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Marked

Elena came to an abrupt halt once she had stepped through the door and realised that all eyes were fixed on her while behind, the door closed with a click that sounded oddly loud in the dead silence. She was too stunned to take it all in at once; nevertheless, the oddness of the group that had presumably gathered to observe the next leg of her journey into slavery immediately caught her attention.

The scene she faced reminded her of the cocktail hour of a dinner party brought to an abrupt end by the eagerly-awaited announcement that the first course was ready to be served. The attire of the attendees oscillated between Wedding Reception formality and Fetish Ball strange. Tuxedos and gowns mixed freely with catsuits and body harnesses that were as upscale, as the men and women who wore them. Elena was confronted with an overlap of the rich and beautiful with the kinky, and a number of vaguely familiar faces suggested that the famous had sent a few delegates as well. To find herself unexpectedly the star of the show and right in the middle of such an illustrious circle was bad enough, but to have its member’s hungry attention focused on her naked, pierced and manacled body was even worse.

She was glad when she spotted Greg, impeccably turned out in a tuxedo. Dr Mangel's presence came as a surprise and she barely recognized him, wearing not one of his customary anthracite suits, but proclaiming his allegiance to the latex and leather faction, by featuring a rather tightly-strapped black leather harness. Nevertheless, he appeared uncharacteristically cheerful, which was in all likelihood the merit of the beautiful blonde who casually held the leash to his collar.

Elena was less than thrilled when she noticed the haughty lady whose appointment had been cut short by her early arrival at Greg's practice. This time the elegantly-dressed lady was accompanied by a man in a black rubber suit, who, despite his formidable muscular physique, appeared to cower in her presence. Elena quickly scanned the gathered crowd. However, the one face she longed to see was missing and to make matters worse she had never before seen most of the people staring at her.

Elena felt herself plunged into a familiar nightmare of standing in front of a large group of strangers, suddenly realising she had forgotten to dress. In this instance at least she was not the only one without clothes. Her first impulse was to somehow attempt to cover her nakedness and hide the embarrassing array of body jewellery she had been adorned with, but unfortunately, this would have taken many more than the two arms she had at her command. She was about to dive behind Alex when the expression on the attendee’s faces finally registered in her sluggish mind. Instead of the shocked disapproval and derision she might have expected, she saw awe, respect and even open admiration in their appraising stares. Of course, some were also covetous or outright predatory, yet those fanned rather than quenched the heady rush she felt. She stood more erect, displaying her considerable charms to their best effect and was rewarded by what seemed to be a collective intake of breath. Later on, she could never tell how long this magic moment had lasted. It was Alex who broke the spell when he cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you ... Elena! As you know, she has undertaken to become Victor’s slave. Those of you, who haven't yet had the privilege of experiencing the extraordinary depth of her devotion in person, can do so today. Shortly, you'll witness Elena take the ultimate step of her quest: she will quit playing at being a slave and become the real thing.”

His little speech was rewarded with loud applause, accompanied by agitated chit-chat and while she stood so blatantly displayed, Elena felt her cheeks heat. The blunt words had once more thrown into stark relief what she was about to commit herself to: namely, leaving behind her life as a self-reliant young woman to become a man’s sex slave; his property, a plaything to be used or abused as he pleased. Once again, Victor had raised the stakes, daring her to defy him before his peers. If she shamed him now, he could never again accept her as his slave.

Alex raised his hand and the clapping and talking died down immediately.

“I know we’re all eager for the Ceremony of Enslavement to commence. The necessary arrangements have been made in the Conference Room and so I would ask that you please follow us, then take your seats,” he directed his attentive audience, eliciting another animated mumble. He took Elena by the hand and led her towards a door on the foyer’s other side and while they slipped through the crowd, Elena caught some scraps of hushed conversation.

“Do you see her piercings? So it’s all true!” a leather-clad young man whispered excitedly.

“She must love him very much,” the girl at his side sighed.

“Do you think she’s truly got no idea what’s in store for her?” another woman wondered.

“You heard what Victor said. I tend to believe him,” her companion replied coolly.

The mention of Victor’s name sent a jolt through Elena and with a few quick steps she closed the gap to the leading Alex.

