Marked As His Slave

by Terri Pray

  “The welts are healing nicely, Celeste, but I'll stay away from your backside for now. Your back is another matter, untouched and pristine, you always healed so well from our sessions, now it's time to see if you can still heal to the same degree.”

  The words sent a shiver through her being.

  He wasn't going to be gentle with her, such tenderness during his play was unheard of. He'd beat her senseless, leave her sobbing in pleasure and pain alike and then half carry her back to his rooms.

  “You're afraid.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Because you know what might happen?”

  “Yes, master.” Her voice shook. She knew what he was capable of doing. The memories of their past play were all too vivid in her mind. She shook, violently.

  “Trust me, slave. You'll enjoy it. You always do.”

  That was what she was afraid of more than anything else. She knew if she gave into the pleasure he offered her, then she'd never find her way back. She'd be lost, kneeling at his feet, for the rest of her life.

  But that's what she wanted. Wasn't it?

  “Close your eyes, slave and let it happen.” He cupped her buttocks and stepped back from the frame, leaving her there, nude and throbbing.

  Celeste closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she attempted to chase away her fears. He'd do what he wanted to her, regardless of what she wanted, or tried to tell him at the time. Tears sparked behind her eyes. She didn't want to cry, not yet, not this time. There'd be time enough for that later, when he'd started to lead her into the arms of pain and pleasure.

  She wanted to look back over her shoulder and see what he was doing, but she feared to. He'd told her to close her eyes and that's what she would remember to do, he wasn't the type to take such disobedience easily.

  Something snapped through the air, leather, heavy leather? She tensed. The flogger, it had to be one of the floggers. She'd felt them before, and...

  The leather tails snapped against her back with a sharp snap. Celeste arched onto her toes, a low cry torn from her lips as she pressed tightly against the frame, half sobbing in pain. It hadn't been that hard, but the shock of it, after so long, mingled in a manner she couldn't ignore.

  The second blow was easier to deal with. She pressed against the frame, her hands clenched tight as she hissed. Her jaw clenched. The heady thud of the leather against her back wasn't something she could ignore. Her body tensed beneath the third blow, then relaxed by the next. She moaned in pain and something more beneath the heavy blows.

  Each new stroke sent her against the frame, her body trembling as she tried to relax beneath the leather. Her hands clenched, opened, then clenched again. Her jaw tight as she hissed between her teeth.

  “That's it, slave, let the rhythm take you.”

  She groaned, a soft roll playing through her hips.

  “Good, now you're warming up,” his voice little more than a low growl. “Your back has turned such a pretty color. But there's more work to be done on it yet, a lot more.”

  Her breath hitched in the back of her throat. The next blow of the leather didn't fall on her body not yet at least. She waited, knowing the blow would come sooner or later.

  “You want it, don't you?”

  “Master?” She almost looked back over her shoulder. No, she couldn't do that. She had to keep her eyes closed. She could do it. She knew she could.

  “You want more than the flogger, don't you?”

  She faltered, uncertain what to say. Her heart said one thing, her mind another and her body tried to overrule both. She tried to clear her head so she could speak. It didn't work.

  “Answer the question, slave,” he tapped the now curled flogger against her ass, just a tap, enough to remind her that he was here.

  “Yes— yes, master.”

  “Good, very good.” He reached around, cupping her breasts one at a time before he stepped away, carrying the flogger with him. “You move well, Celeste, you always did.”

  Heat flushed across her face and through her core. What was he going to do next? He wasn't going to touch anywhere but her back, he'd made that clear, because of the welts. What else could he do but use a different type of flogger?

  A whip.

  Cold sweat coated her body. He can't, I'm not ready, I haven't felt a whip in— in a long time. She wanted to protest, but didn't even know for certain if he was planning on using a whip on her. For all she knew...

  Something snapped through the air. The sound sharp, dangerous and deadly.

  She whimpered. The single tail, the whip, nothing else makes that sound.

