Chapter 1

The Dilemma

As the tattooist's needle pierced the delicate skin above my vagina and the painful process of inscribing the company logo above my bare pussy proceeded, I began to think again of all the chaos I'd recently caused. Derrick's bankruptcy and impending incarceration, the rapes of Carla and Amber, and the anguish that awaits my husband. I thought too of what I know awaits me, the same fate that Belinda, my predecessor met. She would be sold, she was informed, but Mr. Stanford also gave her permission to take her own life, an option she accepted gratefully. But how had I come to this? How had I, a young and innocent bride until just eighteen months ago, come to be lying naked on a table about to be indelibly marked as "company property"? How had I, a unworldly, naïve, Christian girl, agreed to have my ass branded with Mr. Damon's and Mr. Compton's initials and how had I so readily accepted my status.

I don't know how I managed to get myself in this terrible fix. A mere year ago, I was an eighteen-year-old, newly-wed and faithful wife. And it was only yesterday that, while sitting nude on the couch in Mr. Damon's office listening distractedly to him describing my present condition when suddenly, I heard him abruptly stop talking and point suddenly at me. Looking down, I realize that I'd unconsciously crossed my legs. I instantly uncrossed them. I've been told many times that in Mr. Damon's or Mr. Compton's presence my legs are always to be open and accessible. Mr. Damon just shook his head in frustration at my stupidity, and continued on. I hadn't been listening, but I paid attention now. He was spelling out my present situation.

"As you know, Chloe," Mr. Damon resumed, "Chuck and I have been discussing how we want you marked now for some time, and we've decided to move ahead. Tomorrow, a tattooist I've hired will come here and mark the area directly above your cunt with our logo, and just above that he'll inscribe 'Exclusive property of First Capital Investments, Inc.' On the following weekend, we'll both brand our initials into your ass. Do you have any questions?"

Though I knew this was coming, I couldn't really comprehend it. My attention was oddly captured by a tiny drop of cum glistening on my breast. It must have fallen there while I was cleaning Mr. Damon's cock. I absentmindedly wiped it and placed it dutifully in my mouth.

So I'm to be permanently marked as private property. I thought. How will I ever explain that to my husband? Maybe I never will. I know I'm going to be told to leave him, anyway, so what does it ultimately matter.

"No, sir," I answered. "I don't have any questions. I suppose it will hurt a lot, won't it."

"Yes, I suppose it will," Mr. Damon answered sympathetically, "especially the branding. But you need to be marked, Chloe. Both Mr. Compton and I agree on that, as does Mr. Stanford. I assume we have your consent."

"Yes," I haltingly said. "It's just that it will be hard to explain."

The pain of the needle beginning to ink my tender pussy tugged me back to my present situation and suddenly brought back to me in a rush of memories that had led me to this tattoo parlor and the end of what little freedom I had left and the beginning of my enslavement.

The Beginning of Something

Joey and I had been together since I was a freshman in high school and he a junior. We were never an "item." Neither of us was popular enough for that designation, but that's probably why we were always so close. I had been raised in a very strict and very Christian family, so I never was allowed to dress in any way that was fashionable. In my family, everything fashionable was "sinful," anything that would show any hint of my burgeoning body was "moral turpitude." I was frightened of sex, and the natural inclinations of a budding young woman that emerged at night in erotic dreams and longings paralyzed me the next morning. The pull of hormones tugging at my protective veil of Christian piety turned me into a reclusive young girl terrified of the changes her body and mind were going through.

Joey, though smart, was simply skinny and awkward and attracted no attention whatsoever. But I liked him. He was shy enough to never press me for sex and observant enough to notice the changes going on. We sort of became our own society and built a pretty strong bond. He was my only boyfriend, and I assumed that would always be the case, so upon my graduation, marriage seemed an easy and seamless step. We married shortly after I graduated. I was barely seventeen. Joey was twenty.

