Three weeks after Liz moved out, breaking up our ménage a trois, Penny and I were lying in a post orgasmic haze, having just spent the afternoon celebrating our eight year anniversary. Of course we didn't acknowledge the several months during which we had 'broken up' a few years ago. It had been a mere blip in the ongoing relationship.
We were in the last six months of our Final year at University, and the pressure was on. We had somehow not found time to make love for a week. We had both been too tired, to busy, too stressed, too narky. But I had insisted on a day off for our anniversary, and after a lovely, if cold, walk in the park to settle the celebration lunch we had drifted home, gone to bed, and re-affirmed the long held belief that we were really good together.
The only discordant bit was that in the pink fog of relaxation Penny dropped the word 'tattoo'.
I didn't want her to get one. She had been musing about it for a year. She had wanted me to mark her, either for her to get my name, or some symbol that I would choose, that she would know meant she was mine. Something more permanent than a ring. I wouldn't hear of it. I thought the process was disgusting and the results usually ugly, and always ugly after a few years.
But I was also, now, trying to convince her to make her own choices, do her own thing, control her own life. By telling her not to, because I didn't like it, I was playing the Master, controlling her, which I was keen not to do.
Penny and I had fallen into a swinging group, the year before, and she had become increasingly submissive, to the point that I thought it was morbid. She wanted to be my slave. She submitted to anyone and anything that was suggested. She stopped being herself, or at least, she changed so much that she wasn't who she had been. She wasn't my girlfriend any more, she became a thing, a sex toy, a puppet.
In the end I became disgusted by her, and with myself. I tried to break her out of that dark fantasy mindset, and thought I was succeeding until she allowed herself to be fucked by a dozen young men at a party. That gang rape (as I always thought if it, even though she claimed she was not raped, that she was willing) had left her injured and with an STD.
I had spent month's trying to build her self confidence and some sense of self worth, and self preservation.
Do what was I to do? I hated the idea, but I wanted her to make the choice herself. So I asked her why she wanted one.
"Because it's my body. I know it sounds childish, but I know my father would hate it. And, and I know you don't like the idea, but I think you would come to like it. So if I do it it will be me, in control of my own body. Not someone else. And I will choose my own design. And where it goes."
"Great!" I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could. "Can I just make one comment?"
"Yes."
"If it is visible it will ruin your chances of a teaching job in most schools. You know that. But if you feel you need one to prove you can be in control, then that's okay. But you don't need to prove it to me. Just be it."
She grunted, but said no more about it.
Two weeks later Penny still didn't have a tattoo. But she had become somewhat more assertive over the passing days. I was pleased. I was especially pleased when she ambushed me as I came in through the door. It was a Thursday afternoon. I knew Tilly, our house mate, was at her evening class that night, so we would have the place to ourselves and that often meant we could indulge our passions, but the sight of Penny wearing nothing but a fishnet catsuit emerging from the living room was still unexpected.
She slinked down the hall towards me, grabbed the front of my jacket, and pulled me into a kiss. It was fierce and hard. She pushed me back and said "Strip."
Her eyes were sparkling. It was totally unlike her. "I want you naked and hard and on the floor in thirty seconds. I've been watching porn movies for the last hour and I want a cock in me, right now."
"Yes, Mam." I said.
She helped, roughly, nearly tearing the clothes from me, and pushing me towards the living room door at the same time. On the screen I could see a blonde girl getting very soundly pounded by a very large black cock. Penny pushed me to the floor in front if the TV, my head towards the screen, and straddled me so that she was facing the film as she reached down and grabbed my cock.
The bodysuit had no crotch. She held me straight up and sank straight down, not looking at me, but staring at the couple who were grunting and shrieking. I grunted as well. She had dropped onto me with all her weight, her pussy taking my length in one swift stroke, clenching my shaft, squeezing my tip. Her mons hit my stomach, and forced the sound from me. Then she started to rock and move her hips, grinding her clit against me, and rapidly breathing harder and deeper. She grabbed and squeezed and twisted at her own breasts and I heard her mutter "That's it, fuck her, fuck her hard, oh yes, fuck her cunt, fuck, fuck her cunt with that lovely big cock, oh yes, fuck the bitch, fuck her, fuck the little white slut, come in her cunt, come on you bastard, fuck her hard, fuck her harder, oh yes!"
I watched her as she rode me, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the porn stars. Of course she was aware of me, but she was lost in a fantasy, and when she said those last words and closed her eyes and bounced on my cock I knew she was going to come and that this was her orgasm, all hers, not something I had given her, even if she had used me to get it.
She swayed, eyes still shut, hands still clutched to her breasts, head back, a flush of dark pink in her cheeks and throat. Her pussy spasmed around my cock, which throbbed in frustration. I wanted, needed, to move, to plunge it in and out, to plough her, to press deep inside her and come, pumping myself into her. But this was a moment too beautiful to disturb. She was transfigured. Penny was free.
