by Sheri Savill
“Good girl, you didn’t cry. Very proud of you. You did well, so, maybe a little reward for you now.”
He was up and moving behind her somewhere. She felt a bump as the table jerked a little, then the entire leather surface under her head and neck suddenly lowered. He was adjusting the table … for some reason. She felt her neck and head descend to an angle below the plane the rest of her body occupied. She looked out at the now upside-down view behind the table and saw Mark, standing close. His crotch. Right there. The outline of his erection inches from her face. She wriggled a little, testing to see if her arms and ankles were still immobile. They were. Her pussy clenched again, awareness of the new piercing making her even more wet.
Then she heard the sound of a zipper and felt Mark’s black-gloved hands grab roughly at the sides of her head. She saw his cock – hard, thick, up close – and about to press into her face.
“Open up, Janna. Suck,” he growled. “I’m going to fuck your face and come in your mouth.”
She opened and felt his length push into her mouth. Her heart pounded. So many sensations all at once: the painful heat all over her arm, the throbbing in her clit, Mark’s cock moving in and out of her mouth now, slowly and insistently.
“Jesus Christ, girl, that’s it,” he moaned. “Fuck yes!”
She felt gloved fingers pinch at a nipple sending a new shiver of pleasure through her body. Then he took both hands and held her head again, thrusting in and out of her mouth, using her. She loved the feelings swirling in her, overwhelming her in pleasure … mixed with pain … an endorphin rush but also a sexual neediness. All working to bring her close to orgasm – and he wasn’t even touching her pussy.
His cock rammed in and out of her throat making her nearly gag a few times. She held on … what choice did she have? The wet sounds of near-gagging only made Mark more insistent, more aroused.
“I love hearing you take me like this, swallowing me. God damn this hole feels so fucking good, I’m gonna come … you just stay the fuck open!”
He pulled out and shot hot white come over her upside-down face, just a couple inches away from her lips, her nose, her eyes. He groaned as spurts landed all over her face, some going into her open mouth. Then he squeezed the last bit from the tip and backed away. She heard the zipper, and then felt a gloved finger invade her pussy again, pushing in deep, then out, then back in deep, several times.
Oh YES, thank God, I need to come. So badly. Please. Please.
“Nope, I don’t think so, Janna. Not yet. I think we’re all done for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow night at ten – after we close up for the night – we can finish you off then.” She heard a low laugh and then felt his finger pop out of her wet cunt with a loud slurping noise.
She might just cry after all.
Chapter 9
Janna drove home in the darkness, in pain, and in need. And the thoughts just wouldn’t stop. At home she drifted in and out of sleep most of the night; her arm hurt badly the first hour or two, a bad sunburned feeling, just as Mark had said it would. She took ibuprofen, and after a while it settled into an almost-tolerable dull, but insistent, burn.
Great. Sleeping with a goddamned sunburn. Just what I need. Jesus … what the hell am I doing? Who IS this guy? What is wrong with me that I let him do all that to me tonight? And I’m going back tomorrow night.
But she knew what it was. She needed to be controlled. She needed a man to use her, take what he wanted, make her fully his. Her pussy got wet just thinking about what Mark had done earlier. The control, the insistence, non-negotiable acts. For some reason, she craved that. She realized she always had. Since she was a teenager, at least, she’d fantasized like all young girls do, but her fantasies always had a … twist. While her friends giggled about the handsome knight picking them up, carrying them to the bed chamber, and making passionate love to them, Janna’s “knight” was always a rogue, a ne’er-do-well, a villain … a guy who picked her up and slammed her against a wall and took her in the ass while calling her a “harlot.” His harlot. Or he would chain her up in a tower and torture her and fuck her whenever he felt like it, which was every few minutes, usually, because, well, teenager-brain and all. Rogues in the Middle Ages could get hard repeatedly within seconds of coming each time. Of course.
