I am shamefully marked

(Author's note: much of this thread was taken from a chapter written by joe_doe)

Dear Diary,

I remember staring up at my cousin in shock, unable to believe my ears. The foul taste of his jizz still fresh in my mouth and for what? Before I could bring myself to accept the abject horror of the moment, Mr. Kyleson reached behind me and lifted me to my feet by my arms and the ebony-skinned **** stuffed a rounded stick roughly into my open mouth. The gag was carved from a dark wood about the width of a broom handle, but much shorter. On one end of the stick was knotted a piece of coarse, twisted rope. The brawny negro **** deftly looped the rope around my head and threaded it through a matching hole in the other end until my mouth was opened wide. I chewed angrily at the wooden gag as Kyleson and Manton watched the way I was efficiently manhandled by this negro ****.

“That's good,” Manton said approvingly. “We'll have no more babble from you, Miss DiFlorentini. I don't want to hear any more of your caterwallin', when we put the iron on that sweet black ass of yours.”

I did my best to object, but my protests were unintelligible as the strong blacksmith lifted me from the dirt and bent me over a padded sawhorse, my bottom raised high. With the three men working together, it took them less than a minute for them to lash my arms and legs to the sturdy legs of the contraption.

I gurgled in protest as Manton himself took the iron out of the fire and blew on the white-hot tip, making sure that no embers were still sticking to the brand that might ruin the delicate esthetic.

“It's not that I enjoy this sort of thing, you understand,” he said somberly as he used a damp rag to clean the area where the brand was to go, “but you made it necessary, by getting uppity and trying to pass yourself off as white.” Any protest I may have tried to make was completely muffled by the length of hard wood between my teeth, but it would not have mattered in any event. “Showing up at my front door, as if you were expecting to own Havenhall. After we get you marked, we'll be done with that foolishness, once and for all. You ever try to go to court, all we'll have to do is pull down your britches to show everyone it's Havenhall that owns you.”

With that, Manton pressed down the red-hot iron onto the outer half of my left bottom cheek. The pain was indescribable. I wished I lost consciousness, but I did not. Instead, I screamed, and bit down on the stick, as Manton slow counted my branding.

One, Havenhall

Two, Havenhall

Three, Havenhall

Manton's earlier claim not to enjoy his task was belied by the huge bulge in his pants, and the evil grin on his face when he pulled the brand away. The smell of my burning flesh filled my nostrils as I bore the brand that I knew would change my life forever.

A minute later I was free from my bounds and the gag had been removed but the fight had left me. I knelt sobbing on the sawdust covered floor as Kyleson pressed the wet rag against my derriere. It is a measure of how far I had fallen that I was grateful for the moment of relief from the wet cotton. I realized as he explained to Manton what he was doing, that this was not an act of kindness on his part. He positioned me so Manton could get a good look at his handiwork.

“You gave her a good clean mark, Sir.” Already the temporary relief was fading, “but this will keep the lines nice and tidy. It also improves recovery time and reduces the chances of the area becoming enflamed.” My cousin nodded just once before bending down, so his face was almost as low as mine. His large hand slipped under my chin and lifted my head so he could study my tear-streaked face. With his thumb he wiped the salty drops from my left eye almost gently before turning to Kyleson with a question that revealed his true character.

“How long will it take before she's healed enough to fuck?” By this time Kyleson was applying some kind of thick greasy salve to the fresh mark, but he did not seem at all surprised by the question.

“I always wait about a week, Mister Manton, to be safe.” The plantation overseer stood behind me apparently satisfied with his crude doctoring of the brand sight. “Of course, you can still use her pretty mouth again, I think all the fight has been taken out of this nigger ****.” He wiped his fingers on the small of my back before cupping the right buttock and squeezed it approvingly. “This is one fine fancy girl you've acquired, Sir. I wonder how many other light-skinned bitches like her there are up North just waiting to be recaptured and brought back South where they belong.”