"Abigail" - Part 2
by
...continues from "Abigail Part 1" - click here to start there...
The leather mask he wore seemed to be seamless. The only breaks in the
smooth black leather were slits for his eyes and holes to breathe
through, no mouth. She could hear the whisper of his accelerated
breathing as he bent over her prostrate, naked body.
Abigail noticed the definition of his musculature as his skin tight
suit rippled with his movement. His biceps accentuated by the
refraction of light as it bounced of the shiny material. Somewhat
abstractly, in a corner of her mind, she thought he had to be extremely
hot, trapped in the encompassing embrace of his costume.
His two accomplices were similarly dressed, but had carnival type eye
masks. As with his suit, their breasts and form were there to be seen,
not at all hidden by the material, but rather enhanced. The two female
acolytes hovered closely, acting as aides to him, checking on her
ritualistic bonds, that although were not terribly strong, served to
restrain her in a classic spread eagle position over the cross shaped
wooden altar. They were only in her peripheral vision, never staying in
one place long enough for her to really study them. Not that she was
very much interested in the two women; her attention was fully focused
on him as he stepped between her parted and bound legs. Her neck was
beginning to strain at trying to hold it up without support.
He had not touched her up to now; it wasn't necessary, just the
anticipation and implied threat were enough to have her quivering. The
uncertainty of what was to happen, increased the nervous quickening of
her heartbeat and each lungful of air was chased by another as if the
first was unsatisfactory in volume.
Abigail was determined though; not to weaken and utter the agreed words
that would stop the ceremony instantly. What was the word anyway?
Amber, Amethyst? Something like that she thought, a semi-precious stone
she was sure. Then she remembered; it was of course, her birthstone,
sapphire. She committed the word to memory and then as quickly
dismissed it because she had no intention of using it.
"Abigail, you can stop this at this moment or you can see it through.
What is your choice?" The leather muffled his voice. She watched the
mask move with the working of his jaw, but the question was clear
enough for her to understand exactly what he was asking.
She only nodded in answer and caught the movement out of the corner of
her eye of the blonde acolyte as she wheeled a stainless steel
instrument trolley to his left.
"You desire the mark of your master?"
Again she nodded her assent, mouth unable to form the words in the
mixture of fear and excitement. Her heart beat a little harder and
faster, knowing the moment was approaching quickly.
"You remember the word?"
Her mind wandered and distractedly, she watched the play of the strong
spotlight on the shiny leather as it moved with his speech. It was as
if she had switched off somewhat, a preservation of sanity perhaps, a
detachment, so that she didn't have to realize the enormity of what the
change in her life would be.
"Do you remember the word Abigail?" His disembodied voice sterner this
time, as if not used to repeating himself.
"Sapphire" She pulled the name of the stone up and repeated it to him
as quickly as she could.
"The next time you say that word, this will stop. You do understand
that don't you?" His voice had softened a little, but still held a
timbre of authority that brooked no nonsense.
"And you are prepared to wear the brand and mark of your master?" His
questions seemed annoying more than anything, but she supposed he had
to be sure, because once done, it was irreversible.
"I understand and comply. Please mark me the sole property of my
master." It was the pre-planned and practiced response required in the
ritual. She had learned the words and now repeated them verbatim.
He nodded once and then turned to the instrument trolley that was
within easy reach of his left hand. Idly and still in a detached corner
of her mind, she wondered if he was naturally left handed. Abigail
couldn't keep her head up any longer and lay back to watch him in the
mirror on the ceiling.
Her mind wandered again, remembering the time that she and Paul had
met. Although it had been only eighteen months now, the time had flown
in one sense and felt like a lifetime ago in another. He had entered
the smoking room at the office, nervous and unsure of his new
surroundings and the people he found himself in company with. First
days had that effect on most; she liked his vulnerability and struck up
a conversation. They had gone out for a meal or something; he was new
to the area and had yet to find his bearings. She couldn't be certain,
but it was either the third or forth date that they fumbled around in
bed, hardly a momentous occasion and somewhat less than memorable. It
almost finished the relationship there and then, but they got to know
each other and sex gradually got better. This was the story she had
concocted and overlaid on the truth. It was a happier event and
effectively blocked out the realities of her formative life.
