Doves Tale Ch 04

PHYLLIS sat quietly on the edge of her bed, her hands in her lap, waiting for the man she had to call Master.

For the first time in the two months since she'd returned to the mansion, she was looking forward to his coming to her room.

'It ends tonight,' she thought. 'No matter what, tonight it's over.'

Her lip trembled as she thought back on everything he had put her through. The pain, the punishment, the humiliations, her week in that brothel...

No no no...she pushed those thoughts away. She had lifted herself out of an incredibly black depression, but still wasn't ready to face *those* memories.

For the first three weeks, she had been a lifeless robot, mechanically following orders and obeying commands. *He* didn't care...he seemed to revel in her misery, and took perverse pride in piling one humiliation on top of another.

And not just in private. She remembered so many meals where Master and her sisters sat at the table, eating and talking and laughing...the other girls looking so beautiful in their silk, satin, and lace outfits...enjoying one of the amazing gourmet meals his cook prepared...

While she knelt naked, her hands tied or cuffed behind her back, forced to eat her gruel from a bowl on the floor.

'Eat it all Dove,' he would say. 'Any food left is a sign of rebellion-and we both know the consequences of that.'

She endured it, getting gruel all over her face as she ate like a dog, then licked the bowl clean. As awful as it was, it still beat being raped twenty or more times a day.

Or he would feed them all by hand. The other girls thought it was a fun game, and crowded round his chair on their knees, playfully nudging each other out of the way.

Phyllis, he left tied or chained, too far away to reach. He would throw morsels on the floor, smirking as she forced herself to eat like an animal.

He knew she didn't like giving oral, so it became his central focus. Eager or not, she was pretty good at it, and he used her mouth almost every day.

He loved to make her give him head with the other girls in the room, letting them enjoy her shame. Those blowjobs usually ended with him forcing her to beg for a facial, something she truly despised.

'Louder, Dove,' he would chuckle as she pointed his cock at her mouth and stroked it, until she was nearly shouting the vile words.

Her 'sisters' weren't cruel about it-they were simply so devoted to their Master that anything he did seemed good to them.

Then there were the commands she had to memorize and the positions she had to master. There were a dozen or more. Along with 'Cat,' there was 'Heat,' where a girl had to kneel, lower her head to the floor, spread her legs wide and wiggle her bottom cutely.

And many other poses. The other girls found them erotic and arousing. Phyllis just found them hateful.

The one command he had stopped using on her was 'Speak.' When he gave that command, a girl was to blurt out the first thing that popped into her mind.

'I hate you,' Phyllis had said without hesitation.

He lifted an eyebrow. 'That's what you were thinking, pet?'

'That's what I'm always thinking.'

'Master.'

He just smirked and continued to give her commands, forcing her to pose lewdly for him.

Another of his favorite games was to make her 'practice' her oral skills on a dildo while he cavorted with one or more of his other slaves.

'You're going to be the perfect little blowjob princess,' he would taunt as she tried to blank her mind.

'Suck, Dove,' he would say, and enjoyed watching her cheeks hollow as she nursed on the toy, her face flushed with humiliation.

He also took great pleasure in giving her facials-something she really hated. The look in her eyes as she pointed his cock at her open mouth and jacked out his cum was priceless.

'You don't like that, do you Dove?' he had asked once as she knelt before him, his load dripping off her chin.

'No.'

'Master.'

'Ok, so tell your Master what you do like. What turns you on sexually?'

She stared at the floor. 'It doesn't matter.'

'Master.'

'Nonsense. Just because you're a slave girl doesn't mean you don't get to experience pleasure. I would greatly enjoy driving you wild with passion.'

Phyllis sighed softly. 'You can't.'

'Master.'

He lifted an eyebrow. 'Oh? And why not?'

Her voice remained flat and toneless, but she looked up at him and for the first time in ages, he saw a spark in her eyes.

'You're approaching the question from the wrong direction.'

'Master.'

Alexander looked at her curiously. 'I'm listening.'

She continued to speak slowly, as if every word was a struggle.

