Hope

 

A round room - completely edged in glass – either floor to ceiling windows or double-hung French doors all of which stood open to allow the fresh, salt-tinged breeze through to lick at the edges of the gauzy sheer curtains.  In the doorway, a man stood facing into the rising sun, his hands clenched inside the leather loops anchored in the highest corners of the door frame, his head thrown back; shoulder length blond hair blowing gently in the breeze much like the many curtains of the room.  He kept his eyes closed, breathing controlled as the wind caressed his naked skin like an invisible lover.   The muscles of his arms were taut, yet his posture was relaxed, waiting.   Far below, the surf rumbled to shore, foaming in the rocky outcropping near the wooden dock where his boat bobbed in the waves.   In the very center of the room, a four poster bed rested, its dark polished wood a stark contrast to the gleaming white of the bed linens spread neatly over it – its delicate eyelet dust ruffle rustling softly.  The room was sparse, graced only by the bed, one matching night stand and a hope chest stationed across the foot of the oversized bed. 

A dark-haired woman reclined against the pillows heaped on the bed, sipping from her coffee mug as she merely watched the sunrise silhouette her guest, painting his hard edges in fire.   Biding her time, she waited for that moment, the perfect moment, when he would completely surrender to the elements, when even the tension in his arms would dissipate and she could begin.  Patiently, she watched, silent sentinel to the internal demons he came to her to release; to tame.  Her eyes skimmed over his naked back, watching the muscles twitch and strain – still fighting.  He was of average height, well-muscled, lean, tan with no tan lines.  She smiled at that, imagining how many hours he must have sailed just as he now stood in her private sanctuary.  She followed the line of his widespread legs, down one all the way to his ankle and the dark blue anchor tattooed just above his right heel, the tattoo she so loved, the tattoo symbolically anchoring him to the earthly realm, to keep him from becoming lost in the high, white clouds inching through the bright blue sky to soar far away on the ceaseless winds.

Her coffee grew cold.  She scowled at it, wanting more but not daring to move away to fetch it.  Quietly, ever so careful not to reveal her presence, she eased the mug onto the night table at her right hand, never taking her eyes off of her charge.  Sadness colored her dark eyes as she pondered what troublesome matter brought him to this place once more.  The winds picked up, buffeting his bare body even as the sun gained strength to kiss his skin with her searing touch.  Slowly, the woman drew her legs in close, to sit cross legged, chin propped on her hand, elbow on her knee, still intent in her observations.  Her dark hair spilled over her shoulder, hanging to just below her breast; a black silk sheet against the filmy white of her plain dress. 

At long last, the man drew a deep, heaving breath, blowing out harshly and his body relaxed into surrender.  She smiled and eased her legs out of their knot, sliding over the edge of the bed until her bare brown feet touched the polished wood of the floor.  Softly, she padded to stand behind him before speaking.

“Are you ready to tell me what brings you here?” she inquired in a low, soothing voice.

“No, Mistress,” he replied with a growl that only she heard as a desperate plea for help.

“Very well then,” she murmured, reaching up to trace with one finger the dips and valleys that his corded muscles made in his arm.  Her nails were blunt, tipped in white, not long by anyone else’s standard.  Advancing the contact, she smoothed the palm of her hand down his back, relishing the feel of his skin under hers, the warmth that radiated life back into her, then back into him.  She stepped a bit closer to press her lips to his spine, just between his shoulder blades.  Her smile revealed her pleasure when he did not flinch or twitch from the contact. 

“Mmmmm,” she hummed her pleasure for him to hear since he could not see her, only feel her.  “You please me, pet.” 

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered, contentedly accepting any touch, praise or command.  His eyes remained closed.  He could have only felt when she moved to stand beside him. 

“Tsk, tsk!” she scolded.  “What is this?” she demanded, examining his unbound cock. 

He swallowed hard, eyes flying open.  His breathing picked up pace and his whole body tensed.              

She tutted at him, leaving him, she returned to the bed to slide her hand under the pillows.  She found the gray steel box that belonged to him right where it should have been.  Deftly, she tripped the catch and flipped open the lid.  Inside, his belongings were safe as was his own leather cock ring with the silver ID tag engraved with an anchor matching his tattoo.  She pulled that from its resting place underneath his wallet then closed the lid, sliding the box back into its hiding place. 

“Haste makes waste, pet,” she admonished him.  “Apologize for wasting my time.”

“Yes, Mistress!” he yelped slightly as she snapped the leather into place.  The pretty little tag dangled from underneath the ring to bump against his swollen sacs in a most tantalizing manner.  “Please, Mistress forgive me?  Pet forgot his collar.  Please, Mistress, forgive me?” he pleaded with just a hint of laughter tinging the timbre of his voice. 

“Mistress believes this may have just been a deliberate oversight,” she scolded.  “Now why would you do such a thing?”

“Please, Mistress?”

“Oh my, yes.  Yes, you will, many times, I hope.”

 

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