Faithe and Salvation

Afterwards, he ran a warm bath for her and gently soaped and sponged her whole body, then dried and re-outfitted her. They slept the rest of the afternoon away in each other's arms, spooning, he with his fingertips grasping the D-ring on the front of her chastity belt, and she with her hand on his.

When her parents were declared officially dead in the aftermath of the events of that spring, his father purchased the 1858 Shipwright's house and added it to his many real estate holdings. For his son and heir he financed the necessary renovations to the house and property so it was more suitable for Morgan's business needs and his and Belinda's lifestyle.

Now that her lifestyle training was over, and she was no longer required to be completely naked and isolated with him in Tremayne House, and they had their own oasis complete with a six-foot wooden privacy fence around the rear of the property, they could begin socializing again. They began to entertain, and enjoyed being hosts. Both were humbly proud whenever Dominant and submissive friends alike commented on how beautiful and graceful Belinda was in her collar, nipple rings and chastity belt.

Though they needed to focus on building their own D/s life together, Morgan and Belinda made time to visit Tremayne House regularly. His mother took to Belinda instantly, and the two often enjoyed long, barefoot walks around the Tremayne lawns, his mother in her bodysuit and Belinda in her outfit. The walks gave Belinda some female companionship, and his mother always looked forward to their conversations, Morgan knew. In his parents' total power exchange, his mother had for almost 25 years been committed to only speaking when spoken to, and otherwise, except for the necessity of eating, to opening her mouth only to receive his father's cock or cry out under his caresses of her sex. His father said that Morgan had indeed found his kindred spirit and trained her well, which was his way of saying that he was happy for Morgan and that he liked Belinda.

For the times they entertained his friends or business associates who knew nothing of their lifestyle and from whom it would always be kept private, or when they were invited out or had to attend obligatory charity or business dinners, Morgan bought Belinda a black Lycra bustier and black chiffon dress. It hugged the curves of her body and was cut low to the small of her back and low enough in front to reveal the tops of her thrust-up breasts but not the nipple clamps and chain. The mere sight of her in it always aroused him.

Over the next few years Morgan spoke not a harsh word to his beautiful slave Belinda; in fact there was rarely an evening that they didn't have stimulating discussion about photography, books and even world affairs over steaming mugs of tea, late into the darkness. She'd become widely read and he enjoyed hearing her opinions, even when he didn't agree with them. When he tired of conversation, she would take his cue and simply kneel silently and contentedly by his side, or listen to music from his mp3 collection but not so loudly that she couldn't hear him if he addressed her. Other nights, he would simply say "Present" or "Open," and she received him until he was spent; occasionally he would softly order, "You may come now. Come now," and she would cry out as her body trembled.

They agreed that when it was her time of the month, he would leave her to her own solitudes twenty-four seven, out of both necessity and respect, although she thought enough of his needs and pleasures to offer him her mouth or rear passage when he needed sexual release during those weeks. But he insisted that she take time to look after herself, and said they would make up for it; that he would be content to simply spoon with her in the night, feeling her skin against his.

Eventually he learned to be a capable photographer though not nearly as good as she. He allowed Belinda to dress for their photo walks together, and the couple soon became a familiar sight early many mornings, when the light was at its best. Their first time out together, as she walked one stride behind him and to his right as he had taught her, she was unsure of herself. But with every public outing Belinda's inner strength grew. She learned to ignore awkward glances from people who were not in the D/s lifestyle and stared after her when they could see the outlines of her chastity belt and nipple clamps under her tight, revealing street clothes, and the chain lock heart collar she wore in public instead of her posture collar.

At least once a month, he would ask her if she were happy with him and in their lifestyle, and she would inevitably reply every time, "With all my heart, my Master Morgan." Still, not wanting her to ever feel trapped by his control to the extent that she would ask to leave him, he granted her certain freedoms after they discussed the boundaries.

