Dabi.

Dabi had clearly underestimated your desire to be branded after the initial markings because the following morning you made another request while you were riding his cock after breakfast.

With a filthy moan leaving your lips as you gripped Dabi’s shoulders, you asked, “Dabi, not enough. Can I get more?”

But rather than receiving a response to your requests, the man slapped a warm hand across your cheek, causing you to gasp but also forcing you to realize your mistake. So you rushed to correct it by placing your hands behind your back, earnestly arching your back so he could watch your ***** tits bounce the way he liked before seeking again, “Please Dabi, I want something else.”

It was very dangerous of you to be bold like this and ask such a thing so soon after a cycle of bad behavior, knowing you were on the edge of severe punishment if you kept up the mischievous attitude.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to tug the leash on your neck and command you to, “Hurry the **** up or I won’t give you a damned thing.” Meaning that he had already been planning to give you something. So you eagerly did as demanded, hopping off his lap to get ready before you were driven to a tattoo parlor in a shady red light district that you didn’t recognize.

And in the tattoo parlor, Dabi played with your hair as he told the artist you wanted to get a name tattooed onto the small of your black.

He hadn’t even asked you for permission to get such a drastic body modification, but holy hell, you weren’t going to refuse that sort of treatment even if it killed you .

The idea turned you on almost as much as it buzzed your brain into happy land, seating yourself gleefully on the leather chair to rest your head in your arms, Dabi tugging the waistband of your skirt down for the artist to start sketching the characters into your back.

It was a small tattoo, nothing extensive, but it was enough for you.

Well, in the beginning at least.

What could you say? You were a greedy girl, just like how Dabi was a greedy boy.

So, not more than a week later, you were asking for an encore of the branding situation, begging on your hands and knees to get his name done again, asking him to put more marks on your skin because you felt it was too empty.

The two of you experimented with different ways to put permanent marks into your flesh.

Knives and heat was always the first option. A splendid way to get long lasting marks carved into your belly and breasts, all over your arms and over every inch of your back so he could see them while he fucked you doggy style.

And once those healed, you begged to get more tattoos. So Dabi sighed and took you back to that parlor where he practically threatened the artist to leave the room so Dabi could ink it onto you himself.

When he finished jotting down a couple dozen different sized signatures, he allowed the tattoo artist back inside to reluctantly wrap the tattoos so they’d heal.

And once he was finished, you’d look up at Dabi into his pretty eyes and ask him, “Do you like it baby?”

And Dabi would smooth your hair away from your face and say, “Of course I do.”

Then he’d kiss your lips.

You took care of all your scars and tattoos as to let them heal nicely, realizing that you’d be unable to wear a bathing suit or anything that showed too much skin without showing the brands off, but **** it.

You wanted everyone to know that you were owned. That you were reserved for one man and one man only.

So you shamelessly dressed in your skimpiest bikini during a friend’s pool party, not a single care for the fact that there were many concerned eyes watching over your exposed skin, littered with tattoos, scars, bruising, and teeth marks.

At some point, during the end of the night while you were all toweling off and getting ready to leave, one of your friends came up to you and stated sheepishly, “You have his name written 69 times.”

Oh, did you?

All you could do was shrug, confused as to why everyone was making such a fuss.

You had never cared to count them.

But you hoped to gain more as time progressed. If you could have it your way, you’d have Dabi brand every inch of your skin, but he said he valued your pretty face too much to scar it.

Thus, the world saw you as clean and proper.

But you were already secretly tainted and dirty for life.

To Be Continued~

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