Gender: Male Age: 55 Location: Midwest, USA
|Introduction: Mark returns from 6 months in Thailand and begins turning his wife into his sex toy. Tattoos and piercings are a big part of his new fetish,|
Chapter 01 - First Tattoos and The Biker Bar
Kerrie tugged at the bottom of her tiny white half-top, trying to keep it from riding up any higher than it had to. It was no use. Mark insisted she buy it two sizes too small and she was lucky it covered as much of her as it did.
Mark opened the front door of the bar. The loud music and cigarette smoke hit her like a fist.
"Come on, honey. We're right on time."
Kerrie took a deep breath and walked in just ahead of him. She wrapped her arm around his, trying to make herself as small as possible, to vanish into him.
The bar was wall-to-wall people, most of them bikers and old, grizzled trucker types in plaid shirts and denim. Grey hair and white beards were everywhere. She stole glances at man after man and saw naked, swollen bellies between leather vests and leather chaps, huge biceps underneath rolled-up flannel, and huge, meaty hands holding cans of beer. And the women. Big, hard women sitting in the men's laps or standing leaning against the wall with someone pressing up against them. A few of them were different - cheerleader types with straight blond hair wearing short skirts and tiny tank tops. Hookers?
Kerrie pushed her face into Mark's shoulder and tried hard not to make eye contact with anyone. But, she couldn't keep her eyes off their arms and chests. There was ink everywhere. Tattoos of flags and eagles, slogans and hearts with names on them. One of the cheerleader-hookers had a dragon that began at her left shoulder and wound its way down her left arm to her wrist. Kerrie stared and felt herself getting excited. Her left hand slid down and touched the elastic waistband of her tiny stretch skirt. She ran a finger lightly over the rose tattoo on her left hip bone. She felt another rush of heat between her legs. How long had it taken for them to tattoo that dragon? And was there more to it? Kerrie ran her eyes up and down the woman's body and shuddered with excitement when she saw the dragon's tail emerging from the hem of her skirt, wrapping around her right thigh, the very end of the tail halfway down her calf.
"What are you looking at, honey?" Mark asked. She looked up sheepishly and saw the big grin on his face. "She's pretty, isn't she?" he taunted.
Kerrie kept silent. Mark's head was no doubt filled with a fantasy of the two of them in bed, kissing and touching, entertaining him the way he liked to be entertained these days. Let him believe what he wanted to, she was only turned on by the tattoo.
All her life, she'd had a fascination with them but Mark didn't know how deep it ran. Neither did she until just lately. Since he came back from Thailand, Mark had forced her to get four tattoos, not knowing she had been drawn to the idea since she saw her first one at fifteen. She was in 10th grade -- the year she met Mark, an incoming freshman -- and the woman worked as a waitress in a short order restaurant in Dubuque. The woman always wore the same one-piece uniform and white apron. Except for one hot summer afternoon Kerrie would never forget. The woman was wearing a two piece output, made of the same yellow-orange shiny fabric as her regular one and once, when she was reaching for something on the shelf above the plates, Kerrie saw a bit of her belly and the butterfly tattoo between her belly button and the top of her skirt. The image never left her. There was something about it that seemed so sexy, so provocative, so transgressive. She'd masturbated to it for years - in fact, still did sometimes. That small, small expanse of exposed skin that had been violated by a needle, the violation made permanent by the ink.
One of her friends in college got a tattoo her freshman year and Kerrie made her bring her along. She watched wide eyed as the needle touched her friend's skin, injecting the tiny beads of ink into the subcutaneous tissue. When she got back to her dorm, Kerrie locked the door (something she never did) and took out her sewing kit. She pulled down her pants and lay on the bed, her left hand between her legs and her right hand pricking the skin of her belly with the pin. Never enough to draw blood, just enough to excite her and make her cum like she'd never cum before.
All through college, she wrestled with the idea of getting a tattoo. A small one. A hidden one. The picture didn't matter. The location didn't matter either. What mattered was satisfying the overwhelming curiosity she had to feel that needle touching her flesh.
But, she never got up the nerve. What would her parents say? And, more than that, what would Mark say? How would he react to her marking herself in such a permanent way? He'd even argued with her senior year when she pierced her ears. A tattoo would freak him out completely.
She thought that until he came back from his trip. Everything was different now. Mark was different and he was slowly turning their world upside down.
