Come to the Plantation.
A secluded, semi-tropical place cooled by breeze from the nearby seas, surrounded by deep jungle on three sides, a small lake and fields to the south. The high compound walls that lie around the fields surrounding the lake are more to keep intruders out as occupants in. Mountainous cloud forest to the north produces copious fresh water and this fertile land produces all its inhabitants need. The only access is a well made dust track from the town, 20 miles away up a long peninsula across a steep, bridged gorge which isolates it from the mainland.
A large wooden house stands at the centre of the grounds; simple yet opulent in its decor. To the north of the house a driveway gives access to steps to a heavy, little used mahogany door, then leads around to the south side where a large courtyard is surrounded by slave huts, cells, workshops, stables and stock sheds, with a path leading to the fields.
A dark basement lies beneath the house. On the ground floor, facing south, is a wide wooden veranda, looking out over the courtyard. A great entrance hall stretches between the front and back of the house, off this lie a sitting room a library, a study, kitchen, dining room and 3 or 4 more. Up wide curving stairs are, among others, Mistress's personal rooms.
This is a place to share BDSM fantasy. It will be what we make it: each member a character in the scenario we build, woven together by story and however else we create it. Colour, creed and sexual preference are unimportant. Come as you are and be what you have always felt. Express your deepest desires. This is a place where slaves are treated without mercy and sexual pleasure is the driving force. Come by choice or by force, stay because this is your destiny and purpose.
The Plantation is run by Kiva, a dominant woman who will relish your enslavement, possess your soul and use you to her will.
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Branding the Smith
As he knelt he felt her hand lightly brush against his scalp. It set him alight. Instinctively he prostrated to kiss her feet, worshiping the uncovered toes that peeped freshly polished thought her silletoed sandals. There was no escaping it now, no desire to escape it either. He was devoted, bound to her in more than just his body. This woman was fundamental. Powerful presence in his existence now, and his existence was to serve, to pleasure, to work, to protect her.
She pulled her toes from his suckling, caressing tongue, in an effort of control on her part. She wanted him again, and his mouth worked so exquisitely there that she had felt the tingle in her groin rising rapidly. But sexual satisfaction was not on her agenda. For now, at least.
She moved, and he stayed, knelt forward, head to the floor, transfixed by his enslavement.
He hear her stir the iron in the coals, heard her admiring words as she lifted it to see the ‘K’ he had formed. She had ordered this for the small herd of cattle that would arrive in the next hour or so…but now she saw another propose. Whilst he was infinitely more precious to her, in terms of purpose, intelligence and devotion than the animals she would have here, he was no more than a bull, horse, ram or dog in his rights or absolute value in here eyes.
And so, he would be branded, just as would the rest of her slaves. Marked by his own iron, the first of her herd. She would test the form of her cipher on his flesh, and only then, if it was perfect, would she use it to mark the rest of her stock.
She prodded him with the toe of her red leathered right foot.
“Bring me the book, Smith.”
The book.
A huge ancient tome of hand made paper, clothed in deep burgundy leather with gold leaf adornments to edges and corners. As soon as she had seen it in the old shop in the town she had known it was perfect for the job.
He stood, almost hesitating with the enormity of the movement in the depth of his subjugation, and moved slowly through the small archway between forge and workshop, to lift from its casket the book that he had so lovingly tended, oiled and bought back to perfection. Watching his naked back and firm buttocks, contemplating the crude rope collar still around his throat like a remnant of his resistance, she remembered and looked forward.
This place, this moment. They were like a pivot in her existence. As a girl, she had known this place so intimately, and it had changed little since, bar some cosmetic alterations. They had moved from there when she was a teenager, her Father having decided to take up a post in the company in town, and the plantation, for a few years had been in the possession of an old family friend.
Her family were long gone now. Parents dead, her first grieving for then softened to quiet smiling memory and the knowing that life moved on. The boy – her brother by birth, if not by blood – the one on whom she had first found and honed her dominance, long gone to his own fortunes. Her early born child, cradled in her fate, had passed too, but she felt no sadness now. Bearing her, and the after effects of that had left her free from concern, ripe in her sexuality and the fullness of her body and breasts. She revelled in the strength and purpose in her life, and had lived it well. Having her relationships, relishing them, always knowing what she wanted. Always determined to bring this place back into her family, to be the place that she had always known it could be.
Now she was back. Where she had always wanted to be, where her spirit belonged. The cattle were ordered, the horses, chickens, goats dogs and pigs. The seed grain would come, and the tools could be made, the jungle would offer up its own secrets to enrich the life she would form.
The smith shuffled back into the forge, and fell to his knees once more at her feet, offering her the heavy book on outstretched forearms looking up at her, breathing her in, needing her possession. Knowing he was Hers.
Taking the book, she placed it on his bench. Taking his rope bound neck she pulled him to stand, then bent him forward across the bench, to lie torso to wood, beside the book.
Lifting his sharpest knife from the workbench she cut the rope from his neck and wrists, the flame glistening steel half shocking him with the intensity of its presence against his flesh. “It’s your choice now, Smith. You leave or you stay. If you stay it is as my slave. Forever”
