Obsession - Girl Abducted (18 page)
Perfect. The branded flesh was clearly marked with the links that symbolized Emily's servitude. Satisfied, Mark packed up his models and his tools and left the house. Emily was safely chained to the bed.
That evening after dinner Mark said, "Emily, what are you?"
Emily looked up. She had been staring into the fire, daydreaming at his feet. "Your slave, sir," she answered automatically.
"What are you willing to do for me?"
"Whatever you command of me, sir." Emily was confused.
What was he getting at? She waited.
"If I wish to beat you, you will allow this?"
"Of course, sir." What did he mean, would she allow it?
How could she stop it? But as she answered, she had to admit to herself that yes, she would allow it. Even if it were not forced. What other life did she know now? It had become as basic as breathing—and perhaps as necessary.
He continued, looking not at her, but into the dancing, crackling flames before them. "And if I wished to cane you, would you allow it?"
"Yes, sir." She couldn't control the slight tremor the mention of a caning caused her.
"And if I wished to pierce your flesh with my needle?"
"But you already—"
"Answer the question. I'm speaking hypothetically."
"Yes, sir."
"And if I choose to bind you in rope, fill you with dildos, lock you in your cage, deny you food or drink, would you allow this?"
"It's your prerogative, sir. I belong to you."
"Yes. You do. Remind me. Whose flesh is that?"
"Yours, sir." Still she waited. She felt he was almost ready to tell her what this was about.
"I have been thinking, Emily. You exhibit all the signs of a submissive slave. But we both know you didn't come here of your own volition. Nor do I choose to set you free. You are right—you belong to me. And your body, of course, belongs to me." Emily looked up at him, a question in her eyes. But he hadn't asked her anything directly, so she didn't voice the question.
"I have decided I want to mark you—permanently."
A tattoo, she thought. That would be all right. Dimly she recalled she had considered getting one on her lower back, but she'd never found the time. She looked up at him again.
This time he was staring at her head on, his eyes smoldering.
There was something fierce in his expression. Something determined. His eyes dropped, roaming her body. "Do you understand, slave?"
"Um, I'm not sure, sir. Did you mean a tattoo?"
"No. I mean this." He took the little bag from the end table by the couch and carefully removed the tin design of her bracelet links. She stared at it, confused.
"A brand, Emily. I want to brand you. It would be a beautiful symbol of our perfect union." His gaze was a flame running up and down her body. Heat flowed up to her cheeks.
His words burned behind her eyes.
She opened her mouth to respond, but found she didn't know what to say. Her first instinct was to shout, no! But something stayed her tongue. That word had almost dropped from her vocabulary, from her way of thinking. It wasn't an
option even to be considered. She stared, fascinated at the pretty little design of the interlinked ovals. Mark watched her for a moment. Then he pulled her up to him.
Gently he pressed her over his knee, so that her bare bottom was tilting prettily up on his lap. Taking the brand design, he touched it to her ass cheek, shifting her body slightly so that the metal made full contact with the flesh. He continued to reposition it until he found what seemed to be the optimal placement point.
During this process Emily lay very still. The tin was cold on her flesh, but her mind was on fire. A brand! To permanently burn this design into her flesh! Could she bear it? Would she resist him? But what good would it do? If he were determined, he would simply use force—pin her down, bind her helplessly into position and then do as he wished.
So why was he asking her? Why was he forcing her to make this decision? It would be better just to do it! How cruel to force her involvement on this level—to make her commit herself to this disfigurement. Mark had removed the brand design, setting it carefully down on the table. His hands were roaming over her ass, smoothing the supple skin, squeezing the cheeks.
Leaning down, he kissed her bottom. Speaking softly he said, "I want your permission, slave girl. I want you to want this too. I don't want to force it from you. I want you to offer it." As he spoke, Mark's fingers found her bare pussy. He squeezed the lips together and then released them. Slowly, sensuously, he began to rub her clit, slipping his finger in
circles around it, then sliding the finger deep into the smooth tight darkness of her cunt.
