An account of my experiment with branding.About a year ago, I was considering getting a tattoo. Previously, I'd never considered tattoos attractive, but after seeing a friend's new tattoo, I began to look at them in a new light. I began to see the appeal of having an individual mark, something unique to yourself.
I decided to give myself a week to think about it. After all, getting a tattoo isn't something you should rush into.However, as I considered it, I began to think about how common tattoos were becoming. It seemed that getting a tattoo was a trend, a fashion, and wherever possible I avoid fashions on principle.So, I tried to think of something less common than a tattoo, but which would still allow me to mark myself. The answer I came up with was branding.
Branding seemed a perfect solution, the only problem was that I knew of nowhere that did it. I'd have to do it myself, I decided.Trying to decide on the best method, the thought kept running through my mind of red hot metal burning my skin. I knew I wasn't about to use a branding iron, heated over coals, to brand myself with, but I knew that whatever method I used, I would feel some pain. I've never been particularly masochistic, but the thought still began to turn me on. Inevitably, I decided to turn the branding into a sexual experience.
About a week after deciding I would brand myself, a day came when I would be home, alone, all day. I gathered the equipment I'd need in my room, and stripped naked. My cock was hard, and my balls had tightened through nervous anticipation.I gave my dick a dozen or so strokes, and then sat down on a towel. Using a cloth dowsed with TCP (an antiseptic liquid), I cleaned the top of my left leg, just below the hip, where I'd decided to burn myself. Taking a large darning needle, I stuck the blunt end into a cork, and dipped the sharp end in the TCP. With shaking hands, I struck a match and lit a candle.I looked at my leg, picturing in my mind the devil's trident design I had decided on. I traced where I wanted the symbol with my finger, letting my hand drift to my cock for a brief stroke. As calmly as I could manage, I picked up the needle by the cork, and held the metal end over the flame.When the needle began to glow red, I took to from the flame, and moved it toward my leg. Only hesitating momentarily, I pressed the needle at an angle, into my flesh. First there was a hiss, and then my body tensed with the pain of sudden burning. The smell of charred flesh entered my nose.I lifted the needle off, and looked down. There, on my leg, was a line, about five centimetres long, of blackened skin. I took the TCP soaked cloth and wiped away the ash. The wound stung with the antiseptic, but I hardly noticed, for there, on my leg, was a clean, thin, burn line.I smiled with relief: my method worked. My empty hand automatically reached down to my dick, stroking it back to hardness (it had wilted a little from the pain). Moving the needle back to the flame, I prepared to finish my design.The few burns needed to complete the trident were not as painful as the first (which had been painful more due to shock than anything else). The sizzle as the needle went down caused little more discomfort than being very sharply pinched. By the third line, I was begining to enjoy the sensation, and on the fourth, my cock spurted out some precum.When the design was finished, I knelt up and examined my reflection in a mirror leant against the wall. Still slightly blackened, the trident stood clear against my pale skin. Staring at my bodies new decoration, I grabbed my boner, and quickly stroked myself to a mind-blowing cum.
A year on, the branding has begun to fade. The scar is still there, but is generally unnoticable unless you look for it. Maybe it's time for me to do a new one ;-).
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