I made my way down the dark and decrepit street, terrified that someone would stop me and pull me into an alley. My large, muscular arms were wrapped around my chest, trying to keep myself slightly warm. I passed by packed bars fully of guys drinking too much than they could handle and yelling at the televisions. I hoped that none of them could see me. Walking in these shorts were humiliating, since my ass cheeks pretty much hanged out.
Eventually I made it to the tattoo parlor, rushing in and closing the door behind. Although open for business, there was only one man inside. He was a tall and hefty ginger with a shaved head and a long, thick beard.
“So, you’re the jock, huh? The limp dick poser who’s going to be my canvas,” he said as he looked me up and down.
“Y… yes sir,” I said meekly.
“Good,” he grinned. “Sit your ass down in a chair and get comfortable.”
I walked over to one of the chairs, trying to calm myself down in this hazardous environment. “So… what… what ideas do you have in mind,” I asked him as he sat by my side.
“Oh, just some sketches I’ve been meaning to try out. Now don’t you worry your brain dead head off. I’ll make sure to treat you right.” He readied his needle and pulled my crop top down. “This may hurt.”
The needle pressed against the right side of my collar bone and he started to get to work. I didn’t watch him, not wanting to know what he was putting on my body. After several minutes the sketch was done: a series of pink bows that turned into pink birds.
“How do they look?”
“I… I was expecting something worse.” I pulled up my crop top, hiding the tattoo from him. In response he pulled my shorts off and pressed the needle against my hip. In a pink font he wrote “sissies do it better” on the left side of my hip. Then he drew a heart on the patch of skin above my cock. The heart was decorated with a lock in the center of it.
“I’m sorry, slag. Is this more of what you were expecting,” he said with a growl.
“Ye… yes sir.”
“Roll over.” I did as he asked and he went back to work. He gave me a butterfly tramp stamp, the type that you would see on trashy women looking to get their cheeks clapped. He also gave me two more bows, one on each of my back thighs. They were large and well detailed. When he was done with me, he allowed me to stand up and pull my shorts back on.
“There’s a glory hole in the back, cock muncher. Now get back there or I’m going to have a problem. Understood,” he said with his hand on my shoulder. If he wanted to he could have moved that hand to my neck and my story would have ended there.
But it didn’t.
“Yes sir,” I said solemnly as I made my way to the back of the store. The room with the glory hole was right beside the restroom and was furnished with a bench for those to sit and wait between sessions. The hole itself was blocked on the other side by a small latch. If anyone wanted to use the hole, all they had to do was open the latch.
So I sat and waited for the latch to open, praying that I wouldn’t and that I could be let go without having to do anything disgusting. I was mid prayer when it opened.
~end of part 4~
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/mwhr9x/a_changing_man_pt_4_sissy