Rafaela is a futanari

Rafaela, having discovered her power some time ago, decided to test it. The sound of the pen scratching on the paper echoed in the empty room. Rafaela observed her own signature on the leather tag — *"Rafaela"* — in curvilinear and decisive letters. The bracelet was warm against her wrist, as if the ink still steamed with power.

She had already tested the gift on small things: a cup of coffee at work, the neighbor's car, the ruby ​​necklace in the jewelry store window. Everything had become hers with a simple stroke. But now, in front of the mirror in the women's bathroom, Rafaela took a deep breath and wrote her own name on the tag of the silk panties that covered her thigh.

Her skin tingled. A familiar, humid heat began to rise between her legs. Her penis was already semi-erect, throbbing against the thin fabric. Her hand slid down, caressing the flesh that now *knew* who its owner was.

It was then that the bathroom door opened.

—You've been here for *ages*— the voice belonged to Júlia, the colleague from the department Rafaela had been observing for weeks: long legs, a slim waist, breasts that swayed slightly beneath her tight dress.

Rafaela smiled. The pen was still in her hand.

—Want to see something interesting?— she asked, gently pulling at the collar of Júlia's dress to expose her collarbone. Before the other could react, Rafaela wrote *"Rafaela"* in tiny letters on the smooth skin.

Júlia gasped. Her eyes darkened immediately, and her legs trembled.

—Don… Dona— she whispered, wet and obedient, as her hands moved up to unzip her dress.

Rafaela didn't need any more words. Júlia's body already knew who she belonged to.

And her cock?

It did too. The air in the bathroom became heavy with the scent of desire. Júlia had fallen to her knees before Rafaela even before the dress had completely slid down her body. Her trembling fingers were already pulling the lace panties aside, revealing the damp, pink skin between her thighs.

"You've always been mine," Rafaela murmured, twirling her fingers in Júlia's brown hair as she pressed her against her now completely rigid penis beneath the tight skirt. The submissive's warm saliva enveloped the swollen head, and a moan escaped Rafaela's lips as her eager tongue began to trace circles on the frenulum.

The mark on Júlia's collarbone throbbed crimson, as if burning in sync with every movement of her mouth. Rafaela could *feel* the ****'s pleasure—her throat contracting, her stomach trembling, her fingers digging into her own thighs as she tried to contain the orgasm that threatened to explode.

"No," Rafaela pulled her hair forcefully, eliciting a small gasp of pain mixed with ecstasy. "You only come when I allow it."

Julia groaned, her eyes glazed with tears and desire. Her hands moved up to unbutton Rafaela's blouse, exposing her firm breasts. When her warm lips enveloped a nipple, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin, it was Rafaela's turn to arch her back.

The pen rolled to the floor, forgotten.

No one needed ink now.