The Blooming Lotus

He slowly cut away her panties with the slender stiletto as she sighed with pleasure and twisted against the bonds, her eyes blindfolded. She was shaven, although not entirely, preferring a short, shaven strip running up from the chiseled slit between her legs.

He paused, and admired the view for a few moments. He then produced a bottle of warmed oil and spread it across her warm mound. The slippery fluid trickled warmly down, between her legs. He firmly worked the oil into her skin, fingertips brushing and teasing the swollen bud of her clitoris.

"Yes!" she cried, writhing against the ropes. "Don't leave me like this, fuck me!"

He didn't fuck her. She next became aware of a rhythmic, mechanical buzz, and felt a running, scratching sensation above her slit.

She jerked, already familiar with the sensation and the sound, but her firmly held her down.

"Don't want the lines to be crooked," he said, the mirth apparent in his voice.

"You bastard!" she practically screamed, feeling, but unable to see, the tattoo machine as it marked her most private area. She remained in a heightened state of arousal. If anything, her rage only amplified it.

He worked quickly, first lining, and then coloring the design. As he worked the color in, she ground her hips into his hand, forcing the brightly colored ink into herself.

Then came a moment, a long pause, as she lay there panting, almost growling. The vibrations and the needle had come so close to her most sensitive places, and left her frustrated and unfulfilled.

"In the old days" he said, as he slowly unbuckled his pants, "they used to slap fresh tattoos to 'set' the ink."

He poised himself, the swollen head of his penis gently nudging the ink-stained lips of her pussy.

"I think I will slap that thing more than once, just to be sure" he said, and rammed himself into her.

They didn't make love. They fucked; hard and savage. He ground against the raw, freshly tattooed skin, the novel pain mixing with the unbelievable pleasure. She screamed lustily as she came again and again.

She lost track of time; perhaps she had dozed, or even passed out. She realized that she was now longer tied to the bed.

She took off the blindfold and looked down. Covering her entire mons venus, was a stylized oriental lotus blossom, nearly as large as her hand, the two bottom petals drooping down and embracing each side of her aching pussy. The petals were violet and pink, and the flower seemed to glow from within with golden highlights. The vibrant design rose over half-way to her navel. And above that, even with her navel and a few inches to the left there was inscribed a curious, ornate Kanji around an inch in height.

He had signed her.

None of her panties or bikini bottoms would cover all of it; hell, it was going to poke out the top of most of her jeans.

He was sitting in a low armchair, studying her as she examined herself.

"Now, explain that to your husband..."