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Ink

By: Ironrose



"... tattoos. I love tattoos. I don't have any because my mother would kill me... but... I love them, and love men who have them..."

"...Ongoing search continues for missing 18 year old..."

"... No, not the flaming skulls or chicks riding motorcycles kind. Artistic ones... designs... black, ink markings..."

"... Police have been searching since early last week and thus far... have yielded no results..."

"... Don't even know why I'm telling you this," She giggles. ".. It's not like I've known you forever... only a few days and yet..."

"... Abducted from her home nearly two weeks ago and vanished with barely a trace... and no sign as to her whereabouts..."

"... I feel like you know me so much better than anyone else..."

The static snow of a voice on a tape recorder, her voice, the confessional laughter. The blaring announcement over a television screen overwriting the sound, blacking out the voice. A loud buzzing sound that would strain and deepen, lengthen and shorten as it moved. He listened to one, ignored the other, and concentrated solely... on the third. 

With her skin bare before him, he listened to her voice, that beautiful voice that came through in strained, half-lost tones over the crappy speaker of a handheld tape recorder. It sat next to him on the desk and she'd confessed into it without ever knowing it was there. She'd told him all of her secrets, every single florid detail of every single encounter that she'd ever had. Every desire. 

If he closed his eyes he could see her. Hear her breathing in the second when he'd grabbed her, hauled her from her warm bed, and into the night. He could feel her struggle against him, her legs kicking out trying to escape him. He remembered how hard he'd gotten, how unutterably aroused that he'd been by her violence. He felt a stirring in his boxers as he thought about it now. For a moment he paused and leaned back, staring up at her beautiful skin. So white... so perfect a canvas for his debauch. 

"Don't suppose anyone ever told you not to take candy from strangers..." 

He watched her shudder, her blue eyes going wide as he spoke to her, directly to her, for the first time in a better part of a week. A small whimper escaped her from behind a red ball-gag and she tugged against the leather thongs that held her arms aloft, her body stretched before him. Blood trickled down from her ribs and over her thighs, it seeped forth slowly because he had yet to wipe it away. Slowly, she saw him raise the hand that held the blood-reddened cloth and she shut her eyes tightly, biting down on the ball as the intense burn of rubbing alcohol, stung the open sores on her skin. 

The buzzing stopped. 

She opened her eyes and sighed in relief.

That relief didn't last long. After a moment of staring at her intently, he stood from his chair, and moved closer. His eyes scoured her face, tracing over the black marker drawings that covered her forehead, cheeks and neck. He nodded sagely and then smiled, that charming voracious smile that he'd so enthralled her with before. 

"... Me? I'd cover myself with them!..." 

She heard her own voice as she'd cheerfully spat those words at him. She regretted them now... would regret them forever. She hadn't known then that he was recording every word that she spoke, didn't know it until now. Now. When she'd ceased to speak to him... in favor of screaming for help instead. He'd been forced to gag her, and sat listening to the recording as a replacement... as a justification. 

"Yes, talk to me baby... tell me what you want." 

"... there's just something about it. Something about the black ink against white flesh... I dunno... Seductive. And almost scary... and... I want that..."

He'd heard the tape a thousand times. Played it over and over again until he'd memorized passages and could recite them back. He looked her over now and grinned, pleased. Blood still trickled from her ribs, running down over her hip and sliding into the small crevice where hip turned into leg. From there it followed the natural contours of her body and ran between her legs, then down from between her thighs. She was in no danger of bleeding to death, no, this pain was too slow for that. 

His eyes ate up the sight of her, this piece of artwork that he'd made. She was incredible. Voluptuous was the best word. Rounded breasts and large hips, a slightly curved belly that flattened out over the ribs. She was a Renaissance vision like Leighton's Odalisque, full and full of curves. And that was why the markings were so beautiful, so perfect on her skin. He sighed and smiled, a dark lock of tussled hair falling in his face. Wide blue eyes watched him. He reached out a hand and laid it on her waist, urging her to turn, to swing around and face the wall. 

The leather bonds twisted and forced her hands to cross at the wrists when she turned about. She stood there with her breasts pressed against the wall, her eyes tightly closed. Pain, there was pain, and also there was a grudging pleasure to be had in the sensation. Her skin was raw, and where he'd marked her it was rough, scabs that would soften, fade, and then finally heal over to leave a smooth rendering of his art behind. She'd become accustomed to the sharp sunburn feeling of the needle as it traced across her flesh. So much so that she'd begun to like it... and then, finally, to love it. 

At first she'd struggled against the needle, against the ink. At first she'd looked across the room at a mirror image of herself, traced with black marker, and screamed against the gag that he'd shoved into her mouth. Later she'd ceased to struggle. Emotions roiled within her. Some part of her loved this with a sadistic pleasure that couldn't be topped. But part of her rebelled against the torture still, reminding her of her homegrown morals and religious parentage. 

She couldn't lie.

She loved the burn. 

Loved the sting of the needle and the sight of the blood as it welled slowly to the surface. She loved the scent of rubbing alcohol and His cologne. Day after day she watched herself in the full body mirror as he marked her, transformed her into a work of art that she both adored... and hated. 

There were no limits. There were no lines drawn that told him to stop, no confining voice that told him to 'leave it bare'. Nothing. On the first day he'd started on her feet, tracing out an elaborate design that moved up her legs and thighs, that swirled around her buttocks and over her belly... up, up, and up. She thought that some parts might be sacred, but no. He marked her face too, then just as casually, shaved the hair from her crotch, and took his design there too. 

Bold.

Black.

Completely and utterly... beautiful. 

He had the artist's eye and great taste. The patterns were completely feminine, but drawn with a masculine hand. They were perfect, an incredible vision of artistry. And she could tell that he was proud of them. Oh-so-proud of her skin, his flesh, the canvas. 

His hands, such large hands to do such delicate work, traced over her now. They flowed down the line of her back and over her buttocks. She winced and sucked in a breath as his fingers smoothed over roughened, raw skin and stroked downward. He cupped her buttocks in his palms and squeezed. She cried out around the gag and pressed her legs together. She felt him move forward, pressing his chest against her back. 

"You know you like it..." 

"... I dunno. I think I can handle pain pretty well. And besides... just think of what it'd look like when it was done..."

The recording still went on. Every now and again interjecting its own opinion into the non-conversation that he was having with her. His fingers smoothed up the inside of her thigh, smearing a crimson streak of blood across the white spaces that hid somewhere between each black line. He looked down and licked his lips. Bringing the cloth up, he wiped at the smear, taking it away. He heard her scream again as the alcohol stung the flesh. 

"I know you love it..." He smiled. "In fact... I bet you're wet... right now."

His fingers plunged into her from behind, sliding through the crevice of her backside and into her passage. He was right. She was wet. Slippery and hot against his fingers. Her moisture eased the way and he stroked in and out of her, first with one finger, then two.. and finally three. 

"I remember how you struggled." He licked his lips and pressed his body close to hers. "I remember how you kicked and tried to scream. I remember how you pleaded with me... to let you go..."

She whimpered and moved her hips against his hand. 

"I remember how you looked for me. How you sat in that diner and waited for me to come... and talk to you about all the naughty things that you thought were forbidden."

"... I feel like I can tell you anything..."

"You were so easy." 

She shuddered and tried to pull away. She shut her eyes against the whisper sound of his voice and the ring of truth in his words. He grasped her, digging his fingers into her cunt, holding her to him as his hand slid forward and one finger tweaked her clit. She spasmed then, her hips banging against the wall. She screamed against the ball and tears ran down her cheeks at the pain her sudden movement inflicted. He'd done this constantly over the past week. So much that her body had come to associate the pain he inflicted with the pleasure he later gave. They became one and the same. 

He was the first to touch her.

And thusly... the first to mold her. 

She felt him back away, his fingers leaving her, then he was there again. Only, this time it wasn't fingers that she felt prodding against the opening into her body. He'd freed his erection and placed it at the entrance. He paused there, seemingly in contemplation. She felt his wet finger tracing over her then, following the line of one of his designs as it flowed across her backside and down her leg. She whimpered. He'd never done this, never threatened, never used anything but fingers, lips, tongue. 

He stabbed forward and she screamed again as he rammed himself into her. 

"Still a virgin." He laughed and pressed his hips upward so that he had her pinned against the wall. "How did you make it through eighteen years... without having your cherry popped by some pawing football player baby?"

