Homecoming Redux

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Your eyes open, and you find me facing you, lying in bed with you. I kiss your forehead, then your eyelids, and my fingers run through your hair. We’re both naked, and the sun is streaming through half-opened curtains.

Feeling your curious, almost amused eyes on me, I kiss my way down your face with tiny delicate pecks, then traverse your jawline to the tenderness of your throat, tight under the heavy leather of your collar. Here, my kisses acquire force and urgency, and as I suck slightly on your neck, I feel you take in a breath and flex a little. The back of my hand caresses your cheek as I suck and nibble on your fat vein, feeling the pulse in my mouth.

Next, I flatten you a touch, laying you out under me with a firm but careful grasp, and my lips drag down from your collarbone to between your breasts, inhaling you as I delve in. I draw a semicircle with my palm around the curve of your breast, and then cup and lift it slightly. I smile at the gold ring in each nipple, my initial on each little ball. My warm wet mouth engulfs your left nipple and I draw it in, teeth clamping on it as I suck. My tongue flicks back and forth, exploring the rough texture of your stiff areola and the metal sheen of your piercing. My head moves back, still holding you in my mouth, little tugs stretching you.

I kiss my way down from your breasts, across the plain of your belly, pausing to swirl the tip of my tongue in your navel, then kiss it with a smacking pop. My hands rest on your hip bones as I nuzzle on your pubic fur, my puckered lips grazing you, and your scent fills my nostrils as I approach your opening. I am delighted to see you writhe and part your thighs at my approach.

Your slit parts, warm and moist, presenting me with my monogrammed ring in the hood of your swollen clitoris. I run my lips down those hot velvet lips, nibbling at intervals, my teeth denting the deeply-coloured flesh. I extend my tongue and push it inside, a fractional contact of tongue and clitoris, up and down, just twice. My top teeth clack on your clit piercing. I think I hear a small groan escape you. I press a fat kiss on your lovely cunt, then roll you over.

My hands lay on your bottom, stroking the downy skin, and then my fingers sink a tad deeper, and I part you. Your dark secret flesh knot lies under my face, humid and fragrant. I have to press my lips to it, kissing and rekissing the entrance to you I love, dragging my lips round your tight little ring. Another loud popping kiss on your hole, one more on your damp cunt lips, and then my mouth travels down, down, down the length of your legs. I close by kissing my way along each of your ten toes.

I clamber back up you, facing you again, so we’re on our sides, our breath on each other.

“It’s so good to have You home, Sir,” you whisper. At this, you surrender to yourself and fling your arms around me, clinging to me, your head against my chest and your eyes tightly closed. When you raise your head again, I see the tiny streak of a tear from the corner of your eye.


I Betist sit up.

“Darling,”, I say at last, “What do I normally have for you when I return from a trip?”

“A gift, Sir. But you know You are all the gift I need.”

“Indeed. Nevertheless, you will receive something this morning. First, though – breakfast, I think?”

At this, you skip out of our bed, and coming round to my side, you help me into my robe. I watch you scamper nude across the room and down the stairwell as I sit on the edge of the bed, yawning and stretching. By the time I descend to the kitchen, the table has been laid and bears orange juice, hot coffee, buttered toast and marmalade. When I’ve taken my seat at the table, you curl up, still nude, at my feet with your bowl of chocolate. We start breakfast.

After a spell you break the silence. “Sir…will You be going away again soon?”

“You know, darling, my job takes me from you regularly. That’s something you must get used to.”

You lower your head, take a sip of chocolate. “I know, Sir.” And after a long pause, you pluck up your courage. “But I hate it, Sir.”

I look down at you. You raise your head and return my gaze warily.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but it’s the truth. I hate you to go, I hate you not being here.”

“That’s possessive. It’s a trait I thought we’d worked on.”

“I know, I know, Sir. But I can’t help it. I – I just don’t feel I exist when You aren’t here. There’s no meaning to me without my Master.”

“You’re always my possession. I own you, no matter how far away I might be.”

I reach down, tug at your collar.

“What does this mean?”

I flick the monogrammed rings on your nipples. “And these?”

You see where I’m going, and part your thighs, still kneeling by me. You clit ring emerges and gleams.

“Yes, darling, even there my name is on you. And yet you say you don’t feel my presence when I’m away.”

“I’m ashamed of these feelings, Sir. I know I am a disappointment to You. but I can’t lie about how much it hurts not to have You with me.” Your bottom lips trembles, and try to hide it by bowing your head.


I ponder for a long interval. Then I drain my coffee cup and get to my feet.

“Didn’t I say I had something for you, darling?”

You try to muster a smile, and stand at my gesture.

“Now now, you know I detest moping.”

I loop my index finger through the ring on the front of your collar, and lead you from the kitchen, through the house, to the Basement. You pad along behind me, your curiosity stirring.

We come to my workbench, and with a gesture of my index finger, you are on your knees again. Leaning back on the edge of the bench, I lift a long, sleeved object, wider at the top.

“This is what I picked up for you this trip, darling. Any guesses?”

“Is it a new crop, Sir? Or a cane?”

Without answering, I unzip the sleeve. I grip the long black iron bar by its wooden handle. At its end, there is a crescent shape. Betist Giriş I turn it in the light to let you see.

You gasp.

“It’s a branding iron, Sir.”