Mark slid up onto one of the stools near the back of the bar and Kellie leaned against the one next to it. "Sit down," he said.
"I'm not sure I want to touch it," she whispered back. "Who knows what kind of disease I'll pick up? You see these people." She looked around, leaned in closer to him and whispered. "They're pigs. Why don't you take me home and I can give you something really, really special?" She slid her hand along the inside of his thigh, stopped just short of touching his crotch.
"Get on the stool," he said sternly.
Kerrie felt that same rush she'd felt so many times in the last four weeks. Mark acted like he owned her and she found that, contrary to everything she'd been taught and everything she knew was wrong about it, she was enjoying it. With her eyes looking down at the bar, she slid her bottom onto the stool. It was cool on her thighs and she wished she was wearing something more than the skimpy little panty-skirt.
The bartender was in his late forties and had a hard face and close-shaved hair. His mustache was thick and it looked ridiculous in the middle of the otherwise bright red expanse of face. He put down the glass he was polishing and walked down the bar, leaned over close to Mark.
"I don't really care for you bringing her in here looking like that. I don't like trouble and you don't exactly look like you can handle..." Mark's left hand flashed out and grabbed the man's wrist, his right hand swung around and jammed a blade into the bartop between the bartender's index and middle finger. Mark grinned at him and said calmly, "I learned a few things while I was overseas."
A smile came across the bartender's face as he pulled his hand back and looked at his fingers with mock surprise. "You a vet?"
Mark shook his head. "No, not quite that big a deal. Just a traveller. Thailand. Six months solid. Learned a lot of things."
The bartender looked at Kerrie, his eyes caught the two gold earrings in her left earlobe and the small stud in her nose. She watched him as his eyes went from her ear to her eyes back to her ear. "I can see that. Two rings in the ear. Doesn't that mean she takes it from behind?" He stared directly into her eyes. "Exclusively?" Kerrie turned and started to get off the stool but Mark grabbed her wrist and held her tight. She went limp, defeated and shamed, and sat back down.
"Tell him that he's right, dear," Mark said.
"You..." Kerrie said in a whisper, "...you're right."
"Go on," Mark goaded.
"You're right, sir, I...I am exclusive with that." She felt tears burning in her eyes but also a rush of excitement between her legs. She was angry, she'd never been so humiliated before, what the fuck was he doing and why was it working?
"Be a little more direct, honey," Mark said, touching her bare shoulder.
"I...I take it up the ass," she muttered.
"Exclusively," Mark prompted.
"I take it up the ass, exclusively," Kerrie repeated.
"Well, good for you, little lady," the bartender said in a loud voice.
The big man turned and walked halfway down the bar until he reached a series of five ship's bells mounted on a battered strip of oak, each with a short rope hanging from it, each a slightly different color. He rang the second one five times and the room got quiet. Kerrie felt her stomach turn as slowly, everyone eyes turned in her direction.
Mark stood up and raised his glass, leaned down with his other hand and pulled Kerrie toward him, kissing her hard while the crowd broke into laughter and applause. Kerrie felt their eyes on her and wrapped her arms around Mark's head, her mouth open and hungry, hips starting to move. As the applause continued, she felt herself getting aroused by their attention. It was the same feeling she'd had when Mark made her parade around the house in bra and panties in front of his friends or when she was getting her third and fourth tattoos. Something was happening to her. She wasn't sure what it was but it excited her.
She whispered into Mark's ear, "take me home, take me home and fuck me crazy." He pulled back and looked her in the eyes for a long time before he shook his head and whispered, "not yet."
The crowd slowly went back to their drinking and pool and fondling and Mark sat quietly at the bar with his pencil and notepad and jotted down ideas. Kerrie sat nervously beside him, feeling the stares of the men and women making her anxious and slightly embarrassed. After an hour, Mark ordered her a second Margarita but kept his attention on the pad. He had a proposal due at work the following Wednesday and she could tell he was working on it. Small boxes with arrows and cryptic markings he used when he was developing presentations.
Near the middle of the second hour, Kerrie found she was relaxing and started to look around the place. Most of the men scared her but the women were worse. She saw some of them kissing, letting themselves be fondled like cheap whores or, even worse, pieces of meat. What would make these women do this to themselves? Cheapen themselves like this? She shook her head and took another drink.
