Nate Silvester: A Tattoo Artist

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Nate discovered he had a superpower when he was a horny teenager. He could claim ownership of anything- or anyone- he wrote his name on. While his name was on the object, everyone would acknowledge he owned it and be alright with him doing as he pleased with it. Being a hormonal eighteen-year-old, Nate used his powers almost exclusively on gorgeous women.

Nate told Amanda he was learning a magic trick and asked if he could write something on her hand to demonstrate. Being his best friend, she trusted him. He repaid her trust by claiming her and losing his virginity with her.

He challenged Sasha, the hottest girl in his high school, to a game of truth-or-dare during fifth-period lunch. When she chose dare, he capitalized and asked whether he could write on her. Sasha expected him to write something embarrassing and took his dare in good humor. That lasted until she read his name on her hand. In the aftermath, Nate bragged he had fucked the hottest girl in school, and when people doubted him, he sent them nude photographs of Sasha as proof. The nudes leaked and ended up on several porn websites, ruining Sasha's reputation.

With his older sister, Rhea, Nate took a more direct approach. He sneaked into her bedroom while she was asleep and wrote his name on her. He then fucked her to the tune of Sweet Home Alabama and left her with a cream pie to remember the occasion. Their affair led to her getting pregnant and giving birth to his daughter-niece.

All of those experiences were wonderful, but they were also short-lived. Ink washed off, and the women wised up. After their experiences under his control, the now free girls weren't willing to let him write on them again. As the saying went: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Consequently, Nate realized ink wouldn't suffice if he wanted to keep his women. He would need a method of permanently claiming women. Eighteen-year-old Nate noted tattoos didn't wash off and resolved to become a tattoo artist. As twenty-five-year-old Nate looked over his magnum opus, he thanked his eighteen-year-old self for making that decision. Becoming a tattoo artist was paying dividends now and would continue to do so for the rest of his life.

Anne Labell had divorced her abusive husband two weeks ago and was looking to reassert control over her body. John Labell had compelled Anne to get several procedures done throughout their fourteen-year marriage.

John had convinced Anne to get a hysterectomy because he didn't want children. John liked women with larger breasts, so he compelled Anne to enlarge her breasts. John wanted to feel like he had tamed a bad bitch, so Anne got nipple piercings to please him.

Anne had never gotten a modification done because she wanted to do it. The improvements had always been for John. Now that she was single, she decided it was time for that to change. She was going to do one for herself.

Anne thought getting a star tattoo placed on the inside of her wrist would be a good start. It would be a small tattoo placed in an inconspicuous spot. Getting the tattoo would be a confidence booster that would reassure her that she was in control of her life without having consequences in the long term.

Unfortunately for Anne, the nearest tattoo parlor to her house- the one she chose to go to- belonged to Nate, and Nate took an immediate interest in her.

Anne was a rare specimen. People who get tattoos tend to start young. Consequently, the vast majority of Nate's collection was composed of women in the eighteen to twenty-five bracket. The seven exceptions to this were MILFs, but they were MILFs that had work done on them in the past by different artists. Nate had to work within the aesthetic those artists had established.

Anne, on the other hand, was an unmarred MILF. Her body was a blank canvas Nate could decorate however he pleased. Her unspoiled skin, coupled with her fit body- a rarity for a woman her age- and her social isolation made her an ideal candidate to become his masterpiece.

It took him two weeks, but Nate could confidently state he had realized Anne's latent potential. She looked just as he wanted. All that was left to do was get her used to her new life.

Anne looked impressed with the Upper West Side Townhouse Nate ushered her to. It was good that Anne liked the accommodations because "You're going to be staying here for the rest of you're life. You are not to leave the property."

"Are you going to be staying with me?"

"I own several properties around the world. I only stay here when I'm running my business."

"Am I allowed to leave when you're not here?"

"You are to remain on this property at all times, regardless of where I am."

"I can't disagree with you," can't, not won't, "but how am I going to get groceries while you're gone? What if I need to buy something?"

Nate looked at Anne like she was a moron. "You are property. You can't make purchases even if you could leave. As for groceries, I've already taken care of it. There will be regular shipments of everything you need to follow your food plan."

"Food plan?"

"You're my magnum opus. I can't have you getting fat and unfuckable, can I? I've had a personal trainer construct your diet and workout plan. I expect you to follow it."

