To Cynthia at Cair4

 

Homage to Cynthia

by tamlyonne

 

I was driving from Leadville to Aspen through Independence Pass in a rented black Mercedes Benz. The top was down, and I was enjoying the crisp fall air as the narrow road climbed and twisted toward the summit of the pass.

In the valley below me was a chain of beaver ponds that sparkled like an emerald necklace. The leaves of the aspen trees were changing to the yellow that surpasses any yellow found in a tube of paint. In autumn, Colorado in the mountains is more beautiful than any place I have ever seen.

On the cream leather seat beside me was a letter from Cynthia. In her clear and feminine manner she had requested that I meet her in Aspen, and had given the reasons for the meeting. She would be coming to Aspen with her fiancée' for a series of business meetings pertaining to her cosmetics businesses, and for a brief week end vacation with her lover. She asked that I attend her in Aspen and perform whatever service she and her guest would require.

The letter had the desert rose imprint of her lips beside her signature.

Although I had never met Cynthia in person, that nothing would keep me from this summons.

In my daily life I am a private investigator, although not the steely eyed, strong jawed bruiser of lore. In fact, although I am well known in certain circles as a tenacious, determined and resourceful person, my physical appearance is not inspiring. Even though part of my expertise is providing protection for executives and celebrities, I look more like a stylist or artist. My hair is fairly long and impossibly curly, and I am constantly asked if I have a perm. No one ever believes me when I answer that it is natural. In certain respects my face is more feminine than masculine. That is what I was born with, and I am satisfied with that. I am in no way rich, but I am content with my work and my books. Almost content.

My personal life apart from my career is quite different, and again, was what I was born with. From the earliest times, I remember being fascinated with women and especially those with strong, independent personalities. The primary women in my life as I grew up were my mother, grandmother and aunt. No matter what the circumstances of their marriages, the jobs, children or lives, they fell back upon each other in adversity and trial, like pioneers circling the wagons at night on the prairie. Each of them were dark beauties, all could sing and write and paint, all were more vibrant than any of the men who were around.

How could I help not being in thrall to women?

In my case this thrall became a desire to serve and worship women, and how else could it be? I remember as a young boy, talking the baby sitter into tying me to a chair with a jump rope, and being disappointed that she tied it so loosely that I could easily escape. When I was in fourth grade, and was being vulgar to April Blake, the prettiest girl I knew, she slapped my face hard and then looked me in the eye and told me to watch my language. She knew, and I knew, that I was not going to hit her back. I was her peon for many years after that.

I also felt that a portion of my soul shared this powerful femaleness with the beautiful women in my life, although my body is unmistakably male. Although I spent years trying to understand this, it no longer matters to me, it just is.

My attention returned to the twisting road before me. It had narrowed to one lane, and of course a truck pulling a travel trailer was belching exhaust and climbing the road at 7 miles per hour in front of me. I am very impatient in situations where I am hindered, so I forgave the people who were slowing me down, and breathed slowly in and out through my nose. (When this doesn't work, I scream and pound the steering wheel). In this case, when I was able to pass safely, an elderly man and woman waved at me sweetly from the cab of the truck. Waving back, I accelerated slightly and entered the town of Aspen, heading for the address that Cynthia had given me, a ten room stone and timber "vacation" home that she owns in a gated community south of the old town of Aspen, high on a hill.

Using a key code that Cynthia had provided me with, I entered the five-car garage, and parked the Mercedes. Entering the house through the garage service entrance, I marveled at the interior luxury of the home. The inside walls were mountain stone with colorful tapestries, fabrics, and southwestern Indian art, including paintings, Navajo rugs, and pottery and sculpture. One painting that I stood before for many minutes was of an Indian woman in a white buckskin dress. She was looking at the observer, and was surrounded by several wolves. Something in her stillness and beauty reminded me of the women in my family.

In a room that looked like a great hall in a castle, there was a large fireplace against one end of the hall, a conversation pit in front of it, and rose colored leather furniture in two groupings in the living area. Several large windows looked out over the town of Aspen. This was a beautiful space designed for gracious and pleasurable entertaining by gracious and beautiful people. Or for simply gracious living and peace for the people who lived here.

I returned to the Mercedes and brought out the two coolers full of provisions that Cynthia had asked me to obtain, and the box of fine wines and champagnes that she wanted as well. I placed the champagne in ice to cool and settle it and the wines in the refrigerator for the same purpose. Various delicate leafed heads of lettuce and other vegetables were placed in the crisper, and the other victuals placed in the cupboards.