He thrust his hips upwards violently, causing her to cry out again. Pulling back, he held there at her entrance, just the mushroom head of his cock still inside her. He watched as it tugged at her vaginal lips, he asserted the slightest pressure in order to see the ridge on the underside of his head... tease at her opening. 

"Such a pretty innocent." He started as he slid back into her body again. "You look so good... in black."

He pulled back and slid home again and again. Slowly thrusting into her as his hands stroked over the upraised flesh where he'd tattooed her. The designs ran across her entire body and he stroked them wherever he could reach. From thigh to breast, his hands moved over her, touching belly, chest, neck. His tongue snaked out and he licked at the markings on her shoulder. 

"You don't know how hard I get..." He chuckled then as he slammed back into her. ".. well, maybe you have some idea." 

She moaned then, her head falling back on his shoulder. He sucked her neck, and stared at her face, so intricate... do delicate... so marked. She looked like a doll. She looked like a fantasy. Mayhap a nightmare. Some image that popped out of the deepest depths of some serial killer's mind. Only, he wasn't a serial killer. 

He was an artist. 

 "... tattoos mean you're a bad girl. I want tattoos... lots of them... I love them..."

Her passage squeezed him tightly and he grunted as he thrust and thrust faster. His hand came up and he undid the hook that held the gag shut. It fell loose and she wasted no time in spitting it out. Wasted no time in screaming. Her voice rent the air like a hot knife through butter, leaving ripples of sound behind it. She screamed and screamed until she was hoarse... then her voice died to a moan. 

He shoved her against the wall, pressing her forward and grinding her skin into the smooth tile before them. There was a constant moan now as he pounded into her, interrupted only by the squeezing of the air from her lungs with each thrust, that caused the sound to stop for a second before resuming. Violently, he took her, grasping her hips and holding himself inside of her. Pounding, pounding. 

The slapping of flesh was like a whip crack in the air. Her body jolted with each thrust and he reached around, fondling her breasts, feeling the hardness of her nipples. The pain made her wet. The pleasure made her wetter. He felt her cum as it oozed in sticky drops from around his cock. He licked his lips and dipped his finger into the wetness, bringing it to his tongue and sucking. He thrust it into her mouth then, forcing her to taste herself, taste the abject and humiliating proof of her desire. 

Thrust after thrust he shoved himself into her, pulling out completely once or twice in order to butt the head of his cock against her asshole. 

"Yes, baby... yes... such a good fuck baby." 

Her skin was on fire. Where her breasts pressed against the wall they were cool, the tile chilling her scarred flesh. But where he touched, every place that his fingers explored there was an acute, burning, fire. She loved it. She hated it. Tears of pain streamed down her face even as her body reached toward an uncontrollable climax. He thrust and thrust, pounding into her willing cunt as his fingers tiptoed over the raised markings. 

He closed his eyes and pressed himself closer to her, pressed her harder against that wall. Her breathing became shallow, she couldn't seem to take in a complete breath. It was as if he thought that, by squashing his skin to hers, he could stamp the marks onto his own body. He caressed, he thrust, he stopped pulling back and held inside her instead, making small forward motions with his hips. He crammed himself into her body, nudging against her cervix with his cock. She could feel him so deep in her belly... so deep. 

And it broke her. 

Those small, blunt motions... they broke her. 

She screamed as she orgasmed, clawing at the bonds that held her arms high above her head. Her hips bucked back and forth and she felt him tensing behind her, tensing.

Coming. 

Just before he came, he withdrew. 

She felt the absence of him and whimpered, wanting him back, wanting him to come inside of her. Instead he took himself in hand and squeezed, quickly beating his own flesh off. Long moments passed as she waited, waited for his fingers, his cock, his tongue...

Anything.

Nothing.

He gave her nothing. 

His hand moved quickly, flashing up and down the length of his dick. His eyes remained fixed on her, roaming up and down the black designs, the marks...

Marks.

Marked. 

He felt his orgasm building, felt the cum boiling in his balls, moving outward. He pumped his hand harder, pulling with near violence and thrusting his hips into his hand. He reached out his arm and laid his free palm flat against her back, heard her wince as he leaned forward, exerting pressure. His fingers dug into her skin, he held her there.

And came.

In viscous white torrents.

He came. 

His semen hit her flesh, splattering across each tattoo. The sticky cum drizzled down her lower back and between the crack of her ass. He watched it, mesmerized. His mouth watering as the white invaded the black. Such an incredibly seductive sight. So incredibly seductive. He glanced up, and removed his hand from her back. He stood there staring at her, smiling.

She was a work of art. 

And he had made her. 

Every line, every curve, every... single... drop. 

The sound of lust faded from his ears and he heard the room again. Her soft breathing, the television as it blared some obnoxious commercial... the tape recorder...

 "... and bad girls always... have all the fun..." 

Ink



I arrived in New York late. You name it, and it had gone wrong in LA. Late equipment, long lines at Security, not enough gate agents, limited visibility....all the usual excuses the airlines give when they can't do their fucking job!

By the time I reached my hotel, it was almost midnight. I was tired and hungry (I refuse to eat airline food no matter what) and of course, the kitchen was closed. After I dropped my bags, I raced out to find the closest open restaurant for some food and drink. Midtown seemed deserted and rather than wander around hoping for some luck, I hailed a cab and headed downtown where I knew I could find plenty of options.

I settled on a great late night place where I could get some fantastic sashimi and a strong martini. Of course, it was crowded. The night was just beginning for this crowd so; I ended up at the bar with my Toro and my vodka. I gulped the first martini like a drowning man gulps air. As I waited for the second and my dinner, the seat next to me was occupied by a very attractive woman dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt that she must have stolen from her baby sister and bright orange flip flops. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely and she wore little make up. Everything about her was my type including the tattoo on her left foot. It appeared to be a "Rain Forest" frog leaping across her instep and was obviously done by a real artist. What a coincidence. I must have been staring because I looked up and she was giving me that NY look that says WTF?

"Ah, sorry, it's just, ah your frog," I stammered.

"OH!" She seemed relieved and smiled. 

Now I was totally fucked because her smile completely undid me. It lit her whole face up and I felt mine getting warm. 

"Do you like tattoos?" She asked.

"Yeah, I have one on my back but it's not as colorful as yours." 

"What's it of?" She asked putting me at ease again.

"Well, I'm not sure I know you well enough for that yet." I said trying (and failing) to be cool.

A look of doubt crossed her face like a cloud and I rushed to diffuse my idiocy.

"Just kidding," I continued. "It's a hand print. Nothing special to look at but it has some meaning for me so what the hell."

Our conversation continued and I was really enjoying her company. I had kind of lost track of time when I started to order us another round, 

"No no," she said, shaking her head at the bartender.

Turning back to me, she continued, "you're not allowed to have another martini and I'm sick of drinking here. It's too loud and the booze is overpriced. I live a few blocks from here and after you walk me home, I'll make you a perfect espresso while you tell me all about living in LA."

Stunned as I was at my incredible good fortune, I practically leapt over the bar and tackled the bartender to pay the check. We were out the door in a flash, enjoying the early summer night in Manhattan. 

I have no clue how long we walked or where we were I was fixated on her and what might happen when we got to her apartment. As is typical in NYC, it was very small but she had done a nice job of keeping it cleanly decorated and it felt bigger than it actually was. Not waiting for an espresso, I moved closer to her only to feel her hand on my chest. 

"Sorry big boy, no touching, at least not tonight."

I was crushed! 

My face must have drained of color because she laughed and said, "Don't worry, there will be plenty of fun, you'll just have to do things my way."

She directed me to sit on the sofa and I watched her set the stage. First she put on some great music (European jazz; not that elevator shit that passes for jazz in this country), this stuff took chances) then lit a few candles. Instead of espresso, she gave me a small glass of very cold, very good sake and poured one for herself too. Then she took a seat across from me, kicked off her flip-flops and put her feet up on the coffee table. Reaching into a small wooden box, she produced a beautiful little joint and fired it up. It smelled of grapefruit and was incredible.

"Tell me," she began as she passed the joint to me, "Do you like to watch?"

"Um, sure, I guess," was all I could come up with.

"Well, we're going to play a little game if you're up for it"

"SURE!"

She took a long pull on the joint, stood and wriggled herself out of the t-shirt. Her body was magnificent. High firm breasts topped by Hershey Kiss nipples and a flat stomach that reflected how she cared for herself. But, best of all was the tattoo that crept from her waistband and bloomed across her right side. It was a continuation of the Rain Forest theme and there were plants and birds and reptiles all intertwined in a colorful splendor. I was dumbstruck again and stared at her while she took her seat and began to run her hands lightly across her perfect form. 

