The Modified Slave Ch. 01

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Asian

Author’s note: This one is mostly setup, no funny business.

Asher

Friday night at a tattoo and piercing parlor, even one located on a notorious party street, was hit or miss. But Blue was old school, and he made most of his money off walk-ins. The hours between nine and midnight could get slow, but I didn’t mind for exactly the reason that had just entered giggling through the door. College coeds looking to walk on the wild side–even if their idea of adventurous was a tiny little nose stud. In my three years apprenticing, I’d gotten more than a couple blow jobs out of good girls hopped up on endorphins and hoping to be bad.

“What can I help you ladies with tonight?” I stood up from where I’d been shooting the shit with Blue. It was his store, but he wasn’t much for customer service. He was, however, a sucker for redheads, and I saw him eyeing the wild mane of orange curls and face full of freckles that was visible over the top of a much shorter brunette.

The latter bit her bottom lip and looked back at the ginger, who gave her an encouraging–if exasperated–look. “I want to get my nipple pierced. This one,” the girl pointed to her right tit. She was pretty enough, if a bit top-heavy for her height. Her big boobs were spilling out of the sides of her loose racerback tank top, which was tucked into a school-girl skirt and finished with a pair of All Stars. The nipple in question got noticeably hard in response to my considering look.

“I usually recommend both,” I told her with a half-smile, tucking my thumbs into my jeans and leaning back a bit. Body language flirtatious but a attitude professional while I waited to feel out the situation.

“Why?” the brunette asked as she sidled up to the counter. She glanced up at me with an attempt at a coy smile, but mostly kept her eyes down under the pretense of scanning the piercing display. From the dyed pink tips of her hair to the half-dozen sparkling earrings in each ear, I could tell that this was a girl who wanted to be noticed eryaman otele gelen escort but wasn’t used to attention.

“Piercing can sometimes make the nipple bigger,” I explained. “With both, they won’t end up uneven.” She balked at the warning. Most girls did, which is why other establishments never mentioned it. I didn’t have to look at Blue to know he was shaking his head at the potential loss of profit. It wasn’t ethics driving the disclosure; girls relax more when they feel like you’re protecting them. Even if you’re a total stranger.

“Umm,” she worried at her lip again–a habit, apparently–seeming unsure of what to do next.

The redhead rolled her eyes. “Just get your hood done, Jenna. More bang for your buck.”

“Won’t that hurt more?” Jenna asked, chancing a look up at me.

“No,” her friend said. “There’s way more nerve endings in your nipples.”

Blue

“You know that shit from experience?” I asked after Asher had led the other girl back to his chair. I’d been surprised but pleased when the redheaded hottie hadn’t followed for moral support or what-the-fuck-ever. She didn’t have a single visible piercing–not even on her ears–but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hiding some hardware underneath her tight black dress and leather jacket.

“No,” she said, her finally gaze finally landing on mine. She had a hell of a lot more confidence than her friend, but up until that point she’d only been glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes. They were a pretty light brown. “Just research.”

“Any tattoos?”

“No.” She shook her head with a heavy blink that seemed an intentional attempt to prevent herself from looking away. I noticed the slight flick of her tongue and flare of his nostrils. Didn’t miss the shiver that broke out even before she wrapped her coat closer to her body, either.

“You want them, though,” I said; a statement not a question.

She blew out a breath, and a wrinkle appeared between her brows, sincan escort like she couldn’t quite believe what she was about to say. “I guess I always wanted a boyfriend who would want them.”

“A boyfriend,” I lifted a corner of my mouth, “or a Master?” Risky question maybe, but I had good intuition and nothing to lose.

She started in surprise before giving me a more assessing once-over. I was getting older, I could admit it. A full head of graying hair. Tatts probably older than she was overdue for a touch up. Scarring along my eyebrows and holes in my face from some youthful DIY mishaps. Not ugly, but definitely not pretty. Didn’t matter; I could tell she was curious now. It probably would have been undisguised interest, had she been older and more experienced. As it was, I put her at about 21–both she and her friend were dressed for barhopping, but the friend had asked Asher about our student discount before picking out a pink bent barbell.

“You offering?” she asked with a challenging arch of her brow. A brazen little girl, though the tentative tilt of her lips gave the question away as bravado.

I forced another moment of eye contact before perusing her body with obvious intent. She wasn’t curvy, though accurate judgement was difficult given the all-black outfit. It was her long legs that were most enticing, slender but muscled and smattered with freckles. I imagined sewing her pussy shut, bare mound dappled with those same brownish flecks, and spanking it until the pale flesh underneath was as red as her hair. Yeah, I was offering.

Unfortunately, the moment was interrupted by Asher ushering a queasy-looking Jenny back into the lobby. Guess he hadn’t gotten lucky. I grabbed the redhead’s wrist before she could re-join her friend. “Your phone number,” I prompted. She swallowed before rattling it off, voice breathy and expression eager. I let her go with a curt nod, enjoying the way she shivered before disappearing back into the night.

Sasha

A boyfriend… or a Master? gölbaşı otele gelen escort I shuddered for the fifth time in as many minutes, barely paying attention to Jenna as she sucked down tequila shots and whined about how much her pussy hurt. She was being loud about it, refusing to sit down to where I’d grabbed stools at the end of the bar and glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone had noticed. Of course, she whipped her head back in my direction anytime anybody did, looking sheepish and a little scared. That was Jenna for you. I was honestly impressed she’d actually gone through on getting a genital piercing.

It presumably did hurt, but I wondered idly if the throbbing complaint her body was making at having been impaled through with surgical steel was also turning her on. Hard to tell, and I didn’t really care. I was more focused on fantasizing about the silver-haired brute cutting off my clothes and strapping me down in a creatively modified hydraulic chair. I had a big hood and a small clit, not even long enough to stick out when I was aroused; instead of the VCH Jenny had gotten, I imagined him putting a bar through my glans and supergluing the captive beads, preventing it from ever retracting again. I knew that kind of piercing wasn’t feasible with my anatomy–and even if it was, it certainly wasn’t advisable–but this was a daydream, not reality.

He wanted to decorate me though, didn’t he? That’s why he’d asked for my number, right? I ran my fingers over the phone in my jacket pocket. I’d only checked it about a hundred times in the hour since we’d left the parlor. He was a virtual stranger, and I had no business entertaining these kinds of ideas. What if he wanted to put 8 gauge rings in my pussy lips? What if he wanted to tattoo SLAVE across my lower back? I shuddered again. I’d like it, that’s what.

I knew the scenarios my fucked up brain was conjuring were unlikely. Most guys into kink used it as a means and not an end. He’d uttered the word Master with such knowing, but he could have meant it in any number of ways. It didn’t necessarily have the same connotation of a long-term commitment to him as it did to me. There would be no permanent alterations to my body from a one-night stand or even a recurring hookup. That’s what I told myself, at least. After all, I reasoned, fantasies were just that: fantasy.

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