Joey had gotten a job at a garage downtown shortly after his own graduation. He'd always been very good with his hands and automobile mechanics seemed to come naturally to him, so he did very well very early on. Unfortunately, he didn't make enough money for me to pursue my dream of a college degree in English literature, so when I graduated two years later, I found work as a receptionist at a stock brokerage firm in town with hours flexible enough for me to take some early afternoon and evening classes at the local college.

I'd always done well in high school, especially in my English classes, where the romance of books could shield me from the drabness of the real world I lived in, and my English teachers, most notably Mr. Barnes, all took an avid interest in my education. I say Mr. Barnes most notably because he alone also seemed to take notice of me as a woman, a "blossoming" woman, as he would sometimes put it. It was terribly flattering, exhilarating actually, to be noticed the way he noticed my changes.

I truly was blossoming. My body began to change most dramatically in my sophomore year of high school when Mr. Barnes first met me, and by my senior year, when I enrolled in his honors lit class, I knew, even if no one else did, that I had a fabulous body. It embarrasses me now to think of the hours I spent in front of the mirror admiring the new fullness of my breasts, the waspish size of my waist, and the full and erotic curve of my hips or the hours afterwards when I would reprimand myself for my hideous depravity. My breasts were probably a little too large for my frame, but it really didn't matter because I was also painfully shy from early years of being "plain" and so intrinsically fearful of "damnation" as well, that in public, I took pains to cover up all of this "blossom" that only Mr. Barnes appeared to see.

After graduation, life began to change pretty remarkably. More and more people began to take notice of me and to remark on my appearance, some of it nice, some of it creepy. On countless occasions, I noticed men following me around the supermarket and not infrequently at the local mall, too. I was still quite shy about all this obvious attention and quite certain that the temptation I felt to flaunt my body was the work of the devil, but I was also oddly flattered and exhilarated at the same time. I even found myself occasionally giving in to the devil's temptation and "posing" for some of the guys I knew were checking me out, and then feeling ashamed moments later when I'd remind myself that I was now a newly married woman. But I had to admit more and more that I enjoyed being looked at.

Later that summer, I had my hair cut into the more flattering shape my hair dresser had been recommending and let him colored it a much lighter shade of blonde than my natural ash. The hair style and color proved perfect, complementing my face, drawing attention to the fullness of my lips, and emphasizing what I'd always thought to be one of my better features, the deep hazel hue my eyes. With Joey's encouragement, I bought a new and more flattering wardrobe. Skirts a little shorter and tighter, sweaters a bit clingier and lower cut, and an attitude a little less meek and retiring, but by no means arrogant or showy. A different woman was emerging from her chrysalis.

A Trip to the Mall

It's interesting, now that I think back on it, how important to our future one afternoon and one outfit became to the new me. And to the new "us." It was the seed that produced the girl having her pussy tattooed, the girl whose ass would soon wear her masters' brand.

It was a warm early spring afternoon the following year. I was lounging around the apartment in sheer tights and a light sweater when Joey asked me to run over to Sears at the mall with him to get some tool he needed for work. I said, sure, but I needed to change first.

"Nah, come on. You look fine. It's only Sears," he said distractedly.

"I don't have anything on under this, Joey. Don't you think I should at least put on a bra?"

"Nobody will know. Come on," he said, seemingly exacerbated at my reluctance.

"Okay," I said, suddenly feeling a very unfamiliar but erotic sensation. I'd never been out of the house without a bra. Regardless of what Joey might think, sans bra, my boobs were going to be noticed in any circumstance, and were most certainly going to be noticed in this outfit! And for some sudden and inexplicable reason the whole idea seemed exciting! I wanted my boobs to be noticed! "Let me grab my shoes," I said, trying to tamp down my rising excitement.

The first shoes I came to were totally inappropriate—four inch, black stiletto pumps I'd bought for the senior prom last year. And that's what I picked.

I threw on a little wind breaker and ran out to the car where Joey was waiting. He gave me the strangest stare, and his "Ready to go?" had an odd excitement to it. A sort of sexual tension that I immediately got caught up in as well. Maybe he wasn't so "distracted" as I thought. We rode to the mall in a strange silence, tinged with what I could only sense was sexual stimulation mixed with anxiety.

