A report written by slave 437353.
My Master is not someone who rushes into things. HE likes to take things slowly, and to make sure that things are right before taking definitive steps, particularly irreversible ones. So, despite my desire to bear a permanent mark of HIS ownership of me, it was 23 years into HIS possession of me before HE finally decided to brand me.
I always knew that one day I would wear the mark of my Master. I wanted it, almost from the start. I asked HIM about it often, hoping that HE would choose to do a permanent mark, something that demonstrated to the world that I was HIS.
Our Master-slave relationship is somewhat complicated, in that we live in the real world. I am HIS property, but most people believe that we are lovers, and do not know that I am actually owned by HIM. I hold down a regular job, and work outside the home, sometimes traveling for business, and have some friends that I see without HIM. Most of them would be shocked to learn I was property, that I turn all my money over to HIM, that I do anything that HE wants, that I wear a metal cock and ball cage as a chastity device.
So my anticipation of the brand had additional importance – a real sign that would be with me always of what I truly am. And then, finally, in 2002, my Master decided that the time had come.
I, of course, had no inkling that it was going to happen, but my Master, in HIS methodical way, planned it out. HE had decided that I was to be branded, and that the brand was NOT going to be done in the basement dungeon of our house. Instead, HE arranged to have the brand professionally done, in a tattoo studio. Because the smell of burning flesh is problematic to some people, the owner of the place had arranged for the branding to take place at the close of business, so we would be alone.
HE also arranged with a buddy, a fellow Master, to meet us for the branding, to document the experience. So on October 17, 2002, my Master and I, along with HIS friend, headed in to the City.
Although I was excited to know where we were going, I was not told what exactly we were doing. I figured HE was taking me to a club, where I would be publicly used, maybe by HIS friend. I did not know where HIS friend lived, so maybe I was being taken to his house. Although I speculated a lot about where we were heading, I sat in the back seat of the car and said noting while the two of them chatted as we drove across the bridge to San Francisco.
We went to the Mission District and parked on 16th Street, then began to walk. As we were passing a store, my Master turned, grabbed my shoulder, and pushed me in the door. I looked around as we entered, and immediately realized: we were in a tattoo studio.
I felt nervous, thinking about getting a tattoo, wondering what HE had planned. HE had talked about having various things tattooed onto my body, including “slave”, “whore” and “fuckhole”, but I doubted that HE was going to do any of those. I knew that HE had finesse, and would be marking me with something that was more personal and appropriate.
The man behind the counter approached me, and handed me a release form on a clipboard. As he turned away, my Master told me “Just sign it, don’t read it.” I said “yes SIR” and signed the form, then handed the clipboard to my Master, who filled in the rest of the form. Then HE went to the counter and talked in a low voice with the man there. I noticed that the store was emptying out, and staff people were leaving. Eventually, just the four of us remained: my MASTER and me, as well as HIS buddy and the man at the counter.
Once the store was locked, my MASTER and the man went into the back, and soon I was summoned. My Master told me to strip off my clothes, which of course I did immediately. I stood in front of the three Men, head down, wearing nothing except the metal cock and ball cage my MASTER usually has me wear. Then I was placed face down on an exam table, and my hands were tied around the bottom of the table. My Master asked if I should be bent over, but the man said “no, you don’t want to stretch the skin for this”
The three of them began discussing the design, and the man put paper on my right ass cheek, and traced a design. I tried to determine what the design was, but although I have a talented ass, reading is beyond its capabilities, and I could not decipher what was being outlined. When the man removed the paper, both my Master and HIS buddy said “perfect”
The man from the store spoke to me and said, “you need to stay perfectly still” to which I replied “yes SIR.” Then I heard an odd sound, a whooshing sound, and I realized that it was the sound of a propane torch being lit and adjusted. I looked over, and saw that the man had on a protective glove, in which he was holding a pair of vice grips. In the vice grips was a piece of metal, which he then began heating over the flame. I realized what was about to happen: I was going to be branded.
While I was watching, I heard my Master ask about risks of branding. The man explained to my Master, “Brands are probably the safest mark to put on a slave. Tattoos introduce dyes into the body, and some people react badly to them. Piercing also introduces a foreign material. But a brand is safest, because all it is is scar tissue.” As I listened, he then explained about the metal, saying “it gets up to about 2200 degrees. By the time I press the metal into its flesh, it’s already dropped down below 2000 degrees.” The buddy of my Master was snapping pictures with a digital camera, taking both pictures of me lying naked on the table, and of the metal being heated.
Finally, the man said “Okay, we’re ready.” He caught my eye and said “take a deep breath”, and then quickly pulled the metal from the flame, and pressed it to my right ass cheek. I shut my eyes in anticipation of the agony I would surely experience.