He permitted Belinda to spontaneously wander about town on her own with her Nikon (as long as she asked his permission before leaving their property), recording life in the community, and to have her own flickr.com page for showing her photographs to the world. She was allowed to visit the shops on Main Street twice a week on her own, and to occasionally meet with friends and acquaintances from her life before him, as long as he approved her friends and the planned activity, and on the condition that she never discuss their lifestyle when he wasn't with her. All he insisted upon in return for these conditional freedoms was that she return to the estate and shed her street clothes by the curfew he designated or face a punishment.

Twice in five years they holidayed in the Southwest and rendered spectacular photographs of the Grand Canyon (which now extended all the way to Lake Tahoe at the western end of Nevada following the shifting of the continental plates), and eventually he decided they should exhibit her work at the Sanderson Gallery on Main Street. He was happy to see his beautiful slave Belinda excited about her magnificent landscapes of the Canyon selling for thousands of dollars, which went into an account he held in trust for her. He knew she was passionate about and committed to her photography, but never put it before attentiveness to his pleasures, passions and needs because she was totally devoted to him. One day perhaps, the funds in the trust account would be granted to her in appreciation of her devotion.

Despite her artistic blood, Belinda proved to have strong business sense as well, quite efficiently taking care of the routine administrative affairs he chose not to deal with in his inherited role as president and chief executive officer of Tremayne Transportation Enterprises. And when he required it, he allowed, even happily encouraged Belinda to accept photographic assignments for TTE's annual report, or press releases that the company's public relations agency deemed necessary to do occasionally despite his and his father's desire to avoid the media as much as possible so they could continue living the Tremayne lifestyle without it being misunderstood and exploited in the press. After each job, Belinda would turn over the payment she received to him, as she knew she must do. Morgan secretly deposited each check into her trust account.

He himself never posed for any publicity photos, regardless that it was his beautiful slave Belinda behind the lens and he knew she would make him look perfect. While the media in the middle of this century had advanced exponentially in its use of modern communications technology, its mindset was still in the dark ages of the 1950s when it came to human sexuality. Both Tremaynes feared that an indiscretion could simply bring down the shortline railroad and trucking empire his father had worked so hard to build from scratch following the collapse of every major railroad during the second global recession of the twenty-first century. With the nation's economic and food transportation network at a stand-still, people had been jumping off bridges daily. His father was a hero, and Morgan knew he had a daunting responsibility not only for his beautiful slave Belinda, but also to his father.

And so he ran the TTE empire from his fully wired study of their new home in the 1858 Shipwright's house, rarely making an appearance at the nondescript, unaddressed corporate headquarters downtown. It allowed him to have his beautiful slave Belinda naked (except for her chastity belt) by his side every day. Each morning she would dutifully ask if he required her to pleasure him, and more often than not he would say yes because there was such intimacy between them when he felt her moist lips around his cock. She had learned his weakness, and as her mouth tantalized his cock, she would massage his perineum and then tease his anus with her index finger, slowly inserting it as she pumped with her mouth. He would explode in her, and then they would begin the business of the day.

When video conferences became boring, he would sometimes silently mouth "Come," and then "Present," and give her sexual release, unlocking the chastity belt and fisting her pussy slowly and rhythmically until he was deep in her up to his elbow and her body began to convulse and she asked permission to come, then growled a moan while her body heaved and her muscles went taught around his fist. Then he would withdraw slowly, refasten her chastity belt, and bid her back to her desk after she said, "Thank you for letting me come today, my Master Morgan."

When he had to travel on business, she accompanied him, always the graceful and gracious companion at his side. He felt as if he were the most fortunate Dominant in the world whenever he secretly spied business associates, and even strangers, eyeing Belinda in her black chiffon dress and her black Lycra bustier. When asked her opinion on a subject during dinner conversations, Belinda would glance at him for permission to offer it, then confidently give it; when one of their guests sometimes commented on her collar, she would explain that it was a gift from and a symbol of her devotion to him; whenever her grace and charm left such an impression that they won Tremayne Transportation Enterprises new business, they would celebrate. In their hotel room, they would feed each other pink champagne with orange juice and strawberries, then she would present herself for him and try desperately not to orgasm when his tongue inflamed her clit and then he drove hard into her.

