Tattoo Me

By Sloane

"What the fuck did you let me do?" I ask Chester while inspecting the newly engraved tattoo on my upper left bicep.

Chester grins at me wickedly.  "I'm not going to let you blame this on me, Mike!"

"Oh, please!  You know if you didn't get me all liquored up and continue to prod me, I wouldn't have done this," I scowl.  "Fuck!"

Chester continued to grin widely at me.  "Did you forget about your other tattoo?"

"What other tattoo?" I respond annoyed, my head aching as result of a vicious hangover.  Last night Chester and I decided to go for a night on the town in celebration of our one year anniversary together and overdid it a little.  Okay - overdid it a lot.

Chester reaches his hand over from where he lies next to me and grabs the elastic of my boxers in his hand.

"This one!" He says pulling down my shorts and exposing the top of my right ass cheek. "Now you are branded as mine!"

I glance over my head at my exposed skin and study the letters "CB" permanently etched in my skin in fancy, black, cursive letters.

"You fucking asshole!" I hiss while pulling myself up from the bed we share.  "Why are you always so vicious?  Can't you ever be just nice to me for once?  I don't know why I've put up with your bullshit for so long!"  I began to storm out of the room.

"It's the sex - you know you can't get enough of it, Mikey!" He yells out after me while laughing.

I slam the door of our bedroom behind me.  "Fucking prick." I mutter under my breath while gritting my teeth. Stomping down the stairs I inspect my arm again.  "I can't fucking believe this!" I complain to myself.  At least of all things it's something I designed - the winged Hybrid Theory soldier.  But how lame is it that Chester and I have the same tattoo now?  And how even more ridiculous is the fact that I now have Chester's initials tattooed on my ass! That lousy asshole! I certainly don’t remember getting it. I assume I passed out while getting the other one and Chester took advantage of my pathetic state.

Chester is always finding some way to fuck with my head and degrade me.  I really can't believe that we have lasted this long, but I'm so weak when it comes to him.  The situation couldn't be better for him - I always give him whatever it is he wants.  I can't say "no" to him and really mean it.  Or if I do, I only mean it for about a minute and then cave in.  Maybe it is just the sex that keeps me by his side.  Since our first night together, after playing a show in Chicago, I knew I could never sleep with a woman again.  I don't think I cold find a man who could measure up to Chester either.   And when I say measure up I mean it in all aspects of the word.  My only two options are be alone, or be verbally and mentally abused by him while getting great sex.  The sex always seems to outweigh all of the ugliness in our relationship.

Ultimately, though, what I see in Chester really is more than just sex. Sure, that is a large part of it, but I find myself constantly in awe of him.  He's majestic, strong willed and perhaps the most talented man I've ever met.  Thinking about him makes me knees go weak and I almost trip down the stairs.  'Get a fucking grip, Mike!' I scold myself.  I am angered that one minute I'm cursing his name and the next minute I'm engulfed in puppy love for him.

I trod into the kitchen and pour myself a shot of tequila.  "Hair of the dog!" I say and suck the golden liquid down.  The taste makes me wince.  Looking at the empty shot glass in my hand I think to myself 'what the hell?' And slam down another shot.  My aching head stops pounding, which is a step in the right direction.  I marvel how tequila can cure all ailments.

I put the liquor away and rest against the counter deciding what to do with myself.  All I really want to do right now is sleep in my own bed, but I refuse to give Chester the satisfaction of crawling back to him so quickly.  'No, this time I'm not giving in.'

I throw myself down on the living room couch belly first, pulling a blanket over me, and fall asleep.

~*~*~*

I wake to pressure around my neck and the inability to breath.  My hands dart up to my neck finding a rope held tight around my soft flesh.

"I was getting bored and lonely, so I thought we could have some fun." Chester hisses in my ear and straddles my back.  I try to respond, but no air can get in or out of my lungs.  I struggle, flailing my arms around, trying to swat Chester, but he remains out of my grasp.

Slowly I feel the rope loosen slightly.  I gasp taking in the sweet air.  I never realized how much I take oxygen for granted until this very moment.

"Why so quiet, Mike?" Chester asks viscously.  I try to speak, but end up coughing violently instead.

