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TATTOO YOU by Throne I couldn't believe what was happening. There I was, sitting on a high stool in a public tattoo parlor, wearing nothing but lavender panties, with my chastity tube under them. My Mistress was standing nearby, grinning devilishly at me. She had on a plain white blouse and loose slacks, along with comfortable shoes, all of which made her look somewhat mannish. Her hair was pulled back and tied, heightening the effect. Her arms were crossed below her attractive bust, and under them were the rest of my clothes. I pleaded with my eyes but her amused expression didn't waver. The tattoo artist was on the other side of me, leaning back against the counter, observing his 'canvas', which was my lower back. I glanced nervously through the front windows, which left the interior of the well- lit shop visible to passersby on the busy street. It was in a part of the city with plenty of art galleries, antique shops, music and book stores, and lots of coffee bars and eateries. So the strollers out front were a young and hip crowd, liberal in their attitudes I'm sure, but not too sophisticated to pause and gawk at the sight I made. I shifted my bottom nervously on the hard seat of the stool, uncomfortably aware of the attention I was getting. To add to my discomfort, everyone could see that my body was absolutely denuded of hair, just the way Mistress required me to keep it. A pair of particularly cute girls hesitated out front, one pointing at me and the other laughing out loud. My attention shifted to the guy who was going to decorate my body. He was tall and beefy, obviously strong, with a full beard, ponytail, and plenty of tattoos on his arms. He had on a blue workman's shirt, denim jeans, and motorcycle boots. To solidify his image as a master of the needle, he also wore a leather vest. The big man stepped nearer and reached out. I froze as he brushed the tips of his blunt fingers over my lower back. He nodded sagely while chewing on the hair of his untrimmed moustache. I took another peek out the window and saw a mailman, an old guy who looked ready for retirement. He grinned at me and winked knowingly. Did he imagine that I wanted to be there? That I was looking forward to being permanently marked? I didn't know myself how I felt about it, but at that moment I just wanted to slink away and hide. The tattoo artist -- stitching on his vest identified him as Duke -- walked over to Mistress and said, "You told me you had some pictures of the job you want me to do on, um, Pretty Boy over there." She reached into her copious shoulder bag, rummaged around, and came out with an envelope. He opened it and raised a bushy eyebrow at what he saw. "Hey, did you do that to him?" "Yes," she said, looking proud. "With some ink markers." He chuckled. "And a paddle, too, from the look of his butt cheeks. I'll bet he enjoyed having you work on him." My mind went back to the day those shots were taken. I went to her place, bringing her one of those tall coffees she enjoys, and her favorite type of donut. She took them cheerfully, sipping and nibbling as if nothing special was going to happen. I felt uneasy, imagining that maybe we weren't going to do anything sexy that afternoon. But then she got that self-satisfied expression on her pretty face and casually said, "Take your clothes off, Darling." There she stood, in a loose sweater and comfortable-fit jeans, neither of which could conceal her shapely curves, and running shoes. Mistress put her hands on her hips and waited expectantly. A shiver ran through me as I obediently began to unbutton my shirt. I got out of it, revealing my hairless chest, all pink and smooth. She came close to examine me and nodded approvingly. She also flicked my nipples lightly, making me gasp and press my thighs together. Next I undid my pants and started lowering them. First my lavender panties were exposed, and then my fishnet stockings. No matter how often we play this scene, I always feel weak and feminine when I uncover myself and show her that I'm wearing what she has ordered. Mistress told me to go to the dresser and get my collar. She works with leather and created it herself. I placed it around my neck and she fastened it in back, adding to my feeling of being controlled. The collar is high and forces me to keep my neck straight and my chin slightly elevated. I had to walk around, assuming a girly gait, swishing my hips, while she looked on and chuckled at my performance. I heard her take a deep breath and knew she was getting turned on. "Let's go to the dungeon, my sweet little bitch," she said throatily. The room she was referring to isn't a hardcore dungeon, with heavy equipment, but it's more than enough for me. There's a bed, and she promptly tied my arms behind my back, wrists to opposite elbows, and made my get onto my back on the mattress. Then she laid down alongside me and began running one hand over my chest, murmuring in my ear at