I’m not really a bad girl. I want to make that clear from the start. If you take anything away from this, you need to know that. I’m not really a bad girl.
What I am is a girl who likes bad boys and luckily for me, they like me, too.
I’m not sure when I first understood what I liked. I mean, I grew up in a lily white community. Dad was a business banker. Mom was an accountant so between the two of them, our family had money. My brother was a jerk but then isn’t that always the case. Oh sure, he had his moments of non-jerkiness, but most of the time, he just hung around with his shithead friends and he tried to act like he was cool.
Me, I was always the good girl. I always have been. I always got good grades. For me, a B was a substandard grade. If I got a B, I’d mope like crazy about it and then I’d decide that I’d show the teacher just how wrong that was and I’d apply myself even harder.
That’s not to say I was a nerd either. I was a blond with blue eyes and if the number of boys that wanted to date me is any indication, I guess I was pretty good looking. I’m not sure I’d say I was as good looking as the boys thought I was, but hey, I’m just laying that out there for what it was worth and I suppose if it counts for anything, Diane Morrison liked me, too, and everyone in school knew she was a total lesbo so I guess that has to stand for something.
I was a cheerleader. I never was the captain of the team or anything like that, but I was a cheerleader. I suppose that also raised me up a bit on the desirability scale. I mean, everyone wants to be with the cheerleader, right, or at least they did in my school.
Maybe that’s how it started. I mean I pretty much could have had my pick of the guys but when you were a girl like me, it was kind of expected that you just couldn’t pick any guy to date. Oh sure, it was up to the guy first. He had to ask you out first, but there were certain guys that were off limits. You couldn’t date a nerd. You couldn’t date a stoner. You couldn’t date a malcontent. You had to date a guy that was in the same social strata as you and if you didn’t, then you had to be willing to accept that you might become an outcast as well.
And it wasn’t like the good boys were all that good either. Ryan Carlisle might have been a star on the football field but he was an ass hole off the field. All of us girls knew he hit Sheri Taylor. Of course, she’d never do anything about it but we all knew it and yet he was okay because he was a football star. The two of them were off and on but they stayed together all the way through high school. I mean how sick is that.
And Ryan wasn’t the only one. He was just the worst of the worst and that’s not to say there weren’t good guys out there. There were and there were more of them than there were of the bad guys, but that was my life growing up.
But if the good guys were bad, what did that say about the bad boys. It meant they had to be even worse, right? But in a way, that was okay. If you expected a bad boy to be bad and he was, then he only confirmed what you already knew, but if a bad boy was good or if he wasn’t quite as bad as you thought he’d be, then that made the bad boys better, right?
I should have known better than to have thoughts like that.
His name was Mutt or at least that’s what he said his name was and Mutt was definitely the type of guy that daddies warned their little girls about. First of all, Mutt drove a motorcycle. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with riding a motorcycle except if the clothes he wore were any indication, Mutt was part of a motorcycle gang.
Like I said, I should have known better.
Mutt was an old man. Okay, he was older than me and he most certainly was not what I would call a boy. Mutt was definitely a man. In fact, he was a big man with long hair that was already starting to thin.
Mutt was dressed all in leather. Leather jacket. Leather chaps. Leather boots that could kick your ass if he wanted to and Mutt was a big man with a big mustache and big tattoos.
Mutt was hardly the type of man I would have chosen to hang around with but then sometimes, you don’t get to make a choice like that. Sometimes, the choice gets made for you.
I’d had a date with this guy named Barry. He’d seemed like an okay kind of guy when I first met him. I mean, he was kind of shy and that was kind of sweet because he was so nice. I mean it always seemed like we could do whatever I wanted to do and to tell the truth, I rather liked that.
What I hadn’t counted on was that Barry seemed to think that if he gave me what I wanted, that meant he was going to get what he wanted.
We’d gone to a movie. So far, so good. It was a movie I wanted to see. Even better. He wanted to hold my hand. Okay, that was kind of weird but I let him do it. Then he wanted to stroke my leg.