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It was accidental really, that they discovered her penchant for the
stronger form of sex. She could picture clearly how it happened, an
innocent clasping of her wrists together, above her head in one of his
large hands as he pushed into her that evinced her first really
devastating climax. That was all it took to set them on a voyage of
discovery and truth towards the end result that was today's ritual.
They searched for and found some Sadomasochistic and bondage videos
that were watched intently before copying the action, as far as
possible, given the limited resources of his flat. Eventually and to
take their sex to another level, they joined a private members club of
like minded individuals, where almost anything went. The access to
costume and equipment helped in the development of her sexual awakening
and his earned mastery of her body and mind. The bond they wove was
based on mutual respect for each other and a shared desire for her to
blossom into fulfilment.
The club was fine, but had one drawback, as an unmarked slave; she was
there to be used by anyone who wanted her and was too near her unhappy
childhood. Being fucked, whipped or beaten by others had a certain
thrill for both of them, but also started to drive a jealous wedge
between them. They decided to explore her sexuality alone once more.
Her mind snapped back to the present, she realized she had missed
nothing while she had been on her flight of memory.
He picked up a cloth that was covering something on the tray of the
stainless steel trolley. From her changed perspective, it was as if she
were watching the preparations of a surreal operation, where the
surgeon had swapped his green scrubs for leather. He laid the cloth
aside, but only partially uncovered the tools of his trade below.
An attendant leather clad nurse picked up a large pair of scissor like
clamps and gripped white gauze in their pointed jaws, locking the
handles together on the ratcheted device. She passed them to him in his
left hand that appeared to be his right in the mirror image. Disturbed,
the aroma of surgical spirit pervaded the small room.
She gasped sharply at the coldness of the cloth as he wiped it over her
mons, soaking her downy hair, making the dark blonde hair appear black,
then it was manipulated into her vulva, cleaning and de-contaminating
her sex. She watched his latex covered hands and thought, how slender
they were, almost feminine with long thin fingers. The spirit stung a
little at first as alcohol very often does in her most sensitive area,
something she and Paul had discovered accidentally one day when he had
gone down on her with alcohol in his mouth.
Her masked surgeon placed the used clamp and cloth on another trolley
to his right, her left as she watched. The arrival of the trolley had
escaped her, but Abigail didn't miss the anticipatory lick of lips his
attendant on that side unconsciously did. She wondered what was going
through the woman's mind and tried to imagine what the view she would
have looked like.
Coldness made her gasp again and snapped her attention back to the main
attraction. He was applying water from a kidney dish with another pair
of clamps and a soft material that looked like cotton wool. Just as a
surgeon, he held his gloved hand out and had an old fashioned soaping
brush slapped into his waiting palm. He dipped it into the water and
then into a soap dish, swirling it around until the bristles were laden
with lather.
Carefully with a finger, he moved her labia to one side as he brushed
the rich suds over her sex, taking extra care to make sure he caught
the whole of her surface. Then he swapped hands and repeated the
procedure, equally as careful to rub in the lather. Finally, he brushed
her pubic vee and turned her dark haired pussy into white.
He held out his open palm again after placing the used brush on what
was now obviously the discard side. A closed cutthroat razor was
slapped into his palm. Each stage completed in practiced ease and total
silence. Deftly, he flicked open the blade and turned back to Abigail's
sex. She had an irrational momentary panic that he would cut her, but
it passed in a fraction of a second. Her muscles had tensed at the same
time and relaxed as the panic receded.
