Dove's Tale

I have a love/hate relationship with the Non-Con category, and this story is the result. It is NOT fun or pleasant, but I do like the protagonist's spirit.

All characters are over the age of 18.

Feel free to rate and/or comment...I love the feedback (even if it's just 'this sucked!)

*****

MUSIC blared through the small bedroom, and a bright overhead light flicked on, making it impossible to continue sleeping.

The brunette girl in the single bed jerked awake as Shania belted out 'I'm keeping you forever and for always.' She sighed when she realized where she was, then groaned when she tried to move, feeling the pain of the previous night's 'training session.'

She sat up and glared in the direction the music seemed to be coming from. Another one of his not very subtle message songs, reminding her of her captivity from the very start of the day.

She ran her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair and looked around the room. Although small and sparsely furnished, it was a honeymoon suite compared to the tiny, gloomy concrete cell she'd spent every other night in since her kidnapping.

There was a real bed instead of a cot, a desk with a chair, a second chair with (she noticed with a grimace) a large square pillow next to it, and windows-actual windows, small yes and (she was certain) made of some kind of unbreakable faux-glass, but still...

The windows drew her eyes, she longed to see sunlight after so long...but just her luck, the day was grey and gloomy.

'Figures,' she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

The hateful song finally stopped, and she let out another long, miserable sigh. Hot tears filled her eyes as she remembered the night before, and the things she had done to get the 'privilege' of this nicer room.

God the horrible things she had done...and said...all those things she had sworn over&over she would never do...ashamed, she dropped her face in to her hands. She had knelt for him...begged for him...called him Master...thanked him for the abuse he dealt out...

Fuck, she had even *crawled* for the bastard!

With a moan of anguish, she lurched to her feet and staggered to the small bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time to throw up.

Toilet, shower stall, sink...soap, shampoo&conditioner, hairbrush, a toothbrush and toothpaste, towel&washcloth...a small make-up kit and a metal mirror...nothing useful, nothing she could use as a weapon...

She splashed cold water on her face and looked in the mirror, almost grateful to see the anguish in her brown eyes.

'Remember this feeling Philly,' she said to her reflection. 'Remember how miserable you feel. Remember how much it hurts-worse than anything that monster could ever do to your body.'

Her jaw clenched in determination.

'Never again,' she vowed.

She walked slowly back to the bed and sat down cross-legged in the center of the mattress. She'd never been very religious, but now she sat and silently prayed-not for a miracle, not for his death (no matter how happy that would have made her)...just for the strength and courage to endure this trial without losing herself.

She sat unmoving, almost unaware of her surroundings, until the door opened and the big man called Barry entered. He was her captor's man Friday-huge, powerful, bald, and silent, with a face that seemed to be carved from stone.

He may have been expressionless and merciless, but he'd never been cruel. When the bastard ordered him to tie her up or take her back to her cell, he'd never used any more force than absolutely neccessary...and never taken any liberties or even copped a feel.

She didn't care. He served the man who held her prisoner, so she hated him.

Barry had a covered tray with what smelled like breakfast, and a small notebook. He set the tray on the desk...silver, classy, obviously very expensive, just like the dark wood desk it sat on...and held up the book, tapping it until she glanced up and noticed it.

Satisified, he left, locking the door behind him.

She didn't move.

She let her thoughts drift, remembering that she HAD won some battles in her time in this luxurious prison. Food was one. He had tried to hand-feed her, like a pet or an infant, and she had absolutely refused to play along. Most of the time, even when she wasn't gagged, she said very little. But when he tried to feed her, she cursed him and insulted him non-stop...not yelling and ranting, just a monotone litany of 'assholes' and 'fuck yous' until he gave up.

So he tried letting her go hungry for a couple days, then showed up outside her old cell. He pushed a little cart covered with a delicious gourmet meal...and a bowl of the tasteless gruel she usually ate.

'You can come out and be fed something wonderful, little Dove,' he said, smiling arrogantly, 'or you can have a bowl of mush. Your call.'

'I already told you,' she answered, her voice soft and calm but firm, 'I am not an invalid. I will not be fed.'

