Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 01

Picassa glanced up at the ceiling. "Yeah, she's something, isn't she? How you feeling? Nervous?

"A little," Carmen said. "Okay, maybe more than a little. I'm nervous, but I'm excited, too. I've been planning this for months."

Picassa smiled. "Would you like to smoke a leño? I've got one all ready. A lot of my customers like to zone out a little bit, it takes the edge off their nervousness and dulls the pain a little bit."

"Really? Uh, sure, okay."

Picassa opened a drawer in the rolling cart and took out a generous doobie, a metal ash tray, and a litro, and handed them to Carmen. "Go ahead, fire it up."

Carmen lit the joint and took a drag, keeping it in as long as she could.

Picassa put the big stainless steel basin down on a ledge just below Carmen's pussy.

"I'm going to wash you and shave you now."

"'Kay."

Picassa dunked a washcloth into the warm water and proceeded to gently wash Carmen's thighs and pussy. She wrung the washcloth out, put it back into the warm water, and then spread it out over Carmen's groin. It felt really good, Carmen thought.

"Pásame las tres," Picassa said, let me have a hit.

Carmen sat up and put the leño to Picassa's lips. She took a big hit and grunted, "Thanks."

Carmen took a another drag and asked, "Want another?"

"No," Picassa said. "I just wanted that one drag. You finish it."

Carmen laid back down and looked up at ceiling. "Wow," she said again.

Picassa laughed.

"Who is she?" Carmen asked.

"My roommate."

"Really? Wow. She's something."

"Yes, she is," Picassa said. "I'm going to shave you now." She pumped a little foam from a dispenser into her hand and lathered up the two creases on each side of Carmen's trimmed bush. Then she took out a triple-bladed razor from its case and began to shave a path one razor-blade-width wide on the inside of the crease. There wasn't much there, but Picassa wanted it bare-ass smooth and hairless. This was the termination point of the tat, and it was really sensitive territory.

"Did you take the photograph?"

"No, my other roommate did."

"Ah. What's her name? The woman in the photo," Carmen said, gesturing up to the naked torso over her head.

"Maria."

"And your other roommate?"

"Carlos."

"Carlos? Your other roommate is a guy?"

"Yes."

"Am I being too snoopy? I'll shut up now."

"I don't mind. Ask me anything you want." Picassa could tell the girl was starting to get a little stoned. She shaved the opposite side of Carmen's pussy. Her remaining pussy hair described a small triangle about two inches on a side, a tiny, fleecy topiary. Picassa gently wiped away the foam remains and washed Carmen's entire pussy area all the way to the hip bones. Taking a big towel, she slowly patted the area dry.

She got up from her stool and took the basin and shaving gear into the bathroom. When she returned she sat down on her stool and surveyed the body before her, Carmen's thighs spread wide, the lovely little triangle of soft black hair, the gentle belly swell, the cute outie bellybutton, and most of all the delicious, tantalizing pussy, the clit peeking out, glistening with moisture.

Picassa closed her eyes for a moment, thinking, "Thank you, Jesus. God, how I love my work."

"Ready?"

Carmen giggled. "Oh, yeah. Ready. This is really good shit," she said, taking a long drag.

Picassa smiled. "Carlos brought it back from Mexico," she said, applying the stencils she'd made to each side of Carmen's mons.

"Carlos," Carmen said, staring up at Maria's cunt. "Is he your boyfriend? Do you sleep with him? Or is he gay?"

Picassa laughed. "No, honey, he's not gay. Yes, I sleep with him. I sleep with Maria, too."

"Oh," Carmen said. "Wow. So she's your jaina," girlfriend.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, cool. And they sleep with each other, too?"

"Yes. Pretty much every night. All three of us sleep in one big bed."

"Can I ask why you put that photo up there?"

"To give customers something to keep them amused and occupied while I work," Picassa said. "It's better than staring at a blank, painted ceiling, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes," Carmen said. "I can see why lesbians would like a panochota like that." Good pussy. "And I can see why straight guys would like it. But what do straight women and gay guys say?"

"The straight women don't mind it," Picassa said. "You'd be surprised. I never had a straight woman complain." She picked a pair of surgical gloves out of a box on the rolling cart and snapped them on.

"And the gay guys?"

"I tell 'em to shut the fuck up and close their fuckin' eyes if they don't like it."

Carmen laughed. On the CD player Nicholas Reyes sang Quiero Saber, one of Carmen's favorites. She started softly singing along. Picassa listened to Carmen's lovely voice, and sighed.

