***
Back down we go, past restaurants and other small businesses, to a strip of specialty shops. Goddess pulls in and parks at Ink You Up, a tattoo parlor.
“Okay, slave. It’s time to get you permanently marked as mine.”
Gulp. I’ve never gotten a tattoo. But I’ve heard it hurts like hell.
Then again, so does having ones n*****s, genitals, and tongue shocked for an hour or more, and I survived that. We head inside, the only patrons other than a pair of teenage girls I recognize from school.
They don’t recognize me, fortunately, although they stare and snicker like everyone else. A few years behind me, they put their heads together, whisper and giggle and gaze at Goddess with appropriate awe. She favors them with a smile and then turns to the big guy with the shaved head and elaborate
