The Prison of Pain

Chapter Five - Branding

Synopsis - it's Christon Mann's second day of his painful five year punishment and he still hasn't been permanently tagged as property of the NRC, all of that will change today. What does it mean to be permanently tagged? Even Christon doesn't know.

Christon was in his cell as usual. It was the second day of punishment. His balls had decreased slightly in size, but were still swollen and purple. Even to move a muscle made his body ache. He had been awake since 4AM and finally after hours of nothing, the guards came to wake him up. They were prepared with a bucket of water, but it wouldn't be necessary.

Christon looked up and saw no dog bowl. No breakfast today. However something that was different was that the guards weren't alone. Gino was with them in his latex uniform. His gloved hand gently caressing his cock at the sight of his slave on the floor in pain.

"You're very lucky today, prisoner. You're getting a break from torture. Your status as property of the prison is going to be made official today. On your feet." Gino ordered.

Christon had no idea what that would meant. Wasn't it legally true already? What did he mean? But he already knew better than to disobey Gino. So he was on his feet and the cell door swung open. Gino marched down the corridor and the guards gestured for him to follow, with them behind. Every step was agony, but Christon had no choice. So he walked barefoot down the filthy and cold concrete floor.

Gino lead Christon and the guards down the long hallway to the last door. He walks in, with Christon being forced to follow behind. Two other NRC guards stand around in the room, watching a small tv that's on a large desk. On the TV some regular NRC propaganda is playing. Clutter filled the room.

Despite his muscular body being completely naked and on display, Christon felt an uncomfortable heat as if there was a fire in the room. Then his eyes landed on a small open roaring fire place that was built into the wall.

Christon was confused, he had no idea why he had been brought here or what the room even was. Then his gaze turned towards the middle of the room where he saw a strange table-like-bench slanted at a downward angle, large enough for a person to be tied to. The two guards turn to face Gino and nod to him. Christon could read that nod.

It was a nod that said, "We're ready."

The only question was, ready for what?

Gino nods in satisfaction, turning to face Christon. "You see prisoner, it's customary that each prisoner has some sort of permanent marking or scar so that they will always remember their time here."

Christon's face pales. He almost take a step back, his mind connecting the dots.

"Some get a tattoo, some get cut into. Some even get a finger or toe removed. It's barbaric. But necessary." Gino explained, walking over to the fire.

Gino then turned to face Christon, holding a iron rod out in front of him, the end that was just in the roaring fire now a bright red.

Christon's heart stops.

"Tattoos are fine, so is a finger removed, but your body is so beautiful. It would be like drawing a penis on the Mona Lisa, a travesty against art." Gino carelessly waves a hand.

"But a brand that's seared into your skin is much more....attractive I think. If you were the Mona Lisa, it would be like making her breasts a little bigger." He gives a sickening smile.

Christon is suddenly seized with a panic that forces him to quickly step back, not taking his eyes off the rod in Gino's hands.

"Grab him." Gino orders.

The brutal NRC guard tightly grabbed his left wrist and Christon used all the strength of his muscle body to lose it. However the guard was stronger and pulled him forward. In an attempt to shake away the guard Christon drops to the floor as another hand grabs his right arm.

"No! I have to get away! I can't go through this much pain after yesterday!" Christon thought to himself.

Gino and one of the other guards drags him across the floor, towards the bench. He continues to try and pull and kick them away. There's a burst of pain across his right shoulder as Gino smacks him, his face one of pure anger. It was a controlled anger, but it was there.

"Control yourself you piece of shit or I will-" Gino gets cut off as Christon's leg hits his shin.

He knew he would be punished for that later, but nothing would be worse than this. Abruptly, Christon was lifted off the ground, getting set face down on top of the table.

Gino grabbed the back of his head by his long blonde hair and pushes the side of his face down to lock it. Then Christon's legs were firmly deadlocked against the board. Hands grab his arms, holding them painfully in place against his back.

"No!" Christon half yells as he tries to move.

Gino keeps one of his hands on the side of Christon's head, and one on his right shoulder. Christon was completely held down, he could not move a muscle. His breathing comes out in gargled gasps, his chest confined against the table which only makes breathing harder. He flinched away as something cold and wet brushes over his left shoulder.

He forced his eyes shut as the guard left the rod there for thirty seconds. He could smell his own skin melting off. Christon gagged, forcing himself to keep what little food was inside his system. He was gagged, he could not vomit. However as soon as Christon reminded himself what was about to happen, his stomach revolts, vomit traveling up his throat.

Christon tried to angle his head downwards in hope it'll help, only Gino holds it steady. He knew all too well that Christon was vomiting inside his gag, but he didn't care. He wanted his muscle pup to suffer. Tears slid down his cheeks as he continued to gag. It was amazing how much vomit the body could produce based off such little food. It just kept coming. With nowhere else to go, it sprouted up his nose.

Gino then realised that this was dangerous. He came VERY close to permanently castrating Christon yesterday. He could not allow him to be permanently damaged. Of course, the branding did not count as permanent damage. That was part of the punishment. In a twisted act of mercy, Christon's gag was suddenly torn off. All the vomit that'd been stuck in his mouth fell to the floor with a splat.

He angled his mouth towards the floor, coughing as it continued to stream from his throat. When it stopped, his mind was fuzzy with exhaustion. Gino lifted Christon's head up by his hair, and the gag was stuffed back into his acidic mouth. That was when he heard the sound of something stoking the fire. Then slow footsteps walk towards him.

Christon tensed, attempting to struggle free one last time. Gino just pushed Christon's head harder against the board.

A person came to stand to his right, in his peripheral vision. He held the long branding iron in his leather gloved hands, the end glowing a fresh bright orange after being in the fire. A whimper broke out of Christon's mouth.

Then the rod was brought down.

Christon let out a loud cry as the raging hot end sizzled against his skin, burning through multiple layers of skin. Garbled gasps leave Christon's dry lips, his teeth biting down hard on the gag as he pushed his head against the board. The main would not be quenched, however he tried to twist and turn. The sizzling hot pain washes over his entire left side before going completely numb.

His left shoulder blade pulses with a faint pain, feeling like there's something stiff stretched across it. Christon let a few light sniffles out, his breath rapid and showing no signs of slowing down. The hands that held Christon to the board let go and he tumbled to the floor with a painful thud. Looking up in front of him, he saw Gino. He looked more than satisfied with Christon's state. He smiled.

"Now you belong to the prison of pain."

(Hey everyone, it's Rhys here! I'm sorry the gap between these chapters was so long but I had other things going on in my personal life. The series is most assuredly not over and this is only the start for our poor muscle pup!)