As I opened the front door of Cynthia's stone house to sweep off the front walk and to air the house with the pinon scented mountain air, I thought about the reasons that I answered Cynthia's call.

I had found Cynthia's website called Caring Domination during a black period in my life. After a long marriage, and after raising two children, my wife had told me that my desires to be submissive to women were "unclean", and that my feelings of femaleness had always alienated her and that she could not get beyond these feelings. She actually said, "perverted desires" at one point during the many interminable, hopeless conversations that we had on our weary road to divorce. My sadness and exhaustion led me into many experiments in self-degradation, and self-punishment for my failed marriage.

In my attempts to annihilate any sense of worth that I had left, I contacted a notorious domme in the local SM scene who agreed to use me as a maidservant during a series of parties that she was hosting one winter. She was very ingenious and aggressive in her efforts to humiliate and diminish me. I gave her every reason to think that that was what I wanted her to do. I felt that I deserved every bit of what I got.

The absolute bottom was reached one evening when I was serving in a maid uniform at a small gathering. As I answered the doorbell, automatically curtsying as I opened the door, I was shocked to see my wife and 17 year old daughter at the door.

"You!" my ex-wife hissed, as she glared at me in shock and anger. My daughter just looked at me and smirked, an expression I had been accustomed to for years as my wife had berated me in front of the children on many occasions. I had never had any authority in my daughter's eyes, and what she now saw confirmed it.

"You've finally found your own level" my ex-wife spat at me as she thrust her fur into my arms to hang up in the hall closet.

My daughter merely smiled at me gleefully and said" Can you take these for me, Dad?" as she handed me her wrap and purse.

I hung my head and could not meet the hatred and contempt in my ex-wife's eyes. I deserved every bit of her cold dislike and disdain. I remember very little of the rest of the party except the laughter in the hostess' eyes, and the constant demands from my daughter to bring her drinks, take away empty drinks, bring her pillows, fetch this and fetch that. My wife did not look at me once, nor did she speak to me.

Apparently this chance meeting between my ex-wife and daughter was not by chance at all, but the final step in the domme's campaign to destroy any sense of self worth that I had remaining to me. It succeeded completely. I bear no ill will to the domme because I essentially asked her for this culmination.

 

Cynthia had exchanged several e-mails with me, listening to my heartbreak and remorse, understanding my yearnings and submissive emotions, explaining certain things to me, and finally granting me a kind of absolution. She let me know that I was not perverted and hopeless, that I should not feel guilty for my feelings of submissiveness and femininity, and that also my wife was not to blame for our incompatibility and sorrow either. Finally, I reached a point of acceptance of myself, and a kind of peace. For this I would always be grateful to Cynthia.

For now though, I was determined to make Cynthia's house ready for her arrival with her fiancée'. She had trusted me, someone she had not met in person, to enter her house and to dust everything, change the linens, freshen the air and lay in provisions. I was determined to repay her kindness with whatever service I could provide. I busied myself for two hours readying champagne in a cooler, laying charcoal in the grill, marinating salmon filets in olive oil, red wine, garlic and pepper, tossing salad and making sure that the master bedroom was fresh and airy. I placed flowers in every room, with red roses in Cynthia's bedroom, and put pinon wood in the fireplace in case it became chilly in the evening. People are often surprised when a hot mountain day becomes cold when the sun goes down.

In the master bedroom I dusted all the woodwork and opened windows. Upon a chest of drawers, a collection of cosmetics and perfume bottle were scattered. As I straightened them, I noticed a tube of lipstick had fallen to the floor. When I picked it up, I took off the top and twisted the tube to look at the shade. It was a desert rose, much like the colors of Cynthia's house, a color I was beginning to associate with her. The smell of the lipstick was intoxicating, and I quickly put it down.

I carefully shaved and bathed, put on a white on white Egyptian cotton shirt with a subtle mauve tie, grey woolen blend slacks, and soft and well-polished black leather shoes. I put an understated cologne that smelled of pine and sage and coffee on my face and entered the Mercedes to go to the airport to meet Cynthia's jet.