"Okay, here we go," she said, picking up the tattoo gun.

***

Picassa had been at it for nearly two hours. Two hours hunched over Carmen's panochota, two hours carefully applying ink to the intricate patterns on each side of Carmen's luscious mons. Her back ached, her neck hurt, she was stiff and sore. Getting old, she thought, getting old. Just another two or three minutes and that'd be it for the day.

"Not long now, baby," she said to Carmen. "Just another couple minutes."

Carmen's buzz had worn off half an hour ago, and the more Picassa worked the more area was subjected to the needle's pain. Carmen stared up at Maria's pussy, closed her eyes and sang all the Gipsy Kings songs, cried softly, grasping the arms of the chair, being brave and trying not to move or flinch or show Picassa how much it hurt.

But Picassa knew. She could hear the sobs in the girl's voice every now and then, the moan, the groan, see the grimace, and admired her for trying so hard to be brave. This is a tough one, a feisty one, Picassa thought. This one is going to be somebody's keeper some day.

"Okay, baby. Ya estuvo." I'm done. "That's enough for today." Picassa put the needle gun down and sat back. She raised her arms over her head, rocked from side to side, stretched, working out the kinks in her back and neck.

"How's it look?" Carmen asked.

"Good. Very good. I think you'll be pleased."

"Can I see it?"

"In a few minutes. I want to let you rest for a few minutes, and I need to clean you up. There's not much bleeding, but sometimes these things weep a little plasma. How's the pain? Does it hurt much?"

"I don't know. It hurts some. How much is normal?"

"There is no normal," Picassa said. "Everybody's got a different tolerance for pain. There's no right or wrong, or muy macho or sissy. Whatever amount of pain you feel is about right. Later on, in a few days, it'll be different; the pain should go away. But right now you're entitled to feel whatever you want to feel."

"Okay. In that case it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch," Carmen said, half laughing and half crying, snot running from her nose and tears on her cheeks.

"I know, baby, I know," Picassa said. "Let me clean you up, and then I'll give you some of Picassa's Special Pain Medicine."

She went into the bathroom and came back with the basin of warm water and fresh washcloth and towel. She gently bathed Carmen's belly, thighs, mons, pussy lips, the whole area, cleaning away the smeared surface ink, the bright greens, reds and yellows, and the black outlining, a little blood and a little seepage, using a scentless antibacterial soap. Carmen whimpered a little. Picassa gently patted the area dry.

When she was done she took the basin and towel to the bathroom, and returned to her stool. She surveyed her handiwork. On each side, the tattoo started at the hipbone in the form of a single thick, black vine that almost immediately split into two strands that ended at the top of Carmen's triangular bush. Immediately there began a line of colorful flowers at the end of the vine, a series of overlapping blooms, each one an unusual type. At the center of each blossom was a small green nub about half the size of a pencil eraser that looked like a clit. Each nub was surrounded by four bright yellow petals, looking like a kind of stubby old-time cartoon airplane propeller. At the center was a long, narrow stamen with a tiny bulb at the end. In reality the bulbs were supposed to be a light orange color, but after talking it over, Carmen and Picassa decided to make them bright scarlet. The blossoms overlapped each other, and stopped just below Carmen's clit hood. The flower was the "common rue," the species Ruta graveolens, sometimes called the herb-of-grace, the primary curative plant of the Mayans. Carmen had shown Picassa her notes and a printout she'd made of a photo of the rue from an encyclopedia.

The rue had been mentioned in early Roman texts, especially those dealing with gynecology. It contained a chemical called pilocarpine, which was used to induce abortions in women and horses. Made into an ointment it had been used to treat gout, arthritis and rheumatism. The Maya used it as a psychological medicine, especially to treat broken hearts. Combined with other herbs like sage, rosemary, thyme, chamomile, linden flower, lavender, oregano, marigold and cedar, the collection of herbs was mixed into a gallon of water and boiled for ten minutes. When the broth was cooled, the herbs were removed and the liquid was used as the basis of a gentle bath that soothed feelings of rejection and sadness, and promoted a feeling of peace and healing. Bathe in it for twenty minutes; repeat three times a day. The same broth could be made into a tea, sometimes mixed with St. John's wort. If you burned incense made from rue and St. John's wort while drinking a glass of this tea at the place where the sad, depressed person had spent a lot of time with the former lover, it would soothe and ease the person's mind of its grief and longing.

