I knew it would happen one day — someone would want to leave their mark on me. Literally. A man who wouldn’t be satisfied with just fucking me or paying for a few hours. A man who needed more. Needed to brand me. And that day came with Davide.
He wasn’t my first client, nor my richest. But there was something in his eyes — that quiet hunger, the possessive way he looked at me, as if he already owned my skin. He came to my door with another man — a tattoo artist. I raised an eyebrow. He only said:
— Don’t worry, baby. It’s all paid. 4000 euros. For you.
I let them in. My heart was pounding. I was naked under a long leopard-print robe, tits soft, thighs trembling. I closed the door, and Davide immediately grabbed me by the chin, kissed me like I belonged to him, then whispered:
— You’re going to remember me forever. Right here.
He touched the back of my neck, just below the hairline. That was the spot. He wanted his name there.
The tattoo artist opened his case, disinfected his tools. Davide took off his coat, unzipped his pants. He didn’t even wait. He pushed me toward the massage table in the center of the room. I obeyed. I always obey.
He helped me climb on, face down, ass raised, robe falling off. I felt the lube cold against my hole. He slipped in a vibrating plug first, turning it on low. Then his cock. He slid it in deep while the tattooist examined my skin and chose the stencil.
The vibration mixed with the stretch of Davide’s cock inside me. I moaned. The artist looked amused.
— She’s already enjoying it,— he muttered.
Davide smirked.
— She’s mine.
He thrust slow, deep, with authority. My whole body rocked with him. The artist positioned his machine and leaned over my back.
— Hold still, troia. This is permanent.
Then came the sting. The buzzing of the needle, the sharp bite of the first line. My body clenched from the pain and pleasure. Davide growled and grabbed my hips tighter.
— Stay still, or I’ll tie you down.
I whimpered. My face buried in the pillow, my ass full, my back burning under the tattoo needle.
And then I did something unexpected. I turned my head, looked at the tattooist, and whispered:
— If I suck your cock while you work, will the tattoo turn out better?
He raised an eyebrow.
— If you can manage it, why not.
He stepped around, lowered his pants just enough. I twisted slightly, leaned over the edge of the table. His cock was already half-hard. I opened my mouth and took him in slowly.
The taste of sweat, latex gloves brushing my face. I sucked gently, rhythmically, while Davide continued to fuck me from behind and the needle continued its sharp dance on my neck.
It was surreal. One man marking me forever, another using me like a fleshlight. My body a playground. My mind floating. My pussy-throat coordination perfect.
Davide moaned louder. He pulled out, then shoved the plug deeper, letting it buzz at full speed. He slapped my ass hard, then entered again, raw and furious.
— You’re such a fucking whore.
I moaned around the tattooist’s cock.
— Mhmm… yesss…
I couldn’t even breathe properly, but I didn’t want to stop. My throat was sore, my hole was sore, but I was glowing. My nipples rubbed against the table, aching, tight.
The tattooist groaned.
— Fuck, she’s good.
He grabbed my head with one hand, still inking with the other. I gagged slightly, then took more.
Davide grunted behind me.
— How much longer?
— Almost done.
He pulled out of my throat just before he came, spilling hot over my cheek and shoulder. I gasped, tongue out. Then Davide came, buried deep inside me, groaning my name.
My body collapsed on the table, shaking, dripping from every hole.
The artist wiped my back gently, bandaged the tattoo. He showed me in the mirror.
It was perfect. Eight letters. “Davide” — in elegant script, inked just below my hairline. Subtle, sexy, eternal.
Davide leaned in and kissed the bandage.
— Now everyone will know you’re mine.
I nodded. I didn’t care who knew. My body was no longer mine. It was his. Marked. Used. Worshipped.
I cleaned myself up slowly, legs shaking. They left together, laughing.
The 4000 euros were on the table.
But the real payment was on my skin.
Forever.
