6
He stayed hard, stayed buried, and started moving again—slower this time, more possessive, rolling his hips so the head dragged over the sensitive front wall on every stroke. The wet sound of her cum-filled cunt taking him was filthy and constant.
“I’m not done,” he said against her mouth. “You’re going to take another one. And another if I want. Until this pretty cunt is so full it can’t hold any more and my last marks are the only thing you can feel.”
He fucked her through a second orgasm, then a third, each one leaving her more sensitive, more open, more wrecked.
When he finally came again it was with a low, broken sound, hips pressed tight against her as he pumped her full one more time.
Cum leaked out around him in heavy pulses, running down over the fresh ink and onto the chair.
Chase stayed inside her afterward, forehead pressed to hers, both of them breathing hard. His hand stroked the un-inked curve of her waist with surprising gentleness.
“Every piece on this body is mine now,” he said quietly. “And so is the cunt they all lead to. You’re going to keep coming back whenever I decide you need another mark—or another load. Clear?”
Jody could only nod, still fluttering weakly around him, the newest tattoos throbbing in time with the warm, heavy spill of him inside her.
He finally pulled out. A thick rush of cum followed. He watched it for a long moment, then scooped some up with two fingers and pushed it back into her with a slow, deliberate stroke—exactly the way he had from the beginning.
“Mine,” he murmured, and this time it landed like a permanent claim.
Chase didn’t let her get dressed.
He hooked an arm under her knees and another around her back, lifted her off the chair like she weighed nothing, and carried her the short distance to the back room.
Cum still leaked from her with every step, warm trails running down the insides of her thighs and over the brand-new ink.
The raised lines throbbed in time with her pulse—hot, tight, hypersensitive.
He set her on the old leather couch and followed her down, settling between her open legs again.
His cock was still half-hard, shiny with everything he’d already left in her.
He dragged the head through her soaked, swollen folds, collecting the thick mess of cum and slick, then pushed back inside in one slow, relentless thrust.
Jody’s back arched. A broken sound tore out of her throat. She was so sensitive the stretch bordered on too much—walls soft and used, still fluttering from the last orgasm, the head of his cock dragging over every overstimulated nerve. Chase groaned at the feel of her.
“Still so fucking tight,” he muttered against her mouth. “Even after I’ve filled you three times. This cunt just keeps taking me.”
He fucked her slower than before, deeper, more exhaustive.
Long, rolling strokes that bottomed out every time and stayed there for a second so she could feel how completely he occupied her.
The wet sound was filthy and constant—his cock churning the cum already inside her, more of it forced out around his shaft with every thrust to run down over her ass and onto the cracked leather.
He kept his eyes on her face, watching every flicker of pleasure-pain, every time her mouth fell open on a silent moan.
One hand braced beside her head. The other slid between them so he could rub tight, slick circles over her clit in time with his thrusts.
The dual sensation built even though she was already wrecked.
Her third (or fourth—she had lost count) orgasm of the night rolled through her in heavy, trembling waves.
Her pussy clamped down hard, milking him, forcing another thick trickle of earlier loads out around his cock.
Chase didn’t stop.
He shifted her legs higher, hooked her knees over his elbows, and folded her open even more.
The new angle let him grind against the deepest part of her on every stroke.
The fresh ink on her inner thighs and along the edge of her pussy stretched and flexed with the position. He watched it the entire time.
“Look at my work,” he said, voice rough and low. “Every piece leading right to this cunt. And this cunt full of me. You’re going to feel me for days. Every time you walk, every time you sit, every time these new marks pull—you’re going to remember how many times I pumped you full tonight.”
He kept the pace deliberate and deep, refusing to rush.
When she came again it was with a cracked, exhausted cry, walls spasming around him so tightly he had to fight to keep moving.
Chase followed her over the edge with a guttural sound, burying himself to the root and flooding her a fourth time.
Hot, heavy pulses that had nowhere to go.