'Suit yourself,' he shot back, and slid the bowl into her cell, than sat down and made a production of tucking a napkin into his collar.

And despite the fact that she hadn't eaten a bite for almost three days, she picked up the bowl and hurled it at the barred door, splattering him with gruel.

'I can't eat with you stinking up the place anyway,' she snarled.

The whole scene cost her a brutal spanking...but a few hours later Barry silently delivered another bowl of gruel and she ate it, blessedly alone.

He hadn't tried to feed her by hand since.

She had also won the piercings battle. On her second night as his captive, had had announced that he wanted her nipples and clit pierced.

'If you hold still, that's all I'll do,' he warned. "Struggle and fight and I'll pierce your labia too.'

Of course she had fought with every ounce of strength she had. He had to strap her to a table almost ankles to neck to put the holes and rings in her.

After the session was over and she was returned to the gloom of her cell, the first thing she did was take all the little hoops out and flush them down the toilet.

He was predictably angry when he saw her the next night, and cruelly caned her ass before re-doing all the piercings, even adding two more to her pussy lips. This time, he put her in her cell with her wrists cuffed behind her back.

But it's dangerous to leave someone restrained that way for too long. He came to her cell the next morning and uncuffed her, and despite his threats she immediately began removing the jewelry from her breasts and vagina.

To punish her, he whipped her back, thighs and breasts...but he stopped trying to pierce her sensitive spots.

For the entire time she had been his prisoner (she thought it had been about two months), she'd fought him every step of the way. He demanded that she call him Master, so she refused to refer to him as anything but Dickless. He told her never to swear at him, so she cursed endlessly.

One night, when she was already bound standing with her feet wide apart and her hands high over her head, he announced that 'from now on you get a stroke with the cane for every obscenity.'

She laughed bitterly and glared into his eyes, fearless in spite of her helpless pose.

'Really? Fucking really asshole? A fucking stroke every fucking time I fucking swear? What a fucking bunch of fucking shit!'

He shook his head and picked up the cane, but she didn't stop.

'Fuck you you dickless motherfucker,' she snarled, and when the first blow came she bit back a squeal of pain and stopped trying to form sentences. Instead, she just spat 'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck...' over and over as fast as she could until she ran out of breath.

She took a deep breath. 'So how fucking many is that asshole? Or can't you fucking count that fucking high?'

Frustrated, he had smacked her ass again and again...until she was sobbing in agony...until her lovely little bottom was bright red and the skin was broken in a couple places.

He walked around in front of her and lifted her chin. She was a sweaty, red-eyed, tearful mess, barely conscious.

'Ready to apologize?' he smirked.

'Go fuck yourself, Dickless,' she managed to gasp before she passed out.

Hours passed as she meditated, thought and prayed. She got up to use the bathroom, and when she returned, so had Barry. Wordless and expressionless as always, her removed the breakfast tray and replaced it with another.

This time, after he left she lifted the lid and checked her meal. Turkey sandwich, fresh fruit, and a bottle of water. She picked up the sandwich and started to take a bite, then glanced at the notebook still sitting on the desk.

'Slave Positions' was written on the cover, and there was a blue Post-It stuck under that title.

'Dove-learn pages 5 and 6 for tonight. Master.'

Sickened, she flung the sandwich away. She picked up the book and stomped angrily into the bathroom. Without looking at them, she ripped out page after page, crumpled them up and flushed them.

Finally, she worked through her rage. She took some deep, cleansing breaths and paced around the small room.

'Keep your shit together Philly,' she admonished herself.

She lay down on the bed, laced her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling, letting her thoughts drift. Inevitably, they wandered back to the night her life had been turned upside down.

It was scary how well thought out the whole thing was. About 7:30 at night, there was a knock on her apartment door. Two men were outside-one in a suit, the other in a police uniform.

They showed her ID and asked if they could ask a few questions about a co-worker...a guy who'd just been hired a couple weeks before that she barely knew. Of course she let them in.

She'd barely closed the door when Uniform grabbed her, covering her mouth with his hand. Together, they wrestled her to the ground, where Cheap Suit gave her an injection. She had no idea what it was, but it was brutally effective. It didn't quite knock her unconscious...it was more like being in a dream, or maybe underwater. Everything seemed to happen very slowly. She couldn't seem to get her body to respond, or her voice to work.

