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#Post#: 29--------------------------------------------------
The Branding and Collaring of Eris
DIR By: High Captain Song
Date: April 16, 2023, 11:58 am
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The Players
High Captain Song, Frode of Kassau
The slave eris, formerly the Lady Ydril.
This continues immediately after the events of The Death of Lady
Ydril
HTML https://skullisland.createaforum.com/high-captain-song/the-death-of-lady-ydril/.
Frode:
The heat of the forge is stifling and even without any clothing
but your collar and leash you soon find yourself sweating.
Perhaps some of that slave perfume would not be amiss after
this, but I think I will buy it from someone besides Pluribus of
Turia! The smith nods to me and offers me a rare grin. He is a
burly man, bared to the waist but for the large leather apron
that covers his upper torso but leaves his powerful arms bare.
"My thanks once again, Gustav. As always, you'll be paid well
for your discretion. Silver this time, rather than an original
song for your eldest daughter's party. But I'll be glad to
entertain a commission should you have need of it."
The smith only nods and heads off to grab a drink and enjoy the
coin I pass him. With that done, I turn my attentions back to my
new slave, moving to remove the leather travel collar from her
neck and the leash that dangled between her ample bosom. I see
that she is still heated from earlier, with her nipples hardened
despite the heat of the force and a tell-tale glistening about
her womanhood that has nothing to do with the sweat inspired by
the forge. Once she is stripped, I guide her to a set of
shackles hanging from the ceiling. A matching set are set into
the floor of the forge. Their purpose is immediately clear - to
hold someone in place for whatever purpose a Smith might need to
see done.
Eris:
I can feel the heat on my bare skin, rivulets of sweat trickling
down over bared swells and curves as you step in to remove the
collar from around my throat, the leather collar that was
clearly only ever intended to be temporary thing. I had hoped -
even expected? - that collar to be removed of course, but the
circumstances in which that was now happening were not those
that I had originally anticipated as it comes loose, is removed,
along with the leash, leaving my throat bare. How long that will
remain the case is not a matter with which I need concern
myself. The collar is being removed that another may take its
place, one likely more permanent, for words have been said that
cannot be unsaid, things expressed that cannot be retracted.
And even if they could, would I wish to retract them, unsay
them? My bare body would suggest not, given the subtle ways that
it betrayed me to you, the tautening of nipples, the swiftness
of breathing. The excitement between my thighs.
With excitement there was also another emotion though as you led
me to the shackles that awaited me, that of fear. I knew why we
were here, could see the handles of irons sticking out of the
fires, knew that those irons were intended to mark flesh,
permanently, with the kef or the the dina or whatever other mark
might please you. I knew that, and dreaded the pain that I was
about to endure as I stepped into the place indicated, raised my
hands towards the the shackles, the movement lifting the line of
bare breasts as I waited to be secured in place. There was no
point in asking you if it would hurt. Of course it would hurt.
And it seemed that you intended to do the task yourself.
Frode:
I nod to you as I see the unasked question in your eyes. It is
not typical for a Master to see to the branding of a girl
personally, even in the frozen North, where a man may work the
jobs of many castes and indeed is expected to be a warrior, a
sailor, a slaver and more. There are specialists, of course, but
also so few men as compared to the cities of the south that in a
rural district a man must be expected to tend his own farm and
defend it. In my case, it is a matter of pride born of the odd
codes of the Skalds, who are said to defend the freedom of Gor's
hearts and minds. I've never forced any to accept my collar, for
I know the value of freedom all too well. And yet, I know there
are many who find greater freedom in the collar than they ever
knew as Free Men or Women. Strange but true!
The chains are set securely as I move to the forge where the
irons weight. I strip off my own coat and shirt and throw on a
spare leather apron that was left behind for me by Gustav. This
is not the first time he accommodated my request to borrow his
forge nor the first time I asked him to get a particular iron
burning for me. I look to you and smile. "Doubtlessly, you know
that different marks are used for different girls. There are
basic brands to denote slavery, of course. But there are other
brands used to mark girls with particular talents. I have one I
fashioned to mark the girls I determined to me masterful
dancers." I nod. "Perhaps you will earn that brand someday. It
is, of course, possible that slave brands can be removed by the
Physicians, though it is a crime to do so in some cities and
doing so repeatedly can damage a girl's skin forever." I wince.
"For you, I've chosen the blade and belly brand. It is used most
commonly in the North, to mark those girls of unusual strength.
