My screams filled the dungeon, reverberating around the stone walls as the red hot iron seared its way down through successive layers of skin. The whip that she had lashed me with had inflicted serious pain but this was a different scale. Lady Athelnia maintained the pressure, ensuring that the unique stamp of her ownership would remain on my body for life, marking me down as her personal property.
The iron brand had done its work admirably, burning the symbol that signified her possession of me permanently and irrevocably, deep into my flesh. My left buttock would from this moment onwards display the result of her cruel actions. The chains that held my body rattled as I rocked involuntarily, bucking back and forth in the throes of my agony, the dungeon atmosphere was filled with the pungent aroma of roasting meat. Slowly I became calmer, the only sounds now my low, rhythmic sobs.
Slowly, carefully she lowered me to the floor. A strange contrast between her callous cruelty and a caring gentleness. I lay flat on my stomach, the cold stones comforting beneath me, regaining my composure before my mistress helped me to my feet. Standing unsteadily, my head swimming I was led from the dungeon up to her sumptuous suite of rooms and placed face down on a long, low bedlike piece of furniture, my body supported by many soft cushions, my wound exposed.
She produced a small stone jar filled with a fragrant white ointment that she rubbed carefully into the site of the burn. Gentle, circular motions of her slim fingers massaged the skin until the pain subsided to little more than a low throb that was easily bearable, no doubt assisted by the body's natural painkillers that I experienced after every whipping when a calm serenity invariably descended over me.
This was my first experience of tenderness from Athelnia and it almost compensated for the torture that I had just endured during the branding. I felt my erection, killed off by the agony of the red hot brand returning once more. My engorged cock was hard against my stomach now. Her slim fingers slipped beneath my body, gripping my thick shaft firmly. She lowered her head until our cheeks almost touched. We felt almost like lovers now.
"If you come I will take you back down to the dungeon and brand the other buttock."
Her whispered comment shocked me to the core. Her cruelty seemed to know no bounds. Desperately I fought the urge within me to allow myself to orgasm, to relieve all the sexual tension that had been building these past weeks. She gripped me still harder, stroking me faster now, building towards the inevitable denouement. I could hold back no longer. For the second time my screams filled the air, not in agony this time, but ecstasy.
I felt my hot juices pumping as the orgasm peaked and then began to subside, my remorse growing by the second as I contemplated my fate, a repeat of what she had done to me earlier. Then her laughter filled the room, coquettish and playful. She eased me onto one hip, drawing the cushion from beneath me, the thick, white jiss pooled in the centre of the bright red satin of the cushion.
"Mm, you have made a mess haven't you slave? Well I'm going to give you a choice. You can lick it all up, every drop...or you can have another brand."
She threw the cushion to the floor and stood pointing at it imperiously, her long, slim finger wagging from side to side. There was to be no negotiation to be done here. I got down on my knees and lapped it up as if it were nectar, my sentence commuted. I even thanked her for not carrying out the second branding, something that brought a smile to her face. There was absolutely no confusion now as to who was boss.
The long, warm sunny days of summer were quickly slipping away. Cold winds began to snake through gaps in the modest mountain range that marked the northern border of the province, bringing an early hint of the days ahead. These past weeks had represented little less than a total re-education of the values and mores imparted to be by the society of my birth and upbringing. Central to this was my acceptance of the principle that a female might hold a position of authority over a male.
But not only had I accepted this very different structure of society but actively embraced it. Certainly the argument could be made that I had no choice in the matter but it was more than that. Every time I looked upon my mistress I felt that my submission to her was a very willing one, given freely and authorised fully by my decision to remain as her property even when the opportunity to escape had presented itself.
I adored everything about her. The shape of her body, her face, the clothes she wore, I realised that I was a very willing participant in the power games that played out between us. I found them challenging but nevertheless enjoyed them immensely. A close bond was forming between us, different from, but not entirely unlike that between lovers.
As time progressed I was granted small privileges as reward for my willing cooperation in everything that my mistress desired to do. The corporal punishments that I received were genuine ordeals that tested my strength and endurance. Sometimes I would beg for mercy when under the lash, despite the knowledge that it would not be forthcoming and that the act of begging itself seemed to drive her to deliver yet more draconian punishments.
The hunts continued, often long and gruelling. Inevitably they ended with me being driven to ground by my mounted mistress, magnificently clad in one of her black leather riding outfits that displayed her figure to perfection. Quite why such experiences provided such gratification for us both remained a mystery to me, their genesis buried somewhere deep within the psyche. I harboured no doubts that the feelings we shared were most uncommon.
The fine weather returned and my mistress informed me that the next hunt would take place on the Saturday. I decided that I would attempt to repeat my success in gaining the border, something that I had not achieved again after the time that I had voluntarily given myself back to her. I considered that this might be seen as a tribute to her, an affirmation of my loyalty. However on this occasion things did not go according to plan. I was running on firm sand once more, but the wind was not kind and I had barely reached the mid point of the second bay when my mistress rounded the promontory. I knew that the game was up and that I would be recaptured within a few minutes.
Sure enough I heard her shout of victory as she passed so close that I would probably have been knocked off my feet were it not for the fact that she caught me across my bare back with her single tailed whip and that was sufficient to propel me face down into the sand. I lay breathless, panting and exhausted from my exertions as the stallion drew to a halt. She dismounted, standing over me. That slight hint of a smile that I knew so well played on her lips once more as she flexed the heavy singletail, the lowering sun reflecting on her black leather riding outfit. I thought that she looked more beautiful than ever with her auburn hair cut into the neat bob, shaped close to the nape of her slim, elegant neck.
"I was wondering if you were reconsidering your life here, maybe you have a hankering for your home."
"No mistress, not at all."
My answer was a completely honest one. It seemed to please her. I detected a look of satisfaction on her face.
"Nevertheless, I still think you need to be taught a lesson. I like to keep you on your toes."
Her voice, calm and low. always served to strike fear into me in a way that a loud, brash delivery could never match. My mistress was cool and calculating, her delicious cruelty carefully honed to achieve exactly the effect that she desired. She motioned with her whip towards one of the saddle bags on the flank of her horse.