Surprisingly, there was no pain, only a sensation of heat near where the metal was pressed. I did not cry out and felt no need to jump. There was the smell of burning flesh, and I could hear my skin sizzle somewhat, but I felt very little. Immediately, he pulled the metal away from me, and then said “how was that?” I said “I did not really feel it SIR” and he said, “That’s the way it is with brands. A brand is a third degree burn, and so it cauterizes the nerve endings. It’s actually pretty painless, though the area around the brand tends to get a first degree burn from the adjacent heat – that’s the area where you’ll feel it.” I said “I do not feel anything” and he laughed and said to my Master, “endorphins.”
As he was talking, he began to heat the metal again, and I realized the branding was not yet complete. I had always thought that brands were done like they do in western movies, one iron pressed into the flesh. He saw me looking and knew was I was thinking, because he said “This is called a strike brand, which means it is done in sections. You will get multiple strikes before this is complete.”
The branding went relatively quickly, 7 strikes in all. The last strike was the only one that caused me pain, and even that was minor compared to other pain I have endured. Before I even knew it, the man said “That’s it” and both he and the buddy of my Master took some photos of my freshly branded ass.
I was quickly untied, and got off the table. My Master and HIS buddy both pointed at the spot on the paper on the exam table – at some point during the branding, I had cum. But I did not have any awareness that it was happening, even though I know I was very turned on (my dick in the cock cage was incredibly painful). I got up and was told to dress. My Master handed me a pair of boxers – I never wear underwear, but I assumed HE had been told I should wear some after the branding. The man from the store told me how to care for the brand: no submersing it in water, use an antibacterial soap until it heals, which would be about 10 days to two weeks.
In the car on the way back home, I felt elated and energized, and then fell asleep. I woke up, again feeling elated, and again fell asleep. I heard my Master laugh and say to HIS friend “the fucking slave is stoned!” HE was right, of course: I felt like I was high from the endorphins I experienced.
Once we got home, the buddy left, and my Master took me into the house. Only when we were alone, and I was again naked, did HE show me the design: a combination of HIS initials into a mark that proclaimed I was property. HE told me, “This is a formality, of course. I have owned you for many years. But I think it’s right that you bear this mark, the mark that is traditionally placed on meat to show who owns it. Your ass is mine, but more importantly, you are mine. This is a mark on your soul.” I looked up at HIM and said “yes SIR!”
The act of being branded was actually somewhat anticlimactic for me. I had expected it to be painful and intense, and it really was not. The brand healed relatively quickly, and within days had turned to a bright mark on my ass. Over the intervening years, it has slowly faded, and although still absolutely noticeable (I always get comments when getting a prostate exam), it is not as bright and clear as it once was.
But the brand altered me. I have never really been able to explain it precisely, but it took me deeper into my slavery. Being branded is not a big deal in terms of the suffering, but it is huge in terms of the mark on my psyche. Although I had been owned by my Master for over two decades when I was branded, I always knew, somewhere deep in my thoughts, that I could leave – that being a slave in the 21st Century was not in the same category as slavery in olden times, when people were truly owned as property.
But with the brand, I felt things had changed for me. I could not leave, and I had no right to ever even think about it. I felt I had become less a companion and more property.
In fact, the brand controls me. I have found that, when I have a thought inappropriate for a slave, I can feel the brand, and it hurts. At one point, I said something to my Master that was disagreeing with something HE had said, and I immediately felt my brand burning me. The brand has hurt more since being branded than it ever did while it was happening.
My Master changed too. Before I was branded, HE often treated me more as a partner or lover, even when we were alone. Although sexually HE has always been dominant and aggressive, at other times HE would do things that were more like we were equals.
But since the branding, all that has changed. HE no longer does anything around the house – although HE never washed dishes or did laundry, HE used to put HIS dishes in the sink, sometimes make up the bed, pick up things that were cluttering the house. Now, all that is left to me, with the understanding that to not keep the house in the style which HE prefers is to invite severe beatings.
And yes, my punishments have become significantly more severe. When HE whips me, HE does it much harder, and when the whip hits the brand, the pain is intensified. When HE whores me out, HE is more likely to find someone who wants to use me hard, with no regard for me at all.
And HE has gotten into more things that I never thought HE would ever do. We have done things that we never tried before, and some of them have become part of our regular routine. Much of that is fodder for another article, but suffice it to say, HE has gone deeper into being a Master, and HE has been pleased by the results.
I have been a slave all my life, serving friends and family members, then my first Master, and then the Man who became my permanent Owner. But being branded has shown me a new side of being a slave. I do not think waiting until HE thought the time was right was a mistake – I think the worst thing that could happen to a slave would be to be branded and then subsequently released by that Master. Now that I have been branded, I do not think I could survive if I was not owned, because I truly am property.
Being a branded slave has brought a level of peace and contentment to us both. We both recognize that the responsibilities of this commitment are strong, but the rewards are amazing.
I hope that every true slave reading this is one day branded. And I hope that every Master who takes on a real slave will consider marking it. There is nothing quite like it.