  “You know what this is, don't you slave?”

  “Yes, master,” her voice barely above a whimper. Fear clenched around her heart in a cold grasp. “Please— please, have mercy on me master. I haven't done anything to deserve this. I've obeyed you!”

  “I never said you were in trouble, Celeste.”

  She swallowed hard. Her body shook. She didn't want to feel the single tail. It would strip her flesh from her body. The pain from the blows would be too much for her to cope with. “Please, master.”

  “I do this to please myself, Celeste. Not to punish, but because I want to use it on you.” He snapped the whip close to her body, near her left hip. “You need this. You need to be taught exactly what it means to be a slave again. You've forgotten what it means. What it entails. That will change. You'll learn what I expect. You'll embrace it and you'll be mine again. Once and for all.”

  “Master, I'm yours, I know I'm yours!”

  “Then you'll accept what I wish to do to you. You'll embrace it and soon learn to beg for more.” The whip snapped through the air, the tip tracing a line of pain across her upper back.

  She screamed. There was no other choice but to scream, as the pain lanced across her flesh in an invisible line that left her writhing against the wooden frame.

  The second stroke laid a delicate line of agony down the length of her back, ending in a small knot from the tip of the whip. She moaned, sobbing in the wake of the pain. Cold sweat coated every inch of her body. Pain ruled her senses. There was nothing she could do to stop his use of her, and from the low murmurs that came from his direction he approved of her reactions to the whip.

  A pattern of strikes marked her back and shoulders, until she no longer knew where one blow end and the next began. She sobbed, pleading as she danced against the frame, the four restraints that had been locked on her body were the only things that kept her upright. Then the first blow hit elsewhere. The tiny knot struck her inner left thigh, snapping through the air with a deadly precision that she couldn't ignore.

  Before she'd even had a chance to react fully to the first stinging strike against her inner thigh, the second one hit marking her right thigh with painful precision. She sobbed, howling in pain from the blows. She couldn't fight it. She couldn't escape from it. There was nothing left for her except to submit to it. All of it.

  “Move for me, slut, dance to the whip.” The whip snapped out through the air, leaving her inner thighs marked from a dozen bites.

  She moved, writhing, her hips rolling as she tried to live through the pain. Her thighs clenched. She moaned, whimpering, screaming in pain beneath the blows from the whip.

  “Yes, that's it, Celeste, let it happen, let it wash over you.”

  Wash over her? What? She moaned in pain, arching, writhing with the strokes of the whip. She couldn't think. She could only feel. Pain, endless pain, claimed her, washing away everything else.

  Her eyes rolled beneath closed lids. Her grasp on the here and now faded into the background. She couldn't even feel the blows against her body. She floated...

  Pleasure chased through the haze, a pleasure that rippled through her inner walls, coating them with a liquid heat. She moaned, writhing now in the grasp of delight that she couldn't ignore. He'd pushed her too far.

  “Yes, that's it, float, enjoy it, show me how you submit to it.”

  She moaned
, hips rolling with each new wave of pleasure that tore through her body. It no longer mattered that pain had been the trigger. Nor that she was nude and bound to the frame. Or that her body was marked with fresh welts that would take days to heal, it not weeks.

  All that mattered was the pleasure she now felt.

  And when Davien placed his hand between her thighs that pleasure soared to a point that she was no longer able to fight it. With a low cry she slipped into the darkness beneath his touch.

  Chapter Eight

  Something warm had been wrapped about her body. She was no longer bound to the frame and it took her a moment to realize what had happened. Celeste tried to open her eyes, but they didn't want to work for her.

  “You're not alone, Celeste,” his voice filtered through the haze that still claimed her.

  “Master?” She blinked, opening her eyes for a brief moment, only to find she couldn't keep them open.

  “Yes, and you did well. The welts will heal soon enough.” He brushed his fingers over her hair. “You did exactly what I wanted you to do. You surrendered to the pain. You submitted.”

