you'll be left for periods during your training when I cannot be present because of my final studies or Tremayne Transportation Enterprises matters that need my attention," Morgan said. "It's for your own good, my beautiful slave Belinda. Not only will these periods of bondage help you learn relaxation techniques such as meditation that are so beneficial for one's mental health, but they'll also prevent you from succumbing to your natural sexual urges when I'm not present to grant you the release you so desire. I hope you don't find it too uncomfortable." He kissed her lips and erect nipples.

"As long as you are asleep near me, I'm content, my Master Morgan."

"I'll be in the very next room. I'll always be here to guide you and protect you," Morgan answered. "You know I'm entirely devoted to you. You're my whole life. Now sleep, my beautiful slave Belinda. In the morning, our new life together awaits. When you awake, your submissive lifestyle training begins."

Mid-morning, he brought her in bed a breakfast of poached eggs on toast and tea with milk and sugar that he had lovingly prepared. When she was done, he attached a training leash to the ring in the sterling silver collar. "Follow," he ordered. He led Belinda across the manicured, still dew-drenched lawns to Tremayne House, into which they moved, occupying the special suite of rooms on the very top floor that was isolated from normal guest rooms by a door at the base of the stairs to the third level and extra insulation behind the bead-board walls.

There, through the rest of that summer and fall, their faith and trust in, and devotion to each other, only grew. She spent her days with him learning, listening intently and then practicing repeatedly, consciensously, until she demonstrated to him — more importantly herself — perfection of everything she must know and do. He taught her how to present herself for daily inspection, and for sexual availability; how to stand, kneel and sit so that her sex was always visible to him; to come only on his command; to address him properly both in private and in public; to instantly be able to assume the correct position corresponding to a voice command; to enter and leave a room respectfully whether on all fours or on foot; what pleased him and what did not; to eat healthy and exercise with him every day; to walk with him and carry herself in public; to appreciate all of Jane Austen's works; to cook more artfully, so they could enjoy his passion together and so that she could prepare their meals when he chose not to.

In turn, she taught him about photographic composition, and the use of light and shadows; to see the world around him in new ways through the lens; to laugh more often and not take himself so seriously; that he must hug her every day at least twice, and especially on the days he didn't require her to give him sexual pleasure or didn't desire to give her sexual release, because his touch alone was so important to her bond with him; to know when she was teasing and verbally jousting with him to make them both laugh, and not being disrespectful or disobedient.

One early November afternoon, as the first winter snows fell outside Tremayne House and they dined a late lunch of pasta amatriciana and a bottle of Atwater Estates Riesling in their third-floor suite, Morgan rose from the table and fetched the large gift-wrapped box he'd kept hidden in his closet for the past two weeks. "My beautiful slave Belinda, this is for you, in honor of completing your lifestyle training, and I so very dearly hope you'll accept it."

With graceful movements of her long, slender hands and fingers, applying his teachings, it took Belinda several minutes to tear off the gift-wrap and ribbon, and open the parcel. "Thank you, my Master Morgan. The new smell of the leather is intoxicating, and I look forward to its feel."

"Then, my beautiful slave Belinda, does this mean that you truly, boundlessly and unequivocally accept me as your Dominant for life?" his voice quivered.

"I do, my Master Morgan. With all my heart."

After he had fully outfitted her in the black leather garter-style chastity belt buckled snugly around her thighs and waist; the black leather posture collar that kept her chin held high, and the endurance nipple clamps that chained her breasts together and kept her nipples erect, he reached for his Nikon D900 (which she had helped him select after seeking his permission to discuss finer details of the latest models with the sales associate, and even negotiated a discounted price) and bade her pose in the natural light from the window, so he could capture her portrait. She looked exquisite in her attire, with her blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her lips made up in peach. His cock hardened as he pressed the shutter release. "You look so beautiful and desirable like this, my beautiful slave Belinda. My heart's racing and I absolutely must experience you this instant."

She smiled at him and bowed her head affectionately, then turned to lean her palms and breasts against the cold glass and arched her back in a half-crouch, which thrusted her flared hips up and high towards him so he could unbuckle the chastity belt. He fumbled at first, his hands trembling, and then finally her thighs were unbuckled and she splayed them as the chastity belt fell to the floor. "The mere sight of your shaved, naked sex makes me so very hard," Morgan said, "And I find taking you from behind simply irresistible, because you are a lovely sight from the rear."

"I know it is your favorite way, my Master Morgan, and I am happy to present myself this way," Belinda said, feeling her heart racing too as she reached behind to open herself wider, and guided him into her with one hand. "All I ask, my Master Morgan, is that you always be as gentle as you can when you choose my other passage."

After he took her to the brink twice and then orgasmed inside her, staying there while they both came down from the sexual high, she asked if she would feel him in her other opening today. "Yes," Morgan answered, and reached behind him for the bottle of salad oil. When she was lubricated and he was hard again, he pushed slowly into her ass and then found his rhythm as her rear passage opened for him.