He ground through it, working every drop deeper, until she felt overfull and the excess leaked out in steady, warm streams.
Even then he didn’t pull out right away.
He stayed inside her, softening only slightly, and kept giving her short, shallow thrusts while the aftershocks rippled through both of them.
His mouth found the side of her neck, then the upper curve of her breast, kissing along the older ink there with surprising gentleness.
One hand stroked up and down her side, careful of every raised line.
“Not done with you yet,” he murmured against her skin. “You’re staying right here until I decide you’ve taken enough. Until this pretty cunt is so used and full it can’t hold anything else.”
He eventually softened enough to slip free.
A thick rush of cum followed, spilling out of her open pussy in a glossy flood that ran down over the newest marks and pooled on the leather beneath her.
Chase watched it for a long moment, then gathered some on his fingers and pushed it back inside her with a slow, thorough stroke—exactly the way he always did.
Jody lay there boneless and shaking, thighs still spread, every fresh piece of ink throbbing in time with the heavy pulse between her legs. Chase stretched out beside her on the narrow couch, pulled her half on top of him, and kept one possessive hand splayed over the ink on her hip.
The shop stayed locked. The night was nowhere near over.
Chase let her rest.
He kept her half on top of him on the narrow couch, one heavy arm draped over her waist, his palm resting possessively over the ink on her hip.
The low lamp cast everything in warm amber.
Jody drifted in and out, body heavy and used, the steady leak of his cum between her thighs a constant reminder.
Every so often he stroked his thumb along a raised line of fresh ink, feeling the heat of it, and she made a soft sound against his chest.
She woke to the feel of him shifting down her body.
Chase settled between her open thighs again, the leather creaking under his weight.
The mess from the night was still there—thick, sticky streaks of cum and slick coating her inner thighs, her swollen outer lips, the crease of her ass.
The newest pieces of ink along the edge of her pussy were still pink and raised.
He started at the soft junction of her thigh and licked upward in a long, flat stroke, cleaning her with slow, deliberate passes of his tongue.
The taste was heavy—salt, musk, the lingering heat of everything he had pumped into her.
He groaned quietly against her skin and kept going, lapping up every streak, working higher until he could spread her open with his thumbs.
Her pussy was soft and puffy from use, the inner lips dark pink and glistening.
He dragged his tongue through her folds, slow and thorough, collecting what had leaked out overnight and swallowing it.
Then he sealed his mouth over her entrance and sucked gently, drawing more of his own cum out of her.
Jody’s hips twitched. A sleepy, broken moan slipped out of her. Her hands found his hair.
Chase took his time. He licked her clean like it was the only thing he had to do—long strokes over her clit, pointed flicks against the sensitive underside, two fingers sliding back into her to push deeper and scoop out what was still inside.
The wet sounds were soft and filthy in the quiet room.
When her breath started to hitch he focused on her clit, sucking it between his lips in steady pulls while his fingers curled against the front wall.
She came with a quiet, trembling cry, thighs shaking around his head, a fresh rush of slick mixing with everything else on his tongue.
Only then did he rise up over her again.
He was hard, the head of his cock already slick.
He dragged it through her cleaned-but-still-sensitive folds, notched himself at her entrance, and pushed in face-to-face with one slow, deep thrust.
Jody’s mouth fell open. The stretch was familiar now and still overwhelming—her walls soft and yielding, the head pressing against her cervix when he bottomed out.
He held still for a moment, forehead against hers, letting her feel every thick inch.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and sex. “You still with me?”
“Yes.”
He started to move in long, rolling strokes, eyes locked on hers.
The couch springs complained softly. The wet sound of her cunt taking him filled the small space.
He kept the pace deliberate and deep, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding under her lower back to tilt her hips so he could grind against her clit on every downstroke.
The dual sensation built steadily even though she was already wrecked.
When she came it was with a cracked, exhausted moan, walls fluttering and clamping around him.
