Introductions
Chapter 1
It almost cost her life to find him, and the funny thing was she wasn't really looking for anyone. But then fate has a way of throwing us opportunities when we're not looking.
Sometimes opportunities come in the form of blinding snowstorms.
The day started well. Fresh snow turned the land into a winter wonderland, every tree decorated with snow and ice as if for Christmas. So camera in hand she'd set off on a little day trip to capture the beauty around her.
The morning had gone well. The skeletal branches of maple and birch were grim reminders that summer had fled. But the majesty of spruce and cedar was even more awe-inspiring as they held up their mantles of white against the azure sky.
At noon she stopped at a little town just off the highway. There she found a small bed and breakfast and dined on simple fare: home-made chicken noodle soup with a slice of home-made sesame seed bread. The soup was thick with meat and vegetables, almost a stew, and the aromatic broth suggested herbs she did not recognize.
Nourished by her meal, she set off again to explore more of the countryside.
So delighted was she with the scenery she paid little attention to the clouds drifting in. It wasn't until they framed the trees in the east that she realized the sky was threatening more snow.
And to confirm her suspicions, large fluffy flakes began spattering her windshield as she turned around to head home.
She had no idea where she was, only the route she'd taken, and she wasn't a mile down the road when the storm began in earnest.
By the third mile the snow was so thick she couldn't see more than ten feet in front of her, and everything bore the sheen of snow reflecting her headlights.
So she wasn't at all prepared for the sense of weightlessness as the car sailed off the road where it had made an unseen turn.
Later she would recall her helplessness, and then the impact of the air bag as the front end of the car slammed into an old oak.
Then nothing.
Chapter 2
Fate is a strange thing, almost whimsical in its gifts. Thus it was that on the road where she crashed there lived but one man. And as fate would have it, he was driving his dog sled homeward after picking up some essential supplies from town.
Intimately familiar with his world, the man knew from the first hint of sunlight that the weather would change rapidly. As cold as it was, there was a lack of crispness to the morning air, hinting at more snow.
But supplies were low and one learns to take advantage of breaks in the weather. He'd brought out the dogs, lashing them to the sled and set off for town in the bright sunlight.
The trip in was uneventful. Every now and then he'd come across the tracks of deer or fox crossing the road. They'd scared a hare who had been busy digging into the snow for some forage. He watched as the hare bounded away, zig-zagging to throw off any pursuit.
But the dogs were too well disciplined to give chase. The sled moved on, crunching the fresh snow as it went.
In town he decided to forgo the usual discussion about weather and the world with the locals. The weather was closing in and he still had a long trek home. Supplies acquired he strapped them carefully to the sled and set off on the homeward journey.
He had just turned onto his road when the snow started, and had yet to cover the first mile when the snow turned into a blizzard.
Blind as he was, he trusted in his dogs to find their way home. The road was trackless with all of the drifting snow swirling about, but they knew their way.
It was at the half-way mark that he found the car. By then it was half buried in snow and though the front of the car had wrapped about a tree, one light still worked.
He braked the sled, the dogs yapping their protest for they wanted to get in out of this weather.
Wading through drifts waist high he approached the car. All of the windows were covered with ice on the inside, a sign of warm moisture rapidly freezing.
He quickened his pace and peered into the car. When he saw her slumped over the deflated air bag, he swept away the snow blocking the door and opened it.
Her face was pale, her lips a tinge of blue, little puffs of moisture escaping from her with each shallow breath.
Quickly he searched the car for any survival gear. But one doesn't need such an emergency kit when one lives in the city.
Unbuckling the seat belt he checked her neck and head for injury, but only found a fresh bruise that had begun to show across her forehead.
Lifting her out of the car he was surprised at how light she was. It took a while to manage the drift while carrying her, but once he'd reached the sled he was a flurry of activity.
Pulling out the thermal blanket he wrapped her in it first. Then he set aside most of the supplies to make room for her. Wrapped in the blanket and securely fastened to the sled, he threw a bearskin over her and urged the dogs to get them home.
With a leap the sled began to move.
Chapter 3
"Warm ... soft"
Those were her first thoughts when she regained consciousness.
However, these were quickly followed by "Where am I?"
