The Tattoo Artist (FF)
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela.
This story contains sexually explicit scenes! If you are offended by FF sex stop reading now!The tickle and burn of the pigment-filled needle scratched my lower back.
"Be still," the tattooist said. Her dark eyes reflected back at me in warning. She laid a steady hand on my spine and bent to her work.
Six months had been put into the applying ink to my skin. The design covered three quarters of my back. My only request had been stilettos.
The likeness of a Goth hellcat astride a Harley lounged across my shoulder blades. The stiletto heel of one thigh-high boot growing from the crack of my ass, the other propped on the handlebars. Her knees spread wide, lace covered pussy a shadow between her legs.
The tattoo artist’s cinnamon breath burned my skin as she leaned closer to add the finishing touches. The gentle buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.
In the mirror, I could see the dark sheen of her hair piled on top of her head, and the glint of the silver bar in her eyebrow. The tattoos on her shoulders and biceps danced while she worked. A nipple ring was visible beneath her tank top.
My pussy twitched.
Buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.
An hour crept by, my heart racing with every swipe of the needle. Six months of work. Me lying across the vinyl, nipples hard beneath my t-shirt and pussy dripping inside my panties. Pain and pleasure became one.
She squeezed my hip in warning. “Patience.”
But my hips were connected to my pussy and with every nick of ink my excited flesh pulsed. The casual touch of her talented fingers was driving me mad. I fought to be still.
A long sigh, like a woman satisfied after her pussy had been properly eaten, blew from between her lips. My thighs pressed tight as my imagination ignited. The wet sound of lotion between her palms was added fuel.
"How's it look?" I asked, twisting round.
Over my shoulder, her black painted fingernails were dark against my pale skin.
"I had a beautiful canvas." Her plump lips lowered and I watched, transfixed, as they connected with my sensitive flesh.
Our eyes caught.
"Go ahead," she said, standing.
I slid my hand beneath me.
With a quick drag of zipper my fingers were in, tangled in my curls.
My eyes closed and I pressed my cheek into the table, biting my lip.
The click of her heels walked past me.
“Open your eyes.”
She hid thigh-high stilettos beneath her long skirt. Her clean-shaven pussy was a riot of color. Flowered tattoos framed the gleaming skin. A ring pierced her labia.
Wetness soaked my palm.
Bracing one hand against the wall she lifted her leg so that the six inch heel was beside my cheek. I nuzzled against the patent leather.
The heel was hard beneath my tongue, nubs of the stitching nutty with wear.
My breath caught, thighs stiffened, clit on end.
Pussy scented the air.