I gave him a poke to get his attention. “Quit it,” I hissed.
He kept his hands to himself at least for a few minutes but then he was back again only now he wanted my hand on his leg.
I was having none of that so I pulled my hand back.
Once again, he let up and once again, he came back again. He was stroking my hand and I just knew he was going to want something.
I was right, of course. He was leading my hand back towards his legs and when I tried to pull it back, he tried to keep pulling and that’s when I realized, it wasn’t exactly his legs he was trying to lead me to.
Well that was enough. I wasn’t having anymore of that. I pulled my hand back but I wasn’t going to stay there a moment longer. I was up and moving and I didn’t care if the film was half over. I didn’t care who I had to step over to get out of the theater. As far as I was concerned, the movie was done.
But when I looked back, there was Barry still coming after me. I guess Barry wasn’t about to give up so I tried to move even faster.
I reached the aisle moments before he did and from there I was moving but he caught up with me in the lobby. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m going home.”
“But the movie’s not over,” he said.
Was he really that dense, I wondered. Didn’t he get it.
Apparently, he wasn’t that dense. “I’ll take you home,” he said.
“I don’t want you to take me home,” I said.
“It’s dark out,” he said, like I didn’t already know that. “You never know who might be lurking around.”
“What? You mean someone like you?”
He tried to look like I’d hurt him in some way. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
“I don’t want you to take me home,” I said. “I’d rather walk.”
“Then I’ll follow along behind just to make sure you get home okay.”
He probably would, I told myself. He probably thought he was being gallant. I just thought he was being creepy.
But sure enough, even as I started to walk, I could see him following along behind. He wasn’t hard to miss because as slow as he was going, the other drivers had to keep honking at him. If he didn’t watch it, he was going to cause an accident.
He probably thought I was going to get tired. He probably thought I was going to give in, but I wasn’t but the thing is I didn’t want to cause an accident either and as long as he was following me, he was an accident just waiting to happen, and besides, he was kind of creepy.
And that’s when I saw him, the biker, he was just coming out of a liquor store. It was perfect. “Hey,” I shouted. “Hey, Mister. Wait up.”
The biker turned. He looked at me. “What do you want?” he grunted.
“It’s my boyfriend,” I said. “He’s following me.”
“So I was wondering if you could help me.”
“Help you how?”
“Give me a ride. Get me out of here.”
“You want me to give you a ride?”
“Yeah. I want you to give me a ride.”
“You ever ridden on a bike before?”
I shook my head.
“Figures. All right, fine. I’ll give you a ride,” he said. “Just hold on tight and move like I do. Okay?”
“Yeah sure,” I told him.
Actually, the hold on tight part was easy. The motorcycle kind of scared the heck out of me so of course I was going to hold on tight. I suppose if I’d thought about it, I would have thought that anything that might have knocked me off probably would have knocked him off, too, but I guess in a way, it just felt right to hold on tight.
I didn’t even look back to see if Barry was following us. He had to have seen me get on the bike and he had to have seen us pull away from the curb but honestly, I don’t know what he did after that because I was too scared to look.
I suppose I should have asked the question earlier but the truth is I just wanted to get away from the jerk so I never bothered to ask until it was too late.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
I don’t know if he just didn’t hear me or if he was just ignoring me but whatever the case, Mutt didn’t bother to answer me.
I was really starting to wonder where he was taking me when he finally pulled in to this bar with a bunch of motorcycles in front and to tell the truth, I was getting even more nervous. “Where are we?” I asked.
“This is my place,” he said.
It was a bar. That much was obvious. “Your place?” I asked. “You mean you own this place?” I asked.
He looked at me kind of funny like and then he started to smile but it wasn’t a warm kind of smile. “I suppose you could say that,” he said with a chuckle. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
“I really appreciate your help,” I said, “but I, um, I really need to get home.”
“So that’s the way it is, is it?”
“You want my help but as soon as you don’t need it no more, off you go. That’s not very nice, you know.”