the same time. Her fingers diddled one of my nipples and then the other, which made me gasp softly. At the same time she was saying, "I want to mark you as my property. Something that will remind you that you are owned, and that you only get to be as masculine as I let you. I'd love to see you with nice boobies. Maybe we'll shop at that kinky boutique downtown for a corset that will push up the flesh of your chest. That would make these even more fun to play with," she said, demonstrating what she was referring to by licking her fingertips and teasing my nipples more effectively, until I was writhing with need, my poor trapped cock straining unsuccessfully against the tightness of my chastity tube. My arms were beginning to hurt from my weight pressing down on them. "And another thing," she went on, "you'd look so yummy if we could shrink your dick down a few sizes. Maybe with a combination of keeping it caged and feeding you some special pills." She chuckled and I shuddered. "But getting back to marking you, I was thinking of a nice tattoo. Or two." Before I could respond, she reached under one of the pillows and produced several permanent markers. Mistress opened one of them and I saw that it was lavender. I managed to say, "Please...", but that was all. She looked down at me, smiled devilishly, and asked, "Please... what? Please do whatever I want to you? Please make drawings of tattoo designs that I'm considering? If that's what you wish, Darling, I'll be happy to do it. After all, you're the man." She chuckled at the inappropriateness of that term, considering how she had me looking, and how controlled my penis was. Mistress straddled my hips and used the lavender marker to draw around my nipples, working carefully and half-smiling at whatever she was accomplishing that I couldn't see. After she was done, she ground herself down on me, stimulating my libido and at the same time reminding me that I couldn't get an erection. Then she got off me and had me turn over. It was a relief to get my arms out from under me but when she sat on my thighs and began drawing on my lower back, just above my buttocks, it was disturbing to not know what images she was creating or if she was serious about having them made permanent. She said something about using different colors. Mistress hummed happily to herself as she worked. I was so desperate to know what she was doing that I even attempted to puzzle out the design from feeling the marker's tip moving over my skin. Was she writing something in cursive? Or perhaps drawing butterfly wings? She didn't hurry and I could only lie there and wait. When at last she was done she got off me and gave my bottom a friendly swat. I knew better than to take any independent action. I stayed where I was and waited to see what she would do next. What she did was to go to an old umbrella stand that she kept in a corner, full of riding crops, bamboo canes, and other implements of discipline. She took her time selecting something, which turned out to be a long narrow paddle made of stiff rubber. Mistress gave it a few practice strokes through thin air, taking the measure of its weight and power to deliver pain. My head was turned to the side, so I could see what she was doing and the obvious pleasure she took in anticipating what was about to happen. She said cheerily, "Let me know if this hurts too much." "And you'll... stop?" Mistress chuckled. "Really? Me? Stop? I was thinking more that, if it was too much pain on your bottom, I'd switch to the backs of your thighs. Then what I did to your backside wouldn't seem so bad, by comparison." I tensed for a moment at that revelation, but then forced myself to relax. She enjoyed what she was about to do too much for me to expect her to hold back. Mistress sighed audibly and raised her arm. I saw a flash of movement and felt the punishing instrument meet flesh. Pain blazed through my sitter and I couldn't contain a loud yelp. She continued swinging, landing blow after blow on my unprotected body, making sure to cover every inch of my buttocks. I grunted and panted and let out a few strangled wails, somehow imagining that I could retain some male pride in the midst of everything that was happening. But she broke me easily and had me vocalizing loudly with each of the final dozen strokes. She wanted to know, "Did that hurt... too much?" Fearful of answering wrong and provoking more of the same, perhaps to the tender backs of my thighs, I told her, "No, Mistress. It was exactly right." Mistress chortled and said, "Good answer, Darling. I'll be nice to you... for the moment." She lay down alongside me and ran her hand casually over my burning rump, telling me that she could feel the heat she had produced. Then she gave it a few pinches -- to see if it was properly tenderized, she said -- before switching to stroking my neck. She whispered to me that maybe she should have someone else there the next time she swatted my butt. Maybe a girlfriend of hers. Or perhaps