Marked

The padding of the chair is pressing into my breasts. I'm nervous, and it makes me feel everything. I can feel the cotton of my tank top. I can feel where it meets the elastic of the straps and tightens just slightly. I can feel the ridges and folds of denim rise up where my legs are straddling the chair. I can feel the tip of my toes just barely grazing the linoleum floor.
I can feel the needle buzzing, up and down so fast it's blinding and rhythmic at the same time. I can feel the resting side of his hand on my skin. I can feel the bubbles of blood pool up, and I can feel the artist behind me dotting them off.
Mostly I can feel his eyes on me. I try not to move, as all I want to be is steady, and knowing that he is staring at every flexing muscle, every ripple of skin as the needle moves over the back of my neck is keeping me in place.
And his stare, which I know is there despite not looking up once, is making me wet. Achingly wet. The needle moves over and over, and while my breath is slow, it is strong, trying to keep my heart rate down. The control over my body which he has several feet away is palpable. I push forward with my hips slightly, trying to get the seam of my jeans against my clit. Though I straddle the chair, there is nothing in front of me to give relief.
I breathe slowly. I have been sitting here for both eons and moments. While the pain has subsided for the most part, now and then a nerve is struck and I wince, contracting tighter in order to not move. I have had much practice doing this exact thing.
He walks over and slides a hand underneath my chin, stroking it. I lean just slightly into his palm, feeling the softness of his touch and the brusqueness of his skin. He went before me and I sat and watched as he barely flinched in receiving his mark. Now it is my turn and I am aching to make his proud.
I feel the cloth move over my skin, wiping away the blood which leaks from the tiny pinpricks and mixes with stark black ink.
"You're almost done... you guys are amazing, neither of you even seem to flinch."
I want to giggle. Daddy has been training me to take whatever pain is delivered from him for so long, that it comes as second nature.
He wipes once more and leans back.
"Do you want to see it?"
My Daddy walks around me to look first. "Perfect, thank you." He shakes the man's hand and tells him that I don't need to see it yet.
The man nods and bandages the back of my neck. Daddy leads me out and we drive home in silence. I am waiting for him to say something, give me some indication of something. I am proud of how still I was, how good of a girl I was for him and I am waiting, holding my breath until he says it.
We are in the door, and he closes it behind us. I reach for the light but he grabs my arm. "Take your jeans down to mid thigh."
I nod and do so. He smiles as he sees there are no panties and a wet spot on the jeans. I can feel it as I pull them down.
His fingers are inside me and I gasp, but he's just checking to make sure I am ready for him. His other hand is already on the buttons of his pants. I watched him get hard in the car. It was the closest thing to approval I could get.
He slams his entire cock inside me and pushes me down. I bend at the waist, grabbing onto anything which will steady me as he begins to fuck. His cock slides in and out, pulling out slowly and then slamming back inside. He is silent, and I can barely hear his breath over my own whimpers. My cunt is soaked, wanting.
He is using me. And I am swept up and enlivened by it.
He pulls the gauze off the back of my neck and places his hand over the new tattoo. In black ink, darkened and lightened in soft hues of grey, there is now a padlock on the back of my neck and his is holding it in his hand.
I am owned, permanently marked as his, and I have never felt more perfect. I have never felt more alive. I have never felt more free. I have never felt more.