"Mmmmmm," she purred. "That feels soooo nice! Why don't you join me?"

I looked confused. Should I go to her? She had said no touching but.....

She frowned again and said "take YOUR shirt off, silly."

Now I got it. I stood and slowly unbuttoned my shirt all the while watching her eyes. She would occasionally glance up at me but she was primarily fixated on my fingers slowly revealing my chest. I keep my self in good shape and while I don't look like a fitness model, I look pretty good naked. I knew that as I pulled the shirt off my shoulders, the muscles in my chest and arms would wriggle beneath my LA tan. She obviously approved as her hands traced their way to her now hard nipples, pulling and pinching them with delight. I started to sit down but she stopped me.

Making a spinning motion with her finger, all she said was, "ink."

I turned to show her my strong back in the center of which, over my left shoulder blade was a handprint. 

"I like it"

"Thanks," I said as I took my seat.

Her left hand continued to tug and twist at her right nipple while she used her right hand to unbutton the top of her jeans. Looking into my eyes, she slowly pulled the zipper down and pulled the denim aside to expose the top of a black thong. I'd like to say it was all sexy and lacey but it really looked more athletic and comfortable. Regardless, her left hand dove inside her pants cupping her panty-clad mound. My cock was now aching to get out of my pants. I reached down and gave it a squeeze, which made her smile in an evil way.

"I want to see it."

"What?'

"Your cock."

Her breath was coming faster now and her hand was now rubbing her pussy through, I assumed by the scent, a very damp pair of panties.

"You'll have to ask nicer than that," I said in a low half whisper.

She tossed her head back and pulled on the panties. "OK, please, let me see your cock"', she said with a glint of sarcasm in her voice (so sexy).

I stood again and unbuttoned the top of my jeans and, button-by-button; continued to expose myself to her. I rarely wear underwear with jeans and this was no exception. When she caught the top of my pubic hair her eyes lit up when she saw my other tat, a little coral snake crawling through my thatch of pubes. She licked her lips and stared intently as each button brought her closer to what she wanted. 

"Somebody didn't tell the truth", she uttered in a gravely voice.

"Telling a stranger at a bar that you have a snake in your pubes tends to be a conversation stopper." I said eliciting a throaty laugh from her.

When all the buttons were open, my pants stayed up held in place by the hardness of my cock. I removed my hands and stood there.

"Oh God, don't be an asshole; please...."

I reached in and pushed my cock down releasing the tension and down they went. As the pants descended, I let my cock pop up and bounce a bit. A scene that made her smile lustily. My cock was about as hard as it gets, standing straight out and leaking a bit of precum. I stared at her hand moving wildly over her pussy and began to stroke it very slowly. 

I sat back down across from her and gave her a nod that said, 'your turn.' She stood and wriggled out of her jeans turning slightly to show me her perfect, hard ass. I had to stop stroking my cock for fear of cumming. While her back was to me she bent and slowly peeled off the thong. As it crossed her knees, I caught a glimpse of her pussy and I gasped. She, knowing exactly what she was doing, didn't even turn around. Instead, she snapped back up, her hair flying over her strong shoulders and reaching to mid back. Her hands reached for the top of her thighs and slowly stroked their way up her buttocks disappearing from my sight as they snaked around and (I assumed grabbed her breasts again). It was my turn to plead.

"Now who's being the asshole?"

She snickered at me and looked back into my eyes in the most seductive manner. Not stroking my cock was NOT possible and I spit into my hand and got busy. Spinning around slowly, she revealed the rest of her gorgeous body. That tattoo that I glimpsed earlier came into view and had me mesmerized. It was one of the most unique things I had ever seen, the vines and brightly colored creatures curling around her hip and upper thigh. Truly magnificent. Turning to face me, her eyes locked on my cock and mine zeroed in on her neatly trimmed pussy.

We both knew this was a downhill slope to orgasm and there was no wasted time. Seated opposite me again, she spread her legs and went after that pussy like an AYCE buffet: with both hands. Her right hand danced across her clit like a maestro while her left pounded deep inside her like a jackhammer. I matched her tempo and tried to look at her eyes; when they were open. As her orgasm approached, I picked up speed on my cock and, in my deepest voice, encouraged her.

"Yes baby, that's it, get it."

She moaned and her breathing became very shallow.

"I want to see you cum."

She began to quiver.

"Look at me!"

She did as cum shot out of my cock splattering my stomach. She came instantly, her orgasm building upon itself, starting as a slow pulse and ending with soul shaking convulsions. When it really took hold, she lost eye contact. Hell, I thought she might lose consciousness. When it was over, she looked up at me and smiled the same smile I had first seen at the bar. 

I could only laugh...



Ink



God, I hate the rain.

It pounds against the plate glass windows at the front of the shop, a warm tropical rain that was typical for this time of year. Every late afternoon like clockwork, thick black clouds drift in from the Gulf and dump an inch or two of rain in about an hour. The temperature drops ten degrees, the streets flood, the roof leaks, and an hour later the broiling sun will return. 

Within twenty minutes it will be as dry as a bone and as hot and muggy as hell outside again.

That afternoon was no different than any other day. I watched the rain begin to sluice against the glass, illuminated by flashes of frequent lightning. Thunder pealed, loud enough to rattle the windows and my bones, both. The streets were deserted - not even the tourists were brave enough to be out and about in this storm. They were no doubt huddled in one of the many small cafés along the main strip, drinking lattes and bitching about the prices of the kitschy tee shirts and souvenirs they'd just bought. 

I'd just turned away from the window, heading toward the back of the shop to snag a Coke from the fridge when the bell over the door jingled. Sighing, I rolled my eyes, thinking that a tourist had decided that my tattoo shop would be a wonderful place to wait out the storm. It happened all the time - they'd dash in out of the rain and spend an hour perusing the catalogs and photos of clients on the walls, asking a million questions (Question: Does it hurt? Answer: Duh. Question: Can I use your bathroom? Answer: Only if you get a tattoo, which brings us back to Question #1) and generally wasting my time.

Turning back, my face already creasing into a scowl, I saw a young man of no more than eighteen or nineteen standing nervously by the door. Tall and lanky, his tank top and cargo shorts were plastered to his lean body from the rain, along with his shoulder-length blonde hair. Rivulets of water dripped down over his tanned shoulders and arms. His wet clothes clung to him, outlining some very nicely toned abs and pecs. 

Okay, skaterboy, come on in, I thought, feeling the urge to frown slip away and a smile tilt my lips. If I had to be bored by a tourist then at least I'd get in some eye-candy time in the process. He flashed a crooked, shy grin at me that was innocent and sexy at the same time, and I was suddenly very glad that the counter hid my bottom half from him. Wouldn't do to frighten the kid off with the monster that was beginning to rear its head in the crotch of my Levi's. 

Well...perhaps monster is a bit of an exaggeration. Still, my cock at full mast was nothing to sneeze at.

"Come on in," I said cheerfully. Cum on, cum in - whatever's your pleasure, I continued in my head, eyeing his chiseled biceps and sinewy forearms. The kid worked out, so it seemed. I wouldn't mind lifting him for a few reps myself, come to think of it. "What can I do to you...er...for you?"

"Um, well...I was thinking about getting a tattoo. I mean, I want to get a tattoo. 

Definitely. Right now," he stammered, as if still trying to convince himself that he wanted one. 

"Then you're in luck - I just happen to have one I could part with," I laughed. "What did you have in mind?" I asked him. I knew what I had in mind, and it only involved one painless needle - the one that was currently pressing up against the zipper of my jeans.

"Nothing too big. Not for the first time, anyway," he said. His voice was slightly raspy, reminding me of the sound a zipper makes when it's unzipped slowly, one tooth at a time. Then again, that might have just been my wishful thinking exerting itself.

"Ah, a virgin," I laughed, then raised a brow as his cheeks flamed. Uh oh. Something was telling me that a tattoo was not the only thing this young man hadn't tried yet. I cleared my throat and continued. "Okay. Have you thought about what design you'd like to get? A tribal maybe?" I suggested. I quickly scanned the shelf behind me for a catalog of designs, spreading it open on the counter. "I'm Craig, by the way," I smiled, offering him my hand.

He took it, smiling that sexy half-smile again. "Mark." He eyed my forearms and shoulders, his hand still gripping mine. "Whoa, yours are awesome, dude."

