It wasn’t the first time He had displayed her to others. It was, however, the first time He had done so out of “play space” and she was nervous, trembling, and ashamed that she was becoming turned on.
She lay on the table, legs bound to stirrups, and her skirt hiked up to her waist, her pussy and ass on full display to the tattoo artist. She lay back with her eyes closed, trying to maintain her breathing. If she focused for even one moment on the two men who were now inspecting and touching her cunt, she would begin to panic, and that would not be the way to best represent Him.
The touches were clinical, yet oddly thrilling. She felt the throbbing deep inside her loins, the humiliation of being open, exposed, examined by another leaving her horribly embarrassed…
(gawd why oh why did it make her so fucking hot?)
A finger slid inside her.
“You are such a little slut, aren’t you?” Her Master’s voice was filled with amusement. He understood her, knew her inside and out. His demands on her always served His purpose, and yet, He used those demands to feed the desires that secretly gnawed at her soul.
She was such a naughty girl.
To the outside world, a respectable citizen, wife, parent, employee. Paid her bills on time, worked at her church when called upon, happy, nurturing, and competent.
But He had only to look at her with that expression on His face, that “I know what you *really* are” look, even from across a crowded room, and her face would flush, her pussy would swell, and wet.
A gloved hand moved around her pussy lips.
“Ready?” The artist spoke.
“She is.” Her Master’s voice replied.
She heard the sound of packages opening, felt the movement of hands around her pussylips, but the sudden dramatic bite upon her tenderest flesh made her scream in anguish. Her Masters hand slapped down on her chest between her tits.
“Be still. Look at Me, look at Me, look only at Me”
His eyes were boring into hers, pulling her into Him. The pain at the apex of her sex was bitingly intense. She winced, and then gasped as His fingers pinched her nipples, hard. For a moment, the waves of pain from her pierced hood threatened to swamp her. His eyes held her.
“To whom do you belong, slave?”
Her voice warbled, and she cleared her throat. In a voice now husky from feeling the full weight of His ownership marking her, she replied,
“Yours, Master. Always Yours.”
His smile was like bathing in sunshine. She hurt, gawds her pussy hurt, and yet, the small barbell now lodged in the flesh of her clitoral hood was a symbolic lock, to which only He had the key.
Affirmation, promise, commitment.
She was suffused with pride. He cared enough to mark her as His. The aftercare instructions were given, as her legs were freed. She made as if to slide down off the table, but His hand forestalled her.
“You are not done yet, slave. You know that I want you marked as Mine.”
She nodded, a bit jerkily, her nerves ratcheting up, her pussy throbbing painfully. OMG what had He decided to do? She thought the barbell in her privates was a pretty strong statement of ownership!
His voice interrupted her silent musing.
“The piercing is only the first part. Roll over.”
**nilla owes sephani and her Master a huge debt of gratitude as to the technical aspects of tattooing and piercing! Since i’m still ‘virginal’ in either regard, the actual experiences are ones i cannot recreate without someone…in the know…so thanks sephi and Master, for your thoughts, your experiences, and your willingness to share!