Faith hesitated at the arched gateway that led from the Chateau to the harbour. Below her, the wide curve of the harbour wall protecting the small boats at anchor looked like a sleeping dragon that she would be better not to wake. Faith smiled at the image. Waking a dragon was exactly what she was here for. She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and walked along the harbour wall until she reached the beacon at the far end. Then, as instructed, she waited.
She tried to lose herself in the breath-taking view over Lake Geneva. Even after years of living here in La Tour de Peilz she was still awed by the dramatic rise of the Alps on the opposite shore. Normally she would have been able to make her mind as calm as the sun-lit water in front of her, but anxiety broke her concentration like pebbles skipping on the surface of the lake. She could not believe that Thierry had selected such a public place. True, the low wall around the base of the beacon would partially block her from the sight of people in the harbour but she would be exposed to anyone out on the lake or in one of the buildings nearby.
Faith shivered at the thought of being on public display, but she did not leave. Instead she touched the strip of heavy white cotton that was tied around her wrist. It was her magic amulet. It had the power to transform her from her day to day self into someone to whom amazing things happened. After all, how many recently divorced, thirty-five year old Englishwomen found themselves standing on a harbour wall, looking out at the Alps and waiting for their lover to arrive?
A slight breeze came in off the lake, making her aware that the summer was now over and the dress she was wearing was too thin for the autumn weather. She had chosen it because it was what she had been wearing the first time that Thierry took her, exactly three months ago.
She wanted to hug herself against the breeze but Thierry was probably already watching her, savouring the sight of her silhouetted against the sky, so she stood with her legs slightly apart, her chin up and her hands clasped demurely in front of her, offering him a promise from a distance.
She heard his footsteps on the stone behind her, confident, purposeful steps that were typical of the energy that Thierry put into everything, but she did not turn around. That was not how their game was played. He came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back against him.
Bending his head close to her ear he said, “Do you trust me, Faith?”
These were the words that had started it all. They had become a ritual with them for meetings like this.
Faith gave the same reply she had always given: “Completely.”
Thierry ran his hands down her arms to her wrists, enclosing her in his strength.
“Show me that you are mine. Put on the blindfold.”
He released her hands and waited.
Faith undid the cotton strip that she wore on her wrist and refolded it. She held one end of the cloth in each hand and pulled it taut, making it a channel for the tension that she was feeling, then she raised it to her lips and kissed it. Thierry had taught her to do this. He had explained that, before a Mass, the priest will kiss the stole that he is about to drape around his neck, because it gives him time to reflect on the transition he is about to make from ordinary man to someone who could summon God.
As her lips touched the fabric, Faith thought about the summoning that she was consenting to by putting on the blindfold. She was calling up a side of herself that she had always kept hidden, had in fact been embarrassed to admit to: the side of herself that wanted to be worshiped, wanted to be subjugated, wanted to be stirred into a feeding frenzy of lust, wanted to lose her mind in the outpouring of her heart’s desire.
Faith raised her head to face the sun and reached up to tie the cloth around her head; willingly blindfolding herself in a public place, in the arms of a lover who required her complete trust and absolute obedience.
As soon as she completed the knot, everything changed. The cloth that denied her her sight also freed her from responsibility for what happened next. She was now both in the world and out of it at the same time. Her existence was defined by touch and taste and smell and sound and most of all, by desire.
“Thank you, my Blind Faith,” Thierry said, his mouth close to her ear.
Faith found Thierry’s Swiss-French accent exotic, capable of breathing new meaning into old words. His voice was gentle and confident and, best of all, edged with hunger for her.
Thierry pushed Faith back against the low wall that sloped inwards in a cone around the beacon, so that she was leaning backwards slightly. The wall came up to just below her shoulders; she could feel the rough stone against her back through the fabric of her dress, hard and unyielding. It made her smile.
“I recognise this dress,” Thierry said. He ran his hands up her body and cupped her breasts firmly, stroking her nipples with his thumbs. “It is the one you wore the first time I undressed you.” He undid the top buttons of the dress and pushed the fabric aside, exposing Faith’s breasts, “except today you wear nothing beneath it, it seems.”
“Nothing at all.” Faith said and pushed her breasts upwards against his hands.
“Show me.”
For a heartbeat, Faith hesitated, uncertain what Thierry wanted.
“Guide my hand,” he said.
Like a ghost, Faith took his hand, slid it up along her thigh and placed it on her naked sex. Thierry grasped her firmly, pushing her upwards onto the balls of her feet and pressing one insistent finger between her labia.
Without the blindfold, Faith would have tried to wriggle free, but Blind Faith was free to spread her legs and open herself to her lover’s desire.
