Author's note: This story follows the events of several other stories I've written. It can be read as a standalone installment but makes a lot of references to some of my earlier stories. If you want know more about my falling out with my father or how I lost my virginity to my friend's older brother (Cam), check out Like Father, Like Daughter. If you want to know more about how my boss (Magnus) subsequently took advantage of me, read Lola's Summer at the Club. If you want to know how my first boyfriend lost me to an older ex-marine (Grant), read Lola's First Boyfriend.
Or if you want to learn how I became a bonafide cocktease during my freshman year of college, just keep reading.
Hugs,
Lola
—
After Grant successfully used his huge cock to drive a wedge between me and my first college boyfriend, that relationship fell apart pretty quickly. As far as I know, Tad never found out that on the night we were meant to celebrate his birthday, I ended up in an off-campus apartment getting savagely double-teamed by a pair of monster-cock ex-marines. Instead, Tad thought he was responsible for our breakup, believing he had lost me when he'd overplayed his hand in pursuit of a threesome with me and my roommate. He was half-right, of course, as his big mouth and clumsy bid for a threesome drove me into Grant's stronger, more skillful arms. And once Grant had me in his clutches, he and his friend took full advantage of their opportunity, pounding me with such shameless contempt for my boyfriend that I could never look at him the same way again.
I know Tad mourned his loss, as one rueful encounter at the campus center made painfully obvious. His face was painted with longing and his words dripped with desire as he commented on my new hair color and asked if I had a new boyfriend. I was tempted to tease him, but there was no need, as he knew from experience the kind of pleasure my body could provide. With my alluring half-Asian features, unusually big boobs, and fit, tan tennis figure, I was practically built for male sexual gratification. In our brief time together, Tad had barely scratched the surface of what my body had to offer, yet he had enjoyed the privilege just enough to know what he was missing.
Tad didn't realize it, but he could thank Grant for the new blonde look he liked so much. Many of the dominant men I've been with over the years have enjoyed marking their territory by molding my appearance in one way or another. To the alpha male, this act can serve at least three different purposes: first, it reaffirms that they have control over me, even when they aren't physically present. Second, it allows them to model me on their particular kinks, the better to act out their specific sexual fantasies. Third, it signals to other men that I am claimed, which can serve as a deterrent against potential interlopers. (Incidentally, I've found that this last purpose backfires more often than not. If a beta male perceives that I am taken, he will likely stand down, but most alpha males regard this as a worthy challenge. So when men try to brand me as their own, they may repel the minnows but attract the sharks.)
Every dominant man makes his quarry in different ways, but some forms of branding are more common than others. For example, lots of guys will buy you clothes because they want you to dress in a certain way. Some guys want me to dress slutty, wearing halters or crop tops, cutoff shorts or miniskirts that expose as much of my body as possible. These are men who want to degrade me and show me off at the same time. They like dressing me in a way that attracts attention from other men because it gives them an opportunity to put their dominance on display. After all, being dominant over a hot piece of ass is nice, but if the other men in the room all want to fuck her, you can extend your dominance by denying them what they want. The only thing alpha males like more than being dominant over a woman is using her to dominate other men.
But not every guy wants you to dress like a slut. Some guys will dress you more conservatively because it turns them on to hide your body from the rest of the world. It's like putting up a privacy fence around your mansion: it says, let them wonder about the majesty of what lies on the other side, for they will never have the chance to satisfy their curiosity. Still other guys like to dress you classy, and they'll buy you jewelry or clingy, expensive dresses that hug your curves. Lots of guys will buy you lingerie: it's a pretty obvious choice, because it's sexy and discreet, and ostensibly they are the only ones who get to enjoy you in it. Lingerie is also a good gift because it primes you for sex. On the day he finally fucked me after months of careful seduction, my former boss Magnus left a box of sexy underwear in my locker at the country club where we worked. The gift was anonymous, so I didn't know who was in pursuit, but it primed me for sex by telegraphing that someone at the club was trying to fuck me.
But even among alpha males, Grant was especially brazen in how he branded me. On the first night we met, while my boyfriend was passed out in the other room, Grant had inked a suggestive henna tattoo on my back, explicitly marking me as a target before he had any right to claim me. Then, when Tad overplayed his hand and drove me back to Grant, he inked me a second time, instructing his friend to mark me with the words 'TWO COCK SLUT' while he held me hostage, his massive cock rooted inside me.
Yet these shameful henna tattoos weren't enough for Grant. He insisted on two other forms of branding, one of which was meant for the world to see, while the other was mainly for us to enjoy.
For the former, Grant wanted me to dye my hair blonde. This may not seem like a big deal, but although I grew up in the US with mixed parents, my Korean mom was fairly conservative about things like this. I wasn't allowed to dye my hair in high school, so when I met Grant as a freshman in college, I'd never done anything like that before.
But dying me blonde was an important part of Grant's fantasy for me. When he was stationed in Korea during his time in the Marine Corps, many of the local girls who came to drink at bars near the base were dyed blonde. Among the marines, blonde hair was viewed as an unofficial invitation, a subtle signal that a girl was open to American guys. Grant and his buddies started taking this further: when they slept with a Korean girl who had natural black hair, they would send her home with a bottle of blonde hair dye and instructions to use it. Pretty soon, blonde hair became a sign on the base of Korean girls who had already been broken in by American dick, so much so that there was slang term for these girls: "bleach bunnies." Grant and his friends had an informal competition to see who could "bleach" the most bunnies during their deployment.
Of course, there weren't any "bleach bunnies" in Los Angeles, but there was still a kind of informal connotation associated with blonde Asian girls in the bars and clubs around LA's Koreatown. If you've ever spent time in LA, you're probably familiar with the concept of the Asian Baby Girl, sometimes abbreviated as ABG. You can Google it, but basically, an ABG is a young Asian girl who rejects the conservative norms associated with Asian society and embraces the more liberal ones of American youth culture. These norms often include drinking, drugs, and casual sex, especially though not exclusively with white guys. There are lots of things that can visually identify an Asian girl as an ABG, and nobody agrees on all of them, but things like heavy makeup, tattoos, piercings, fake boobs, slutty clothes, and dyed blonde hair are among the more stereotypical.
Because of all this, Grant was deeply invested in "bleaching" me. Partly, it was an inside joke for him and his fellow marines to enjoy, but he also got off on the idea that he was turning me into an ABG. He liked talking about how blonde hair would make me even more of a magnet for white guys, that combined with my Asian looks and big tits, I wouldn't be able to walk down the street in LA without attracting the male gaze. That might not appeal to everyone, but since Grant never had any intention of being my boyfriend, the idea just turned him on. While he reveled in his ability to control me, he wasn't jealous or possessive in any conventional way. To Grant, I'd become a share-slut the first night that he and his friend had double-teamed me, so why not make me the hottest share-slut I could possibly be?
Dying my hair blonde was the first step in Grant's branding process, the one that was meant to be seen and enjoyed by all. The second step—the one that was just for us—was a real tattoo. At first, I balked hard at this. Grant had inked me twice with the henna, and both times, the tattoos were large and explicit, easy-to-interpret symbols of what a slut I was. Even though the henna tattoos he'd given me were kind of hot in private, if I got a real tattoo like that, I'd never be able to wear a bikini again.