She knew she was in a bed, so warm and soft. She no longer trembled with the cold.
But clearly this was no hospital bed. Not unless they'd started using layers of fur in their beds.
And no hospital heated with an open fire anymore, yet she could hear the crackling of wood burning.
Opening her eyes, she could see the light of the fire dancing across the ceiling. And what a ceiling, rough-hewn planks side by side, caulked with what looked like mud and dried moss.
Nervously, she began to look around. Walls made of the same material, a rough-made wicker chair, an antique oaken side table ... and a man.
Her eyes widened as she burrowed a little more deeply into the bed.
He was aged, bearded, not at all an imposing figure as he stood by the fire, looking at her. It wasn't until he approached and knelt beside her that she noticed the blueness of his eyes.
She couldn't look away.
His face was lined with years of life. Joy and sorrow mingled to bring character to his features. His beard, full and white, reminded her of St. Nick, but his eyes ...
... she felt as if they bored into her soul, stripping her of any pretense or doubt.
She was safe.
Then she heard his voice, soothing and gentle, almost hypnotic.
"You were in an accident. The roads are closed and I do not have a phone. However, you are uninjured, as far as I can tell. You were starting to freeze, but there is no sign of frostbite."
She relaxed, accepting his words without question. He produced a mug with a faint wisp of steam rising from it.
"Here, sip this. It will help."
She tried to lift her head but found her strength had left her. Carefully he cupped the back of her head in his hand and lifted her enough to sip at the mug. She could smell the nutmeg, and then she tasted the honey and rum.
"A hot toddy. My mother's recipe." he said with a smile.
She smiled in return, and managed three more sips before her eyes closed and she fell back to sleep.
Gently he let her head slip back to the pillow, careful not to disturb her.
He pulled the covers up over her shoulders, smiled, and left the room.
Chapter 4
It was not so much the beam of sunlight that had managed to sneak around the curtains to play upon her face as it was that ancient urge to find a quiet corner in the woods to relieve one's self of the pressures within the body that urged her to awaken.
Feeling much stronger she arched her neck to look about. She found she was alone, the door closed. Across the bed lay a large woolen sweater and a shawl of the same material.
Pulling away the covers she looked down on her hopelessly wrinkled clothes. The air was cool, just enough to need the sweater. As she examined it more closely she noticed symbols had been stitched into the fabric, creating a pattern both graceful and appealing.
Beside the beds were her boots, as well as a pair of pink fluffy slippers that seemed odd in this rustic venue. Choosing the slippers she found herself warming up.
Not hearing a noise beyond the door, she opened it slowly, wincing at the creak of the hinges.
Peering out she found herself looking at a large room occupied by an old couch, desk, chair, a woodstove with the embers of the previous night's fire still glowing.
Deciding to explore, she soon found the bathroom. Splashing water on her face she found it bracingly cold. Taking care of other needs left her in brighter spirits, and hungry.
As she continued her exploration, she found two doors locked, and the kitchen.
For the primitive nature of the home, she was pleased to find he still used electricity. A fridge with eggs and ham and milk, a toaster for the bread (home-made!), a stove with frying pans.
A kettle and tea pot, with tea bags.
All the basics.
Her domestic instincts taking over, the kitchen was soon a bustle of activity with food cooking and tea brewing. The aroma was spreading through the house.
The toast had just popped up when she heard his voice.
Chapter 5
"Good morning"
His voice, so resonant and calm, took her by surprise.
"Good morning" she said with a little more enthusiasm than she'd intended. His approach had been so silent, she had no idea he was there.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his eyes upon hers.
"I ... I am well, thank you."
She could lose herself in those eyes. So tender, so intense.
"Good" and he broke the spell by looking to the stove.
"You may want to turn those soon." he smiled and she turned to the pan and saw the smoke starting to rise from the ham steaks. She grabbed the spatula and swung into action.
"I should know better than to distract a cook in the kitchen. My apologies."
That voice, so warm and calm and ... reassuring. But by the time she turned back to answer he was gone.
Like a ghost.
The crackling of the ham drew her back to the stove. Drawing two plates and suitable cutlery she distributed the food and set it on the table. By the time she'd returned with two mugs of tea he was there, holding her chair for her.