"Offer it to me, slave. Offer me your flesh." His voice was low, mesmerizing. Emily shifted and moaned, loving the feel of his fingers against her, in her. In her mind's eye she saw the pretty image of the looped rings and suddenly realized what they were—the clasps to her ankle and wrists cuffs— cuffs that had never been removed since he had placed them there that first day.
The image blurred as his fingers danced upon her, suffusing her body and mind with intense pleasure. Just as she arched up to meet those fingers, to ask for release, he said again, "Offer it to me, Emily. Give me what is mine."
"Yes," she whispered, "yes, take it." And then she came, hard, bucking against him, writhing with passion against his thighs, against his cock.
Truthfully, her skin, at least her back, was no longer the alabaster white it had once been. From daily beatings and torture, her back was a crisscross of faded lash marks and
welts, overlain with newer ones. Still he found it beautiful.
What a lovely tribute—this concrete evidence of her willingness to suffer for him.
And now the ultimate mark. A brand. A burning into her flesh of the symbol he had chosen for her. If only he could brand love into her heart. But he wouldn't dwell on that. Not tonight. Tonight she was lying there, willing and ready for him to place a heated metal design against her flesh. To place his mark permanently onto her body.
Mark wondered for a moment if it would hurt terribly. He remembered his grandfather's remark about branding cattle.
His grandfather had been a farmer right in this area. He had said that if the cow felt the brand, it wasn't hot enough. It had to be hot and quick. And you had to press down firmly, but not too hard.
He wanted the scarring deep, but not so deep that the design would be obscured. He was very excited, though his outward calm did not betray this fact. He didn't want to act impulsively in this delicate operation. It had to be perfect.
Emily deserved perfection.
She was watching him get ready, her cheek resting against the soft quilt. She was afraid, though also in control. He had given her a large glass of brandy, which had helped to relax her. Mark was setting the propane torch in a little stand he had devised. The body artist had advised him to have another person present when conducting a branding, to hold the torch.
Mark had nodded, pretending to accept this advice, but of course he had no intention of involving anyone else. Carefully
he set the torch into the stand, angling it until he was satisfied. Taking the little sack that held the brand design, he opened it and carefully removed the shaped steel.
"Are you ready, slave girl?" Mark asked Emily softly, his face close to hers.
"Yes, sir," she answered, closing her eyes.
Mark kissed her on the forehead. Taking the large pair of disinfected insulated pliers, he placed the design into it, closing it so that the grips held it firmly in place. As Mark flicked on the propane torch, it burst into a long, hot blue flame. Emily gasped and stared at the flame. She had an expression not unlike an animal trapped in the headlights.
But that animal could run. Emily wasn't going anywhere. It was far too late to change her mind. She was bound to this table, her ass bared for its ordeal. She could feel her ass cheeks tingling, anticipating the terrible pain that must surely come with this branding.
Mark was intent on his task, unaware of the terror in his slave's eyes. Not that that would have stopped him. But it might have distracted him—aroused him to the full realization of his complete and total power over her. He didn't want to be distracted now as he focused on holding the metal design in the flame, watching it heat to just the proper point for the strike.
Quickly, before it cooled, Mark brought the metal to her soft flesh. He held it there for several seconds. Emily heard something sizzle and became dimly aware, as the smell of something burning assailed her nostrils, that it was her flesh that was burning. She couldn't feel any pain at all for a few
seconds, and then her brain registered what had happened to her body and she screamed.
The deed was done. Emily was branded.
When she opened her eyes, Emily realized with a start that she must have passed out. Her wrists and ankles were free, but she was still lying on the kitchen table just as she had been. Mark was sitting in a chair next to her. He was just about done taping the bandage in place on her burn. He had smeared anti-bacterial ointment across the brand before placing the sterile dressing over it. This would stay in place for a few days. Then he would allow the wound to breathe, keeping it very clean as it healed.