I think there is such strength in you. Steel wrapped in silk, I
heard one other singer call it."
Eris:
It is probably some act of grave folly on the part of a Man to
seek to understand the mind of a woman. Indeed, even I could not
claim to fully understand the thoughts going through my mind as
iron fetters encircled wrists and ankles, securing me in place,
the first time ever that I had been chained in such a way,
though of course I was quite familiar with the view of the world
from the bars of a cage. But shackled, in irons, no, this was
something new, something that I responded to by tugging a little
at the bonds, not because I sought to escape them but because I
was curious, even if such a trait was deemed to be unbecoming in
one such as I. My curiosity was swiftly answered of course, when
I found myself held securely, the chains not even giving by so
much as a fraction of a hort.
But yes, the mind of a woman, of this woman, of the slave girl
Eris, the former....no...she was gone, thoughts of her pushed
from my mind as I watched you remove your coat, my eyes
lingering on your body before you turned to face me. What was in
my mind? I had given myself to you, of my own accord. Oh for
sure you could have taken my surrender had you wished, i
powerless to do anything about it....but no, you had not forced
me....you had not even used me last night when we had lay
together in the furs....but here we were...perhaps it was better
not to dwell on such things rationally, rather just accept that
things were as they were, more than that were meant to be so. I
could have gone to another Market, you could have passed by an
ahn earlier or an ahn later. I suppose I could have even have
used proper scales. Any of those things could have happened and
none of this would have occurred. But they had happened. And
here we were. It was better not to question such things as sweat
ran down my taut belly as you smiled, spoke of brands as though
we were discussing something mundane in the café.
"Aye, Master." I nod my head, my dark mane brushing against my
bare shoulders. I feel vulnerable like this, naked, chained. It
makes my breathing come more swiftly, my bare breasts rise and
fall. I knew of brands of course, the basics at least, listened
as you told me the brand you had chosen for me. That you were
doing it yourself excited me, made the thought of being branded
even more acute, that you would mark me yourself, I just hoped
that you had some experience in the matter, enough that it would
be clean. Now was not the time to ask how many girls you had
branded though. Now was simply the time to look at you and
murmur softly "One day I want to earn the dancer's mark Master."
One day. Not this day. Or the next day. But one day. I then
nodded my head...looked at you...."And I will strive to be
worthy of the blade and belly brand."
Frode:
"Yes. I know you will."
I had thought to speak of the other brands that might have been
used. The punishment brands. How had you gone through the courts
and been sentenced to slavery you might been marked with the
brand of the Thief or the Liar, in addition to the brand of the
Dina or some other mark used to identify the most common of
slaves. But I can see the eagerness in your eyes and the way you
writhe in the bonds. Not in fear, but in anticipation.
"This will hurt." I say simply as I raise the iron, which is
glowing white hot. I was quite specific about how long to leave
it burning and how hot to make it. I don't know all the science
behind it. A Physician might speak of how the shock of heat an
kill the nerve so a white hot iron will hurt less. For my
purposes, it is enough that the white hot iron will leave a
cleaner mark, almost indistinguishable from a tattoo save to the
untrained eye. A poor brand made with a red-hot brand or pressed
down for less time can leave behind burn marks that will never
fully heal, looking more like a blister. I strove to avoid such
sloppy work. The fact that it discomforts the girl is of little
consideration to most men. I, however, am not most Men and while
I will not speak of such things, I also will not cause pain
needlessly if I can avoid it. Another part of the odd codes of
the Singers and Skalds.
"Just the one brand then. For now." I say with a smile as I
approach, having seen you watching me as I stripped down. Yes,
this one as bold. Bold enough to survive Skull Island, I thought
as I approached with the white hot metal and brought it to press
against the soft inner flesh of your upper thigh.
I count out the numbers, ignoring whatever noises you might
make. It is rare for a girl not to scream, of course. The
question is if the scream is one of pain or one of relief, for
some seem to take pleasure in the act of being marked as a
slave. Again, strange but true!
Eris:
I nodded again. I knew that it was an uncommon mark you were
putting on me. Or at least, presumed it was uncommon, for I
could not recall seeing a slave sporting it before. That made me
smile. An uncommon brand for an uncommon slave.
