My training continued intermittently on weekends for the next several weeks. It was "catch as catch can" since we had no place that we could use for an extended time where we would be alone. When we were able to get time together, Master would use my mouth and bottom for his pleasure. Occasionally, he would let me masturbate or bring me to climax using his finger. And there was the training. Master always had something new to teach me. The problem was finding safe times to meet and it didn't happen often enough to suit me.
However, every day was a constant reminder of my slavery because of the way I dressed. That first Monday was the hardest. First, white blouses were out because even though my nipples are a light pink; they would still show through the blouse. I was sure that everyone would know since my nipples would be hard and erect a lot of the time in the air conditioning, but I didn't want to be too obvious. So that first day, I wore a dark green blouse, a cream colored skirt, and shoes. That was all.
I don't think my nipples grew soft all day. Not only was it cool, but the constant rubbing against the blouse kept them in a continual state of arousal. Once, walking between classes, I thought I felt a trickle of wetness run down my leg. I ducked quickly into a restroom to check, but if it had occurred, there was no sign of it on my thigh. I was constantly in fear that my arousal would give off a noticeable odor.
By Monday morning, I still had some red marks where I had been whipped. Master had kept all of the strokes where they would not show as long as my dress was not too short and, as a senior, I did not have a physical education requirement that required me to shower.
Once, in a hallway crowded with bustling students, Master guided me back against my locker door and slid his hand over my bottom. "Just checking," he said smiling as he did.
I did make a doctor's appointment for that week after letting my parents know. However I did not tell them what it was for. Once in the office, I asked the doctor if medical confidentiality protected what I was about to discuss with him, even from my parents. When he agreed that it did, I asked about the pill. Since I was already eighteen, he wrote the prescription without a second thought. But getting it filled was another thing. There was only one pharmacy in our town, and the owner and pharmacist was a close friend of my parents. So one evening, when I was supposed to be at the library, I drove forty miles to Augusta, had it filled and drove back. The doctor had told me that I would have to take the pills for a month to be safe and to start right after my next period. The timing worked out well, because my period started later that week.
That brings up another thing that you may or may not want to know. When I told Master about the pills, and mentioned my period, he asked what I did for it. I had used napkins because that is what Mother used, but Master told me to start using tampons. Because my pussy was shaved, the little string hanging down announced to the world that I was menstruating. The first time Master saw me like that, I was really embarrassed and he knew it. However, he explained that as a slave, I really didn't have any privacy any more, and that if I used napkins, I would have to wear something to hold it in place that would tell everyone just as effectively. The problem for me at that time was that it was embarrassing for him to see me with the string hanging out. He implied that others would soon see me that way and I wasn't sure that I was prepared for that.
Whenever I could spend time with Master as his slave, I was not beaten, as I had been the first day. I was struck occasionally for screwing something up, but nothing like the sustained blows I received when I first submitted to him.
The second time we met, he had made a collar for me. It was cut from a black web belt and had two grommets, one at either end for a lock. He had me submit to him formally then he locked the collar around my neck. After it was on, he told me that it was just temporary, that soon I would have a metal locking collar. I didn't know if he was planning on making one, or if he was going to buy it. I did know from my research that there were lots of places online to get that kind of equipment.
About two weeks before the prom, he took me shopping for my prom dress. We went to Savannah because Augusta, even though it was closer, was much more a part of the Bible belt and he didn't think he would find what he wanted for my dress. It took us most of the day, but he finally found exactly what he was looking for. Imagine a tube made of four tall triangles sewn together. The triangles were arranged with first a base at the bottom then a pointy end at the bottom. The two triangles with the base at the bottom were really the sides of the dress and were made of a light, gauzy, semi-transparent material slit almost to the hip. The front and back, with the pointy ends down, were also very lightweight, but they were opaque. The dress was a dark, forest green that went really well with my red hair and there were green shoes in the same color. It also had a wrap made from the same green material that covered my shoulders.
