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“The pain is surprisingly less vicious than one might think,” Darius informed her master, though not because Sandra’s master was hesitating with the plan. The comment seemed to ease the troubling energy that was vibrating about the hut as each slave recorded Darius’ words desperately hoping they were true.
After a careful inspection, the master prepared a spot high on Sandra’s right thigh, cleansing the skin with disinfectant, then nodded at Essex.
Fanning the fires in the furnace, he turned the recently prepared rods, noting with a practiced eye how well they glowed, and the degree of heat they contained within them. Picking up the iron with the initials JG, he handed it to Jason and backed away, letting Darius lead him in the act. Once the branding iron reached the proper heat, Darius nodded the okay, and Jason moved in. Having been well-tutored prior to this moment, he laid the hot iron high on his lover’s thigh, and let it singe his mark deep into her skin.
Sandra’s mind flashed with fear, and as the hot iron burned her body. Pain seemed to overwhelm her senses, yet it was more fear than true pain that evoked her scream. With her nerves instantly fried, there was not much to feel but the shock of sexual desire glutting her body. Darius carefully observed as the iron finished its work and was removed. Then he dressed the wound and nodded for Jason to remove Sandra from the rack.
“Mr. Parker, your slave.” Darius moved quickly with the ceremony, as though the first slave branded inspired his purpose. The lust moving through the small hut flowed freely, like a wild beast on the run, affecting everyone who watched or waited.
As Matthew repeated the bondage with his wife, her body seemed small compared to Sandra’s voluptuous form. Yet, her thighs were as sensuously displayed, twitching with expectation as the truth of the moment became clear as glass before her eyes and mind. Perhaps Sandra had given her some strength walking this unknown path before her, for Elise seemed more calm and far less frightened—at least until her husband tightened the last strap around her left wrist. Then, suddenly overcome with emotion, she turned her head his way, and looked him in the eye as if she were begging for mercy. Her expression of uncertainty was so obvious that Matthew answered it telling her with conviction, “I’ve made the decision, slave. Your plea is useless.” His voice ran like ice through her veins, though the declaration was enough to see her through the next few minutes.
The embers in the furnace glowed, the fire roared and dwindled, and out of the fire Essex pulled the second branding iron and placed it in the master’s hands.
With slave’s skin prepared for the strike, Darius nodded and with a decided shove, the iron took hold of Elise’s upper thigh and reshaped the flesh in the image of her husband’s initia
ls, MP, which made an artful looking scripted monogram to embellish her already lovely flank. Her body bore the strike with a less animated response than Sandra’s, though every muscle in her taut body shook with terror, and her gasping shudder settled especially poignantly in Laney’s unmarked body.
Lifted from the rack, Elise was limp against Matthew’s side, looking like a vanquished princess; though she was merely a slave in his eyes and was forced to resume her lowly position on her knees.
“Priestly, your slave brings up the rear again,” Darius declared.
“She’s ready,” Erik informed the man.
Pulling Laney to her feet, the wary slave made the journey with the same trepidation her friends experienced. She was afraid and aroused with her pussy so wet that her sticky sex juice felt uncomfortable between her legs. Lying on the rack, she wanted to rub her cunt against the bar that hit her squarely in the crotch. She could get off in seconds rocking her labia against the wood, pressing so that her clitoris moved out from in-between and got the essence of the stimulating motions. Her erotic need was so strong that no one in the room could deny its force. But they chose to ignore it, rather than let it change the mood of this solemn ritual. With his hand pressed firmly on his wife’s ass, Erik calmed the roaring storm inside her; then as she stared at him, he suggested with his harsh black eyes boring into her, that her behavior was inappropriate.
“Slaves have been known to be whipped before a branding,” Darius added to further take the edge off her arousal.
Though she still burgeoned with a need to cum, Laney kept still and waited. It was like some dream, like all the other dreams this island of desire had touched inside her. She was almost outside herself when the branding iron began its task. Her cry, her shudder, and the sensation thereafter seemed to happen to someone other than herself, as though someone else were being singed with the hot iron, and she was listening inside that body to the sounds and feel of someone else’s reality.
It took some minutes for her to recover, only when the throbbing in her branded thigh began to awaken her conscious mind to the truth about this last dreamy pleasure.
“It is done,” Darius finished the ritual with the simple statement. “Take care of the wounds as I described and they will heal well. You’ll note some changes over time in the appearance, though the essence, your mark on the slave, will remain intact.”
Christian Barth had already disappeared from the hut. Essex soon vanished, too. And Darius remained only long enough to offer his final instructions. “Leave the door unlocked when you leave. We’ll need to make certain the fire is out before we set the lock again.”
***
The evening proceeded quietly thereafter, with a subdued hush settling over the six guests remaining in Christian Barth’s island home.
The three slaves refused to acknowledge what had happened, as though the hot iron had not seared their upper thighs with their master’s brand; or perhaps that with the swipe of a hand, they might vanish the marks burned into their flesh. Though there was a throbbing ache where the irons had hit, they ignored the sensations, letting them slide by with no apparent recognition. What they could not ignore were the pangs of sexual hunger rampant in their bodies.
After a late supper, as the evening light dwindled into darkness, the three slaves sidled up to their masters and drew them away from their conversation. Stirring them into amorous pursuits, Laney beckoned her husband with her dark eyes in molten shades of lust, pulling him upstairs. What power bloomed in her now! It took so little to rouse his lecherous urges: the tease inside her eyes, wet lips, and her naked, collared body moving with a sexual heat that was so natural to her now, billowing far beyond her flesh alone. She, with her sister slaves, might have wooed an entire army of men with the energy their bodies bred.
As she and Erik retreated up the stairs, Laney saw Sandra seducing Jason. The steamy temptress knelt between his legs rubbing her breasts against this thighs, while her hands groped for the hardening rod inside his shorts. He fed her need, rising enough to push the shorts down his legs and let his erection float free before her face. As her mouth covered the beautiful organ, she began to suck with the skill of a whore. A gaze of jubilant surrender met Jason’s eyes and he smiled knowingly as he held her head to his cock and playfully ran his fingers through her sunny blonde hair.
The air was fraught with sexual sounds. In some distant corner, Matthew and Elise were making love, the willing slave laid out on a table on her back. Her head dropped over the edge so that she could take her husband’s cock inside her mouth. He fucked her face fiercely as his desire gathered momentum; then he moved to the other end of the table when he was ready to cum and fucked her there as vigorously. Their passionate cries signaled the wet and happy ending, while their bodies collapsed in a heap of exhaustion until they were revived enough to return to their room upstairs.
When a state of peace finally returned to the creaky old house, the lovers were in their rooms, tucked inside beds, snuggled together despite the sticky, humid night. A breeze ruffled the hair on their arms, and sometimes teased an exposed crotch as though the sensation might awaken more lust. Occasionally, one of the six would stir, but the arousal was only momentary. The energy soon settled and they fell back asleep.
In each room, a slave collar was discarded on the floor, where it remained all night, unused.
***
The morning air rustled in agitated gusts, signaling a change in weather. Erik and Matthew were up early, inspecting the boat; and once roused, Jason followed, yawning as he met his friends on the dock.
“It’s running perfectly,” Erik referred to the boat.
“Then it’s time to split,” Matthew said as he stared around at the uneasy sky. “Think it’s gonna storm?”