As we got out of the car at the mall, Joey suggested I leave the jacket in the car. I hesitated a second, afraid that Joey would be embarrassed by what he would now clearly see was my almost blatant nakedness beneath my tights and sweater, but I did as he asked. Neither of us said a word as we walked to the mall entrance, but I could see Joey stealing surreptitious glances at my boobs bouncing tantalizingly under the tight sweater as I walked in those totally inappropriate but sexy little pumps. I should have blushed, but instead I was as keyed up as I'd ever been.

In the mall, it was apparent that not only Joey was watching and admiring the body walking beside him. I thought he'd surely see the commotion I was causing and be uncomfortable or self-conscious, but he didn't seem to be. In fact, he seemed to be suddenly quite possessive, as if he wanted everyone to see that the little "sexpot" next to him belonged to him. I could sense his heart beating faster. I was puzzled, but interested, too. This seemed so unlike him.

I began to be a little more overt, just to see what happened. I deliberately paraded my body, transparently expressing my sexuality in the most obvious manner. It excited me to see my breasts bouncing tantalizingly beneath my thin little top. I could feel my nipples stiffening. The more obvious I became, the more energized Joey became. And the more sexually provocative I became.

For the next month or so, every time we'd go somewhere, at Joey's implicit suggestion, I'd dress in some similar fashion. He never asked outright, he was still too shy for that, but I could see by his reaction that he wanted this to continue. So I accommodated him ... and me! I showed more and more flesh in what I wore. More leg, and definitely more boob. Each time we went out, I'd ratchet it up just a teeny bit, so by midsummer, when we went out, Joey had a very sexy young "slut" hanging all over him.

Joey grew increasingly happy with the new me. He'd never been much noticed in high school, but now he was getting noticed for his "bitch," as he put it one night. And he loved it! More and more! And so did I!

I don't deny that I did, too. No, I loved the attention and most of the comments I'd overhear murmured under a guy's' breath. Our sex life got better when Joey began to encourage me to tell him about the guys who'd look at me and at what I'd overhear them say. I learned early on that, if I embellished the stories, our sex was even better.

I began to wear sexier clothes at work, too, shedding the drab, loose-fitting blouses and sweaters and the long granny skirts for a more modern look that highlighted my figure a little more and drew attention to the body beneath. Nothing was inappropriate, but fortunately for me, since contemporary style the last few seasons so emphasized the breast, I could be quite innocently sexy and provocative. And naturally, the looks and compliments I got at work were translated into much more flirtatious and more tantalizing remarks about what was said and done later in the bedroom to Joey. Our sex got better and better.

We even discovered porn, which at first embarrassed both of us, but soon became another part of our weekend love making. Joey became quite intrigued that nearly all the porn stars kept themselves totally shaved, and I agreed that it was a very sleek and sexy look. At Joey's urging, I soon did the same, and loved the feel of Joey's touch on the silky smooth skin of my tight young pussy. Joey came almost to depend both on our occasional porn movies and even more on the stories I'd embellish for our sex life.

At first, he'd want to know who "liked" me at work and who "wanted" me the most. Later, he'd ask me who I was most attracted to, and though I was reluctant to say anything at first, when I discovered that even an innocent preference for one of the guys increased his performance, I subtly began to admit to certain preferences. If my stories required considerable variance from the truth, they were also extraordinarily hot ... for both of us!

As things progressed, I began to give Joey little fashion shows, shows that always turned into sexy little strip teases. Joey would name all the guys he knew who would "die to see this," guys at work who had made comments about his "hot wife." He suggest that maybe we should tease them that way sometime, and I'd go along with it, shaking my boobs and wiggling my ass, pretending I was in front of them. It was all harmless fun.

We began to take fun "risks," making our sex life a little more dangerous. I had this cute mask that I got at a party shop for Halloween last year, and one night I became the "mysterious lady" who seduced my husband in our bed. Joey loved it! Then one weekend afternoon, I walked out onto our patio completely nude with the mask on and Joey again just went wild.

