Rome wasn't built in a day

“Um… it looks great?” Amy says as she beholds your latest work of art. You glare at her. If the way she snorts and struggles to contain her laughter is any indication, you haven’t impressed her one bit. “You said you wanted to try writing ‘Dog’ twice in a row, but I just don’t see it.”

The three of you had moved to the tattoo parlor’s backroom. Amy explained to you that its purpose was to ensure the privacy of anyone who didn’t want to be seen through the front windows by passersby on the street. Visually, it is very similar to the front room. Framed pictures hang along the black walls and a white fan spins along the center of the ceiling. The only major differences you notice are the absence of windows and the presence of only a single full body chair.

“Laugh it up, Amy. Someday I’m gonna be world-renown for my tattoo work and when you come up to me begging for my autograph, I’m going to remember this moment.”

“Uh-huh. You’re like the worst study I’ve ever seen so I doubt that.”

You grimace. “Hey, I’m paying you fifteen thousand dollars!”

She loses it then, covering her mouth as she giggles. You’d think she sounded incredibly cute right now if she weren’t making fun of how absolutely hopeless you are at engraving a coherent design into the ruined pigskin. Her laughter does have the pleasant side-effect of causing her perky breasts to jiggle slightly, however, so you let it slide.

“Kelly, what do you think?” you grumble.

Your best friend’s mother looks up from your/her phone and smiles at you indulgently. She crosses her arms under her big breasts, causing her milky white flesh to jut out obscenely from her cleavage. It occurs to you that she’s trying to cheer you up. From the way your manhood hardens and your pulse races, it’s working.

“That bad, huh?” you mutter. Kelly gives you a look and blushes. “Better watch out what you do with those things. I might just have to bend you over that chair and teach you a lesson.”

“Erm…” Amy gives you a look of discomfort, clearly still not used to the idea of you possessing another person utterly despite accepting it.

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m Ryan’s property, so there’s nothing wrong with him doing whatever he wants to me.” Kelly smiles warmly at the younger girl.

“I know, sorry about that Mrs. O’Brien,” Amy says. She wrings her hands together. “And Ryan,” she adds after a meaningful look from Kelly. “Especially Ryan, considering he owns you. What’s that like, anyway?”

“Well…”

The two women fall into a lengthy, animated conversation about the realities of human ownership. You take the opportunity to grab another pig skin and place it on the table in front of you. You take your sharpie out and write your name on the soft pinkish surface. Within moments of writing your name, the rotary machine is in your hand once more and you get to practicing.

--

“Hey, I brought you something. I figured you two might be hungry,” Kelly emerges into the backroom carrying a brown paper bag.

“Hm, smells like Chinese. I love Chinese!” Amy seems practically giddy to be doing anything else but watching you practice. You don’t begrudge her for that, though. Despite the fact that you’d been incredibly curious about the how the tattoo industry worked and how the artistry was applied to the human skin, hours of constant practice has drained you of any sense of curiosity or wonder about the practice.

“Thanks, Kelly. You really didn’t have to,” you say.

Kelly’s face softens as she looks at you. “But I wanted to. That you’d say something like that to me just makes me wish this whole business were finished so I’d be yours forever.”

“Aw…” Amy gushes. She claps you on the arm. “Did you hear that, stud? You’re such a great owner. I bet all the women you own can’t get enough of you. How many are there, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m the first and only, at least as far as I know,” Kelly says after you give her a confirming nod. “There will probably be a lot more in the future, though. Ryan’s appetites are… extensive.”

Amy snorts.

“Sounds like your average teenage guy to me,” she withdraws a box of what looks to be pork ribs with a side of fried rice.

“Oh, he’s anything but average,” Kelly mutters under her breath, licking her plump lips seductively as she stares meaningfully at your crotch.

From the way Amy’s eyes widen and her gaze drifts slightly below your waistline, she heard. You quirk an eyebrow at her and the girl looks away, flushed.

You and Kelly share a grin.

“So where’s your sister again?” you ask as you pull out a box of your own. Chicken dumplings. Yum.

“With her boyfriend, probably,” Amy rolls her eyes. “I honestly don’t get what she sees in a suit that works at a bank all day, but I guess I gave her free reign to do what she wanted when I told her not to come back after lunch.”

“She bought your story, just like that?”

Amy grins at you sheepishly. “Oh, uh, I haven’t exactly told her about the money yet. I will when I see her, I just don’t want her to freak out.”

“About the money or about me using your equipment?”

“Both,” she admits. She grabs a saucy rib and takes a large bite out of it like some sort of cavewoman. Definitely not partial to table manners, that one. You grin at the thought, sneaking a brief look at the gentle swell of her breasts while she’s distracted by her food.

It’s that distraction that gives you an idea. You don’t think you’re going to be able to attain even a passable skill at tattooing, at least not in the time you’ve bought yourself today at Charissa’s Characters. You’re tempted to just write your name on everything in the store, but you dismiss that outright since the store would be worthless without the ability to imprint your name permanently onto a person. Your mind flashes back to the time after Kelly had given you a breakfast blowjob under her kitchen table, when Kelly had wiped your name from the kitchen table and then reapplied it at your askance. Apparently, a person’s perception of your ownership over an object can be altered by someone you yourself own. The thought causes your heart to race, the solution to your immediate problems within your grasp. Until you achieve a relative mastery over tattoo artistry, you can rely on someone you own who possesses the skill since whatever power behind your writing seems to turn others into extensions of yourself. If Kelly can claim her kitchen table for you with a sharpie, Amy can claim someone for you with her tattoos, assuming your power actually works with the medium. You curse yourself for wasting all this time and not testing that right away.

You rise quickly from your seat, food completely forgotten.

“Hey Amy, you’ve somehow gotten a glob of sauce on the back of your neck. Do you mind if I get rid of it for you?” you ask, grabbing a bunch of napkins along with your sharpie.

Her azure eyes flick over to you for a moment before she nods her consent and resumes eating, moaning as she savors the taste of another rib.

You walk up behind the girl and drink in the sight of her soft, milky skin. Her cleavage is much more visible from this angle and the sight causes your cock to twitch. You can’t wait for her to be yours.

Kelly catches your eye from the other side of Amy, her emerald eyes looking at you searchingly before quickly gleaming in realization. You grin at her and she smiles widely, happy for the sake of your happiness. The fact that you’re about to enslave another woman doesn’t bother her. You suspect that it would if anyone else had done it, but she’s yours.

You uncap the sharpie and press it to the surface of Amy’s pale skin.