At least Mark loved her. He'd loved her since they met in high school. They'd gone to the same college and got married the summer after they graduated. Mark had taken summer courses and worked his ass off to graduate the same year as Kerrie. Kerrie was every bit as smart and talented but didn't have the motivation Mark had - he didn't want his girlfriend getting her degree before him. He was always competitive that way and it showed.
Both of them had majored in Business but she hadn't been able to find a job and ended up as a hostess in a hotel restaurants. She had been angling for a spot in the hotel's PR department and taken the job as a "foot in the door", but now, nearly four years later, she wasn't any closer to the job than she was when she started.
Mark, on the other hand, was picked up immediately as a Project Manager for an international firm that specialized in manufacturing design. He advanced quickly and that led to his six month long stay overseas. A major corporation in Thailand had contracted his firm to help them get a new product line up and running. It happened that Mark's affinity for stereo gear coincided exactly with the firm's ambitions and, once they knew that, they insisted he be part of the implementation team or the deal was off.
Kerrie thought about that and looked down at her left forearm. The tattoo of the speaker was still crisp and clean as it was the day she got it. Mark had an identical tattoo in the same place, they'd got them a week before he left. They knew they wouldn't see each other the entire time. They didn't have the money to fly her over and the company didn't have a policy for letting him visit home. They had wanted something to remember each other.
Now, she looked at these skanks -- every last one of them either thirty pounds over or under weight -- and knew they'd never know the kind of love she had with Mark.
"Open your knees."
Mark's voice brought her back from her reverie. Without thinking, she obeyed, watching the smile come to his face.
"Doesn't take much anymore, does it?" he sneered.
"Mark, I love you." She leaned closer and whispered. "I'll do anything you want, you know that."
"You'll do it because I tell you to," he said, turning away from her. "Finish your drink."
Kerrie felt another flood of humiliation and excitement. Part of her screamed "you know better, he doesn't own you" but another part whispered, quietly but with more power, "feels good,
doesn't it?" It did.
"I think your next tattoo should go right about ..." Mark slid his hand up her left leg until it was just inches from her crotch "...here." He traced a small circle. "Maybe a moon. Or one of those tribal symbols."
Kerrie fought the urge to look around the room, to see if anyone was watching, to see if any of the women were staring, channeling their disapproval. Instead, she focused on the touch of Mark's finger and let herself melt into her arousal.
"Well, well. What have we here?"
Kerrie didn't look up, just stared at the black boots and leather pants of the man standing beside Mark. She saw the wide leather belt with the big silver Harley buckle and the heavy chain that hung down and circled around his back. His big belly hung over the top of his pants, he had to weigh over four hundred pounds. The fabric of the white shirt was thin and she could see tattoos underneath, snaking over his belly and up his chest. She held her breath.
"I asked you a question," the man repeated.
Mark turned and stared at the man. "We're just having a drink." He stood up and picked up his glass, leaned just slightly forward toward the man. "That's all right with you, isn't it?"
The man stared at Kerrie -- her cleavage rather -- and spoke without turning his head. "It all depends." He reached toward the bar and closed his hand around Kerrie's Margarita glass. Kerrie stared at the snakehead on the back of his hand. The snake ran up his forearm, twisted underneath just below the elbow and disappeared. She shuddered, another jolt of heat shot her between the legs.
"Back off," Mark said, his voice steady and loud.
The man pulled his hand back and turned, facing Mark this time. "You shouldn't bring a sweet things like that in here unless you plan to share her with me and the boys." He put one hand on the bar and his other hand reached out for Mark's drink.
Mark set his drink down on the bar and turned to the bartender. "What does he drink?"
The bartender smiled and said, "Jimmy's a Bud man."
Mark turned again and looked up at the man. "How about this, Jimmy? I buy you a drink and you go back and sit down with your friends. How's that?"
"You're awfully fucking calm for someone whose girlfriend is about to pull a train for a bunch of strangers." Jimmy stepped back again and stared at Kerrie, "You ready, honey?" Kerrie stood paralyzed, staring at Mark. He put his hand on Kerrie's shoulder. Mark's arm darted out and jabbed Jimmy's throat, crushing his windpipe. With another smooth motion, he twisted Jimmy's arm behind his back, pushing his hand up between his shoulders.
Jimmy tried to say something but couldn't. He went to his knees as Mark twisted his wrist.