Chester places his lips on the back of my neck, sucking roughly.  I know exactly what he's doing because he's done this countless times before.  He gets a sick thrill out of marking me – in any way he can. At the moment I know I’m bound for a hickey the size of Texas. Fucking cocksucker! I hate when he marks me up. It’s pretty embarrassing, especially when we have a performance or interview. I can’t tell you how humiliating it was to be on Total Request Live and have Carson Daily gawking at me like a gimp because of a brutal black eye. I wanted to back out of the appearance, but the band said they wouldn’t go on without me. I wonder how long it took before I adapted to Chester’s behavior as routine.

Joe, who I’m very close to, tried to intervene once to get Chester to cease abusing me - until Chester fucked Joe’s cat up the ass, killing it. Yeah, Chester is a sick, twisted fuck. But I tell you, his cock is like velvet in my mouth.

Chester loosens the rope, holding me slightly, so that I can get in a proper breath of air. I know he doesn’t want to kill me because then I’d no loner be available to endure his wrath.

Content with the red splotch he has left on my neck, he moves his lips away and flips me over on my back, now facing him. One of his hands holds the semi-taught rope that still adorns my neck and the other lightly caresses my hair.

"Oh, Mike, your so precious," he whispers looking at me tenderly. I know this is all part of his game, but I fall for it every time. I love the times when he’s like this, adoring me. I always futility hope that if I am kind in return and not fighting back over previous injustices that he will remain gentle and caring. That’s never the case.

He sprinkles tiny kisses across my brow and cheeks. My lips wait hungering in anticipation of his. If I ask him to kiss me he won’t – he’ll do everything but, so I remain still. I am rewarded for keeping quiet and feel his soft mouth against mine. Our tongues explore one another, gently playing.

"What have you been drinking, Mike?" he whispers into my mouth. I don’t respond and continue kissing him, feeling myself stiffen. I reach out my arms and embrace him, pulling him down on me. I am thankful that he is still just wearing only boxers so I can feel the flesh of his chest press into mine.

"Mmm, Mike, I love you." He speaks softly and I am certain my heart skips a beat.

I can feel his manhood grow against me until it is poking against mine. He backs away from my lips and looks into my eyes smiling sweetly. However, instantly I see the transformation trickle over his face. His gentling, loving eyes turn fierce and beady. His warm smile turns wicked, curling at the ends as if he was a villain from a comic book. His hand snaps back, pulling the rope taught against my neck, making my head jerk and dropping my arms from around him.

He moves himself up on his knees and fidgets while removing his boxers with one hand.

"Now look what you’ve done! My dick’s all hard," he shouts. "All you think about is fucking, Mike. You fucking addict. And by your influence, I can’t stop thinking about my dick in you, you fucking bitch!" He is seething and crying at the same time. I think how very convenient it is for him to blame me for his inadequacies - for him to project his lust on me as if I’m the pervert.

"Look at me!" he commands while grabbing his stiffness and shaking it at me like a finger. "See what you’ve done? Now I’m going to have to do something about this. I just wanted to lie down with you and hold you, but you put all those dirty thoughts in my head, you fucking whore!"

He releases the rope and brings both of his hands to his face, covering it. His fingers rub his forehead as he sobs into his hands.

I reach up and rest my hands on the top of each of his thighs and rub them back and forth, halfheartedly soothing him.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" he roars smacking them away. He gets up off the couch placing his feet upon the floor. "Sit up!" he commands yanking me upright so that I am seated, my body facing him.

He grabs a hold of his manhood again. "What are you going to fucking do about this, Mike?" he hysterically yells. "Now that you’ve tarnished my innocence you better at least take care of this!"

I place my hands on his hips to steady myself and move towards the edge of the couch so that I am inches away from his firmness. Sliding my finger in and out of my mouth, dampening it, and look up at him seductively. I remove the finger from my mouth and hold it up to him wiggling it slightly.

"What are you going to do with that?" he asks in his standard "I am so pure" tone.

Without a word I let my hand with the moistened finger go between his legs and find his rear opening. I run my finger in a circle around the opening in a teasing manner.

"What are you doing?" he asks, faking naiveté.

I just look up at him and don’t say a word and let my finger do all the talking. Slowly I insert my finger within him.

"Oh, god, No one has ever touched me like that before!" he blatantly lies.