With a shy smile she set the mugs down and took her place, letting him slide her chair in for her.
He then took his place at the head of the table.
She looked up from her plate to see his eyes upon her again. She caught her breath.
"Thank you for this meal."
And he smiled.
And she blushed.
And she looked down to her plate.
"Shall we eat?" she managed through a throat surprisingly tight.
"I would not want to pass up anything that smells this good." said he.
And in a silence unexpectedly comfortable they ate their meal.
Chapter 6
The breakfast eaten, the dishes put away (he washed, she dried), they retired to the living room where he proceeded to add material to the woodstove. In short order he'd turned the embers into a roaring fire and the room began to warm.
They both heard scratching at one of the doors. With cat-like silence he left the room and she could hear one of the doors opened and the padding of many feet approaching her.
Within seconds she was surrounded by a pack of dogs, uncertain about the stranger but curious.
Looking up she saw he had returned, smiling.
"This is the team who rescued you."
For some reason that made her feel more at ease, and she held her hand out to the closest of the dogs so he could get her scent. He gave her hand a tentative lick and then moved close enough to be petted. She scratched behind his ear and reassured him with her touch.
Soon all the dogs were crowding in for the attention which she seemed quite willing to give them.
"Okay puppies, let the lady breath. Out you go." and with that the dogs began to get more rambunctious, barking and whining. He led them to the outside door and no sooner opened it than they were all trying to squeeze through the gap, throwing the door wide open.
A gust of arctic air swirled through the house before he closed the door, refreshing after all of the warm air radiating from the woodstove.
"They are beautiful." she smiled, her cheeks flushed from the heat.
"They can be quite a handful" he replied. "But they're family, so allowances must be made." and the twinkle in his eyes gave away how much he cared for them.
They paused in silence again.
"What happened to me, last night?"
He told her of how he found her, brought her home, cared for her.
"And there is no way out?"
"Not for a few days, at least. The drifts are too deep for the dogs. I have a contract with a man in town to plow my road every two weeks. But since he saw me yesterday, he knows I won't need supplies for another two weeks.
"The problem is, I left most of those supplies where I found you. I'll have to retrieve them before the foxes find them, or we may have some difficult days ahead."
"And you do not have a phone?"
"No one would call." and she could not help but hear the subtle intonation of sadness in his voice.
"I have a cell in my purse. I don't suppose you brought it with you."
"No, I am sorry, but I did not think of it."
"No need to be sorry, you took care of me and for that I am very grateful. You probably saved my life."
"Think nothing of it. It is no more than what any human being would do for another."
She looked at his face but detected no hint of sarcasm there or in his voice. She wondered what he would do were he shown the homeless sleeping atop parking lot ventilation grates for warmth.
"I will continue to be grateful nonetheless." she said with a smile, and was surprised to see him blush.
Turning away, she asked "what do we need to do to get the supplies?"
"I have some outdoor clothing that will keep you warmer than what you have."
In short order they were bundled up, each drawing on a lead from the sled, with the dogs scattered about them, exuberant at this reversal of roles.
As the snow blew about them they set out for the car.
Chapter 7
Warm, snug and full of good food, they made good progress. The snowshoes helped them make better progress than the dogs who would flounder this way and that in the drifting snow, trying to find some way to keep up.
Their exertions didn't leave them with much with which they could converse. Instead she found herself admiring the natural beauty about her.
Everywhere she looked there was the sparkle of ice crystals reflecting whatever light they could find. The trees were heavily laden with snow, their branches held close to the trunks from the weight.
With the dogs ranged about them there was no sign of wildlife aside from the occasional trail across the road.
All was silent except the wind and the crunch of snow underfoot.
It took three hours to get to the car. If not for the top of the opened door she never would have seen it. But he knew where to find it, being as familiar with his world as he was.
Together they swept away the snow from the door, and she clambered in for her purse while he loaded the sleigh with the supplies he'd left there.
Pulling out her cell phone she tried to get a signal, but the device wouldn't power up.
"Battery's dead" she muttered, and pocketed the thing.
Looking up from the car she was not surprised to find his eyes upon her again.