  She frowned, and then the memory of what she'd done returned, crashing back in on her. “You— you whipped me, master?”

  “Yes, I did, and you took it well enough.” He rubbed her arms through the blanket, making sure she wasn't going to catch a chill. “You're still shaking. Understandable considering everything you've been through.”

  Celeste nodded and hoped he wouldn't ask her anything too complicated. Her mind was still fog wrapped. Her body no longer her own, not entirely at least. She'd be able to cope with simple questions. Nothing complicated.

  “We'll move when you're able to do so. There is one last matter I wish to attend to before we return to my room. You need to be ready for it though, which you're not right now.”

  No, she wasn't ready for anything right now. Not even moving with someone else's help. Her body was limp and sore at the same time. It made sense, she'd been through a lot and she was no longer used to that level of usage. What else did he have in mind?

  More pain?

  No, if he'd been planning to inflict more pain on her she'd still be back up on the frame. What was going on?

  She swallowed hard. “Have I done something wrong, master?”

  “No, you haven't. There's nothing to fear in this, Celeste. You'll be fine. Trust me on this. You'll face what needs to be done and then all will be well.” He brushed his fingers through her hair, the pulled it back from her face. “You're almost ready.”

  Ready for what?

  Whatever he had planned for her, that was all she knew.

  She sighed and nestled into his arms. For now she was safe. At peace in his arms. Even with the pain he'd put her through she still trusted him. For whatever reason she trusted him.

  “That's it, you're safe, Celeste.”

  Yes, I am, for all that you've done to me I'm safe with you.

  “Time to stand, Celeste,” he moved slowly to his feet, easing her with him, though she still leaned heavily against him. “That's it, lean against me. I won't let you fall.”

  She knew that. He'd never let her fall, he'd always been there, easing her into the darkness, helping her when he could, but never once letting her believe that she was anything other than his slave. She blinked a little and looked around the room. They were still in the play area.

  Had no one come in to watch them?

  She glanced around, but saw no signs of anyone else but the man who owned her. The frame was empty, there was a horse like bench close by. A bench that she couldn't remember having seen earlier.

  “That's right. You need to go onto the bench, sit astride it, Celeste.” He helped her toward the bench.

  “Why, master?” She didn't understand him. Nothing made sense, but she tried to sit astride the bench anyway.

  “Now, lean forward, press your cheek to the bench, facing away from me.”

  Silently she assumed the position, pressing her cheek against the bench. Without another word Davien secured her to it, making sure that her body was open to him. Exposed to his desires as he checked the restraints.

  “Good, these should hold you.”

  “Yes, master,” what else could she say?

  “You're mine, aren't you slave?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Do you wish to be mine for the rest of your life?” He brushed his fingers over her left thigh.

  “Yes, master, I do.” God help me but I do.

  “Are you certain, this is the last chance I will give you to change your mind.”

  “Yes, I'm certain, master.” Her voice trembled as she answered him, hoping that she was doing the right thing.

  “Good,” he tapped his fingers against her thigh. “So sweet, vulnerable and open. I can't— I... ” he growled and she tensed as she heard clothing part behind her. Before she had a chance to realize what was going on she felt the head of his cock press between her thighs. “You're mine!”

  “Master!”

  He didn't wait, without another word he thrust into her body, filling her pussy with his cock. She groaned. Her hips rolled as she pushed back against him. She needed this, needed him, she needed to chase away the memories of Tearlach, of everything he'd done to her, or would do again if he had a chance to.

  Each thrust rocked her against the bench, her body alive with hunger and need as she pushed back against him, welcoming him into her body, into her heart and soul. Heat coated her inner walls. Her nipples peaked and pressed against the bench. She sobbed in pain and pleasure, his thrusts, his use of her, re-sparking the pain from the whipping.

  It didn't matter that it hurt.

  It didn't matter that she sobbed.

  All that mattered was the feel of his cock within her body. The way her inner walls clenched on his cock. The desire and relief that merged in her being. He wanted her. Needed her. She needed him. Together they were complete.

