by Kitty Thomas
In the weeks following his request, he’d stayed true to his word, giving her all the information she could need about the procedure and how it would all go down. But even so, she knew a few pamphlets could never prepare her for the burn of the branding iron.
She remembered times when she’d had minor burns and how the pain lingered on and on, feeling like it would never let up. And though Asher had promised the burning sensation would only last a few seconds and then be over, she couldn’t quite believe it. Logically, she knew what he said sounded right. Minor burns didn’t kill the nerve and that’s why it hurt so much. But a brand, done right, killed the nerve. Even with that knowledge, in her mind and dreams, the pain dragged on and on and there was no balm or soft words or flogger that could soothe it away.
“You can’t be comfortable like that. Lie down on my lap.”
She hadn’t been especially comfortable, no. He had her in full kitty mode. She wore a black leather miniskirt that had been sewn with the special hole for the tail. The plug was lubed and seated firmly inside her ass, the black fluffy kitty tail flowing out from the skirt. Her breasts nearly spilled out of a leather bustier. Her legs were covered with fishnets, and dainty black ankle boots were on her feet. She’d never say it, but she liked dressing this way for him.
The skirt rode low on her hips, leaving an expanse of flesh exposed for the branding. Gooseflesh popped over her hip, as if that part of her skin was taking the opportunity to get its last taste of something as simple as a cool summer breeze.
Her hair flowed loose down her back, held off her face with her kitty ears. She wore black fingerless gloves and her long nails had been painted white to resemble claws.
Grace settled her head on his lap and he petted her long, golden tresses, trailing down her back and over her ass. He ran his fingers through the fur of the tail, tugging it a little. She moaned.
“Such a horny little kitty,” he teased, dipping fingers between her legs.
She wanted to meow.
At first she’d been afraid he was going to have her do all sorts of weird stuff that wouldn’t be sexy at all. This kitten thing of his was definitely a fetish. Something he liked a bit more than just average. He seemed to get off on making her a little more animal-like, having her drink milk out of a bowl on the floor and making her beg for his cream.
He still hadn’t used physical punishment, and she was beginning to wonder if he ever would. He’d once put her in a pet crate like what one might take a large dog to the vet in. It was small and cramped for a human, and it freaked her out possibly as much as pain would have. But he hadn’t kept her in there long.
Her fears over the branding were compounded by anxiety over being out. They didn’t come to town often. Asher wasn’t punishing her by keeping her at home; he’d noticed her discomfort. He noticed everything.
After the way Lucas had treated her, going out seemed like an ordeal fraught with peril. She never knew how to behave and was constantly afraid she’d do something wrong that could somehow get her removed from his care. Asher had assured her such things didn’t happen on Eleu, but she still couldn’t make the fears go away.
The limo rolled to a stop in front of a tall, granite-colored building. The building was fancy and rich, and even though Grace knew this was where the brander’s office was, it was still impossible to believe. There really were no poor people on the island.
There was only the rich, and their help. But the help lived with the rich. There were restaurants with wait staff and stores and such, but these places were run by some of the families who were indigenous to the island. The same people who made the special salve. It was impossible to think of them as the poor of the island because they lived in the most intricately designed huts, such works of art that one could perhaps refer to them as bohemian, but never poor.
When you passed a native islander on the street, you never felt a sense of envy from them. These people spoke the language of the island’s volcanoes and ridges and plants. They knew the island’s weather and moods. If they thought the things the rich did were odd or immoral, they didn’t say anything. They seemed to take it all in stride, sharing the island, but maintaining a separate culture that outsiders weren’t welcome to participate in. So which group was the haves and which was the have-nots? It was impossible to say.
Grace looked back at the building and winced, imagining the brander as some hardcore sadist that got turned on by causing women high levels of pain, or maybe got turned on by leaving such permanent marks with full permission from their masters. She shook the thought away. Asher had promised he’d stay with her. He stepped out of the car and extended a hand to help her out.
She smoothed the miniskirt down. At least he’d brought her out during the day. It felt less scary to be in town in the bright sunlight, so unlike the dark basements and buildings Lucas had taken her to after dark. The skirt barely covered her ass, and she knew if she bent over at all, her bare, wet pussy would be on display for anyone who cared to take notice of it.
Her fingers trailed over the platinum collar, as if checking to see that it was still there. Asher attached a long, platinum chain to the collar and led her into the building.
There were a few other slaves in the lobby, most of them naked or wearing less than she was. Despite sticking out, Grace was comforted by more clothing. Still, it didn’t stop the men from leering, whistling, and making cat noises at her. She kept her eyes down, so she didn’t see what Asher was doing, but she suspected he glared at the men, because after a couple of seconds everyone fell silent and went back to what they were doing.
She let out a little breath when they were alone on the elevator. Asher pressed the button for the appropriate floor, then backed Grace into the corner behind him and slid his hand between her legs. She let out a mewl and rubbed her crotch against his hand. He chuckled at her wanton behavior and pointed to a camera overhead. She blushed but didn’t stop rubbing on him.