Now that I have described it, try and imagine the effect. My legs are exposed from all sides because the opaque material narrows to a point as it gets closer to my feet. On the sides, anyone who takes more than a casual glance will see that I am not wearing anything under the dress. There weren't even any cups built into it for my breasts. It was just a cloth tube with darts that would stretch a little at the breasts, hips and bottom.
When I tried it on and walked out, I could feel the dress swishing between my legs. I spent about ten minutes up on the platform while the sales lady marked the alterations. When Master saw that they were going to take up the hem, he told the sales lady to have them keep the material so I could wear it as a neck ribbon. Master intended that to be a substitute collar that evening. I wasn't thinking about the changes or the ribbon though, I was imagining I was being sold at an auction and I was standing on the platform so the buyers could get a good view of me as the auctioneer undressed me.
Needless to say, this was not the dress my mother thought I was wearing to the prom. We had already picked one out that was substantially more conservative. Master would come back and pick this one up (and pay for it) next weekend. Then he would keep it for me and I would change after he picked me up.
The only thing that I can say about the prom itself was that I had a great time and there were quite a few upset girls because guys could not keep their eyes off me. It was what happened after the prom that is important to this narrative. It was the first time I made a "public" appearance as a slave.
After the prom, three other couples went to Master's house. Half his basement had been remodeled into a recreation room. From eleven, when we arrived, to about two-thirty, we danced and talked. The other two girls both told me that they wished they had the guts to wear a dress like mine and I took that as a compliment, not an insult. None of us drank anything other than Coke, so it wasn't a case of being drunk that caused our secret to be shared with the others. It was more because they were our friends and we trusted them.
About two-thirty, someone suggested a game of truth or dare. We had played before and had our own rules. We each rolled a pair of dice and the highest roll got to ask the question of the person with the lowest value. You could only do three truths in a row without taking a dare and anyone could refuse a dare that was sexual in nature without penalty. We had just started playing when I had to answer a truth from one of the other guys.
"What is the kinkiest thing you have ever done?" he asked.
I looked at Master and he nodded that I should answer the question truthfully.
"I have submitted myself to another as his slave," I answered.
Everyone but Master wanted to ask more questions, but I shut up while they badgered me. After a few minutes, I responded. "I have answered the question. Someone will have to wait for another truth from me to get anymore information." They quieted down and we resumed the game. But the guys were sneaking peeks at me with lustful expressions and the girls were looking at me like I was nuts.
When it was my turn again to answer a truth, they found out that I had submitted to Master. I was wondering if they were going to ask me what I did first. I was still trying to think how I would answer that one. But on my next truth, I told them about doing chores, serving food, display postures, and giving pleasure orally and anally.
Those were my three truths in a row and I knew that the next time it was my turn; I would have to take a dare. There was very little doubt what it would be. However, I was on a streak that kept me from getting a low number for about thirty minutes. But then it was finally my turn again. I thought I was lucky that Master had the high roll because he would have me do something innocuous that would simulate my slavery, but I was wrong.
"I dare you to serve us the rest of the night as our slave."
"Yes, Master."
"Not here, someone might wake up. Let's go out to the barn."
Everyone just sat for a moment, I think unbelievingly. Then Master stood up and headed for the stairs. Everyone else got up slowly and followed him with me at the rear. On the way out to the barn, the others were chatting and laughing. No one was quite sure how to talk to me so I wasn't really included. Once in the barn, Master turned on the lights and they formed a semi-circle facing me. Master stood before me and untied the ribbon around my neck. Then he took my collar from his pocket and locked it in place. "You are dressed strangely for a slave." he started. "Remove your clothes, slave."
I kicked off my shoes. All I had left was the dress and my collar. I reached up and pushed the dress down, first over my breasts, then my hips. Halfway down my thighs, it fell the rest of the way to my ankles. I stepped out of it and stood before them naked except for my collar. There was a gasp from a couple of them, and I don't know if it was because I was naked, or because I was shaved.