'You asked what.'

'Master.'

'It's not what that's important, it's who.'

'If you like someone...if you care about someone and are attracted to someone...then anything they do can be erotic.'

'But.'

'If the other person is someone you find totally repulsive...they can do the exact same thing.'

'And all it will do is make you feel awful.'

'Master.'

He smirked. 'A valid point. But not to worry pet-it won't be long before you love and adore your Master more than you ever dreamed you could love anyone.'

She dropped her head. 'As you say.'

'Master.'

That smirk she so despised returned.

'Well then,' he chuckled. 'That being the case, I guess we'll just do the things I enjoy until we can get past your barriers.'

He reached down and patted her head.

'Lucky for me, you look so lovely with my dick in your mouth-or with my cum all over your face.'

'As you say.'

'Master,' she replied, retreating back into herself.

One day, about a week after her return, he had tried to give her a massage.

In a quiet room, lit by soothing scented candles, he had layed her on the massage table, softly assuring her she would neither be punished or molested.

'I want you to realize the benefits and pleasures of being mine,' he had crooned as she stretched out on her stomach, stiff and trembling.

'I'm not licensed or anything, but I have taken massage classes, and I'm told I'm pretty good at it,' he continued as he poured some warm oil onto his hands.

But as soon as he touched her shoulders, she went rigid. Her jaw clenched, her fists clenched, even her toes were curled. It was like kneading wood.

He had taken a step back. 'Relax little one,' he murmured. 'Breathe slow and deep. This is for you to enjoy.'

She had tried-she really had. But again, as soon as he started trying to massage her she tensed.

He found the pressure points on her neck and shoulders that should have made her purr with pleasure, and it did no good. Her eyes were screwed so tightly shut it made her ears wiggle.

It was a counter productive disaster. By the time he finally gave up and told her to go shower and rinse off the massage oil, her muscles were actually cramping from being tensed.

He had tried seeing what happened if he got her to play with her sisters, hoping maybe she was more bi than she realized, and the softness of a woman might awaken her passions.

He couldn't have been more wrong. It was the one time she had demurred.

'Please Master, not that,' she had said quietly, tears in her eyes.

He gently stroked her hair as she lay on the bed, naked and spread at his command, as Rogue tried to rouse her with feather soft carresses and kisses on her legs.

Phyllis wasn't into girls at all. She had never even fantasized about it. She wasn't bigoted or homophobic-she just wasn't interested. Having to submit to another woman's lovemaking was far worse than being used by a male.

Her tears flowed endlessly as Rogue tried in vain to pleasure her. Finally, they gave up and let her go back to her room, and Dove practically sprinted away.

She remembered the day she had finally started to get some of her spirit back. He had come to her room and announced she had earned a reward for being obedient.

'You're trying Dove,' he said. 'I'm very pleased.'

And he had given her a gift-a piece of cotton cloth, cut into a sort of triangle shape, that she would be allowed to wear around her hips.

'Tie it at the left hip,' he instructed. It amounted to little more than a loincloth, giving her a small amount of modesty in front but leaving her backside bare.

She was appalled at how grateful she was, and put on the slave rag as eagerly as she had once put on her prom dress.

That was when she realized how far she had truly fallen, and how close she was to turning into another of his broken, destroyed playthings.

She still had to be very careful. She couldn't be openly defiant-her behavior hardly changed at all-but inside she rallied.

And then, last weekend, came the opening she'd been waiting for.

He had thrown a party. A group of about thirty of his friends and associates had come to the mansion. Phyllis and the other girls had been given the task of serving drinks and hors de ouvres.

'This is your debut, Dove,' he had said. 'Make me proud. Be quiet, demure and respectful. Speak only when spoken to, and address every guest as Sir or Ma'am.'

They had fussed with their appearance for most of the day. Kitten was put in charge of making sure Phyllis looked her best, fixing her hair and applying her makeup until she looked perfect.

He dressed them in an erotic parody of a butler's uniform-a button down white shirt, cropped to leave their stomachs bare, complete with a black bow tie. The shirts had openings in the front to leave their breasts uncovered.

