Dove

Standing outside the bedroom door, the woman called Dove tried to still the butterflies in her stomach. She looked down at the simple white linen robe she wore. The plain thin garment, open in front but folded over and tied closed by an equally plain cord, clung to her freshly washed body. The hard tips of her small breasts were clearly visible as they pressed against the soft fabric. The robe still surprised her a little, and she wondered what it said about her new Master.

Tonight was to be the first time she gave herself to him. She'd arrived late, already worried of disappointing her new Master. Instead of being met by him, she had instead been greeted by a young woman dressed in a simple white robe like the one she now wore. Instead of harsh words and a firm hand, or maybe a strap, she had been greeted gently and instructed to bathe, remove her jewelry and make-up and put on this plain garment. The young woman, Jasmine she had called herself, had told her that, from tonight, her new Master would call her Dove. Then Jasmine had led her to this door and told her to wait before disappearing inside.

So, she waited and wondered. This wasn't the first time the woman called Dove had submitted herself to another. Even Jasmine's presence hadn't overly shocked her. If the Master wanted a threesome, she knew she could play her part. Still, she felt nervous. It was one thing to correspond with someone, even to talk with them. Giving herself to him was something else, and waiting here in the hall outside his room wondering what was coming next was another thing entirely.

Suddenly, the door opened and Jasmine stepped out. She smiled slightly at the woman called Dove.

"He's waiting for you," Jasmine said softly. "Go in and do as he says."

"I've done this king of thing before," the woman called Dove said, a little more sharply than she'd intended. Jasmine only smiled.

The room beyond the door was dark, lit only by candles, which the woman called Dove found familiar even if the rest wasn't what she had expected. Most of the space was dominated by a large bed, which was unsurprising, but the rest was given over to a large desk and walls covered in bookshelves. The Master stood with his back to her, paging through a book that lay open on the desk. He was a solid looking man and wore a black robe that matched her white one, save that it was held shut by a heavy leather belt. The woman called Dove smiled inwardly at the possibilities the belt promised and the drawings of naked bodies she glimpsed on the pages of the book.

"You're late," the Master said softly, not looking up from his book.

"Yes, Master," the woman called Dove replied, knowing better than to offer excuses or ask forgiveness.

"Your first error." The Master looked up from the book with a slight smile. "We will address it in due time. Now, kneel there." He gestured casually at a spot on the floor in front of the bed.

The woman called Dove moved quickly to that spot and knelt, her hands in her lap and eyes demurely downcast. The Master turned to face her.

"That will hardly do," he said softly. "Don't slouch, child. Hands behind your back. Back straight. Head up. Eyes front."

The firmness of his voice quickened her pulse, and the woman called Dove quickly adjusted her position to obey. Her breasts, she found, were now pressing firmly against the thin white linen of her robe. Her nipples hardened, standing proudly forward, as the soft fabric rubbed against her skin.

The Master looked her up and down slowly, then stepped to the side, just out of her sight.

"Eyes front," he admonished as she unconsciously turned to follow his motion.

"A second error." He chuckled slightly. "Now, why are you here?"

"To serve you, Master," the woman called Dove answered promptly. She found her anxiety fading as the new relationship fell into familiar patterns.

"Do you understand what you ask?" the Master said gently.

"I will obey your commands," she answered, confident.

"Do you understand what you ask of me?" the Master asked more firmly.

"I..." the woman called Dove stammered, suddenly lost.

"I wonder, child, if you truly understand what our relationship will be," the Master said softly. "You seek to put yourself in my hands, to give yourself to me completely. Does that not give me great power over you, child?"

"Yes, Master," the woman called Dove replied hesitantly.

"Yes. Dominance, submission, these are words to describe a relationship of power. Such power can be abused," the Master continued thoughtfully. Then firmly he said, "Give me your hand."

The woman called Dove hesitated for a moment before holding out her hand to him. Firmly but gently the Master took her arm and turned her wrist up to the ceiling. His thumb brushed gently over the faint white line of scar tissue where it crossed the blue veins.

"There is a line that separates dominance from abuse," the Master continued, his voice strangely hypnotic in its intensity. "It is not, however, a thin line, not a fine line nor a line easily crossed. It is clear line, firm and abiding. It is called responsibility. For me to be your Master, I become responsible for you while you obey my commands, obligated to you, required to make my commands with consideration. This is not a relationship of power. It is a relationship of trust. You put your trust in me absolutely and require that I uphold that trust. That is what you ask of me."

"I understand," Dove replied softly.

The Master's thumb traced the scar on her wrist again. Then, with a barely perceptible shift, he dismissed it, moving his thumb in a different way across her skin. Dove gasped as that touch sparked an unexpected thrill of pleasure, rushing through her.

