The Tattoo Convention Ch. 01

She was waiting bound to a pole. Her back was arched, her long black hair flowing over her shoulders and hiding her piercing green eyes. Her hands were handcuffed and tied to the pole at such a low level that she was forced to bow down. Her derriere was suspended in the air, held up by a silky linen wrapped tightly around her waist and fixed in the ceiling. Her slender legs were trembling as she was standing on her toes, trying to find her delicate balance. Her long legs were secured by a solid bar connecting her two ankles and spreading her open ever so slightly. She was stark naked, her skin glistening with the sweat of her ordeal. Her ass stuck high in the air, her pussy lips clearly visible in the doggy style position she was forced into.

Her red lips were spread apart by a spider gag, keeping her mouth wide open and ready for all kind of insertions. She was sporting a harness lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. The leather straps were bound around her shoulder and her slim waist, accentuating her ribcage and allowing her firm breasts to proudly stand free.

On the final day of the tattoo convention, she was broke as always and unusually horny. Despite not having a single tattoo, she loved tattoo conventions with their flair of the risky and wild. Her almond skin was virgin territory, untouched and clean shaven from shoulder to toe. The naughty thought which had led her to this moment had grown and formed in her head throughout the convention. She loved to browse the different designs on display and imagining how these would look on her model body. She had no money to pay for it but a body that every tattoo artist present had been dying to get a hand or a needle on. She had received advances, queries and pleas whenever she walked through the exhibition area, past the buzzing needles and temporary tattoo studios. The tattoo artists recognised a good canvas when they saw one and had been dying to leave their marks on her slender body.

Eventually, she had succumbed to her desires. This was her day. She had arranged for a setting in which her split-second doubts wouldn't be able to challenge the decision she had taken. Her resolve was firm. She wanted to be marked, beautified - a canvas for some of the best tattoo artists of the country. She ached to be transformed from what everybody claimed to be a rare natural beauty to a wild and sexy femme fatale.

She had signed a release form and was awaiting patiently and growing anticipation between her legs what was coming. The document she had signed was a consent form giving a selected twelve tattoo artists free reign over her body and the freedom to place one tattoo on her virgin skin. They could freely choose the placement, the size and the design. When she had signed the form, she had shortly considered imposing restrictions on the placement or size of the tattoos but just the thought of giving up control and being subjected to another man's will got her pussy tingling. She knew that the tattoo artists that would get to work on her were absolute professionals. Usually, the costs of their designs went into the thousands. In exchange for the free tattoos, she had agreed with the organiser of the convention that the act of the inking could be documented with pictures and video. Negotiating with her, the organisers had pushed her further and deeper into the situation she found herself in now: bound and naked on the floor, dressed only in a few fetish accessories and officially available to be used throughout the tattooing.

The organisers had called their latter condition "an in-kind donation". She usually didn't have sex in public. Her upbringing had been liberal but still more conservative than that. Exhibitionism had never been part of her family's values. However, she was no stranger to modelling, occasionally flaunting her assets in sexy lingerie in front of a camera. She loved the warmth of the studio lights on her naked skin, the thrill of hearing the clicks of a camera while posing revealingly for the photographer. She liked her body, and so did the industry - her agent used to tell her that clients booked her because of her long legs, an unusually sexy hip bone and flat stomach, firm and perky boobs that were the perfect size for her slim figure and a face to die for - cute and innocent yet with a look that oozed the certain sex appeal of a woman who is more confident and adventurous than you'd think.

She knew her tattoo escapade was a risky move. Giving up control and allowing twelve men to decide how she would eventually look like could be construed as a recipe for disaster. It had every potential to ruin her modelling career. Her agent didn't know about it and surely wouldn't have approved. However, she hoped her way of obtaining the tattoos would set her up to be as one of the prime tattoo models, complete with a genesis story that was naughty and captured the imagination. She counted on the fact that men were at heart dirty, depraved creatures that longed for stories of women willing to submit and be owned.

Allowing herself to be bound naked in such a vulnerable position also had a very personal motivation. She knew that she would otherwise never decide to do what she was about to do and was afraid to chicken out halfway through. Deep inside, though, it was a very simple, almost carnal motivation: The thought of giving up this level of control excited her beyond measure. Awaiting the tattoo artists in her exposed position made her feel incredibly naughty. She wanted, needed, desired so badly what was about to conspire.

It didn't take long for the twelve tattoo artists to queue up, ready to do their bit. Word had spread quickly that there had been a reason for the unusual sighting of a beauty at the convention that was completely free of a tattoo. When the organisers revealed the conditions of the trade, they had been able to choose from the best of the tattoo artists. There had not been a single man among the professionals who had not been willing to engage in this unusual set up.