The next day, we drove out to his mother's house to water her plants while she was away, and Joey surprised me with the mask. He wanted to take pictures of me. Outside! Totally nude! I probably too readily agreed. The idea was exciting and dangerous, the great aphrodisiacs of our sex life.

We went out into his mother's backyard, where I sexily stripped for him. I was so excited because it seemed so perilous. Though trees surrounded the yard, I was certain we were clearly visible from the street. But I posed nonetheless, my heart pounding and my excitement peaking. Later, we made love right there on the little love seat we had dragged out for the pictures! That was truly risky and terribly thrilling.

That night, Joey drove me home nude, which was a bit more frightening than I wished at the time, but we ended up doing it again on two other occasions, one time stopping off to neck in the park. We were just two kids, discovering the sex life we never had in school.

We had a party one Saturday night and invited some of Joey's friends from work. Joey dressed me in something totally inappropriate, a teeny, tiny little Lycra micro mini, fishnet stockings and a bustier! I looked like a hooker, but Joey told me the next day that his friends at work couldn't stop talking about how hot his wife is. I got really icy stares from the wives all night though, and I'll bet they were talking about me in a very different fashion the next day. But I didn't like any of them anyway, so no loss.

This sort of thing went on for the better part of the year, and for a time, it was enough. We were still experimenting with sex and with what we'd become. That was especially true for me. I became increasingly proud, maybe even a little conceited about my appearance, which led me more and more to encourage Joey to show me off. I don't think I was really sluttish, but I knew I was becoming somewhat of an exhibitionist. And it was fun!

I would still have occasional devastating attacks of guilt and remorse, thinking I was becoming a terrible harlot, but they grew less frequent in time, until eventually I quit beating myself up morally and eventually even stopped attending church altogether. Maybe that was a mistake.

The Club

Early the next summer, a package arrived in the mail for me. It was from an online dress store, some place called "Wicked Temptations." I hadn't ordered anything online, and even though it was addressed to me, I decided not to open it. I showed the package to Joey when he came home, and he laughed and said he'd ordered a dress for me as a kind of joke.

"Here, take a look," he laughed, opening the package and passing the dress to me. "Try it on."

"Try it on?" I said. "There's hardly anything to try on," I laughed, holding up this little fluff of material. "What were you thinking?"

Of course I did know what he was thinking. Our latest adventures had shown me that. But the closer I looked the more intrigued I became both by the dress and by the fact that Joey had purchased it "for fun." It looked extremely revealing, to put it mildly, and really, really sexy. And I did want to try it on, maybe more than he knew, though I pretended not to.

"Oh come on, Chloe. Try it on. It's no big deal. It might be fun."

"You are so silly, Joey," I laughed. "Okay, you wait right there and I'll give you a fashion show!"

I went into the bedroom, quickly stripped off my work clothes, and held the little dress up against my naked body. There wasn't much of it there. It was completely backless and short, and appeared to have a deeply plunging cowl-neck front. An eye-grabbing red, it was composed of a synthetic silk fiber of some sort that was slippery smooth and luxurious to touch. It excited me merely to look at it, and I actually trembled when I slipped it on. I was astonished when I turned to look in the mirror.

Stunned and excited, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and blood rushing to my face as I glanced again at the girl in the red dress. The dress was not only tight, it was impossibly tight, and clingy, adhering itself to every curve and crevice of my body. And it was not only short, it was exceedingly short, falling only a few inches below my bottom and hugging it provocatively. It dipped so low in the back that a good part of my butt was clearly visible, as was the sides of my boobs.

But it was the front that was most shocking. It was a simple cowl neck, but it plunged well below my navel and was wide enough to display almost the entirety of my breasts. No matter which way I'd turn, more would be displayed than covered. Walking, it was almost impossible to keep myself from spilling out with any step whatsoever, especially given the size of my boobs. It was like wearing water. At every step, some part of my body spilled out. Leaving me literally on complete display. I looked desirable and available ... very available!

I could never wear it in public, unless I were to stand immobile, but how I wished I could, because I had never, ever looked or felt so sexy. I just couldn't wear it in public ... I was determined, though, to let Joey persuade me otherwise!

