by River Day
“You sure you don’t want that to say ‘fuck’ instead, little girl?” asked the tattoo artist.
I hated that he called me that. I was nineteen, damn it!
“No,” I said as I slipped out of my skirt. “Just… Just follow the instructions.”
He looked down at the piece of paper in his hands and snorted. He then motioned with his chin to the table behind me.
The man was old. I mean, like, late sixties old. It kind of creeped me out. He was fit, though. He had graying hair and a thick white beard with streaks of black that reminded me of my grandpa. That made me uncomfortable.
I’d kept on my top and my panties–didn’t want to take anything off unless it was absolutely necessary.
Turning, I considered the table and made a face.
“I was expecting some sort of chair… not that.”
The man shrugged. “I had a comfortable recliner, but it broke. Should get a new one in a few days. In the meantime, I had to improvise.”
Great. Just great.
I walked over to the table and lay on my stomach. Shivers went through my body as my skin touched the cold metallic surface.
He couldn’t have seen my grimace as he stood behind me, but he must have guessed.
“Don’t worry, your body will warm up to it after a few minutes. You’ll be fine.”
I just nodded, then cringed when I felt his fingers touching my leg.
“Alright,” he said. “I guess I’ll get started.”
After pushing my long auburn hair aside, I set my purse down on the table, just under my head, and rested my hands down, waiting.
A friend had sent me here. Swore this was the best guy in the business. If I’m honest, I’d have run out if it hadn’t been for my friend’s recommendation. This place kinda freaked me out.
The room was small, dark, stank of mold, and didn’t look particularly clean. The owner was a disgusting and grumpy old fart–possibly a perv.
I heard the tattoo artist walking about, moving objects around. There were clinging and shuffling sounds. I didn’t look back, clenching my fists as I waited patiently.
Finally, the sounds stopped and I felt the man’s presence nearby.
“You have a rape kink?” he asked.
My whole body tensed and my face went very red.
Fuck.
How was I supposed to answer that? I couldn’t just admit it, could I?
“No,” I lied. “I lost a stupid bet, and now I have to get that tattoo.”
He snorted as he pulled a stool toward the table and sat down. I felt his large, warm hand rest on my right ass cheek.
“You realize,” he said, “you won’t be able to remove this once I’m done? All your boyfriends will see it.”
That was the fucking point.
“I lost the bet,” I replied meekly.
He sighed. “Fine. I just hope you know what you’re doing, little girl.”
Get on with it already, for fuck’s sake.
What was wrong with this guy?
Best tattoo artist in town, my ass!
The pain started just as that thought crossed my mind.
I bit down on my lip and buried my head in my hands.
***
It took three hours!
Three fucking hours for three fucking words.
I suspected the guy was dragging things on purpose.
Just to make me squirm.
To punish me, maybe, for being such a little slut.
I’m sure that’s what he thought of me.
After all, who else would want to have “Rape My Ass” tattooed just above their butt?
But I’d made up my mind. I was seeing this through, no matter what.
It’d be worth it.
It turned me on just thinking of how guys would react when they saw that thing on my back.
An added perk was that no one could blame my would-be rapist if, for some reason, they got caught. It made me ripe for the taking.
When the needle finally stopped piercing my skin, I relaxed.
The man stood, and I looked over my shoulder at him.
“Is it done?”
He was staring at his work. He blinked and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Not quite yet.”
I frowned. “What? I thought–”
“Almost. Just need some finishing touches.”
“Well, get on with it, then. I don’t have all day.”
He grunted. “Stay here. I need to get a different tool from the back.”
“Fine. But hurry, please.”
He nodded, turned, and left.
Why the guy didn’t have all the tools he needed right here was beyond me.
With an annoyed sigh, I opened my purse and brought out my phone. I started swiping through my messages. There was one from my friend–the one who had recommended this place. I was upset with the whole situation, so I started writing him a nasty note.
I heard the man’s footsteps coming back into the room. Maybe he’d get this done already.
“Got what you needed?” I asked without looking back as I continued to write my text.
The guy grunted.