some 'real' man, with plenty of body hair and wearing flannel and denim, rather than panties and stockings. I assumed she was just taunting me, but with a woman like that, you can't be certain. At last she allowed me to get off the bed, arms still bound. I stood up unsteadily and every movement cost me fresh pain in my behind. Damn but she knows how to wield a paddle. Or crop. Or bamboo. Or whatever else she selects from her arsenal of discipline tools to use on me. Once I was sure of my footing, she led me to a mirror. I got a better look at the way she had modified the look of my nipples. It was as if they had grown wider, to further make clear how much she could feminize me. But the big shock came when she turned me around and I looked back over my shoulder. I could see the expert job she had done of binding my arms. That was to be expected. Below that, however, on my lower back, was a large colorful heart, neatly centered. From it grew vine-like extensions, spreading almost to the edges of my body, and they sprouted smaller hearts. It was a clever design, impossible to miss, and sure to mark me as her property. She took some pictures that she said would be to show to a someone at a tattoo shop. I trembled at the thought of having those markings made permanent. Which is what I was thinking again as she spoke to the tattoo artist, telling him that she wanted the 'vines' to flow and questioning if it would be practical to have words added later. She said -- jokingly, I hoped -- that she might want him to write OWNED BY MISTRESS above the main design. He nodded and said he could do that and plenty more, commenting that my hairless skin would be a pleasure to work on. She said, "Well, I want to see it all at once, when you're done this part of the job. The nipple extensions and that lovely tramp stamp on his back. It'll make him easy to identify, if I loan him out or anything. Even turn him into a work of Art." "Cool," he said. Then he pointed to a sign on the wall and read, "REPURPOSE YOUR EPIDERMIS". They shared a laugh over that before she declared, "I'm going up the street to that kinky boutique. I told my slave I wanted to get him a nice tight corset, so I'll shop while you work on him." He pursed his lips and estimated, "I'll need a few hours. Those rings'll be easy, and the design is pretty straightforward. There will be a fair amount of coloring in." He nodded to himself. "And then I'll send him along to you." "Sure. The walk will do him good. Get him out in the fresh night air." Walk? Fresh night air? She expected me to go down a busy street to find her? Mistress went into her shoulder bag again, this time pulling out a pair of fancy bedroom slippers with elevated heels. She told me to make sure to wear them when I come looking for her. Suddenly she was leaving, still carrying my clothes, wallet, ID and money. I tried to make a feeble protest but she cut me off. "You're worried about your pants and shirt? Silly boy. I'll take good care of them, dearest. Imagine what a bother it would be if they got lost and I had to pick you a complete outfit at that naughty boutique? And then took you out clubbing? Oh my," she finished with mock concern. I sat there with my mouth open as she breezed out the door. The tattoo guy grinned at me and invited me to move to the back room and lie on his table, face up. I did as I was told, my mind still awhirl with the need to get from where I was to where Mistress was going, on foot. In those slippers. He selected a needle and the appropriate ink, muttering something to himself about never having done a job quite like this one before. He said, to me, "I have done some neat stuff that's along the same lines. Had one guy come in with his sissy boyfriend. Made him get some pretty nasty stuff written on him, like how his dick wasn't allowed anything but hand-jobs." He laughed cruelly. "And how his ass was available, with his Master's permission." He fussed with his equipment and then said, "You make sure to stay still for me. Otherwise, I might suggest to that good looking woman who brought you in here that she have a few messages like those written on you." I managed a weak, "Yes, Sir." He went to work on my chest, the needles stinging but not as much as one of my Mistress's punishments. I bore up well under it and then he had me lower my panties, which gave him a better look at my chastity tube, and roll over. The guy was a true professional and wasted no time. He occasionally congratulated himself as he spread the design she had showed him across my lower back. I could only lie there, try to ignore the discomfort, and wait until it was over. I kept thinking that what he was doing was for life. No turning back. And Mistress would get to admire it every time she used her tools of correction to mark my cheeks in less permanent ways. After what seemed like forever but was just a couple of hours, he let me get onto my feet. He said I was done and thanked me for being such a good subject. In a