Free Marked for Submission by Sheri Savill Page A

hotter, more wet, than she could ever remember.
    This is just insane. Hours of horrific pain and restricted movement and now I’m totally turned on. Again. Still, I mean. Jesus. Look at him. He’s fucking gorgeous. “Local Tattoo Artist Tells Harrowing Tale: I Was Attacked By a Horny Customer.” Stop it Janna. Just stop it. You’re an embarrassment to your sex.
    Mark gently turned her hand and forearm a little, admiring his work. T hen he reached back to the counter and fished around in a drawer. She saw him open a tube of something and sat still as he squirted a large dollop into his gloved hands, then gently – sensuously, she thought – he began to spread it over her freshly-inked skin. He worked the cool liquid into her very slowly and carefully, taking his time. His touch was almost … loving. So different from his rough manner as he’d brusquely wiped blood and ink out of his way while he put the ink into her skin. Now that it was in her, part of her forever, he seemed … different. Janna watched him working the ointment into her skin and realized that she was, to him, his living, breathing canvas, finally filled in, finished.
    A part of him was now part of her. Forever.
    And if he was proud of the work, it was right that he should be: she could tell that the finished design, as rough and raw and swollen as parts of it still were, would be incredibly feminine and sexy. Unique. She loved it. She smiled at Mark, her eyes lit with delight and admiration … for him.
    “ Mark this is gorgeous ! I mean it. It is incredible. You are just … so talented. I can’t even–” She beamed at her arm as she took in all the detail now etched into her skin.
    Now if I can just get him to make me come. I’m so fucking horny. God, my cunt is aching.
    Mark turned her hand over, holding it softly in his still-gloved hand – slowly inspecting the underside of her forearm where he’d just been working. His other hand smoothed over her upper arm, now a day healed and soothed by lotion. His touch was tender, even sensual. She was surprised at the change; he certainly hadn’t been especially tender during any of the tattoo sessions and, in fact, had been commanding and even rough with her – much to the delight of her still wet, needy, pussy. She wondered what this … other side to him meant, or, if it meant anything. Maybe he was just tired, distracted.
    Mark reached up and removed his black reading glasses and gazed into her eyes, his hand trailing up over her shoulder, then tracing the contour of her throat. She let her head drop back onto the leather headrest and closed her eyes.
    “Remember how I asked you if you could trust me when we started this?” She felt him move in close to her ear, his voice almost a whisper now. “And you’ve done well. But I want to take you further. If you can still trust me. Can you, Janna?”
    She opened her eyes and nodded, looking into his dark eyes. Then she took a deep breath and slowly released it. Her pussy was clenching again just from having him as close to her as he was, and she wanted him to take her any way he would – take her hard, make her his.
    “Good.” His lips brushed her cheek and he stood, pushing the stool away with his foot. It rolled to the side and stopped.  He walked to the end of the table and released her ankles from the leather straps, then released her left wrist. She rubbed it a little and looked down at her naked body, still stretched open, vulnerable. Her nipples were still stiff, her pussy wet and achingly empty.
    The tattoo on her mound had stopped hurting, at least, but everything done there was warm and tingling. Pulsing. Almost electrified. The arousal of just being near Mark, of knowing that he intended to use her in some way, again, mingled confusingly with the remnants of the physical pain. She watched Mark moving around near the table, trying not to think about her swollen clit. All sensation in her body seemed to be centered in her pussy.