CHAPTER 204: "!" (R-18)

One hand released her wrist, smashing my fist into the table beside her head. Wood CRACKED—splintering from the impact. Sofia shattered.

Orgasm—violent, endless—convulsed through her. Body seized rigid, back snapping off the table, eyes rolling white, mouth open in a soundless scream. Cunt exploded—gushing like a broken hydrant, spraying my chest, her stomach, the table itself. Clear fluid drenched the oak, pooling in the grain, dripping onto her heaving tits.

The table bucked beneath us. Legs screeched against the floor. Silverware rattled in drawers. A wineglass tipped over in the hutch—SHATTERING like a crystal bullet.

I yanked her arms behind her back, twisting her wrists into one brutal fist and pinioning them to the small of her spine with my other hand.

No warning.

No mercy.

Just cock.

Notched at her ruined entrance, drove home—deep in one bone-shattering thrust. Her scream tore through plaster—raw, shredded—as cervix crushed against my cockhead. Table legs skidded six inches across floorboards—screeching like tortured metal.

I roared, pistoning like a hydraulic press. Hips rising, falling—slamming downward with earthquake force. Wood groaned, splitting along the grain. Her face bounced off sticky oak—cheekbone flushing crimson, tears smearing old food stains.

I released her wrists. Grabbed a handful of hair—pulling her head back, arching her throat. Other hand mauled her bruised ass—CRACK! —CRACK! — palm slamming into bleeding flesh until handprints fused into welts.

Orgasm detonated—seismic. Her body convulsed—thrashing so hard my cock nearly tore free. I kept drilling through her seizure... Cock swelling, throbbing—erupting like lava. Thick ropes flooded her womb—scalding—overflowed instantly, gushing back around my shaft. Dripped in thick, white-pink globs onto shattered table legs.

**

I knelt between her thighs, the low light gleaming off the tattoo gun in my hand. Bought silently through the System with a mere 100 SP—steep, but worth it.

Sofia herself had begged for this, voice ragged and desperate after I’d fucked her senseless against the basement wall. "Brand me, Peter. Please. Mark your ghost. I want to belong. Forever."

Who was I to deny such worship? Above her mound, right on the smooth skin just below her navel, I’d just finished the first line: "I". The needle buzzed, a low, angry hum.

"Aaaahhh..." Sofia hissed, arching her back slightly as the needle bit into the most sensitive skin on her body. A tremor ran through her legs. Then, a breathless, choked laugh escaped her lips. "Fuck! That stings."

"Good," I murmured, my eyes fixed on my work, mapping out the elegant script: "I belong to". I dipped the needle again. "Painful reminders stick better than sweet nothings, don’t they?"

"God, yes," she gasped, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the table. Another sting, another shuddering laugh mixed with a whimper.

Looked at her, this perfect, popular girl, trembling and smiling as I permanently engraved my claim above her pussy. "Never knew getting owned could hurt so good."

The needle buzzed, tracing the elegant curves of "Peter". Her hips jerked involuntarily. "Jesus! How do you make writing letters feel like... like fucking?"

I smirked, continuing the final "!" with deliberate slowness. "It’s all about focus, ghost. And the subject." The last sharp sting made her cry out, a sound that melted immediately into a long, shuddering sigh of release as I pulled the gun away.

It was done. "I belong to Peter!" stark black letters, a permanent brand on her mons pubis, inches above her ruined, satisfied cunt.

She collapsed back onto the table, chest heaving, staring down at the fresh mark. Her fingers tentatively touched the inflamed skin, flinching but then tracing the letters with a look of possessive awe. "Fuck. It’s... real." She looked up at me, her eyes still holding that wild, post-posession fire, but mixed with something softer—wonder. "I’m yours. Literally."

I leaned down, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to the inflamed skin, tasting the faint metallic tang of fresh ink and her sweat. "Literally, and every other way," I murmured against her skin. "Now... talk to me, ghost." I settled back on my heels, my gaze intense, curious. "That thing that happens to you? When you... unleash?"

Sofia laughed, a genuine, slightly shaky sound. She propped herself up on her elbows, wincing as the movement pulled the tender skin.

"The sex ghost thing?" She shook her head, dark hair fanning out. "Honestly, Pete..." She used the name deliberately now. "I had no idea. It’s like... like something takes over. Something hungry. Something that doesn’t care about being ’good Sofia’ or ’Jack’s girlfriend’ or ’perfect student president’. It just wants more

. Pain. Pleasure. Ruin. All of it."

She looked down at her tattoo again, a slow, fierce smile spreading across her face. "You unlocked it. You became it."

"And you love it," I stated, not a question.

Her eyes snapped to mine, blazing. "I adore it. I feel... alive. Truly alive for the first time ever. Like I was sleepwalking before, and you... you woke the beast." Her voice dropped, thick with emotion and lingering arousal. "That wild thing? The one that drools on your cock and begs for pain and screams when you break her? That’s the real me. The rest was just... costume."

"Good," I said, my voice rough. "Because I adore the beast. I adore the screaming, the biting, the clawing, the neediness of it. I adore the way you surrender completely to the ruin. It’s... magnificent." I reached out, tracing the edge of her fresh tattoo, making her hiss again. "Don’t ever lock her away again, Sofia. Not for Jack. Not for anyone. She belongs to me now too."

"Never," she vowed, her hand covering mine where it touched the brand. "She only comes out for you. Only you can handle her. Only you deserve her." She pulled my hand down, pressing my fingers against her still-wet cunt. "Proof that she’s settled in?"

I chuckled, sliding two fingers easily into her slick heat. She gasped, her inner walls fluttering immediately around me. "Always ready for more, aren’t you, little ghost?"

"Always," she breathed, rocking her hips against my hand, the movement making her fresh tattoo sting anew, drawing another hiss/laugh. "Especially when it’s you tattooing ownership into my soul while touching me. It’s... poetic. Fucked up, but poetic."

I grinned, pumping my fingers slowly, feeling the familiar tremors start to build in her thighs again. After three hours, she still craved me. The brand was fresh, the sex ghost was sated but simmering, and the house—the sanctuary—was now permanently stained with her surrender. Sofia Morrison, or whatever was left of her, belonged to Peter Carter.

Permanently.

The proof was inked right above her cunt, and she was laughing about the pain because she loved the ownership. The huntress had not just been captured; she had willingly engraved her captor’s name onto her soul.

The night wasn’t over. The ghost was stirring again. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that this permanent mark was only the beginning of our shared possession.