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pet, lay here, on the coffee table, on your
belly," he told her.
         There was a fire in the fireplace
and the man she didn't know was stoking the fire, which she remembered thinking
was odd since it was a gas fireplace. Not to mention it was the middle of
summer. She remembered how her mind screamed at her that something wasn't
right, but she did as she was told anyway. At that point she still loved Victor
and couldn't imagine not doing as he said.   
         As she laid down on the cold,
wooden surface, she saw the man remove the brand from the flame and come toward
her with it. She tried to lift herself up and move, but Victor and his men were
quicker and held her down. Victor put his hand on the back of her neck and his
four cronies each held a limb. Helpless to struggle against them, she felt the
searing pain on her left hip as the brand met her skin and she screamed. It was
a bloodcurdling scream so foreign, primal, and distant it surprised her that something
that loud and terrifying had come from her. When the man pulled the brand away,
Victor dumped the remaining glass of vodka on the wound, causing her to cry out
again. The men laughed and let her go.
         Victor slapped her ass. "Now
you belong to me. You stay right there and we’ll put another mark on you so no
other man will have you, no?" 
         "Where do you want it?"
The guy asked.
         "On the shoulder. Doesn't
matter. She’s Kúrva, a whore." Victor sat back and lit a Camel .
His hand smacked her right ass cheek this time.   "She is my whore,"
he clarified to his henchmen with a laugh, "But she is a good whore. When
we're done here I’ll show you."
         On command she felt hands on her
arms and legs holding her down. The tattoo artist got to work and she felt the
needle go over her skin. She tried to fight, she did, but they held her down
firmly. It was no use to struggle, so she stopped and Victor gently petted her
head until the tattoo was finished.
         She didn’t recall how long it was,
just that when it was done, Victor pulled her up from the table and handed her
to a dark-haired man with a goatee. He was the first to take her and have his
way with her as Victor and the other men watched. The man who branded and
tattooed her had disappeared somewhere in there. She didn't remember when. 
         She remembered going through the
motions. Looking where Victor told her to look, sucking what she was told to
suck, and trying to stare off into the distance as if it would erase the
faceless heaving, sweating male bodies and hands groping and rubbing every inch
of her. Their stiff erections probing her mouth and ass, pounding her pussy,
taking her over and over again. All the while as one penetrated her, two would
hold her and the third forced her to orgasm with a vibrator. Each time she came
she was made to say how good it felt and that she wanted more pussy attention,
and she was praised for being such a horny, wet little slut. When the men were
done, Victor penetrated her ass with hard, fast strokes while the vibrator was
held against her clit. She remembered little after that because after she came
and he finished, she was let go and she passed out from sheer exhaustion. After
that Victor started making it a habit to have her fuck other men in front of
him.
         He said he liked watching her come
with a thick, long cock inside her and a vibrator on her clit.
         After that night, all she knew is
she woke up feeling used and ashamed for being brought to orgasm while being
fucked against her will. Victor told her repeatedly that she got off on being
raped and liked it; usually as he spanked her clit with a riding crop. Every
time after that, when he made her come he would say nasty things and make her
say it with him as she was coming and at that moment she really did want
everything he told her she wanted no matter how depraved or frightening it
sounded. You want twenty men to fill you with come, don't