I shrugged. I was used to people ogling my tats. Two full sleeves worth, and although my tank top hid most of them, they continued up across my chest and back . Had a few more on my legs as well, which he'd see when I moved out from behind the counter. Which would be as soon as I could get my cock to stop trying to jump up out of my jockeys.

"I kind of like that one," he said, pointing to a small tribal flame design. 

It was a good choice actually, for someone's first tattoo. It was small, with crisp, easy lines. It would be a snap for me.

"Great! Let's get going," I said, finally coming around from the back of the counter, hoping that his eyes didn't drift south to where the bulge at my crotch was threatening to bust a seam.

They did.

He blushed crimson, but didn't stop staring at my groin. I was willing to bet that he was wondering what else I'd had tattooed, and I was sorely tempted to drop my pants and show him. The kid was hot, and I was bored and horny, a dangerous combination.

Professional, I thought to myself. You're a professional. Act like it. I sighed and ushered him into my workspace, a partitioned section near the rear of the shop. Sitting Mark on my worktable, I jogged back into the shop and locked the front door. I didn't want to have to stop once I started to ink him, should anyone else come in.

"Okay, now where are we going to put this?" I asked, holding the stencil of his chosen tattoo in my hand.

He blushed again. The kid blushed more than a virgin on prom night, and I was beginning to think that the only thing he might have had experience in was being a virgin. 

"I wanted it somewhere that wouldn't show," he said softly. "You know, in case I didn't like it." He bit his plump lower lip and I nearly came in my pants. 

Oh, please, I prayed, let it be where I hope he wants it to be.

It was.

His long slender fingers dropped to the waistband of his cargo shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping them quickly, as if he was afraid that if he took too long he'd lose his nerve. He exposed the silky tanned flesh of his right hip.

I nodded, unable to speak for a moment. He wasn't wearing underwear and I could see a few curling, light brown pubic hairs peeking out as he pulled his shorts to the side.

"Okay. Um...you're going to need to lose the shorts, though," I said. "I can't work with you holding them open like that."

Mark's eyes widened a moment, then he nodded. Lifting his hips up, he pulled his shorts down and pushed them to his ankles. 

Oh. Dear. God. Remember what I said before about a monster? It wouldn't have been an exaggeration on Mark's part. His dick hung between his legs like a long, thick sausage. How did the kid manage to keep that tucked in his shorts without wearing underwear? Strap it to his thigh? My own cock saluted his accomplishment by springing to rigid attention again.

Mark's cheeks flushed bright fuchsia as I helplessly stared at his well-endowed package. Under my gaze, it suddenly began to stir to life, growing hard before my very eyes and he mewled, a sort of half-strangled groan.

"I'm sorry!" Mark gasped, as he reached for his shorts to pull them up. His blue eyes were as wide as saucers, and I realized that he was scared shitless that the big, tough, tattooed guy was gonna deck him for daring to get a hard-on while sitting half-naked on said tattoo guy's worktable.

That was it. My brain ceased to function altogether at that point, ceding all rational thought processes to my crotch.

"Don't be," I whispered, smiling gently. "Maybe we should take care of this before I tattoo you," I grinned, shrugging. "It'll make you relax. If you're tense, it'll only hurt worse."

"But...but..."

"Butt? Later. Right now, I think I'll just use my mouth," I interrupted, effectively shutting him up as I settled myself on my swivel stool. I placed a hand on either of his sculpted thighs, spreading them as I scooted in between them. I could nearly hear his heart hammering in his chest as I slid my hands up over his thighs to his groin, brushing my fingers across his pubic hair. I did hear his moan, sweet and soft, when my calloused fingers wrapped around his thick length.

I had me a double-handful of burnin' love. So hot that I could feel it scorch my palms, Mark's cock spat a few drops of nature's lubricant the moment I touched it. This was not going to take long. Not at all, I thought as my mouth hovered over the dripping head of his massive erection. Flicking my tongue out, I lapped at the pearly drops that seeped from the tiny slit, before opening wide - and I do mean w-i-d-e - and swallowing him whole. Or rather, swallowing as much of him as I could. 

It was enough, though. Drawing my lips back I let my teeth graze lightly across his delicate, velvety-soft skin. My tongue swirled around his cock's head, curling under its ridge, before my lips once again closed and I drew him into my throat. 

Mark was bucking under me now, his hips rising to thrust himself as deeply into my mouth as I would allow, his hands sliding between his legs to fondle his furry sac. He was quite vocal, which I liked. Moaning louder, groaning, growling, making a complete symphony of sounds as I sucked hungrily on his turgid dick. My own cock wept in sympathy, and I released his length just long enough to free my own.

He was going to come soon, I just knew it from the way he was writhing on the table. Not a chance of me letting that happen, not until I'd had a shot at his tight little ass. I let go of his erection - much to his obvious and loudly voiced protests - and opened one of the drawers of my workstation.

Flinging unwanted items over my shoulder like a madman - cotton balls, alcohol swabs, Q-tips, a half-roll of butterscotch Lifesavers - I finally found a cellophane-wrapped condom and a small tube of lube with just enough grease left in it to do the deed. 

Thank God, because I really didn't want to resort to lubing him up with 3-in-1 Oil.

Urging Mark up onto his hands and knees, I tried to allay his fears by getting up close and personal with his asshole. It seemed to do the trick.

After only a few moments of licking at his winking little hole, he was back to groaning and wiggling his hips. Squeezing out the last of the lube along with a burp of air from the tube, I coated my Trojan-sheathed prick and his puckered little rosebud. Slipping my finger into his asshole, I ignored his surprised yelp. God, he's tight enough to cut off my circulation! I thought as I slowly finger-fucked him. 

I took care to prepare him as best I could in under sixty seconds - since that was all the time my cock was going to allow me before taking control of the situation and ramming itself into his ass. 

Rotating my finger, I stroked his prostate and lowered my mouth to nip at the soft flesh of his asscheeks. Mark had taken to stroking his cock, evidently completely out of patience with me for leaving him hanging the way I had. Shrugging mentally, I added another finger, slipping it in next to the first. Twisting them, I elicited another yelp from Mark, and peeking between his legs I watched his hand jerk his cock furiously. He was gonna blow, and any minute now.

Removing my fingers with a well-lubed plop, I replaced them with my cock. It was like fucking a furnace. His rectum was so hot and clenched so tightly around my dick that for a moment I feared it would either lop my cock off altogether or cause it to spontaneously combust. 

I pushed myself into him to the root. Okay, I thought. I can die now. Right now, and I'd die a happy man. Almost surprised to find that I was still breathing and still the owner of a raging hard-on and a pair of balls that had swollen to roughly the size of cantaloupes, I began to rock my hips, thrusting deeply into him and withdrawing, again and again. My hips slapped his ass with loud cracks, until he screamed as he shot his load in great white streaks across my worktable. 

I'd thought that his ass was tight when I'd first entered it, but it was nothing compared to the waves of vise-like contractions that squeezed my cock as he came. It was too much - way too much. No normal human being's ass could squeeze like that, I thought wildly as I pulled out of his ass and ripped off the Trojan. Who was this kid? He was like fucking G.I. Joe-with-the-super-kung-fu-asshole-grip. I barely had time to give myself one good stroke before I came hard, coating his back with about a gallon of good old-fashioned joy juice.

We were silent for a few minutes, both of us panting and wheezing and trying to breathe. Mark lay facedown on my table, unmindful of the lake of sperm that squished beneath him. 

"I'm feeling relaxed now," he said, his voice muffled by the leather of my worktable. "Really relaxed. Really, really relaxed. Really, really, really- " 

" I get the point," I interrupted, "You're relaxed." Standing up, I smacked him playfully on the ass. "Ready for that tattoo, now?" I asked, ready to get back to business. The rain had stopped outside, and I needed to get him done before any potential customers came pounding at the door.

**** 

Mark took it like a man - and he did well with the tattoo, too. He's been back many times since then, going bigger and bolder with each visit. We're working on a sleeve for him now. 

I'm the only one that he allows to ink him, and he always arrives when I'm alone in the shop, just as it's starting to rain. 

And he always needs to relax first.

God, I love the rain.



Ink!



My name is Joe. I'm going to tell you a story. No, not about me, I'm just your "average Joe". But I have a friend who is really something else! His name is Leonard. His friends all call him Leo. 

Leo & I worked in the oil fields in south Texas. I'm a roustabout while he is a high rigger. I don't have any special talents, but Leo is an artist. Not a painter or a sculptor, but he can draw anything you want. A flower, a butterfly, animals, fantasy creatures, or just intricate abstract designs. Everyone who saw his drawings told him he should become a tattoo artist, and put his designs on people, instead of just on paper.