I walked back toward the front room trying my best to stay in the dress. Entering the room and standing provocatively in the doorway I said, "If you want me to wear this, I must have better shoes!" trying to sound sexy and sultry but bursting almost immediately into a giggling fit.

"Goddamn it, Chloe! You look freakin' hot. You could wear it at some of the clubs over in Bayside," he said, after some hesitation, his voice cracking just a bit.

"You're not serious, I hope. I could never wear this in public," I said, hoping he was serious. I really wanted to be seen in this stunningly sexy excuse for a dress.

"Well, why not?" Joey answered, looking me up and down. "You really do look outrageously hot, Baby. It could be fun if you would. I'll help you pick shoes," he laughed

"I'd be arrested if I wore this!" I smiled. "But it would be fun, wouldn't it... ?"

We were in bed within minutes and had terrific sex fantasizing about me in that outrageous little dress. I was a little vixen in bed, and our sex fantasy that night was very persuasive. I wanted to be seen in public in that tantalizingly sexy little dress!

Nothing further was said about the dress for a week or so, but the next day, I bought the perfect pair of shoes for our little fantasy dress, red six inch sling-back heels, but I never said anything to Joey about it.

On Friday, a week later, Joey suggested we go out to one of the clubs in Bayside, The Blues Baby, one we'd heard about but never visited. It had a reputation as a pick-up club, and though both of us knew that, neither of us mentioned it. An odd choice, I thought, but a curiously exciting one, too.

"Maybe I'll wear the dress you bought me," I joked.

"Well, maybe you should," Joey replied, not looking directly at me.

"Do you have sufficient bail money?" I grinned.

"Oh come on, Chloe. It's not that bad," he answered, apparently seriously. "You see lots of that in the clubs around here. I mean we're not in the Midwest."

"Do you really want me to?" I asked, hoping so much that he did.

"Sure, why not. You have the body for it."

"I couldn't wear a thing underneath it, you know," I said, my voice betraying my excitement at the erotic danger.

"We're young and we've never done anything like this before. The guys at work all do this sort of thing all the time, you know, go out, drink, dance, show off their wives or girlfriends on the dance floor. None of them have what I've got, so I'd like to show mine off too."

"You don't dance, Joey. You hate it, as you've told me countless times."

"But you do, and I wouldn't mind watching. Watch guys eat their hearts out wanting what I have. Come on what do you say? We've always talked about being 'bad.' Let's just do it once."

"Are you really sure, Honey? Do you remember what I look like in that dress? I'm practically nude!"

"I do remember, Baby. That's why I think it would be like totally hot, let the jerks at work see how hot my wife is."

That remark surprised me a bit. He wants to show me off to his coworkers because it reflects well on him, I thought. I'm not a complete feminist, but enough of one to know objectification when I hear it. I was about to say that that was maybe a teeny bit offensive, when it occurred to me, that perhaps, for once in my life, I wouldn't mind being an "object," something for guys to stare at and ogle. Not at all!

"Are guys from work going to be there?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Let's just do it regardless, okay."

"Okay, Joey, if you're really, really sure. But this is kinda more than we did last summer. I really cannot stay inside the dress you bought, you know. Every time I move something spills out," I said seriously.

"I'll be right there. It'll be okay. You really do look hot, Babe," he answered bravely.

I had serious doubts about Joey's ability to rescue me from any serious trouble, but I just let it go.

"Okay," I said. "If you're really okay with this, I guess I could try to be your little sexpot this weekend," I went on, trying to be less of a cold blanket. "You can have fun showing me off. I'll be happy to have you display me, okay. I think it could be lots of fun, too! You're right; maybe we're too conservative sometimes."

I took Friday afternoon off from work to have my hair and nails done, and spent the later part of the day on my makeup. Joey had counter duty at work that Friday, so he wouldn't be home until 9:00, so I had plenty of time to muse over the evening ahead. Unfortunately, the more I mused, the more nervously excited I became, so to calm myself down I made myself a vodka tonic.