I need to explain how I felt. I had been naked a lot around Master and had gotten used to it very quickly. I thought it was sexy to be naked all of the time and I especially loved the way he looked at me as I worked or trained under his direction. However, this was much different. Not only was it someone other than Master, it was both males and females. As I stood there and they looked at me, I can't believe how inferior I felt to them. Being the only one naked in front of a group of clothed men and women made me feel like an animal compared to them. But it was also creating a sexual charge in me that I could not suppress. It was then that I realized that I truly was a sexual being.
After a few moments of letting them stare, Master began calling out position numbers and I posed for them in the display postures he had taught me. I really didn't see them looking at me then because I was concentrating on my movements so much. Master gave me about thirty or forty seconds in each position before calling out the next one. After about ten or fifteen minutes, he stopped and had me kneel.
"How would you like to use her?" he asked the others.
"I don't know about you guys," Mark began, "but I have a hard-on that won't quit after watching that."
Everyone else laughed at his obvious statement. I think even the other two girls were stimulated by watching me.
"That is easily fixed," Master replied. "Come with me, slave."
He took me over to one of the stalls that still had a door. Then he tied my wrists behind my back and tied a rope around my neck. The other end of the rope was tied to a post at the corner of the stall. The last thing he did before having me kneel was to blindfold me. Then I heard him walk back to the others.
"There she is. Feel free."
I heard some whispering going on, but I could not make out the words. I imagine that the other two girls were not anxious to have their boyfriends sucked by another girl. Then I heard the stall door open and close. The rustling was not pants, but a dress.
"Okay, have you ever done another woman before?" From the voice, I knew it was Gail, Mark's date.
"No, Mistress."
"Well, let's see if you can figure it out."
I heard her pull up her dress and pull down her hose and panties. Then she took a couple of steps forward and I could smell her and feel her hair brush against my face. I kissed her mound several times, before inserting my tongue. After a few minutes, I heard her moan softly and she began to thrust her hips forward, pushing against my face. As she approached her climax, she began to pant but I could tell she was trying to muffle herself. Finally, I felt her tremble as the orgasm overcame her.
I don't know for sure, but I think Mark was next. Then came Jenny and, I think, Todd. Master was the last to use me. When he finished, Master asked them if I was satisfactory.
"What would happen if she wasn't?" Jenny asked.
"She would be punished."
"How?"
"She would be whipped."
"And who would do the whipping? You?"
Master was silent for a moment and I could sense him thinking about the pros and cons. "No," he finally answered. "It should be the one who was dissatisfied, except that I can stop it if I think she is being injured."
"I would like to see the slut whipped, so no, she was not satisfactory."
Master came to me in the stall, and removed the blindfold. Then he took my arm, pulled me up, and marched me out of the stall. He took me to the same spot where I had been whipped the first time I submitted. The rope came off my neck and was thrown over the beam. My hands were untied and tied again in front of me. Then they were pulled in the air and the rope tied off. I was in exactly the same position, up on my toes, hands stretched overhead, with my body taut, as I was the first time I had been whipped by Master. Master got her the belt he used on me and wrapped the buckle end around her hand three times.
At first, she just kind of swooshed the leather in my direction, barely touching me with it. But as she gained confidence that it really was okay for her to beat another person, the strokes came harder and harder. Even though she did not swing as hard as Master, it still was painful and I was quickly pleading with her to stop. She was in frenzy now, with no time at all between the lashes. Finally, Master called out to stop.
She was standing behind me so I could not see. Nor could I hear anything but my own crying as the pain wracked my entire body. But then I felt her kissing my neck and whispering in my ear that she was sorry. "Can you forgive me?" she kept saying.
When I finally caught my breath enough to respond, I turned my head to her and whispered back, "There is nothing to forgive, Mistress." I think being called Mistress upset her as much as my not forgiving her, maybe more. She pulled back as I hung limply in my bonds and the others discussed what to do with me next.
