Page 20 of A Dove To Break (The Dove Institute Collection #1)

Alania

All week, we have been focusing on impact play.

We worked up from spanking to whips. Tonight will be the first time we use a bullwhip.

I am excited. I love impact play with Adrian, and it’s less traumatic than I thought it would be.

I can take a lot of force, so Adrian has been pushing me as far as he can, and the aftercare is immaculate.

We are watching the others do their scenes, and most are doing very well.

Rose is struggling, but no matter what Thomas does, she doesn’t move.

She is crying, and Thomas looks goddamn pitiful, but they both continue.

When the last strike snaps across her back and he gives the word for the scene to end and pulls the tie in the restraints, she collapses to the stage and sobs.

Thomas scoops her up and whisks her away, leaving us to go last.

“Let’s go, Little Dove,” Adrian says, offering me his hand when he stands. I take it, and he leads me up on stage.

“Undress from the waist up and present yourself to me,” Adrian says as the room goes quiet.

“Yes, Master,” I say sweetly. I pull my shirt off, and when I go to lay it on the small table nearby, I see my father sitting at a table up front.

I try not to focus on him before taking my bra off and turning my back to the crowd.

Adrian watches as I kneel and sit back on my heels.

My back is straight, but my head is bowed.

“You look so pretty on your knees for me, Alania,” Adrian says, lifting my chin.

“Thank you, Master,” I say sweetly.

“I am going to challenge you, Alania. Would you like that?”

“Whatever pleases you, Master, pleases me,” I reply.

“Very well,” he says with a smirk. “Stand and face the audience.”

“Yes, Master,” I say.

I stand and face the crowd. Adrian steps behind me and takes the hair tie off my wrist to pull my hair up into a neat bun. He leans in and kisses my cheek. Before pulling away, he whispers in my ear. “Stare at him. Don’t give him any power over you.”

“Yes, Master,” I say softly, turning my gaze to my father.

Age has painted lines on his face, and he doesn’t seem as scary as I once thought he was.

I know Brent is at the table too, but he is looking at Adrian.

That right there showed their priorities.

My father is greedily scanning my body, staring at my tits, but my brother is staring down at Adrian, almost daring him to try and hurt me.

One is lusting after me, while the other is protecting me.

“Show them your back, Alania,” Adrian says.

I turn, and a few people gasp. “Alania has a lot of trauma surrounding being whipped. She has worked hard to get as far as she has in controlling her natural bratty behavior. Tonight, I will be pushing her further than I have before. She has been working on impulse control, and that is what I am testing… Alania will not be restrained; she will stand tall and manage her instinct to fight back, despite the memories… I will be using a bullwhip, so be sure to maintain a distance so that no one is injured.”

Adrian positions me so that I am centered on the stage before kissing my shoulder and backing off.

I close my eyes for a second and take a long, deep breath.

When I open them back, Dad has a smug look on his face as he sits back with his arms folded over his chest. It’s as though he is expecting me to break and fight, but I won’t.

“One warmup and then we will go until when?”

“Until I call my safe word, Master,” I say, my voice trembling.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I am a submissive, not a slave, Master,” I say.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. I can hear him prepping everything, and I know my body is shaking. I am staring my father down, but I glance over at my brother. He gives me a smile and a small nod, telling me I’ve got this. When I look back at Dad, he looks like he is convinced I’ll fail.

“Alright, Alania. Are you ready?”

“Always, Master,” I say.

Adrian snaps the whip beside me as promised, and Dad chuckles out loud when I flinch hard.

No one else is laughing, but he thinks he knows me.

He thinks he has memories of how my body reacts, but he doesn’t know that I was only ever what he taught me to be.

The next crack of the whip hits my mid-back, and the memories burn hotter than the heat searing through my flesh.

He snaps the whip across my back over and over again, keeping a steady pace.

Pausing would mean giving me time to spiral, and nothing can stop the vortex once it gains momentum.

I grit my teeth and stare down at my father with tears streaming down my face.

I’m refusing to call it, despite knowing I am far behind my limit.

