Jennifer quietly stood at the door of the kitchen, having followed the aroma of breakfast cooking from her bedroom. Her husband/slave, Alan, standing naked but for a small pinafore which left his buttocks exposed to the air, hadn’t heard her enter.
She looked with satisfaction at her oblivious submissive, quietly getting on with serving her without specific instruction or fuss. This was how it should be. She caught sight of the marks on his lower left buttock, and she giggled softly.
Alan looked around in shock, and instantly dropped to his knees, crawling over to her to place his face against the ground just before her feet.
“You may.” she said quietly, after a moment, and he quickly placed light kisses on each of her feet, in the approved greeting.
“I’m so sorry, Mistress, I didn’t hear you come in…” he stuttered.
She smiled down at him. “That’s all right, I was just standing there.”
She looked down affectionately at the blackened marks on his buttocks: her initials JMV somewhat stretched and distorted by his kow-towing posture. She smiled again.
“You know, I just arrived at the kitchen door to see you preparing my breakfast so diligently, and I was so much reminded of the day of your branding. Do you know why?”
Alan nodded urgently.
“I think so Mistress. It’s that in my servitude to you, I know you are with me always. That I am your slave, in attendance to your needs to the best of my poor abilities even when you are elsewhere, because I carry your name for ever. The terrible pain from those red-hot brands not only seared your name into my flesh but burnt it into my very soul, and made me yours at all times.”
Jennifer leaned down and stroked his hair gently, thinking of that day and her husband’s desperate screams of agony and love.
Actually, she had been going to say that it was the smell of grilling bacon that had so vividly taken her back to it.
But a wise Mistress does not always tell her slave the whole truth, and so she merely murmured.
“That’s exactly right, my slave. How well you know my mind.”