I turn and turn the upper-case serif C. “Yes, it is, darling. I suppose I had anticipated our conversation of this morning; I’ve been thinking, yes, she wears my name on her nipples, on her clitoris… but these are adornments. Removable ones. It’s time my name was truly ON you, part of your body. It may help you to feel more that a little of me remains with you always when I have to be away. And it may let you feel irreversibly owned.”

After a pause, you speak, a little gulp before your words.

“Where will You brand me, Sir?”

I do not reply, but, brand in hand, I take you by your collar ring, raise you and walk you to the Horse. With practised grace, you drape yourself across it, bottom high and legs apart, and reach down to grip the Horse’s legs on the far side.

I lean the branding iron against the Horse and take the ball gag out of my toolbox. You lift your head to assist me as I stoop to fasten the gag on you, pushing the ball tightly into your mouth.

“Will I need to bind your wrists and ankles, darling?” You shake your head assertively, and grip tighter. I clench your hair and lift you head so our eyes meet fully.

“This will be painful, you know that. Are you happy to go through with it? I need your full consent.”

You nod, and attempt a muffled Yes. I let your head drop.

Having prepped your right bottom cheek with an antiseptic wipe, I ignite my blowtorch. The low roar of the flame fills the otherwise still Basement as I tighten the flame and it shifts from red to orange to yellow. I then plunge the C brand into the flame, and watch it take on the same glowing colour. The hot metal smell rises. When I look over at your rear, doubled over the Horse, I see your legs are tense, your toes restless, and your slightly parted cunt lips glistening. I set down the torch and pace slowly over to you, glowing brand in hand.

I line up the brand rail at a right angle from you, and with a curt “Brace yourself,” press the brand briefly but firmly against your cheek. A shriek, deadened by the gag, emerges through your throat, and your head lashes back. Impressively, you maintain your grasp of the Horse. The scent of your seared flesh intoxicates me. I whip away the scorching brand and drop it with a clang on my workbench. A red and black C stands out vividly on your bottom. You entire body quakes, and I hear you gnash on your gag, a mixture of biting and sobbing, as I fetch a jar of balm. Carefully, tenderly, I daub balm on your brand, soothing you.


I crouch before you now, and lift your tear-streaked face in my hand. Your eyes do not leave mine as I undo your gag and set it down.

“Th-thank You, Sir, for putting Your name on Your cunt.”

I softly press a kiss onto your lips, stroking your wet forehead, smoothing your hair back. “You’ve been such a brave girl. I’m so proud of you. You fully deserve my name on you.”

You swallow hard. “Now Sir, please…will You christen my branded arse?”

I start back. “It’s a little soon, darling. You’ve just been through…”

Your eyes are still on mine as your hands go behind you, and I watch you pull the cheeks of your bottom apart, and you wince as you brush the fresh wound of your brand. But your determination is evident.

I raise an eyebrow, and then take some lubricant from my toolbox. My eyes are on the twin gaping holes between your arse cheeks, pink and stretched by your firm fingers. I squirt a couple of large dollops of lube into your cleft, and as it trickles down, I say, “First, get yourself ready, darling.” Your fingers start to smear and spread the lubricant into your anus, up and down your cleft, delving in and out of your slick hole.

I go back round to your face. One hand lifts your head by the hair; my other releases my cock from my trousers. “And now you can get me ready too.” You continue to lubricate your arsehole with both hands as you take my cock into your mouth and to the back of your throat. “Nice and wet, now, angel,” I croon, as I slowly and evenly fuck your mouth, and I can feel you pushing saliva on and around my shaft.

At last I slide my cock out of your mouth, and you gasp, drooling, a strand hanging from your bottom lip. My cock is dripping and bubbled with spit. I circle to your rear again, and see your hands once more part your cheeks, offering your shining wet anus to me. I lay my cockhead on the tight dark hole and, gripping myself by the base, I push myself inside your arse. My hands rest on your hips, above yours; my right hand is close to your new C brand, and I begin to move my thick cock in and out of your hole. You grunt and gasp, rocking on your Horse, as I fuck your arse more and more assertively, my width spreading your tight ring and widening it.

We move together, bodies in sync, as I pound inside your arse. Our animalistic cries blend as I approach my climax. I feel my balls tighten and my vein thicken. You push back onto my cock, your anus devouring me, cheeks held by four hands, spread wide.

Suddenly I sweep your hands off your arse, and withdraw my sticky cock from you with a slurp. Holding myself tightly at the base of my cock, I spurt gob after gob of hot thick spunk onto your arse, getting fat dollops of semen on your brand and across your bottom. I stagger back and lean against my workbench. Your hands move up again and I watch you smear my cum over your bottom and hole, bathing yourself in me.

You stand, supporting yourself unsteadily on the Horse, and turn to face me again. With great care, you lick and suck every drop of semen off your fingers and palms, eyes on mine all the time. When you’ve done, you shuffle forward, and drop to your knees before me, at the brink of exhaustion. You take my messy cock in your mouth and dutifully clean me up, hands behind your back as you’ve been trained. You leave my cock spotless, and open your mouth wide to show me an empty mouth.

“Thank You, Sir – Thank You, thank You.” Once more, you have tears in your eyes. “I will never feel quite so bereft again when You go. You will always be with me, in me, on me.”

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