The dim glow of the tattoo parlor’s neon sign flickered against the rain-streaked windows, casting a sultry crimson hue over the black leather chairs. The air smelled of antiseptic and ink, thick with the hum of the needle gun and the low thrum of bass-heavy music pulsing from the speakers. Catherine sat first, her long legs crossed, her fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest. She wore a tight black tank top that clung to her perky tits, the fabric stretched thin over her hard nipples, and a pair of ripped denim shorts that left little to the imagination. Beside her, Elle shifted in her seat, her breath already shallow, her dark eyes locked onto Catherine’s with a mix of defiance and hunger.
Catherine didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to. The weight of her gaze was command enough. Her full lips curled into a slow, predatory smirk as she reached out, tracing a single finger down Elle’s collarbone, then lower, hooking under the hem of her cropped hoodie. “Lie down,” she ordered, her voice a velvet whip. “Face first. Let me see that pretty neck of yours.”
Elle swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering visibly beneath her pale skin, but she obeyed. She rose, her hips swaying just enough to tease, before bending over the padded tattoo table, her face pushed against the cold leather, her back and neck facing Catherine. Her long, blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, hiding the smooth expanse of her neck. Catherine tsked, stepping closer, her body radiating heat. “Pull it aside, slut,” she murmured, her breath hot against Elle’s ear. “I want to watch the needle sink into you.”
Elle’s fingers trembled as she gathered her hair, twisting it to one side, baring the delicate slope of her neck. Catherine’s eyes darkened, her own body thrumming with anticipation. She leaned in, her tits brushing against Elle’s back, the contact electric. The tattoo artist— her hair is kept in a tight, efficient butch crop—buzzed close at the sides, with a short, stubborn wave on top that refuses to bend for anyone. She dressed in worn black denim, steel-toed boots, and sleeveless work shirts that show off arms strong from decades of tattooing and heavier things before that, gave a knowing smirk, adjusted her gloves, the needle gun buzzing to life in her grip. “Where do you want it?” she asked, though her gaze flicked between the two women, sensing the current arcing between them.
Catherine didn’t look at her. Her focus was entirely on Elle, on the way her breath hitched, the way her back arched just slightly, as if begging for more. “Right here,” Catherine purred, pressing her thumb just below Elle’s ear, where the skin was softest. “A rose. Small. Delicate. Like her.” She dragged her nail down an inch, tracing the imaginary outline, and Elle shivered. “Start with the outline."
The artist didn’t hesitate. The needle touched Elle’s skin, and she gasped, her fingers clawing at the table as she stared at the leather. Catherine watched, mesmerized, as the first black line bloomed—sharp, precise, irreversible. The scent of ink and blood mingled in the air, heady and intoxicating. Elle’s breath came in short, sharp bursts, her body tensing with each pass of the needle. Catherine’s own skin prickled, her pussy growing damp as she imagined the sting, the permanent mark, the way Elle would wear her claim forever.
When the outline was done, Catherine didn’t wait for permission. She plucked the needle gun from the artist’s hand, her grip firm, her movements confident. “My turn,” she murmured, dipping the needle into the red ink. Elle whimpered as Catherine leaned in, her tits pressing flush against Elle’s back, her free hand sliding down to grip Elle’s hip, fingers digging in possessively. The first stroke of color was slower, deeper, the vibration of the gun sending ripples through both of them. Catherine worked methodically, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she filled in the petals, each one a dark, velvety crimson. Elle’s moans grew louder, needier, her body squirming under the dual assault of pain and pleasure.
By the time Catherine finished, her own skin was flushed, her shorts damp between her thighs. She set the gun down with a satisfied sigh, running her fingers over the fresh ink, smudging it just enough to make Elle hiss. “Perfect,” Catherine breathed, her voice rough with desire. “Now it’s my turn to wear your mark.”