The brander was on the fifteenth floor, but they stopped on three. The doors opened, and a man got on. Grace watched his shoes as he shuffled onto the elevator.
“Asher,” the familiar voice said in that way men do when they recognize one another and nod.
That voice.
It slithered over her, leaving a dirty trail that no soap in the world could wash off. She felt her heart start to pound, the throbbing noise pulsing in her ears so loud it dwarfed the sound of Lucas.
She was glad to be in the corner with her master’s broad body blocking her in, acting as a shield. Her white fingernails dug into his side, and she hoped he wouldn’t be angry if she left nail prints. It took all her energy and concentration to make her breath go in and out.
“Lucas,” Asher said between clenched teeth. His voice was tight, and Grace knew he wanted the other man on the elevator with them even less than she did.
“How is the little slut? Obedient? Pleasing? If you’re having troubles with her, I can give you some pointers. She was always very afraid of me,” Lucas said.
She pressed her forehead against Asher’s back, the feel of his warm, broad body keeping her grounded. Without him there, she was sure she would drift away.
Asher took another step back. It pushed Grace flush against the metal corner. Instead of causing her to feel claustrophobic, it made her feel safer, more protected. All sides of her surrounded by metal and Asher Collins. The muscles in his back were poised like a big cat, as if he might sprout fangs and pounce on the other man at any moment.
“I don’t need any pointers, thanks. I believe I’ve got the situation under control.”
Grace could feel the tightly-coiled violence, how it waited like a living energy, ready to spring should Lucas make a move toward them.
“I only meant that I could help if you needed it. You don’t want to let her get out of control and forget which of you is the master. It seems somewhat questionable to me. I mean, she’s not even kneeling.”
Asher jabbed at a button on the column. Num
ber five lit up, and the cramped metal box lurched to a stop.
“I believe this is your floor, Lucas.”
“My floor is twelve.”
Asher moved into the other man’s personal space, shoving him against the elevator wall. “Take. The. Stairs. I don’t want you near Grace. Ever. Again. I bought her to rescue her from you. You shouldn’t be allowed to own so much as a potted plant.” He held the door open while the other man stumbled off.
Grace huddled in the corner, her eyes closed, the tears inching down her cheeks. She opened them a fraction of a second too soon and caught Lucas’s dark stare as the doors slid shut.
Asher held her against his chest the rest of the way up, and the brief pause on twelve where no one got on and no one got off.
The doors opened on fifteen, and Asher led her down the dark green hallway to the last door on the right. Inside, they were greeted by a good-looking blond man with tattoos that banded around his throat and up and down his arms. He looked like a cross between a surfer and a biker, but it was obvious he was better off financially than the average member of either group.
The man took one look at Grace, then at Asher. “She looks terrified.”
Asher shook his head. “It’s not all about the branding. We ran into someone.”
The brander looked at her again, and she had to turn her gaze away from that assessing stare that seemed able to divine too much about her life from her eyes.
Asher directed her to a pillow on the floor, and she obediently went to it and dropped to her knees, glancing around the room to take in her surroundings. She hadn’t expected the environment in the brander’s office to be so soothing. It was as if they were there to get her hair styled instead of put a permanent scar on her. Everything was just so . . . clean.
The men spoke in hushed tones a few feet away. Every now and then she heard her name. It occurred to her that Asher knew this man, that they were perhaps friends. The blond had a kindness to his eyes, much like her master, and Grace felt calmer.
“Are you ready, kitten?” Asher stood over her, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“Yes, Master.”
“It’ll be five seconds of pain, then it’s over except for the soreness. You can handle that. And I’ll hold you while John does it.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Five seconds could be a very long time when the time was filled with pain.
They led her into another brightly lit room, and Asher handed a metal disk to the blond.
“This is nice,” John remarked, admiring the estate symbol. “It’ll make a clean design.”
She watched as the branding iron was heated, everything matching the pamphlets she’d been given to study. As the iron grew hotter, so grew her trepidation over her choice.
“Normally, we chain them down for this, but I know you can hold her still.”
Those words lodged in her stomach like a stone, making it impossible for her to move without her master’s assistance.
“Put your arms around my waist, kitten, and hang on tight.” When she’d obeyed, Asher wrapped one of his arms around her back, holding her steady against his body, and with the other he cradled the back of her head. “Just breathe, baby. It won’t be as bad as you think, I promise.”
John moved behind her with the heated metal. A moment later, the searing heat was in her skin, melding with her and sucking the breath from her lungs. She let out a wail and almost vomited at the smell of her own burning flesh. The smell triggered her self-preservation instincts, and if her master hadn’t been holding her so tightly, she would have struggled. Why did I say yes to this? She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to breathe through the pain.
