“You like a little prick?”

There is a crying and a gasping and a moaning, and it didn't come from Inkling but from Roselle. Buck as she might, strain against her restraints, but Roselle was trapped, stuck fast by wrist and ankles, stuck on her belly, unable to do anything but writhe and squirm and moan with need.

Still, the needle did its work, and Roselle knew that she was simply escaping from the pain into the pleasure. The pleasure would fade, but the sting of the needle would linger, and the shame of the tattoo, from rump to between her legs, would mark her forever.

Unless...

Roselle was in a state of dreamy ecstasy, heels locked into the feetboard, arms pulling against the cuffs, body arched and contorted to bring her sopping wet sex right up into Inkling's fingers - and she was enjoying herself too. That was until a loud clang signalled the opening of the front gate, and heavy boots marched inexorably towards the room.

"Wait, finish me off!" gasped Roselle. If Inkling succumbed to her passions, she might be able to escape without the **** tattoo!

Seeing Roselle so at her mercy, so inarticulately lost in pleasure, so bound and futilely struggling made Inkling even more excited. She saw the fleeting shame on her canvas' face. "You'd do well to swallow that pride, forget your past and not dwell on what has been taken from you... take solace in your desirability to your master and fellow slaves. Wear the **** tattoo with humility and acceptance..." The words cut through the sexual pleasure and struck a chord that tingled and reverberated through Rose.

Inkling grins as Roselle bucked against her fingers, gaze lazy and sex addled but the stomping of feet broke her sexual reverie and she picked up the needle and kept working.

"Stop playing and get to work," her master ordered gruffly slapping Inkling’s bare buttocks.

"Yes master Scarle." Inkling nods meekly, immediately cowed.

"Hmff, a tasty little bit of flesh. Noble born?" He asks.

Inkling nods.

"How the mighty have fallen milady." Inklings owner and master observed of Rose.

Roselle did her best not to make a sound as Inkling continued to work.

She failed.

...

Meanwhile, Calob was realising he had troubles of his own. His ship in orbit, where his consciousness lay, was firing error warnings. Something about limited reception and broadcasting, and him needing to reset the consciousness transfer to continue his stay on Acteon. Drat, some sort of meteor storm or inconsiderate parking of spacecraft.

Maybe... well, he could pick up his ****, retire to his room, and reset the spacecraft.

Calob liked to think his consciousness was still in the ship. In truth it was not so simple. The loss of connection was of concern as without the connection he was trapped here in this host, unable to emerge from the stasis vat. There were worse bodies to be trapped in but he didn't want to be stuck here in this backwards world forever. He shuddered at the thought and tweaked the subdermal receiver. Nothing.

"Fuck!" He headed back to the tatooist and collected his property. He noticed how aroused Rose was, practically a pool of juices had dribbled from her lips. The tattoo was not complete, only the outline had been laid out. It was sufficient to mark her permanently as a ****. "Good work girl." He flicked a coin to Inkling. "That will have to do, untie her," he instructed and Inkling did as she was told. Calob took Roselle’s leash and pulled her to her feet. Her nipples were erect and her eyes were clouded with need. He realised he wanted her. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "You look like you need something to blunt your desire. Come my horny little slavegirl, I would like to sheath my sword in your scabbard." He chuckled at the ridiculously lewd innuendo.

Calob pulled her along down the streets, past respectable people who looked down their nose at a ****. Calob slowed their pace so Rosette could feel belittled. It was hard to believe she had be a proud and free noblewoman. Her demeanor and appearance was that of a slavegirl - naked, marked as property, afire with **** bane. Her breasts bobbed as she walked and he caressed them. She would be a wild thing in the bed.

Roselle's knees buckled and she almost collapsed in the streets, legs turning to jelly, her body afire with desire. She hardly even minded Sir Wilifred's grope, even leaning into his hands so he could get a better grip. Her mind was driven wild with need and it was that that drove her down the street, eagerly following in his steps, ignoring the shame and the guilt and the humiliation.

That, she would regret tomorrow. But now a fire had been ignited in her, and she had only desire.

Calob led her into his inn and up to his chamber. He closed the door and chained her to the bed head. Then he kissed her lips and his hand moved down between her legs. "You’re hot and ready..." He unbuckled his pants and pushed her back too the bed, slapping her thighs apart and gripping her legs. His aroused manhood stood between her legs.

Pliant, pleading, she opened her legs to welcome him and let his sword slip inside her scabbard, as he had instructed. She almost choked with the sensation; it filled her up, provided her need, lifted her into another realm.

It was exactly what she craved.

She moaned.

A minor buzz in his temple reminded Calob to check on the receiver, but that went away. Roselle was hot and warm and begging for it on the bed, under him, and she could not look more like a debased noble...