You were laid on the tattooing table, on your stomach considering you impulsively decided you wanted a tramp stamp.

König, your artist, was laying the stencil. He grabbed your hips and gently adjusted you for a better angle. “Good girl,” you heard him murmur when you easily moved where he wanted you.

He picked up the tattoo gun and rested his other hand on your hip. “Remember to stay still sweetheart, and don’t be shy, let me know if you need a break.” He said as the needle pierced your skin.