We Got 'Engaged' When She Had My Name Tattooed On Her

It started one day when I took my favorite staffer with me to lunch. We were also on a mission to find a new scanner for the office. We stopped at this burger joint and when we got to the cashier, she was wearing a very tight strap halter, her tits almost bursting out, with tattoos on her chest and arms. My favorite staffer looked at me to see if I was noticing.

While we sat at these picnic tables outside she called my attention to staring. I told her she had to be kidding, tits like that, a top like that, and tattoos to boot. I went beyond that and told her she wished she had tits like that and was brave enough to flaunt them. We finished our burgers and went on to Office Depot. But the subject of the girl at the hamburger joint did not end there.

I asked her what tattoo would she let me get for her tits. I would pay as long as I could watch. And as conversations go, this one ended up with a threat or compromise. I would get my name tattooed on her tits and she would get her name tattooed on my chest. The compromise is that the tattoos would be our signatures. On Saturday we went to this tattoo parlor and I signed her breast, she insisted it be below her bra line and I insisted it be above, I wanted everyone who saw her in a bikini to see my name on her. She agreed, and she signed her name on my chest and we settled down to get our tattoos.

Once they were done, it was obvious as hell that her tattoo would be visible in a bikini and if she wore an open shirt. My tattoo was covered by my shirt, but if I took it off it was very visible across my heart. I convinced her while we were there to let me sign her ass too, above her pantie line so that any sob who got close to her would know she was owned and she belonged to me. At that moment while we were getting tattooed we were getting married, she belonged to me and I belonged to her.

Because they were signatures and not names spelled out in block letters, it took a bit of sleuthing or admittance for strangers to figure out who had signed her tits and her backside and who had signed my chest. In all honesty during the summer, any beach or pool time, she flaunted her tattoos. Flaunted, got her tits out and wore string bikinis, she wanted everyone to know she had an owner. We got older, she turned 26, and the need for a ring on her finger got to the point where that's the only course for us to take. She wanted a big diamond, not something small and insignificant. She was into displaying who she belonged to and she wanted her diamond engagement ring to spell it out.

She went to Mrs. immediately, her name changed, her new driver's license. For the little girl that I first met at work to the young woman she had become was quite a transformation. At night after she's been owned, she lays there on my chest and run her hand over the tattoo where she had signed.