small voice I told him he was welcome. Then he turned away, telling me to have fun with my 'girlfriend'. He even mentioned again how easy on the eyes he found her to be. I felt a twinge of jealousy but was distracted by the immediate concern of getting myself to that boutique in just panties and fishnets, with my new 'tats' on display. When I meekly told him what I was worried about, he said, "No problem, man. Well, maybe not 'man'." He snickered. "But no problem, whatever. How about I give you a raincoat I've got in the closet, that somebody left here." A raincoat? Perfect. I would cover me down to my lower legs. I could stand having my fishnet-clad feet exposed. And even those high-heeled slippers. My body and those blatant tattoos would be covered, along with my panties and chastity. I was SO relieved. At least until he produced the coat. First of all, it was short, ending at mid-thighs. And it was a woman's style, drawn in at the waist. More fashionable than practical. Still, I could have accepted all that, but there was one more disadvantage to the garment. It was made of clear plastic, tinted light pink. It was a see-through rain jacket. My spirits fell as he stood there, giving me a crooked smile, savoring my discomfort, daring me to insist on more so he could take back what little he had offered. I thanked him in a soft and submissive voice and, with him still holding the jacket, put my arms through the sleeves. Then he reached behind him and got the footwear Mistress had left for me. I stepped into the heels and took a few steps to get the feel on them. Holding the inadequate piece of clothing closed in front, I moved uncertainly toward the exit, the shoes making my hips sway. I heard him chuckle once more before I went out the door. I was met by the sounds of traffic and conversation as people walked and drove by. Every head turned to get a look at me and I could only avert my eyes and keep moving, wishing I could control the way I was swishing my bottom. Was I even heading in the direction Mistress had taken? I had a momentary vision of myself wandering the night, clutching that short transparent coat, feeling how hot and sticky I was getting inside it, being lost for hours while everyone gaped at me with amused expressions. A police car rolled past and I tried not to react. The driver spotted me, shook his head, and continued on. Like I mentioned earlier, it was a pretty liberal part of the city. Full of urban hipsters. But where was that fetish fashion place? Two blocks later, I spotted THE KINK LINK. Breathing a sign of relief, I hurried the rest of the way, one hand over my crotch, and dashed inside. There were several shoppers, mostly young women, among the racks of lingerie, leatherwear, and rubber outfits. A salesman approached me, grinning wolfishly. He was tall and stick thin, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was wearing a sleeveless top and stretch pants. "At last," he said with a sweep of his scarecrow arm toward me. "One of MY people." He put his head close to mine and whispered confidentially, "I don't mind waiting on all these cute young girls, but what I prefer is girly guys... like you." He gave my arm a brotherly squeeze. Or should I say, a sisterly squeeze. I stammered out, "No, you don't understand. I'm not... I mean, I'm not here for. I just need to find my Mistress. My girlfriend. My Mistress." He wagged his head and said, imitating my confusion, "My mother. My sister. My mother." Then he drew close again and said, "Don't worry, Jane. It's only Hipster Town." I half recognized his words as a twisted version of some famous movie dialogue, but was too desperate to focus on that. Instead, I told him, "No, really, I'm supposed to meet my... Mistress... here. She should have stopped in earlier. She was shopping for a corset." I almost said that it was for me, but decided that he didn't need to know that. I described her to him and he gave me a blank look. "Sorry, honey, but I haven't seen anyone like that, and I've been here for hours. Maybe you should try that OTHER shop." "Th... there's two ones like this?" "No. There's this one and then there's..." He shrugged dismissively. "...that one." "Where is it? Please." He gave a limp-wristed wave toward the door. "Out there. Over by... You know." I didn't know, but I assumed he at least was pointing me, however vaguely, in the correct direction. I tugged the coat around me once more and ventured out into the deepening night. More stares, a few horn honks, and one wrong turn later I was on a dark street. I double-timed it to the next corner, where several figures were standing together. As I got closer I realized they were prostitutes. One of them hooted and pointed, drawing everyone's attention to me. "Look at that," said a tall Black woman in a short fur jacket. "We are getting some crazy competition these days." "Really," said another, a short svelte redhead who I was pretty sure was a guy in drag. "I do not need another queen