Elle didn’t need to be told twice. She pushed up from the table, her eyes burning with retribution as she grabbed Catherine’s wrist and yanked her down. Catherine went willingly, sprawling across the leather, her tank top riding up to expose the smooth skin of her stomach. Elle turned her over and straddled her, her thighs squeezing Catherine’s waist as she leaned in, her breath hot against the back of Catherine’s neck. “Your turn to take it like a good little whore,” Elle whispered, her voice dripping with venom and lust.
The artist chuckled, reloading the gun with fresh ink, and she again drew the outline of a small rose. Elle took it from the artist, her hand steady despite the tremor in her body. The first touch of the needle made Catherine gasp; she gripped the table tightly, her knuckles white. “Fuck,” she hissed, but there was no protest in her voice, only hunger. Elle worked faster than Catherine had, her strokes bold, the rose blooming dark and vivid against Catherine’s pale skin. The pain was sharp, but beneath it, Catherine’s pussy throbbed, her clit swollen, her body aching for more.
When Elle finally pulled back, her chest heaving, Catherine didn’t give her a second to recover. In one swift motion, she grabbed the hem of Elle’s hoodie and tore, the fabric ripping clean down the middle, exposing Elle’s bare tits—small, perfect, her nipples already hard and begging for attention. Elle yelped, but Catherine was relentless. She shoved her down onto the table, pressing her back into the leather, then hooked her fingers into the waistband of Elle’s shorts and yanked them down, along with her lace thong, baring her ass and her glistening, dripping pussy.
“Look at you,” Catherine growled, her voice thick with arousal. “So fucking wet for me.”She didn’t wait for a response. She dropped to her knees, her hands gripping Elle’s thighs, spreading her wide before diving in, her tongue spearing deep into Elle’s soaked hole.
Elle cried out, her body jerking, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the table. Catherine fucked her with her tongue, relentless, her lips sealing around Elle’s clit before sucking hard, then releasing only to plunge back in. The room filled with the obscene sounds of sloppy, desperate eating—Elle’s whimpers, the wet smacks of Catherine’s mouth, the creak of the table beneath them. Elle’s thighs trembled, her orgasm coiling tight, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—!”
Catherine pulled back just enough to growl, “Not yet, you slut,” before latching onto Elle’s clit again, her fingers digging bruises into Elle’s hips.
Then the artist’s hand was there, gripping Elle’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger, rolling it roughly before pressing the needle to her flesh. The pierce was sudden, sharp—the sterile needle forcing its way through her nipple. Elle screamed, her back bowing off the table, her pussy flooding Catherine’s mouth as pain and pleasure collided in a white-hot explosion. Catherine groaned, drinking her down, her own body throbbing with need as Elle’s juices coated her chin, the needle stabbed through Elle’s other nipple.
Before Elle could recover, Catherine was on her feet, stripping off her tank top, her tits bouncing free, her nipples already swollen and aching. She shoved Elle onto her back, spreading her legs wide. “Your turn to earn it,” she panted, as she climbed onto the table and straddled her face.
Elle didn’t resist. She buried her face between Catherine’s thighs, her tongue lashing out, swiping up through her soaked folds before circling her clit. Catherine moaned, her head falling back as the artist moved in, her fingers pinching her nipple, the cold press of the needle following. The pierce burned, a searing sting that made her cry out, her hips bucking into Elle’s mouth. Elle took advantage, her tongue fucking Catherine’s pussy with brutal precision, her teeth grazing her clit just enough to make her whimper.
The second nipple was worse—sharper, deeper—but Catherine rode the pain, her body trembling as Elle’s fingers joined her tongue, two of them plunging inside her, curling against her G-spot. The dual sensations sent her spiraling, her orgasm crashing over her in a wave of heat and pressure. She came with a broken cry, her pussy clenching around Elle’s fingers, her cum dripping down Elle’s chin.
They collapsed together, breathless, their skin slick with sweat, their new piercings throbbing in time with their racing hearts. The artist wiped her hands, her pussy moist as she watched them, but neither woman cared. They were too lost in each other, in the filthy, perfect ruin they’d made of one another.
For now.
