(Sorry for the delay! – m)
Two men stepped in. They wore grey coveralls, and one carried a long black case.
My heart kicked into overdrive.
The only person so far I’d had to deal with since waking up in the Dominion was John, and while he was frightening enough, I knew him, knew what he wanted from me, and knew that in his way he was doing what he thought was best for me. It was a very personal kind of control he was exercising over me, and it felt oddly loving.
These men were strangers. The shorter man – grey haired but handsome – walked over to the dining room table and set the case on it. He opened it and began pulling things out.
The taller man stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the other man. “Eyes on the fucking floor, cunt,” he grunted, and shoved my head down. “You better learn quickly around here, Stephanie, and start thinking with your body and not your brain. Do females get to look at their superiors without permission, cunt?” he demanded.
“N-no, milord,” I breathed, keeping my gaze fixed on the floor between my pale spread thighs.
“Right, cunt. And are you male or female?”
“F-female, milord,” I answered, my voice shaking.
“Were you ever male?” he demanded.
“Y-yes, mi-“ I stopped, gasping as a conditioning shock lit my nerves on fire.
“Were you ever male, cunt?” he repeated.
“No, milord,” I whispered, tears welling up from the pain.
“No, you weren’t. Even when you were in a male body, you were a weak inferior female, pretending, puppeting…deceiving. You were a fucking liar pretending to be a man. Now, cunt, you admit you know that females do not look at their superiors without permission, and you also admit you are female. What, then, was your mistake?”
“I looked at you without permission, milord,” I whimpered.
“Why did you look, cunt?” he demanded.
“I was frightened when I saw that you weren’t John, milord,” I answered, still keeping my gaze lowered. My face felt flushed and I felt dizzy.
“Of course you’re fucking frightened, you’re a female. It’s not a fucking excuse, though.” He slapped my breasts with his palm, three strikes each, hard. The pain was so sudden and intense that tears welled up. “It doesn’t matter who we are. We’re men, and that’s all you need to know. There will be times when the men around you won’t even know you were once male yourself, and won’t bother explaining things. You’ll either fucking obey, or be hurt. Prepare yourself for that day, Stephanie.”
“Is my girl giving you trouble, Sam?” John asked as he stepped through the front door.
“The cunt looked me in the eye,” Sam said in an amused tone.
“Really? That was stupid. But we’ll deal with that later, Stephanie. You’ll need a little time to recover from this before I can give proper punishment. Stand, turn to face away, and reach down and grab your ankles.”
I was hyperventilating as I rose awkwardly to my feet. I turned and bent forward, grabbing my thin ankles with my manicured hands. My ears and cheeks felt hot from the rush of blood, and my breasts hung strangely from my ribcage, closer to my chin. I swayed a little, but John put his hand on the small of my back to steady me.
“Stephanie, no leeway is given at all to females in the Dominion,” John said calmly. “None. The reason why all of the women are here, including you, is because you need to be treated like property. You have a deep, painful need that can only be satisfied when you are completely, absolutely controlled. You long to be chattel. I know you know this about yourself; I’m only saying it now to help contextualize what happens next.”
Suddenly the two other men were on either side of me, slipping a thick leather bar under my hips. They lifted me up, bent me double over the bar, with John keeping me steady, and rested the ends of the bar on two stands. I grunted softly as I was moved, and found that I could just touch the ground with my tiptoes.
They were strapping me down to what I realized was a restraining rack of some kind. It must have been what the other man had brought with him. There were no words exchanged; it was obvious that the pair worked together doing this fairly often. They were quick and efficient, and I barely had time to understand what they were doing before I was already rendered mostly helpless, not that I considered struggling. At no time was I ever fully free; there was always a hand wrapped around my wrists or ankles as they did their work, making sure I knew I couldn’t bolt. Their hands were like vises and their strength was frightening. In their grip I couldn’t move if I tried.
My ankles were done first, buckled into leather cuffs and pulled apart, so that now my full weight was supported by the horizontal bar. Then my wrists were buckled and cinched. The bar dug into my hips, pinching my skin. I looked briefly up, disoriented by the inverted view of the foyer and the legs of the three men, standing intimately close. I was painfully aware of my nakedness, and how the position left my crotch completely exposed to them.
John rested his hand on my left hip, patting it the way one does frightened cattle. “You’re going to be branded, Stephanie, with the Dominion mark. I planned for the mark to be here,” he continued, his finger pressing into the fat of my thigh, “because I think it’s more elegant on the thigh, but Dominion custom varies – some like their property marked on the left tit, for example. Hmm. Thigh or tit? Either will be attractive, the flesh in both places is fatty, smooth and unblemished.” He cupped my breast, his thumb caressing the skin.
“It’s nearly impossible to hide a tit brand,” he said, “without wearing concealing clothing, which you won’t get much opportunity to enjoy. It also puts the brand in your field of vision, so you’re constantly reminded of your status.” His hand went back to my thigh. “But I don’t think you will have any trouble remembering your place anyway. I think we stick with the thigh. A miniskirt won’t hide it, and it will be obvious at the beach, but when I need you to be discreet a simple dress or skirt at mid-thigh will conceal.”