They decided that it was my turn for pleasure. I was let down and told to kneel, which I did. Then I was allowed to masturbate while they watched. At first, I had trouble with all of the eyes on me. I tried to tune them out, but the harder I tried, the worse it got. Then my body started taking over and soon I was rocking back and forth. When I was given permission to climax, it came with a fury and a duration that I could not have imagined a few weeks ago.
By now it was five o'clock and dawn was breaking. I was taken out back and hosed down, then the other two girls dried me off. It was like I was a pampered pet, being groomed before a big show. When they finished drying me, they fixed my hair and applied a little make-up. As they prepared me, Gail was asking me questions about my training, what it felt like to be nude around others, and all sorts of things. Jenny was pretty close-mouthed, hardly daring to even look at me, let alone talk. When I was cleaned up, Master had me put on the dress Mother had bought. Then we got into his car and he drove me home.
"I am very proud of you for what you did tonight," he said.
"Thank you, Master."
"Was it hard?"
"At first it was, Master. But then I just sort of fell into it. Even though I know it is not, it seemed perfectly natural.
He didn't say anything else until we were on my doorstep. "You know, that once school is over, we will be able to spend every weekday together. Both my parents work and so they will be gone all day."
"I hadn't thought about it, Master, but it sounds wonderful. I have to work this summer Master, but since it is just fast food, I should be able to work nights most of the time."
He kissed me good night (or good morning, actually) and I went in.
Two weeks later, we graduated from high school and I was about to get a new lesson in slavery. Until then, it had only been once or twice a month that I was actually able to serve him. Now it was going to be five days per week.
That summer passed very quickly because I was so busy. I was Master's slave for six or seven hours every day, then went to work flipping burgers at night to earn money for college. I am sure that you don't really care about my fast food career, so let me focus on the daytime activities.
Every day started the same. I would undress after Master collared me, then he had me work out. First came stretching, then running on a treadmill, then weight training. I had always been in very good shape, but now I was in great shape and it really showed. I wasn't muscular at all, just toned and fit. My energy level improved and with it, my attitude. I was proud of the way I looked and proud of the way Master looked at me. Without the exercise, I never would have been able to get through all of the demands placed on me that summer.
Master began teaching me to dance. Yes, I already knew how, but this was different. Now I wasn't dancing because I enjoyed it, but because he enjoyed seeing me do it. And the dancing wasn't just flashing or grinding; it had to be graceful or energetic depending on the music. The display postures he had taught me really helped me. I had already learned how he liked to see me, and I was able to incorporate a lot of that into the dancing.
After that we had lunch followed by me doing chores. Lunch was usually similar to the first day we spent together as Master and slave. Sometimes Master would have ingredients and a recipe picked out and I had to make it. I had never really learned to cook before and this was the start of that part of my education. Master would feed me while I knelt beside him.
One morning, however, I was having a hard time mastering a move that I was supposed to learn. As punishment, instead of getting whipped, I had to eat all of my meals with Master from a bowl on the floor. I was not allowed to touch the food with my hands, I had to put my face in the bowl and eat it that way. In a way I would have rather been whipped, because Master didn't let me clean my face until much later in the day. I had this sticky food residue all over it for most of the afternoon. Eating on my hands and knees and then having to work with my face a mess, was very humiliating at first. It made me feel more like an animal than a human being. But then I realized that was exactly what I was, a sexual animal put on this earth for the pleasure of others. At least that is what Master had me believing by the time we finished the dialogs.
What are the dialogs? Some people would call them brainwashing. To me, they were just another part of the training. While I knelt naked in front of a mirror, Master would ask me a series of questions. Each series had three parts to it, and my answers did not require creative thought. Here are some examples.
Q: What kind of woman wears a collar?
A: A slave, Master.
Q: What do you wear around your throat?
A: A collar, Master.
Q: What does that make you?
A: A slave, Master.
Rather than repeating all of the responses and follow-up questions, here are some of the initial questions in each series.