"Yes," the Master's voice seemed to whisper in her head. "We will learn more of that too, in due time."

He released her wrist and, at his gestured command, she quickly replaced it behind her back. Calmly the Master turned away from her, looking back down at his book.

"Now," he said, the strange intensity of a moment ago seeming to fade from his voice, "tell me how you might please me."

The woman called Dove took a deep breath before she could answer.

"Master," she said, at last, "I will please you however you wish."

"That is not what I asked," the Master said gently.

"I am experienced in many positions, Master," the woman called Dove answered confidently. Again, they were returning to the familiar ground of shared sexual interest, where she had no doubts of her abilities. "I am pleased to also provide service orally or anally if you wish it."

"Do you enjoy anal sex?" the Master asked lightly.

"I enjoy pleasing my Master," the woman called Dove answered.

"Again, you do not answer the question I asked," the Master countered. "No matter. Tell me, what gives you pleasure?"

"I am pleased to serve, Master," the woman called Dove replied.

"That is three times, child," the Master said with an amused sigh. "I weary of this. Still, perhaps it is better if I learn you for myself. The gods below know what foolishness you may have convinced yourself of."

He turned to face her. His face was stern, but the woman called Dove could see an amused glint in his eye.

"First," the Master continued, "we must address your errors. Stand and remove your robe."

The woman called Dove stood carefully. Slowly, she untied the plain cord and allowed her robe to fall open. With a shrug, she let it fall around her feet. The Master looked her up and down, his expression both frankly admiring and oddly contemplative. Finally, he started to undo his heavy leather belt.

"The belt is for punishment," the Master said firmly, "Turn around and lay face down on the bed."

The woman called Dove obeyed. Oddly, she found herself thinking that the bed reminded her of him. It was firm but the sheets were soft and luxurious. She had only a moment to consider that before the heavy leather belt laid a stinging line across her backside.

The Master said nothing as the belt lashed down, neither chastising nor taunting. He simply, silently, laid blow after blow across her buttocks. Dove whimpered and gasped with each new blow. Her backside burned, warm and stinging. Her whimpers became yelps as the blows continued to fall. She thought about asking the Master to stop, telling him that it was too much, but even as the thought formed, the blows stopped.

The bed shifted as the Master knelt beside her. Still without saying a word, his hands began to caress her buttocks, lightly, soothingly. Dove sighed. His hands were warm and strong, his touch gentle. She felt the heat spreading downward, becoming a warm wetness between her legs.

Leisurely the Master's hands drifted up her back, to her shoulders and then down again, his fingers kneading along her spine. He softly stroked her buttocks again, his fingers at once firm and feather light. The merged heat from her stinging backside and warm wetness seemed to flare outward under that touch. His fingers traced paths along her back and arms, somehow dragging that warmth with them.

"Surrender, child." The Master's voice seemed to be as much within her as outside. His glowing touch traced her arms and the edges of her breasts. It kindled more fire from her stinging backside, carrying that flame down the outside of her legs and then up her inner thighs to touch the soft wetness that was at once its source and its goal.

Dove moaned as his fingers parted her wet folds, teasing her inside before sliding back up her buttocks and along her spine. Again and again the Master's fingers trailed heat throughout Dove's body, spreading the warmth and need that had always before had a single center to fill her totally.

"Surrender," he whispered.

Dove felt completely aware of every light touch he made as the Master's fingers continued to trace lines of fire across her body. She was no longer entirely sure where the warmth within her ended and his fingers began. Her breath came in deep, quick pants, contrasted by the cool touch of the air against her warm skin. Dove felt the lines of soft sheets and the shift of the firm mattress as extensions of her own body. She felt them shift and flex as the Master moved behind her. His weight lay across her now. His fingers brushed her shoulders and arms. His warm skin lay against hers.

He entered her. His warm flesh filled her, completing her. Dove sighed and surrendered. She felt totally aware of him, aware of his fingers tracing their lazy patterns on her skin, of his weight lying against her, of his flesh moving inside her. Distinctions between bodies blurred and faded, lost in warmth. Dove surrendered herself completely, offering her awareness of self up to his touch. With this final surrender, that awareness grew, building on itself, echoing between them, growing with every touch, every motion, until it overwhelmed her.

Orgasm obliterated all thought, banishing the last traces of self.

For an eternity, Dove was lost.

Slowly, she came back to herself.

The Master sat naked on the bed beside her, his hand tracing a lazy pattern on her skin. Dove didn't question how she knew the pattern was different than before, somehow calling her back.

"Yes," the Master said softly, his voice whispering in her head, "we will learn more of this in time."