Marked for Submission by Sheri Savill Read Free Book Online Page A

throbbing. It could be bleeding for all I know. No, that’s not blood, that’s my own wetness. He’s right, I’m a slut.

 
    Chapter 8
     
    Mark picked up the tattoo machine and took his seat on the wheeled stool at her side again. The whirring sound began and instantly she felt an entirely new type of pain.
    What the hell is this shit?!
    “Ow!! Damn! What–?”
    Mark kept his gaze trained on her inside elbow area, the delicate pale skin already stinging under the sharp pressure.
    “Shading needle. ” He said it matter-of-factly. Intense pain flooded her senses as waves of searing heat shot through her skin in rapid succession, causing her to try to lift her entire body off the table. He acted like he didn’t notice. Or care.
    “It’s a different type of needle, see?” He lifted it off her skin briefly and held the tip closer to her so she could see it. “It’s more broad, in a way, but it’s really just a bunch of tiny needles all lined up together instead of just one bigger one for outlining.”
    Is that supposed to make me feel good or something? A bunch of tiny needles instead of just one? Oh yeah, so much better. NOW I see what you mean, you bastard. The shading needle is almost like a sleep-aid, you’re right! In fact, I may just nod off here! Sadistic, smug, arrogant, fuc–”
    She felt the gun pressing back into the soft flesh of her inner elbow again. No warning at all. And Mark continued his dry explanation as if he was narrating a boring documentary.
    “I decided to shade heavily in this area – it’ll make the design really pop. Some people say the shading needle isn’t quite as bad as the outlining needle. I guess that’s not true for you, though.” His gloved hand kept swiping roughly over the freshly wounded skin as he worked, adding to her torment.
    This fucking KILLS. I’m going to have to say something. I’m going to ha ve to make him stop for a while. I need a break.
    She tried not to levitate off the table. She felt an overpowering urge to move , to flee, to break loose somehow, to get away from the source of this awful, relentless new pain. It was probably the worst pain she’d ever felt in her life – like being burned and cut at the same time. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything else. Everything in her centered on the pain, wave after wave of it, unceasing, making her forget anything else even existed in the world. Nothing but pain now. Hot, cruel, immediate, mind-fucking pain. It went on for a solid twenty minutes, neither of them speaking, the music the only sound other than the incessant buzz of the tattoo gun.
    She felt tears welling up. Useless, weak, embarrassing, tears. She turned her head away from where Mark sat leaning into his work – her arm – hoping he wouldn’t see, wouldn’t notice, as she fought the tears back with everything she had.
    NO! You are NOT going to cry. Not now. You can’t cry. Just breathe and try to think of something else. TRY. Goddammit, TRY.
    Just as the first tiny tear began to crest over one lower lid, the pain stopped. The whirring noise was gone. She felt a nibble at her ear and heard Mark’s low rasp.
    “Good girl, you didn’t cry. Very proud of you. You did well, so, maybe a little reward for you now.”
    He was up and moving behind her somewhere. She felt a bump as the table jerked a little, then the entire leather surface under her head and neck suddenly lowered. He was adjusting the table … for some reason. She felt her neck and head descend to an angle below the plane the rest of her body occupied. She looked out at the now upside-down view behind the table and saw Mark, standing close. His crotch. Right there. The outline of his erection inches from her face. She wriggled a little, testing to see if her arms and ankles were still immobile. They were. Her pussy clenched again, awareness of the new piercing making her even more wet.
    Then she heard the sound of a zipper and felt Mark’s black-gloved hands