sharing this piece of real estate." A third one, who looked like a cross-dresser but had impressive boobs, shook his/her head and said loudly, "Sisters, we don't need any freaks making this corner look cheap." I started to inch past them but the tall Black woman stepped forward and grabbed the arm of my jacket. "I don't know," she said. "A sissy like this, we could pimp her ourselves and make a few extra bucks. There must be some weird types out there who want one of these... whatever it is." I struggled but she held on tightly. My arm began to slip out of the raincoat's sleeve but the idea of loosing that minimal covering horrified me. It wasn't much, but it was something. I settled down and tried to explain, my words coming out like babble. My captor dragged me in among the others. She said, "Let's try to get her a john. If we don't have any luck right away, we can let her go." I stood there shivering, even though it was a balmy evening. Cars slowed down to look and two of the hookers held my arms, while a third gestured toward me, all of them tittering at my extreme discomfort. One car, full of college guys, stopped, and I was pushed close enough for them to see clearly. And to reach. "How about it, guys?" my impromptu pimp wanted to know. "You ready for something different? Do any damn thing you want to this one. Take her for the whole night and then just turn her loose. I'll sell her to you for... fifty bucks." They were actually considering it. The driver reached out and ran a finger under the waistband of my panties. I was about to be sold to a carload of horny jocks. At a bargain basement price. I stammered out something that was more whines than words. But, to my great relief, they decided to take the tall one who had grabbed me. She commanded a much higher fee and told them that she, unlike the slut I was, she had some limits. They came to an agreement and off they went. The others were less interested in being bothered with me, especially when I was such a potentially low earner. So I was let go and found my way back to the more brightly lit area. After another torturous quarter hour, walking gingerly on those heels, still not able to keep my rear from swinging, I saw what had to be my destination, a place called THE COQUETTISH FETISH. Who named these businesses? It must be somebody with a perverse sense of wordplay, who probably thought he was being clever. I passed a bookstore where there was a signing in progress for some crime novel. I thought of ducking in there long enough to calm myself down but then decided against it. I just wanted to get this over with. As soon as I entered the boutique, a mannish woman spotted me and strode right up to where I was standing. I was more bewildered than ever. Where was Mistress? The woman, in a black leather pants suit, got right in front of me and gave me a hard look. "You must be the slave. Mistress was here but she left. I'm going to do your fitting." "I... What?" She rolled her eyes and repeated, "I'm going to do your fitting. That's all you need to know. Now take off that stupid retro raincoat. You look like old pin-up art." I wanted to ask about Mistress but felt overwhelmed. She put her hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the rear of the shop. We didn't leave the sales area, but at least I was further from the front window and curious peering eyes. My host introduced herself as Beth and took something from a shelf along the back wall. Of course, it was the corset Mistress had wanted to get for me. Made of black leather, with leather laces, it was rather intimidating. Beth swatted at my arms, indicating that I should raise them. She wrapped the garment around me and began to lace it up with practiced movements. I felt it gradually constricting my middle as it was tightened. Soon it was becoming uncomfortable and cutting into my mid-chest. Beth fiddled with it and suddenly that tightness was pushing upward, moving the softness of my chest, giving me -- breasts? As Mistress had hoped, the corset was making it appear that I had modest boobs. But with the lavender nipple expansions that she'd had tattooed onto me, there was the bizarre appearance of some sort of pseudo-mammary mounds with outsized centers. They invited sexual attention. I was still staring down at them as Beth continued to tightened my new corset. She ordered me to take a deep breath and then blow it all out, while she continued to work. She seemed to be almost done. If she wasn't, I was in trouble. The corset was becoming restrictively tight. It held my upper body in a viselike grip. I had to take each breath consciously. Beth told me that effect would lessen with time. She tied off the laces and told me to walk around the shop. In panties and fishnet stockings, my tats on display, my hairless pink body exposed, wearing the corset and with those heels giving me a girlish gait, I was quite a showpiece. I was soon out into the middle of the floor, where several female browsers admired how