“What’th thith theremony you were talking about? And where’th Victor?” she whispered intensely under her breath.

“He’s nearby, watching.” Alex stated brusquely. “As I’ve explained to you, he won’t interfere with the proceedings until you yourself complete your subjugation.”

“I gave up my life. I’ve been pierthed on hith behalf. I wear hith chainth and manacleth. What more doth he want from me?”

There was a telling pause before Alex answered.

“You’ll see. You’re strong. You can do it.”

They arrived at their destination, robbing Elena of the opportunity to pursue the point any further. She figured she would find out soon enough, whether she wanted to or not. The door opened to reveal a large, richly-appointed room apparently intended for conferences and meetings, but now, all the ordinary furniture had been removed and replaced by a low stage at the back wall and in front of it, multiple, widely-spaced rows of chairs. Alex assisted Elena up onto the brightly-lit stage while behind them the excitedly conversing guests filed into the room; then there was the usual confusion while they consulted the place cards and tried to find their seats. Not everyone was granted the privilege of a chair though. Apparently the slaves were supposed to kneel at their Master’s or Mistress’ feet.

Elena, now standing at the centre of the stage, looked around and saw that next to her on the left was a low steel table, its top covered by a white cloth that concealed some indistinct forms. Farther back, surrounded by a number of boxes and a pair of backless medical stools, another ominous, cloth-covered contraption loomed, while on the right side, a video camera stood on a tripod; a steady, red LED next to its large lens indicated that it was faithfully recording everything taking place on the stage. Elena surmised that in addition to creating a permanent record of her voluntary surrender, it also provided Victor with a discrete means of following events. For the moment she was at leisure to contemplate the implications while the commotion below slowly abated.

Finally, all guests had found their seats and settled into them. Confronted with their anticipation-filled faces, Elena felt like a lamb that had unwittingly stumbled into a lion's den. They obviously expected to be treated to a rare spectacle and unfortunately for her, she was the one chosen to provide the day’s entertainment. Alex resumed his role as the Master of Ceremonies once more.

“Ladies and gents, kinksters, friends, lend me your ears!” His address was met with a few amused chuckles which he acknowledged with an ironic smile.

“We've gathered today to honour this brave young woman's decision to irrevocably surrender her freedom and give herself as a slave to our dear friend, Victor. A gift so precious can only be given freely or it cannot be given at all. In fact, it would be criminally irresponsible to accept it if this momentous decision was not an act of volition, but the result of some sort of coercion.

“Now, there are many ways for a powerful man like Victor to exert influence, even unwittingly, so therefore, to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind about the voluntary nature of Elena’s resolve, Victor has taken an unorthodox approach, showing that she treads the path to her enslavement on her own. At any point to now, Elena could have chosen to stop, yet she stands here before you, ready to take the final leap.”

Elena grimaced. Although, superficially, she had rushed to this personal precipice at her own discretion, that certainly was not how it had felt like on the inside! By making his consent to take her back subject to her unconditional surrender, Victor had secured a supremely potent ally to expedite his plans for her: her own craving for him and his uncompromising brand of dominance. If he had accepted her return without reservations, she was sure she would not have allowed herself to be pushed quite so far, quite so fast. This way, he had neatly bypassed all of her carefully-crafted, but ultimately misdirected lines of defence. Did Victor himself really believe what he’d had Alex proclaim? She seriously doubted it, but the audience, however, seemed to eat it all up and applauded her bravery, or rather idiocy, as how she herself was inclined to call her behaviour. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to see this through.

After the applause died down, Alex continued.

“In a short while, Elena will be asked to complete her subjugation. She will be asked to wear Victor’s collar and let her body be indelibly marked as his slave. Up to that final marking, she’ll have the choice to call off the ceremony at any time. If she does, Victor will relinquish any claim he has laid upon her, but if she stays true to her resolution, she will become his property ... irrevocably, to do with as he pleases.”

He paused to let his words sink in, then turned towards her.

“Elena, do you understand the choice you’re being offered?”

The sudden question startled her out of her whirling and semi-chaotic thoughts. She was still scrambling to come to grips with the part about the ‘indelible mark’ she was about to receive.