And then you tell me that it will hurt. Of course it will
hurt...but I just nod....it is inevitable....like the tides
washing up on the shore...i am a slave...i must be branded and
collared....still, i try not to think about how much it will
hurt as you draw for the the iron, the air around its tip
shimmering with the heat, heat that will be transferred to my
thigh in the next few ihn.....oh yes it will hurt....as I close
my eyes
And scream....a wild scream, as the pain erupts in my thigh, a
sudden, searing agony that rocks through every fiber of my
being, the smell of burning flesh assailing my nostrils as I am
marked was what I am, a slave, one whose belly lies beneath the
blade...my screams echoing off the walls of the Smithy as I
listen to you count, tears running down my cheeks as i embrace
what i now am....slave....for all to see...property of the High
Captain Frode of Kassau....His....
Frode:
"... Five!"
Five ihn. A short enough span of time but a relative eternity to
the one who is branded. That is all it takes to make a woman
into a slave, legally. There are other steps, of course. And the
path to accepting that is what is is much longer. Although, in
your case, probably not as long as most would have guessed
seeing you squirming in the cage yesterday.
I am not done, however.
My hand moves to a pouch on my belt as I retrieve a small jar
prepared for me by my slave, Trusty. In another time and another
place, Trusty and the teachings of her former caste had proved
useful enough for me to keep her around as my ship's healer. Of
course a slave is not meant to practice the arts of the High
Caste in the civilized cities of Gor,, but Pirates are sensible
enough to know it doesn't matter who is patching a person up so
long as the patching is done. To that end, I had Trusty make me
a special ointment. One that will dull the pain but also ensure
there is no blistering or infection of the brand. I take some of
the soothing balm in hand and rub it across the still warm
flesh. Two days ago, a man rubbing you there would have prompted
a scream like the one you just gave. Now.... well, you have
other concerns on your mind, but it is far from unpleasant!
I say nothing for an ehn before my eyes meet yours. "There is
one more thing... if you can be strong a while longer?"
Eris:
And it is done. In the eyes of Gorean law I am no longer a
person but a property, something that can be owned, can be
bought. sold, a commodity, no different from the spices and
cloths and such like that I used to trade. I am a beast, no
different from a bosk or a tharlarion. I am still sobbing when
you start to rub the balm into my thigh, the soothing ointment
immediately taking some of the fire away, my breathing deep as I
try to....process....process? Is that the right word? To deal
with not just the physical pain but the mental aspect of what
has just occurred? The balm can sooth the pain in my thigh...my
head is a jumble, may take longer to bring to some semblance of
normality....but it will....i know it will....as i now my
head....wondering what you mean. "Yes, Master..." I would be
strong...I would endure...because you willed it....
#Post#: 30--------------------------------------------------
Re: The Branding and Collaring of Eris
DIR By: High Captain Song
Date: April 16, 2023, 12:06 pm
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Frode:
I nod and offer you that reassuring smile. It is the only
comfort I have to give. But I am impressed with her strength so
far. And the worst of the physical pain is over.
I move back to the forge and retrieve a dark metal circlet.
Gustav made it precisely to my specifications and the
measurement I took of your neck while you slept. I forged the
first one of these myself on my High Jarl's forge in Kassau. It
is made of black iron or cold iron as the Northmen call it.
Slave collars are made of steel in most of the large cities, but
the men of Kassau use iron to denote the strength of the North
and their disdain for petty frippery.
My collar is subtlety different. It is black iron, but it does
not surround the girl's entire throat, resting low on the
shoulders at the base of the neck. This is purely because I take
great joy in being able to tease the neck of my slaves when I
kiss them. They still feel the weight with each breath, however.
There is also, on the side of the iron band, a silver symbol -
the musical note of the Singers. Though there is no common
system of musical notation on Gor, the music note still serves
as the symbol of Singers, Skalds and Poets. It is good a
signature as my name, for there is only one man of Kassau who
marks his girl with a silver note.
I approach you and fix the black metal around your neck. I hold
it place with a bit of string as I fetch the hot bolt to put in
the lockhole. The heat is extreme but I take care to keep your
hair away from the hot metal, having gathered it up before I
slid the metal into place. I drop the tongs and grab a glass of
cool water, which I poor across the bolt fusing the metal in
place. Now you are collared and branded, looking every inch the
slave.
I bring what remains of the water in the cup to your lips.
allowing you a drink of the soothing cool water.
Eris:
The heat in thigh is turning from harsh fire to dull throb.