"Any luck?" he asked. She shook her head, and climbed the drift back to the road.
"How long would it take to walk to the nearest highway?"
"Another three hours, but the weather will worsen before then. Not many cars drive these roads when the weather is like this."
"Well then, may I impose on your hospitality a little longer?"
He smiled, a gentle smile.
"Of course you can."
They each grabbed a lead from the sled and started hauling it back the way they'd come.
It was a more difficult task with the weight of supplies burdening the sleigh. But it was also an easier job of walking through the trail they'd already made to get there.
As they approached his home the snow began to fall again.
To look at the house she could have sworn he'd built it with his own hands. It was not that the house was some kind of ram-shackle hut, ready to fall down. Rather, it was the solid construction through the use of materials he could only have found in the forest.
It was a log cabin, the logs tongued and grooved at the corners to make a tight fit. Again she saw the same mud and moss caulking used where the logs lay one upon the other forming the outside walls.
Arriving at the door she went in and stripped off the outer wear, careful not to shake too much snow off in the house.
While he brought in the supplies, she busied herself with the making of another pot of tea. She could feel the warmth from the woodstove seeping into her and her cheeks burned red from the combination of being in the icy wind and now being heated by the warmth of the home.
She had just poured the mugs when she heard the outer door close and as she brought him his mug he had just finished removing his winter clothing.
Droplets hung from his beard and moustache where icicles had hung from his breath in the cold.
"This will warm you up" she offered.
His eyes were upon her again, and she found herself almost blushing under his gaze. Such a penetrating look made her feel practically nude before him, as if he could look right through her to the core of her being.
"Thank you" he said softly, and took the mug from her and drank some.
"Aaahhh, yes. That is exactly what I needed. You have a talent for making tea the way I like it."
She smiled and now blushed more brilliantly, even through her already rosy cheeks. He smiled kindly and move into the house to the woodstove. Chucking in a few more pieces of birch he had the fire roaring again.
He sat in the chair in the living room. A dog came up and nosed his hand, seeking some affection, which he gave without thought, rubbing his fingers along the top of her snout to the top of her head, between her eyes, and back again. The dog's eyes closed and she arched her neck slightly to increase the pressure of his fingers on the bridge of her nose.
Outside the wind picked up while the snow fell thick and heavy.
Chapter 8
"Do you live alone?"
"Do you mean aside from my dogs?"
"Yes"
"Yes, I do." and once again that hint of sadness crept into his voice, his eyes down-turned.
"It must get lonely for you."
"In the beginning there were difficult days. But it is surprising what you can get used to when you have no choice about it."
Not knowing what to say, she let silence draw a curtain over the conversation. The fire crackled and danced, almost hypnotic in its frantic effort to escape the woodstove.
"And how is it you came to be on my road?"
She explained to him the whimsy that brought her to his door. He nodded.
Again the silence descended, feeling more awkward this time.
"I am sorry if I asked you too personal a question." she said, squirming slightly.
"It wasn't too personal. I was not always alone ..." his voice trailed off and his eyes lost their focus, staring into the distance as if peeling away the minutes that stood between him and happier days.
He shook it off and once again his eyes were upon her.
"She died many years ago ... cancer." he said more firmly.
She looked at the sweater she was wearing, the embroidered symbols.
"Was this hers?" she asked.
"Yes."
"What do these symbols mean?"
"They are pagan: warmth and protection glyphs."
"Does it upset you to see me in it?"
"No. It looks good on you, and I trust it is warm enough for you."
"Oh it is, thank you."
"You are welcome." and there was something in his voice that made her feel welcome.
As if he'd adopted her and no longer found her presence in his home strange.
There was something about this man, his eyes, his voice, his silence, his calmness ... somehow she just knew that with him she was safe.
Once again she watched the fire trapped within the woodstove, trying to escape.
Chapter 9
"What do you do for fun?" she finally asked.
"Fun? I'm afraid there hasn't been much of that for some time now. I read, write, take care of the dogs and the house. In summer we explore the forest and in winter we tend to stay closer to home."
"Well I for one think you could use a bit of fun in your life. Do you have any games about?"