“Yeth.” she said softly into the taut silence, her oral jewellery once again mocking the gravity of her declaration.

“Speak up, please!” Alex was remorseless.

“Yeth, I do!”

“Excellent. Let us proceed then.”

With a flourish, he lifted the cloth that covered the nearby table to reveal the dully gleaming halves of a massive metal oval: her collar. As was true for her cuffs, its elegant, organically-flowing lines were visually pleasing. Nevertheless, the substantial attachment fittings at the front and back, as well as on both sides, identified it as a formidable instrument of control. Alex picked up the halves and held them high so that his rapt audience was able to get a good look at them.

“Here we have the front and back segments of Elena’s collar. They are made from the same impenetrable alloy as her other cuffs and jewellery and so once the collar has been fully assembled around her neck, there will then be no way to remove it again ... ever!”

His last statement made the listeners gasp for breath and the hands of quite a few of the kneeling ‘slaves’ involuntarily flew to their own, less irrevocably enclosed necks. Like any good host with a flair for drama, Alex milked the moment for all it was worth.

“That is, unless you chose to cut her head off, of course. However, while amputation might theoretically work for her limbs, it certainly isn’t a viable option for her head.”

Satisfied that his drastic words had produced the intended shock and awe, he addressed Elena once more.

“On behalf of Victor, I ask you, Elena: do you voluntarily accept the wearing of this collar?”

This time, she had had the chance to think about her answer in advance. Not that it helped her much to quell her anxiety. Once more she found herself pondering how little she actually knew about Victor, the man. Certainly, they had been together for nearly a year before her ill-advised attempt to leave him, but in all that time she had never met one of his friends or a member of his family. It had been clear from the outset that the social circle he belonged to was exclusive as well as elusive. However, somehow she had never felt the need to dig deeper: whenever they met, other urges had been much more pressing. Theirs had been an amour fou, fuelled by unbridled lust. At least, that was how it had felt like for her then. Considering the cool detachment Victor managed to uphold, now she wondered whether his passion had ever run as deep as hers. Elena glanced at the impassive eye of the camera, but of course found no reassurance there.

Nevertheless, she was committed. Since she was already decked out with a plethora of non-removable body jewellery and wore shackles on wrists and ankles, one more metal band around her neck would not make much of a difference. Besides, she admitted to herself reluctantly, her incongruously neglected neck bothered her on a visceral level. Without a collar she felt, quite simply, incomplete.

“Yeth, I acthept!” she proclaimed loudly.

“Very well!”

Alex stepped to her side and carefully positioned the segments of the collar around her neck, so that the stout locking pins projecting from one half were aligned with their receiving holes in the other half, then began pressing the halves together, making a show of the effort required to make their edges meet. He almost succeeded, but the halves suddenly seemed to become stuck, leaving a remaining gap of perhaps five mm in width. Already the collar felt snug, albeit thanks to the sensitive nature of its placement, not as tight as her other cuffs. A few millimetres of additional clearance greatly reduced the risk of suffocation in case her throat should for some reason develop a swelling.

“Time for Plan B.” Alex muttered, panting a little from his exertion.

Elena looked at him questioningly. Her recent experience with the stiff resistance the other cuffs had put up against being fully-closed, suggested that this situation had been intended all along. Obviously, Alex wanted to make the proceedings more interesting for his audience, probably at her expense, but before she could voice her concerns, he grasped her shoulders.

“Come! Kneel!” he ordered.

He steered her to the front of the table, then pressing down on her shoulders he forced Elena to her knees and pushed her upper body down onto it. Her naked breasts touched its cold top first and their shackles caused a tinkling sound when they impacted then slid across the metal surface. Due to their new inner scaffolding, her normally resilient breasts did not become flattened as was normal, but instead, the load was taken up by the axial rods, spread to the radial pins, and transmitted directly onto her chest. It was the weirdest feeling and not altogether pleasant, so she quickly folded her arms below her chest to relieve the worst of the discomfort. That posture left her neck free, some dozen centimetres above the table with her head sticking out over its side.

“Stay like that!” Alex commanded and straightened.