When Cynthia walked down the steps from the Learjet, ducking her head slightly to clear the doorway, my first impression was of her clothing, which hugged her like expensive silk, yet flowed like leaves on a tree around her legs and arms. Her eyes met mine directly, and I was struck by the kindness in her face. Her features seemed to reflect all the races at once, including the elven and star born. She could have been Asian, African, Cherokee or Sioux, Spanish or French, and all at once. She had the most beautiful face I had ever seen. I lowered my eyes, not wanting her to see- what?

Her fiancée' was a well built brown haired man with a rumpled face. He was well dressed in the manner of a professional man, and seemed to be older than Cynthia by several years. As Cynthia greeted me and took my hand, she introduced him as Brian Scott and he regarded me frankly and with cynicism. As I helped Cynthia into the rear of the black Mercedes, he stood back slightly and spoke to me briefly.

"I don't really understand this domination stuff that Cynthia does. But you had better mind your manners around me, and in addition do not address her as Cynthia. She is Miss Cynthia to you and I am Sir, or Mr. Scott. I'm willing to go along with anything that makes her happy, but I don't know you and I don't care if you are happy or not." I did not know what else to say except, "Yes Sir".

I was not sure what to do with Mr. Scott, but if Cynthia loved him, then I would do whatever I could to make him happy and comfortable too. I drove through the Roaring Fork Valley toward Cynthia's home smoothly pushing the Mercedes solid transmission and engine, accelerating through curves, and braking softly to a stop at the guardhouse entry to Aspen Hills Estates.

When we finally arrived at Cynthia's house, both She and Mr. Scott entered and walked through immediately to the deck overlooking the town of Aspen and the dark mountains to the south of the town. The ski runs were bare and brown at this time of the year, but the purple mountains were glowing with the ending of the day's light. Twilight is the prettiest time in the mountains. It is the magic time when wolves run at the edge of the trees, the moon is surrounded by a gold and green and red halo, and when lovers walk hand in hand toward their homes.

When I had brought the luggage into the house, I went onto the deck and offered the champagne that had been on ice for several hours. Cynthia was in Brian's arms, and they were softly kissing each other. I tried to rapidly backtrack with my tray and the champagne glasses, but Cynthia heard me and turned to look at me.

"I want to thank you for your quick response to my summons to come here. It is almost impossible to find help on a moment's notice ". I assured her that I was honored that she had called me, and that I hoped to be of service. God, how trite I sounded. I was falling into the submissive role-play that I was so comfortable with, when I truly wanted to connect with her in a real way. By this I mean that I wanted nothing more than to be useful and helpful and unselfish, and to make her stay pleasant and graceful and effortless on her part. If I could do my work without ever speaking or being seen, I would, as long as she was cared for and happy. I was so grateful for the chance to do this, and to meet Cynthia at last.

I served Cynthia and Mr. Scott broiled salmon on a linen covered table with silver settings and massive candelabra. A pinon pine fire in the fireplace perfumed the air, perfectly complementing the crisp Chardonnay and the broiled salmon. I served a terimasu, which I learned to make for this occasion, and went into the kitchen to get the coffee service. When I entered the dining area, Mr. Scott looked at me thoughtfully for a second, and I got the impression that Cynthia and he had been talking about me. Cynthia looked at me calmly, but gave me no hint about what they may have been speaking about.

"When I met you at the airport I believe that I was a little abrupt with you", Mr. Scott said. "Cynthia has told me a little more about you and your kind, and I am willing to let up on you a little bit. Cynthia said that you are born this way, that you did not choose your submissive desires or your femininity. I am willing to accept this at face value, as long as you do what you are told to do in an unobtrusive manner. I'm just not used to men who want to act as servants or even worse, who want to be women".

Again, I did not know what to answer to this. If I were not here to serve Cynthia, I would not tolerate this mans treatment of me. But it really was no different from what I have faced all of my life, and he did not say to me anything I have not said to myself. The first time I had heard words like that was when a female classmate noticed that I wore clear nail polish on my nails. When she reported loudly what she had noticed to the class, I was taunted with insulting words for the remainder of the class, and indeed, for the rest of my term at school.

Mr. Scott had spoken more words to me since dinner began than Cynthia had said to me since I picked them up. She may simply have been more comfortable about accepting service from someone than Mr. Scott. To him service was a monetary transaction. To me it was a gift from the heart, freely given out of love or admiration, or simply recognition of superiority. The best service I was capable of, however, was given out of love.

"Yes, sir", was all I said.

