“No, sluts, you can’t,” Reyna replied crossly. In fact, it was high time she mounted her man herself. Shooing them off to do their own thing—she was sure now they were bisexual—she stood over the bound and weary Jason, posing for him, putting to best advantage her lush little body.
“How about it, baby?” she asked, doing nasty little things with her tattoo as she gyrated her torso. “Would you like to be fucked by your Mistress?”
“Hell yes!” he said hoarsely. “I mean yes, Mistress!”
Reyna looked at him adoringly, treasuring for the moment his grinning face, his puppy attitude. It made her blush, it was so sweet. She cared about this guy. She really did. She cared what he thought and more than that, she cared that he was having a good time. Really, all of this had been as much for him as it was for her. As for teasing, she’d suffered as much or more than him on account of not being able to fuck.
She practically jumped on him, landing her cunt full-square on his cock the very first try. He moaned, throwing back his head, closing his eyes.
“Come for me, lover,” she beckoned, knowing he couldn’t hold out even if he tried. His load shot like a cannon, like a machine gun, and her vaginal muscles tightened instinctively in response. They went over the top together. Missy, Kelly, the storage yard, all of it was gone now. She rode and rode, tossing her head, cupping her breasts, feeling the surging power of her own personal stud, lying captive under her.
Afterward, she lay beside him, arms and legs intertwining his, kissing, nibbling, her cunt still twitching against his lap.
“That was hot!” the girls agreed. “Totally.”
Reyna rolled her eyes looking at Jason. His grin said it all. Four was a crowd. The whole world was a crowd. What they wanted—needed—was each other. Nothing less, nothing more.
“Good night, girls,” Reyna called out, exhausted, satisfied, head on Jason’s chest, breathing his aroma, hearing his heart. “Lock the door on the way out, will you?”
As soon as they were gone, Reyna set about undoing his bonds. With any luck, he’d be ready for some revenge by now.
***
“Please Master, don’t send me home!”
Shep scowled, hands on his hips. Cynthia was at his feet, arms wrapped round his ankles, trying to prevent him from getting her dressed. It was morning now and he had released her from the cage, intent on sending her back home. “Cynthia, please don’t make this any more difficult for me. I should never have kept you here; I lost my head. Please do not make my guilt any worse.”
“You have no guilt, Master,” she exclaimed, cheek pressed to his leather loafer. “Unless you deny me what I need.”
“Cynthia, that’s enough, I said!”
Struck with a sudden idea, she leaped to her feet. “No, it’s not enough.” Looking about the crowded room, she noted the art objects, stored alongside the torture devices. There, on a pedestal, made of white porcelain, she saw what she was looking for; a vase, decorated with lovely nudes. There were several women, and they were being herded by a man with a long whip. Lifting the vase from its stand, she smashed it against the wall. The delicate gold leafed treasure shattered upon impact.
“Cynthia!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. “What on earth did you do that for?!”
She fell to her knees, lowered her head to the floor. “This slave has been bad, Master, please punish her.”
Shep knelt beside her on one knee. Very gently—far too gently for her liking—he lifted her head from the floor. “Cynthia, you must come to your senses. This is not Asia, and we are not devotees of the dark gods.”
“But I want to be,” she cried. “Doesn’t that count?”
He took her chin in his hand. “No, Cynthia, it doesn’t.”
Having failed in words, Cynthia tried the last resort, thrusting her lips onto his. The kiss was deep and soulful, and though he resisted at first, she soon felt him melting into her. Terrified that he might give way to tenderness, she grabbed low with her fingers, achieving the intended target just below his belt.
Shep reared up. Calling her a bitch, he seized her by the arms, eyes blazing. Happily, tears in her eyes, she held her body against him, begging, hoping against hope for his attention. Something deep inside of him seemed to snap, like a dam breaking. Forcing her down on her back, he parted her legs like a rag doll. Without thinking, he tore at his zipper now, baring his splendid, erect organ. Cynthia took him obediently into her, accepting the full of him in her already moistened cunt.
