Your mother makes sure you're strapped in, before she heads down to midtown, which thankfully isn't far away. Whilst you're wondering what your mother has in mind, you notice the growing bulge on her skirt, but chuck it up to where you are right now.
The streets in midtown are lined with signs, shop windows, and advertisements aimed at adult futas; so lots of images depicting small males in compromising positions, famous futas wearing tight dresses or pants, and lewd slogans such as "Cuckold Cola Plus: Taste the Envy", "Naked Fitness: Boy Bikes Available From 16:00 to 21:00", and "Miranda's Male Modification Center: Bump Your Boy's Butt Up a Notch". You shudder at that last one, and are glad when your mother passes it in favour of a small tattoo parlor down the street.
"A tattoo?" You look at your mother questioningly. "Oh yes, honey. I want to make it absolutely clear to everyone" she looks at you meeningfully "that you're mine forever. First, however." She says as she rolls up her skirt, freeing her semi hard monster. "Mommy needs some help looking presentable."
One skullfucking, and a gullet full of urine later, you enter the Memory Maker, your mother again leading you on a leash, though you're walking now, not crawling. As she leads you to the counter, however, she's in the middle of telling you how much she apreciates you, which would be nice if it wasn't for how loud she was being about it.
"... and I absolutely adore that face you make while I'm relieving myself down your throat. The resignation, the way your eyes soften when you look up at me, you just look absolutely adorable!" Your face, already red from your mother literaly draging you in here to get tattooed, turns an even brighter shade.
Thankfully she stops once she comes to the counter, which is manned by a short, pale woman with more piercings than you can count, and purple pink tipped hair. "Evening mam, I'm Alice. What can we do for you today?" Despite her goth looks and clothes; platform boots, fishnet pantyhoes, black, ripped hotpants, and a dark grey and pink tank top, she seems geniunely peppy when greeting your mother.
"Good evening Alice." Your mother smiles at the much smaller woman. "I was wodering if you could help me with my boy here." She motions to you, and you shrink as the woman looks you over like a piece of meat.
"Oh yes, I do belive we can." She unconsciously bites her lip. "He's registered to you, I assume?" She asks, looking back to your mother, who's eyes visibly brighten at the questionbrighten. "Oh yes. I've got him locked in a 6-0-9." The smugness in your mother's voice is only matched by the astonishment on the goth womans face. "So he's your... And he's an actual... Holy fuck, mam." The look you get this time around is about a hundred times more intense, and she actually licks her lips. "That's so fucking hot." "Thank you." Your mother says, and whilst you're wondering what a 6-0-9 is, you're currently more worried about the tents both women are now sporting.
"So what do you want us to do to him?" Alice enthusiastically asks as she leads your mother and you to one of the private rooms. "I was thinking a tramp stamp to begin with. Maybe cursive writing reading Momma's Toy with a crossed out B before the T." Alice's eyes gleam with malevolant glee. "Oh, I like that."
Doing as you're told, you lay out on a bench festooned with a myriad of restraints on it. "Does he need to be secured?" Alice offhandedly asks as she readies her tools. "Oh no, Marcus is very well behaved. Isn't he, Marcus?" Your mother asks in a tone of voice which indicates that anything less than complete obedience will be met severely.
You meekly nod, and a few hours, and a lot of pain later, you're now the not so proud owner of a throbbing lower back with
*Momma's B̶Toy*
stylised there, marking you as your mother's, forever.
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