As if on cue, Elena heard rapid steps coming towards her and when she glanced over her shoulder, saw Lisa climbing onto the dais. The first thing Elena noticed was that she had shed her lab coat at last and now wore a black leather harness that accentuated rather than concealed her spectacular body. The costume was further complemented by knee-high boots that were revealed as the source of the click-clack noise distinctive for high heels. Even more unexpectedly, a heavy leather collar encircled her neck with matching cuffs adorning her wrists and ankles. The articles she carried in either hand registered only when she handed them one after the other to Alex. The first one was a largish block of wood with a semicircular cut-out and this was deftly slipped under Elena’s metal-encased throat. The second article was a large rubber mallet that Alex immediately took into both hands then swung high over his shoulder.

“Eyes straight ahead!” He commanded in a clear, carrying voice.

Elena obeyed, subconsciously picturing the whole scene in her mind. Certainly, its striking resemblance to a medieval beheading would not be lost on the audience and she only hoped now for the incredible spectacle to be over soon. With some effort, she suppressed a groan and braced herself for the blow to fall.

Alex did not strike immediately however, instead, he kept his dramatic pose while Lisa knelt in front of Elena and made certain there was sufficient space between the skin of her neck and the metal band enclosing it. Only the collar’s present comparatively loose fit made it feasible to get its joints to close in such a dramatic fashion, without running the risk that her flesh would get pinched in the process. Lisa next took Elena’s head between her hands and keeping it steady, looked Elena deep in the eyes. Reassured by what she found there, she nodded to Alex.

The mighty blow of the mallet hit the collar’s back segment dead centre and the force of its impact drove the halves smartly together so that they instantly formed one, unbroken and unbreakable band of steel around Elena’s neck. She cried out involuntarily, for although the collar had shielded her delicate throat from the blow, the unavoidable jolt and thunderous bang had startled her considerably. A collective gasp from the ranks of spectators proved they had been caught up in the drama enacted before their eyes as well.

Alex stood back with a satisfied air while Lisa helped Elena to her feet. Immediately, Elena raised her hands to her neck to find that where previously had been only the smooth and soft skin of her throat, her questing fingers now encountered hard metal. Fully-closed, her collar had become quite a bit tighter and now followed the contour of her neck closely. With some effort, she managed to squeeze the tip of her little finger under its rounded edge, but that was the extent of it’s penetration between skin and steel. At least she had no problem turning or nodding her head, although the collar made its presence markedly felt with every movement she tried. Elena trembled at the thought that she would never again be free of its authoritative control and the sensation of its constant weight. Yet, that same thought simultaneously sent a tingle down her crotch that made her gasp.

“You’re alright?” Lisa inquired worriedly.

Elena pulled herself together. It would not do to loose her cool in front of an audience and thus humiliate herself even further.

“Yeth, I’m fine. Can we protheed, pleathe?”

The audience burst into spontaneous applause and laughter, relieving the palpable tension by honouring Elena’s expressed bravado, though failing to notice her suppressed terror. Regardless, their enthusiasm bolstered her courage.

“Your wish is my command.” Alex assured her with a bow in her direction, then addressed the audience. “For the final step of her transformation, I'll turn Elena over to Dr Gregory Lowry. You all know him as a highly regarded aesthetic surgeon, although few of you will admit to first hand experience with his proficiency.”

This time the sparse laughter sounded somewhat laboured. Unfazed, Alex continued.

“However, probably even fewer of you will know that he's recently become an expert practitioner of body modifications as well, and is especially well versed in the art of branding. Please extend a warm welcome to Dr Lowry!”

Among a ripple of friendly applause, Greg rose from his seat in the first row and climbed onto the dais to shake hands with Alex, while next to them, Elena stood by, petrified with fear. For some reason, she had assumed to be marked with a tasteful tattoo, not barbarically branded like a farm animal. Visions of a red hot branding iron slowly approaching her unblemished skin appeared unbidden before her inner eye and she vividly imagined feeling its searing heat already. Her heart rate spiked while her sympathetic nervous system readied her to fight or take flight; yet neither seemed to be the right response. There was a rogue element in the mix of conflicting emotions whirling through her, that slowly gained dominance over her near panic. To her dismay, Elena had to admit that on some level beyond her conscious control, she actually wanted to be branded. Meanwhile, Alex had finished introductions and ceded the stage to Dr Lowry. At the mention of her name, Greg’s calm voice intruded into her thoughts.

