Chapter 6

The next day was busy.

Two maids helped Elena unpack her suitcases. A few personal items were placed in Marcus’s master bedroom, but most of her things were moved into the room she’d been sleeping in. When she glanced at Marcus, mildly confused, he explained simply:

“That room will always be yours. Especially if we ever fight and you need space—it’s your sanctuary.” She didn’t argue. She recognized the wisdom in it, and let the maids continue.

While they worked, Marcus took her hand and led her outside. The morning air was crisp, the sun still low over the trees. They walked in silence to the barn. Inside, waiting, was the same frame where she’d been restrained for her piercings. Amber stood beside it, tools already laid out with care.

Marcus turned to her, his expression steady. “It’s time for you to receive your mark.”

Elena nodded. She had known this was coming. She’d agreed to it freely. If she was going to live as a nudist—this was the final step. She stepped toward the frame without resistance. This wasn’t just for Marcus. It was for both of them.

When Elena was strapped into the frame, the leather restraints hugging her limbs with familiar precision, she expected the tattoo to begin right away. She was wrong.

The same woman who had done her piercings approached but didn’t reach for the tattoo gun. Elena frowned slightly as the woman lean forward and took hold of one of the bells dangling from her nipple. Wordlessly, she brought out a small soldering tool. The metal hissed as the tip touched the clip, sealing it shut. Permanently.

Elena’s breath hitched—not from pain, but from realization. The bells were now part of her—just as the ring were. There would be no removing them.

The woman repeated the process on the other side, then set the tool aside and picked up the tattoo machine. She gently cleaned the skin just above Elena’s left breast—the place Marcus had registered for her official mark. With quiet focus, the artist began to draw.

With quiet focus, the artist began to draw. It was the crest of Marcus’s ranch—ornate and unmistakable—altered with a single detail. In the center of the crest, set at a graceful forty-five-degree angle, was a small rectangle. Inside it, printed in clear bold lettering, was the word: Nudist. Above the crest, curved in an elegant arch, were the words: Free Woman.

The artist worked with precision, shading and coloring until the entire design bloomed in full color across Elena’s skin.

When she finished, she wiped the tattoo clean, applied a thin layer of ointment, and sealed it with a square of clear plastic wrap.

Marcus and the artist gently released Elena from the frame. Her legs wobbled slightly, but she stood. Then she did something that surprised them both—she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the tattoo artist in a tight, emotional hug.

“Thank you,” Elena said, voice thick but controlled. “It’s beautiful.” The woman blinked, clearly not used to clients reacting this way. She nodded once, silent. Elena turned and embraced Marcus next, burying her face in his chest.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

As the artist quietly began packing up her tools, Elena crossed the barn to Carol’s stall. The ponygirl looked up as she approached, eyes curious and alert. Without speaking, Elena stood close to the gate and gently brushed her hair aside, exposing the spot just above her left breast.

The tattoo was clearly visible through the thin, clear film—vibrant and fresh. Carol’s gaze locked onto it. Slowly, almost reverently, she reached through over the gate and placed her hand over the mark, palm flat, fingers warm. Her touch lingered, silent but full of meaning. No words were exchanged. None were needed.

The following morning, Elena woke from the best sleep she’d had in weeks. Naked, warm, and tangled in soft sheets, she stretched like a cat—limbs long, back arched, and completely at ease.

Across the bed, Marcus was still pretending to be asleep. His breathing was too even. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Elena smirked.

With a wicked grin, she crawled across the bed on all fours, her bells chiming softly with each movement. She reached his side and slowly peeled the sheet down below his chest. Then, without warning, she leaned in and licked his nipple, teasing it with her tongue before sucking gently.

Marcus groaned, half-asleep, caught off guard, but when she gave it a sharp little bite and bolted from the bed, he let out a full-throated yell.

“Elena!”

She was already laughing her way into the bathroom, safely out of reach. Marcus followed, shaking his head. She was already in the shower, the glass fogging up with steam.

He stepped in behind her and delivered a playful swat to her backside. “Brat,” he muttered, but the smile on his face betrayed him. Then he took her sponge and started washing her back—slow, deliberate strokes, more intimate than sexual. Just them, in their rhythm.

When their morning routine was done, Marcus was dressed, and they headed out together—bound for the courthouse.

The county courthouse was a squat stone building in the center of town, with columns that made it look more impressive than it was. Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of paper, toner, and old wood polish.

Elena walked beside Marcus, completely nude except for her bells and sandals, her tattoo still healing under a thin, clear film. The echo of her soft footsteps and the occasional chime of metal followed them as they stepped into the clerk’s office.

People looked. Some stared. One woman nudged her husband, but no one said a word. The receptionist looked up, blinking behind her glasses. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” Marcus said smoothly. “We’re here to register for a marriage license—and she’s registering her nudist mark as a free woman.”

The woman typed briefly, then looked back at Elena. “You’ll both need to fill out the license paperwork—and for the nudist registration, we’ll also need to take a photo for the updated ID and verify the tattoo.” Elena nodded, trying to keep her breathing steady. This wasn’t like the ranch. These weren’t staff or ponygirls. These were strangers—everyday people, but she didn’t flinch.

They sat at a side table and filled out forms—basic questions, legal statements, signature lines. Marcus’s handwriting was steady. Elena’s hand shook slightly, but she didn’t stop. Then the receptionist led them down the hall to a small room marked Health Services & Screening. A nurse waited inside.