Chase followed a few thrusts later, burying himself to the root and flooding her one more time in thick, hot pulses.
He stayed inside her through the aftershocks, giving her short, shallow thrusts until he finally softened.
He pulled out carefully. A fresh trickle of cum followed. He watched it for a second, then reached for the clean towels and green soap he had brought in earlier.
Chase cleaned her with surprising gentleness—outer thighs, the crease of her ass, the swollen lips of her pussy—until the worst of the mess was gone.
He smoothed fresh ointment over every new piece of ink: the inner thighs, the delicate lines right along the edge of her outer lips, the hip, the ribs.
He pressed clean bandages in place where needed and sealed the edges with careful fingers.
The whole time his touch stayed proprietary, lingering on each mark like he was reminding both of them who had put it there.
When he finished he helped her sit up, pulled on his own jeans, and disappeared into the tiny break area. He came back with a bottle of water and a protein bar from the fridge, plus a clean black T-shirt of his that fell to mid-thigh on her.
“Eat,” he said, settling beside her on the couch again. He cracked the water for her, then let his hand rest on her bare thigh, thumb stroking over the edge of a bandage. “How do you feel?”
Jody swallowed a bite of the bar. Her voice was still rough. “Used. Full. Like every piece of ink is still buzzing.”
Chase’s mouth curved. He traced the vine on her ribs through the soft cotton of the T-shirt.
“That’s the point. I’ve been putting these on you for months. Watching you come back for bigger ones, closer ones. Last night I finished the path.”
His fingers drifted lower, resting lightly over the newest marks high on her inner thighs.
“This body is covered in my work now. And this cunt has taken everything I’ve given it. I’m not interested in this being a one-off series of sessions, Jody. I want you coming back whenever I decide you need another mark—or another load. I want to keep filling you under my own ink. Clear?”
She met his eyes. The ownership in his voice was open now, steady, no longer half-hidden behind the professional mask.
“Clear,” she said.
He leaned in and kissed her—slow, deep, tasting himself on her tongue—then rested his forehead against hers while his hand stayed splayed over the ink on her hip.
“Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”
They left the shop just before noon.
Chase locked up behind them, one hand resting on the small of Jody’s back as he guided her to his truck.
She was still wearing only his black T-shirt and her own leggings—no underwear, the soft fabric already damp again between her thighs from the slow leak of everything he had left in her.
Every step pulled at the fresh bandages on her inner thighs and along the edge of her pussy.
The raised ink throbbed in time with her pulse.
His place was a short drive across town—a quiet second-floor apartment above a closed storefront.
The second the door shut behind them he had her against it, mouth on hers, one hand already sliding up under the borrowed T-shirt to cup her breast while the other gripped her ass and pulled her tight against the hard line of his cock.
“Shower first,” he said against her lips, voice rough. “I want to see every mark in proper light. Then I’m putting you in my bed.”
The bathroom was small and clean, white tile and a glass-walled shower.
Chase stripped her carefully—T-shirt first, then the leggings that peeled away sticky with dried cum and slick.
He checked each bandage under the bright overhead light, peeling them back one by one to inspect the new work.
The inner-thigh pieces were still pink and slightly raised; the delicate lines right along the outer lips of her pussy looked perfect, the skin tight and shiny with residual ointment.
He smoothed fresh balm over all of them with slow, proprietary fingers before guiding her under the warm spray.
He washed her himself.
Big, soapy hands moved over every inch of her—shoulders, breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, the outsides of her thighs.
When he reached between her legs he was gentler but no less thorough, fingers sliding through her folds, cleaning away the thick residue of the night while the water ran hot over both of them.
Jody’s breath hitched when he brushed her oversensitive clit.
Chase made a low sound of approval and did it again, slower, watching her face while soap and water and the last traces of his cum swirled down the drain.
He didn’t fuck her in the shower.
He dried her with a clean towel instead, then carried her to the bedroom.