She drifted in and out as they took her away, half-carrying her down a flight of stairs to a car, then to the airport, then a plane ride, then another car...and finally here.

She honestly didn't know where she was.

It was a mansion, a hell of a big place. Her abductor was loaded.

She woke up in a cage. A big cage, to be sure, steel bars extending from a concrete wall on three sides, with a stainless steel prison-style toilet built into the back wall.

That's when she saw *him* for the first time. Stocky, handsome, in his mid-40s, his dark hair stylishly cut, looking at her with an arrogant half-smile she despised instantly.

She didn't even know his name. He introduced himself simply as her Master, then let her rant and yell and threaten him for a while.

When she ran out of words, he unlocked the big cage and dragged her out. She fought-she always fought-but he was simply bigger, stronger, and someone who knew how to handle himself in a physical confrontation. He was able to shift his body just enough so her punchs and kicks either missed or just brushed him.

He pulled her to the middle of the room, stretched her arms over her head and locked them into steel cuffs hanging from the ceiling. Quickly, dodging her kicks, he got her ankles into chains on the floor. She was a helpless, spread eagled, upside-down 'Y.'

He pulled up a chair and sat calmly a few feet away, watching with that same smirk as she struggled and yanked at the bonds, succeeding only in making her wrists and ankles sore. He let her rave and snarl for about ten minutes, then rose and looked her in the face.

'If you want to know what's going on, shut up. Otherwise I'll be forced to gag you.'

Defiantly, she kept yelling and cursing, until he held up the enormous ball gag. The sight of the horrid thing, that would stretch her mouth and jaws painfully, was enough to make her stop.

Calmly, he explained. He had paid a lot of money to have her brought to him, and now owned her. The sooner she accepted that she was a slave, the easier her life would be.

'No one knows you're here. There's no way to escape.'

He took a big scissors and cut off her clothes as she wriggled and bucked. She was still wearing the same outfit she'd had on at her apartment-tee shirt, sweat pants, panties and socks-and soon they were in a pile on the floor. Her anger returned and she couldn't help it-she started cursing him again, but he was too busy savoring his first look at her body to worry about it.

He ran his hands all over her, stroking and fondling her legs, stomach, breasts and ass, and she felt nauseous. His touch made her skin crawl.

Finally, he gave her what he called an introductory whipping. Ten lashes with a fairly lightweight strap.

Thinking back, she was proud of the fact that not once during the ordeal did she beg for mercy. She cried and moaned-it hurt like hell-but didn't debase herself.

When it was done, and she hung in her bonds sobbing, he whistled loudly and the hulking Barry entered. Together, the two men released her from her cuffs, only to lock her hands behind her back. Barry escorted her to her primary cell.

They left the room through a huge door-almost like a bank vault door. Down a flight of stairs, through another imposing door, down a short hallway, and he opened a smaller but still massive door that led to the cell she spent most of her time in.

There was a cot with a single pillow and blanket, another prison-style toilet, and a tiny light in the ceiling that gave her just barely enough light to see where the cot and toilet were. The whole room was maybe six feet by six feet.

Barry took her cuffs off, shoved her in, and loudly locked both doors. She threw herself on the cot and cried herself to sleep.

Since then, he had brought her out every day, or every other day, attempting to turn her into the docile, obedient slave girl he wanted. Sometimes his strategy was to try to get her to follow orders, then use the cane or riding crop when she refused.

Occasionally he tried using pleasure. He tried every trick he knew with his hands and mouth to rouse her passions, unable to understand that she found him so repulsive, so evil, that all his carressing, stroking, kissing and licking did was make her uncomfortable and mildly nauseous.

Once, he had bound on her back, naked, blindfolded and spread, and tied a powerful hitachi-style vibrator between her legs to relentlessly stimulate her clit and pussy lips. He left her that way for over, the room dark and silent, with nothing to distract her from the sensations between her legs.

