Marked for Submission (4 page)

“Hurting yet?” Mark asked, under his breath, never taking his eyes off her arm as he continued to work. The tip of the needle pressed in hard and steady, scra
ping along her skin. The “routine” of being tattooed was already becoming evident to her: it was a continuous dragging pressure, punctuated by the rough, hard wiping motions of Mark’s other gloved hand, grasping a bloodied moistened cleansing cloth. Brief pauses for him to infuse the gun with more ink, but those were the only pauses. He kept up the pressure. Continuous pressure. Drawing in the lines, creating a bloody ink-smeared path.

She
noticed that Mark occasionally smiled a little – that sexy grin – as if having some inner thought about something he found … amusing.

This sadist is actually enjoying this! Damn,
what a sick, twisted profession.

“I’m fine, thanks. And thanks so much for your concern.” Something in her didn’t want to give him the
satisfaction of getting her admit it hurt this much already. Submissive, yes, but not a wimp. Not a baby. Definitely not a quitter. She viewed herself as strong and independent and tough. Able to take whatever someone dished out. No whining, was her motto. Usually.

But this was something else.
She caught her breath again as a new wave of pain hit, completely erasing any snarkiness she’d managed to put on just a moment before. “Oh fuck YES it hurts!”

“Hurts just a little, huh?” Mark’s eyes narrowed. “But I bet your pussy is wet as fuck right now. Let’s just check on that, shall we?”

The sharp, searing pain stopped and she relaxed her entire body, surprised to realize how tightly she’d been holding herself, holding every muscle, every nerve, in a strained, protective posture – the body’s natural defense against an assault, against slow, sustained wounding.

Great.
So there are actually two kinds of pain in this. There’s fresh, immediate, searing pain while he is actively scarring me for life with that thing, and then there’s the throbbing spreading hot pain of the open wounds after he STOPS. God, I am so very, very fucked. This is insane.

Mark pulled off the black glove on his right ha
nd with a snapping noise, like a surgeon coming out of an operating room. He tossed it into a red plastic bin on the floor. Hazmat. Janna lay still, aware of the incredible wetness between her legs. His bare fingers stroked the outside of her pussy as he held her in his dark gaze.

“So, Janna.
Do you want me to touch you?” His eyebrow raised, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Ask. Ask me.”

“I
– Yeah, I do.”

“Ask.”

“No, I can’t … just–”

“Ask.”

“Touch me, touch me, please. God.”

Mark lightly slid a finger back and forth over her moist pussy lips, teasing, stroking. She involuntarily jerked a little in response, her entire groin area arching up slightly to meet his touch. The heat in her arm wounds pulsed and now seemed to blend with the heat in her pussy.

“Oh God, please, Mark … just do it, please,” she moaned and closed her eyes, her breathing coming faster. She wanted his fingers inside her. Now.

“Jesus, look at this wet cunt,” Mark rasped, still stroking just the
soft smoothness of her outer labia. “Little Janna is a pain slut, I think. Big turn on for you, isn’t it, Janna?”

She moaned again,
squirming, trying to make his fingers touch her throbbing clit.
Dammit, just touch me already. Rub my fucking clit. Fuck.

“No, I don’t think so, Janna. Not now.” He
withdraw his hand completely, then tugged a fresh black glove from the dispenser box on the table and started pulling it onto his fingers.

Are you fucking kidding me?
!

“See, i
t doesn’t work like that. I’ll give you what you want when you answer some questions for me. Let’s play a game.”

The gun buzzed back to life.

Chapter 5

The needle pressed in again on the tender skin of her inner arm, near her armpit, and she bit her lip hard and mouthed a silent “fuck!” to try to control her reaction – not that it helped. Every nerve ending was already inflamed, heated, raw, screaming. And now there was more pain.

Jesus Christ.
New pain on top of the old pain. This is fucked up. Why does he have to press so hard? Is that really necessary? Shit!