“I was going to buy you a drink.”
“But now I guess I’m not going to be able to do that. Now that you’re free and clear of that jerk you were with, I guess that’s gratitude for you.”
“It’s not like that,” I tried to say.
“No of course not,” he said. “It never is like that with girls like you. You want to go, then fine. Go.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to be like that.”
“You weren’t huh? What were you trying to be like?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
“Yeah I thought so. Go on. Get out of here.”
What was I going to do? And besides, he really wasn’t my type. He was big and tough and totally tatted up and he was way too old for me. I could have taken the big and tough parts but like I said, he was way too old for me, and the tattoos were gross, but come on. It wasn’t like he wanted to be my boyfriend. He just wanted to buy me a drink.
Yeah, but if the bar was filled with a bunch of guys like him ... yuck, and besides, he’d already written me off, so if I wanted to go, I could go.
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and I started to call a friend. “Um, where am I?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If I wanted to tell a friend to come pick me up, I ... I ... that’s strange.”
“I’ve got no cell reception.”
The biker grinned. “That’s not so strange at all. Reception around here sucks.”
“Let me guess. You need my help again to get you a land line, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Why don’t you come inside then.”
What was I going to do? I looked at my phone as if looking at it would suddenly make my signal bars jump but it didn’t. “Fine,” I said finally.
“I’ll come in,” I said.
“You know, for someone who seems to need other people’s help a lot, you sure don’t know how to ask for it.”
I didn’t need help a lot, I wanted to say but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut because for the time being at least, I still did need his help so I let him lead me inside.
“Come on,” he said as he steered me towards the bar.
“What? I thought you said you were going to get me a phone,” I said.
“Drink first,” he said, “because knowing you, as soon as you’ve made your phone call, you’ll be off and running, won’t you?”
I wanted to tell him no but he was right and the problem was I still needed his help so against my better judgement, I let him lead me to the bar.
“Hey, Frankie,” he said to the woman behind the bar. “Two specials,” he said.
“What’s a special?” I asked.
“It’s a special drink that they serve here,” he said.
“What’s in it?”
“Heck if I know,” he said.
“They serve it in a clean glass, don’t they?”
Mutt just laughed at that. “Man, you don’t have a very high opinion of us, do ya?”
What could I say? He was right about that and all the same, I couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t answered my question.
The drinks came and they were in clean glasses but his was blue and mine was pink. “Why are they different colors?” I asked.
“The drinks. If they’re both the same, why are they different colors?”
“It’s just the way they make them, he said.
That was a stupid answer, I told myself.
“What? Don’t tell me you don’t want your drink now.”
“No, it’s just that—”
“Oh hell. Give me your drink,” he said, “and you can have mine.”
“You’ve already drunk from yours.”
“So I don’t want yours if you’ve already drunk from it.”
The biker just shrugged. “I don’t know what to say then,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say either but one thing was certain. I definitely did need his help. Still, I looked at the drink. Should I do it, I wondered. Should I?
I lifted it up and I sniffed at it like that was going to tell me anything. I knew Mutt was watching me now.
I’d come to the end of the line. I was going to have to do something.
I took a drink.
It was fruity. I liked that, and it had alcohol and no one had even bothered to card me and I wasn’t even twenty-one yet. I liked that, too. I took another sip.
“Good, huh?” Mutt asked.
“Not bad,” I allowed.
Mutt laughed again. “Still stuck up right to the very end.”
“I am not stuck up,” I told him.
Mutt laughed again. “Not anymore you’re not.”
What was that supposed to mean? Wait a minute. Could there have been something in the drink. I looked down at the glass and it was already half gone. How could I have drunk that much, I wondered. Oh God. There was something wrong with the drink.
“Go ahead. Drink.”
Yeah right. Like I was going to do that.
“You don’t want to drink?” he asked. “It tastes good.”
It did taste good, I told myself.