“P-permission to speak, my Lord?” I stuttered, my heart thudding in my ears.
“Granted. But no delaying tactics, cunt. This is happening.”
“W-why a brand, my Lord? You already have me chipped.”
“The chip is for Dominion men to know and control you, cunt. The brand is for *you* to know what you are, and that what you are is permanent, irreversible, and can be seen by the rest of the world. It is to mark you as different and lesser even than other females. Which is not to say lesser in value – the more you accept and submit to your slavery, the more value you have for us in the Dominion and me in particular. The more you become chattel, property, the more I desire you and the more overbearing and total my ownership will be. The chip makes you chattel here,” he said, gesturing to the room. “The brand makes you chattel *here*”, he added, touching my forehead with his finger, “and out *there*, outside the Dominion. You will at times forget that you are chipped; you will never forget that you are branded meat. Do you understand now, little cunt?” he asked.
I gave a small, terrified nod. “Yes, my Lord,” I answered, my high, girlish voice betraying my fear. The men spoke in low tones for a few moments, their words impossible to discern, but the deep, masculine rumble of their voices made me feel even smaller and more vulnerable. I had no way of knowing for certain, but I had suspected John had tweaked my vocal cords, giving me a vocal range that made me sound like a child, a voice impossible to take seriously. That suspicion resurfaced now.
One of the men shoved a piece of leather-wrapped wood between my teeth and told me to bite down hard. I was trembling all over, consumed with apprehension as the three men closed in on me.
One held me by my hips firmly, to hold me still, and blocking my vision of my left side; another stood at the ready with a cloth. I couldn’t see John, and therefore wasn’t prepared when the brand sunk into my soft flesh, setting my skin and nerves afire. I screamed into the gag, broke into sobs as the pain coursed through me.
Some time after I found myself lying on my side on the ground, sobbing incoherently. The pain had lessened somewhat, which helped me come to my senses. John knelt close by, his hand on my waist.
“I’ve applied a salve which should take most of the pain away for now, Stephanie, though you’ll suffer for a good few days before it becomes wholly manageable without some kind of pain relief. The brand is covered with a bandage. Get up and on your knees, cunt,” he commanded, standing.
Shaking, I pushed myself up onto my knees. I knelt as he had taught, with my crotch pressed against the ground. My left hip throbbed, and the tape holding the bandage stretched and tugged at my soft skin, but it held.
“I overheard your exchange with Sam as I came in. I’m going to ask his questions again. Are you male or female, Stephanie?”
“F-female, my Lord,” I whispered.
“Were you ever male?” he asked.
“No, my Lord,” I mumbled. It wasn’t true, of course, but by now I knew I couldn’t answer truthfully.
“I didn’t hear you, cunt,” he said, giving me a light slap on the cheek.
“N-no, my Lord,” I stammered, “I have never been male.”
“You have always been female?”
“Yes, my Lord,” I said softly.
“You were born with soft little cunt lips, weren’t you?” he demanded.
“Yes, my Lord,” I answered, the only safe response I could give. I wasn’t sure where this was going, but the thought, once spoken, softened something inside me.
“You have spent your entire life never deserving the rights and privileges of a man.” he said, this time a statement.
“Y-yes, my Lord,” I whispered. “But -“
“But what? Do you believe that you, born female, have a right to male privilege, life as a male? Can you truly imagine that you could be a true man, like me, like the others in the Dominion? Ruling over women? You, born with a soft slit between your legs, raised to wear dresses, to defer to your betters?”
“No, but -“
“Were you born female?” he repeated.
“Yes, my Lord.” I could give no other answer that wouldn’t result in pain.
“When was your first period?” he asked.
“Wh-what?” I said, confused.
“You heard me, cunt. Tell me when you first bled.”
“I… twelve, my Lord,” I said. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor between my spread knees, my heart still racing, my heavy breasts thrust out toward him, and I suddenly could easily imagine the moment. The surprise, the embarrassment, and the realization of the first true signs of womanhood.
“That’s right, cunt,” he said, his hand cupping my breast. “Now, somewhere in your mind is this other memory, of a boy experiencing his first ejaculation. You know it’s there. Locate it, but don’t examine it closely. Hold it up in your mind’s eye, alongside the true memory of your first period. Do you see them both?”
“Yes, my Lord,” I whispered.
“Shrink the old memory until it’s too small to see, and then throw it over your shoulder mentally.”
I obeyed. Strangely, the memory felt more distant.
“Now take the edges of the new memory and pull them wide, until the memory takes up your full field of vision. Hold it there.”
I swallowed nervously. “It feels more real, my Lord,” I whispered.
“It IS real, girl. How could it be otherwise? You were born with a puffy little cunt. That other memory is no longer useful to you. What is useful is fully absorbing the reality that you are, and always have been, female. There was a shell you once inhabited that allowed you, for a time, to pretend otherwise. That shell has been taken from you, so there is no more hiding from your true place.”
John straightened. He snapped his fingers. “Get dressed, little girl – it’s time for school.”