“OK, Janna,” he said quietly, “I’m going to ask you questions and you’re going to answer me honestly. The only way I lift the gun off you to give you a rest for a few seconds is if you answer honestly. Clear?”

She nodded, still wincing as the tattoo gun whined along her wounded flesh.

“First question.
When you touch yourself, what do you think about?” He kept working, swiping hard at her arm to wipe off more blood and ink.

“Jesus, Mark,” she felt a flush of heat in her face.
Nothing near the heat coming off her ravaged arm, but still, heat nonetheless.

“Answer me,” he demanded, tightening his grip on her arm.

“OK OK. I think about … different things. Sometimes I think about being taken by a bunch of different guys. Sometimes I think about … really weird shit.”

“What weird shit? Tell me.” She saw the corners of his l
ips curve into an amused smile.

Bastard.
Sadistic bastard.

“Weird shit … like … being forced to have orgasms, or not allowed to have them … tied down and teased until I screamed, begged … sometimes I think about being gagged and blindfolded and … someone I don’t know … fucks my face, my cunt …”

“Good, but keep going – you haven’t earned a break yet, and you won’t, until you tell me the unfiltered version – I want more detail. Tell me how wet you get, tell me what you imagine the strange guy saying to you while he fucks you.” His voice was calm, low, unhurried – the voice of control.

The pressure from the needle continued, relentlessly punishing. He hadn’t lifted it off her delicate underarm area for even second, and it had been going steadily for several minutes straight. A steady, painful heat now radiated from her arm; she flashed briefly on the fear that she might pass out if he didn’t stop, at least
for a minute or two, to let her breathe, let the nerve endings cool a bit … something.

“...
all right, all right, he’s fucking my mouth, hard, using my mouth, making me feel like an object only for his own pleasure … shit! oh my god this fucking hurts, Mark …”

“I know it hurts, and it’s going to keep hurting until you answer the questions. It’s going to hurt even more in a minute, I promise you, when I get to the back side near your armpit.
Especially with no break.” He swiped hard at her arm again with the cloth.

“... ok, so … so, I
– he calls me a slut and his cock pumps in and out of my mouth and I’m gagging and there’s saliva everywhere, running down the sides of my cheeks and he spits down into my face … he spits … and calls me a nasty whore … and keeps pounding his cock into my mouth, hard, very hard, and I can’t breathe, and he won’t stop, and his cock is way down in my throat and he says ‘fuck yes, that’s a good slut, you love this, you’re just a fucking nasty wet hole for my cock, that’s all you are’ –

The tattoo gun suddenly lifted off and the high-whine noise stopped.
Mercy.

“Good girl, Janna,” Mark whispered. He set the tattoo gun down and stood up, leaning in over her, looking down into her watery eyes.

No. You won’t cry. Do not cry. You can do this, Janna. Oh god, the heat on my arm.

She shuddered a little
– a chill? Ironic, as the incredible heat coming off her arm was like nothing she’d ever known. It was almost as if someone was holding a small blowtorch to her skin, waving it slowly, back and forth, over her raw flesh. Her hands were slightly tingly, still bound behind and above. She wondered how much longer he would keep her restrained like this.

“You did well, you earned this short break. All better now?”

Is he fucking kidding? All better? No, you sick fuck, NOT all better. My hands are tingling, and my arm is bleeding fire, in case you didn’t notice. Jesus.

Suddenly his mouth came down over her stiff nipple, engulfing it in soothing wetness. She felt his tongue swirl softly around it as a gloved hand gathered its fullness from below and held it in a rough grip, squeezing it all up into his warm greedy mouth. He sucked hard, dragging the nipple out into a long stiff
pointed peak, then releasing it, moving to the other breast, squeezing it up and into his mouth, sucking and kissing the nipple. Both nipples were large, hard pink points and her pussy throbbed and gushed as she writhed on the table. A low breathy moan escaped her lips as the leather straps on her ankles gave just enough to allow her to grind her hips against the leather of the chair beneath her.

“Mark, yes, oh
fuck yes. Yes,” she rasped. She wanted this, needed this.