"What were you going to give me for the pain?" Carmen asked.

"You know what endorphins are?" Picassa asked, removing her surgical gloves and tossing them into a trash can.

"No."

"A Mayan healer should know about them. They are all-natural, completely organic. Your brain produces them from different kinds of stimulus. Pain is one; your body has been making endorphins for the past two hours to try to damp down what you've been experiencing. I'm going to give you more, a booster dose."

"Okay," Carmen said, sniffling.

"Just relax, close your eyes," Picassa said. "The pain will begin to disappear very rapidly."

"Okay," Carmen said again.

Picassa looked at her handiwork. Even if she did say so herself, it was some of the best work she had ever done. The tracery of the leaves and vines was as delicate and sure as an Audubon lithograph. The coloring of the petals, the yellows and oranges and scarlets – it was as though Rembrandt's hand had guided Picassa in mixing and adjusting the pigments so they could be applied to Carmen's caramel skin and appear just the way Carmen would have wanted. It was a shame so few people would likely ever get to see such fine artistry. This was a pussy that belonged in an art gallery. It was a pussy that ought to hang in the Louvre.

Picassa leaned over until her mouth was just above Carmen's clit. She pursed her lips and blew the gentlest breeze she could over the clit, a zephyr. She heard Carmen draw a sharp intake of breath, and then moan, "Ohhh," as she suddenly understood what was about to happen.

Picassa blew another zephyr over Carmen's clit, then moved down, blowing softly up and down her pussy lips. Then she leaned in at the bottom of the cleft and delivered what had to be the world's softest butterfly kiss on her pussy lips. Carmen squealed a low, keening "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" sound that made Picassa laugh to herself. She conjured up some saliva in her mouth, making sure her tongue was good and wet, and began to flick Carmen's inner lips. Picassa reached in with her fingers and pulled Carmen's left inner lip out, drawing it into her mouth and sucking on it gently.

"Uuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Carmen said.

Picassa pulled out the other vaginal lip and gave it the same treatment as Carmen moaned and whimpered, a very different kind of whimper from the whimper of an hour ago. She bit her lip, arched her head back, grasped the arms of the chair and wondered if her head was going to explode. Her pussy had been a little wet at the start of the session two hours ago, when she'd been looking up at Maria's lovely belly and cunt. Then over the course of the tattoo application, her juices dried up and stopped flowing. Now her pussy began generating a stream of love cream, getting wetter and wetter not only from Picassa's talented tongue and saliva, but from her own pussy juices welling up.

Picassa could tell, too. Carmen's pussy quivered and her thighs trembled, the wetness everywhere now, coating Picassa's mouth and chin and upper lip, even the tip of her nose as it bumped into Carmen's swelling clit. Picassa drank the juices in, lapping and probing, stiffening her tongue and driving it into Carmen's soft, wet, hungry cunt, fucking it and loving it with penetrations. Carmen arched her head back and tossed it from side to side. She wanted to squeeze her thighs shut, trapping that wonderful face, but the chair's stirrups prevented it. Carmen whispered, "Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

Picassa had deliberately stayed away from Carmen's clit until now. Now she lapped it with her tongue, first one side then the other to determine which side was the more sensitive. With Carmen it turned out to be the right side, because that was the side that made her moan and curse, "Oh, God, oh shit, oh shit, oooooooooooooooo," as Picassa laved it and then sucked it into her mouth, the tip of her tongue teasing the bud under the hood. Picassa reached up with her left hand and with her thumb and index finger began to pull the clit hood back, exposing more of the glans itself to saliva and kiss. Carmen knew she was just seconds away from one of the most explosive cums she'd ever had.

Picassa now brought her right hand into play. She had long, thin, artist's fingers, like a concert pianist's fingers, and she extended her middle finger into the center of Carmen's liquid cleft as Carmen thrashed above her. Carmen's pussy was drenched, and drenching Picassa's face as well. Where other lesbians often resorted to thick dildos, strap-ons and vibrators to stretch their lovers' pussies to the maximum, Picassa had found a different way. She had learned to master the thinness of a single long finger. The effect was not to enlarge and stretch the cunt she was working on, but rather to make the cunt come to her, come to her finger, to squeeze and contract down upon it and trap it. And that's what Carmen's pussy was doing now, struggling to reduce itself, to embrace the lovely finger slowly pistoning in and out of the middle of her pussy. Blood had flowed into Carmen's labia majora, swelling them into plump folds over the clitoral legs underneath, just as her clit hood swelled, and inside, the Skene's gland, the famous G-spot, began to fill with the clear para-urethral liquid. The thickened, swollen walls gripped the lovely, wet scepter that ruled them.