The look of surprise on his face was worth her temerity. She had guessed right. Here was a man who had allowed his life to fall into a rut. Without another to engage his spontaneity he'd lost something more than a loved one.
"Just a minute ..." he said as he lifted himself out of his chair. A minute later he returned with a backgammon board.
"... do you play?" he asked with a smile.
"Well enough to beat you." she teased.
"Good enough".
It was an hour before she was ready to admit to herself his penchant for risk-taking paid off more often than her more cautious strategy. Where she was careful to double up her pieces whenever possible, he was content to run singles across the board, daring her to hit them off.
His luck with the dice was unbelievable. She'd have suspected they were loaded but they never produced the same results for her as they did for him.
And besides, she just couldn't believe this was a man who would cheat. She suspected he didn't have a dishonest bone in his body.
Perhaps she would do better with a game that did not require luck.
"Do you play chess?" she asked. Upon seeing his broad smile she had a feeling this wasn't going to be her game either.
So she was surprised when she managed to play him to a draw.
While playing he'd brought in more wood from the woodshed. She took a short break and made them sandwiches with the left-over ham. They drank tea and the silence was comfortable again.
The competition was friendly. Each would smile at the other over some well-executed bit of strategy, anticipating the difficulties of winning the game. He was as unorthodox in his chess as he was in his backgammon, pushing pawns far beyond the traditional openings as if they were queens.
So many challenging gambits to play, each one leading to an opening of her defenses which would have given him the opportunity to exploit his carefully structured attack.
She sensed he was luring her into a trap, and though she tried repeatedly to get him to do the same, he couldn't be fooled.
He'd look at the board for several minutes, then his eyes would be upon her and he'd smile, and make exactly the right move to avoid the trap she'd set.
Thus the game was a long series of trade-offs that left them their kings and queens, and naught else.
The sun had set and the candles were lit before the game finally came to its denouement.
"Stalemate" he announced. "You play very well. It has been a very long time since I've lost a game."
She smiled with relief. Rarely had she felt so challenged at the game she loved. Even a draw was an accomplishment against someone with his obvious talent for the game.
"Shall we try again?" he asked.
"Not tonight, thank you. One game like that a day is as much as my head can handle." She laughed lightly, the first time she'd laughed in his home, and he was delighted at the sound of it.
As if the birds of summer had come to visit and sing their songs for him.
"Then may I suggest we begin supper?"
"Supper I can handle." she smiled, and he followed her to the kitchen.
Chapter 10
Wonders never ceased with this man. The making of dinner was like a well-choreographed dance.
It was obvious that her skill exceeded his own in the culinary arts. He was properly impressed with the smells and flavours of herbed and spiced food, yet he could suggest a pinch of this or a dash of that and she found her own creation improved by the advice.
Never quite underfoot, yet never not there either. His eyes upon her, she found herself trying to impress him with the way she moved, the way she cooked.
How did he inspire that in her?
The meal was simple yet so very tasty. Hamburger, noodles, and corn on the cob (a little soft for her taste, but being left overnight in freezing temperatures by her car has that result).
After dinner and the dishes put away, he kindled the fireplace in her room, then stoked it with birch to build up a quick fire for her.
After such a good meal and the exertions earlier in the day retrieving the supplies she couldn't stifle the yawn that overcame her. Sitting on the couch watching the fire dance soon made heavy eyelids close, and her head nodded forward.
She caught herself, waking with a start as if she had just kept herself from tumbling forward.
"Perhaps you'd prefer your bed. The room should be warm enough now and in winter we all tend to go to bed a bit earlier."
"Yes" she said "I think that would be best."
"Sleep well."
"Thank you ... " she hesitated, "... thank you for everything."
His eyes were upon her and she found herself falling into their depths, lost in the blue of his eyes.
"You are welcome" he said.
She smiled shyly and took herself to her room. Closing the door behind her she found the room wonderfully warm except below her ankles, which was still cool.
Removing her clothing she climbed under the covers, pulling the blankets and furs over her as she'd been when she woke up in the morning. The bed quickly warmed, and felt so soft ... before long she drifted to sleep to the sound of the fire crackling away.
Finding herself drifting along with the current of an icy cold river should have surprised her, but it didn't.