"Help me..." he croaked. The other three men at the table stared and laughed. "You got yourself into this, dickhead," one of them laughed.
"OK, that's enough."
Mark turned and saw another man-mountain standing behind him. The man was over six feet and had to weight three fifty or more. But he was all muscle, huge biceps and chest, tanned and ripped. He was wearing torn blue jeans, high boots and a tight athletic shirt with the same colors as Jimmy's vest.
He and Mark stared at each other for a minute before either of them spoke.
"Kevin?" Mark stammered.
"Fuckin' eh! Mark?!"
The man grabbed Mark and picked him up, swung him around. Jimmy rubbed his neck and slunk back to his table, his buddies laughing and slapping his back.
Kevin pulled Mark into a booth along the back wall, Kerrie huddled in the corner behind him. The bartender brought over two beers and another Margarita.
"Brave move, Mark. I have to say I'm not surprised. You were always a tough little shit."
Mark laughed. "Have you been hanging out with these guys since college? What the hell?"
Kerrie listened as they caught up. Kevin was six years older than Mark and had gone to the same college. He'd dropped out a year before they got there but was always hanging around the college. She remembered seeing him holding court with a dozen students hanging around, mostly talking about history and politics. Being so enormous, he stood out. She asked one of her friends about him and found out he was brilliant, he'd read more on his own that any of them had for their courses and had some strong opinions about the world. And about women. He was a dinosaur, he had no time for the women's movement or for anything resembling family life. His urges were all completely animal - eat, mate, and compete. And he argued that everything he read about human history told him culture was just a thin veneer over animal instincts and easily, easily disposed of whenever necessary. Wars, genocide, slavery -- all of them examples of the principle that civilization was a sham, it was all about strength. He scared her.
Mark was enthralled listening to Kevin talk about his travels. Whatever Mark thought he'd learned from his six months in Thailand, Kevin knew a hundred times more. He hung on his every word. They talked and drank well past midnight while Kerrie sat in the corner, half listening and enjoying the warm feeling from the Margaritas.
"I love your girl," Kevin said, turning toward Kerrie. "Nicole Kidman's long lost sister?"
"Some people think so," Mark said. He raised his glass and they toasted.
Kerrie smiled. She'd heard that hundreds of times but it still thrilled her. She had Kidman's eyes and smile, her long neck and the same jawline. The differences were that Kerrie was blond, Iowa corn-fed blond, and a bit "rounder and softer" as Mark put it. If she dyed her hair and lost about twenty pounds, the only difference would be that Kerrie's lips were much fuller. That, and her 38D chest.
They went on for a while longer, talking about Thailand and the things Mark had seen. Kerrie didn't pay attention, she'd heard it before. She listened to the music and tried to enjoy her Margarita.
"So, your ass slut here," she heard Kevin say. She looked up and saw that he was staring at her, only half interested.
"You recognize the piercings?"
"Northern Thai? Isan territory?"
Mark nodded dumbly. He had no idea, he just knew that the men he was with had told him that the double piercing -- identical rings in the lobe of the left ear -- meant that the woman was to be used exclusively for anal sex. She might use her mouth to get the man aroused, but she wouldn't give head and her pussy was completely off limits. This was very rare in the North but the girls further south, especially in the big cities like Bangkok, were more accommodating.
"It's only been for the last three weeks, but it's permanent."
Kerrie felt herself getting excited again and hated it. She was used to having his cock up her ass but still couldn't believe it was more than a temporary kink. But then, everything seemed like it was up in the air since he came back.
He'd come back on a Wednesday four weeks ago. She met him at the airport and they went straight the nearest hotel and fucked all night. Mark was an animal, rolling her over, fucking her sitting, standing, folding her in half over the armchair and banging into her from above. He went through the same things that Friday and Saturday and she loved every minute of it.
He also had her wear some of the clothes he'd sent home for her those last few months. Tight sarongs and loose fitting, ornate blouses that flowed and billowed and barely covered her ass. She loved the exotic look of her body in those outfits and Mark's constant attention. She spent the weekend wearing the same waist-length blouse, Mark sneaking up on her and making love to her again and again. By Sunday afternoon, she couldn't walk from the bedroom to the bathroom without an ooze of cum running down the inside of her legs. She loved every minute of it.
Monday morning, though, he'd sat her down at the kitchen table and told her that things were going to change around the house. While he was away, he'd learned what women were for and he was going to start teaching her.
