When I arrived home last night the furniture was in disarray, and I could smell something burning. A wave of panic washed through me that something terrible had happened. The curtains were billowing into the main room like some phantom ghost floating through the air, and of course this meant that the doors to the balcony were open. When I went to close them I spied him, my Master, standing there gazing out over the vista of the city. From our balcony one can see the whole city, all its high bridges that are strewn with lights. It truly is a glorious sight to behold.
I asked him if something was wrong, and he turned, and took several steps, and snapped his hand out to grasp a fistful of my hair. He reminded me that I must kneel before I spoke to him. This is a lesson I learned long ago, but in my panic I was thinking only of him, and if he was alright. He forced me to my knees, and expressed that all was well. He released his hold on my hair, and again looked out over the balcony. From my knees I could see the same thing he spied through the thick columns.
After a moment I asked what I smelled that was burning, and he moved to the corner of the balcony, and drug a pot filled with incandescent coals across the tiles. The sound of the feet of that metal pot sounded much like someone scrapping their nails across a chalkboard, and it sent a shiver up my spine. My first thought is that he had branded my beautiful chain sister Iris! I asked hesitantly if he had done such, and he replied with a rhetorical question. "Would I brand your sister before I branded you?" Oh Kings how that question caused my stomach to flutter, and an overwhelming feeling of desire came over me.
How long have I begged for his brand? Many times over the turnings that he has owned me. He always told me that there was no need to brand me because he knew I was not going to run away. Of course he was right...I'd rather throw myself off of the cliffs than leave him. He is my world, and I love him so much that I do not think it is even possible to put into words, or express how much I do. He is like a drug to me, and I am a hopeless addict.
He lifted the branding iron from the pot, and let if drift down between my parted thighs so I could feel the heat emanating off of the white hot end against my inner thigh, and cleanly shaven mound. He was watching, observing my reaction, judging what that feeling did to me. My hands slipped down between my splayed thighs, and I covered my sex protectively. I believe he spied a spark of trepidation flash across my visage for he turned, and shoved the iron back into the hot coals. He said something to the effect of that he supposed that he was wrong about me, that I still held some hope of someday being a free woman again.
The pitch of my voice must have went up several octaves as I told him how wrong he was! I know my Master is never wrong, but on this point he was so terrible mistaken! I crawled to him, and begged piteously for his mark; his brand. He proceeded to test me, to see just how far I'd go...what I'd do to prove to him that there was truth behind my words. He degraded me as he has never done before, and I didn't flitch away. I accepted what he did to me; welcomed it...reveled in it. There have been times when he has made me orgasm so hard that I swear I felt as if I was going to pass out, and he did this to me once again. Each time I am left with a feeling of amazement that he can bring my mind, and body to such an explosive high.
When he was done testing me, he tangled his hand in the mess of my hair, and pulled me up to my bare feet. He pressed my body to a new ornament that was on the wall of the balcony; a Victorian cross. Deftly he strapped me down, my wrists, ankles, calves, knees, and my waist so that I could not move. I was still so intoxicated from how he had just made me feel that blinding ecstasy that I didn't even realize what was happening. He then turned, and as he walked to the iron pot, stripped his tunic off so I could gaze at the way each muscle rippled under that brown flesh. Kings if Goreans believed in mythology one could compare him to a Greek God, or at least that is what he is to me.
Returning to me with the brand in hand, he pressed his free hand against the plane of my feminine belly, and waved the white hot end of the branding iron before my face so that I could see the beautiful, and intricate little dina flower. He allowed the hot metal to again float down so that I could feel the heat against my inner thigh then without warming he pressed it into my supple flesh, high on my left thigh. The blood curdling scream that escaped me must have made anyone that could heard think that I was being killed, or perhaps they would recognize the sound of a girl being branded.
The pain shot through me like a electric fire, and he seemed to hold it there forever. In that very moment I knew I was a branded slave. I had been given his mark; branded by his hand. He finally pulled the iron away from my burning flesh, and tossed it to down, and it clattered across the tiles. The scent of my own burnt flesh wafted up to my nose, and I breathed it in as if it was the sweeties ambrosia I had ever smelled. I was now more his than I'd ever been, and I simply didn't want to come down from that euphoric plane of existances. Again he used my body, and told me that I was his forever now. Had he not known I always had been his? That I would be his until I passed to the city of dust?
He has told me that the brand was nothing special...that I wore the same brand that a thousand other girls wear, but he is wrong. Yes, it was a beautiful little dina, a brand seen on many slaves, but he had branded my body, and my soul with his own hand. It was incredibly special!
I can't stop glowing, and I have found myself many times looking at the brand in the mirror, admiring what I had dreamed of having since the day he placed his collar about the column of my throat. I am now the branded, and collared slut of Agrippa Pontus. No longer do I consider myself a slave scribe, but merely just a slave.
I have emerged from the cocoon to open my wings as the creation of my Master...An ethereal beauty with the soul, and a mind of a molten whore.
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