Page 75 of Vasily the Nail

I don’t push it. I remove my panties and, at Vasily’s insistence, lay myself on the table. He opens another sealed pack and replaces the bit before kissing my mound, wiping it clean with another damp paper towel, and starting up the gun.

“Aren’t you going to draw it first?” I ask.

“It’s going to be small, remember?”

“So is the one you just did!”

“I was writing upside-down on my own leg,zvyozdochka.”

“Right, yeah.” I settle back down and take a deep breath, narrowing my eyes onto the basic chandelier light hanging above my head. I jolt when something touches my mound and only afterward realize it wasn’t even the gun. It was Vasily’s other hand.

No lectures from him. No warnings. He taps me a few more times, each time starting the gun before he does so, until I finally stop jolting, and only then does his touch come with pain.

Only for a second before he lifts it away.

“You now have a tiny black dot. A beauty mark. It’s pretty.”

I exhale and look down to see what he’s wiping clean. It’s barely visible, a small dot a millimeter or two wide just to the side of my slit. It only stung a little bit, and he’s right. I feel nothing now. “Wait, was that it?”

“No, that was practice. To make sure you were steady and so you know not to be afraid. I have to have my hand on you to draw the lines properly. You feel okay?”

Unable to find fault in his logic, I nod and settle back down, this time breathing evenly. When his hand goes on me again, his fingers pressing firmly enough that they can stretch the soft flesh taut, I focus on that breathing and remain still when the needle pierces me again.

He’s fast. In my mind, he’s moving slower than he did on his leg, but time is elastic with something like this. Despite howslowly it feels like the needle moves along my pelvis, I blink my eyes, and he’s done.

He cleans me gently and tells me to stay where I am while he walks into our bedroom and returns with a small mirror. He tilts it at the right angle so I can see what’s been permanently etched on me.

It’s tiny. Not even the size of a dime. Instead of being off to the side like the practice beauty mark was, it is perfectly centered, the apex of the design leading seamlessly into the shadow of the cleft between my labia.

An Aries symbol, although I’ve traced the scar on Vasily’s pec enough times to know that it is also the symbol of the Baranov Bratva. This one has a little extra to it: a B between the horns.

“For Baranov?” I ask, reaching down to point at the letter, only for him to slap my hand away so he can wipe a bead of blood away and stick another piece of plastic to it.

“For Vasily.”

“What? Not the—” I sigh. The Aries symbol may be the Baranov crest, but it’s also a stylized V. “Did you just put your initials on me?”

He kisses me right above the plastic. “I supposed I did. Now spread your legs so I can kiss you more.”

Vasily

“Fuuuuck, you’re gonnabe the death of me, woman.”

Ana giggles and wipes cum off her chin, licking her fingers clean with an over-exaggerated sucking sound.

As if she hasn’t already done enough sucking today.

And cooking and cleaning and laughing, never once complaining that I’ve marked her as my personal property, going against every rational thought I’ve had over how much I don’t want anyone to own her. Dima nearly walked in on her naked since she’s refused to put her panties back on, instead preening in front of the mirror at every opportunity. I even caught her scoping her new ink out in the glass of the oven door while I fucked her from behind. It’s a miracle dinner didn’t get burned.

She pouts playfully. “I can’t help it. I might be obsessed with your cock. Is that a thing?”

“Absolute death of me,” I growl as I lift her up onto her feet, change my mind, and lift her right off the floor to pin her against my chest so I can feel her squirm while I kiss her. “My balls are probably shooting dust at this point.”

“That was definitely cum I just swallowed. What do you want for dessert?”

I grin and toss her on the bed, making sure she lands with her legs spread. “You know what I want.”

“No!” she shrieks, laughing. “What do you want for actual dessert? I’ve got the ingredients for this fake blondie recipe I found online. I tried to make for-real blondies the other day and accidentally ended up with scrambled eggs, so I think I need to start off slower.”

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