I continue to insert and extract my finger gently. Moving closer to him, I put my lips around the head of his cock.

Chester’s open hand strikes my cheek furiously.

"Don’t put your fucking dirty, liquor mouth on me!" he shrieks and grabs a handful of my hair. "I can’t believe you were going to put my purity, my innocence into that fitly mouth of yours!" He grabs himself at the base of his erection for support and begins smacking the right side of my face with it, continuing to yell at me.

I grab his hand that is wrapped around the hairs on the front of my head and pull it off while removing my finger from within him. I jerk my face away from the beating he is delivering onto me with his cock and let my body flop back against the couch. I hold out my finger that was once within him so that his eyes are fixated on it. Insert it into my mouth, licking and sucking lustfully as I gaze up at him.

"You dirty fuck!" he exclaims.

Forcefully he grabs my body and throws it down on the couch face first and straddles my back. He picks up the rope that has fallen from the floor and fidgets with it behind my back. I try to turn around and see what his conniving little mind is up to, but he backhandedly smacks my face away making me wince in pain.

Finished fiddling with the rope, he drapes the lasso he has created around my neck and pulls it slightly so it barely touches my flesh. I am thankful it’s not tight against my throat, but I know it will be eventually.

I hear him spit on his hands and know what is coming next. Pain spikes into my body as he shoves his firmness into me. I am disappointed we are not in our bedroom where we at least have lotion and baby oil. I know Chester prefers to fuck me this way, with limited lubrication, so we both slightly chafe – leaving us both a reminder for a few days of the sexual encounter.

As he drives himself into me, he pulls at the rope, tightening it against my fragile throat.

"I’m going to ride you like a fucking pony," he howls maliciously. Pain sears within me, but I delight in every second of it. My stiffness, which is rammed painfully into the couch, begs for attention.

"Do you like it when I ride you, Mike?"

"No! Stop…please Chester…please," I convincingly fake my displeasure, craftily satisfying him and concealing my enjoyment of the abuse. I know if he was aware of how much I loved it when he fucked me, he wouldn’t do it nearly as much. He’s all about torturing me in any way possible.

Until I feel like I can’t take it any longer out of soreness and rawness, Chester exclaims, "Oh, Mike, I’m going to spill myself inside of your tight little ass." As he reaches orgasm he wails loudly in pleasure.

While he’s emptying himself into me he pulls the noose tightly around my neck cutting off my airflow, yet again today.

I find myself on the edge of pleasure too and quickly change my thoughts to basketball to refrain from soiling the couch. Chester withdrawals himself from me and collapses on my back. My hands hastily make their way up to the rope around my neck to let air fill within me.

Chester remains motionless on my back and I feel acute irritation grow within me as my body pleas to be serviced. I hate the manic feeling I get when I’m completely aroused and my satisfaction is denied.

Feeling broken and wallowing in self-pity I begin to beg Chester. "Touch me, Chester, please."

"Shut the fuck up," he responds.

"Don’t do this to me, Chester, I need you."

"I know you do."

"Then give me some relief, please."

"Begging doesn’t suit you, Mike."

Enraged I pull my body up from the couch flinging Chester off me. "You’re a fucking prick, you know that?" I yell and run up the stairs to our room, locking the door behind me. I collapse onto the bed crying, a broken shell of a man. My hard-on is still raging, but I feel too disgusted with myself to do anything about it.

"Open up this fucking door!" Chester yells while pounding on door.

"Fuck off!" I yell. Sexual dementia setting in, I know I have to do something about my arousal, as much as I’m now not in the mood, or I will be hating myself for it later. I run into the bathroom and deposit a generous amount of baby oil on my hand. On my way back to the bed I pick up a pair of Chester’s worn boxer shorts that lay on the floor. I lie on my back against my pillow and take my firm manhood into my oiled hand. Chester continues to pound on the door and yell obscenities at me.

As I stroke myself I use my other hand to bring Chester’s shorts to my face. I rub them all over my face, inhaling deeply to capture his scent. As I am on the peak of pleasure I get up on my knees and crawl over to Chester’s pillow and discharge my seed onto it with a loud moan. I keep my stance while trying to catch my breath. After a minute of enjoying the air I look down upon the mess I’ve made on Chester’s pillow and smile. ‘Sweet fucking dreams, Chester!’