She wondered if it had dawned on him, the significance of the event. She saw his eyes widen and she knew that he did see it. His impotence was at an end. After all of these years. Grinning fiercely, calling her a little wench, he tried her deeply, thrusting in and out. Cynthia clutched at him with tiny hands, her legs wrapped round his thick middle. The orgasms popped one upon another, each bigger than the last. When Shep came, it was like the roar of a lion, the spring of a great hunting beast, the soar of an eagle held too long captive.
As they subsided, his features returned to stone. Her soaring hope came crashing down now as he said, “This changes nothing, Cynthia.”
Stunned, she watched him rise to his feet. “Get dressed, Cynthia. I brought your clothes in earlier.”
“No, I won’t.” Cynthia was on her feet.
“Excuse me?”
She punched his arm. “I said I won’t go. And you can’t make me.” Her fists fell like rain, and he finally swatted her hands aside, captured her wrists. “You’re behaving like a child.”
“No,” she challenged, “you are. Look at yourself; you think you’re so moral. Doing right by me. Well you’re not. I’m a submissive, Shep. You’ve always known that. Everyone has but me. And you are a dominant. My dominant. Society calls that sick, but it’s how we are. I don’t want freedom. I want chains, I want a cage, and I want orders to obey. I want to lay for you, to serve you in all ways. I want to wake up each morning in your bonds. I want to open my eyes and see your face, first thing. I want to stretch deliciously as I await your commands. I want my comings and goings, my rising and setting sun to be at your behest. The clothes I wear, or not wear, all that I say and do, who I am, I want all of it to come from you. Do you know any greater form of love? Can you imagine any greater devotion?
“Shep, tell me, don’t you feel the same for me. Tell me you don’t want me at your beck and call. To have my breasts, my ass, my cunt, all for your amusement, your pleasure, and even your mischief. Tell me you would be satisfied with anything less. That you can bear the thought of my freedom, my ass insolently walking out on you, my cunt bestowed to another, my mouth free to slander or ignore you, to suck another man’s cock as the whim strikes me, my tits free to be shaken in anyone’s face, my ankles never wearing your shackles, my thighs nerve knowing the kiss of your whip, or my hair never falling at your feet as I show obeisance. Tell me, Shep, tell me that the very words don’t make you raging mad, raging hard.”
Shep seized her upper arms, lifting her to her tiptoes. “Enough!” he roared. “Now it is your turn to listen.”
Cynthia lowered her eyes respectfully. “Yes, Master.”
“Do not use that term lightly,” he warned. “I shall lay out my terms. After which you may scoop up your clothes and run for the door, which I assure you is the only sensible thing to do. Or else, if you are truly as mad as you say, then you will have the opportunity to assent to my demands by placing your lips on my foot. But be warned girl, if you do this thing, having heard my dictates, then you shall have no recourse later, no escape, no matter how much you plead. Do you understand?”
Cynthia looked up at him, awed by the transformation, the cool power, neither angry nor simpering, but majestic, noble, unlike anything she’d ever before seen in any man. “Yes, I understand.”
Shep frowned. “Very well then, I shall lay out what I expect from a slave. As my slave, you will be bonded to me for life. No appeal, no possibility of divorce. I shall pledge t
o protect and honor you and guarantee your safety, but beyond this, I shall use you ruthlessly, taking no regard for your feelings or desires unless it pleases me to do so. Should I desire it, I will draw my pleasure from your pain and humiliation as much as or even more than from your joy.
“Beyond this, I shall regulate and control each and every aspect of your life, public and private and I shall keep you, as it suits me, in whatever state of arousal, frustration, subjugation or bondage, physical, psychological or emotional as strikes my fancy. You shall serve sexually me, or anyone else whom I designate in my place. You shall have no rights or say so in the disposal of your body or in any of your affairs, save as it amuses me to give you any.
“There shall be no respite, day or night, ever, but your every sensation shall be governed by my whim. I shall be to you an iron fist, an iron heel, and compared to you the most abject housewife or bondservant shall seem wildly free. Crawling, licking, submitting shall be to you second nature; indeed, it shall comprise your very heart and soul. Your every dignity I shall strip away and you shall be to me naught but a female, without rights, owned and possessed. You shall be chattel to a degree you cannot now even begin to imagine.