What kind of woman strips on command?
What kind of woman must get permission for an orgasm?
What kind of woman obeys orders?
What kind of woman accepts punishment willingly?
What kind of woman exists for the pleasure of others?
What kind of woman has no right to privacy?
What kind of woman addresses men as Master?
What kind of woman has no rights at all?
Master had hundreds of these, and we spent at least an hour after lunch with him asking and me responding. Sometimes it was even longer than an hour. And we did this five days a week for almost two months. But as we did it, I came to see my slavery not as a role or as a game, but as what and who I was. My slavery was becoming part of my identity. I suppose the seed had to be there and the dialogs merely nourished it, but I often wondered if they would be as effective with someone who did not start out voluntarily submitting. I suspected that it would over time.
After the dialogs were chores, then it was time for me to get cleaned up and go home. The chores were varied and included laundry, cleaning, making beds, and cleaning dishes; just about anything that he needed or wanted me to do. Once every week or two, depending on the rainfall, I had to mow the yard in back of the house and around the barn. The spots Master had me do were safely hidden from the road; he did those areas, but that was only about ten or fifteen percent of the total area.
After the first couple of times I did it, Master noticed that I was tanning. He got the strongest sunscreen he could and slathered it on me before taking me outside naked. In a few weeks, the tan that I did have on my arms, legs, and face started to fade and soon my skin was uniformly pink, no tan, and no tan lines, anywhere.
About once or twice a week, Mark, Todd, Jenny, and Gail would come over. Master would have me show them the results of my training and I would give pleasure to them. Sometimes we would have a picnic out back, with me preparing all of the food and serving them. It was on one of those days, in the middle of July, that Mark asked Jenny and Gail if they had ever thought about doing what I was doing.
Gail nearly exploded. "Are you nuts?" she screamed. "Why do you think I would ever want to degrade myself like that? What kind of slut do you think I am?"
"Jeez, calm down. I was just asking."
"Well, Mr. Braniff, if you really want someone like that, you will just have to find someone else." She spat out the words, got up and walked away.
Mark followed her and we could see them talking but couldn't hear what they were saying. Meanwhile, Todd looked at Jenny and said that she hadn't answered the question.
"Yes, I have thought about it, but no, I will never do it. If Megan is happy this way, that is fine, but I don't think it would work for me."
Todd nodded. After a few more minutes, Mark and Gail came back and sat down. They finished their lunch and Master fed me. After I had eaten, Gail told Master that she wanted to punish me.
When Master asked why, Gail just answered, "Because she is a slut and deserves it."
I was dumbfounded when Master agreed.
He had me lie down on my stomach in the grass and spread my arms and legs wide. Then he took off his belt and gave it to Gail.
"Now listen to this and tell me if you really want me to be like this?" she told Mark. "Do you want to be whipped, slave?"
"No, Mistress."
"But you will accept it if I want to?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Turn over, slave, and spread your legs wide."
I rolled over and opened my legs as wide as possible. She stood between my ankles and started whipping the insides of my thighs, first the left, then the right, then the left again. The blows came quickly and soon I was writhing and trying to roll away from them. When my hands could no longer stop themselves, I put my arms down to try and fend off a blow. Master stopped Gail, and then told the others to hold down one limb apiece. Once they secured me, Gail started again.
I was crying and wailing, begging her to stop, but she just kept at it until she was sweaty with the effort. After about five minutes, she stopped and, panting heavily, threw the belt down on my stomach and walked away from me. I was allowed to cry in the grass while the others cleaned up the lunch and left. When they were gone, Master came back and knelt beside me, holding my head in his lap and trying to soothe me.
When I was finally quiet and had stopped sobbing, Master said that they probably would not be coming back again. That was fine with me. I had first-hand knowledge of how much Gail resented me. I never did understand why she and Jenny would allow their guys to be sucked and served by another woman. If the positions had been reversed, I would have made sure that we never got near the place.