She smiled at the memories of her teenaged sexual brain. She’d always had an active fantasy life, sure, but now, thank God, some of it was actually becoming reality. With Mark, this crazy fucker with the needles and tattoos. She’d already let him pierce her clit hood. And facefuck her. She knew she would let him do more. Tonight. She couldn’t wait. Her pussy was tense, unsated. She wanted to masturbate but Mark had said she could not touch herself overnight and she wanted to obey him. Needed to, on some level. It made her even more wet thinking about him denying her any release. Controlling her even now.
Chapter 10
She arrived at the shop just before ten the next night. The parking lot was empty except for Mark’s van, colorfully painted all over with Mark’s designs. The front door jingled as she walked in and closed it behind her.
“There’s my girl!” Mark grinned, motioning her to come around the counter to his work area where he sat sorting bottles of ink in a drawer.
“How’s the arm? You like it so far? More importantly, how’s the clit-hood? I’m gonna lock up so we have some privacy, Janna. Go ahead and lie down on the table here.”
“I love the tattoo!” she said. “Really, it’s awesome. Just what I wanted. And the piercing is, um, interesting.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “Feels good, does it?”
She blushed. “Well … yeah. It really does.”
“Good! And no bleeding, right?”
“No … and actually I’m pretty surprised. I thought for sure it would bleed, but there’s no blood at all, anywhere around it. It’s not swollen or anything. How is that possible? It’s like it’s been there forever.”
He grinned slyly at her. “I’m glad you like it. I’d like to add to that tonight. What do you think? A couple rings in your outer labia? One on each side? Three on each side? Yeah.”
Janna felt her face heat and cast her eyes downward, thinking.
“OK,” she said quietly.
“That’s my good little submissive girl,” he said, “You think the clit hood feels good? The labia rings are a little different. So I’m told.” He winked at her. “They have a more … practical application, I guess you’d call it. Actually, I might give you more than just a couple rings there.”
Oh fuck. More rings? THERE?
She had to admit, the thought of Mark’s hands in her pussy again excited the hell out of her. The idea of letting a strange hunky guy covered in tattoos pierce your pussy? Yeah, that’s just crazy. Crazy hot.
Mark had been busy earlier in the evening: the work area was spotless. Several of the tiny plastic pots of black ink were lined up neatly on a small table next to the reclining leather chair. There was a cup of clean water, cloths, paper towels, sanitizers, a box of the evil disposable black latex gloves, and the tattoo gun itself, its cord snaking away toward the outlet in the wall.
She climbed up on the flat leather surface and lay her head back on the cool leather and stared up at the ceiling.
He’s not going to have a thong to cut off me tonight, at least.
Mark finished locking the front door and came up and stood at the side table looking down at her. She felt a rough hand tug at the leg of her cutoffs.
“Off. Come on. Right now. Shirt too.” His commanding tone was so matter-of-fact, almost like he was telling her where to park a car instead of telling her to strip.
She obediently wriggled free of the cutoffs, then pulled her pink t-shirt over her head. She hadn’t worn a bra – on purpose. Why bother? She’d already let him stab her clit hood with a needle and screw in a barbell, so even the idea of wearing a bra now seemed … ridiculous. Besides, her nipples were already obscenely stiff. She loved the idea that he was alread
y looking at them, obviously turned on by them. She glanced at his crotch and saw the bulge of his cock outlined in his jeans.
“I’ll take those,” Mark said, extending a hand and taking the clothing from her. “Just lie back now and be still.”
She heard a rustling behind her.
“Ready for more ink?” he asked. “I’m gonna finish your sleeve and then work on some … other areas.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, his dark eyes crinkling a little. He reached for a pair of thick black reading glasses she hadn’t seen him wear before and put them on, letting them slip lower on the bridge of his nose. The black frames contrasted sharply with the sun-bleached mess of his longish blond locks, the darker coarser hair of his sideburns, the dark stubble clouding his strong jaw and chin. He looked the part of disheveled artist while managing to make thick black plastic nerd-glasses look … hot.
