Chapter 3: Marked
The bell above the door jingled, sharp and tinny, barely cutting through the relentless buzz of tattoo guns. The air was thick with antiseptic and the coppery tang of fresh ink, a scent that clung to the back of Josephus’s throat like a warning. Brittany strode in ahead of him, her towering frame commanding the cramped space, her presence sucking the oxygen from the room.
Flash art covered every inch of the walls—skulls, roses, snarling beasts—each piece screaming for attention in garish colors. A tattooist hunched in the corner, his machine a blur as it carved into flesh, the client’s knuckles white against the chair’s armrests. Josephus’s pulse thudded in his ears, his skin already prickling in anticipation of the needle.
Brittany moved like a storm through the shop, heads turning, whispers dying in her wake. She didn’t glance at the gawkers, her focus locked on the counter where a man emerged from the back, wiping ink-stained hands on a ragged apron. Razor—short, wiry, his scalp a canvas of blackwork—nodded at her, gold teeth flashing.
"Brittany," he said, voice rough but warm. "Been a minute. What’s the play?"
She didn’t smile. "Need some ink."
Razor’s gaze slid to Josephus, then back to her, understanding dawning. He jerked his chin toward a booth in the back, the vinyl seat cracked with age. "Right this way."
Brittany sank onto the couch, her massive thighs spreading, the cushions groaning under her weight. She flipped open a dog-eared magazine, barely glancing at the pages. "He’s the canvas," she said, thumbing toward Josephus without looking up.
Razor smirked. "Yeah? What’s he getting?"
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. "My name. Big. Bold. Right where everyone can fucking see it."
Josephus’s stomach tightened. Razor chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "Sounds like a party. Where you want it?"
Brittany’s eyes locked onto Josephus, dark and unreadable. "Your choice, pet. Somewhere you won’t forget."
His throat went dry. His fingers twitched at his sides, phantom pain already ghosting over his skin. He dragged his gaze down his body—chest, arms, the curve of his back—each spot a blank slate waiting for her mark. "My heart," he whispered.
Her lips curled, slow and cruel. "Perfect." She turned to Razor. "Get to it."
The machine whirred to life, a high-pitched scream that set Josephus’s teeth on edge. Razor swabbed his chest with cold antiseptic, the alcohol biting into his skin. He clenched his fists, his breath shallow.
The first bite of the needle was electric, a white-hot lance of pain that made his muscles lock. He hissed through his teeth, sweat beading at his temples. Brittany watched, her expression bored, her fingers idly flipping a page.
This was just the beginning.
The needle buzzed like an angry hornet, sinking into his flesh again and again. Every stroke of ink burned like fire, branding him deeper than skin. He could feel the vibrations traveling through his ribs, rattling his teeth. Brittany's name was being carved into him, stroke by agonizing stroke.
She hadn't moved from the couch, but he could feel her watching without looking. The weight of her attention was heavier than the pain. His sweat dripped onto the cracked leather chair, mixing with the blood and ink.
"Fuck," he hissed as the needle hit a particularly tender spot near his nipple. His whole chest felt raw, like someone had taken sandpaper to it.
Razor chuckled without looking up from his work. "Wait till we get to the shading, princess." The tattoo gun whined higher as he adjusted the voltage. "This is just the outline."
Josephus dug his nails into his palms, focusing on that pain instead. He wouldn't beg. Wouldn't scream. The sting of his own nails breaking skin was nothing compared to the needle's bite.
Breath came in short gasps now. In through the nose, out through clenched teeth. The antiseptic smell mixed with the coppery tang of his own blood. He imagined Brittany's hands instead of the pain - those long fingers that could crush or caress with equal ease.
"Almost there," Razor muttered, wiping away a trickle of blood with his thumb. The shop's buzzing faded to background noise, drowned out by Josephus' pounding heartbeat.
Then suddenly - silence. The machine stopped. Razor leaned back, wiping ink-stained hands on his jeans. "There you go. One custom fucking billboard."
Josephus looked down. Angry red skin surrounded the bold black letters now permanently etched across his pectoral: BRITTANY. The letters stood out stark against his pale, sweat-slicked skin. He traced a shaking finger along the swollen edges, wincing at the tenderness.