“Into a black pit you will dive, with no bottom, no end, save the indignities, the pain, the rough and savage love I choose to bestow upon you day to day. Your head will dance with the possibilities, your cunt shiver and ache. It shall seem at once a dream, nightmare and vision, a mystery unsolvable. But of all these things which you cannot possibly now grasp, know this much: all of it, every bit shall be your reality, utter and inescapable. These are my terms, Cynthia Marshall. Now you must choose.”
He released her, granting her momentary freedom. Moist eyed, she felt the smile slowly creep across her face. The juices, her own juices, were pouring out now, down the inside of her legs. There was no question, no question at all what she must do. Her whole life she’d waited for these words, for this opportunity. Very gracefully, therefore, timidly conscious of the newness of it all, Cynthia lowered herself, first to her knees, already chafed, and then to the floor so that her burning nipples pressed hard onto the wood surface. Dry and hot, too weak to even pucker, her poor lips touched once the front of each of his shoes, feeling the leather on the tip of her tongue.
Cynthia hadn’t time even to draw a breath as Shep whisked her up in his arms and carried her, naked from the room, back down the hall to the library. Wu Wei was meditating, as if he’d been there all night.
“What took you so long?” he asked, not even bothering to open his eyes.
“Must you torment me every moment of my life, Old Man?” Shep growled good-naturedly. “Are you going to help me or not?”
Wei chuckled, betraying a quite human side as he rose and preceded them to the room of tortures. He went at once to the brazier, and set about lighting a fire. Cynthia wilted in her Master’s arms. He was going to brand her. Mark her for life. Making her his irrevocably.
He put her down on the floor, on her feet, in front of a large metal rectangle, like a picture frame. True to his word, he showed no mercy, but shackled her hands and ankles to the sides of it, wide apart. The whip was a thin leather one, and she understood at once as he thrust it to her face that she must kiss it. Savagely then, from behind, he struck her, crisscrossing lines of fire across her back. She was allowed to scream, and when he made no attempt to squelch her, she gave in freely.
Before moving to her breasts, he thrust the handle deep inside her sex, bringing her to orgasm, much against her will and in the face of terrible burning agony. And yet still the deepest part of her—forbidden, shameful—rose to meet him, begging, challenging him to go further, much further.
Her nipples made a tantalizing target, and when he had finished with them he blazed a trail across her cunt. All of this came without blood, and (she was sure of this) without permanent damage. And yet he was bringing her now to the brink of dissolution, total collapse.
When the iron was heated, ropes were added, binding each of her thighs and even her torso to either side of the black metal. The chest ropes were crisscrossed over her breasts and there was another set, too, which ran up between her legs, securing her crotch as well. As Shep stood back to admire his work, Cynthia discovered she could not move a muscle.
The intimate bondage, chaffing and holding her sexually was moving her to a place of utter ecstasy, and yet she knew there was another purpose as well. When the iron came, she would fight, wouldn’t be able to keep from thrashing and squirming as the horrible, awful thing claimed her tender skin. Were it not for the ropes, she might well injure herself.
Or mar the integrity of her Master’s brand. It would need to be a clean mark she knew that. She was property now and naught could be wasted. Wu Wei handed the iron to Shep, and then stood, impervious, watching. Cynthia did so wish she and Shep were alone. Then at least she might have a scrap of intimacy, of feeling special. As it was, she was to be branded in front of a stranger. A disinterested old man.
The leather gag was heavy and padded. Cynthia opened her mouth to receive it, jaws snapping open like a willing whore, or a dog. Shep handled her with firm care as she imagined he would one of the family’s cattle. Her eyes watched his concentration as he checked the tensity of each bond. In short order, she realized, a blazing hot ring of liquid fire would be put upon her, pressed and not removed, despite her fervent desire, until its job was done.