It was like the drink was calling to me. No, I told myself. No. I wasn’t going to drink that. It felt good to take control. I just need to keep my mind occupied with something else.
That was the question because I could feel the drink calling to me again. I needed something else to grab my attention, but what?
Whatever it was, it had to be something I felt strongly about, but what?
My eyes focused on Mutt’s tattoos. I’d always hated tattoos and he had lots of them retreating back up his arms. Focus on those, I told myself. Focus on the tattoos. Sure, it wasn’t something I liked but you can be really passionate about something you hate.
The only thing was I didn’t hate them.
I should have hated them. Hell, I wanted to hate them but I couldn’t hate them. Why couldn’t I hate them.
What was I thinking, I told myself. Tattoos were gross.
And yet ...
“Can I interest you in something?” Mutt asked.
“No,” I said hastily. Maybe a little too quickly, I thought, but I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression about me.
“Suit yourself,” the man said. “If you change your mind, just let me know,” and with that, he got up and he walked away.
God, what was I thinking, I told myself. I was practically quivering over the thought of touching his ... no. It couldn’t be that.
I was still thinking that when she approached the bar. She’d only been looking to get a beer for her man but I didn’t know that. What I did know was that when I looked down, I could see the girl’s exposed midriff and more than that, what I could see was the tattoo that rode just over the tops of her jeans.
“Could I get a couple of beers?” the girl asked the bartender.
I really wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying anymore. In fact, my whole concentration was focused on that tattoo right there at her waist. My hand twitched and I stopped it but it wasn’t going to be that easy. My hand twitched again and this time nothing stopped it.
My hand touched that tattoo and it was like a jolt of electricity going through me. I’d always thought tattoos were disgusting but I’d never realized just how erotic they could be but I was getting it now. My pussy was definitely on fire.
The girl turned and as she did, her tattoo swung away from me. “Hey,” she said. “What the hell are you looking at?”
I blinked. It was like I’d been in a trance and that I’d suddenly snapped out of it. It was like I could suddenly think again.
“Well?” the girl demanded.
Maybe I could think again but that didn’t make me forget what was on the girl’s backside.
“Well?” she demanded yet again.
“I ... I was just admiring your tattoo,” I said meekly.
“You were, were you,” the girl teased playfully. “You mean you like this?”
I couldn’t help but gasp as she turned around and she wiggled her butt in front of me and my hands just couldn’t help but do what they really wanted to do. I reached out and stroked my fingers over her tattoo and even as I did, I could feel a rush of energy between my legs. Damn!
The girl just looked back at me and she smiled. “I suppose I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.
She could take it whatever way she wanted but it didn’t really matter. I couldn’t take my eyes or my fingers off of her tattoo.
“Well if you like this,” she said, “then I guess you’d better come with me.” She nodded at the bartender. “Could I get another bottle of beer?” she asked.
“Sure thing,” she was told and moments later she had another bottle of beer. “Come on,” she said almost as if she were speaking to some trained animal. “Come on. Follow me.”
I wasn’t a trained animal but I followed her or rather, I followed her tattoo.
I followed her but then let’s face it, with that exposed midriff and with the girl’s tattoo still visible right there in front of me, the truth was I would have followed that tattoo wherever it wanted to take me.
She was taking me to a booth in the back and to another man who was almost as tatted up as Mutt was. “Who’s this?” the man asked.
“I don’t know,” the girl said. “I found her at the bar or maybe I should say she found me.”
“Is that so?”
The girl nodded. “She touched my tattoo.”
“Did she now?”
The man looked at me. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Dani,” I told him.
“So, Dani, Ashley here says you liked her tattoo. Is that right?”
I could have lied, I told myself. All I had to do would be to tell the man no, only ... only, I didn’t want to lie. I nodded meekly. “Yes,” I said.
“Yes, I liked her tattoo.”
“Do you want to touch it again?”
“Yes, I want to touch it,” I said. I suppose I might have wondered why I said it but the truth was I wasn’t questioning anything anymore.
“You can touch it,” the man said.