Leo thought about it for a long time and finally decided that if he could become a great tattoo artist, he would get to do what he loved, and maybe make good money. It would beat the hell out of working in the oil fields. He started savings his money.

When he had a fair sized stash, he sorted out the minimum amount of stuff he would need to take with him, and put everything else in storage. He didn't want to have trouble on the road so he gave his old Harley a quick once over, after all it only had about 40,000 miles on it.

He packed his saddle bags full, put his clothes, mostly jeans & t-shirts, in an old duffle bag, strapped it to the back of his Road King and took off.

Hell, it was less than 1500 miles to Miami. Being the iron-butt rider that he was, it would take less than two days to get there. On Saturday morning he headed north for a couple of hours to get on I-10 headed east. He could follow it all the way to Florida and turn south on I-75 which would drop him down to Miami. If he was going to learn how to tattoo, he wanted to learn from the best.

Leo arrived in Miami Sunday afternoon. He'd had good weather all the way and his trusty ride had just kept on motoring. He got a motel room for the night, and figured he would start looking for someone to teach him the art of tattoo and find a place to stay on Monday.

Monday morning Leo was up early to get started. He found a nice little studio apartment on Biscayne Blvd, about half way between Miami & North Miami. Biscayne Blvd is also known as Highway 1. 

The apartment was fully furnished, complete with linens & dishes.

He emptied his saddle bags and carried the duffle bag into his little haven. He went to the store and bought the bare basics of what he would need to set up house-keeping and a few groceries. Leo was a pretty good cook.

Next morning he dressed like he always did, jeans and a black t-shirt, his vest, boots and ball cap. He checked the yellow pages and tore out the couple of pages that listed tattoo parlors. He got on his Harley and headed for the nearest one. He had to check out several before he found one where the owner was a master tattooist with years of experience, and the owner liked Leo's drawings that he had brought with him. Just a small portfolio, but the owner was impressed with Leo's talent. They struck a deal. The owner would teach Leo the art of tattoo in exchange for a quantity of Leo's original designs. 

Leo was a good student and a fast learner. He had the natural talent and just needed to learn the technique. It wasn't long until Leo was turning out excellent work, making for very happy clients. The owner of the shop was happy with their arrangement. And now that Leo was actually doing some work, he was also getting paid. Sure beat the hell out of working in the oilfields of south Texas!

One Friday, while Leo was working at the shop, and the owner had gone to lunch, a lady walked into the shop. This was not just any lady. This was one gorgeous woman. Leo greeted her, "Hi, I'm Leo. May I help you?" Leo was awed by her beauty.

She had flawless alabaster skin. Her hair was shiny black, which she wore in tight curls to frame her face. She had an impish smile which made Leo wonder what she was thinking. Her lips were full and she was wearing pale pink lip gloss. She reminded him of a porcelain doll. He guessed that her breasts were a full D-cup, but still stood out like marvelous twin mounds. They were capped by nipples which jutted out about half an inch, making little peaks on her blouse. She was obviously not wearing a bra. Her ass was the classic apple shape below a tiny waist. She wore a skirt that was several inches above her knees. All supported on long, curvy legs and dainty feet. 

She wanted a tattoo. She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted a medium sized butterfly, to tell the world that she was free! She wanted it centered on her cleavage, so that she could wear low cut tops, and it would show. Leo explained the process, and what it would cost. She didn't even hesitate, and asked, "Can we do it right now?"

Leo didn't have any appointments for the afternoon so he replied, "Of course I can." He probably would have cancelled any appointments he might have had, to get to work on this gorgeous woman. 

"I just need to know that you are sure, since a tattoo is permanent." She was sure. He led her into his cubicle and set everything up. She unbuttoned the top three buttons on her blouse and told him, "Right here!". As she placed her hand between her breasts. Leo was ready.

No artist could ask for a more ideal canvas.

They talked as Leo worked. It would take most of the afternoon, because she picked out a butterfly with lots of detail from the ones Leo offered to her. Her name was India. She had just recently gotten out of an abusive relationship with a man who was older than she was. She had finally had enough, packed her things, got in her pick-up truck and moved out. Actually she had moved about 500 miles, from Tallahassee. She did not want that bad man to find her!

Leo was totally enthralled by India's beauty. He couldn't imagine how any one could abuse her. He knew it was against the owner's policy, but when he was finished, he asked her if she would honor him with her presence at dinner. He knew of a quiet little place not far from there, and the food was excellent. She thought about it for just a few seconds, and then said, "I'd love to."

Leo's boss had called the shop while he was at lunch, and told Leo that since they didn't have anything scheduled for that afternoon that he was going to take the afternoon off and for Leo to lock up at closing time. Leo hung up the closed sign and locked the door. They walked to the little restaurant as it wasn't that far.

They hit it off marvelously at dinner. Leo being the perfect gentleman.

They talked about where they were from and where they someday wanted to be. They had a lot in common. Dinner was followed by a couple of drinks and more conversation. 

Leo looked at his watch, and it was almost 10:00. He said, "This has been a wonderful evening, and I hate for it to end, but I guess I better walk you back to your truck and let you get on home." She teased him, "Remember, I ran away from home. I only got to Miami today."

Leo was speechless. She continued shyly, "If you have a spare room, I promise not to be any trouble." When Leo was finally able to speak he said, "You are more than welcome to my bed and I will sleep on the couch." They stood up, Leo paid the tab, and they walked out hand in hand.

When they got to India's truck, which was parked in the shop lot, she asked him what he was driving. He pointed to his Road King and said, "That's my ride!" She smiled and said, "You'll have to take me for a ride some time. I've never been on one." She agreed to follow him in her truck. He fired up the Harley and waited for her to get her truck started. He only lived a few blocks from the shop. When they got there, he parked his bike and showed her where she could park. Leo grabbed her two suitcases out of the back of her truck. They walked to the door, Leo unlocked it, opened the door, and stood aside to let her go first. "Nice", she thought. "A gentleman." She was not used to this kind of treatment. 

When he turned on the lights she looked around at his little haven. She saw a kitchenette in one corner, a double bed in one corner, a couch, chair and coffee table along one wall, and a TV on a swivel table. There was only one door, and she could see that it went to the bathroom. She spoke up, "You only have one room!" Leo closed the door and leaned back against it. He had a devilish grin on his face.

'Yes, and you are welcome to my little haven and my bed. I'll sleep on the couch and we will try to get you situated tomorrow." "You are perfectly safe here." Some how she knew she could trust Leo. She went into the bathroom and changed into her pajamas that she had always slept in. Leo turned back the covers for her, tucked her in, and kissed her lightly on those luscious full lips. Leo said, "Good night and sweet dreams." He grabbed an extra blanket to cover up with, turned out the lights, undressed, and lay down on the couch.

Leo lay there on the couch, contemplating the events of the day. If some one had told him what the day would bring, he would have told them they were full of shit! But it had happened, and he wondered where it might lead. 

India lay in bed, wondering, "What am I doing here? I hardly know this man! I hope he's a man of his word. I could be raped!" But, she felt safe, and felt that she could trust him. It had been a long day, she was very tired, and quickly drifted off to sleep.

When India awoke on Saturday morning, it was to the smell of coffee.

Leo was already up, dressed, sipping on a cup of coffee, just watching her. It took a minute for it to soak in, as to where she was and how she had gotten there. Then she remembered, and smiled at Leo.

"Care for a cup of my best this morning?" he asked. She answered, "That sounds wonderful." She got out of bed as he handed her a cup of hot steaming coffee. She sat down in the big comfy looking easy chair and tucked her feet up under her. She asked, "Where do we go from here?" Leo looked at her for a long moment, then spoke, "I'm in Miami, alone, you're in Miami, alone, our evening last night was the best evening I've had since I left Texas. Want to just stay here and see where it might lead?" "I think we could be great friends. Say yes." 

India had been dreaming last night about this very thing happening. She didn't even have think about what might happen. She believed in fate, and was willing to take the risk. In a very serious tone she answered, "I'm willing to give it a try on one condition." Leo had no idea what her "condition" might be. So he asked, "And what might that be?" She smiled and replied, "You NEVER make me sleep alone again!" They met midway between the couch and the chair, locked in a tight embrace, and shared their first sensuous kiss. Each one wanting, wishing, hoping that they were making the right choice. Fate had brought them together. Now, it was up to them to make it last.