Janna nodded and took a deep breath, looking down the length of her naked body, so fully displayed along the black table; her white skin, her most intimate parts, totally exposed to him. She felt her heart beating quicker in anticipation of the pain the needle was about to bring, the sensations, the endorphins.
Mark snapped a pair of gloves from the dispenser and tugged at each until both hands were sheathed in smooth matte blackness. The sight of the gloves made Janna’s pussy clench as she remembered the feel of them on her skin. He placed the large stencil he’d made the night before around her lower arm, and transferred the blue lines of the design to her skin by wetting it gently and then carefully peeling it off.
“How’s that look to you, Janna?” he asked. He was suddenly “just” a concerned service provider, asking questions he’d ask any client, not just one he’d been bringing to near-orgasm and then denying for hours.
Mark was experienced enough, talented enough, that he freehanded a lot – if not most – of his tattooing, but a stencil provided a general idea of the size and positioning of his designs. Mostly it just made nervous new clients feel better.
“Fantastic!” Janna smiled at him. It was a gorgeous design and worth all the pain. Or was it pleasure? Both, she decided.
The tattoo gun suddenly buzzed on.
Mark peered intently at the tip of the instrument from behind the black glasses. He angled the bright task light at his side so that it beat down on her still-raw arm. The ink on the upper arm was still fresh, blistered, raw. There was some swelling, but no pain … unless it was touched or a heat source hit it. A heat source … like a hot task light.
Damn him.
The blackness of the ink was a startling contrast to the rest of her pale skin, but she could already tell how beautiful – how unusually detailed and gorgeous – the finished design would be. Mark’s vision, set into her skin forever. A wearable piece of one-of-a-kind art.
The deep black-red bruising on the delicate underside of her upper arm, the most tender area he had worked on the night before, was starting to show more with every passing hour. She wasn’t sure if the bruises were from the tattooing itself or … from his cruel grip as he drove the ink into her. He hadn’t been entirely gentle with her, after all. No. In fact, there’d been very few breaks last night and his constant rough swiping away of the excess ink and blood as he worked had hurt almost as much as the needle itself.
Bastard. He totally got off on that, I know he did. He intentionally made it hurt more for me. He’s obviously into giving pain. And what the fuck is wrong with me that it turns me on? Christ.
Her pussy tensed and moistened just thinking about what he might have planned for the night ahead.
Chapter 11
Mark worked silently, quickly, filling in the outline of the design on her forearm. He worked his way around, lifting the needle from her only to dip into the ink pot, with minimal pauses. Janna felt the pain building again. The lack of breaks, even short breaks of a minute or less – that was his style. He’d told her he liked to work fast. He wasn’t kidding.
Once the outline was done he stopped the tattoo gun and stood over her, the now-familiar smirk on his face.
“OK, time for a break. Well, sort of.” His smirk turned into a wide grin. “I’ll need you restrained again, Janna. You good with that?” He peeled the black gloves off, tossing them into the trash can.
She nodded, her breath quickening already at the thought of the leather straps. She loved being immobilized, loved the feeling of helplessness, of surrender. Her submissive nature wanted to feel, not think; she craved being able to fall into overwhelming pleasure and let go, let a strong, confident man make her his in every way. She wanted to be used, objectified. It turned her on like nothing else, this being the center of all the attention, especially this kind of attention.
Mark adjusted straps snugly over her ankles, spreading her legs as wide as the table would allow, and cinched her wrists into straps at her sides. The cool leather felt good on her warm flesh and her clit twitched in anticipation. She wanted so badly for him to touch her, to make her come. She suspected he would be cruel about it again, though, and deny her the release.
“Blindfold, I think.” His voice was low at her ear and she felt his lips, the light stubble of his chin, sweep softly across her earlobe, sending a tingling shiver through her. He lifted her head and positioned the blindfold. Everything went dark, and now there was only the sound of his voice somewhere above her face.
“What a hot little slut you are, Janna. Already wet, of course, I’m sure. But let’s see, shall we?” She felt fingers rubbing over her labia, just massaging the outside. Then one slipped into her pussy and pushed deep; the slick sounds it made embarrassed her and she felt her face heat.
