The Dilemma
As the tattooist's needle pierced my delicate skin and the painful process of inscribing the company logo above my bare pussy proceeded, I began to think again of all the chaos I'd recently caused. Derrick's bankruptcy and impending incarceration, the rapes of Carla and Amber, and the anguish that awaits my husband. I knew too what awaits me, the same fate that Belinda, my predecessor met. She would be sold, she was informed, but Mr. Stanford also gave her permission to take her own life, an option she accepted gratefully. But how had I come to this? How had I, a young and innocent bride until just eighteen months ago, come to be lying naked on a table about to be indelibly marked as "company property"? How had I, a unworldly, naïve, Christian girl, agreed to have my ass branded with Mr. Damon's and Mr. Compton's initials and so readily accepted my status.
I don't know how I managed to get myself in this terrible fix. A mere year ago, I was a twenty-one-year-old, faithful wife. And only yesterday, I was sitting nude on the couch in Mr. Damon's office listening distractedly to him describing my present condition. Suddenly, I heard him abruptly stop talking and point suddenly at me. Looking down, I realize that I'd unconsciously crossed my legs. I instantly uncrossed them. I've been told many times that in Mr. Damon's or Mr. Compton's presence my legs are always to be open and accessible. Mr. Damon just shook his head in frustration at my stupidity, and continued on. I hadn't been listening, but I paid attention now.
"As you know, Chloe," Mr. Damon resumed, "Chuck and I have been discussing how we want you marked now for some time, and we've decided to move ahead. This weekend, a tattooist I've hired will come here and mark the area directly above your cunt with our logo, and just below that he'll inscribe 'Exclusive property of First Capital Investments, Inc.' On the following weekend, we'll both brand our initials into your ass. Do you have any questions?"
Though I knew this was coming, I couldn't really comprehend it. My attention was oddly captured by a tiny drop of cum glistening on my breast. It must have fallen there while I was cleaning Mr. Damon's cock. I absently mindedly wiped it and placed it dutifully in my mouth.
So I'm to be permanently marked as private property. How will I ever explain that to my husband? Maybe I never will. I know I'm going to be told to leave him, anyway, so what does it ultimately matter.
"No, sir," I answered. "I don't have any questions. "I suppose it will hurt a lot, won't it."
"Yes, I suppose it will," Mr. Damon answered sympathetically, "especially the branding. But you need to marked, Chloe. Both Mr. Compton and I agree on that, as does Mr. Stanford. I assume we have your consent."
"Yes," I haltingly said. "It's just that it will be hard to explain."
The pain of the needle inking my tender pussy suddenly made me begin to think about all that had led me to this tattoo parlor and the end of what little freedom I had left.
The Beginning of Something
Joey and I had been together since I was a freshman in high school and he a junior. We were never an "item." Neither of us was popular enough for that designation, but that's probably why we were always so close. I had been raised in a very strict and very Christian family, so I never was allowed to dress in any way that was fashionable. In my family, everything fashionable was "sinful," anything that would show any hint of my burgeoning body was "moral turpitude." I was frightened of sex, and the natural inclinations of a budding young woman that emerged at night in erotic dreams and longings paralyzed me the next morning. The pull of hormones tugging at my protective veil of Christian piety turned me into a reclusive young girl terrified of the changes her body and mind were going through.
Joey, though smart, was simply skinny and awkward and attracted no attention whatsoever. But I liked him. He was shy enough to never press me for sex and observant enough to notice the changes going on. We sort of became our own society and built a pretty strong bond. He was my only boyfriend, and I assumed that would always be the case, so upon my graduation, marriage seemed an easy and seamless step. We married shortly after I graduated. I was barely eighteen. Joey was twenty one.
Joey had gotten a job at a garage downtown shortly after his own graduation. He'd always been very good with his hands and automobile mechanics seemed to come naturally to him, so he did very well very early on. Unfortunately, he didn't make enough money for me to pursue my dream of a college degree in English literature, so I found work as a receptionist at a stock brokerage firm in town with hours flexible enough for me to take some early afternoon and evening classes at the local college.
I'd always done well in high school, especially in my English classes, where the romance of books could shield me from the drabness of the real world I lived in, and my English teachers, most notably Mr. Barnes, all took an avid interest in my education. I say Mr. Barnes most notably because he alone also seemed to take notice of me as a woman, a "blossoming" woman, as he would sometimes put it. It was terribly flattering, exhilarating actually, to be noticed the way he noticed my changes.