The evening was drawing to a close, at least for me. I served to Cynthia and Mr. Scott an ice cold Russian vodka, with caviar on toast, washed all the dishes and pans, and made sure that comforters and blankets were available in the master bedroom. I then went to the kitchen and sat down to wait for them to go to bed. With the lights off in the kitchen the bright moon shone into the rooms and glinted on the copper pans and into my eyes. I heard a noise and rapidly got to my feet.

It was Cynthia.

I looked into her eyes at first, but then lowered my eyes. What the hell was I thinking, that I could come to Aspen, pull off a weekend serving her and her lover, and keep my emotions secret? I looked her in the eyes again and saw only compassion and understanding. Without any more conscious thought on my part, I sank to my knees, my eyes suddenly brimming.

 

"Now don't cry", She said with a smile.

"There isn't anything to cry or be ashamed for. I already know your secrets, and I even know there is something you want to tell me. I have read you e-mails for the last year, I know of your longing and your desperation. It is alright that you want to serve me. It is in your nature to give, as it is in my nature to take from you. What is it that you don't want to tell me?".

She said this in a way that surprised me, and I was unable to guard my expression.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"I'm in love with you", I said, not knowing how to hide from her.

She looked at me calmly for a minute, and then said, "I know you are. I am in love with Brian and not with you. We are to be married. I can't tell you anything different than that". She put her hands in my hair, and ruffled it, and rubbed my ears as though I were a large friendly dog.

"But it is in my nature to take what you give me, and it is in your nature to give to me. Thank you. I accept your love, but I do not reciprocate. I take also your service. I am in Colorado often on business, and I need someone who Brian knows is harmless to drive me, and do my bidding, act as a personal servant as it were. Brian and I were discussing you, and in no way do you pose a threat or competition as far as he is concerned. As far as I am concerned as well. He told me that you were the same as a girl in his estimation, and that you looked like a hairdresser. If you are willing to do this, I want you to serve me as you have been doing."

My heart was barely beating. In one second, I had told Cynthia I loved her. In the next second, she told me that I was only acceptable as a servant, and not as a lover. I honestly never expected anything from her, I just wanted to make her visit to Aspen wonderful and easy, and I never wanted to impose with my feelings of love for this wonderful person. I was not sure if I should feel good about being acceptable as a servant as far as Brian Scott, Mr. Scott, was concerned, either. But what other course could I take? I have been thirsting to kiss someone's feet. I have been yearning to belong to someone. I needed to be a slave and to be a possession. I told Cynthia this, at the same time I was falling in love with her.

I went from my knees to face down on the floor, kissing her lovely feet.

"Please accept me as your servant, as your slave. I don't want anything else".

I was openly weeping now. She was still for a few minutes as I made my way back to my knees, then she took my face in her hands, and tenderly kissed my mouth. Her lipstick was the same that I had seen on her letter to me, and that I had opened in her room. I nearly drowned in her scent.

"We need to go in and tell Brian, she said.

When I was done hearing a lecture on my expected demeanor from Mr. Scott, I was allowed to leave for the evening. I wandered outside to feel the air, and to calm down. The moon, which was nearly full, beat upon me like a desert sun, and filled me on the inside with its calm white light. I was afraid for what I had done, but the certainty of my love for Cynthia made everything bearable and light.

 

At the end of the weekend, I chauffeured Miss Cynthia and Mr. Scott to the airport to their waiting Learjet. As Mr. Scott got out of the Mercedes, he smiled at me and tipped me a twenty- dollar bill.

"Thanks for the good work, Tamlyonne", he grinned at my discomfort. He climbed on the jet ahead of Miss Cynthia.

Miss Cynthia herself spoke to me for a few minutes with details about the closing of the house until her next trip to Colorado. Then, handing me an envelope, she said,

"I will be in Denver in about six months for a series of corporate meetings. I may be back sooner than that. If you still wish to serve in my household, you will take the $500.00 dollars in this envelope and go to the links on my website and order a chastity belt. One with a tube like Lori's device that is secured with a frenum piercing. This tube is to fit in the chastity belt so that you cannot manipulate yourself in any way. If you are to be in my service, then I will impose this control and any other control in any manner I wish. Do you understand? I expect an affidavit from the piercer that you have the belt on within the next six weeks. This should give you enough time to examine yourself and really decide if you want to be mine".

I took the envelope and smiled at her happily.

"Yes, Miss Cynthia!"

"And I expect you to be properly attired in your maid's uniform!"

  

  

  

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