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Subject: {ASSM} Branding of a modern O  (mf, fsub, fpov, rom, reluc, viol)
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Date: Mon, 03 May 2010 20:10:01 -0400
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Fire is HOT


I'm having one of those "skiy is blue" ephinany moments,
when you realise how truly solid a given truth can be.

Fire IS hot. Being HOT is what IT does.

Everytime I've seen fire, it has been a thing of beauty.
Naked flame dancing and flowing like a balerina performing,
casting blazing light and warmth across a room.

But this time, I   FEEL the heat.

Dancing not before my eyes, but upon my living flesh.


Fire is hot. Fire is searing.

Searing like a blade, searing through shattered nerve endings that
will NEVER heal, flesh retracting and recoiling, as he holds the
burning cigarette to the the curve of my breast.

I am whimpering now, the pain is growing stronger as it transitions
from scalding to blistering. First the outside epidermis tightens till
it is taught like a drum, then splits to reveal a tougher second layer
to the withering flame while I scream and sob, helpless.

Now he is using  lit matches, with only the briefest respite as he
lights one anew each time another is spent.

I plead with him, begging him to stop, as my legs thrash underneath
his bulk, as my head turns side to side in defiance and I curse. The
restraints to ankle and wrist hold me in place though, and I am
helpless to resist.

Instead, I beg him for mercy, to end this agaiony amd remove the naked
flame from my flesh.

"Wait for it..." he laughs. I'm struck dumb with terror - is there
something more I must endure from my master?

I tell him I will do anthiny for him, ANYthing.
Please him in any way, take any humiliation or suffering but not
this.
God not this.

He laughs cruely when I offer to let me take him ANYWHERE, that no
part of my body be off limits and denied - the contract is revoked and
he may take any hole, at any time, if he will but spare my breast from
the withering fire.

He stops for a moment, giving pause. The relief is ectasy and
deleriously I begin to thrash as orgasm takes control, my head now
rocking side to side and tounge hanging slack-jawed. My muscles spasm
and I feel relief take me over now that my ordeal is over.

He feels my pleasure, as the walls of my vagina clamp tight around his
cock, milking him for all it is worth.

Through tear stained eyes, I see a cruel and twisted grimace, that
tells me his pleasure is not yet over, my pain has only just begun.
Then he lights another match, andbegins anew as he moves the fiery
brand forward, placing it on the underside of my breast now.

Slowly over the next ten minutes, he works his way around in a
clockwise direction back to where he started, now blistered and raw.

The series of brands around the surface of the base of my breast he
now calls beautiful, almost perfection.

Almost.

That word hangs hollow in the air, alluding to what is left unspoken.
There is more to come, isn't there. There always is.

He says that there is one thing missing, as he flicks his cigarette
lighter on, then off.

On, then off.

There are no more cigarettes left to light though, no more matches.

On, then off.

One final time on, then he goes to town with his cigarette lighter on
my nipple and areaola. The nipple pops after almost a minute, and
splits light the taught skin of a pea. But he doesn't stop till the
areola is a chared stump, and he has burnt most of the remaining
tissue of the breast.

Only parts of it I can remember. Most of the time, I whited out.
He would slap me around the face to wake me, before placing the flame
on a new spot.

He says, very coldly and matter of factly, that the flame has saved
me.

Healed me even.

By cauterising the wounds.

If he'd used the blade, he tells me, then I would likely have
bled out by now, and if not by then certainly after carving the ruined
mound from my breastbone.

But the stump that remains is dying, he assures me with sage wisdom,
and it will surely have to be removed to save me.

Save me? What for?

Though the pain has not left me completely, it is now only a dull
ache- gone is any sensation as he twists and paws and scratches at my
ruined tit. He squeees and mauls it, then rips into it with his teeth;
tearing seared chunks of meat away, ripping into it like an animal,
some of which he spits and some of which he swallows.

He is slowly devouring me, its a hunger that can never be fed.

After a time, he undoes the straps releasing me, but I lie limp like a
rag doll.

No defiance is left - all I feel is emptiness, and dead inside.

Gathering pillows, which he places at the foot of the bed, he lifts me
by the waist and unceremoniously dumps me over them, placing me in a
curved arche on my stomach.

I feel so numb... even when he partakes in my original offer of "any
hole", as he rapes me from behind.
I'd never had a man THERE before, it was my greatest terror, so much
I'd written it into the "Contract"....

... but now I was just a vessel going along with the tide. A part of
me realised I was dissociating - it always
happened to me during rapes, and only consentual sex could keep me
fully grounded. It was why I found
submission so alluring, to be forced and taken but in the safety of a
dominance-submission relationship.

This had long passed oonsentual several hours ago, when he'd left me
permanently scared with third degree burns. He was tearing into my
bowels now...

I wondered whether it was true that the anus stretches to accomodate,
or whether it might actual tear if too much force was used. I didn't
really "feel" it by now.

Later, my ruined tit was torn from me, a charred stump all that
remained of my feminity. TThe pain killers and stimulants ensured I
endured every agonising moment without passing out through all of it,
though I think I must have dissassociated several times.... I could
feel myself floating, looking down on my body during the assault.

When I healed, he reminded me, I still had the left breast to pleasure
him with, and endure anew. I knew then I would never be a whole woman
again.

After this, all I felt was numbness, all that was left. He had seared
all self from me, and I was just another hole to my trusted master. To
be tortured and abused and forgotten when my usefulness is gone.

When your life is so worthless that your only degraded value to anyone
is when your pain gives them pleasure, and the person entrusted to
care for you sees you as more disposable than a used tissue. I knew
then he would toss me aside, what use would I have to him after that?
He might even kill me, enacting out some sick snuff fantasy. Often in
sex play he would choke me till I blacked out, then revive me with
smelling salts. Would that be what I would see - a cruel mocking face
the last moments of life?

I knew that before he started on my remaining breast, I had to leave
him. He didn't love me, almost certainly never loved me. At best, he
was in lust, and saw a vulnerable victim. I had to leave, and then
account in written form what I'd gone through, not just for me to heal
fully but to let others know.

Masochism and submission ARE sexually fulfilling, but not without
respect and love.

All women should know this.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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