Nor was it a surprise when she saw him standing on the shore with his arm stretched out to her.
Almost by sheer will she managed to drift close enough to him that his hand caught hers and her progress downstream stopped.
She could see his smile, those beautiful eyes, feel the firmness of his grip, and she felt safe.
But then the river began to pull her, refusing to relinquish its hold on her. Between his grip and the river's a tug of war began, and she let go of him only for a second, but a second was long enough. The river lunged forward, dragging her with it and beyond his reach.
His eyes were so sad as he watched her drift away, and she frantically clawed at the water to return to him. But the river laughed and dragged her down beneath the surface, deeper and deeper.
She held her breath, feeling nothing but regret over having let go of him.
She woke up with a gasp, just before she drowned.
Chapter 11
Sometimes, when a dream is too vivid, we have trouble regaining our bearings when we wake up.
So it was for her.
Trapped under the weight of the blankets and furs, she thrashed furiously until all had been thrown from the bed and only her nude form remained, panting.
It was then that the light of the dwindling fire reminded her of where she was.
"Just a dream, just a dream" she thought reassuringly.
Gradually her body calmed, her breathing became more regular.
Such an odd dream. Why him? What did it mean? Troubled by the memories she donned the sweater, wrapped herself in a blanket and left the room.
Restless, she returned to exploring this strange home.
It was almost spartan in its decor. No knick-knacks festooned the shelving, just books. No paintings on the wall, but an old black and white family photo stood on a corner of the desk.
All signs of a woman's touch were gone, except for the sweater she wore.
Her mind seized upon the room with the locked door.
There had been two doors locked, one was to his room. But the other remained a mystery. Perhaps she could learn something about the woman in his past if she could get inside it and look about.
She returned to her room for a few things with which she might open the lock. The credit card worked first time.
She opened the door just enough to squeeze within, holding the candle ahead of her and up, so she could see.
She wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't this.
The floor was clear, aside from a stack of boxes in the corner. But the walls ...
The walls were covered with a wide variety of items. most of them hanging from hooks.
She noticed the flogger hanging from a loop at the handle. Beside that she saw cuffs linked together, four of them. On a shelf nearby she saw all manner of clips and weights. On the far wall hung coils of rope, a bag full of clear plastic bags, two more floggers, a huge roll of plastic wrap, and many more things she could not readily identify.
Above the third wall she noticed a large hook secured into a cross-beam.
Upon the fourth wall a large rack had been mounted, with metal rings secured at the four corners.
With someone else this room would have sent them screaming in fear into the night, but she recognized the room as a bdsm dungeon, thanks to the stories of a friend who dabbled in such things.
She found herself disappointed, thinking of this man begging and whimpering to some mistress like a slave. It seemed such a natural assumption: his gentleness, his soothing voice, none of the machismo she'd come to expect from ... what did her friend call them ... a 'dominate'?
She was tempted to look through the boxes, but felt uncomfortable now that she'd discovered his secret. Quietly she left the room, closing the door behind her.
Returning to her room, sleep did not come easily. She tossed and turned trying to drive the image of this man on his knees out of her mind. Eventually sleep came, but her dreams troubled her, though she could not recall the details later.
Chapter 12
Her inability to sleep through the night ensured she'd wake up late in the morning.
She was surprised to find his eyes upon her.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
She remained silent.
"No one disturbed you during the night?"
"No" she said.
"I'd like to show you something, when you're ready to get up." and he turned and left the room.
With trepidation she rapidly arose and got dressed. Opening the door she found him waiting on the other side, a lit candle in hand.
He led her to the locked door, and pointed to the handle. Though the handle was covered in dust, there was the clear imprint of a hand where the dust had been brushed away.
He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Opening it, he looked about on the floor. Sure enough, the floor was covered with dust except where her small bare feet had stood during the night.
He pointed these out to her, and then closed the door.
They returned to the living room where he left her while he went to make them a mug of tea each.
Returning to her with the steaming cup, he handed it to her and sat in his chair, sipping his tea.
His eyes were upon her, and she could not face him.
"I'm sure you have some questions."
She felt foolish, and trapped. He'd saved her life, and she rewarded him by prying into his secrets, betraying his trust. How could she be so stupid? And to have left a trail so clearly pointing to her.