Another month passed and Master and I were getting ready to go to college. We had both been accepted at several schools, but back in the winter had both decided, independently of each other, on Georgia Tech. I liked the idea of being in a big city after growing up in a small town. Master wanted to be an engineer, and if you are from Georgia, that is the only place to go.
The problem was that we were both assigned dorms already. But we drove the three hours over to Atlanta one day and stopped by the housing office. After canceling our dorm rooms, we went apartment hunting. We found a nice two bedroom place within walking distance of campus, but when I heard what the rent was, I told Master that there was no way I could pay my half of the expenses. All he said was not to worry, and we both signed the lease after Master gave them a check for the deposit and first month's rent.
On the way home, I asked Master how we were going to pay for the apartment. I had a scholarship that would cover my books and tuition, but not my living expenses. I wasn't sure how Master or his family was going to pay for college, but they were better off than my family and I am sure they could afford more than mine. His response was that I was going to earn it. This just added another thing to my list of worries because I thought it might mean that Master was going to have me become a prostitute. I kept telling myself that he would never do that to me, but I just could not make myself believe it.
The other problem I was having was how to tell my parents. I had saved just about everything I earned that summer, but it wasn't going to be anywhere near enough to cover the expenses of an apartment. And how was I going to explain to them that I was moving in with a boy?
Needless to say, there was a big scene. My parents told me that if I did this, I would not get one cent from them. When I told Master, he told me not to worry about it.
So how did this all get resolved? I became a dancer. Do you know how much dancers in strip clubs make? Remember that this was several years ago. Back then, I made between $1,200 and $1,500 a week for thirty hours work.
After we moved in and got through orientation, Master took me to one of the clubs near downtown. It was clean and very upscale, and the girls were actually pretty. After auditioning for the manager (in the nude, of course), I was hired. Well, hired is not exactly the right word. Technically, I was a subcontractor who worked for tips only. I got a schedule of three ten-hour shifts per week, with one or two on the weekend. However, most of their business was weeknights with businessmen from downtown Atlanta, so weekend shifts really didn't pay very well. But the weekday evenings were very lucrative. Think about some tired, middle aged businessman who gets beat up all day at work. Before going home to his wife and two kids, he stops by and gets to have a beautiful eighteen year old redhead with alabaster skin who is naked sit with him, talk with him, and dance for him. When I think of the effort required for the money I made, it makes me squirm a little with guilt. I was raised with a good work ethic, and I certainly worked hard to please Master with only an occasional orgasm and satisfaction that I pleased him as a reward.
Once we had some money, we started getting things for the apartment. After basic furniture was taken care of, we started on special equipment that Master wanted. It did not take us long with the money I was turning over to Master every night. The second bedroom became the slave's quarters, although I did not spend every night there. Sometimes I was chained to Master's bed and slept on the floor. Sometimes, though rarely, I was actually allowed to sleep in his bed. Most nights I spent in a cage designed to hold an adult St. Bernard. When I was in it, Master locked it so that there was no way I could get out on my own.
Master also took me to an adult bookstore. They weren't too fussy about IDs or we never would have gotten in. It was there that Master got me my real collar. It was steel and locked with a padlock. He also got matching wrist and ankle cuffs, a riding crop, a cat o' nine tails, and some other equipment.
And so we settled into our life. Master and I arranged our classes so that we were on campus together. After our last class, Master would take me to work or we would go home. If I was at work, he picked me up at closing time. They were fussier about IDs at the club and he was still too young to get in and see his slave dance for others.
Weekends were the best since we had most of them to ourselves except for my one or two work shifts. Sometimes we would get out of the city and go to the country for a day. Other times, Master would go golfing and I was his caddie. I think it raised a lot of eyebrows at the course where he played because caddies are almost extinct, and to have a female caddie that was attractive was unheard of. I just had to be careful when I bent over because I was only allowed a short skirt and no panties.