I tried the dress on a half dozen times, posing in various positions. I soon knew what every single movement and angle would reveal. None were modest! Dancing, if I decided to, would be particularly precarious, because there was hardly a step, especially in these six inch stilettos, that didn't almost instantly expose me totally. There would be very little left to the imagination of Joey's coworkers, if what I expected to happen did happen.

By the time Joey got home, I was a little bit tipsy, but also much calmer and braver. I wasn't dressed yet, but I had only to slip out of my robe and into that excuse for a dress to be ready.

Joey showered and dressed and by a little after 10:00 we were ready to go. I slipped on the dress, wearing only very, very sheer red thigh high stockings beneath, and with the help of four vodka tonics, said sexily, "What do you think?" thrusting my boobs in his face.

"Wow, Chloe. I guess you look a little more on display than I thought."

"Too much," I asked hesitantly, terribly afraid he was about to back out. I'd do anything I could to prevent that. "Will it bother you for the guys at work to see your wife like this?" I asked, hoping the idea of showing me off would make him determined to let me wear the dress.

"No, I guess not," he replied a bit uneasily. "None of the guys at work are going to be there anyway, far as I know. You do look good. You have a beautiful body. The dress looks a little different tonight though than it did when you first tried it on."

He was right that the dress looked slightly different. I was nearing that time of month, and my boobs were easily a full cup size larger than when I had first modeled the dress for him, so the dress covered even less now than it did when it stunned him with its brevity before. I was, shall we say, utterly and totally on display!

A great surge of relief went through me when I heard him agree that I looked good and he was, if not completely comfortable with the way I was dressed, at least willing to go along with it. I desperately wanted to be seen in this hot little outfit, for once, to be the object of desire. It was truly like a coming out for me.

The club turned out to be great! It was dimly lit and "bluesy," the bar was filled but not cramped, and the crowd was a good mix of young and old. We found a couple of great seats at the bar near the dance floor and ordered drinks. I was only nineteen at the time, and afraid I'd get carded, but apparently the body on display in that teeny, slinky red dress proved identification enough.

Feeling sexy and sophisticated, I ordered my first martini. It turned out to be way strong! I was feeling the effects before I finished the first one, especially after all I'd had to drink while getting dressed. I knew my inhibitions were slipping away when I noticed the cowl neck on my dress had shifted dramatically to the left exposing my boob to just beyond the edge of my nipple. I saw that Joey noticed, too. But I didn't do anything about it except grow progressively more excited. The same was true for him.

Across the bar I could see guys checking me out and one guy in particular who was openly staring. I liked the way he looked and his boldness was exciting as well. I shifted slightly in my seat to give him a better view, hoping he'd know what I was doing. I'd become an exhibitionist, I realized, but it was harmless I thought. The guy enjoyed looking and I enjoyed being seen. In fact, I thought to myself, I'd like to show him more.

"I'd really like to dance, Joey. I wish you would," I pleaded in his ear, bending over to expose that same breast entirely to him and anyone else who cared to look. Hopefully the man across from us!

"I suck. I look totally stupid trying to dance. You know that. Believe me, somebody will ask you."

"Not with you sitting there," I pouted.

"What, you want me to leave?"

"Not leave, but maybe like just go to the bathroom for a little bit and see what happens, okay? I really, really feel like dancing. And you said you want me to, right?"

"Yeah, I do. Okay, but don't get too crazy," he said. "But maybe a little crazy," he grinned.

"Okay, but like don't come back right away. Give somebody a chance to pick me up. Wait 'til you see someone with me. Then you can 'rescue' me, k?" I said more keyed up and eager than I should have been.

I smiled back at him wickedly and winked as he left for the bathroom.

The second he was out of sight, I sat back in my chair and let the dress do what it wanted, and what it wanted was to exhibit me to the world ... and one particular guy. The dress and I were in complete accord!

The bartender brought me another martini. "From the guy over there," he said, eyeing my exposed breasts while pointing to an older guy, maybe late thirties early forties, who was nodding at me. It was the guy I had noticed earlier. My heart began to beat madly.