There was a feeling inside me that was growing as we left the bar. It was like wafts of warm air carrying me along behind Ben and Jarvis, as if I were floating two feet above the ground. My skin was stretched taught like a balloon, and I was light as a feather inside, warm and full of joy and very free. My clothes were gone but Jarvis had fitted me with a pink dog collar and a leash made of red leather, and Ben held the end of my leash like a child holding the string of a balloon, as if to keep me from floating into the starry night sky.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" Asked Ben, and I realized that I did indeed have to go. So as Ben and Jarvis watched I squatted down in front of Tito's Bar and peed in the grass. Ben looked down impassively as Jarvis chuckled.
Tito's Bar was not in the middle of town exactly, but it was near an intersection with a few other storefronts and office buildings, and the corner was fairly well-lit. When the light changed I followed the two men across the street, happily aware that I was bare naked and covered with intimate bruises. The myriad tack punctures had stopped bleeding, but their marks covered my bottom and thighs, and also my pubic mound. Even from a distance one could discern hundreds of swollen bumps that looked like large mosquito bites. And the cheeks of both my behind and my face were still bright red from Ben's lengthy and severe hand spanking.
It must have been three in the morning, and only one car passed us as we walked down the street and into a tiny strip mall. There was only one business with any lights on: Papa Murphy's Tattoo. The sign was green and gold above the door, but a red neon heart glowed more prominently in the window, like one of those traditional tattoos a sailor might wear on their upper arm. "Sorry Mom" it read in glowing letters. I was still floating, but now I was thinking about my mom and dad.
They had always been vehemently against me ever getting a tattoo, and although I went through a rebellious phase as a teenager, by the time I was old enough to make my own decisions I had bought into the idea that my skin was better unmarred. I had come to look at tattoos as trashy rather than cool.
A little bell rang as Jarvis opened the door and Ben strode inside, me following on my lead. An older gentleman with a long, braided beard greeted us warmly. He had been waiting for us to arrive.
"We've decided on a few," announced Ben after greetings had been exchanged. He winked at Jarvis.
"We better take care of this in the back," said the bearded man.
Down a narrow hallway was a room without windows. Aside from the large chair and small sink, the room was bare and drab, very different from the main room in front which had been filled with framed pictures of colorful tattoos. The four of us could barely fit, until I was directed to sit down in the chair, which turned out to be a gynecological exam table. It had stirrups and leg rests that could be spread wide. "Can you give her the shot?" Asked Ben.
The bearded man approached with a latex strap and tied it around my upper arm. "Make a fist," he said, and a huge wave of adrenaline pumped through me, making my teeth chatter as I realized I was about to be drugged. All the same I made a fist as instructed and took the shot, which made me feel very, very good for a moment before everything went black.
----
I woke up back home, on our plush couch facing the fireplace, the same one where I had burned my entire wardrobe literally the morning before. It was broad daylight, and sunshine was streaming in through the west windows, which meant it was past noon. I didn't feel terrible, and was surprised I was not more hungover from the drugs and exhaustion, but I realized I had probably slept fifteen hours, and that not all drugs have hangovers the way alcohol does. I had to pee.
As I rose and stumbled into the bathroom I caught a glimpse of Ben and Jarvis out on the deck playing cards and smoking cigarettes. I was puzzled to see Ben with a cigarette, because I had never known him to smoke in his life! They were also drinking gin, which was odd because while Ben was a fan of single malt whiskey, I had never known him to drink gin. In fact, I had never seen Ben spending so much time with a male friend before. Suddenly Ben and Jarvis had become inseparable, which aside from everything else struck me as a fairly odd match.
I peed, then stood in front of the full length mirror on our bathroom door to see the damage. I was indeed bruised and scraped up, but it looked like the men had cleaned me, and my myriad thumbtack punctures had been covered with occlusive bandages. All except my pussy, which was exposed, and it looked like they had been fucking me in my sleep.
But then there were the tattoos.
I didn't know how to feel about them. Even after everything I had been through, and even after the strange revelations I had experienced while being spanked, these tattoos still made me very uncomfortable.
Ben and Jarvis had instructed the tattoo man to write on me, in irremovable black ink. And the first tattoo was in the center of my forehead.