"Wouldn't I have to leave to go on runs or head to the gym to lift?"

"There's a gym in the basement, and trust me, you'll be getting plenty of cardio every night." Nate's hand came to rest on her ass, and Anne resisted the urge to pull away. Her body belonged to him. She had no right to stop him from touching it.

"You might still be overlooking something. Forbidding me from ever leaving the house is a bit -"

Nate's hand lifted off her ass before coming back down, spanking her. "You aren't very bright, are you? Do you think this is my first time doing this?"

There weren't any other women in the townhouse, and Nate had made a point of calling her his magnum opus. Based on that, Anne had assumed she was special. Consequently, she had thought it was Nate's first time imprisoning a woman inside his mansion. Anne didn't say anything, but her answer was written on her face.

Nate snorted. "I own a mansion in southern France that I live in during the summer. I needed someone to take care of my vacation home while I worked during the winter, so I acquired two women and assigned them to the house as live-in maids. I've done the same with my mansions in Germany, India, and Japan. I have plenty of experience ensuring my property is well-maintained and haven't overlooked any of your needs. You are not to leave the townhouse."

"Alright. Am I going to be a maid then?"

"No. A french maid outfit wouldn't suit you."

"So, what am I going to be doing?"

"Strip."

"Excuse me?"

"You wanted to know what you're going to be doing. Strip."

Nate commanded, and Anne had to obey- but her interpretation of his commands interested Nate. He knew from experience that there were two ways Anne could interpret his order to strip. Some women interpreted 'strip' to mean 'take your clothes off.' Others interpreted the command as 'dance your clothes off.' Anne fell in the latter category.

A smile that didn't reach her eyes crossed her face, and her hips started swaying to a beat only she could hear. Her hips gyrated, and her boobs bounced as she took her clothes off, revealing she had obeyed Nate's command to wear something sexy underneath her street clothes. Anne looked stunning in red lace lingerie.

When her routine ended and she faced him in her birthday suit, Nate asked Anne where she learned to strip. He had seen girls strip for the first time, and they didn't have the same grace or power Anne did. That only developed with experience.

"John made me learn," Anne told him, referring to her ex-husband. "He liked it when I put on a show for him."

"If I ever run into John, I'll have to buy him a beer as thanks for training and losing you."

"I'm not a pair of car keys. John didn't misplace me. I chose to leave him because I wanted my freedom back. If I knew my life wouldn't change despite leaving him, I would have stayed with him."

Nate placed a finger on Anne's chest where his name was spelled and traced the cursive lettering. A reminder that despite Anne's assertion of personhood, she was Nate's property, no different from his car keys. "I'll have to buy John a beer as thanks for losing you." This time his assertion she could be lost went unchallenged. "If he hadn't, you would be wasting your talents as something other than my cum dump."

"Cum dump?"

Nate leaned in and kissed her. She didn't pull away- Nate was within his rights to kiss her- but she didn't kiss back either. Without an order to kiss him, the decision of whether to kiss back was left to her, and she didn't want to. After Nate broke the kiss, he informed Anne her decision was wrong. "This is the last time anyone is ever going to kiss you. You should kiss back." Seeing her confused look, Nate elaborated. "I'm going to sleep with my cock buried in your cunt. Every morning, you're going to wake up before me and give me a tit-job until I wake up. Then I'm going to have breakfast, and you're going to be under the table sucking my dick. Do you see where I'm going with this, cum dump?"

Nate debated whether he wanted an answer to his question. Anne wasn't very bright, so he doubted she'd come to the right one. "Your lips are going to be taking on a saltier quality from now on, and I'm not interested in tasting myself. So I'm going to be kissing you now," he leaned in for another kiss, this one brief and wet. "And I'm going to memorize your taste while you still taste like yourself."

"My life's gotten worse." Anne said suddenly, "I had said my life hadn't changed despite leaving John. I was wrong. My life has changed. It's gotten worse." Anne sounded sad.

For a second, Anne thought she had gotten through to Nate. At least, it looked like she had evoked pity in him. His hands stroked her back comfortingly, his eyes twinkled, and he offered her a warm smile. And then his hands dropped to grope her ass, his eyes turned sinister, and he kissed her again.

"Don't be silly," Nate murmured after breaking the kiss. "You're life can't get better or worse. You're my property. You don't have a life."