“Blushing, I like it. Yeah, you’re wet as hell, girl. So fucking wet.” Mark’s finger pushed in and out, fucking her pussy, the slurping noises becoming louder with each new push and withdrawal. She was gushing, needy. She began to move up and down, desperately trying to push him deeper inside her, to get more, faster. Just … more.
Oh god yes. Please. Fuck me. I need to come … so badly. Please.
“No you don’t, Janna. Lie still for me. No fucking yourself,” he growled. “I don’t think you understand. I’m running this show.” His fingers abruptly left her wet cunt and she felt a hard smack on her breast, then another.
“Ow! What was that for?” she asked. In the darkness of the blindfold she’d had no idea the blows to her tits were coming. The surprise of it made her tremble and she strained against the straps. There was no way to get away, nowhere to move. Pinned. Subject to Mark’s every whim. The thought sent a new wave of moisture to her pussy.
“Shhh! No talking,” he rasped. She heard him rustling through a drawer, then felt rough hands lift her head off the table.
“No, Mark, I don’t think this is–”
“Shhh! I’m going to gag you. If you want to stop, now is the time to speak. Once the gag is in, there’s no going back unless you make the unh-unh sound, got that? No going back without that sound. Otherwise, I expect you to obey me and let me use you any way I want, Janna. Got it?”
She felt leather at her cheek, smelled it. She knew that if she allowed this she would be truly helpless: blindfolded, gagged, strapped to his table, at his mercy entirely.
God, this is so wrong. But I want it. I want this. I’m going to tell him YES. I always knew. I always knew. This is right for me.
“Yes.” she said softly. “OK.”
“Good,” Mark said, “I knew you’d say yes. Such a horny little girl you are. My horny little tattooed and pierced slut loves to please, doesn’t she?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he abruptly pushed the gag into her mouth – a ball of hardness, a faint taste of plastic or rubber, she wasn’t sure. She felt rough hands tighten the strap behind her head, catching some of her hair in the clasp, pinching painfully. When it was tight, he let her head drop back on the table and moved off a little.
“I have an idea for a great tattoo design for you, Janna. A new tattoo.” He
palmed her mound with a warm hand. “Here. Right on this wet bare pussy of yours. A word, just one word, to … identify you – the word slut. In a nice bold but feminine script. Very clear, simple. Less than an inch tall.” He paused, letting it all sink in.
What the hell?? He can’t be serious!
“Really not that big of a deal, Janna. And if you don’t like it, you can always just grow the hair back out over it, I suppose, to try to hide it. But I think you’ll find you love it, you’ll love just knowing it’s there. And it does describe things nicely, doesn’t it?” His tone was even and calm, like he was explaining a concept for one of the public murals he’d donated to the city, rather than talking about tattooing a woman’s pussy.
His hand left her mound. “Nod yes for me, Janna.”
She nodded.
Fuck! This is just insane. But damn, I’m so wet right now I don’t care. Let him do it. Because I have officially turned some corner, crossed some line. Yeah, I’m now weapons-grade crazy. FUCK.
She felt his hands begin massaging her thighs, rhythmically stroking, slowly up and down both at the same time, moving from the knee all the way up to the creases of her hips, unhurriedly, sensuously. Her pussy clenched in desperate need as he continued massaging her … everywhere but there. She arched her ass upwards, lifted off the table as much as she could, given the confinement of the leather straps, instinctively trying to get him to invade her, give her what she needed.
But he slid both hands slowly away, working down her thighs again, as if giving a G-rated massage to a client at a spa. The more he avoided her crotch the more aware she became of the burning centered there, of how badly she needed to come. He was cruel, calculating … in total command of her body, and now, her mind.
His low voice again interrupted the confusion of thoughts he’d created in her. “And it’s not like just anyone will be able to see this tattoo, either – I mean, unless you’re out there being a little whore.” His hands paused up near her pussy but didn’t touch. She felt them begin their slow slide back down the taut smoothness of her straining thighs.