I didn’t bother to ask how he knew this. I just let my hand reach down and then I letting my hand stroke every point on Ashley’s tattoo and the more my hand explored, the hotter I got.
That was the man but I was too preoccupied to respond.
“Dani,” he said again and then he said it yet again and finally I forced myself to look away from Ashley’s wonderful tattoo.
He had his cock out and he had his shirt open and I could see he had more tattoos on his chest but as horny as I was, it was his cock that had my attention. I couldn’t believe he had it out in the middle of a crowded bar.
“Do you see something that interests you?” he taunted me.
“Well, you know what you need to do.”
I did know what to do. My hand was reaching out and then I was stroking his tattoos and then that wasn’t all I was stroking.
“That’s it,” the man encouraged me. “You know what to do.”
I did know what to do. I was stroking his cock and then I was bringing my body forward and I was sliding my body down over his cock.
He had his hands on my skirt and he was squeezing my butt and that just felt hot, too. “You know what to do,” he said again.
I’m not sure what had come over me but I just liked being like this. I liked having his hands on my ass even if that was all it was.
“Are you wearing panties?”
What, I thought. “Yes, of course,” I told him. “Of course I’m wearing panties.”
“You should take them off.”
What? No, and yet ...
“Or maybe you’d like me to do it for you.”
I couldn’t help but moan. Now there was a thought.
And that was when I realized he had his hands up under my skirt and he was squeezing my panty-clad bottom. When had that happened, I wondered.
But then his hands were moving upwards and suddenly, I realized he had them pushed down inside my panties.
“What about it?” he asked. “Do you want me to take your panties off?”
The answer was supposed to be no, I reminded myself. The only thing was his hands felt so good there inside my panties.
And besides, he wasn’t waiting for an answer. I could feel him taking my panties down and my body was actually helping him.
They were down around his knees, and the girl, Ashley I think her name was, I think she took them the rest of the way off because the man’s hands were back on my ass.
“I like your butt,” he said.
“Thanks,” I gushed and then I realized a moment too late that I probably shouldn’t have said that. There was no reason to make him think that I liked this even more than I already did.
“You should show it off more.”
I don’t know why that thought excited me but that’s when I realized he was hiking my skirt up.
“Now where were we?” he asked.
“I think you were stroking me.”
I was stroking him and now I was again.
I didn’t actually have his cock inside me but that was only a matter of time and then I was pushing myself forward again.
“That’s it,” he encouraged me. “Just a little more.”
I slid the head of his cock up against my pussy and I hesitated. What was I doing, I asked myself.
But that’s when I felt the girl coming up behind me. She was pressing her body up against mine but more than that, she was pressing my body up against his tattoos.
I could feel her breasts as they pressed up against my back. “You know you want to,” she cooed in my ear and I couldn’t help but gasp. She was right about that.
“Go on,” she said. “Do it. Fuck his cock.”
I let my pussy slide down and then I was taking his cock inside me.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
It felt great.
My hand stroked the man’s body and I couldn’t help but feel his tattoos and every time I did, it just seemed as if my heat got even hotter.
“You want him to cum inside you, don’t you?” the woman cooed.
“Yes-s-s-s,” I moaned.
“That’s good,” she said.
I would have asked why except I already knew why. I could feel him swelling inside me and then I could feel his cock as he shot his load inside my hungry, little pussy.
“Is he filling you up?” the girl asked in a near whisper.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Does it feel good?”
“It feels great.”
“Yes. It feels great.”
And it did feel great and it was only after I pulled myself off of his cock that I finally realized just what the heck it was that I’d let myself do. I couldn’t believe myself. I’d just let myself get fucked by a guy and a girl that I didn’t even know, and ... no, it was more than that. I hadn’t let it happen. It was more than that. That made it sound as if I had no role in my own demise and I knew that wasn’t true.
And the worst part about it was I knew I had to get out of there because I was still horny.
I went looking for Mutt. He’d said he’d help me and at that moment, I was hinging everything I had on that.