  “God, yes, fuck back against me!”

  She arched, pushing back to him, meeting each and every thrust into her body. Her inner walls clenched tightly. Her body eager for more. The welts throbbed, burning a path of pain through her senses, but she didn't care. Whatever she'd done wrong, she'd been forgiven.

  Her clit ached. Her inner walls rippled, clenched and released only to clench again. Her inner thighs burned from the whip, wet from her desires, her body lifting to meet him as she moaned and whimpered, knowing she couldn't hold on long.

  “That's it, give it to me, let it happen!”

  She sobbed out, her back arched tight as she pressed against him. Unable to hold back, she let it rip through her body in a roll of pleasure and sheer delightful pain that she had no way of defending herself from.

  She was his.

  He growled behind her, slapping one hand against her welted ass. She sobbed, writhing, moving with him, for him, for them both as she sobbed and shuddered. His roar of pleasure filled her ears. His cock throbbed, pressing against her inner walls, pushing them, parting them as he filled her with his seed.

  Then it was over, as quickly as it had begun and he pulled free from her body, stepping back away from the bench and her nude, trembling form.

  Something was wiped between her thighs, cleaning up the remains of his seed before she heard his pants closed and the sound of something being pulled from a leather sheath. Whatever he was planning on doing she had no clue. Not yet at least. She started to move, to look back over her shoulder, then stopped, knowing he had told her to stay in position and had not given her permission to move. Not yet at least.

  “Good, hold position, slave.” His voice a low growl.

  “Yes, master.”

  Something cold pressed against her thigh. Cold, hard steel.

  “Master?”

  “Don't move. I don't want this marred.”

  She couldn't move, not fully, not with the way he had her secured to the bench. Her hands clenched beneath the stroke of the blade and for a
moment she wasn't sure what he'd do.

  Cold steel, a knife, a part of her knew what he was going to do. Yet the small voice in the back of her mind screamed a denial. He wouldn't do it.

  No matter what he said, what he did to her, he wouldn't cut her. He wouldn't do it...

  The first cut tore a cry of pain from her lips. She tensed, sobbing, the feel of blood trailing down her leg as it mingled with the sweat on her skin. She didn't dare move, but she wanted to. Every breath in her body expelled in a cry of true pain. The second cut, then the third, she was cold, hot, shaking, vulnerable and angry all rolled into one.

  He was marking her.

  Making her his, just as he'd promised he would.

  No, this isn't happening. He can't, he isn't— he was.

  The last cut sliced through her skin, parting it until she whimpered in pain and despair alike. Then it was done. The blade no longer cut into her flesh and he stepped away, wiping it clean.

  “It should heal nicely, though I'll have to make sure the mark remains clean.” He spoke calmly and she could hear him opening something. Liquid poured from a bottle. The something wet touched her leg.

  She shrieked. Whatever was on the cloth burned into her leg. She tried to move. Squirming.

  “It had to be cleaned, Celeste. I don't need you taking ill from the cutting.” He wiped the cloth over the cuts a second time, then lifted it away. “Good and clean.”

  “M-master?”

  “You're marked. Mine. My initials on your thigh... ”

  His initials? “I— I don't understand.”

  “D.B. on your thigh. It will be there until your dying day, little slave.”

  She swallowed hard, trying to find a way to process what was going on. Marked, his, there was no way around it. No escaping it and— and a part of her sang in sheer joy. Tears streaked down her cheeks, she swallowed hard and tried to fight past her emotions.

  “You can cry, Celeste, there's nothing wrong with crying when it's what the heart needs.”

  She sobbed as he unlocked her from the bench. She couldn't stand without his help and she all but fell into his arms, all too well aware of the pain in her thigh. His strong arms wrapped about her body as he eased her back onto the floor, and pressed a clean cloth against the cuttings. Without a word he wrapped her leg, binding the bandage in place before he held her against chest, the blanket once more in place around her shiver body.