Alcohol wipe first. Cold. She shivered. Then the stencil. I pressed it to her skin, just above her mound. The paper clung to the slight dampness already gathering there. I peeled it away slowly. The word "unleashed stared back at us in elegant black script—curved, feminine, right where her pubic hair would start if she didn’t shave.

“Perfect,” I murmured.

She bit her lip. Hard.

I picked up the machine. The buzz filled the room—low, steady, like a heartbeat. I dipped the needle in black. Leaned in.

First line.

She gasped. Back arched off the table an inch. Thighs tensed. I felt the tremor run through her.

“Easy,” I said....