“I told you there would be a break for obeying me. I’m
gonna re-do your arms now, Janna. I need you to be in a different position.”

He opened the clasp between the cuffs and her arms fell. The blood rushed lower, feeling r
eturning in her hands. But before she could really enjoy the new freedom, Mark was jerking one of her wrists down to the side of the table and attaching the leather wrist cuff to an eye bolt – one on either side of the table. Now her arms were relaxed, more or less, at her sides, but still fully immobilized.

Great.
At least my arms have stopped tingling. But the burning. Oh God, the burning in my armpit. Shit.

She glanced down at her body
– her glistening pussy still fully exposed, the shorts pulled down, embarrassingly. Her nipples stayed hard, swollen, betraying her desperate need. Her ankles stayed confined in the straps at the foot of the table. She was still helpless and not sure what he had planned for her. The thought made her pussy gush again.

Chapter 6

Mark stood behind her and grasped the outer edges of the leather-topped table with both hands, lowering the back so her body was now completely parallel with the floor. She heard him snap a new black glove from the dispenser, heard the slapping noises as he worked it onto his hand, then felt a cool latex-covered finger trail lightly, slowly, beginning at her neck. His finger drifted so casually, first along her jawline, tracing its soft contour, finally skimming her pale cheek before moving away. The touch was subtle, perfectly erotic. A shiver of delicious arousal surged through her body again. She felt her pussy tensing again, craving release.

Shit, he’s driving me fucking crazy. I need to
come. Please ... touch my clit.

“I’m going to work on your arm some more now.” His voice was low, near her ear
– just the sound of it made her heart beat harder in her chest.  He moved to the stool and sat again, then leaned over and sucked her nipple into his mouth again, his warm tongue flicking lightly at the hard peak. He took the nipple in fully, very hard, and she moaned at the pain and pleasure of the sensation. His mouth pulled the nipple outward, stretching it, then released it abruptly, letting it pop from his mouth. She felt a gloved finger tap her pussy lightly several times near the topmost edge of her wet slit. Toying with her. Teasing her cruelly.

What the hell is he doing?

“No. I’m not going to let you come, Janna. Don’t you even think about coming. It’s just not going to happen. Not until I say, and I’m not sure if I will at all, actually. No. I’m going to work on your arm again right now. I want you to just lie there and think about how incredibly wet you are, how slutty you look right now, spread open like you are, on my table. Think about how badly you want to come.”

He turned the tattoo gun on again and clasped her arm with one hand, holding firmly. No gentleness now
– just the opposite, in fact. He was single-minded, a machine, concentrating only on his craft, his art, his design – her comfort was irrelevant. She really did feel like a “human canvas” now. A blank piece of canvas with no needs or feelings. A place for Mark to draw.

The needle dug back into her aching flesh and she winced, a gasp escaping her involuntarily as new pain seared. Mark swiped the blood and ink residue away roughly every few seconds, oblivious to her suffering, it seemed.

Can’t he be more gentle? Jesus. This fucking hurts like hell. My entire arm feels like it’s being burned, and he’s jerking at it and slapping at it every few seconds with that rag or whatever the fuck that is. NOT helping. Not helping at all.

He worked steadily for several more minutes, wor
dlessly.

“Are you thinking about how wet you are now, Janna?
About
why
you’re so wet?” He lifted the needle and gazed at her from under the glow of the bright lamp inches from her arm.

The question took her aback. How was she supposed to think of …
that
while her arm was hurting so much? She knew she had to try to answer him. She wanted to answer him. She wanted to … please him.

“I’m wet because it hurts … because you … you are hurting me, making me wet,” she murmured. She breathed out through her mouth, a sigh, trying to let the pain pass through her. Her eyes closed as she felt the odd contrast of two powerful sensations in her all at once: the pulsing arousal of her clit, her pussy, her hardened nipples, set off by a fiery relentless pain where the needle had invaded her bloodied arm. It was all so … confusing, yet her body seemed to be reacting with its own agenda.