She was trembling at the thought of all these alien hands on her body, aroused by the thought of the needles hitting her skin, biting deeply into her and leaving marks of possession and submission. Cameras had been set up to capture the action from every angle. The organisers quickly summarised the terms of the trade to the camera:

"You are about to witness a very rare occasion. Being me you see Chloe, last year's Miss New York and accomplished lingerie model. She has submitted to the following conditions: Twelve tattoo artists are free to leave their mark on her untouched body, with tattoos of their choosing no matter the size, design, meaning or placement During the entire duration of the tattoo process, any of the artists has the right to use her in any way he pleases in exchange of the free tattoo. Given that they usually charge thousands for their design, it only seems to be a fair concession on behalf of Chloe. Chloe will not waiver in her commitment to be a canvas and fucktoy until the process is concluded or otherwise has to pay up for the tattoos she is receiving. The total value of the tattoos will be, depending on the size, around 15,000 and 80,000 bucks."

Chloe, upon hearing the recounting of the conditions she had agreed to, started to shiver. What a crazy, sinful adventure she was about to embark on... She had barely finished the thought when she felt a hard smack on her ass, causing her to quiver and squeak. The first man had approached her, leant down to whisper into her ear: "sweetie, you will be marked so badly by us. You won't be the same person after today. Mind you, there is no way back from the kind of depravity you are sinking into today." She couldn't help but smile. Deep inside, that's what she wanted. It was time for this change. It was time to become the bad girl she longed to be.

All of sudden someone put a blindfold on her eyes. It came out of nowhere and was so unexpected, she started to scream out loud. "That wasn't what I agreed to! Take it off, bastard, take if off!" But it was too late. She was helplessly bound to the pole, with no ability to challenge what happened to her. A strong, manly voice laughed in front of her: "Well, my little slut, fucktoy is fucktoy. No need for you to see, really, is there?" She started to feel big hands grabbing her, fondling her ass and holding her waist, seizing up the size of her boobs and flicking playfully along her pussy and asshole. "Oh, she thought, this is going to be rougher than I had signed up for..."

The next two hours turned into a test of apprehension, patience and endurance. One by one, the men approached her with their favourite pencils to leave the designs on her body. Every one of them enjoyed the opportunity to start touching her. While some of them were more timid and just caressed her while they worked on their designs, others were not as kind. She was slapped hard on ass, pussy and face. Her boobs were squeezed, and not only one of them took his chance to insert a finger or three into her holes. One of them forced his fingers past her spider gag deep into her throat, while another pushed three fingers brutally and hard into her shaven pussy.

At one point, her long, black hair was pulled. Her head was pushed roughly onto a hard surface and she heard the sound of an electric razor. She started to panic. Fear took over her body. While she had so far endured her treatment with a mixture of pain, pleasure and joy, a realisation now dawned on her. She had not given any limits. Her face was fair play and so was every other part of her body. She might end up with a face completely covered in ink or some sort of lewd message on a very visible part of her body. And by the sound of it, someone planned to shave her head! Her fear seemed illogical and wrong but this possibility send her over the edge. She loved her long, silky hair! She had grown it out for such a long while, and she loved how men adored her black locks. She tried to tell herself that this should be the last of her worries, that hair grows back and that shaving was reversible in opposite to all the tattoos she was about to receive. But it got to her so much that she started to scream and curse loudly. Her protest was met with an indifferent sigh on behalf of the tattoo artist with the razor. "Darling, you signed the form, this is going to happen, like it or not." Within the minute, her first lock fell and she felt the cold razor laying the left side of her head bare. Stroke by stroke, she received an undercut and was shaved bald on one side. The moment she realised she wouldn't be completely bald she relaxed a bit, albeit hesitantly. It still wasn't what she thought she had signed up for.

All the while, she felt the sharp endings of pencils all over her body. Somebody traced a few letters on the back of her upper legs, someone else seemed to draw lines, flowers or some other geometric forms down her entire legs. She felt an elaborate sleeve tattoo being developed on her left arm and something running down her spine, as well as someone working on her ribcage. Once the shaving was completed, one of the men started drawing a tattoo on her skull and to her horror she also felt how another two left marks on her face: one small one on the cheekbone below her right eye and another tracing along the left chin. It felt like letters to her, which confirmed her worst fears.

While she was contemplating her options, silently wondering if she shouldn't bail out, she felt a jolt of pleasure running through her body: one of the men had just spread her asscheeks wide apart and inserted some sort of a plug. She immediately started to feel waves of pleasure overtaking her. She had always been sensitive there and loved to be touched, licked and fucked in her ass. Today was no different, and she felt the sensation even more intensely in her aroused, blindfolded and helpless stage. She felt how the man traced the outlines of the plug with his pen and how he started to add some sort of intricate design or lettering around the circle. She shivered with apprehension and deeply felt appreciation. Someone knew who she was without actually knowing her.