“Though technically, the procedure I’ll perform on Elena here is a form of branding, I prefer the more general term scarification. ‘Branding’ tends to convey all the wrong connotations,” he explained dismissively.

Elena briefly speculated about what Greg had meant with his remark. Did he aim to dispel her own notion of branding as some sort of medieval torture, involving burning coal and glowing pokers? Or, did he want to distance his artistry from the supposedly menial job done by cowboys to their cattle? Intently, she watched him remove the cover of the other contraption she had noticed earlier at the back of the stage. At first glance it resembled a treatment chair with unusual metallic upholstery and some medical equipment attached to it. Greg gestured towards an unassuming grey box with a tilted control panel.

“What we have here is a high powered electro-surgical unit.” he resumed his lecture. “It employs a high-frequency electrical current to instantly vaporize the skin I touch with this electrode.”

He indicated a pen shaped handpiece connected by cable to the main unit.

“The advantage compared to traditional branding techniques is that there's less damage to the surrounding tissue and consequently, a more cleanly defined scar is generated. As well both the pain involved and the healing time required are considerably reduced, but be assured that the resultant brand is just as permanent however as those obtained by the more conventional means.”

He stepped to the side and beckoned Elena to sit down on the treatment chair.

“Ready when you are.”

“Are you ready, Elena?” Alex chimed in. “Are you ready to have Victor's mark burned into your skin and thereby become his absolute slave, renouncing all your human rights and live on his sufferance from here on? If that is your will, please state so clearly now!”

The moment of truth had arrived. Although there had been ample time to prepare, now that she had actually reached the point of no return, Elena found herself strangely reluctant to utter the words that would condemn her to a life of slavery. She longed for Victor’s reassuring presence, his encouraging smile, or any sign at all that he appreciated her sacrifice, to help her make this leap of faith. And faith was what it took: Elena suddenly realised that at no time had Victor promised that they would pick up their relationship where they’d left off when she’d left him, albeit on a much more serious level; she had only assumed this would be the case from her own understanding of their tacit agreement. Nothing at all would prevent him from taking on other slave girls as well or finding himself a proper, socially-acceptable wife to share his public life, and perhaps relegating her to the status of a plaything only to be let out of her cage when it suited him.

And then an even more frightening thought entered her mind. What if Victor did not even intend to accept her back and it all had been nothing but an elaborate ploy to exact revenge for her betrayal? Once the thought was there, it was hard to ignore, even though she knew it to be wrong. Or did she? She had not seen nor spoken to Victor in nearly eight months, and after all that time Elena started to doubt her memory. Maybe what she remembered of him did not so much reflect reality, but instead, an idealized image she desperately wanted to be true?

Nevertheless, one thing Elena knew with absolute certainty: how she felt right now. Her heart was hammering hard in her chest, her cheeks were flushed and adrenaline coursed through her veins. Elena did not need the supporting evidence of her rock hard nipples around their impaling jewellery, her engorged labia, or her dripping wetness to know that her near-panic was laced with at least equal parts of arousal. Although the long weeks of her quest had been exceedingly hard on her, there was no denying that she had felt more alive than ever before in her life as well. And though she had been pushed past what she then believed were the limits of her endurance more than once, events had proved her wrong time and again. She did not break, but tapped into reservoirs of inner strength she had not been aware of before.

Time seemed to fly while Elena stood and contemplated the choice she had been offered. Her moment of indecision stretched into a long minute. Little by little, the audience grew restive, then suddenly the mood seemed to change. As soon as her acceptance did not seem to be a foregone conclusion any more, a sudden tension was noticeable in the room. Like sharks detecting a drop of blood in the water, all the attendant masters and mistresses worked themselves up to a feeding frenzy when they realized there probably was an exceptionally attractive and nearly no-limits submissive up for the grabs.

“Well?”