The first pass of the cold steel removed a sliver of foam and the hair
that had been worked into it leaving what looked like a scar to one
side of her mons. He worked in silence, slicing of foam in sure passes,
manipulating her lips to one side or the other as he removed the hair
between her labia and inner thigh where leg joins torso.
Satisfied, he stood back to view his handiwork, peering through the
slits of his mask to make sure all hair had been removed. Obviously
from his placing the cutthroat on the discard tray, he was satisfied
with the result. Abigail was not one of those who like to shave her
pubic hair, preferring the natural look and the musk her sweat soaked
hair produced on her fingers when she frigged herself. It was odd,
looking at her recently shaved pussy in the mirror, in a way it made
the experience slightly more disembodied, as if it were someone else on
the cross shaped table instead of her.
Her nasal receptors registered the smell of surgical spirit as he again
wiped her with a soaked swab between the jaws of yet another pair of
clamps. It stung rather more this time as the spirit permeated into
open pores recently exposed by the razor. She involuntarily tensed and
flinched as the spirit burned. He looked up and into her eyes, watching
for her reaction and pausing in his operation to see if she would yell
Sapphire. Abigail raised her head and stared into his blue eyes, almost
defiantly and clenched her teeth as the burning sensation slowly
passed. She let her head fall back and continued to observe as a
student might in a training hospital.
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Content that she was not going to cry out the stop word, he turned to
the tray and removed the cloth completely, placing it on a shelf under
the top tray. Her eyes followed every movement, concentrating on the
long thin, latex covered fingers. She realized that her mind was
wandering a little, but his next movement had her attention in sharp
contrast. He picked up a small wooden rounded tool that resembled a
mushroom. It was transferred into his other hand when he picked up a
wickedly curving sliver of steel, similar to a suture needle, but with
no thread attached.
The attendant on his right approached and held the wooden tool while he
pulled her labia forward, pinching out her clit to expose the hidden
treasure. She placed the rounded end against the side of her teased out
clit and waited.
Abigail knew she was leaking her feminine juice, any foreign touch to
her female vestigial cock almost instantly had her creaming and his
fingers pinching her most sensitive nub had her fluids flowing over her
puckered anus.
He paused again and once more, looked at Abigail. This was her last
chance to back out, but all it did was prolong the inevitable. No words
passed her lips, but she signalled her consent with a slight nod of her
head.
He knelt, his nose level with her open and soaked sex. With infinite
care, he placed the tip of the needle on the opposite side of her clit
to the block, still held in place by his aid. Abigail tensed in
anticipation of the pain that she was expecting, but her determination
did not waver in the slightest. This was her ultimate sacrifice to her
master, the irrevocable wearing of his mark.
Trying to be dispassionate, she observed in the mirrored ceiling and
waited for what seemed to be an interminable length of time for him to
make the fatal stab. In the blink of an eye, he had pushed the deadly
sharp needle through and against the block. Abigail waited for the
pain, but it didn't come. The second swab must have carried a localized
anaesthetic or something. She watched as a bead of blood welled around
the needle and was quickly wiped away by the other attendant.
Her hooded surgeon picked up a silver ring that was opened. Equally as
carefully and considered as all of his movements had been, he pushed
the end of the wire loop into a socket on the end of the needle and
pushed both of them through her clit. He discarded the needle and
locked the silver loop with a small snap as the two ends closed and
connected with no obvious join.
Once again, he lent back to survey his handiwork while his aids put the
instruments away and silently wheeled the trolleys out of sight. He
nodded his satisfaction and stood up. Abigail was able to clearly see
how she looked, manacled with her master's ring in her most secret
place. She liked the sight of her naked pussy and the way the silver
ring shone in the reflected light. She was now and forever, his
property, too late to back out now, even if she wanted to. The surgeon
had made sure that the ring was far back on her clit, effectively
pushing the nub forward and keeping her hood open. It looked fantastic
and the culmination of hers and Paul's desire.