According to her count, the people manhandling her had by now designed nine tattoos for her. She felt weak in her knees, feeling a bit light-headed and generally overwhelmed by her emotions. There had not been a single needle sunk into her skin and she already felt like the day had been long and torturous, yet exciting and daringly hot. She felt the taxing impact of being bound for such a long time to a pole, with handcuffs and a spider gag between her teeth. Her jaw ached and her mouth felt dry, having been kept open for such a long time. Her back somewhat hurt from being bend over in a very inviting position. Someone said: "Let's take a break, good work so far!"

Chloe relaxed, thinking she would have a few moments to compose herself. All of sudden, she felt a splash and a gooey substance smeared in her face. A few drops at first, followed by two major shots right on her nose, eye and lips. That was another break than she had thought! She couldn't help smiling. Anticipation had built up for over two hours now, she had waited in her vulnerable position for so long for this first sexual act. She barely had time to breath and taste what one of the men had left on her face before she felt how the party got started. Two strong hands grabbed her slim waist and with one quick, brutal push a cock was inserted into her dropping wet pussy. Hard, long strokes started to consume her while another cock was shoved between her lips. It didn't take long for the two men to find a rhythm whereby she was pushed forward by the strong man taking her doggystyle onto the cock of the man standing in front of her. In wave-like motions, she was forced forward and pulled down on the rigid hardon of the guy abusing her mouth. It took her a moment to adjust to the challenge of finding a moment to breathe in between the deep throating and the hard fucking. She found herself gagging on what turned out to be quite a sizeable man, finding it difficult to adjust her jawbones under the restraints of her spider gag.

She loved the sensation of being subjected to men she had never seen before or couldn't identify even if she wanted. She got aroused more and more by the intense feelings overcoming her with every push and every stroke of the cocks inside her. She enjoyed thoroughly to not be in control and to be handled with such passion and desire. Someone pulled the plug out of her ass with an audible blop and a highly intensive frequence of cocks followed. She was fucked hard and softly, taken while smacked and hit as well as caressed and kissed. Cocks came and went, here were different sizes, big and small, thick and narrow. She lost count, whimpering and crying out of joy and lust. It went on for at least an hour, and as she was drenched in cum on her body, her face, and in all three of her orifices she relaxed considerably to the point of almost passing out.

When all was over and the last man had disengaged his unusually large cock from her twitching asshole, she would have collapsed right there and then if it hadn't been for the ropes holding her in place. She nearly lost conscience and barely recognised how someone loosened the grip, opened her handcuffs and removed the bar between her legs, the spider gag and the linen around her waist. She recognised almost subconsciously how she was carried on to a table, feeling the sensation of the cold leather on her sweaty, naked skin. Someone wiped away the worst traces of cum on places that were to be tattooed and she was fixed on the table with the help of some cuffs on ankles and wrists.

She was in a heavenly state, relaxed, composed and swept over and over by the orgasms past. She sighed, given in to her destiny and awaited the first ink to be pushed under her skin. And so it happened. Chloe was in and out of conscience, passing out due to exhaustion, dehydration and pain at times, while being brought back to conscience by some of the more painful works and itches. By the time the tattoos were done, hours had passed. When the last of the first nine tattoo artists were done, Chloe's previously innocent body was plastered all over with some of the most elaborate, intricate tattoos the convention had seen so far.

Both of her legs featured a design that resembled the seam of a stocking running up the back of her calve and up to the upper leg. The seam was surrounded by small butterflies departing from the thin line running up her curves, ending up in ribbon half way down her upper leg. The ribbons on each of the leg highlighted one word each. On the left leg, it read "slut" and on the right "angel". Her asshole was surrounded by a small stylised rosary and circling around it the words "always take his hole first". All along her spine, small geometric forms danced up and down her back. The right ribcage was tattooed with a sequence of Israeli words that were almost too small to decipher but essentially were words of submission. Her entire left arm from shoulder to wrist was covered in a massive sleeve tattoo, complete with shining bright colours and modern geographic takes on animals. Her skull had been tattooed with a sequence of white lines, resembling a tribal tattoo, whereas the tattoo on her chin was not discernible. As Chloe would find out later during an evening taking a surprising turn, it was tattooed with a special sort of ink that only became visible under the fluorescent light usually found in discos and bars. It read, starting from her chin and going up to her ear: "depravity in eternity". Below her left eye just below the blindfold, there was a small butterfly in black that looked like it was about to depart from the cheek bone and fly away.

Chloe woke up from her confused state of subdued pleasure and pain when two strong men lifted her up to turn her on her back. She still couldn't see through the blindfold but became acutely aware of the fresh air on her naked body. It had been eight hours of preparation, drawing, fucking and tattooing already and she felt the toll this experience took on her body. Her breath was shallow as her bust was heaving up and down. Her freshly tattooed arm radiated a numb, continuous pain. Her ribcage felt incredibly sore, with a pain as if needles were still penetrating the skin that so closely hugged her bones.

She felt relieved, believing it was over and got ready to sit up when she was pushed back by four men who held her arms and legs and fixed her on the table again, eagle-wide spread...