I am always mindful of the things Master’s speak of seemingly in passing. I used to ignore them to my peril, but no longer. I am duly disturbed as Master has again raised the topic of branding and the feelings associated with it. My tattoo of my former ownership is almost gone, and I hope to keep my body free forever of such defilement.

    Over a very late coffee Master asked both of us how we would feel to be given such a mark. Elaine of course said she felt it would be a gift and would be truly honored to do so for a man such as himself. My reaction was abrupt, I wanted nothing more than to slap her for encouraging him. I could already tell by the gleam in his eye branding would be for him one of his pinnacle activities, a memory he would carry with him to revisit by the fireside as a seemingly docile old man. I also knew he had already done such a thing in his past to his former late wife and slave Ona. Her reaction I could not know, but I knew mine in advance.

    “And you my Myra?” He turned to me eyes bright, holding out his cup mindlessly for Elaine to refill.
    “You know my answer Sir.” I said without confidence.
    “I am sure I do, but I would like again to hear it, and I am sure your sister here is interested as well.” They were both looking at me, expectant. I took a deep breath and made to say my piece on the matter.
    “I would hate it Sir, I would cry, scream, and resent it forever.”

    He looked at me, dashingly handsome, his face creased by the traces of an exultant smile. “You would have no choice Myra if that is what I chose.” I just looked at him frozen, and somewhere in the dark annals of my consciousness I realized he was planning to do it. Elaine was looking at me too, she seemed immune to the quiet threat of his question. I leant back against the granite countertop, cold hard comfort for support  beneath the palms of my hands.

    He strode by me never taking his gaze from mine, resting his steaming coffee mug on the countertop, and he only broke eye contact to walk away into the master bedroom. He emerged moments later, carrying something long and thin wrapped in folds of protective material. He set the unknown object down on the stone with an audible metallic thunk, and opened the rich cerulean fabric to reveal to my horror a branding iron, hand crafted bearing his initials. I knew he had done it, he had told me so, and I had sighted the mark on his late wife’s photos, however I did not want to believe. Elaine was leaning forward her long nails already communing with the slavers steel, as though she was finally entering nirvana. I on the other hand was repulsed, no he could not do this to me! No, not in a million lifetimes would I consent!

    “Oh Sir you have actually done this.” Elaine was entranced. I was already imagining the brand burning its way into her plump thigh, the resultant scar pink on her dark skin, marked as his forever like a monogramed towel.
    “Yes, I have Elaine.”
    “Did you do it yourself Sir?”
    “Yes, I did.” I could see he was stirred at the distant memory, or was it fueled by my reaction? I found in spite of this I could not look away. He came close, putting his hand gently under my chin. I swallowed, he looked at me for a time levelly, knowingly. “There is a part of you that wants it,” he said. His statement was followed by that feeling you have when you almost fall from a height, or you feel you may cause your self serious injury on a sharp object. That awful feeling when your mouth goes dry, and seems to invade your very core being. I was caught up in it and the strong sensations it evoked.

    He removed his hand and walked away, turning his back on me. Speaking with Elaine, answering her fascinated questions patiently while I pondered how that hot metal would feel, what would be the aftermath knowing one was truly forever indelibly marked?

    He had sent Elaine to bed and he came to me, all kisses and caress. I responded in kind, tonight his loving unduly rough and forceful. More in the style of his younger brother. I could tell he was stirred. Before I could fathom what he was doing he had me face down on the bed pinned beneath his superior weight and the tie of his bathrobe about my neck pulled taught to cut off my airway. I gasped, minimizing my struggles to conserve the air I had, artfully he pulled the constricting band tighter. He lay over my back his lips brushing my ear. “I’m going to brand you slave, I was always going to. I don’t need your consent, you are mine. I don’t play for anything but keeps.”

    My emotions and my senses on hearing his words caused me to cum strongly with barely a touch. Only the restriction of air and his words were needed. I wallowed in a sea of deliciousness and fear as he used me roughly as I lay face down on the pillows. I wondered how long I had to avoid this new terror?