Alex’s matter-of-fact voice brought Elena back to the here and now. Looking around, she became aware of all the hungry stares fixed on her and immediately inferred the reason behind them. If Victor had expected this situation to constitute her ultimate humiliation, he had miscalculated badly. The palpable desire that radiated from the audience was intoxicating and boosted her ego to unprecedented heights. Elena sensed the power she held over her admirers and how they writhed in the incredible sexual magnetism she exuded. She was certain each of them would just jump at the chance to claim her. She had only to tell them which way and how high. Indisputably, whatever else outer appearances might suggest, she would be in charge ever after. For the briefest moment she was tempted to take back control over her fate and have her every wish fulfilled by playing the “topping from bottom” game. Only it would not fulfil her deepest desire, Elena knew. Only true surrender to someone immune to her manipulative charm held the promise of true fulfilment for her and so far, only one had withstood her allure. Only one she deemed worthy of herself. Borne by a surge of masochistic lust she made her decision.

“I’m ready! I give mythelf over to Victor!” Elena asserted in a carrying voice.

With him, she was certain, slavery would not be just some tediously upheld fantasy role play, but the real thing. He certainly had the will, means and connections to make it happen.

“So be it!” Alex pronounced her fate sealed.

Greg beckoned her again to sit down on the treatment chair, and this time she followed his silent invitation. The metallic cover felt cold against her naked skin when she settled down onto the seat. Lisa retrieved a box with medical supplies, donned gloves and a mask, then pulled up a stool and began to thoroughly clean an area on Elena’s chest just above her right breasts; approximately where the name patch of a military uniform would be located. In the meantime, Alex moved the video camera closer to capture a more detailed view of the proceedings, while Greg provided a running commentary, keeping the audience involved.

“We’ll soon be inflicting third degree burns on Elena, in layman terms: deep burns that extend through the entire dermis, so infection becomes a serious concern. Therefore, hygiene is of utmost importance – as always:”

Despite Greg’s somewhat alarming statement, Elena followed the preparations with apparent equanimity. Once she had reached her decision, the dissenting voices in her head marvellously fell silent. Now, she only had to weather the upcoming ordeal, something she had gained considerable experience with recently. She leaned back, closed her eyes and focused on the exquisite teasing her raging arousal provided, fuelled further by the constriction and weights of her cuffs and collar and the occasional twinges of her body jewellery.

Greg’s incessant explanations intruded into her trance-like state of masochistic bliss.

“Now that Lisa has thoroughly cleaned the area, she will apply the stencil that transfers the slave mark's design onto Elena’s skin.”

Elena looked down in time to see Lisa remove the transfer paper, glimpsing an upside-down view of some emblem outlined in purple ink on her skin and it took her a second to recognize it as a suitably simplified version of the heraldic badge she had seen on some of Victor’s belongings. To her relief, she judged the mark’s overall visual impact to be elegant rather than blatant, to the extent such a statement even made sense with respect to something as extreme as a brand.

Greg traded places with Lisa and assured himself that the design had been flawlessly copied to Elena's chest, then, satisfied, resumed his lecture to the rapt audience. The attendant dominants had apparently overcome the frustration of their fantasies to acquire Elena for themselves and took comfort in watching her ordeal.

“Next, I’ll begin with the actual branding. For a number of reasons, hygiene and the acrid smell foremost, it’s a bad idea to inhale the vaporized skin, so we’ll need to put on respirators first. For your convenience, Alex will turn up the ventilation.”

Greg donned a half-face mask, then handed another one to Elena, who gratefully accepted it. She did not particularly fancy being nauseated by the stench of her own burning flesh.

“Brace yourself. This might hurt a little.” Greg advised her quietly, his voice muffled by the mask.

He switched on the electro-surgical generator, picked up the handpiece and leaned forward over her chest. Elena forced herself to take slow, deep breaths in a feeble attempt to calm her fluttering nerves. Then it began.

