Plantation X Ch. 03

Come to the Plantation.

A secluded, semi-tropical place cooled by breeze from the nearby seas, surrounded by deep jungle on three sides, a small lake and fields to the south. The high compound walls that lie around the fields surrounding the lake are more to keep intruders out as occupants in. Mountainous cloud forest to the north produces copious fresh water and this fertile land produces all its inhabitants need. The only access is a well made dust track from the town, 20 miles away up a long peninsula across a steep, bridged gorge which isolates it from the mainland.

A large wooden house stands at the centre of the grounds; simple yet opulent in its decor. To the north of the house a driveway gives access to steps to a heavy, little used mahogany door, then leads around to the south side where a large courtyard is surrounded by slave huts, cells, workshops, stables and stock sheds, with a path leading to the fields.

A dark basement lies beneath the house. On the ground floor, facing south, is a wide wooden veranda, looking out over the courtyard. A great entrance hall stretches between the front and back of the house, off this lie a sitting room a library, a study, kitchen, dining room and 3 or 4 more. Up wide curving stairs are, among others, Mistress's personal rooms.

This is a place to share BDSM fantasy. It will be what we make it: each member a character in the scenario we build, woven together by story and however else we create it. Colour, creed and sexual preference are unimportant. Come as you are and be what you have always felt. Express your deepest desires. This is a place where slaves are treated without mercy and sexual pleasure is the driving force. Come by choice or by force, stay because this is your destiny and purpose.

The Plantation is run by Kiva, a dominant woman who will relish your enslavement, possess your soul and use you to her will.

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Branding the Smith

As he knelt he felt her hand lightly brush against his scalp. It set him alight. Instinctively he prostrated to kiss her feet, worshiping the uncovered toes that peeped freshly polished thought her silletoed sandals. There was no escaping it now, no desire to escape it either. He was devoted, bound to her in more than just his body. This woman was fundamental. Powerful presence in his existence now, and his existence was to serve, to pleasure, to work, to protect her.

She pulled her toes from his suckling, caressing tongue, in an effort of control on her part. She wanted him again, and his mouth worked so exquisitely there that she had felt the tingle in her groin rising rapidly. But sexual satisfaction was not on her agenda. For now, at least.

She moved, and he stayed, knelt forward, head to the floor, transfixed by his enslavement.

He hear her stir the iron in the coals, heard her admiring words as she lifted it to see the ‘K’ he had formed. She had ordered this for the small herd of cattle that would arrive in the next hour or so…but now she saw another propose. Whilst he was infinitely more precious to her, in terms of purpose, intelligence and devotion than the animals she would have here, he was no more than a bull, horse, ram or dog in his rights or absolute value in here eyes.

And so, he would be branded, just as would the rest of her slaves. Marked by his own iron, the first of her herd. She would test the form of her cipher on his flesh, and only then, if it was perfect, would she use it to mark the rest of her stock.

She prodded him with the toe of her red leathered right foot.

“Bring me the book, Smith.”

The book.

A huge ancient tome of hand made paper, clothed in deep burgundy leather with gold leaf adornments to edges and corners. As soon as she had seen it in the old shop in the town she had known it was perfect for the job.

He stood, almost hesitating with the enormity of the movement in the depth of his subjugation, and moved slowly through the small archway between forge and workshop, to lift from its casket the book that he had so lovingly tended, oiled and bought back to perfection. Watching his naked back and firm buttocks, contemplating the crude rope collar still around his throat like a remnant of his resistance, she remembered and looked forward.

This place, this moment. They were like a pivot in her existence. As a girl, she had known this place so intimately, and it had changed little since, bar some cosmetic alterations. They had moved from there when she was a teenager, her Father having decided to take up a post in the company in town, and the plantation, for a few years had been in the possession of an old family friend.

Her family were long gone now. Parents dead, her first grieving for then softened to quiet smiling memory and the knowing that life moved on. The boy – her brother by birth, if not by blood – the one on whom she had first found and honed her dominance, long gone to his own fortunes. Her early born child, cradled in her fate, had passed too, but she felt no sadness now. Bearing her, and the after effects of that had left her free from concern, ripe in her sexuality and the fullness of her body and breasts. She revelled in the strength and purpose in her life, and had lived it well. Having her relationships, relishing them, always knowing what she wanted. Always determined to bring this place back into her family, to be the place that she had always known it could be.