Over the next few months, they agreed that fate had treated them well. They had both gotten lucky that Friday! Their love for each other developed, and got stronger and stronger. India was now working as a waitress, pulling day shifts so they could be together every night.

Leo was mastering the art of tattoo, and asked India if she would be his masterpiece, and allow him to put his grandest designs on her body. She loved Leo, and gave herself to him, literally "body and soul". The process took a long time, but the results were worth it.

Leo decided that he wanted to open his own shop. He certainly didn't want to go into competition with his teacher. He discussed it with India, and she agreed. They would move back to south Texas where Leo was from, and open a tattoo parlor. They knew they could do it.

The both gave notice at work that they were quitting and moving to Texas. Leo's boss, and teacher, wished them well. They put the Harley in the back of India's pick-up, hitched a u-haul trailer on behind, and loaded their possessions into the trailer. They turned their apartment keys in to the manager, and he wished them a safe trip.

Three days later they were in south Texas! Leo was home again.

They found a barber shop they could rent, that had an apartment upstairs. It was perfect. It had two barber chairs, sinks, cabinets, a front counter, and was in a good location. Leo had bought all the equipment and supplies he needed before they left Florida. He got the required licenses and permits, and put up a sign in the front window which read, "Tattoo's by Master Leo". Leo was in business!

Now what he needed was advertising and some customers. He knew where to start. Leo had worked his magic, and India was now well on the way to being "his masterpiece". 

Leo was satisfied that his creation, or creature, was far enough along to put on display, he dressed her in the absolute minimum of clothes which would show off his talent, but not get her arrested.

The first time he took her out was to the old bar where he and all of his biker crowd had hung out. It was Saturday night and the bar was busy. Most of Leo's old friends were there. Everyone was glad to see him back in town. They couldn't believe that this gorgeous creature was really his partner. He told his old crowd about going to Miami, becoming a master tattoo artist, and that they were now back in town and had just opened a shop down on Ocean Drive. 

India was wearing strappy, high heeled black sandals, with the straps winding up over her shapely calves. Her black skirt was the shortest micro-mini he could find. It hung low on her hips, barely covering her skimpy, red thong panty. She was wearing a supple, black leather vest, V-necked and held closed only by three snap chains at the bottom. She was covered, but just barely!

Leo was proud of his work. He was more proud of India. He had taught her that not everyone was mean and abusive like the man she had been with. He had given her self confidence. She knew that he would ask her to be his best advertising again and again. And yes, She would bare her body to the world if he asked! 

Dressed as she was, India could easily remove her top, or lift the hem of her skirt up, and expose 98 percent of her body, showing off everything except her pussy, which was her one private place, 

covered by her skimpy, red thong panty!

The group of bikers, bad boys and babes alike, stood in a circle at the back of the bar, so the bouncer and the manager could not see India in the middle of the circle. 

Leo said in a firm voice, "India, it's time to start the show."

India obeyed! She always obeyed.. She slowly and sexily unsnapped the three chains which held her vest closed. She took it off it and handed it to Leo. Those behind her saw that her right shoulder was a tangle of vivid green vines and two bright red roses. 

But what caught everyone's eye was the body of a fantastic dragon, sitting on his haunches above her left hip. The dragon had one small arm tucked in, but the other was reaching out for the back of her neck. His long neck went over her left shoulder.

Those in front of her saw the dragons head, with fiery eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth, resting along the outside half of her left breast. Its long tongue was stretched down to lick her nipple. The left nipple had a short gold barbell horizontally thru it and a longer gold barbell piercing the nipple vertically forming a cross. This really gave new meaning to the phrase, "Cross your heart"! 

The outside half of her right breast had an intricate abstract design on it. The nipple in the center was in a permanent state of pointedness, with a small gold band circling tightly at the base of her nipple, keeping it hard and standing proud! And nestled in the valley between her breasts was the butterfly. It had been the cause of everything

that had happened with she and Leo.

India gracefully turned a full circle, so everyone could admire Leo's talent. When she finished, she pulled the hem of her skirt up and tucked it into the waist band. Those behind her could now see the dragon's tail, whipping back and forth a couple of times, with the end pointing directly into the crack of her ass, which was covered only by the narrow strip of her skimpy thong panty. 

The white cheeks of her ass were bare, waiting for Leo to decide on the proper design to show them off in the best possible way. As she turned around again, those in front could admire the rest of Leo's work.

When the bouncer came over to see what was going on, Leo handed the vest back to India. She slipped it on to cover her breasts, snapping only the top chain. She un-tucked her skirt, allowing it to fall into place. 

As the crowd returned to their seats, the bouncer admonished them, "Anyone exposing her tits will be thrown out." To which India coyly replied, "But they're just titties! Every one has them." The crowd roared, and a frustrated bouncer went back to his post by the door.

Several of the others stretched this piece of clothing or that to show off their ink. They were all amazed at how good Leo was. A couple of the ladies told Leo that they would definitely be coming to see him. 

The manager of the bar came over and complained that if a cop walked in and saw what was going on that she could lose her license.

After a brief silence, Big Dave spoke up. Yes, Dave was big, 6' 4" and 265 pounds. He was married to Carol, who was about 5' 4" and 110 pounds. Quite the couple. They owned a business and were very successful. 

Dave said in a voice loud enough for everyone in their group to hear, "Let's take this party to my house. Carol and I have a large home just west of town. We have a big pool that we keep nice and warm. Our property is large enough that we don't worry about the neighbors. Everyone who wants to come can show off ALL their ink!" Dave continued, "My bar is well stocked, and I don't charge my friends for what they drink!" He downed the last of his drink, took Carol by the hand, and headed for the door. "You're all welcome. Whose coming?" 

A couple of people complained that they would like to but that they had to go to work in the morning. The rest of the group, about a dozen, including Leo and India all followed him out the door. Big Dave fired up his custom chopper and yelled, "Follow me!" He had to yell because that sucker was LOUD! Eight bikes roared to life, an FSX Low Rider, a Heritage Softail, an Electra-Glide, a V-Rod, an old Shovel Head that refused to die, Crippled Charlie's Trike, Carol's Sporty with its short shocks and custom seat so her feet could reach the ground, and headed out of the lot chasing Big Dave. Leo and India were on his Road King, about the middle of the group. Nobody wanted to miss this party. Being south Texas in the summer it was warm out. 

After a short, fast ride, they got to Dave and Carol's. Dave hit his remote and opened the large iron gates. Everyone went thru before the gates closed behind the last bike. They all parked in the driveway and headed for the pool area. It was nicely lit with lots of chaise lounges and chairs. Off to one side was a bathroom. Co-ed of course!

Dave went into the house and opened the sliding glass doors to his game room. It was complete with a pool table and the bar he had mentioned. This was going to be some party!

The next thing everyone saw was Carol, coming out of the game room.

She was as naked as the day she was born, except for several colorful tattoos. She headed straight for the pool and dove in. 

"Damn this feels good!" she said. "Pool rules, Ya gotta be naked!"

These were all friends, and the clothes started coming off so fast you would have thought they were all professional strippers. No one was shy. Some went in the pool, but others went to the bar where Big Dave was setting them up. Everyone was comparing their ink to the others. There was such a diverse bunch of designs, that the only repeats were butterflies and roses. One couple had matching Celtic knots, to represent together forever, with no beginning and no end.




Ink!



The party went on for a couple of hours. And contrary to what you may have heard or imagined, not all biker parties end up as orgies. 

Most bikers are as possessive of their women as they are their rides.

Carol brought out a stack of blankets and announced, "Grab your lady, scoot two loungers together or find a soft spot on the grass, and curl up. The meteor shower should be starting soon. It's always quite a spectacular sight." As people looked up, they indeed started seeing shooting stars. What a way to end a great evening with your friends!

Questions, comments or suggestions are welcome. E-mail me. 



Ink



At my sister's recommendation, I checked out the new tattoo artist in my apartment complex. "You'll love him, " she said. "He's like a surgeon," she said. I had my doubts. I had been searching long and hard for the perfect guy to trust with my body. I was planning on slowly becoming, I guess, the Illustrated Woman. I wanted one perfect artist for all my work. He would be excellent, professional, and make all of my work his own. I'd saved up the funds for months, ready for my first piece. It was going to be huge and hurt like a motherfucker—exactly how I'd dreamed of.