I found him at the bar talking to a girl. “Hey, Mutt,” I said.
“Hey,” he said.
“I hate to bother you but I’d really like you to take me home.”
“What? You want to leave now?”
I nodded vigorously.
“But the party’s just getting started.”
“Please,” I begged. “I really need to go.”
Mutt looked at the other girl and he shook his head. “Sorry about this,” he said finally. “You going to be around when I get back?”
“For you? Of course.”
“That’s my girl,” and that’s when Mutt looked at me. “Come on. Let’s take care of you.”
“I really appreciate this,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
I followed him blithely right up until the moment when I realized we weren’t leaving. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“We’re going to take care of you.”
“But I thought you were going to take me home.”
He put his hands on my arms and he gave me a little shake. His grip was firm but that wasn’t what got my attention. It was the tattoos on his arms. “This is my hang-out,” he said. “You don’t tell me what to do here at my place. You got that?”
“Good.” He led me into a room. “There’s a shower in there,” he said. “You can go and get yourself cleaned up.”
He finished taking off his leather jacket. “You arguing with me,” he said again.
I shook my head but there was something else that had my attention. “Wh-what’s under there?” I asked.
“What’s under where?”
I could see the ends of it poking out but I just had to see. “Under your shirt,” I said.
“Oh. You mean this,” and with that, he took off his shirt and he turned to give me a better look.
It was there on his back. It took up the whole space of his massive back. It was by far and away the largest tattoo I’d ever seen. It was too snakes entwined around one another, entwined and hissing as if each was about to strike.
“So you like it?”
“Maybe if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you touch them.”
Yeah, like I’d want to do that, I told myself. The only thing was, I knew I did.
“Now go get cleaned up.”
What could I say. I went to the shower and I went to clean myself up.
I should have known that he’d follow me. “What are you doing?” I said when I saw him standing there.
“Just want to make sure you’re doing a good job,” he said.
“I’m doing fine,” I said even as I tried to make my voice sound as irritated as I felt I should be but the problem was I just wasn’t that upset and it was worse than that. I was kind of hot looking at him standing there.
“Leave the door open,” he said when I stepped into the shower.
“Why? Aren’t you planning to join me,” I said and then almost as soon as I said it, I was chastising myself for saying it. What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t want him to join me.
“Not right now, but I did bring you something.”
He held up a razor. “This,” he said.
“What’s that for?”
“Oh, no need to be so naive. I think you know what this is for. I’d like to see you shave off all that nasty pussy hair.”
“What? You got to be kidding.”
“Not at all.”
“Do you talk with all girls like this?”
“Nope. Just the ones who can’t take their eyes off of my tattoos.”
Oooh, he had to go and mention those and just the mention of his tattoos was enough to get me looking at them all over again. God, I was horny.
“Well,” he said.
“You really want to see me shave my pussy?”
I didn’t know why this was making me so hot but it was. I grabbed the razor. “Fine,” I said. “If that’s what you want, then fine. I’ll shave my pussy. I’ll shave it nice and clean.”
I looked down at the thatch between my legs. I shouldn’t be doing this, I told myself. I shouldn’t be letting him tell me what I should be doing with my own body, and yet ...
I rubbed the soap into a lather and then I rubbed it against my pussy. This was wrong, I told myself. This was so wrong.
Down came the razor and it was cutting into the hair.
It was pulling, too. It hurt. I shouldn’t be doing this, I told myself, and yet, I couldn’t stop.
The razor swiped again and with it came more of my hair. I rubbed my pussy to ease the pain from the pulling of the razor but then the razor was back again.
It may have hurt but the razor was doing its job. Slowly but surely, the razor was uncovering my pussy.
“Keep going,” Mutt told me.
I didn’t need Mutt to tell me that and I think he knew I didn’t need that. I think he just wanted to make sure I remembered just who it was who was making me do this.
Like I could ever forget.