She had so many questions, but what right did she have to further invade his privacy? Yet he invited her questions.
Looking into his eyes, she asked "Why?"
"Why would you want a woman to do such things to you?"
Recognizing her confusion, he laughed gently.
"I think you mean to ask me why I would want to do such things to a woman." he said with a smile.
"Why you would do ...?" her voice trailed off as she began to realize her mistake.
"Are you a ... a dominate?"
"The word is 'dominator', and no, I am something else. I am a master."
"A 'master'? What is that?"
"A master is a dominator full-time, whereas a dominator only serves in that capacity part-time."
" '... serves in that capacity ...' ?"
"Yes. A master serves the needs of a slave just as a slave serves the needs of her master. It is a symbiotic relationship: each fulfilling the needs of the other."
"I thought a dominate ... sorry, a dominator never serves another. Only himself."
"Too often that is true. But that way of life is unhealthy for all concerned, especially the submissive."
"Why?"
"Because in any negotiated relationship, both parties must keep an eye out for their own interests, to ensure the other is keeping up his or her end of the bargain. Otherwise there is a risk of either or both taking advantage of the other.
"If they trusted each other, there would be no need for negotiations. Each would love the other enough to meet their needs willingly, without bartering.
"That is the true nature of a master/slave relationship: they love each other enough to meet the needs of their lover."
"And what are those needs?"
"The same needs as all people have: to love and be loved, to grow and help others to grow, to share the good times and the bad."
"I thought their needs were, well, to be tortured and used ... "
"And abused, no doubt. It is a common misconception of the master/slave dynamic.
"A slave has a need to express her love in ways that banish doubt. She wishes to give all of herself to her love, not just words but deeds as well."
"And a master?"
"His need is to care for his slave. To protect her from those who would abuse her. To meet her needs for love and respect, and to give her a suitably challenging life that she feels there can be no doubt about her love and devotion to her master.
"She needs to feel herself giving love, not just talking about it and not just doing the little things everyone does. She needs to show her love in a more obvious fashion, by doing things for him that no one else would do. By doing the things only someone truly in love would do for him.
"Such is the essence of her love."
Chapter 13
"But why must this love-offering be so brutal?"
"It needn't be, but often is.
"Like everyone a slave needs challenge in her life, and there are few things more challenging than inviting someone to inflict pain on you.
"Usually when someone inflicts pain it is abusive, and the abused wants to avoid the abuser at all costs.
"But in a master/slave relationship, the slave invites the pain, experiences the pain, and is grateful for the pain afterwards. For her the pain is like an opportunity for her to show how much she loves, how much she will endure for love, how much she needs the challenge so she can learn to love more, and better.
"For a slave, pain is a growth experience, provided it comes at the hands of her master in whom she trusts and knows herself to be completely safe."
His words echoed in her mind " ... completely safe". How often had she felt that way with this man, this man who had saved her life?
The image from her dream forced itself to the surface of her thoughts: the image of his face looking down upon her as he held her hand. Such tenderness and concern upon his face. And his eyes.
She looked up at him and again his eyes were upon her. That same expression of tenderness on his face. Suddenly she realized it was important to this man that she understand him, understand what he was, what he did.
She had never thought of herself as a submissive, let alone a slave. But his words made a strange kind of sense.
She offered to refresh their tea, which he accepted with the same gratitude he expressed for all of her deeds.
While she was busy, he fetched more wood for the fire, and let the dogs out to get some air and exercise.
She was waiting for him when he returned.
Chapter 14
"You said that a love-offering needn't be brutal. What can a slave do that does not involve pain?"
He smiled and settled into his chair, sipping his tea.
"Anything a slave finds challenging can become an opportunity for her to express her love for her master.
"For some this is objectification, humiliation, degradation. For others it is domestic service, deferred pleasure, even celibacy.
"Any activity where the slave must trust in her master's love and respect for her demonstrates her love and respect for him.
"Any activity that renders her vulnerable. It takes great courage to make one's self vulnerable in this world."
"So does that make all masters cowards?"
He blinked.
"I beg your pardon?" his voice carried a hint of amusement that she found reassuring.
