The back room was well-lit... not at all how she pictured a "back room" to be. She had envisioned a skanky, dim, cold hovel of a room, perhaps with a single low-wattage bulb dangling from the ceiling. But she was soothed, at least somewhat, by the simple, clean décor. The chair on which she was reclined was similar to one that could be found in any dentist's office; cream-coloured, faux leather with armrests and a head prop. At least the atmosphere provided a sense of sterility similar to that of a dentist's. The materials and tools around her seemed legitimate and in good condition - all positive signs.
The man, on the other hand, terrified her more than any dentist ever had. When she had walked through the front door, he hadn't even raised his eyes from his copy of American Rider. Instead, he continued to lean over the countertop; with his beefy arms crossed in front of him, his ripped tee displayed his prominent full-sleeve tattoos. His eyes pored over the pages while he slowly gnawed a toothpick, rolled it back and forth from one side of his mouth to the other. It wasn't until she actually began speaking that he finally dragged his eyes up from the magazine. The fact that those eyes never really pulled themselves up any higher than her breasts did little to reassure her that she was doing the right thing by coming here. Nevertheless, she had quite willingly agreed to go through with it. And here, then, she sat.
She had been hesitant, of course, to reveal the details of what she was to have done. And yet, she knew it was ludicrous to try to sugarcoat it. When she had finally said the words, provided the description, the man had almost snickered at her, and she felt her cheeks burn hotly as his eyes once again took in her breasts. She re-adjusted the purse on her shoulder more as a way of covering his view than for any other reason. He had directed her to the back room and said he would be with her shortly. She had mumbled a thank you, grateful to be away from his gaze for a few minutes, and carefully slipped her way past him to the indicated room. She needed this time to steel herself for what she was about to do.
After a few minutes of scanning the room and listening to the pounding of her own heart, the man reappeared and gave her another cursory glance, again from the neck down. She watched carefully as he silently went about his preparatory tasks; getting the ink cup ready (only one colour needed for this one), unpacking the needle, snapping on the fresh pair of pale blue latex gloves. Yes, the man was intimidating, but at least she could be certain of the safety of his procedures.
"So... um... is this going to hurt much?" she managed to squeeze the words from her tight chest.
"I can't say, little girl," he sniggered, here, at what seemed to be his own private joke, and she didn't care for his tone or this childish reference to her.
"You'll probably feel some stinging... some poking. But hey; you probably like those things, huh?"
Again he laughed under his breath, and again she felt the pounding of her heart and the accompanying embarrassment. It was part of what she'd agreed to, though. She had been told that there was to be some humiliation with this task; it was the nature of the piece of art that was to adorn her body.
She ignored his comment and sat up a little straighter in the chair. The broad length of paper covering it crinkled beneath her, underlining her discomfort. The man spoke again.
"Alright then, are we about ready? I know I am." He raised his gloved hands and wriggled his fingers, magician-like, complete with false smile. She nodded with equally false self-assuredness.
"Okey doke. You're just gonna hafta hike that skirt right up for me, now. I've got this template all ready to go so's you can see what it's gonna look like before I actually ink it."
She reached down, doing her best to seem comfortable with the fact that she was now lifting her skirt up above her panties for a complete stranger. She was thankful she'd gone with the full panties that morning.
"And I'm just going to pull those little panties of yours down a bit, so's we can get this right where you and him both want it. Right above your little pussy, isn't that where you said? Right over it?" He snickered again.
"Above it, yes." She had no desire to repeat that word "pussy" to this man.
When he peeled the stencil away, and told her to look down and check, she was taken aback. It was there. A label. She was about to have something done to her that would be, more or less, irreversible. That one word would serve, to anyone viewing it, as a symbol of all the need within her.
TOY
If she had been able to remove her eyes from the elaborately sketched letters on her mound, she would have noticed that the man had finally removed his own from her tits. He was staring, now, at her eyes. He was drinking in the realization that was so guiltily displayed in hers.
"So?
She bit her bottom lip and nodded once, still not raising her eyes. The man growled out a laugh and set himself to work.
"Alrighty then, little girl. Here we go. You best be careful not to move, now. We're working with a pretty sensitive area, here, and all."