I knocked on his door, across the way from my own and on the top floor. The man who greeted me was soft-spoken, handsome by normal standards. His arms were solid, bright sleeves. One of them was a collage of the Nightmare Before Christmas, so I knew he had to be some kind of okay. I wound my way through his apartment to his extra bedroom, the workroom, he called it. I stripped off my plain black T and exposed my side. We'd discussed previously what I wanted and he was excited to do it. Normally, his coworkers would come to him with the usual requests...visages of the local sports team, names, most of the women wanting flowers or butterflies or some such nonsense. Not me. No, I nursed a great love of literature, particularly horror, from a young age. Yes, my first tattoo was a homage to my first love. It was an undulating black serpent-like thing with countless eyes, rendered in black with gold eyes with an orange tint. Oh, he would be lovely to reveal when I undressed!

I laid out on his table, trying to figure out what would be most comfortable for the long session ahead. I didn't do shit halfway...there would be no linework and coming back later for the rest, I wanted it all done at once. I noticed the door across the hall, presumably his bedroom, was slightly ajar. There was a little table near his bed that he knelt in front of, bowing his head. It's cool, some people are religious like that. My own father crossed himself before starting off the Land Rover to his own occupation (conservationist across Kenya) and it didn't seem too abnormal. Perhaps he was asking his creator to give him a steady hand and sure design. No matter. He'd be with me soon enough. I had no religious preference, but this did not affect the people I did business with.

He closed the door and returned to me, readying his tool and washing my side with that green soap. It smelled so refreshing, I couldn't wait for the first sink of the needles. He turned on his iPod and donned gloves, finally ready to begin the work. A Little Piece of Heaven rang throughout the room as I went to my happy place, breathing deep and letting the pain bleed into something like pleasure.

It felt like it took days, but in reality, it took about four hours. He worked quickly and well, blotting at my pouring side with a paper. I was bleeding black all over it, but the end result was so much more than I'd hoped. The long, wispy tendrils of the thing wound up and down my side, seeming to want to envelope my entire body. The eyes had highlights, like they were actually popping forth from my ribcage and keeping watch for me. It was positively gorgeous and I loved it. My ribs throbbed and my hip ached from the intrusion, but there can be no beauty without pain, the way I see it. I shook his hand, paid him, and tucked my T-shirt up into my bra on that side, trying to leave it some room to breathe and perhaps staunch the bleeding. I walked back to my own apartment, feeling slightly sick and very emotionally drained. The experience was cathartic and wonderful, but the high was starting to wear off a little. I decided to eat something and relax for a while.

I peeled a banana and lounged on the couch, idly flipping through TV channels until something caught my eye. There was a documentary on UFOs on the History Channel (of all places) so I just left it on. If I turned wrong, the pain in my side shot straight up through the nerves like fire to gasoline. It took a bit to adjust. About half an hour into the program, I felt something incredibly strange.

My tattoo moved.

Now, I know it's not possible for a tattoo to move. It's just ink imbedded in your skin. It's stuck there. Sure, it can bubble a little and bleed and often does, but that does not explain what I'm certain I saw. One of the eyes bulged a little like something were pushing out under it. Hell, it FELT like something were trying to push out under it. I sat up (god, how it hurt to move so suddenly!) and gently touched the particular offending eyeball. It smeared some blood on my fingertip, but did little else. I must have been seeing things. The event was kind of stressful, and god knows the brain reacts weird to stress sometimes. I wrote it off and continued watching the program, certain it was just an overactive imagination. That still doesn't explain what happened later that evening.

I must have dozed off watching TV, but I distinctly remember something in the back of my mind talking. Probably the person narrating the program. He was talking about Area 51 and the routine helicopter sightings and then it was in my...in my brain.

"Aren't you a pretty lady?"

I sat bolt upright, certain something fucking weird had just happened. Fuck, but it hurt!

I instinctively examined my side, but the ink remained stubbornly just as I'd left it. It was a little dry and I'd thought of it, so I thought I'd go give it a wash. It was just the trauma and pain messing with my head. That's all it was. Honest. I padded off to the bathroom with my clear, scentless soap and tried to wash the big thing. Being gentle with a gaping side-wound is totally as easy as it sounds, by the way. When I turned the water on to rinse, I fucking heard it again.

"Yes, a pretty lady with sexy curves. We like those."

Okay, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

I all but threw the soap down and went after my phone.

"Okay, dude, I think your tattoo guy just drugged me somehow. Like...like...he dipped the needles in acid or something," I was frantic, pulling my shirt off and examining every trace of ink on my side. My twin was not wont to believe my retarded story and she told me so. " You need to quit reading that shit for a while, you're just scaring yourself. Why couldn't you have maybe like, gotten something smaller for your first time?" She was clearly not as concerned as I was. "No, seriously, I am HEARING SHIT IN MY HEAD." I gestured wildly at nothing, starting to wonder if maybe she was right. Maybe I did kind of get in too deep the first time and was dropping my marbles a little."Look," she said. "I'll come have a look at it tomorrow. Keep it clean and dry and happy like he said. He's a good, clean guy who has never used drugs. I trust him. You are being stupid. Go read something happy and dumb to decompress." The phone went silent and I had no choice but to trust her.

A few episodes into South Park and I was relaxed and happy again. I had a granola bar and felt much, much better after that. The head-voice had not returned and I was happy to see it go. It had gone sundown and I thought I might like to have an early night in. I changed into a soft sportsbra and yoga pants, giving my new pretty thing some air. I'd thought to put old sheets on my bed in case I bled in the night, so that was taken care of too. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. My sleep was not restful and certainly not dreamless. The head-voice returned, but I found myself unable to wake from its taunting. "Wake up, beautiful woman. Wake up and go do our bidding. We want your body. We want you to do things for us." I couldn't wake up. I didn't want to wake up. I was sort-of conscious, though, because I felt the distinct feeling of something crawling under my skin. Oh dear god, it was horrible and I wanted to tear the skin right off my bones, but I couldn't articulate my limbs in that sleep. The voice was silent for a while and I had awful and graphic dreams about sex with everyone I knew. Why couldn't I wake up? Why couldn't I snap out of it? God, at first it was me touching them, my pink nails skimming down their skin...first my boyfriend, my sister, my best friend...and it turned into a horrorshow of my fingers leaking acid into their skin and leaving black track marks like ink down their bodies. Jesus, I have never slept worse in my entire life.

The next morning I was a fucking wreck. My eyes bloodshot, my skin pale. The tattoo looked great, though. It was healing nicely. It had bled a little overnight but washing made it feel much less sore. I felt oddly peaceful, given the nightmares I'd had the night before. Something just seemed to go right with my world. I glanced at my alarm clock on the way to get dressed...my twin would probably be up by now. I picked up around the house, humming to myself. God, whatever was wrong last night certainly wasn't wrong today.

As I went about my daily grind, I started to notice the voice in my head singing with me. It was no longer this creepy foreign thing. It's like...why was I fighting it? It just wanted to jam with me. We hummed and sung and cleaned and even decided to cook a pot of penne for twin. Yes, it would be a lovely afternoon. I opened the door when she knocked, and I was overpowered by the head voice:

WE SHOULD EAT.

Suddenly my twin looked super tasty.

The crime scene tech had never seen anything like it in her life. It's like somebody put beef liver in a blender and left the lid off all over the apartment. Nobody could identify the slimy black substance that was dispersed throughout the filth and muck. But it sure wasn't normal. It would make the papers and evening news. It made her sick to think about what could have caused this. But she wondered. The tub of Aquaphor in the bathroom sink was most curious.



Ink



Her card was real. I put it down on the counter, and looked up at the grinning owner. 

"Well, Happy Birthday to you, Anya. Big day for you yesterday." 

She nodded, and shrugged. "Thanks, old man." A little bashful, but that soon resolved into her usual air of arrogance.

And goddammit, I was thirty two. Not old man material just yet.

I grinned, and looked at the punk who had turned eighteen the day before; she wore her hair cut short since its long, brunette origins, now shaved shorter on the sides to form a neon blue mohawk that almost matched her ice-blue eyes, and kept the remainder of her hair dyed black that she kept ungelled and brushed back, with light grey being the dominant color of her makeup. Despite the change in her hair, she was still recognizable with just light makeup and a slightly thinner jawline.

The new punk's smile widened further I handed back her ID, and walked over to my rack of folders; sketches, ideas and half-formed tattoos put to paper and stored. Grabbing the one marked 'Standby', I pulled it out and flipped it open, idly flicking pages as I walked back to Anya.

