I chose the tattoo.
But I didn't choose him.
He wasn't listed on the website.
No socials. No portfolio.
Just a name: Shane.
The studio was called INK SEDUCTION, a half piercing parlour, half erotic dungeon disguised as a reputable ink shop.
And Shane?
He was the reason people came back begging to be marked again.
The First Look
He had a body that should've been behind glass arms inked with wolves and roses, hands veined and calloused, rings on two thick fingers. He wore black gloves like sin and smelled like ink, sweat, and intentions.
"Name?" he asked without looking at me.
"Jade."
"Tat?"
"Here." I lifted my crop top, revealing the left side of my ribcage. "Butterfly."
He looked.
Not at the spot.
At my face.
Then my lips.
Then lower.
"You sure you're ready for something that intimate, Jade?"
I nodded.
He leaned in close.
"Lie down, and if you move, I start over. And if I start over, you scream. Got it?"
My thighs clenched.
Got it.
The Setup
He guided me onto the chair, the leather warm from the studio heat.
"Arms above your head. Stretch. I need you still."
I raised my arms.
"Bra off."
I hesitated.
He raised a brow.
"If I can see your skin shake, I need to see what's causing the tremble."
I unclasped it. Let it fall. His eyes didn't move from mine, but I could feel the air thicken.
"You're going to moan before this night is over," he said softly, so close I felt the words.
And when the needle kissed my skin, I already wanted him to ruin me.
The Shift
The pain was sharp.
Sweet.
Strange.
And his hands were steady.
"Good girl," he said, voice gravel and smoke. "You're taking it better than most."
His fingers brushed the underside of my breast for balance. Innocent enough until they lingered.
"You're flushed," he murmured. "You like this. The sting. The stillness."
I bit my lip.
"Tell me what's turning you on. The pain? Or me?"
I whispered: "Both."
He turned the machine off with a click.
Then silence.
Then "Take off your shorts."
The Heat Below
I unzipped them slowly, heart pounding.
He tugged them down the rest of the way along with my panties slow, deliberate.
"You're already dripping," he said, running two gloved fingers along my slit. "You came here for a butterfly, but you're leaving with my tongue memorizing your taste."
He knelt.
Didn't ask.
Didn't wait.
His mouth devoured me.
Lapping.
Sucking.
Circling with ruthless precision.
I arched, trembling, thighs clamping around his head. He slapped my inner thigh.
"Stay open. Let me finish what you started."
I came with his name on my tongue and my legs trembling like paper.
He stood.
Grabbed an ice cube from the rinse tray.
Pressed it to my oversensitive clit.
I screamed.
He smiled.
"Still think this is just a tattoo shop?"
The Flip
He flipped me over chest down, ass up, thighs spread.
Spanked me once.
Twice.
Harder.
"You're going to remember me every time you sit down for the next three days."
Then he bent.
Slid back inside with his tongue again.
"I've had clients beg for pain," he whispered. "But you? You beg to be owned."
I gasped. Moaned. Shattered.
Twice.
Three times.
Until I was crying from overstimulation and he was wiping his mouth like I'd been his favorite meal.
The Final Touch
He finished the tattoo in silence.
My body limp.
My pulse wrecked.
He wrapped the ink in plastic and kissed the gauze like it was sacred.
Then he whispered:
"Now you're mine. Inked and ruined. And when the skin heals come back for part two."