It was in late October that Master got a package in the mail. It was long and thin, and at first I thought it was a golf club. But when we got inside and Master opened it, it was something else entirely. He had ordered a branding iron. It was about two and a half feet long and made of iron with a wooden handle. The brand was an old English capital S. He was holding it out and admiring it when he asked me what I thought.
"It looks very heavy, Master."
"It is."
"Master, may I ask a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Master, is it decorative or are you planning on using it?"
He just smiled at me without answering my question.
The next Saturday morning, we went out to the country. There was crispness in the air with the approaching winter. We took I-75 north out of Atlanta about fifty miles, then got off and headed west. I knew where we were going, a state park that was still about an hour away.
When we got there, the place was deserted. Master took a back road deep into the woods and pulled to a stop where the road ended. There was probably not another person within twenty miles of us. After I stripped and he put my collar on me, he opened the trunk and had me unload it. There was a bag of charcoal and some starter fluid, a hibachi, the branding iron, and some rope.
Master had me stand with my back to a thick tree. My hands were tied over my head and behind the tree. Next he looped the rope around the tree and just under my armpits twice and tied it off. Two more loops around my stomach were tied off. Finally, loops around my right thigh just below my crotch and another just above the knee.
After I was bound to the tree, he told me to try and free myself. I struggled as much as I could but obviously could not get loose. What I noticed though was that my right leg was completely immobile. There was no play in the ropes at all that wrapped around my thigh. Master watched me for a few moments then told me to relax. I tried to, as much as I could in my bonds and knowing what was coming, but my mind was racing. He was going to mark me, permanently by burning my flesh.
He knelt down and poured charcoal into the grill then doused it with fluid and lit it. The flames burned out within minutes and the charcoal began the slow process of burning. After he got it going, he sat down in front of me.
"You know what I am going to do?" he asked unnecessarily.
"Yes, Master."
He didn't ask me if it was okay, or if I wanted to stop it. He assumed that it was his decision and that I would go along with whatever he wanted. In a way, that was a compliment, but I knew that if he asked me, I would beg to not go through with this.
For the next hour or so, I really don't know how long but that is what it seemed like, the charcoal burned and became the fiery orange color with the gray ash coating. When it was still half black and half gray, he put the end of the branding iron in the grill. For the next thirty minutes I could not take my eyes off the end of the iron as it began to heat up. The color changes in it were slow and subtle, but eventually, it began to glow, first dully, then more brightly. Eventually, it became almost white with the heat it was radiating.
When Master decided it was ready, he lifted it out and tapped it against the grill to knock off the loose ashes. Then he knelt down in front of me and lifted the iron. It seemed like he was moving very slowly, or else time actually slowed down as I watched the hot iron approach my thigh. When it was still several inches away, I could feel the heat and cringed. As it came even closer, I finally had to take my eyes off it by shutting them tight and turning my head away. My whole body tensed for the pain that I knew was coming.
But it didn't come. Not quite believing I was to be spared, I opened my eyes and looked at Master. The iron was back in the grill.
"Master, may I ask a question?"
"Yes, slave."
"Master, what happened? Why didn't you brand me?"
"I waited too long and the iron cooled."
I slumped as much as the rope would let me. He had made me think that I was to be branded, and then I thought for a moment that I was going to escape being marked. Now he was telling me that I was to be branded after all. I squirmed a little, testing the rope again to see if there was anyway of escaping this. As before, the rope held me tightly to the tree.
Then I thought about just asking him not to do this. Despite the coolness of the day, I could feel the nervous perspiration dripping from under my arms and running down my ribs. What would happen if I asked him not to do this? Would he tell me that it was over if I didn't agree? I didn't think he would, and I also thought that he would stop if I asked him to. So why didn't I? The only answer is that I didn't want him to; that I really wanted to be branded as a slave. There was something inside me that didn't want to go through this, but there was something else, something stronger, that said that if I really wanted my slavery to be real, it was not my choice.
