Marked
Copyright© 2025 by AshMaree88
Chapter 1
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1 - In an underground tattoo parlor, a virgin omega submits to a dominant alpha who tattoos and pierces her while claiming her body in a brutal, primal act of possession. The alpha's relentless thrusts and the searing pain of the needles blend into a symphony of sensation, culminating in a mind-shattering orgasm as he knots her and floods her with his seed.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction BDSM DomSub MaleDom Rough Sadistic Interracial Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Facial Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Safe Sex Sex Toys Squirting Tit-Fucking Size Violence AI Generated
The needle’s buzz was a promise and a threat, a vibration that hummed through the steel table and into my bare back. Cold antiseptic swabbed a path low on my hip, a shocking contrast to the feverish heat of the room ... and of him.
Kael’s shadow fell over me, blocking the single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. His scent, dark bergamot and forged iron, filled my lungs, a possessive claim that had already marked me more deeply than any ink ever could. His rough, calloused hand pressed down on the small of my back, holding me in place. Not that I could move. Not that I wanted to.
“Almost ready, little one,” his voice was a gravelly rumble that went straight to my core, a low alpha command that made my body sing with submission.
I was stretched out on my stomach, a willing sacrifice on his altar of art and sensation. The air was thick with the smell of sterile metal, his intoxicating scent, and my own slick, a sweet, desperate perfume that admitted everything I was too shy to say. I was an omega, untouched, and I had begged him for this. For the mark. For the pain. For him.
The buzzing ceased for a moment. I heard the soft clink of a needle bar being fitted into the machine. My heart hammered against the cold steel table. Kael’s other hand, the one not pinning me down, stroked a slow, possessive path from my shoulder, down the dip of my spine, to the swell of my ass. A shudder, violent and delicious, wracked my entire body.
“So responsive. So perfect for me.”
Then his weight shifted. The denim of his jeans was rough against the backs of my thighs. He settled behind me, his heat an inferno. A blunt, thick pressure nudged against my dripping entrance, and a choked gasp escaped my lips. This. This was the other part of the ritual.
“The ink and the claim,” he had said, his dark eyes burning with intensity when I’d first pleaded with him in this very shop. “Together. They will be one memory. One sensation. Your body will never know where the pleasure ended and the pain began.”
He didn’t ask if I was ready. He knew. He could smell the truth of my need saturating the air. With one powerful, relentless thrust, he buried himself inside me, sheathing his entire length in my tight, virgin heat.
I screamed. It was a raw sound, torn from my throat, a perfect mixture of agony and ecstasy as my body stretched to accommodate his impossible girth. The pain was a bright, sharp star, but it was instantly soothed by the overwhelming rightness of it, the feeling of being utterly filled, claimed, and completed. Tears welled in my eyes, spotting the black leather of the headrest.
Before the echoes of my scream could die in the damp basement air, the buzz of the tattoo machine screamed to life right beside my ear.
“Now, omega. Now you take my mark.”