But, it wasn't to be the end of the ritual. Abigail had also chosen to
be branded. Such was her dedication to her master Paul that she had
decided to show him her devotion and service with the ultimate mark,
his initials burned into her skin. Really, there was no choice though.
Since she had met Paul and had been introduced to servitude and mutual
love through their shared sexual practices, she knew that she would
eventually show her master just how much he meant to her in this
fashion.
They had discussed this ritual many times. The biggest problem they had
experienced in the club had been her lack of ownership. Unbranded or
marked, she was public property once passed the doors. Although they
had enjoyed her debasement at the hands of some skilful masters and
mistresses, they preferred to remain loyal and monogamous. Occasionally
only, dabbling in group, or voyeuristic practises on their increasingly
infrequent visits to the private club. They had seen the ritual in one
of their collection of videos and fantasised her marking to the extent
of buying a clit clamp and indelible markers to paint his initials on
her breast.
The last time they had visited the club, Paul had mentioned their
fantasy to someone who made the introductions to the Surgeon Master and
after a few consultations they were now at this point.
She felt the heat of the brazier as it was pushed silently to her side.
She had been pleasantly surprised by the lack of pain in her piercing,
but knew this ordeal was going to be extremely hard to endure. Her
resolve wavered a little and sapphire almost escaped her lips, but was
stifled as she bit her lower lip. The surgeon noticed her trepidation
and peered into her eyes, waiting to see if she would cry out the
terminal word. He waited and was then satisfied that she had overcome
the brief anxiety attack.
Wordlessly, he moved to her side and picked up the branding iron. She
and Paul had had it made for them out of wire shaped into his initials
PS that stood for Paul South. He inspected the lettering and then
placed the iron in the hottest part of the white-hot coals to heat it
up. In morbid fascination, Abigail watched the wire smoke a little as
the protective oil was burned off. She watched as it went from black to
cherry red into bright red as the heat of the brazier raised its
temperature.
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His fingers wrapped around the insulted handle of the iron and brought
the glowing end up to his eyes, satisfied that it was hot enough; he
turned back to Abigail and place one gloved hand on her breast and
slowly brought the red hot end towards her white skin. She couldn't
look and turned her eyes away. Paul looked back at her through a glazed
partition. Their eyes met and locked just as the intense pain of the
burn registered in her brain.
She cried out, screaming his name through clenched teeth and saw his
tears roll over his cheeks and the light of pride in his eyes. Her own
eyes squeezed tightly shut and her muscles went into spasm, causing her
to shiver violently. She desperately wanted the smell of her cooking
flesh to pass, the shock and stink was making her feel sick.
She hardly noticed the removal of the brand or the slap of a cooling
lotion and gauze over the burn. Gradually, the pain became bearable,
but she was unable to see the result where it had been covered.
Shamefully, she realised that her bladder had vented, the piss being
mopped up by one of the leather clad acolytes.
"You have done well daughter." His voice was still muffled by the mask,
but clear enough for her to hear. Abigail could only nod in
acknowledgement.
Paul rushed to her side whispering words of endearment. He wanted to
throw his arms around her and take her away. He had watched the whole
operation from beginning to end never taking his eyes from her
throughout.
"I love you." He breathed into her tear soaked ear. Her bonds were
removed and Paul was advised that the gauze should stay on for a day or
two, but then should be removed so that a scab could form. Once that
had fallen off, his initials would be forever emblazoned on her left
breast, just above her heart and his silver ring would stay through her
clit, forcing the sensitive nub forward to rub constantly on her
clothing and make her perpetually ready for him.
"I love you too Master. May I get down from this altar now?" He was
thrilled that she had asked in the correct manner, but knew he wouldn't
have punished her, not now that she had given herself, body and soul to
his desires.
To Be Continued...
If you like these stories be sure to see Robin in our Author's section!
[Note: this story is protected by international copyright law,
all rights not expressly waived are reserved by its author.]
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