Part one – Desires, Discerned
It was this early September evening, on their fourth meeting at the end of the long, unusually wet and cool summer that Morgan determined their relationship could begin heating up. It hadn't taken as long as he had anticipated it would take to get to this point. For an instant he was anxious that he had forgotten the small blue velvet-covered box that had rested atop the bureau for all these years, needing to be dusted regularly. Then he felt it bulging in the pocket of his tailored St. George slacks and his mind refocused on Felicity, within reach across the table from him.
For generations since Tremaynes had settled in St. Andrews before the American Revolution and made their fortunes building ships for the Royal Navy, the sterling silver chain heart lock collar had been passed down from father to son, to offer to their chosen one. It had adorned the necks of the women who had recognized their submissiveness and desires, and willingly made dominance and submission the focus in their lives, devoting themselves entirely to the bond with their Tremayne Masters.
Each time the collar was passed down, the younger Tremayne was told about the journey that he and his chosen submissive would embark on together; that he would know when he had found his kindred spirit and the time was right to offer her the collar of consideration.
Morgan could still clearly remember how, as a boy, when he had accompanied his mother — his father had always called her "my beautiful slave Ariana" — on domestic errands, she had worn the chain heart lock collar in public with pride. And when she was within the privacy of Tremayne House and its grounds, she had willingly, silently, with nipples erect, chained and clamped, obeyed his father's requirement that she be collared and naked but for a leather chastity belt, twenty-four seven. The white leather, rhinestone-studded posture collar that kept his mother's head held high and her tongue respectful to his father when she was addressed, had also enhanced her beauty.
Morgan eyed Felicity's glossed lips as she spoke, and was pleased with the way the colour — a peach tone, which she had obviously chosen herself to go with the outfit, suited her. 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 decide to accept him as her Dominant.
He had desired Felicity from his first sight of her six weeks previously when, without a reservation, she appeared at the porch step of Tremayne House: Strands of her mid-shoulder length, tousled auburn hair blew gently in the summer breeze; her captivating green eyes looked up at him hopefully from under long, black lashes; the corners of her lips turned up in a nervous smile; her voice was soft and sensual when she offered a nervous "hello."
She had carried nothing but a single suitcase and was dressed in an oversize turquoise t-shirt that hid her upper-body curves and was tucked casually into blue jeans that hugged ample hips and derriere, and long legs. The t-shirt swelled tightly over her breasts but hid the rest of her upper body curves and ignited Morgan's imagination about what awaited him underneath the cotton.
Morgan desired her so much that he had barely been able to keep his mind on attending to the needs of his other guests until the end of the tourist season. He needed her; needed to be her Sensei; needed her to want him to be her Sensei.
And tonight he sensed that Felicity needed him also and was ready for him to guide her, but may not willingly admit that yet. If she wished only to be his supplicant and keep something of herself in a life outside Tremayne House, he would be comfortable with that. If she desired more than that, and surrendered her life and body completely to him, he would willingly be her Master. For she was the one, he was sure. He felt an adrenalin rush as he fingered the velvet box in his pocket.
Ever since coming of age and inheriting Tremayne House, Morgan had courted prospects. But each courtship had been called off — there had been no chemistry; no mutual desire. So he lived a single, solitary life in Tremayne House except during the tourist season, when he revelled in making new acquaintances and welcoming back old ones, ever hopeful that one may be his kindred spirit. Until now it had eluded him and an emptiness nagged at his very soul. There was something different with Felicity, however. He sensed it right away that morning on the veranda. It was in her eyes and the way she looked at him when she asked if he had any rooms available for longer-term guests.
Outside the café window, the single, two-lane main thoroughfare of St. Andrews was all but deserted even at this early hour in the evening, and the shadows were growing long as the sun went down. The days were growing short. Labour Day had come and gone; the tourist season was over; most of the shops were now closed for the season. He himself had only one more booking for the season at Tremayne House — guests from Maine coming for three nights; a couple touring on motorcycle. They had had no special requests and didn't require the special third-floor suite, which enabled him to prepare the rooms for Felicity. Once his Maine guests departed, he would put up the "closed for the season" sign and through the fall, winter and spring, would devote his full attention to Felicity.
On Friday evening, they would begin her journey of sexual self-discovery and awakening.
Steam spiralled from the frothy surface of his latte as Morgan brought the over-size mug to his lip. He gazed silently at her over the rim, four fingers of his long, slender manicured hands clasped fully around the porcelain and a thumb hooked through the handle.
He had left the parcel and note at the foot of her door, and it appeared she had followed his request precisely. There was just enough cleavage showing in the deep v-cut of the tight, black satin dress, and he could see a hint of the black lace bra peeking through the trim of the vee. The dress fit her perfectly, hugging the desirable curves of her body and pressing against her breasts enough to make the tips of her nipples visible in the material. The black stockings encased her legs and feet; the overall black aroused him.
The amber earrings dangled just below her earlobes and swayed back and forth, making quiet swishing sounds every time she brushed a loose strand of auburn hair away from her eyes or moved her head. Other than the lip gloss and a mere hint of colour on her cheeks, she wore no makeup, also part of his request. He desired to see the bare, soft, supple skin of her face in its naturalness. Soon, she would bare much more than her face — she would bare her body and soul to him, and herself.
"I'd like to thank you again for your kindness and hospitality over the last few weeks," Felicity was saying. "I know I showed up suddenly, looking like a homeless waif, but you've made me feel like more than just a guest. I hope you won't mind if I stay for a few more weeks, until I can get settled into a more permanent place. I passed by the real-estate office the other day, and there was a posting about a wonderful little blue home down by the harbour that's for rent. I'm considering it."
"I shall be most unhappy if you decide to leave Tremayne House," Morgan said. "Your very presence is most pleasurable. I shall have to convince you to not rent that little blue home down by the harbour."
Felicity smiled. "I'm flattered, honestly, Morgan. I'm a newly single, suddenly transplanted, 32-year-old woman all alone in a small town that apparently closes up like a drum after Labour Day. I guess you're my first friend as well as my host." She glanced out at the empty street. "St. Andrews is so small, I imagine we'll still see lots of each other. But I do need to finally get my life in order, and I think perhaps the next step is renting that little blue house. Maybe I'll let you call on me whenever you like, though."
"That would be most desirable." Morgan gestured at her with his mug. "The colour of your lip gloss is most attractive — a peach colour, I should think."
"Actually it's called "Enticing Rose," Felicity interjected, "by Lancome."
