Edgar Nightbird
Guard
Foreword
Beyoncé in Bondage
Chapter 15 - Marked for Life
Pain such as Beyoncé had never known filled her entire world; Excruciating, blinding, white-hot agony, suffusing her from her toes to her head, searing through every fiber of her being, leaving no part of her untouched by its fiery fingers. It was unbearable, overpowering, by far surpassing the threshold of what even Beyoncé Knowles, the great painslut that she was, might have considered pleasurable.
The 26-year-old powerhouse songstress was standing half bent forward on trembling legs, hands pressed down on her knees for support, with her million-dollar ass pushed out behind her as a willing target for the red-hot branding iron that was buried deep into the soft upper part of her left buttock. A terrible hissing filled her ears, the gruesome sound of her own skin bubbling and melting away beneath the sizzling poker tip, accompanied by a thin trail of white smoke rising into the air above her arched back.
Yet even now, in this most extreme of situations, the submissive slave that Beyoncé had come to think of herself as personifying, was trying her utmost to fix her body into a sexy pose and display her generous curves from their best angle. But in so doing, her head had involuntary snapped so far backward in response to the acute trauma she was undergoing, that the base of her skull now lay pressed against her upper spine. The thick metal collar that she wore was digging into her arched neck, the tendons along its smooth column standing out like steel cords ready to snap at a moment’s notice. Her luscious lips were curled into a snarling rictus, revealing polished white teeth clenched so hard her jaws seemed to have locked in a painful cramp. A guttural cry, almost feral in its rawness, erupted from her throat in staccato bursts, yet even so failed to express the full range of torment she was suffering.
“Yeees! Take it, you whore! Take the pain for your Master!” The big fat man behind her exclaimed in glee over the pitiful, strangled vocals being emitted by his struggling slave.
“Mmm, this brand will look so good on you… I can already tell! But we should make certain it makes a lasting impression, don’t you think?” He continued. From the shrill sound of his voice, almost feminine in its high-fevered pitch, Beyoncé could almost picture the evil grin spreading on his thin lips.
In response to his suggestion, understanding what he wanted from her, she braced herself, eager to prove her worth as his devoted servant. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, her bare toes digging into the hard packed dirt floor for support, she backed herself up a little more and applied further pressure toward the length of iron he held in his hand, forcing its burning tip even harder against the soft, quivering ass-flesh she was presenting to him.
(...read the rest in the attached pdf)
The following is a direct continuation of TheDarkCloud’s masterpiece “Beyoncé in Bondage”, posted on Literotica, and continues where we left off in chapter 14 all those years ago. I personally loved this story and long wanted to read more of it, so I wrote in some new and/or extended parts along the way for my own enjoyment. Then I figured I’d try to go even further and take up the story where it was left off, as I really wanted to know what would happen to our celebrity heroine once she began her service to her new southern white master. This is the first part of that sequel.
I have received permission from TheDarkCloud to write this extension, and I hope it will be a worthy homage to his great work. If you have not yet read “Beyoncé in Bondage” Part 1-14, I strongly suggest you do so before reading this chapter, as it will make no sense otherwise. Again, these parts can be found on Literotica. They did however reject my chapter as it involved “non-consensual sex with a celebrity”. (For some reason it seems perfectly OK for them to have had hundreds of such stories already posted there for years...) In any case, I will post it here instead for those of you who are not so sensitive and who may be interested in a continuation of this erotic adventure.
Although I have written erotica for decades, this is my first public post on a larger forum, so be nice! I am hard at work on my own novel(s), so this is just a warm-up to what will be many future releases to come.
-Edgar
I have received permission from TheDarkCloud to write this extension, and I hope it will be a worthy homage to his great work. If you have not yet read “Beyoncé in Bondage” Part 1-14, I strongly suggest you do so before reading this chapter, as it will make no sense otherwise. Again, these parts can be found on Literotica. They did however reject my chapter as it involved “non-consensual sex with a celebrity”. (For some reason it seems perfectly OK for them to have had hundreds of such stories already posted there for years...) In any case, I will post it here instead for those of you who are not so sensitive and who may be interested in a continuation of this erotic adventure.
Although I have written erotica for decades, this is my first public post on a larger forum, so be nice! I am hard at work on my own novel(s), so this is just a warm-up to what will be many future releases to come.
-Edgar
Beyoncé in Bondage
Chapter 15 - Marked for Life
Pain such as Beyoncé had never known filled her entire world; Excruciating, blinding, white-hot agony, suffusing her from her toes to her head, searing through every fiber of her being, leaving no part of her untouched by its fiery fingers. It was unbearable, overpowering, by far surpassing the threshold of what even Beyoncé Knowles, the great painslut that she was, might have considered pleasurable.
The 26-year-old powerhouse songstress was standing half bent forward on trembling legs, hands pressed down on her knees for support, with her million-dollar ass pushed out behind her as a willing target for the red-hot branding iron that was buried deep into the soft upper part of her left buttock. A terrible hissing filled her ears, the gruesome sound of her own skin bubbling and melting away beneath the sizzling poker tip, accompanied by a thin trail of white smoke rising into the air above her arched back.
Yet even now, in this most extreme of situations, the submissive slave that Beyoncé had come to think of herself as personifying, was trying her utmost to fix her body into a sexy pose and display her generous curves from their best angle. But in so doing, her head had involuntary snapped so far backward in response to the acute trauma she was undergoing, that the base of her skull now lay pressed against her upper spine. The thick metal collar that she wore was digging into her arched neck, the tendons along its smooth column standing out like steel cords ready to snap at a moment’s notice. Her luscious lips were curled into a snarling rictus, revealing polished white teeth clenched so hard her jaws seemed to have locked in a painful cramp. A guttural cry, almost feral in its rawness, erupted from her throat in staccato bursts, yet even so failed to express the full range of torment she was suffering.
“Yeees! Take it, you whore! Take the pain for your Master!” The big fat man behind her exclaimed in glee over the pitiful, strangled vocals being emitted by his struggling slave.
“Mmm, this brand will look so good on you… I can already tell! But we should make certain it makes a lasting impression, don’t you think?” He continued. From the shrill sound of his voice, almost feminine in its high-fevered pitch, Beyoncé could almost picture the evil grin spreading on his thin lips.
In response to his suggestion, understanding what he wanted from her, she braced herself, eager to prove her worth as his devoted servant. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, her bare toes digging into the hard packed dirt floor for support, she backed herself up a little more and applied further pressure toward the length of iron he held in his hand, forcing its burning tip even harder against the soft, quivering ass-flesh she was presenting to him.