Bums and wino's spilled against vacated buildings, holding their dreams in their empty bottles.

The characters she saw go in and out of the three parlors lining the block just north of Washington, made her shiver. They all looked like bikers, ex cons or whacked out war vets, the latter living their dreams on the colors in their arms.

Kelli drove slowly past St. John's Tattoo Parlor. The name of the place always amused her. Must be the name of the owner, she thought, as she slowed to look at the artwork in the window.

The pale pink rose that she wanted tattooed on her ass, always caught her eye as she drove by. This would be the place she decided.

If she went ahead with the tattoo.

If the nightmares would stop.

The connection was still too strong.

The subconscious desire to be tattooed, merged with a deeper subconscious desire to be branded. To be someone's property. To be a submissive tattooed and branded slut.

As she increased her sped and made it through the traffic light at Mission, she turned left and headed for the freeway entrance.

As she neared San Carmel, she pulled off on Valley Parkway and cruised through the drive up of Carlos Burgers. That session with Barbara Rush had made her hungry!

She was always aware of her thin figure however, and only ordered a salad and skim milk. She was back on the freeway in minutes as she ran through the rest of her appointments in her head.

"Let's see, got that old shack over by the feed plant," she talked to herself above the radio's soft music.

"That ol' duffer will probably list when he gets a load of these legs," she smiled as she rubbed her thighs together.

"Then the McMurphys. The Irish always seem to have a knack for twisting the most out of you. I remember the moves Jim McMurphy put on me last year when they aborted their listing. When I didn't fuck him, he cancelled. Maybe I ought to let the Mrs. see him in action," her thoughts continued as she wondered how she might get him into a compromising situation and have his wife find out about it.