Raven moaned like a whore as Ronald pounded her ass, partially because she knew the cop would appreciate it, and partially because the fucking just felt that good. As ass-fucking always hurt; there was no way around it, but at the very least, she wouldn't get knocked up by some fuck of a corrupt cop. Her entire body rocked and shook as Ronald fucked her hard enough to jostle the items on the counter Raven pressed her tits against. The burning sensation of pleasure and lust welled in her body until she finally came and she screamed in delight.
It was fortunate timing, as well, as immediately afterward, Ronald shot his load in Raven's ass and immediately pulled out. "Mmm...oh, yeah. I love a dirty goth pussy."
Raven held her tongue as she caught her breath. I ain't as dirty as you, you big-dicked weasel. She looked to to see Ronald tucking his cock back in before fastening his pants. Looking as "professional" as ever, he met eyes with the tattoo artist and smirked as he fingered the bundle of protection money he had come to collect.
"Same time next month, toots." It was a statement, not an inquiry.
Raven merely nodded. As good of a fuck as the cop was, she wanted him out of her parlor so that he wouldn't interfere with her business. She watched him leave and sighed. Business would be a lot more profitable without the need to pay her monthly protection. That the cop asked for extra and likely would again didn't really bother her; Ronald was a great fuck. She just wished she didn't feel like she was getting robbed at the same time.
After taking a few minutes to clean up the mess that was her counter and clean herself up, she returned to the front of the parlor just in time to hear the bell jingle, indicating a new visitor; hopefully a customer.
"All right, Little Missy," a woman said. "This should be our last stop, and then you'll be all set!"
Raven raised an eyebrow at the sight. A fairly average middle class mother (well, average by Chastity Valley standards, with her good looks and bountiful bust) led her daughter, the very picture of a teen tramp, by a dainty hand. The daughter was dressed to fuck, with a skin-tight pink top and a slutty black little number that barely qualified as a skirt. She wore a pair of porn-parody Mary-Janes, and with every step seemed ready to advertise how ready she was to fuck as she twirled a lollipop between her pouty lips.
The mother approached Raven. "I'm here to get a tramp stamp for my daughter."
Raven smirked. She had seen this type before. She was the sort of mother that treated her own daughter like a living doll. Not that the daughter seemed to mind; the only thing on the tramp's simple mind was any and all forms of fucking or getting fucked. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I don't generally do walk-ins. My schedule is very busy, but if you'd like to make an app--"
"Oh, please!" the mother pleaded. "My baby just needs to look her best for her teacher, or she's going to be held back in school."
Judging by "Little Missy's" apparent level of brain power, Raven felt that getting held back would probably do the trollop some good, but then again, there was no getting through to mothers like these; the sort that wanted their daughters to be "just so" so that they could live vicariously through the "successes" of their offspring. "All right," Raven said. "So what sort of tramp stamp are you, I mean, is your daughter looking for?"
The mother pulled a photograph out of her purse and presented it to Raven with a proud smile. "I want you to ink this on her."
Raven again raised an eyebrow. It was a picture of the woman's daughter taken from behind; the tart's bare, barely skirted ass and pussy presented as she looked over her shoulder with a smouldering, empty-headed look of lust. And of course, a lollipop between her lips. "You want me to ink a picture of your own daughter on herself?"
"What better way to advertise?" The mother smiled.
"Well, if this is what you--r daughter wants." Raven had to admit that while she had certainly seen the sort of controlling mothers she thought of as Doll Makers before, this one took the concept to a whole new level. Not that she really minded the business; hearing an empty-headed trollop's squeals as she inked a tramp stamp just above their round asses was one of the little pleasures she derived from her job. "Just make sure she gets ready while I get my tools out."
"Oh, good!" The mother quickly took her daughter by the hand and escorted her toward the inking station. "Now, this will hurt, dear. But remember! It's all for a good cause!"
The daughter, seemingly lost in an erotic fantasy as she continued to suck on her lollipop, made no protest.
Sun Jun 17 12:25:21 2012