Only twice more in the course of their life partnership did he ever have to punish her: Once when Belinda forgot to tell him about a photograph of the harbor that had sold at the gallery for fifteen thousand dollars, and once when her body went into orgasm so quickly she could not stop it in time. Other Dominants he knew would bind and whip their submissives for such infractions; but he had no desire to physically harm Belinda against her will. She was his submissive by choice; his equal in all other respects and perhaps better than he in some ways. Thus, for the first offence, he settled on lacing her prone in a leather body bag and hood for twelve straight hours of sensory deprivation. And for the sexual infraction, he removed her chastity belt long enough to attach to it two thick, seven-inch-long plugs that penetrated her deeply in both openings and caused her to be in a constant heightened state of sexual arousal while she wore the plugs twenty-four seven for ten consecutive days except for brief moments when she asked to relieve herself.

When he expressed his desire for them to eventually have children and carry on the Tremayne line, Belinda immediately stopped taking her birth control pills. He agreed to temporary fulltime release from her chastity belt so that she could be completely naked and accessible for him at all times, and she willingly accepted his cock from behind over and over and over, at any time of the day or night on his whim, until her periods stopped and they rejoiced in the knowledge that she was with child.

At the end of her first trimester, they began thinking about names, and what color she would paint the nursery he would build, and how they would talk about their lifestyle with the child as soon as it was old enough to begin to understand. He hoped for a son and Belinda hoped with him.

But the thing neither of them could control was the second swine flu pandemic that swept suddenly and rapidly across the globe in the late summer of 2023, taking lives swiftly and at random as the Spanish influenza had done more than a century earlier. The Sunday morning had begun the way all their Sundays began — he prepared them both poached eggs on toast, and tea with milk and sugar. After washing up the dishes, she knelt silently at his feet while they watched the sun rise.

Pregnancy had made her even more radiant in the early morning sun, and it seemed, had increased her appetite for both receiving him and her own sexual release to the extent that she was exhausting him. As he was finishing scrolling through the Sunday edition of The New York Times on his laptop, she spontaneously presented herself on all fours (which was the most comfortable position for her these days), raised her hind quarters in the air and spread her thighs as much as the chastity belt would allow until he removed it. "I am yours my Master Morgan . . . take your pleasure with me, and let me come. Please my Master Morgan, I beg you, take your pleasure with me this morning, and let me come."

He released her from the chastity belt, and freed his cock from his sleeping pants. His hands caressed her bare back and growing belly, and his fingers flicked her nipple clamps, and much to their surprise they came simultaneously not once but thrice, and both of their appetites were finally satiated as the sun rose high in the mid-day sky.

Soon after, she complained of not feeling well, and asked permission to lay down for a while in her room. By mid-afternoon when he went to check on her she had a fever of one hundred and four; by sunset his kindred spirit and unborn child were taken from him.

"My Master Morgan, I . . ." Belinda tried to utter weakly, reaching out to him with fear in her eyes, not wanting to be released. He held her hand tightly, not wanting to release her, and silently cursing his complete inability to control her fate. "My dear, beautiful slave Belinda," he said softly as her chest stopped heaving and she died in his arms. He planted gentle kisses on her still-warm breasts and forehead, and stroked her pulled-back hair, and simply stayed kneeling at her side until he had to let her go when the paramedics arrived, simply too late. He insisted on unclasping the chain heart lock collar before they took Belinda away mind, body and soul, and gently placed it back in the blue velvet box on his bureau.

At the funeral, everyone told him she was a beautiful sight in her black chiffon dress. For the solemn occasion, the rules of obedient silence and eye contact were waived by his father. And so his mother spoke softly to him, trying to comfort her son. "My Morgan, think of your years together, and take comfort in knowing Belinda loved you, loved pleasing — and pleasuring — you, respected you, and was devoted to you, with all her heart. She was so utterly happy in her bondage to you. This I know for certain. She told me so often, on our walks. You did not fail her, my Morgan." It was the first time he had ever heard his mother speak freely in her loving voice, and he wept.