the constricting corset fit. One, a Goth girl, even came over and ran her hands up and down it. Beth was satisfied. She told me, "Okay, your Mistress went out for a cup of coffee. I recommended the place down the street called..." Here came another of those crazy business names, I thought. "... called Joe's Coffee." Okay, so I was wrong. She nudged me toward the door as I did a quick mental inventory of how well I was covered. All of my new tattoos were still visible, but I felt less naked. I wished my panties and stockings weren't still being shown off, but there was nothing I could do about that. And those heels click- clacked on the floor, announcing my movements. Suddenly Beth was pushing me firmly out the door and I was back on the sidewalk, passersby either gawking, ogling, or pretending they were too sophisticated to gawk or ogle. As I moved along, my forced-feminine walk made those new boobies bobble, drawing unwanted interest. I thought of putting my hands over them but that might create another, equally attention-getting effect. Besides, I wanted to keep one hand over my panty-covered crotch, to hide the presence of the chastity tube. I settled for a hand at my panty-front, and a forearm thrown across my chest. And yes, the latter move drew still more attention, but I didn't care. Covering those glaring nipple tattoos was my main concern. I noticed that people coming up from behind were checking out the front of me as they passed. They must have been seeing my tramp stamp and wondering if there was anything similar on the other side of me. Just what I didn't want -- more people taking in my embarrassing appearance. I saw at least two strollers take out their cell phones and snap photos of me. The coffee shop with the mundane name appeared on the opposite side of the street. I crossed carefully, hating the extra time it cost me, with many additional motorists getting a free gander at the sight I made. I neared the place and spotted Mistress inside, sitting at a table in the rear, contentedly sipping hot coffee and nibbling a cupcake. As I entered, the counterman watched suspiciously. I gave him a quick nod and gestured toward Mistress with my chin. He turned back to his work and I slid onto a chair at her table. When I tried to say something, to tell her about my misadventures, she signaled for silence with an upheld finger. After another small bite of the cupcake she said, "Darling, you look marvelous. Do stand up and give me another look at how extra-cute you've become." I knew I was blushing as I got back up, but I didn't want to put her in a bad mood. That might end with me walking the streets for a lot longer. She had me strike a few poses, which wasn't easy with my middle so constricted and those heels on my feet. But I got through it, even having to take a few steps with my hips swishing and my arms held out slightly on either side. At last she was satisfied, though she did say that she wanted to see how I would stand and move after she got me into some leg bondage. I sat back down and tried to relax. My stomach finally unknotted once I felt confident that my long night's journey was over. There would still be the walk back to her car, but I could endure that. She said, "You know, Darling, we need something new to call you, to go with this wonderful look. Your real name is Dane so how about, since I've been calling you it already, Darling. Your new name will be Darling. Maybe I'll even have that added to your back tattoo... or somewhere else." She smiled impishly. "I can't wait to see THAT." In disbelief I asked, "We're going back to the shop? Now?" "No, no, Darling. We'll be back there this time next week, for some touch-ups. And I have some ideas for add-ons I want done. Besides that 'Darling'. Plus, there's a piercing shop near here. And nice places to buy specialty clothes, like that lovely corset, plus bondage gear. No, we'll be coming back here every weekend for at least, at the very least, the next six months. I'll have to come up with an alluring outfit for you to wear each time, but I don't mind making the effort. And I'm sure you'll appreciate it. Won't you?" Once a week for months? Maybe longer? For tattoos, possible piercings, fetish finery, and bondage goodies? While I wore the shameful outfits Mistress selected? Ones that would probably leave me more naked than clothed. Would I appreciate all that? I answered her in a whisper, "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." I was still unsure how I felt about it all. "You're welcome, Darling. Now let's get you back to my place. I want to put some fresh marks on your butt. We'll see how they look with your lovely tattoo. And then I'll have you do nice things for me with your talented mouth. But don't worry. I wouldn't want to overexert you, so I'll keep you locked up and not let you cum. Isn't that considerate of me, Darling?" I sighed and told her truthfully, "Yes, Mistress. You are too kind to me." "I know, Darling. I know." *********