A tiny black skirt, little more than a belt, with black fishnet stocking and open toed high heel shoes, completed the outfit. Phyllis looked in a mirror and shook her head sadly, less concerned with the public nudity than with the knowledge her poor feet would be aching by the end of the night.

Her Master seemed a little nervous as they waited for his guests to arrive. Rogue leaned over and whispered.

'This party is for Masters and Mistresses,' she told Phyllis. 'It's important to his reputation-and his ego-that we impress.'

Phyllis and the other girls spent the night circulating, carrying silver trays with champagne glasses and tidbits of food as the guest mingled and socialized. The primary impression she got was money. Expensive suits, designer gowns, diamonds, gold, and confidence bordering on arrogance.

There was no flirting, no getting felt up-in their circle, the presence of nearly-naked serving girls was nothing unusual.

The only noteworthy moments came late. She had a single glass left on her tray when an older lady approached.

She lowered her eyes, as she had been instructed to do.

'Champagne, ma'am?'

The lady picked up the glass and took a sip. 'You must be Alexander's newest acquistion.'

'As you say, Ma'am.'

'Tell me, little one,' the woman continued, obviously amused. 'Do you like it here?'

Phyllis fought back a sigh.

'No, ma'am,' she answered quietly.

The woman laughed softly. 'Doesn't he treat you well?'

She thought for a long moment, carefully phrasing her reply.

'I am a prisoner here, ma'am,' she finally answered.

The lady smiled and touched Phyliss' bicep lightly.

'Hmmm,' she mused. 'Perhaps I should make an offer for you. Do you think you'd be happier serving me?'

'No ma'am,' Phyllis answered honestly.

'You seem rather sure of yourself. How can you know I wouldn't be a better owner?'

Finally, Phyllis lifted her head, looking into the woman's eyes-only for a moment. She wanted to punch the smugness out of her, but didn't dare.

'If you believe people can be bought and sold,' she said quietly, her gaze back on the floor, 'then I know I would be just as miserable as your prisoner as I am now.'

'Ma'am.'

The woman threw her head back and laughed loudly.

'Cheeky girl,' she said, smiling, and Phyllis slipped away to the kitchen.

Amazingly, for the first time all night, it was empty. She glanced around frantically, her eyes wide, and finally spotted a tiny paring knife. Feverishly, she wrapped a cloth napkin around the two inch blade, praying no one would come in and catch her.

She pressed her fingers against the sharp little blade, making sure it was protected by the napkin. With no other real option, she took a deep breath and carefully slid the whole thing up into her pussy, handle first, knowing what a huge risk she was taking.

If it slipped out, or if it sliced through the cloth and cut her...she shuddered to think of the punishment.

Still, it was after midnight, and worth the risk. A plan began forming in her mind.

The last hour or so of the party seemed to take an eternity. Her calves and toes were agony after a night walking around in heels, her heart was racing from fear of discovery, and with every step she was conscious of the little knife moving around inside her.

At long last, her Master said goodnight to the last guests. As soon as the door closed, all the girls kicked off their shoes with sighs of relief.

He went to each of his girls, hugging them tenderly. He saved Phyllis for last.

'I'm very proud of you Dove,' he said with genuine affection. 'I got many compliments because of you tonight.'

Phyllis wasn't sure how to respond. Finally, she settled for 'I'm glad, Master.'

He smiled and kissed her forehead. With his arm around her waist, he spoke to them all.

'We'll clean up this mess tomorrow. Right now, I know you're all tired. Hell, I'm tired. You're dismissed for the night.'

The girls went down to their rooms, Rogue and Kitten chattering about the party guests and the beautiful jewels they had been wearing. Dove just wanted to get to her room and hide her weapon.

For the moment, the safest place seemed to be under her mattress. Too exhausted and stressed out to do anything else, she slipped off her absurd outfit, brushed her teeth, and fell asleep naked.

For the first time in ages, an old friend visited her in her dreams-her old friend hope.