"Well, how does a master make himself vulnerable? He's calling all the shots, right? He's in control?"
"Ah ... well, not really. Ultimate control resides in both the master and the slave, for both must love one another and as long as that love lasts the master will control his slave.
"But just as a slave is miserable if her master is unhappy, so too is a master miserable if his slave is unhappy. Their love motivates them to meet the needs of the one they love: each other.
"As master he has promised to provide a life that promotes the growth and happiness of his slave. What does he do if he discovers he is unable to meed the needs of the one he loves?
"This is what he risks: the shattering realization that he may not be able to control events such that he can meet her needs.
"That he cannot make happy the woman he loves ... " and then in a whisper " ... or save her."
She looked up but his eyes were upon his hands. Such sadness covered his face, she looked away.
"So you see, masters do indeed take risks: the risk of a broken heart, the risk of discovering they are just men and not the supermen their slaves see them to be. The risk of knowing they were not good enough for the woman they love. The risk of losing the woman they love, either by death or departure."
"And to minimize that risk they give all of themselves to their slave, all of their abilities and skills are put to the test to improve and enhance the life of their slave, their beloved."
And she was not surprised to find his eyes upon her. Nor did she hold herself back as she found herself lost in the blue of those eyes.
She had seen the soul of the man. No guile or pretence, just love.
Chapter 15
They held each other's gaze for a long minute.
"How ... how does a woman become a slave?" she asked, surprised that her throat had chosen that moment to constrict, as if the words had stuck there, refusing to come out.
"She falls in love."
"Falls in love? You mean a master doesn't take her, force her into service?"
"No, a master need never do such a thing. Nor would he want to, for he would be falling in love as well.
"A slave falls so in love with a man that she cannot imagine refusing him anything, trusting him and his love that he would never ask anything of her that would be harmful to her or detrimental to her growth, her future.
"And a master falls so in love with her that he cannot imagine ever wanting to take advantage of her, abuse her, or put her in harm's way. He wants to use his talents for her benefit, just as she wants to use her talents to benefit him."
"But doesn't a master put his slave 'in harm's way' whenever he causes her pain?"
He smiled.
"No. Using pain or any other challenging activity is carefully controlled by the master to ensure harm is not caused to his beloved. In a way he is an illusionist, creating the appearance of risk without ever allowing risk to enter the equation.
"If he is very good at what he does the appearance of risk is very convincing. The more convincing he is, the more a slave benefits from the challenge: the more she grows.
"In some ways it is like the relationship between a parent and a child. Too much of a challenge can break the child's self-confidence. Too little a challenge and the child gets a false sense of his/her abilities.
"A slave is much more aware of the difficulties involved in a challenge. She can tell when she is being molly-coddled or broken, and she neither respects nor loves either.
"She is an adult, accomplished in her own right. Though her love directs her to give all she is, she needs a man who knows what to do with all she gives. Without him she has no one worthy of the love she has to give.
"And that is what happens to most slaves: they look and look for someone worthy of their love.
"And there are not many men who are worthy of such a love. Most have control issues, either with themselves or others. As a society we do not do a very good job encouraging people to be self-confident enough to be respectful of others.
"Some of those find their way into the world of bdsm where they believe all they have to do is order some woman around to get all they want. They really have no clue how to make this life work in a healthy way."
"Is that why you are out here?"
"Yes. Out here without all the infrastructure and without the ability to be anonymous people rely on each other more. They rely on a person's integrity, his sense of honour, his word more.
"Those who fail at this soon find themselves without assistance when they need it. Out here no one can afford the luxury of selfishness or deception. Helping your neighbour is a time-honoured necessity for everyone.
"I prefer to be here because people are just plain people out here. We watch out for one another."
"As you did with me." she said quietly.
"Yes."
"So back to my earlier question, are you saying a slave gives herself to a man?"
"Essentially, yes. She falls in love and feels such a need as to offer herself to the man she loves so that she can have the opportunity to make him happy for the rest of their lives.
"She doesn't do this for just anyone. She does this for the man whose love convinces her she will be cherished, respected, nurtured and challenged to grow for the rest of her life.
"It doesn't happen often, but when it does there is no love more true."