He took out a notebook he said he'd been keeping the last several weeks. It contained page after page of things that "needed to be adjusted". He promised her he would implement them slowly, reassuring her ever few sentences that this was all for their own long-term good, to make sure that they had a future and that he would never stop loving her.
She would continue working as normal, but as soon as she got home, she would immediately change into a mohom and sandals. The mohom was a traditional Thai men's shirt, Mark had bought exactly seven, a different color for each day of the week. The ones he'd sent back were longer than usual but even at that, they came only a few inches below her belly, leaving her bush and ass crack completely exposed. That would be her uniform whenever she was inside the house. She asked what would happen when they had company, but he hadn't answered. The two times he brought friends over, he'd allowed her to add Thai boxer shorts to the uniform but that was all.
The second rule he implemented was that they would no longer eat dinner out. Before he left, they'd enjoyed their double income by eating out six or seven nights a week. It left them more time to enjoy each other's company, Mark had said. Now, he expected dinner to be cooked at home and on the table at exactly five forty-five each night. He'd got used to that time in Thailand and it suited him fine. He had similar rules for breakfast and for lunch on the weekends.
The final rule he implemented that first weekend was that he wouldn't be using her mouth or pussy anymore, he would only be using her ass. Kerrie was shocked and confused. She'd heard of that before, of course, but Mark never much cared for it. She was an excellent cocksucker, Mark had said so over and over, and she'd never heard of a man who wasn't interested in pussy. Mark had told her over and over about how good it felt, her belly pressed to his, her legs wrapped around his back, his cock pushing deep into her, listening to her getting more and more aroused as he ground his crotch against her clit.
The few times they'd tried anal, neither of them had enjoyed it. Mark complained that she was too tight and wondered what the hell anyone saw in it. For Kerrie, it was all pain and humiliation. She was on her knees, facing away from him, unable to kiss him or hold him close. It seemed pointless to both of them, but now, he was insisting that he would be using her that way from now on.
And his language -- "this is how I will use you" -- she didn't understand that either. He wasn't 'using' her, she loved him and she was offering herself to him.
Good to his word, he'd 'used' her that way every night for the last three weeks. The first few times, it was painful and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from screaming. Mark always smeared Vaseline on his cock but it was never enough. She tried deep breathing and other relaxing techniques but it still hurt like hell.
Kerrie did some research online about how to reduce the pain. It all came down to relaxing the anal spinchter. She knew about dildoes but was afraid to go into one of the adult stores and buy one. She had the basic idea, though, use something to stretch the muscle and make it relax.
That first weekend, she went to the pharmacy and bought a hair brush with a flared handle, a nail file, a box of gauze bandages and a tube of KY Jelly. Back home, she snapped the brush in half then used the nail file to sand the broken edges smooth. When she was finished, she had a four inch long, one inch round hard plastic shaft with a flared bottom.
She smeared it with KY then closed her eyes and squatted over the toilet. Slowly, she slid the thing up inside her, stopping every few seconds to remind herself to relax. When it was all the way in, she lined her panties with gauze and pulled them all the way back up. She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Her forehead was sweaty from the concentration and she wiped her face with cool water.
She walked around the house for a while to try and get used to it. Whenever she moved, she felt the thing move along with her, pulling her focus down between her legs. It was horrible and perverted and sexy and hot. She touched her cunt and felt the pleasure course through her, started rubbing herself and slid her panties back down around her ankles. She lay down on the bed and opened her legs wide, fingering her cunt with one hand and fucking herself up the ass with the other. She didn't realize she was making so much noise until she squeezed tight during her orgasm and heard the thing slide out of her with a "plop". It raised her to a whole new level of awareness of her body and the sounds it was making. After that, every sound she made rang in her ears, the moist, sloppy sound of her fingers on her cunt, the slight squeak of the plastic as it slid in and out of her ass and her own heavy breathing and low grunts. When she came, she had to bite into her palm to keep from screaming. She lay there for a long time, breathing slowly. She hadn't realized how distracted she'd been fucking Mark all week, her mind on the pain not the pleasure.
Kerrie slid the plastic handle back into her ass and got dressed. She wore it all day Saturday and all day Sunday, then most days through the entire second week. By then, she was getting used to Mark's cock reaming her from behind. She was adjusting to it but she was a long, long way from enjoying it.
END of CHAPTER 1
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