Calling it feels like failure. Will he laugh again?

Will I fail? I go round and round in my mind until I settle on the realization that the rest is trust. Blind trust that my master will take care of me.

I have to trust that he will honor his word and respect my limits. Once I connect that, I say it.

“Red,” I whisper.

“Louder, Little Dove. Own your boundaries,” he says, snapping the whip once more, but with far less power.

“Red!” I say firmly. I hear him drop the whip, and I turn in time for Adrian to wrap me in a tight hug.

“You did amazing, Alania,” he says. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

The club resumes its normal business, and I hear movement as Adrian hands me my bra.

I slip it on and he turns me to see my father and Brent are with us now.

“I’m surprised, Alania. I was expecting you to run away like you always do,” Dad remarks.

I don’t look up or react, because that’s the rules.

That is submission, according to this society.

“What can I do for you, Edward?” Adrian asks as he applies salve to my back. Normally, he wouldn’t do this with my bra on, but I know he doesn’t want me exposed with Dad so close.

“To talk to my daughter. I don’t need…”

“You do, because I am her master. She knows the rules, and she does well with following them,” Adrian says simply.

“May I speak with her?” Brent asks.

“She can respond if she wishes to,” Adrian replies.

“How are you, Alania?” Brent asks me. I look up at him and smile.

“I am well. I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” he says with a soft smile. “You did well. I can tell you’ve been working hard on your impulse control.”

“I have. It is a bad habit I use for self-preservation, but I am learning different strategies to manage my emotions,” I say proudly.

“That’s—” he starts to say.

“It’s bullshit!” Dad snaps at me. “You have and always were a fucking brat. All of this is a fucking act to manipulate him into saving you.”

I grit my teeth and look at Adrian. “You can speak freely,” Adrian says with a smirk. I look at Dad for a moment, calming myself before I speak.

“Save myself from what, exactly?” I ask. “You wanted me to be submissive, and I am. I have and will continue to submit to Adrian. I have worked hard to undo the damage you did to me, and I will not have my efforts minimized."

“If you are so submissive, then prove it,” he scoffs.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I laugh. Adrian gently grabs my chin and turns my face.

“You may speak freely, but respectfully. Leading with anger rather than reason will make your words less effective. Okay?”

“Yes, Master. I apologize,” I say softly.

“It’s okay. You are learning, and it is my job to teach you, remember?”

“Yes, Master,” I say, and he releases my chin. I turn back to Dad and sigh. “Look, Dad. I get you are upset because you spent years trying to get me to this point, but I was never meant to submit to you the way I was meant to submit to a lifelong partner.” I say.

“You are not marrying him!” Dad booms.

“That is not up to you,” I say calmly. “You sent me here to learn how to submit, and I have. Did you have a different expectation?”

“You don’t get to fucking question me,” he growls. “I am your father.”

“You are, but you are not my master,” I say. “Adrian Santos is my master and the only one who has earned my trust in order for me to submit and feel safe.”

“Safe? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

I step closer and lower my voice as I say, “It’s hard to feel safe when you are taught how to deep throat before riding a bike,” I say as calmly as possible.

“It’s difficult to submit when you came into my room and forced me to have an orgasm at nine years old.

Being forced to ride your dick while I sobbed made me resentful of authority, because daddies don’t touch their little girls like that.

They don’t make them swallow their come and then laugh at them when they vomit.

They don’t hold their head down in the puke-filled toilet water while they fuck them.

Do they? I have never met another person who was tied to a bed and forced to let their daddy fuck their ass while he was high on drugs for hours on end, but then get whipped bloody for crying too loudly.

I don’t know anyone who has an abortion at ten because Daddy got them pregnant, not once, but four goddamn times.

Real fathers don’t let everyone and their fucking brother fuck their little girl and jerk off while she lies curled up after on the basement floor, bleeding from every hole they used.

And you know what else they don’t do? They don’t force them to fuck their drugged and unconscious brother, but whip them until they both get off. ”

“Wait,” Brent says. I pause and blink away the tears. I keep my voice quiet so I don’t draw attention.