Life Under
the Three Moons |
by Michael
Tal All,
This is, as promised,
the continuation from the previous article.
Mika
is bound into the 1930's medical chair. Her red and gold silks tied about
her, definitely not for modesty, as the silks make her more naked than
naked. Steve Haworth leans the chair back to better disorient her. Steve
puts a new sterile tip into the cautery scalpel and prepares the wider
tip for use later. Steve takes one last look at me and waits for me to
say the words he knows are to begin the branding.
As
I say "girl you will now be branded as slave", he presses the first time
into Mika's flesh, her muscles tighten and her eyes close. Just as she
thinks she can't stand it another moment, Steve changes the tip, it takes
less time for his skilled hands to achieve the change than for Mika to
draw a ragged breath. His hands were swift, we barely noticed the change
and then he was working again. The stench of human flesh being burned
began to fill the room. Smoke rose from where Steve's hands were working
on Mika's leg. Her flesh was literally being vaporized by the instrument
and her jaws clenching. She tried hard to be brave, to not make a sound
suddenly the room was filled to stimulate yet another sense with an unreal
scream. Mika's voice loud and filled with the pain of flesh being vaporized
in one stroke. Mika begged, she pleaded, screaming for me to make him stop. Steve had been instructed earlier
by me to make this as close to a single strike brand as described in the
books as possible. He was not to stop, not for any reason that did not
mean life or death of Mika. "Please Master, please," the words echoed
in the room filled with the unbelievable pain Mika was experiencing. The
words tugged at every one in the room but she was kajira, to be branded and
marked slave. The books describe the brand as being completed on Gor in
one single strike by a hot iron pressed into a slave's flesh for five
ehn (approximately five or six seconds). What Mika felt that day was nearly
a full minute of relentless vaporizing of her left thigh skin. Every muscle
in her body strained against the ropes and bindings. Her screams doing
all she could to beg and plead her plight, hoping it would fall on ears
that would make it stop. It was only a minute, but if you were to ask
her she would swear I made it last an hour.
Everything
inside me wanted to leap upon this man that was in one respect damaging
my slave while in another adding to her value. I had paid this 'metal
worker' for his services, I knew he was the best, but the smell of vaporizing
flesh, the sound of the girl's scream can certainly make one question
their purchase. Mika's screams became terrifying, and I approached her
and took her face in my hands. When I looked into her eyes, they were
wild, terrified, defeated. As Steve continued to finish his work, I realized
I was looking into those terrified eyes through my own watery eyes. Tears?
No way, she was only kajira! Must have been the dust in that sterile room
and the smoke from the girl's flesh irritating them. (When Steve was finished
and I looked around, I realized that I am not the only one in that room
who must be allergic to smoke and dust. Everyone's eyes were affected
by it.) Mika's eyes were filled with something very foreign to me. I had
never given her reason not to trust me, to fear me, or to feel terror
by anything going on around her. Suddenly, her eyes spoke of things her
mouth would never relay.
Steve stood. He was finished. Mika was
trembling. The chair was shaking from the strength of the involuntary
muscles contractions taking over mika's body, or was it simply the sobs
and heaving of her chest?
The chair was righted and I began loosening
the binds, the ropes and cuffs. Never completely removing my hand from
Mika. My eyes moving up to hers every so often, only to find them closed
tightly tears still spilling from beneath pinched lids. I allowed Mika
to rest a few moments, speaking softly to her, words that came from my
heart telling her how proud I was of her and how beautiful her brand was
and how she never looked more beautiful to me than she did at that very
moment. (Even with the red nose and swollen eyes and dry lips) Now was
time for the proper collaring ceremony that would normally follow a girl's
branding on Gor. I helped a weak and trembling Mika out of the chair and
stripped the silks from her body.
Ceremony
"Assume
the posture of female submission," I ordered.
She knelt, leaning back on her heels,
her arms extended, wrists crossed, her head between them, down.
"Repeat after me," I told her. "I, once
(her name which is not important to this story) of (Earth)..."
She repeated this.
"..herewith submit myself, completely
and totally, in all things..."
She repeats this.
"...to him who is known as (Michael) of
(Queen Creek)..."
She repeats this.
"...his girl, his slave, an article of
his property, his to do with as he pleases."
She repeats this.
I
then produced the collar. It was engraved with "Property of Michael",
I had her read it , making sure that she understood what it says and means.
I placed it about her neck and snap it shut with a click.
"I am yours, Master," I said.
"I am yours, Master," she repeated.
At this point, Master
Bleu congratulated me on my acquisition of my new slave and Angel kissed
her, crying and congratulated her. When this was done, I asked the slave
the following three questions:
"Who were you?" I
asked.
She told me her former
name.
"What are you?" I
asked.
"I am your slave,
Master," she says.
"What is your name?"
I asked.
"Whatever Master wishes,"
she answered.
I then, because it
pleased me to do so, bestowed upon the girl her new slave-name, which
can be taken from her or changed at any time, according to my whim.
"You are (Mika),"
I told her.
"Yes, Master. I am
(Mika)," she said.
The ceremony is now
over. Thus it is that a new slave is collared upon (Gor) and in the City
of Phoenix. Steve's girl came into the room, her eyes must have taken
offense to the smoke as well. Though she is not Gorean, she told us congratulations
and expressed that it was beautiful. She had not experienced Gorean traditions
before and had found them to be beautiful and not barbaric at all.
Mika
was lifted to her feet and held closely to the chest of the man who owned
her. She was permitted to cry once again and to look upon the mark on
her thigh. This time the tears shone brightly on the eyes of a happy girl,
even if she did put on the pout lips and say "Look what you did to me
you beast!"
A
year later, on our 24th anniversary, the mark was completed with the addition
of a red M. Can you believe
she said we would need to stop having year anniversaries?
"I will have
this woman... For her I would stand against all Ar, and all the world"
~ Book 11 ~ Slave Girl of Gor.
Anyone having any
questions or comments please contact me at Michael@Desertvista.com.
Be Well!
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