But grief, melancholy and a sense of complete and utter failure to uphold his vow and protect his beautiful slave Belinda from harm overwhelmed him as the casket was lowered. It consumed his life, and Morgan cared about nothing, and simply existed for the longest time in the 1858 Shipwright's house at the end of the lane, without living.

Until he found Faithe by pure chance.

Part two — Awakening

Morgan eyed Faithe's glossed lips as she spoke, and decided the color — a peach tone she'd chosen to go with the outfit, suited her the same way it had his beautiful slave Belinda. He imagined it would look pleasing on her nipples and labia, as well. For she would be required to keep these made-up should she this evening release the desires he sensed she kept locked away in secret, and accept that they were kindred spirits.

"Isn't it a bit unusual to date your guests?" she was asking.

"Yes, I suppose it is," he said, sipping his latte. "But I've been alone and have cared about little for a very long time. Not even the family business empire I was entrusted by my father to oversee. And I must say your sudden appearance — and your beauty, if I might be so forward, has roused my senses back to life. Besides, I thought you might like some company for an evening, since you've been here all alone for the past three weeks."

"I'm flattered. And you're charming. And right now I'm thinking you're trying to charm your way into my bed, on the first date."

Morgan looked straight into her eyes. "I do feel there's a connection between us, yes. I felt it the moment you set foot on the porch of the Shipwright's Inn. But I'd never do anything to you against your will and desires, Faithe." His heart pounded, his mind raced. He wanted so much to tell her that he wanted her naked, right then and there, and wanted to thrust into her, and to have her want to be his cherished submissive for the rest of their lives.

"Ooooooo, take me, I'm yours," Faithe teased with a touch of sarcasm.

Morgan frowned for an instant. If we're truly meant to be together, I must teach her to speak more respectfully, he thought.

"Did I speak out of turn?" Faithe said.

Morgan chose his next words carefully, testing her response. "One might say I should punish you for being cheeky," he said.

"Ooooooo, that might be fun — not. I'm not into being chained to the bed and whipped, thank you. And besides, it's only our first date," Faithe teased.

He found himself invigorated by her spirit and impertinent sassiness. It was becoming clear her lifestyle training would take time and patience. Perhaps she was his kindred spirit indeed, for he was enjoying the jousting with her. She made him feel alive again.

He'd wanted Faithe from his first sight of her three weeks previous when, without a reservation, she as if by fate appeared at the porch step of the Shipwright's Inn while he was having an afternoon cup of tea with milk and sugar, enjoying quiet solitude in the fresh air and light southerly summer breeze drying the perspiration at the back of his neck. It had taken him more than a year to even begin getting over Belinda's death, and he'd kept himself locked away from the world.

He was only now just discovering some of the remarkable things he had missed while he mourned and tuned out from the world around him for nearly two whole years: The war in Afghanistan was finally over after thirty years and no more young men would be coming home in flag-draped caskets; the space shuttle Explorer3 and its crew had successfully landed on Mars in just two-hundred and tren days and the world was awaiting their return following the astronauts' two-month exploration of the red planet; there finally would be no more runs for the cure — it was a twenty-five year-old heretofore unknown researcher at Johns Hopkins University Hospital who'd literally stumbled on the cure for breast cancer, and received the Nobel Prize for Medicine.

When he had finally awakened from his stupor of grief, Morgan began coming to terms with how he had failed both his beautiful slave Belinda, and his father. He vowed never to succumb to failure — to lose control of things he could control — again. It wasn't the Tremayne way. The TTE empire, which had been started out of a burned-out livery in Yorktown at the end of the American Revolution, very nearly came tumbling down when Morgan abandoned everything following his beautiful slave Belinda's untimely death. Only his father's sharp business mind and ability to make things happen seemingly overnight, saved that part of the family business empire from disaster. He'd come to the house and after asking after his only son, suggested that perhaps it would be better if Morgan stepped down as president and CEO of Tremayne Transportation Enterprises. He should find something else to do, at least until he got his life back in some semblance of order.