Brittany finally moved, the magazine falling closed with a slap. She stood in one fluid motion, her shadow swallowing him whole. The shop seemed to hold its breath as she approached.
Her fingers gripped his chin, forcing his head up. Those dark eyes scanned his chest, the fresh ink, the blood still beading at the edges. Something primal flickered in her gaze.
Then she kissed him. Hard. Her teeth caught his lower lip, sharp enough to draw blood. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, claiming, dominating. He could taste her lipstick, her cigarettes, her power.
When she pulled away, his lips throbbed. She ran a thumb over the fresh tattoo, pressing just hard enough to make him gasp. "Good boy," she purred. The words vibrated through his battered chest. "Now let's get you home. You've earned your reward."
Her hand closed around the back of his neck, steering him toward the door. The other tattoo artists watched them go, shaking their heads. Josephus didn't care. The pain, the blood, the humiliation - it was all worth it for those two words. Good boy.
The alley behind the tattoo parlor reeked of stale beer and piss, the stench clinging to the damp bricks like a second skin. Brittany shoved him against the wall, his bare back scraping against rough mortar, the fresh tattoo screaming under his shirt. He winced, swallowing the pain like a bitter pill, his breath hitching when her fingers found the swollen outline of her name through the fabric.
"Does it hurt?" Her voice was smoke and whiskey, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
He swallowed, the ache in his chest pulsing with every ragged breath. "A little."
She chuckled, the vibration traveling down his spine like a live wire. "Good." Her teeth grazed his earlobe, sharp enough to make him shudder. "Pain is a reminder." Her hand slid lower, cupping him through his jeans, her grip just shy of cruel. "A reminder of who owns you."
He gasped, his cock twitching against her palm despite the sting in his chest. "Mistress," he moaned, louder this time, the word echoing off the alley walls.
She squeezed harder, her nails biting into the tender flesh between his thighs. "That's right." Her breath was hot against his throat. "Say it again."
"Mistress," he repeated, his voice cracking. "Please."
She released him with a slow drag of her fingers, her other hand working his belt buckle with deliberate ease. "Please what?" The metal clicked open, her knuckles brushing his stomach.
His hips jerked forward, desperate for contact. "Please... fuck me, Mistress," he begged, the words tumbling out in a rush.
She smirked, her teeth catching the dim neon glow from the street. "Such a good little pet." The zipper hissed down, freeing his cock, the cool air a shock against his heated skin. "Always knows what I want."
Her hand wrapped around him, her grip possessive, her thumb smearing the bead of precum across his slit. He groaned, his head thudding back against the brick, his hips bucking into her fist. "Look at me," she commanded, her voice a whip-crack in the dark.
His gaze snapped to hers, pupils blown wide. She stroked him, her wrist twisting on the upstroke, her pace relentless. His moans grew louder, ragged, his fingers scrabbling at the wall behind him. "Fuck, Mistress, fuck..."
She dropped to her knees, her tongue laving the head of his cock, her lips wrapping around him in a slow, filthy glide. He cursed, his thighs trembling, his cock throbbing against her tongue. "Beg for it," she growled, her mouth pulling off with a wet pop. "Beg for my cum."
He sobbed, his voice raw. "Please, Mistress, please let me cum." His hips stuttered, his balls drawing tight. "Please, please, please..."
She took him deep, her throat working around him, her fingers digging into his hips hard enough to bruise. The world narrowed to the heat of her mouth, the scrape of her teeth, the brutal pleasure coiling in his gut. He came with a shout, his release spilling down her throat, her name a prayer on his lips.
She stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. "Now," she murmured, dragging him close by the collar, "let's go home."
The alley mouth spat them back onto the street, neon signs buzzing overhead like angry wasps. That's when he saw her—Nana, perched on a milk crate across the street like some ancient gargoyle. The old woman's floral housecoat hung loose on her skeletal frame, her gnarled fingers clutching a cigarette. Their eyes met, and Josephus felt his stomach drop.
Brittany's grip tightened on his arm, her nails digging in. "Don't look at her," she muttered, dragging him forward. Her boots slapped against the wet pavement, each step a declaration of ownership.
But he couldn't help it. Nana's gaze was a physical weight, her lips curled in silent judgment. The old woman exhaled a plume of smoke, the ember glowing like a demon's eye in the dim light.