Perhaps it is the balm, its coolness taking away the worst of
the sting. The worst, not all of it, far from that. But then is
that not at least part of the point, that i know that i am
branded, know that i am slave? Perhaps. my head is still
tumbling in somersaults, events of these past few days having
swept me along with them....and yet..I could not say that I
was....unhappy...it was a paradox was it not....one perhaps not
to be reflected on, at least now now as you approach with that
band of northern black iron, it appearing to be so much
more...solid....yes, so much more solid than a southern
collar....harsher perhaps...almost barbaric...but then....i
think such a collar was appropriate for one such as i, one whose
belly was beneath the blade....it was a northern collar...i bore
a northern brand....and so....as You approached....lips formed
but a single word
"Jarl."
It came of its own accord, unbidden....but felt....good....on my
lips as You moved my hair to the side...encircled my throat with
that circlet of black iron. i looked at you then...i had never
seen the North....perhaps you would take me...or perhaps we
would go south....it mattered not...i would go where you
went....
I felt your hand in my hair, easing it away from the
collar....the heat....this not a collar that would be secured
with lock and key....no, this was a true slave collar....for a
true slave....the Inn....that had all been a pretense... though
not in the way that I had first thought....I had thought that we
were playing at Master and slave....and we were....just not as i
had anticipated...i had anticipated the charade ending with my
freedom restored.
But then....perhaps you had set me free...
my bare body trembles...as I drink eagerly....look at you and
whisper "Thank you Jarl" You are a perceptive Man...you would
know that the thanks are not for the water...but for my
freedom...the freedom of slavery!
Frode:
Thanks can be given for many things, but I take your meaning
perfectly as you arch your body towards mine pulling at the
chains as I step back once you've had your fill. There is but
one thing left as part of the... well, I suppose one could call
this a ceremony. I'm not much for formalities, but I am one for
doing things right. And such a moment as this demands a certain
sense of drama.
I move to the wall and pull down a whip. Many Masters argue in
favor of whipping a newly collared and branded slave immediately
to show them the price of failure to be pleasing. As has been
noted before, I am not most men. And I think the chains in the
mind are much more effective than the ones on the body. Of
course I still use the ones one the body,, for sometimes the
symbols are not readily understood. Still, I unfurl the whip as
I stand before you.
"I had it in mind to whip you once you were branded and
collared. To administer the punishment denied the Lady Ydril.
20-50 lashes with a light whip is common. 10 lashes with a hard
whip less so."
My face is grim as I stand there and I start to move behind you
before I grin.
"But the Lady Ydril is dead. And while there is nothing to stop
a Master from punishing his slave should be wish it, I am not an
unjust man to punish the slave Eris for the crimes of a dead
free woman. But I do think it important you know the power of
the whip, so that you will strive to avoid it's touch,"
A long pause. Close to an ehn passes before I walk before you,
watching to see if you flinch in anticipation of the blow that
does not come.
"I think the pain you imagined just now as effective. Besides, I
would not scar the pretty flesh. Now kiss the whip and we can be
free of this place." I offer the handle of the instrument to
your lips.
Eris:
My eyes follow you as you move away, take down the slave whip. I
breathe deeply, but say nothing. I was Gorean born, not some
barbarian slave. That I feared the kiss of the whip was not in
doubt, my eyes made that clear enough. But I would not beg to be
spared the whip. You are Master. I am slave. If you wished me
whipped I would be whipped. Although my face did go pale when
you spoke of the lashes that would have been Ydril's, for fifty
lashes, even with a light whip was truly something to be feared.
And then you are moving around me, behind me...and i hang from
my chains...the anticipation gnawing at me, those ihn awaiting
something that is to happen....thinking about it, about how it
will hurt, how i will scream....a naked collared slave writhing
under the lash for the first time, for obviously none had ever
thought to raise the whip to me before....but now it could be
done as a matter of course, for any reason or for no reason
other than that it pleases a Free Man or Free Woman to have me
whipped...just as my belly was under the blade, my body was
subject to the lash....and so i closed my eyes....awaited the
storm as you again spoke of how Ydril was dead...but that Eris
must still know the whip...nodding...Ydril was dead...i was in
her place...branded...collared...owned...
Only....instead of blows...I heard your voice....as you circled
around, held the whip up...."Aye Jarl." I nodded my
head....vigorously....leaned forward, in doing so felt the cold
iron collar around my throat....that symbol of my slavery....one
symbol...as lips were pressed to leather....kissed, licked, as
though it was your own lips that I was pressing heated kisses
to, my tongue slowly moving across the handle, causing it to
glisten with my saliva as I kissed it lewdly....hungrily...my
kisses perhaps lacking training but demonstrating much eagerness
to please
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