In, out, in, out, Picassa's slim middle finger went as Carmen invoked the Holy Mother, the Holy Father, God, Jesus, sweet Jesus, fucking Jesus, saints, angels, fucking saints, fucking angels, dear God, holy Christ, damn, fuck, more, more, ohhh, sweet Jesus, and then, digit gloriously basted with Carmen fraiche, Picassa withdrew the long, thin, middle finger, lowered it, and began to anoint the pre-moistened, twitching ring of Carmen's tight little anus. Carmen howled. The pad of the slim middle finger pushed gently against the anal ring until it parted. Picassa pushed her finger in slowly, pulled it out slowly, pushed it in again as Carmen lost her mind. Picassa pushed her finger all the way in. The first intermediate knuckle of her middle finger, the largest knuckle, worked almost like an anal bead. It was lodged right there just inside the entrance to Carmen's wonderful ass, stuck just inside the surrendered, flexing, twitching clenching muscle ring. Picassa worked it slowly back and forth, just a half inch in, then a half inch out, the pucker clenching on the knuckle and following the movement in and out like a suction cup, much tighter than the pussy that had just lubed it.

Carmen cried out, "Fuuuuuuuaaahhhhhhhhhh," and came. Picassa kept her left hand on Carmen's clit, sliding the hood back and forth and jacking off the turgid, glistening glans. She kept her right middle finger pressing in and out of Carmen's bottom but pressing upward, searching to find the Skene's gland through the thin walls in the next chamber. Having found it she raised her head back away from Carmen's pussy so she could watch it orgasm. Picassa wondered if Carmen was a squirter, and was willing to bet that she was. If any woman was ever going to squirt, Carmen was going to do it now or never. Picassa marveled at the beauty of this perfect tender garden with its spray of flowers, its wonderful little topiary, and at the apex a water feature, a fountain that might just sprinkle those newly sprouted blossoms and vines, covering the mons with a mountain dew.

And sure enough, as Picassa watched from inches way, Carmen's beautiful panochota thrust upward and a small jet of clear fluid spouted out of the urethra, a tiny love geyser only a few inches high -- it was adorable! -- the liquid rain shower sprinkling Carmen's bouquet. It was so pretty and wonderful Picassa fell in love with it and plunged her mouth down upon it, drinking madly at Carmen's ejaculation, swallowing as fast as she could, slurping in juice, her face awash in shiny, slick pussy cum, chin, bruised mouth, cheeks. Carmen tasted delicious, as Picassa knew she would, sweet and salty and tangy. She'd been thinking about little else but the taste of Carmen's brine for the past twenty-four hours, and now here it was, spasming, flexing, twisting, leaking, oozing milky white twat foam, spurting tiny geysers into her mouth.

Carmen, for her part, had entered a place she'd never been before, an explosion inside her brain that made her nearly black out as waves of orgasm swept over her. Her first orgasm lasted well over half a minute, and then Carmen came down into a calmer place as Picassa continued to lick and suck her pussy and clit, and her finger continued to bum-fuck her ass. And then after only a minute or two she felt the second orgasm rising up from someplace deep inside her, and then she was off again, arching her back and screaming low, growling, her lovely face creased with seeming anguish, crying as she pumped her second cumming into Picassa's mouth. And then another delirious plateau for a minute, and then the third wave, the third cum that was so good she drizzled into Picassa's mouth again, and passed out.

***

When she came to, she opened her eyes and closed them again, not knowing where she was or even who she was. All she knew is that she'd never come like that before, never felt so good. She felt no pain from the tattooing; indeed, in a way she couldn't even feel her own arms and legs. She just felt -- exhausted. And wonderful. And high as a kite, but on what drug she didn't know. Well, endorphins, that was what Picassa had called them. Endorphins.

Hellllo, endorphins, Carmen thought. Wow. Just fucking wow. She turned her head to the side and saw Picassa standing at the sink in the bathroom, washing her face and hands. Picassa took a towel from a shelf overhead and dried her face. Then she walked over to the side of the chair and leaned over and gently kissed Carmen on the mouth, a sweet lover's kiss.

"Hi," Carmen said.

"Hi. How are you?"

"Uh, I don't know. Wonderful. Terrific. That was ... God, I can't describe it."