The glob of spit hit the sidewalk with a wet smack. "Filth," Nana croaked, her voice like rusted hinges.
Brittany stopped dead. The air around them thickened, charged with violence. She turned slowly, her shadow stretching long across the cracked concrete. "Watch your mouth, old woman," she growled, the words dripping with venom. "Or I'll wash it out with soap."
Nana's cackle scraped against Josephus's nerves. "You think you scare me, you big cow?" She took another drag, the cigarette trembling between her fingers. "I've seen worse monsters than you."
Josephus tugged at Brittany's sleeve, his pulse hammering in his throat. "Let's just go," he whispered. The tattoo on his chest burned like a brand.
Brittany ignored him, stepping closer to Nana. The old woman didn't flinch, even as Brittany's shadow swallowed her whole. "You got your rent," Brittany spat. "What more do you fucking want?"
Nana's yellowed fingernail pointed at Josephus's chest, right where the fresh ink throbbed beneath his shirt. "I want him gone." Her voice cracked like dry kindling. "He's bad luck. Brings nothing but trouble."
Brittany moved fast—one second looming, the next with Nana's wrist trapped in her fist. The old woman's bones creaked audibly. "He's mine now," Brittany snarled, her breath hot against Nana's wrinkled face. "And if you so much as look at him again, I'll break every bone in your body."
Nana's cigarette tumbled to the pavement, still burning. "He'll ruin you," she wheezed, her face contorted in pain. "Mark my words. He'll take everything you have."
Josephus watched, frozen. The truth of Nana's words settled in his gut like lead. He'd ruined everything he'd ever touched—his family, his friends, his own fucking life.
Brittany squeezed harder. Nana's wrist made a sickening pop. "Shut your mouth," Brittany hissed, "before I shut it for you."
The release was sudden. Nana stumbled back, cradling her wrist, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Brittany grabbed Josephus by the collar again, dragging him away. "Stay away from him," she called over her shoulder. "Or you'll regret it."
Josephus glanced back once. Nana stood silhouetted against the neon glow, her eyes burning holes in his back. The old woman raised her uninjured hand, middle finger extended.
This wasn't over.
Brittany's apartment reeked of turpentine and sex, the air thick with the musk of their earlier activities. She shoved him against the door the moment it closed, her hands rough as they yanked his shirt open. Buttons skittered across the hardwood.
"Look at that," she murmured, tracing the swollen letters on his chest. Her nail dug into the inflamed skin, drawing a hiss from his lips. "Mine."
He nodded, swallowing hard. "Yours."
Her knee pressed between his thighs, grinding against his already hardening cock. "Say it again."
"Yours, Mistress." The words tasted like salvation and damnation all at once.
She smirked, unbuckling his jeans with practiced ease. "Good boy." Her hand slipped inside, her fingers wrapping around his length. He gasped as she stroked him, her grip just shy of painful.
"On your knees," she commanded, stepping back.
He dropped without hesitation, the wood floor cold against his bare knees. Brittany undid her own pants, shoving them down just enough to free her cock. It stood thick and heavy against her stomach, the head glistening with precum.
"Open," she ordered, tapping his lips with the tip.
His mouth watered. He leaned forward, tongue outstretched—
The slap came out of nowhere, snapping his head to the side. His cheek burned. "I said open, not fucking hesitate."
"Yes, Mistress." He parted his lips wider, letting her push inside.
She fucked his mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, her hands tangling in his hair. "That's it," she groaned, her hips rolling. "Take it all, you greedy little slut."
He gagged as she hit the back of his throat, tears pricking his eyes. She didn't stop, didn't slow. Just used him, her moans growing louder with each thrust.
"Fuck," she hissed, her grip tightening. "I'm gonna cum down your throat. And you're gonna swallow every drop."
He nodded as best he could, his jaw aching.
She came with a snarl, her release flooding his mouth. He swallowed obediently, the taste bitter and salty on his tongue.
When she finally pulled out, she wiped the tip on his cheek. "Good boy," she purred, patting his head like a dog.
Outside, a shadow moved past the window. Nana's face, twisted in disgust, appeared for just a moment before vanishing into the night.
Josephus shivered.
This wasn't over.