Branding irons have been used to permanently mark the bodies of animals to evidence the property of a particular owner for thousands of years. It was probably the Romans who first used the practice in a structured way to the marking of the bodies of human slaves. In the same way, the permanent branding by hot iron of a male slave by my former Mistress has become the most powerful expression of Her total ownership of a slave. Of course, Mistress kept all Her male slaves locked in permanent chastity under Her absolute control. Furthermore, they were always collared when serving Her.
But for those few slaves who She wish to own and use for the rest of their lives, She reserved the unique privilege of being branded. If branded, the collar and chastity device was removed. But once She branded a male slave on his body with Her initials, he was Her personal property and slave for the rest of his life. Her initials will be on his body until he dies, never to be removed.
I served as a collared and caged slave for Mistress Sapphira nearly for nearly two years before she gifted me the privilege of being branded. While some mistresses choose to brand the upper arm or an butt cheek, Mistress Sapphira preferred to apply her brand to the scrotum. She accomplished this by first immobilizing the balls with a humbler, then a red-hot branding iron was used to burn Her initials, “SS”, into the slave’s balls.
I remember the day Mistress Sapphira raised the issue of being branded. I thanked her for believing in me and expressed my commitment to her. At the end of our conversation, the first and only such conversation about branding, I was surprised when Mistress Sapphira immediately locked me in a humbler and removed my collar and chastity cage. The realization that she intended to brand me then and there was shocking.
The branding took time. Mistress Sapphira build a fire in the fireplace, at least 30 minutes. She produced a branding iron, a single “S”. I realized then she would be branding me twice, once on each of my balls. She spoke to me while she prepared. She mentioned the ways I had served her. When I first arrived in her house, she commanded me to use my tongue to clean her vagina after she had sex. Impressed with my skills in “hygiene”, I served as her toilet slave for a year, cleaning her vagina and anus when she (and her guests) used the toilet. I was subsequently employed as a housemaid, responsible mostly for the living quarters.
I had read that the Romans often branded runaway slaves on their foreheads. With that image in my head, thoughts of leaving Mistress Sapphira gave me anxiety. Nonetheless, after more than three years of serving Mistress Sapphira, more than a year after I had been branded and released from chastity, I wanted to leave. My desire to leave built within me over a period. Obviously, I was committed to Mistress Sapphira at the time I was branded, but once released from chastity, I began to develop sexual urges.
I had not been out of Mistress Sapphira’s house in almost three years when she tasked me to pick up a package in town. It had been the same amount of time since I had driven a car, so I asked to practice driving on the property before setting off. Granted that request, I drove around the neighborhood for an hour. I had forgotten the outside world and enjoyed driving around the neighborhood. It reminded me of my life before I was a slave for Mistress Sapphira. Confident that I had. Regained my driving skills, I returned to Mistress Sapphira’s home. I had been driving around the neighborhood naked, because Mistress Sapphira did not allow me to wear clothes in the house, but I was given a set of clothes to wear as I carried out my assigned task.
I enjoyed my brief trip outside the influences of Mistress Sapphira. It felt strange wearing clothing, but I appreciated the modesty. Taking advantage of the rare respite from domination, I struck up conversations with a dozen people. I imagined for a moment what it would be like to once more have the free will to experience the real world whenever I wanted to. Returning from the task to Mistress Sapphira’s home, I was reluctant to go inside, knowing I might not be outside for another three years.
As it turned out, I was given an opportunity to do another task for Mistress Sapphira in the real world. As I dressed, I toyed with the idea of leaving Mistress Sapphira’s service, of just not returning. Getting in Mistress Sapphira’s car, I drove to a Walmart, left the car keys on the seat, and walked away.
It was more than a year before I experimented with female companionship. I met Julie at a local coffee house. She was vanilla, just a small-town girl. Over the coming months, our relationship became romantic, and I had we had begun dating. Julie helped me reacquire my social skills with woman. We had even kissed and made out on several occasions. She had invited me back to her place several times, but I had made excuses other than the real reason I was reluctant to advance our relationship, the “SS” scar on my scrotum.
When we finally started having sex, I insisted the lights be out, even though Julie told me that she’d like to see me while we fucked. My shame had gone undetected, even though she had given me blowjobs. Eventually, however, Julie insisted there be some light during out love-making. During these times I tried to stay under the covers or at least present myself at such an angle that she could not see the brand. The deception was aided by the fact I had grown hair on my balls since leaving the service of Mistress Sapphira. She had always insisted that all the hair be removed from my body.
One evening after a nice dinner out, we returned to Julie’s home. And eventually ended up in her bedroom. Julie was playing with my balls in the semi-dark and ran her fingers across the raised scar. “There’s something on your balls!”, she exclaimed. Worried that it might be a health concern, she insisted on inspecting me in the light. I resisted and she insisted. Eventually, I decided I could not keep my secret anymore and I told her it was a “tattoo.” She seemed skeptical, “Tattoos are not raised.” I explained it was a brand.
Julie had trouble processing the concept. “You mean your balls are branded like a cow?” I told her yes. “Why would you do that.” I had to explain that I was not the one who had done it, that I had been in a BDSM relationship, and my Mistress had branded me. She demanded to see the scar. “What is SS mean?” I explained it was the initials of Mistress Sapphira. With some anger in her voice she asked, “You mean you have the initials of another woman permeant burned onto your balls? I nodded. “The balls you expect to continue fucking me with?” I looked at the floor. “Fuck that shit. Get out!” Linda locked herself in the bathroom. I dressed myself and left, never to see her again.
The next week I returned to Mistress Sapphira. She was still furious with me. I groveled and eventually she asked, “If I took you back, how could I be certain you wouldn’t just wander off again?” I tried to convince her without success that I would remain loyal in the future. Eventually, she told me she would take me back under one condition, that I allow her to shave my head and put her brand on my forehead. I agreed.