How she loved him. How she wanted to convey her obedience, her cooperation. And yet she saw it made no difference. Quite simply, this would happen without regard for or need of her consent. The simple fact chilled her to the core, sending electro sexual pulses to her every nerve ending.
How had she so quickly forgotten? This was not about her choices anymore. She’d had a choice to make and she’d made it, throwing away her one and only opportunity to retreat, no harm, no foul, returning herself to normal life. But she’d opted for another choice, and now it was all about Shep and his desire and his will over her. And it would be that way now, forever and ever.
Yes, the iron would come and she would have no say, and though she would at that moment sell her soul for release, there would be none forthcoming. Yes, the brand was coming, but first, there were to be smaller subtler signs of her slavery. Rings. One each for her nipples and a third for her belly button. How ironic, she thought, that she’d so vehemently opposed this for Reyna, and now it was to be imposed on her own body by a man’s will. The piercings stung, but she was proud to look down and see her captive flesh so prettily adorned.
This pleases my Master, she thought. I am pleasing my Master. It was Wei who put his hands on her next, to her forehead, to her temples to soothe and prepare her. Like tendrils, his fingers seemed to enter her mind. She gave and yielded to him for her Master’s sake.
In his other hand, Wei held a bottle of liquid, potent smelling, which he dribbled on her pierced nipples and at her belly button. He also soaked her left thigh, covering the meaty part, the place where she realized now the mark was to be received.
Cynthia wondered what it would look like, and would it be pretty. The iron hissed as it approached her. She could feel the naked heat from several feet away. Drawing calming breaths, eyes riveted on Shep’s deep blue eyes, she centered her being as the iron god claimed her, taking her to a place of infinite pain, infinite redemption. Seconds, hours burned into her brain, a terrible digging heat that coursed through her veins, shattering and galvanizing her sexually ravaged body.
Afterwards, she was left alone for a time in her bonds. Wei had attended to her with strange smelling scents, holding them under her nose as soon as the iron was removed and there had been a salve which he rubbed across her belly and round the edges of the freshly cauterized wound. She drew a deep, ragged breath. It was an anesthetic.
Her heart soared with every passing second. She had done it and now it was irreversible. She, Cynthia Marshall, was now the slave of Shepard Trace, permanently, publicly designated.
/> As soon as she was taken down from the frame, Cynthia was put to her knees to suck Shep’s throbbing cock. Eagerly she devoured it, welcoming this finishing touch of degradation. How apt was this small act of devotion to show her that her pain, her needs, her whole being mattered nothing when compared to the desire she aroused in her Master.
Cynthia was denied the taste of his nectar, but was given Shep’s seed upon her face and breasts. She had to clamp her thighs to tamp the passion as he moved from this act to fastening a locked collar round her neck. From this leather circle that now claimed her neck, there ran a set of steel links, a leash that Shep used to convey her, on all fours, from the room of her branding.
How proud she was, how thrilled, and yet how darkly uncertain she felt to have such a Master. She had suffered a trauma, been through a huge ordeal and yet she was being put immediately through paces, harsh and brutal. Her legs trembled, but she never faltered. Through the house Shep led her, utterly bare, her thigh cut and cauterized, angry red, her back and breasts and cunt stained with whip blows, her face dotted with sperm.
Only after she had crawled up the stairs, crawled across the threshold to his bedroom did he stop to show any tenderness. A bath was prepared, an herbal one of great healing properties. Gratefully, Cynthia stepped in the tub, availing herself of what she now knew to be a privilege, a treat from her Master. In the future, how and when she cleaned herself, if at all, would be up to him.
Very gently, Shep removed his come from her and soothed her fiery skin. The liquid was like a balm, a cool coating, despite its obvious warmth.
Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes.
“Rest easy,” Shep whispered, flicking a finger across one of her brand new nipple rings. “Because when this is done, I am going to take you again, this time on the bathroom floor.”
Cynthia shuddered, imagining the feel of the cold tile on her body as she submitted to him. “Yes, Master,” she replied, eyes full of warmth and adoring love. “Be ruthless, Master. Please.”
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