I felt the table shake a little, then both his hands pressed against my buttocks and squeezed them.
Startled, I looked back and gaped.
The tattoo artist had climbed onto the table and was straddling me, with his knees on each side of my legs. He was buck naked, his large and hard cock throbbing menacingly.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I asked in alarm as I tried to jump off the table.
But I didn’t go far. His hands grabbed my waist and pinned me down.
“Following your instructions,” he said with a sneer.
With one hand, he pulled my panties down, then forcefully shoved himself into me.
I screamed.
He leaned down against my back and reached out to cover my mouth. I could smell the scent of his sweaty skin as it pressed against mine.
I realized why he had left the room. The bastard had gone to lube up. It at least wouldn’t be as painful as it could have been. He was so thick, though, that it still hurt like hell.
“Stop!” I wanted to scream, but my voice was muffled.
The old geezer just pummeled me relentlessly.
I squirmed and squeaked, trying to get away from his grip. But the weight of his body on top of mine held me in place. There was no escape. I was getting fucked, whether I liked it or not.
No, I realized.
I was not getting fucked.
I was getting raped.
Just like I had wanted.
Just like my tattoo demanded.
Rape My Ass.
The creep was right. He was following my instructions.
To the letter.
I wouldn’t even be able to report him to the police, since he’d just point at that fucking tattoo on my butt.
And though I hated every minute of it, I knew later I would think back on this with lust and nostalgia.
Because I was a slut with a rape kink.
A little whore who wanted to be used and abused.
It didn’t matter if I screamed, if I begged, if I fought…
I wanted to be taken against my will.
To become a fucktoy.
To lose control of the situation.
And that was exactly what this motherfucker was giving me.
Hell yeah, I would absolutely relish this.
Later.
But, for now, I was terrified.
Even though a part of my mind knew it was what I wanted, it was difficult to focus on that when the pain was so intense. My entire body was on fire and begging for the abuse to stop.
“Please!” I cried out.
I realized my mouth was free. At some point, he had let go so he could fondle my breasts and pinch my nipples.
“No,” he said as he continued to hammer my ass.
I could feel his balls slapping against my wet pussy as his full length went back and forth inside of me.
“No?” I squeaked.
He leaned down against my back, pushed my hair aside, and whispered into my ear.
“You’re a dirty, filthy little whore. You’re only getting what you deserve. Maybe this will teach you to be more careful what you wish for.”
Hearing those words made me feel incredible.
He was right.
This was all I deserved.
I craved the abuse.
My entire body shivered, and I squirted as a powerful orgasm seized me. I just couldn’t help it.
He laughed and rocked his hips harder.
The thrusts were so violent they made me dizzy.
It felt like he fucked me for hours.
Damn.
The guy was old, but he had a fuckload of stamina.
When he finally came out of my ass, a dozen orgasms later, I was a mess.
I sobbed and looked back at him.
Tears had run down my cheeks, ruining my makeup.
But I didn’t give a fuck.
I just didn’t want him to stop abusing me.
“Please,” I begged, “don’t hurt me.”
I don’t know why I said that.
It wasn’t what I’d meant to say.
He quirked a brow. Grabbing me by the neck, he pulled me off the table and threw me to the floor.
I groveled under him. He used one of his feet to push me, then pressed it down on one of my boobs. He smirked as he jerked off above my head.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with you, bitch. While you’re here, you’re mine. And you have absolutely zero say what happens to you. Understood?”
I cried.
They were tears of joy, though I wouldn’t have admitted that to my rapist. It would have defeated the purpose.
He pushed me around the floor with his foot, using me like a rag, laughing at my pleading gasps.
Finally, he went to his knees, grabbed my legs, and threw them over his shoulders. Then he roughly pulled me toward his hips, shoving his big cock back into my butt.
The pain returned, and I cried some more.
He pounded me so hard it made the first fucking seem tame in comparison.
With each thrust, he went balls deep.
I squirted a few more times–I couldn’t say exactly. I was too dizzy and euphoric to keep count.
When I felt his cock swell, I tensed, expecting the gush.