"I do remember talking to you a few months ago. Still brunette that time. This'll teach me to toss ideas with any cute girl that walks in." I teased, arching an eyebrow. "Offering to tattoo to a minor - just the offer - is already a misdemeanor, darl. Given where we planned on putting it, that might have been a felony, too."

Pointing at her with a comic parody of a stern look, I waggled my finger at the red cheeked punk. Well, I hope it was a stern look: my grin was best described as 'shit eating' rather than 'shit spewing'. "Naughty girl."

She shrugged and raised a fist, knuckles pointed towards me. Her hand reached up to mime winding up a jack-in-the-box, which slowly extended her middle finger.

I laughed and pulled the sheet of paper from the folder, tossing it to her; the same sketch we had come up with after a few idle hours discussing her first tattoo; a simple pair of wings rendered in a tribal pattern, to stretch across her back from shoulder to shoulder. "No worries, darl. Lets get you started, 'kay?" 

Anya let out a small giggle and stepped forward. "Okay."

Reaching out, I clapped a hand down on her shoulder, and looked her straight in the eyes. "You can still back out, if you want. No sweat, you can even keep the sketch. So tell me: still wanna do this?"

She stuck her jaw out and set it, growling at me through a grin. "Fuck you, old man."

I matched her expression. "Good girl."

-:--:-- : --:--:-

We had stepped into the actual tattoo room after she had finalized the design; a decently sized, well ventilated and most importantly sterile room. The walls were covered in photos of previous works and sketches of potential tattoos where it wasn't mirrored for inspection of present work or taken up by the storage or sterilization of my gear. I took a clean white towel from a cupboard, ripped off the packaging and passed it to her.

"Free towel, it's yours. Put it on the seat and lay on top of it, get comfy because a tat like this might take a couple hours." I said. 

Anya paused for a full five seconds. Maybe she hadn't processed what was about to happen? I chuckled. Teens. 

Eventually she spoke again: "Uhm... the fuck you on about?"

"Use towel. Wrap yourself." I caveman'd, pointing at the white bundle in her hands. "Unless you want to show off." 

Turning around I busied myself with preparing the basics; rubber gloves, ink, fresh needles and a little bit of body paint to sketch out the final draft on her skin. 

Finished, I turned around and found that she still hadn't moved, though now I could hear a faint click click click just behind that vacant expression of hers. "What?" She asked.

Typical. Ink-wise, she really was a virgin, wasn't she?

"You'll need to take your top off, darl." I instructed, pointing at my sketch of her future tattoo, which had been placed on a woman's bare back.

"Oh." Her slack jawed expression revealed to me the source of the clicking; a little tongue piercing. Barbell style. 

I briefly fantasized what it would be like to get a blowjob from her.

Kinky. Or painful. I wasn't a fan of teeth.

"Okay, tell you what; I'm going to turn around and count to fifty. By then you should be on that chair, top an' everything underneath off and to the side. If not, you're gonna have to do it in front of me. 'kay?"

"Fuck you. Bet you'd just watch through that mirror." Anya snorted, and grabbed the hem of her top before I could even make good on my deal. She pulled them off, revealing a blue bra the same hue as her hair. As an afterthought, she reached down below her belt and pulled up the waistband of a matching pair of panties, letting her tongue dart out teasingly as she turned towards the chair.

I chuckled. Fucking tease.

The punk slid onto the chair and undid her bra from there before lying down on the towel, slapping her ass when she had settled in. 

"Done, old man." She mocked, grinning at me in the mirror with both her painted middle finger nails gleaming. I took my queue to snort and pulled over the dolly cart of ink and gear, my face was set into a grin as I was treated to a view of her topless back and tightly packaged rear. Glancing slightly down, I confirmed the little slice of sideboob that I could see peeking out from underneath her armpit. 

Gorgeous.

Brush in one hand, pot of paint in the other, I settled into the stool beside her. "Alright, lets get started; I'll paint it on so you can have a look at what its going to look like finished."

She murmured her consent with a faint "Mmm." and settled down. "Before my next birthday, alright?"

"Hey, you can't rush perfection." I countered, which earned her a chuckle that shook her back as I tried to aim the brush. Despite her bravado, Anya shuddered when I first touched her back with the cold wet paint, sucking in a surprised breath.

click click click click...

I moved quickly with the paint, the shape of the tribal wings already in my mind; it wasn't a particularly big tattoo, and neither was it complex; just black in in sharp, curved lines. But it was a special tattoo, because it was a first. And I would never want to disappoint a girl with her first.

-:- -:- - : - -:- -:- -

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

"Hold steady for a little longer..."

I finished off the last of the 'feathers', in actual fact diamond-like shards of black ink, and eased my gloved hand off her back.

Anya sucked in a big breath as she felt the incessant buzzing and rapid biting stings of the tattoo machine halt. The girl shifted on the retooled dental chair that she was prone on; arching her back like a cat stretching in the morning. I lifted the tattoo machine from her bare back, leaving the half finished wing on her shoulder blade to sit as she readjusted herself and settled back into the heavily modded seat. Soon, the only sound in the studio was the click click click of her nervous tic.

"Wooo. Took ya long enough, old man." Mock-snarled Anya, who lay topless in front of me. 

"Can we take five?" She asked, quickly snatching up the towel and using that to protect her modesty. 

Twisting in the seat, she sat upright with the white fluffy towel wrapped around her torso, tucked into her armpit in one corner and bunched in her hand in the other. Her eyes wandered, this time to a mirror behind her. Eyes widening as she caught sight of the tattoo, she probably had that same epiphany that I realized was common among all people who got their first tattoos: the realization that it would be there. 

Always.

I licked my lips once, and nodded as I shuffled back to grab a bottle of water. "No need, we're done. Want a drink?"

Anya nodded. "Uh... What you got?"

I gestured to the stocked bar-fridge behind me. "SI got OJ, Coke, Sprite..."

"No beer?"

"I already carded you, kid. Water it is." I laughed at her upraised fingers, unoffended; with that mocking smile between them, it meant nothing to her, and so the gesture was of equal value to me. 

Walking to my fridge, I opened it and went about quickly pulling the bottle from the door shelf. Turning back, I held it out for her. "Here."

"Thanks." She got up and reached out, completely forgetting the towel. It slipped off her body like flowing water, leaving her tits to the wind as she took the bottle from my hand. They bounced slightly as they were put into plain view in front of me.

Wow, what a pair. They looked about the same size as my balled up fists, and still had that youthful tightness to them. I couldn't help but stare.

"Uh, okay, that wasn't intentional." I managed to spit out.

Anya just grinned and set the bottle aside. "Neat trick. You do that to every girl that comes in here?" She asked, reaching up to cup her breasts and giving them a teasing squeeze, pinching her nipples in the process. "Hey, I'll let you touch 'em if you give me half off."

Now it was my turn to give her a middle finger, stained black by the ink, before I laughed and tossed the needle into a disposal bin. "No deal, little whore. Try again some other time."

"Awww, just look at what you're missing out on." Teased the punk, wiggling her tits one more time before returning my gesture twice with her tongue bar and rack on full display. We shared another laugh from our reciprocated vulgarity - damn, she was really growing on me there - and as I finished cleaning up Anya got up and pulled the bra from her pile of clothes.

"Hold up, there." I interrupted her there, drawing a questioning glance from her.

"What, changed your mind?" She turned to me, bra still undone but wrapped around her chest, a victorious smirk stretched across her face.

I was already producing a care kit from the bottom of the dolly trolley. "Eeenope. It's bandage time. Don't be in such a hurry. Seriously, aftercare's important if you don't want to fuck up that tat."

Rapid fire, I rattled off the basics of aftercare; get saran wrap, keep changing it daily, use medical tape to secure it. Websites and stuff that would help her were presented on an aftercare card. Checkup in a couple days, I'd give her help there no charge.

"Be careful, I don't like people treating my art like shit." I warned her.

Anya chuckled, grabbing her bag and wincing slightly as she slung it over her shoulder. "Thanks, old man. You ain't bad."

I arched an eyebrow at her. 

"Don't be quick to judge." I said as I rung up the job. "Six hundred."

Her jaw dropped. "You gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Yeah, I am." I grinned, giving her the middle finger again while my other hand banged away at the register while I calculated in my head. "It's still two hundred, and that's already discounting for the show." 

Anya bopped me on the shoulder. She had a good right hook. 

"Oh fuck you!"

[Author's Notes]

Well guys, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Ink. For those who are here for a fap, yes there will be sex later on in the story. For this chapter, though, it's character building and teasing.