Mark had been delighted with the initial result—the strike had set beautifully and he could tell it was going to be true to the design. But more exciting than that was the fact that she had let it happen. She hadn't protested. There were no last minute pleas for release. No attempt to bargain herself out of this situation. She had accepted the brand. She would wear the proof of his ownership forever. She was pierced and now permanently marked with his passion.
Mark's cock began to stiffen. He saw that Emily was stirring back awake. She had only been out for a few minutes.
"You did it, Emily. You were grace personified. And it's perfect. Wait'll you see it. It's gorgeous!"
"Can I see it now?" Emily shifted and then winced. If she hadn't felt the burn before, she certainly felt it now. She lay carefully back down, trying to avoid moving her ass.
"No. I want to wait until it's mostly healed. It will take a few weeks. First scabs will form. That's just part of the
healing process. Then, when they fall off, the beautiful design will be revealed beneath them. I'm so proud of you!"
Mark stood up near her. Unzipping his jeans, he lifted his large, quickly rising cock out of his pants. He brought the tip close to Emily's mouth as he leaned against the table for support. He found the angle unsatisfactory. Standing upright again, he pulled Emily by the arms until her head hung just off the table.
"You can do this for me, can't you, slave?" he asked, momentarily concerned that she might not be up to sucking his cock after her ordeal. But she nodded, a hint of that sexy lopsided little grin gracing her lips.
"Good. 'Cause you're going to get it whether you can handle it or not." Grinning, he rammed his cock deep into her throat, barely giving her a chance to open her mouth. He fucked her face in long, deep thrusts. He loved how she could take him now. After all her training, she could take his cock deep in her throat for a full minute. Sometimes he would press back as far as he could and then just stand there, gauging how long she could endure it.
He could kill her with his cock if he wanted to. He could hold it down in her throat, cutting off her oxygen, until she died. Of course he didn't want to kill her, but the thought that he could do it, and do it with his cock, got him even harder than before.
"I can't beat your ass for a while, slut," he groaned, as he neared his own orgasm. "I'll have to come up with new ways to torture you. Yes. To make you suffer." The last word was
sibilant with his hissing breath as he jerked forward, caught in the throes of an intense orgasm.
As he was pulling out, a spurt of semen caught in Emily's throat, causing her to sputter and cough as she tried to swallow the copious emission. She ended up spitting out most of it as she gasped for breath.
"Oh my," Mark said dryly. "That was a miserable little display, slut girl," His eyes danced with cruel delight. "You lacked grace. What was all that spitting and choking about?
Can't you swallow a little come without that ridiculous display?"
"I'm sorry," Emily whispered. She didn't try to make excuses. They would do her no good, as she well knew.
"Let me help you off the table, my dear," Mark said. "I can't put you in the cage, because I don't want to harm the brand while it's healing. Lucky for you, hmm? But I can still punish you. Now let's see. What punishment would fit the crime? You can't seem to swallow my come without gagging."
Actually, this was untrue—she almost never gagged now but she was not about to point this fact out.
"So we will have to practice. Maybe a little dildo work is in order." As he spoke, he led Emily to the bedroom. He pointed to the bed, where she lay down on her belly as gingerly as possible. He redirected her so that she was lying sideways on the bed, her head hanging just over the side.
First Mark secured his slave. This time he chose rope. He loved to see her hands close around the hemp. He could aim the whip just so, and her sweet gasp would be followed with that desperate clench of the rope, as if it might help her
endure the torture with a little more grace. He made a few quick loops around each ankle and wrist and tied them securely to the bed posts.
"How's your ass? Does it hurt?"
"Yes, sir. It's very sore."
"Well, let's just take your mind off of it for a while. We'll start with this little cock first, to get you relaxed." Mark took out his formidable collection of dildos. Lifting the smallest one from the tray, he held it in front of Emily's mouth, signaling her to open wide.