Overpowered Men

Chapter Three: Branding

Chapter Three: Branding

I don’t know what possessed me but as she led me outside the stall I ran forward into her, knocked her down, twisted around in a circle twice to yank the leash out of her hand and took off for the open barn door. I knew that every minute this present situation progressed was a minute further from any chance of freedom. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a clue as to where we were in relation to the airport. My only thought was to run and maybe get into some woods or bushes thick enough to hide in. If I could hide perhaps I could make my way to where there were people, people other than these twisted ones, who would set me free.

I went through the door in a flat out sprint as if I were running for my life, which I was. Two hundred yards ahead of me was a line of trees that looked thick enough. My delight was palpable. No one in front of me and I couldn’t hear any close pursuit. Then something wrapped itself around my legs and my face planted itself in the dirt. I was stunned, I was devastated and I was scared. My wife was going to be really pissed and her anger would put one more reason in her head to keep me like this.

I could hear footsteps approaching me leisurely and I wiggled over onto my side to see. Walking toward me with her hands on her hips and a big smile on her face was a cowgirl. She was wearing a red poncho, red sombrero, red wool skirt and black boots and was carrying a short red whip. She looked like the female version of a gaucho straight off the steppes of Argentina.

“Going somewhere?” she laughed as she reached down to my legs to remove whatever had brought me down.

It took her a minute as it was wrapped painfully tight. Finally, she stepped back and held it up for me to see. It was a three ball boleadora. This woman clearly had a fascination with the long gone cowboys of South America.

“Very effective, isn’t it?” she said. “It is better than the lariat used by American cowboys because it has a longer range for bringing down fleeing game or, as in this case, fleeing ponies.”

By now all of the other women including my wife had arrived. The others were amused but my wife was visibly angry, a cold angry, a frightening angry. She spoke softly but with so much venom in her voice that I wondered how I could have been married to her for ten years and not known that her soul contained such depths of hatred and evil.

“Jack,” she said, “you are going to be very sorry for that little display. We are going to change your attitude. We are going to turn you into a very docile and obedient boy before we are done and we are going to have lots of orgasms doing it.”

There she was using the royal ‘we’ again. It dawned on me that, like it or not, she was the de facto queen in my world now and I was her subject. She turned to the cowgirl and introduced herself.

“Hi,” she said putting out her hand, “my name is Carol. Thank you for stopping him.”

“Not a problem,” she laughed, “I’m Julia.”

“That was quite a throw, Julia. What is that thing you used?”

“Thank you, Carol,” she gushed. “It’s a three ball boleadora, originally used by gauchos to bring down game and, of course, cows for branding.”

“How appropriate,” my wife chuckled. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it myself,” Julia replied. “The two large balls are rocks wrapped in cowhide and the small one is one of my ex-boyfriend’s balls. After we broke up I made him into a one-trick pony. He is here now and if he doesn’t behave he won’t have any tricks left.”

That brought a giggle from my wife who then glanced down at me with cruel speculation in her eyes and said coldly, “Perhaps you can make me one sometime.”

“I’d love to,” Julia snickered, looking down at me, “it sure gentles them down to be thinking about losing the second one.”

That brought a big round of laughter from the group of ladies who had gathered to see the spectacle. Julia basked in her fifteen seconds of glory and I watched my options fade.

When the laughter died down my wife grabbed my leash, yanked me to my feet and hustled me back into the barn and into a side room where there was a bench and a Weber charcoal grill. No imagination needed here. It was chillingly apparent what was about to happen to my ass. My choices had been left back what seemed like eons ago when I had eagerly hit the send button to start this whole twisted story. I docilely lay face down on the bench and let her strap me on to it.

“Look, Jack,” she said, holding up a huge brand shaped into a letter ‘C’. “I had this made just for you and after your little outburst I plan to do both cheeks. Won’t that be fun?”

“Holy s**t,” I thought, “the f*****g thing is at least twice the size of the few brands I’ve seen on other rumps. Where did this hatred come from?”

Placing the brand into the coals she turned to me and said, “I’ll be back, Jack, when this is ready to blister your ass. Right now I have that little problem to take care of that keeps coming up when I picture you helpless like this. Think about it, Jack, you laying here waiting to scream and me screaming thinking about it…oh s**t I have to go…”

The next twenty minutes were a personal hell as my mind built frightening scenes of what was about to happen into terrifying nightmares that made me ill. A trickle of tears turned to a torrent as reality hammered at my head.

I was in such a stupor that I didn’t notice her return until she had taken the brand from the coals and was walking toward me with this wicked look on her face. The rational part of me was fascinated. Her face carried a fantastic combination of frenetic lust, after-glow, hatred and sadistic desire that was wrapped up into a look a film director would have killed for. My emotional side wanted out. Not any longer one of my choices.

When the brand hit my left cheek I screamed until thankfully I slipped off into a welcome unconsciousness and woke in hell. She had already replaced the brand in the coals and was sitting with her back to the wall and her hand buried in her snatch. Through the haze of my pain I still had time to wonder where this s*x crazed personality had come from before she finished and retrieved the brand for the second round.

“Jack,” she said wickedly, “we’ve been thinking about how to punish you for that little outburst earlier and we’ve decided that just putting a brand on your other cheek isn’t doing enough for us so we have something special planned for when you wake up the next time.”

When the brand hit this time I was prepared for the excruciating pain, which was unfortunate, as I didn’t slip off into the sweet bliss of oblivion but remained conscious. I managed to scream myself hoarse while Carol used my pain as an aphrodisiac to further her twisted needs. When we had both recovered our sanity she walked over to a pile of branding irons on the table next to the grill, picked up an iron that had a very small letter ‘c’ on the end and placed it in the coals.

“A little final reward, Jack, for your outburst,” she purred. “When I get back that brand is going on that pitiful little thing between your legs so you will always remember who owns you. It will probably also make it useless but then I wasn’t planning on letting you ever use it again anyway. What’s more if you don’t start accepting your new life I’m going to have Julia make me one of those boleadora things.”

She turned at the door and looked back with another of those movie moments reflected in her face. Her slow satisfied smile did nothing for me but hammer home the hopelessness of my situation.

“Oh, by the way, Jaaack,” she said, dragging out my name sensuously, “after that little painful procedure to your d**k you won’t be Jack any longer. You will be my horse and your new name will be… Golly, Jack, I know how much you like a surprise so, think about it. What name could I have picked that is just right for your new station in life?”