The razor swiped again and it didn’t hurt so much this time because there just wasn’t that much hair left there between my legs. it was mostly a clean-up operation now, designed to get rid of the last vestiges of whatever hair still remained.
And then it was done.
“Nicely done,” Mutt said.
What the heck was I supposed to say to that. “Thanks for noticing.” ... “I’m glad you liked watching me shave my pussy.” ... “Maybe next time you could do it for me.”
Somehow, none of those seemed to work for me.
“Won’t you come with me.”
I stepped out of the shower. There was a part of me that didn’t want to do it but I was entranced by his tattoos.
He led me to his bed. “Lie down,” he told me.
I laid down.
“Spread your legs.”
I did as he told me to do and within moments, he was there, leaning over my body, his cock pressed up against my cunt. I could feel the head of him pressing against me. I could feel him pushing.
His cock slipped but once again, he wedged it back into place, and this time when he pushed, this time there would be no reprieve. This time, he entered me.
“Oh yeah,” I moaned.
“I think someone likes this.”
Yeah, there was no way to deny that. I was looking up at the word “Mother” that was tattooed just above his heart.
He pulled back only to drive himself even harder between my legs and I groaned again.
He wasn’t bothering to stop anymore. He wasn’t bothering to see if I liked it. He just kept fucking me and I just kept moaning even as I watched his tattoo-covered body move above me.
He groaned and I didn’t have to be told what that meant. He was going to cum. He was going to cum in my tight, little pussy, and there wasn’t a damned thing that I could do to stop it.
He groaned again and I knew he was even closer.
One more time. Oh geez. I knew what was going to happen. I could feel his cock swell inside me and then ...
And then he was cumming inside me. It was inevitable and it was hard. He was filling me up. Oh geez, he was filling me so good.
Mutt buried his cock inside me until my pussy had taken everything that he’d had to give and it was only then that he pulled his cock free. “I’ve been noticing how much you like my tattoos,” the man said.
“Yeah, says you,” I said even as I tried to hide my interest.
“Yeah, says me,” he shot back. “That’s why I’ve decided to get you something.”
“Yeah? What are you going to get me?”
“I’m going to get you a tattoo.”
“What?! You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not at all.”
Why wasn’t I objecting more, I asked myself. I didn’t want a tattoo and yet the thought of one excited me. “What are you going to get me?” I asked.
He just smiled. “I think you’re going to have to wait and see.”
He just grinned. “Don’t worry. “I’m not going to make you wait all that long and with that, he called out. “Pete!”
The door to the room opened and a man came inside. He was big and bald and he had tattoos all over his body.
“This is Pete,” Mutt said. “He’s going to give you your tattoo. Now show him your pussy.”
Show him my what, I thought. I wasn’t going o show him my pussy and yet ... and yet, there was just something so hot about doing exactly that.
“Yes, that’s it,” Mutt said and I was realizing that even without knowing what I’d been doing, I was doing exactly what Mutt had told me to do and I was looking up at the tattoo man even as he was looking down at me.
“What’d I tell you?” Mutt said. “Nice.”
“But we can make her nicer,” Pete said and with that, he set about to do his work.
It hurt like hell what he was doing and all the while as he was doing it, I couldn’t help but ask myself why I was letting him do it.
When he was done, I had a new palm-shaped tattoo right there above my pussy. More to the point actually, it was the shape of my palm and around the edges were flowers and birds but on the inside, there were just two words: Mutt’s Bitch.
“Don’t touch it just yet,” he said.
He understood and so did I. I already could feel the need building to touch it. I wanted to touch my tattoo and I always would.
This would be the landing place for my palm as my fingers worked their way between my legs and the more I touched it, the hornier I’d get. I’d want to touch it even more until my fingers wouldn’t be enough and then I’d need Mutt. I’d always need Mutt and his tattoo-laden body and the more I touched him, the hotter I’d get.
I needed him. I needed him bad.
“You understand, don’t you?”
I looked at the tattoo and I nodded. I really did understand. The tattoo was so right. I really was Mutt’s bitch.