Thierry massaged her mound until she was so slick she could smell herself. Then he slid two fingers inside her. She rocked on them gently, unconcerned with anything but the sensation.
When she was feeling warm and desirable and safe, Thierry slipped out of her and pushed his fingers into her mouth. Faith sucked on them, taking them as deep as she could
Before Thierry, Faith had not enjoyed oral sex. She couldn’t see the point. Now of course, she could see nothing at all and had discovered the richness of heat and texture and smell that were available to her. She had learnt to enjoy the power and excitement of bringing Thierry to complete hardness with her mouth and to relish the movement of his hot smooth skin across her face.
“Faith, the wall behind you is topped by a steel railing. When I place your hands on the railing you will be spread against the beacon like a figurehead on a ship,” Thierry said. “I want you to hold the railing tightly with both hands.”
Thierry placed Faith’s arms along the top of the railings and stretched her out in both directions, so that her shoulders pulled back and her still-naked breasts rose. Quickly, almost impersonally, he used his feet to push her legs wide apart. Then he stopped touching her.
She listened hard for his next instruction but the only sound was made by wind in the rigging on the tiny fishing boats moored in the harbour.
Faith wanted to call out. She wanted to let go of the railing and cover herself. She wanted to tear off the blindfold and take back control. Instead she gripped the railing tightly and waited.
Thierry would not desert her, she told herself. He would not leave her on display like this, available to anyone who came along. And yet, what if that was the experience he had in mind for her today?
Faith calmed her mind by recalling the promise that Thierry had made her when this strangeness started. “In you, Faith,” he had said, “I see a woman who has been starved of the sensual pleasures her mind and body deserve. If you will give me your trust, and with it, your obedience, I will feed your desires and you will open like a flower at dawn.”
If an Englishman had said that to her, she would have laughed, but Thierry was French and beautiful and she had wanted so much to believe him. So she had agreed and he had started her journey by taking away her sight.
She had never questioned him on what she was going to blossom into.
Seconds ticked by. Faith felt the breeze lift her dress and wanted to let go of the railing and prevent herself from being further exposed. But if she let go of the railing, she would let go of Thierry’s trust. She waited.
Suddenly she felt him covering her, engulfing her like a wave of energy. His big hands enfolded hers. His mouth worked on her neck as if he meant to consume her. He let his weight press into her, grinding her against the wall until she was literally breathless.
She relished his heat and strength but also recognised her relief that she had been right, this time, to hold on.
Thierry kissed her on the mouth, gently, slowly, holding her blindfolded head in his hands.
“You looked wonderful standing there, open and full of potential,” he said.
One hand left her face. She heard him unzip and her stomach clenched in anticipation.
He kissed her again on the lips, more urgently this time. Then he lowered his head and pulled one of Faith’s small breasts all the way into his mouth.
“Fuck me.”
Faith’s words flew out across the water like gulls rising. Once she would have cringed in embarrassment as much for the admission of need as for the crudeness of her language, but Blind Faith’s tongue was free.
“FUCK me.”
Thierry’s hands slid down her body, found the full flesh of her arse and lifted her up off the wall. Faith wrapped her legs around Thierry and, after a moment’s slick struggle, he entered her.
Faith gripped the railing, threw back her head, and let Thierry crucify her lust against the hard stone.
There was no finesse, no tenderness, just a furious rutting that hammered away at her senses summoning up a tide of warmth and release that almost drowned her.
By the time Thierry came inside her, Faith was hanging limply on the wall, unable to move or think or speak.
Thierry gently set her feet down on the ground and helped her to stand. Turning her so that she had her back to him, he re-buttoned her dress and made sure she was covered, then he held her in silence.
“Thank you,” Faith said.
Thierry gave her one final hug, and, as was his way, left her.
Faith listened until she could no longer hear his footsteps on the stone. Then she reached up, removed the blindfold and slowly came back to herself.
It was almost sunset but Faith did not want to linger over the spectacle of the scarlet sky. Vision returned her to the real world. A world where she wanted to be rid of the stickiness she could feel between her legs and at the top of her thighs; where she needed to lie in a bath and soothe the places she knew would bloom into bruises by morning; where Thierry was not just her lover but someone else’s husband.
Except, Faith thought, this world was no more, or less, real than the one she had occupied a few moments ago when she’d been spread wide and used hard.
Faith looked down at the strip of cotton she was holding. All she had to do was open her hand and let it fall and there would be no more Blind Faith.
Before her mind could decide what to do next, her fingers had wrapped the cloth around her wrist. Faith, smiled, turned away from the sunset, and headed for home.
© 2008 Mike Kimera. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.