Nate Silvester: A Tattoo Artist

Nate Silvester first uncovered his extraordinary ability during his teenage years, a time when hormones raged and often led to impulsive decisions. He realized he could claim ownership over any object or person by inscribing his name on them, and as long as that mark remained, everyone around would accept his absolute right to do whatever he wished with what he now possessed. Being a horny eighteen-year-old, he directed this power entirely towards beautiful women who caught his eye.

With his best friend Amanda, he framed it as a harmless magic trick, asking if he could write something on her hand to show her how it worked, and she agreed without hesitation, her trust in him unwavering. In return, he marked her as his own and used her to lose his virginity.

Not long after, during a crowded fifth-period lunch, he spotted Sasha, the undisputed hottest girl in the entire high school, and challenged her to a game of truth or dare. When she picked dare, he seized the opportunity and asked if he could write something on her arm. She rolled her eyes and extended her hand, expecting some silly insult or crude joke that would make everyone chuckle. The good humor faded the instant she glanced down and saw his name etched in ink. In the following weeks, Nate would brag to anyone who would listen that he had slept with the girl every guy dreamed about. When skepticism crept in, he silenced the doubters by sharing nude photos he had taken of her, images that soon escaped his phone and spread across porn sites, destroying her reputation in a wave of cruel exposure.

For his older sister Rhea, he opted for a more direct approach, slipping into her room one night while she slept and carefully writing his name on the smooth skin of her shoulder. He then fucked her to the tune of Sweet Home Alabama and left her with a creampie to remember the occasion. Their secret liaisons continued until she became pregnant and gave birth to a child who was both his daughter and his niece.

Those early exploits brought him immense satisfaction, yet they proved fleeting, as the ink from a simple pen washed away with time, and once free, the women grew wary and refused to let him mark them again. As the old adage went, fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

This realization hit him hard, prompting him to seek a more permanent solution if he hoped to hold onto his claims indefinitely. At eighteen, he observed that tattoos endured far longer than pen marks, so he set his sights on becoming a tattoo artist. Now, at twenty-five, as he admired his greatest creation yet, he silently thanked that younger version of himself for the foresight, knowing the career choice would yield benefits for years to come.

Anne Labell had finalized her divorce from her controlling husband just two weeks earlier, eager to reclaim autonomy over her own body after years of yielding to his demands. Throughout their fourteen-year marriage, John had pressured her into numerous alterations, all designed to suit his preferences rather than her desires.

He had persuaded her to undergo a hysterectomy because he had no interest in fatherhood, insisted she enhance her breasts to give him better titjobs, and convinced her to get nipple piercings to fulfill his fantasy of dominating a bad bitch.

Never once had she chosen a modification for her own sake; every change had been to appease him. Now, single and determined to shift that dynamic, she resolved to make her first independent choice. A small star tattoo on the inside of her wrist seemed like the perfect beginning, subtle and hidden, a quiet boost to her confidence that affirmed her control without inviting long-term regrets.

Unfortunately for her, the closest tattoo parlor to her home, the one she selected, belonged to Nate, and he took an instant liking to her upon her arrival.

Anne stood out as something exceptional in his eyes, since most clients who sought tattoos began young, leaving his collection dominated by women between eighteen and twenty-five. The handful of older women he'd claimed were already inked by others, forcing him to adapt to existing designs rather than start fresh.

But Anne was different, a pristine canvas of mature beauty, her skin untouched and her figure remarkably toned for her age, compounded by her apparent lack of close ties that might complicate things. She represented the perfect opportunity for him to craft something truly his own.

After two dedicated weeks of work, he could declare with certainty that he had unlocked her full potential, transforming her exactly as he envisioned. All that remained was to ease her into 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."