She had honestly tried to enjoy it. After the hell she'd endured, she felt like she deserved some pleasure. But every time she started to get turned on, she would twitch or squirm and become aware of her position...of the silken ropes holding her wrists and ankles...and the good feelings would evaporate.

When he returned, he was confident he would find her dripping wet, panting and moaning, ready to beg either for release or for mercy after an endless string of orgasms. Instead, when he went to push his fingers inside her, he discovered she was dry as the desert.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' he grumbled.

She barked an angry laugh. 'What's wrong with me? With ME? You kidnapping, raping, sadistic sonofabitch! You actually have the gall to ask what's wrong with ME?'

He was so puzzled and frustrated he had Barry take her back to her cell without even giving her a beating.

Then came last night...

She tried to rationalize her failure. She was tired, she was drained, she'd endured so much. He'd put a brutal clamp on her clit-one that made her scream, with sharp little teeth that bit cruelly into the tender bud. When he threatened to start adding weights to the clamp unless she 'behaved,' she finally broke. She had hit bottom and could take no more abuse.

So she tried to follow his orders, admittedly with little enthusiasm and even less passion...and was rewarded with a nicer bedroom and an ache in her heart that hurt far worse than any whipping.

She took another deep breath and focused on the few advantages she had. She could think of three. First, she knew he didn't want to badly injure or damage her. He didn't just want a slave for his bedroom-he wanted to show her off to the other slave holding scum he called friends. That meant he couldn't maim, disfigure, or scar her without looking like a poor trainer.

Second, she had the knowlege that there was really nothing to gain by giving in to his twisted demands. Even if she was perfectly obedient, he was still going to hold her prisoner...still going to beat and torture, molest and rape her...he had proudly admitted he was a sexual sadist, so she might as well fight for her personality and her soul.

Last, she knew she had Right on her side. It wasn't that she was squeamish about sex, even kinky sex. Hell, she'd been in a relationship with a boyfriend that liked to spank her, then try to make her groan and whimper when he pounded her pussy. Still...this situation was just wrong, evil and unacceptable. She couldn't be a willing participant.

The door to her room opened again. This time, Barry wasn't bringing food. He had a garment bag and a small box. He held them up until she looked at him. Stoically, he picked up the sandwich from the floor and removed her uneaten lunch.

She remembered what was expected of her. Shower, wash and brush her hair, put on a (little) make-up, then don the clothes he had sent and wait to be brought into his presence.

Out of sheer morbid curiousity, she opened the bag and box. Her mouth twisted when she saw the ridiculous, sheer harem-style dress he expected her to wear for him, and she let out a snort of derision when the box proved to contain bracelets for her wrists and ankles, adorned with tiny bells.

'In your dreams, Dickless,' she muttered.

Instead, she took a bit of pleasure in ripping the skimpy gown to shreds, standing on it and pulling with both hands until the frail seams tore.

She was wearing baggy, light blue pajamas, almost like hospital scrubs, and she was damned if she was going to change out of something comfortable to look like a reject from Arabian Nights.

Tearing up the outfit made her start to sweat, and it gave her an idea. She did a little work out, running in place, doing some push-ups and sit-ups, working up a good lather. She went into the bathroom, running her fingers up through her damp, sweaty hair.

An almost-smile appeared on her face as she had an idea. She squeezed a little toothpaste onto her hands, then ran them through her hair again and again, adding some stickiness and stiffness. By the time she finished, she looked like she hadn't showered for weeks.

As a finishing touch, the next time she had to pee, she wiped herself with her hands than dried her hands on her hair. Her nose wrinkled at the smell, and she hoped it would really...well piss him off.

As she went to sit down on the bed and wait some more, she realized that even though she was still miserable, she was feeling more upbeat than usual. She had made her decision, found some renewed strength, and was ready to face him at his worst.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alexander draped his jacket over his office chair, loosened his tie, and whistled tunelessly as he picked up the girl's file. He was looking forward to this evening. She had been a tough nut to crack-maybe the toughest subject he'd ever had-but he knew eventually she would break. Last night he'd finally slipped around her defenses.

Tonight, he would show her the benefits of being obedient...and of being His.

He practically knew all this information by heart, but re-read it anyway, just in case there was something he'd forgotten he could use.