I truly was blossoming. My body began to change most dramatically in my sophomore year when Mr. Barnes first met me, and by my senior year, when I enrolled in his honors lit class, I knew, even if no one else did, that I had a fabulous body. It embarrasses me now to think of the hours I spent in front of the mirror admiring the new fullness of my breasts, the waspish size of my waist, and the full and erotic curve of my hips or the hours afterwards when I would reprimand myself for my hideous depravity. My breasts were probably a little too large for my frame, but it really didn't matter because I was also painfully shy from early years of being "plain" and so intrinsically fearful of "damnation" as well, that in public, I took pains to cover up all of this "blossom" that only Mr. Barnes appeared to see.
After graduation, life began to change pretty remarkably. More and more people began to take notice of me and to remark on my appearance, some of it nice, some of it creepy. On countless occasions, I noticed men following me around the supermarket and not infrequently at the local mall, too. I was still quite shy about all this obvious attention and quite certain that the temptation I felt to flaunt my body was the work of the devil, but I was also oddly flattered and exhilarated at the same time. I even found myself occasionally giving in to the devil's temptation and "posing" for some of the guys I knew were checking me out, and then feeling ashamed moments later when I'd remind myself that I was now a newly married woman. But I had to admit more and more that I enjoyed being looked at.
Later that summer, I had my hair cut into the more flattering shape my hair dresser had been recommending and let him colored it a much lighter shade of blonde than my natural ash. The hair style and color proved perfect, complementing my face, drawing attention to the fullness of my lips, and emphasizing what I'd always thought to be one of my better features, the deep hazel hue my eyes,. With Joey's encouragement, I bought a new and more flattering wardrobe. Skirts a little shorter and tighter, sweaters a bit clingier and lower cut, and an attitude a little less meek and retiring, but by no means arrogant or showy. A different woman was emerging from her chrysalis.
A Trip to the Mall
It's interesting, now that I think back on it, how important to our future one afternoon and one outfit became to the new me. And to the new "us."
It was a warm early spring afternoon the following year. I was lounging around the apartment in sheer tights and a light sweater when Joey asked me to run over to Sears at the mall with him to get some tool he needed for work. I said, sure, but I needed to change first.
"Nah, come on. You look fine. It's only Sears," he said distractedly.
"I don't have anything on under this, Joey. Don't you think I should at least put on a bra?"
"Nobody will know. Come on," he said, seemingly exacerbated at my reluctance.
"Okay," I said, suddenly feeling a very unfamiliar but erotic sensation. I'd never been out of the house without a bra. Regardless of what Joey might think, sans bra, my boobs were certainly going to be noticed in this outfit! And for some sudden and inexplicable reason the whole idea seemed exciting! I wanted my boobs to be noticed! "Let me grab my shoes," I said, trying to tamp down my rising excitement.
The first shoes I came to were totally inappropriate—four inch, black stiletto pumps I'd bought for the senior prom last year. And that's what I picked.
I threw on a little wind breaker and ran out to the car where Joey was waiting. He gave me the strangest stare, and his "Ready to go?" had an odd excitement to it. A sort of sexual tension that I immediately got caught up in as well. Maybe he wasn't so "distracted" as I thought. We rode to the mall in a strange silence, tinged with what I could only sense was sexual stimulation mixed with anxiety.
As we got out of the car at the mall, Joey suggested I leave the jacket in the car. I hesitated a second, afraid that Joey would be embarrassed by what he would now clearly see was my almost blatant nakedness beneath my tights and sweater, but I did as he asked. Neither of us said a word as we walked to the mall entrance, but I could see Joey stealing surreptitious glances at my boobs bouncing tantalizingly under the tight sweater as I walked in those totally inappropriate but sexy little pumps. I should have blushed, but instead I was as keyed up as I'd ever been.
In the mall, it was apparent that not only Joey was watching and admiring the body walking beside him. I thought he'd surely see the commotion I was causing and be uncomfortable or self-conscious, but he didn't seem to be. In fact, he seemed to be suddenly quite possessive, as if he wanted everyone to see that the little "sexpot" next to him belonged to him. I could sense his heart beating faster. I was puzzled, but interested, too. This seemed so unlike him.