As if reading her mind, the blond said, “It won’t get any worse, and in a few seconds it’ll get better.”
“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .” Asher said, steady and strong. He held her tight while she cried. The blond took the metal away, and unbelievably the burning sensation was gone. The skin around the mark felt tight and sore. But it was a kind of pain she could handle. Asher released her and brushed the tears off her face. “You were a very good girl. Come to the mirror and see my mark.”
He took her to the mirrored wall. Her breath caught when she saw his estate symbol on her hip. Somehow she hadn’t believed it would happen. He really wasn’t going to ever sell her. A small smile curved her mouth as she stared at the brand.
John was giving Asher instructions for care and information on healing time, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mark on her hip.
“Do you like it?” he whispered, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear.
“Yes, Master.”
“I’m so happy you did it.” He clicked the leash back around her collar and led her out of the office. They didn’t run into Lucas again.
***
Something was unsettling Asher. It had bothered him for the week since the branding. Grace had stopped having nightmares.
It wasn’t the fact they’d stopped, it was why they’d stopped. It didn’t add up. He’d believed his pet’s bad dreams were the lingering remnants of Lucas haunting her. But if that were the case, wouldn’t the dreams only start back again stronger after their brief run-in with her former master in the elevator?
He wanted to test a theory, and he hoped he was wrong. Grace was in the garden. She didn’t have a single pair of denim shorts without the hole for the tail, so she was sporting the kitty look. He slipped up behind her, careful not to startle her, and tugged the tail a little, pulling it loose from her ass and then pushing it back in. She dropped the garden trowel and let out a delicious whimper, going to her hands and knees, thrusting her ass up at him, begging for more contact.
He’d been surprised at what a dirty little anal slut she’d turned out to be. Once he’d shown her how pleasurable it could be when done right.
As much as he’d like to play with her, there was something he needed to know first. “Grace?”
She stopped wriggling immediately and turned to face him, sitting back on her knees now with her legs spread, the way he’d taught her to kneel for him.
“Yes, Master?”
“Do you remember the last round of bad dreams?”
She nodded, a wary expression on her face.
“What were they about? Don’t even try to lie to me.”
The way her eyes widened, he knew he’d caught her. Even if she didn’t say the words, he knew. The only thing left was to determine what was to be done with her. Still, she tried to stall.
“What do you mean?”
“Kitten, you really don’t want to go down the doe-eyed road with me. Tell me what they were about.”
She looked down at the quilt, wringing her hands in her lap. “The branding,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.
His jaw clenched. Beneath the anger was hurt that she’d undermine what they had with silent lies. “You allowed me to believe you were dreaming about Lucas. You know that’s why I was taking you to the dungeon and flogging you. Why didn’t you tell me what the dreams were really about? Why would you hide that part of yourself from me?”
She sniffled, and Asher wanted to backhand her. How dare she make a bid for mercy, playing on his feelings for her after she’d lied to him, knowing full well how she was misleading him.
“Well?”
“I . . . I’m sorry. I was afraid if you knew how scared I was about the branding, you wouldn’t do it. You said it was my choice, and I thought if you knew about the dreams you’d think I wasn’t sure and you’d change your mind or let me back out. I didn’t want to be weak and back out.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. Could he really be mad at her when her subterfuge had been because she’d wanted to wear his brand so badly?
He sighed and she looked up.
“What are you going to do?”
He just looked at her. She knew what he was going to do, but he said it anyway to leave no doubt.
“Physical punishment.” The wind seemed to carry his words far out to sea. “There will be no lies between us, Grace, not even the unspoken kind. Wearing my collar and my brand means every part of you belongs to me, including what goes on in your head. Come with me.”
He felt her shaking behind him as he led her into the study, pulled the book out, and guided her down the stone steps. He’d been aroused after the branding, the last time she’d been this scared. The moment they’d gotten home, he’d taken her to his room and proceeded to use every toy at his disposal on her hot little body.
He fully intended to repeat those actions today, but this time, he’d finally punish her first. In truth, he didn’t like hitting for punishment. He much preferred to turn that kind of pain into an erotic torture that would make her beg him to take her deeper into it. And once he’d punished her, he’d move her into that space again.
She didn’t have to be told to go to the cushion. She just went and knelt on the large, fluffy pillow, waiting for instruction. Asher set up the table with toys and instruments of pain, then he covered her eyes with a blindfold.
“Master, please, I’m sorry,” she whispered, the tears spilling out from under the dark cloth.
“I know you are, kitten. But you still have to be punished. I told you this day was coming. When I’m finished with you today, you won’t withhold anything from me. If you think I’m misreading your feelings on something, you’ll take the opportunity to correct my assumption. You will not go about with secret thoughts and feelings and fears. There will be no doors closed to me that I want left opened. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Offer me your wrists.”
She took a shuddering breath and held her arms in front of her. He took a length of rope and wrapped each of her wrists individually, then went to work, tying intricate knot work.