But he pulled out and I squirmed, looking at him with imploring eyes.
He sneered as he taunted me with his large, throbbing cock.
It wasn’t fair that it wasn’t inside me.
And what was he waiting to relieve himself?
He wasn’t even jerking off anymore.
He just looked at me, and his hard gaze made me shiver.
What kind of abuse did he have in store for me now?
How much longer would my ordeal last?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.
He could keep me and use my body as long as he wanted, so long as he made me feel this way–like the little useless piece of shit I was.
I just wanted to be raped again and again and again…
He might have read that in my eyes.
“Get on your hands and knees, slut. I’m not quite finished with you.”
“No,” I whimpered.
“What did you say?”
“I said no, you fucking bastard! You rapist! I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
He snorted as I tried to get back on my feet. He seized me by the neck and pushed me against the wall.
“You don’t get it, do you? You’re not getting out of here until I’m done with you, little girl. And I’m not done yet. When I am, you’ll be so sore you won’t be able to sit on your ass for a week. And you know what? In a week, you’ll come back begging for more.”
I choked and gagged as he squeezed my neck and spat in my face.
While holding me, he pressed his body against mine, and I felt his cock slide back into me. Inside my pussy this time. I squirted instantly.
His breath warmed my face as he hammered me–and he hammered me good.
I’ve always been tight, but he stretched me so much his cock fit in me like it was its natural habitat.
Then he pulled out and turned me around, my chest pressed against the wall, and he went back into my ass.
Many more orgasms shook my body as he abused it.
The pounding went on until his manhood started swelling again.
I wondered if he would allow himself to come inside of me.
He did not.
Once again, he pulled out.
He threw me harshly to the floor.
I was on my back and crawled away from him with fear on my face.
He followed me, though now he was stroking his cock with an evil grin on his lips.
“Don’t worry, little girl, we’re almost done.”
I did not want it to be done.
This guy I had found so repulsive had managed to tame me, to make me his pet, his slut, his whore. In the little time he’d used me, I’d already had more orgasms than in my entire fucking life. I could only hope he’d make me his cumdump as well.
But I would not open my mouth for him. I held it tightly shut as I kept the fear in my eyes. He would have to force me to eat that shit if he wanted me to.
He didn’t seem impressed by my attitude, or the least bit concerned.
When he finally came, he literally sprayed my body with his semen. I’d never seen such a load before. I was covered in the stuff.
The tattoo artist hurried toward me and grabbed me by the hair.
“Open your mouth!” he ordered.
I shook my head, trying to display as much resolve as I could.
He pulled harder on my hair, his free hand squeezing my neck.
“Open, slut!”
He pressed his cock against my lips. Between all the pressures, I was forced to part them.
The large shaft slid in easily and I felt his thick, sticky cum trickle against my tongue, then down my throat. He pushed himself further in, all the way, only stopping once his balls were squashed against my chin. He held me by the back of the head, forcing me to keep him in my mouth for at least a full minute. I could feel his salty, filthy seed filling my throat. I swallowed, gagged, slurped, choked, and swallowed some more.
When he finally released me, I sagged to the ground and sobbed.
“I can’t believe you did that to me.”
“Shut up, bitch, and put your clothes on before I change my mind and fuck you again.”
I was tempted to let him do just that, but the thought of putting my clothes on over my cum-covered body was turning me on like hell. So I obeyed.
My top was soaked in the stuff, as I’d never removed it. I had no jacket to cover myself with, so everyone would see. And my skirt would be stained all over.
It would be incredibly humiliating.
But that was okay.
I deserved to be humiliated.
After I’d dressed up, I turned to look at him and saw he had put his clothes back on as well.
He approached and looked me up and down, admiring his handiwork, before handing me a piece of paper.
“Here’s your receipt,” he said. “Nice doing business with you. Please come again.”
I’d paid before the session, but now felt like I should have paid the bastard more.
My friend had been right. This guy was awesome!
I turned to leave, then spun to face him, his cum still dripping from my chin.
“Hmm, say, can I make an appointment for next week? I’d like to get another tattoo.”
The old man grinned.