Now she was back. Where she had always wanted to be, where her spirit belonged. The cattle were ordered, the horses, chickens, goats dogs and pigs. The seed grain would come, and the tools could be made, the jungle would offer up its own secrets to enrich the life she would form.

The smith shuffled back into the forge, and fell to his knees once more at her feet, offering her the heavy book on outstretched forearms looking up at her, breathing her in, needing her possession. Knowing he was Hers.

Taking the book, she placed it on his bench. Taking his rope bound neck she pulled him to stand, then bent him forward across the bench, to lie torso to wood, beside the book.

Lifting his sharpest knife from the workbench she cut the rope from his neck and wrists, the flame glistening steel half shocking him with the intensity of its presence against his flesh. “It’s your choice now, Smith. You leave or you stay. If you stay it is as my slave. Forever”

She stood back. Offering him his moment, giving him his time to stand and leave.

His mind no longer fought, his emotions were at one in his spirit. He could no more lift his body from that bench than he could cut a limb from his body. This was his existence, this was his universe. There was nowhere else in his being now, except to serve Her.

“Mistress, please” Smith’s words were quiet, but clear.

She touched his left shoulder in silent acceptance, brushed her thigh against his arm as she turned to the corner of the room. He heard the clatter of the coals as she lifted the iron from then, stayed motionless as she walked towards him. His closed eyes filled his need, his nostrils filled with the smell of her and the heat.

And his body and lungs screamed out in pain as the brand bit and burned clean and clear into the flesh of his left buttock, and again, turned rapidly round, into the skin of his right fore shoulder.

Crying in pain and absolute completeness, he called her name over and over while she kissed her possession into his soul.

She stood, now, separating her body from his. Leaving him bereft but whole.

Moving back to the brazier once more, she plunged the iron back in to the white-orange coals. Waiting just long enough she moved back to the bench, Smith’s body tensing with disbelieving anguish.

The iron plunged down once more. In a moment of terror he almost screamed in the potential agony of it: instead yelling in relief when it struck instead on the flesh of the Book. Burning her mark into the place she would record all the details of her stock.

In pure pent up emotion he collapsed to her feet, worshipping at them once more.

Lifting the book and clasping it to her body, Kiva pushed his face from her with a firm kick. She walked from the hut, leaving Smith collapsed and gasping on the earth floor.

“You will make your collar tomorrow, slave”

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Walking back across the courtyard, Kiva reflected on the hours to come. They would bring her first shipment of stock: human and beast.

As she walked, deep in anticipation and simmering arousal from the residual desire for the Smith, she became aware of an unexpectedly early engine heading towards the house along the track. She climbed the step to the veranda, entered the house to the study and placed the hefty book on her leather topped desk. The knocker of the main house door boomed its note across the hall; Kiva straightened her dress and hair and walked to answer its call.

It took a moment to register the features of the man now at her door. So familiar, and yet so changed. Do sure of himself these days, with an upright gait and dominant air about him. It took a moment to coolly recompose herself from the shock of recognition without him perceiving her response.

”Blair.

I’m glad you came”

She beckoned him in, opened her arms to him, and welcomed him home. This was someone she had called to her, yet only half hoped would come so soon. Separated only by bloodline, the two had been bought up as brother and sister, and it was with him she had exercised her earliest instincts to Dominate and use. When he had left home it was at her insistence, she seen the need in him and known he needed freedom to become the man he was made to be. She had known, too, that one day he would return to her.

A bystander would have felt the electricity that sparked between them, would have been consumed by the passion that flowed without words. Their connection was instant, their physical reaction spontaneous. Held tight in fiercely familiar arms, mouths instantly knowing their territory, bodies both matured since they had last touched, but still fitting to their mutual wanting.

Almost lost for a moment in the aftermath of her desires left burning from her Smith, and fanned to a furnace by the surprise of Blair’s arrival, Kiva almost dragged the man in her arms to the floor and had him there and then. But something else stirred in her sense and purpose. Pressing her thigh firmly into his groin to find his hardness, she suddenly pulled back from him.

“Mmmm…you are as luscious as ever, my dear brother, I am so glad you are here. Come, let me show you to your room”.

She picked up his old leather bag and gave it to him, striding across the hall to the foot of the stairs. Following her, he knew he was home.

And in the distance, stock trucks rumbled along the track…