With swift and sure strokes Greg retraced the design painted on her skin. He did not quite touch her body with the handpiece, but a bright electric arc connected its metal tip with her skin, leaving a thin, dark line of charred flesh in its wake. The accompanying pain was piercing and terrible, but fortunately lasted only for an instant before abating to a dull throbbing. Elena clutched the armrests with both hands until the tendons stood out sharply on the back of her forearms, and fought against the rigidity of their encircling cuffs. Her earlier arousal had evaporated as instantly as her skin and beads of sweat formed on her brow, stinging her eyes. Ragged breaths hissed through her teeth and resonated within the tight confines of her mask. Elena could not bring herself to watch the brilliant spark furrow indelible scars into her previously unblemished skin, but instead focussed on Greg's engrossed eyes, deriving a quantum of solace from his evident competence and conscientiousness. She knew that when he would be done finally, the result of his work was virtually guaranteed to be perfect.

The torture continued on and on, interrupted only by short intervals when he started work on another segment of the brand and each time Elena reiterated her wistful wish that Victor’s family should have settled for another, rather less elaborate heraldic badge. She was close to the end of her endurance when at long last Greg straightened and switched off the quietly humming machine. He pulled off his respirator and treated her to one his rare smiles.

“It is done!” he pronounced her ordeal over and the audience burst into spontaneous applause. Greg waited until the clapping had abated and continued.

“From now until the end of your days you’ll bear Victor’s mark. He'd better be proud of his new slave. You've been exceptionally brave!” He spoke with peculiar emphasis, as if his words conveyed more than well-earned praise for her stoicism.

Elena slowly unclenched her jaw and loosened her grip on the chair's armrests, then with a weary sigh, peeled the sweat-soaked mask from her face and let it drop to the floor. Her chest throbbed with a dull, pulling ache that increased tenfold with every movement of her arms. She barely took notice, though. Greg’s quietly impressed words still reverberated in her head and her mind was filled with the wonder and terror of her new station. She had come to the end of her quest and of her stamina simultaneously. All of her thoughts and wishes had been concentrated on reaching this point for so long that now, when she had finally achieved her aim, she unexpectedly found herself at a loss. Although suffused with a sense of accomplishment, instead of enjoying contentment for once, she remained still consumed by an inner craving she neither understood nor knew how to assuage.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“The trick, Dr Lowry, is not minding that it hurts. Elena’s very good at that,” a familiar voice said from behind and her heart skipped a beat.

Elena whipped her head around and looked up. The world seemed to shift around her when she found Victor towering over her. He must have entered through a door in the back of the dais while she had been exclusively focused on dealing with the pain of her branding. She greedily drank in the sight of him, like a person dying of thirst might ogle a fountain, rapidly reacquainting herself with his well-remembered features.

There were the high brow and the aquiline nose, the chiselled chin and the firm mouth, now stretched into a thin smile that did not extend to his ice blue eyes. Maybe his dark hair showed a little more grey than she remembered, but otherwise he could have stepped directly out of one of her many dreams about him (admittedly, one also had to disregard his impeccable, charcoal suit that looked nothing like a knight's shiny armour). Yet most importantly, Victor still exuded that rare breed of strength and purpose that had always inspired implicit submission in her. Elena’s pulse quickened when recollections of the masochistic bliss she had experienced at his mercy rose unbidden from the depths of her memory and eclipsed current circumstances.

She was lost in her wistful study of Victor until interrupted by the approach of Lisa, who applied some antibiotic cream to the fresh burn and then covered it with a sterile pad, held in place by surgical tape. Rudely awakened from her daydreaming, Elena became aware of a disturbing divergence between her imagination and actual reality. For one thing, Victor did not fawn over her. Instead, his cool appraisal of the trappings of slavery she bore on his behalf was nothing but businesslike. She yearned for a sign of his appreciation but none was forthcoming.

Of course, as his slave, she realized, she had no claim to Victor’s love. As his slave, her overriding concern, her very raison d’etre had to be his pleasure, not her own inconsequential needs. Paradoxically, this total submission under his dominance, wilfully bordering on self-abandonment, was what she needed the most. Without it, she had found out the hard way that she could never hope for any fulfilment in her life. How Victor treated her now was only befitting her self-imposed condition of slavery: this she was forced to concede. Inexplicably, Elena felt dejected nevertheless.

She tried to get up but his hand on her shoulder pushed her effortlessly back onto the seat.

“Wait!” Victor commanded and from the depth of his jacket produced a flat, black leather case. “There’s more.”