The Prisoner, The Slave

"You were just perfect," he said and held her right hand tenderly.

Back in the torture den, he commanded her to kneel. She immediately complied and he picked up a collar. It was black leather with large diamonds, no doubt real, lining it. A large platinum ring was in the center.

"Come here."

She crawled across the floor and came to a rest before him.

He looked down at her and asked, "What am I to you?"

"You're my Master," she said with humble sincerity.

"And what are you to me?"

"I'm your property."

"....And now it's time to make it official."

He buckled the collar around her neck. He hooked a fabric leash onto the metal ring and led her into the examining room. She climbed into the dentist's chair. He didn't strap her in, though she had no intentions of getting up, anyway.

"You behave yourself in here with Joe," he said.

"Yes, Master."

He left and soon the bodyguard came in. She hated being with the sadistic bully. He pulled up another chair and sat before her. Then by way of paper, he began to rub a transfer image onto her left pectoral. There was a stand nearby topped with a tattoo gun and cups of inks that he reached for. She remained still.

He took a hold of the tattoo machine and began to use it on her. It's little needles smarted, but her threshold for pain was so high then that she silently endured it.

"How ya feeling?" he asked after a while.

"Fine, Sir."

Hours passed. When he lifted the machine up for the last time and dabbed away ink and blood from her flesh, she looked down and saw a large trademark expertly tattooed over her heart: 'M'. It was Mr. Monroe's official business logo, and adorned every piece of real estate he owned.

After Joe bandaged the brand, she was put back into her cell. She began to doodle in her pad, patiently waiting for her dinner...

*