All of this took only a split second to run though my head. When it had, I relaxed as much as I could and waited for the iron to reheat so Master could brand me. As it turned out, I didn't have long to wait. Within in a few minutes, he pulled the iron out of the fire and examined the end. Satisfied, he knelt down in front of me again and I turned my head to the side because I did not want to see my flesh burned.
When the iron touched me, I screamed and my head flew back and forth from side to side. Not just a scream, but the unholy yell of a demon released from hell. The scent of my burning leg filled my nostrils but I didn't care because I just kept on screaming. I don't know how long he held it against me, later he told me that it was only about five seconds. But my time sense had slowed to the point where it seemed like hours. I did not even feel him pull it away. After he had pulled it back, it felt like it was still boring inside me, melting away the skin and muscle. As soon as he did, he pulled out a can of antiseptic spray and sprayed my burned thigh. I did not feel the spray either, which I should have, but I never realized he did it.
Master let me cry and scream as long as I wanted. In the past, he usually let me go on for several minutes after being whipped, but then he would call a halt to it and I would have to stop or be whipped some more. Not so this time. Again, I have no idea how long it took for me to settle down and get used to the pain in my leg. It could have been ten minutes or an hour.
When I was able to control my sobbing, Master was standing in front of me. He leaned forward, careful not to rub against my leg, and kissed me. When he pulled back, he told me that I had done well.
"Thank you, Master."
"Would you like to see it now?"
"Yes, Master." I could not really see it the way I was bound to the tree. Master took a small mirror and held it below my brand so I could see the reflection. I was surprised that I wasn't bleeding, but the iron had cauterized the wound. There was a black, old English S burned into my thigh. It appeared to be about a quarter of an inch deep, as if someone had taken a chisel and gouged it into my thigh.
"I am going to leave you tied here for awhile. I don't want you touching your brand. Would you like something to drink?"
"Yes, Master."
He took a water bottle from the bag and opened it. Then he held it up to my lips and I took a deep drink, until the water started running down my chin. When he pulled the bottle away, I thanked him for the water.
"You know that it will be awhile before we can make love again? Your brand will have to heal first."
"No, Master, I hadn't thought about it."
We talked for awhile, and I asked for another drink. Later, when I got hungry, Master fed me, still bound to the tree. It was early afternoon before Master took me down. By then, the pain in my leg had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache, from the sharp shooting pain that it had been earlier. Once I was free, Master tied my hands behind my back. Then Master wrapped a coat around my shoulders and had me get in the passenger side.
Once at the apartment, he took me to my cage and put me in, locking the door behind me.
"You will spend the next several days in here until your brand heals. I will let you out for the restroom and meals, but your hands will remain bound behind you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
And that is how I spent the next three days. When I was finally let out, Master had another surprise for me. From now on, I was going to have to wear my collar to the club where I danced. That first night back to work, I made more money than I ever had. Between the brand and the collar, every guy there who had ever fantasized about owning a slave wanted me to dance and spend time with him.
The other girls were curious about it also. Several of them asked me if this was part of my act or if it was real. I just shrugged, since I was under instructions from Master not to reveal my slavery to anyone. But I think some of them knew that I was an owned slave. If they did, they never said anything. One of the nice things about working there is that people don't pry into other people's business. You have to build a little wall around yourself, I think, to do what we were doing for a living, and the other dancers respected that because they didn't want someone trying to intrude on them.
By the end of the school year, I was getting really burned out. I had my classes and studying, dancing three nights a week and all of the cleaning and household chores at the apartment. I wondered what we were going to do over the summer, because living at home did not have any appeal for me after spending the last nine months as a slave with the man who I loved. Master solved that problem by telling me that he was going to summer school and we were staying in Atlanta. However, I was not going to take any classes. Instead, I would work at the club five nights a week instead of three.
By the end of the summer, Master had over $20,000 in the bank from my earnings since I started. About half was in a savings account and he had invested the other half. So in the three weeks between the end of summer term and the start of the fall term, he took me on a vacation.