Careful What You Wish For Ch. 01

This is a very explicit, pornographic affair consisting of three parts. Most of the topics touch on many BDSM elements I like to experience in my real-life sessions with experienced dominatrixes -- albeit (hopefully?) somewhat watered down, to start with. These are fictional accounts. Any resemblance with real people or locations is purely coincidental. Enjoy, but please respect my copyright.

Careful what you wish for. One - Into the den

Out in the fresh air he still felt the urge. Earlier this afternoon he had spent time edging himself on his sundrenched balcony, alternating between leisurely masturbating strokes and hard, fast, rapid fist pumps, always stopping when drops of pre-cum begun percolating from his cockhead. But for now, outside in the fresh air, he just wanted to find a good-looking gal to fuck the living daylights out of. A proper three-hole rootrack to use in that good ol' in-'n-out-game he had on his mind right now. Get her naked, tie her up, play with her arse and nipples for a bit, make her squeal and drool, and then thoroughly face-fuck her. Yeah, should be fun. He lit a Lucky, inhaled deeply and set off.

Evening came with a light breeze and moonlit darkness. He had wandered around downtown for some time and ended up in a pub he hadn't noticed before. After a couple of scotch'n'dry he was chatting and drinking with a Blond sitting by the bar. Her short curly hair was what had attracted him. And a teasing smile. Jody, her name, had a full and athletic 5'6" figure with all the right curves in all the right places. All packaged nicely in a pink body-wrapper. She also had a great Celtic tattoo running down her right upper arm. Hazel eyes studying him mischievously as they chatted. He made a few passes at her. They didn't go astray. Before long they gave way to kissing. His hand traced her back. No hidden straps. As his hand went lower she uncrossed her legs, her pink one-piece barely hiding his testing, stroking hand. His searching fingers soon caressing a finely denuded and slightly moist cunt barely covered by what seemed to be a silken G-string affair. Her fingers reciprocating, probing his body. His growing bulge. She softly moans into his ear, making him hard. Then giggles as her fingers tease his cockhead. They dance a few supposedly meaningful trance rounds on the small dance floor next to the bar. They try to decide on the age-old question. Her place or his.

Somehow she had never come back after she'd left for the loo. And after some time, and more drinks, he got sick of waiting. Sick of the crowd. Jody had, however, written down the address of the tattoo place where she had hers done. And he had always wanted a nice Celtic tattoo on his left buttock. Jody had said the tattoo artist, Tara, was the best in town. And rather being tattooed on the bum by a fat biker guy, the idea of a somewhat good-looking girl doing the job rather appealed to his mind.

Might even get lucky, he thought, ordered another scotch'n'dry, paid, and after a couple of smokes left the bar. It was getting late and traffic was thinning out. Soon he had waved down a taxi and folded himself into its well-worn backseat.

"That's in one of them ne'er-finish'd subdivisions up north," the driver was studying the address, "Can't be a shop. Not an apartment either." he continued skeptically, "There's jes' some halfdone abandon'd dumps someone tried to pull up a few years back. But now they's jes' waitin', Ah guess. Ya' sure you've got the right address, son?" When he concurred, the driver just nodded, "Right then. It's ya'r ride." and set off.

Half an hour later they had arrived in a small barren subdivision of a few mid-sized, unfinished blocks crowding a couple of neglected intersections. The guy'd been right; there was no sign of anyone living here.

"Well, here ya're, son. Wanna head back?" he asked, grinning smugly. He paid the fare and got out. "If ya' like Ah can wait, son. Won't be easy to find a cab back into town 'round here." he said he'd be alright, just looking for a friend. "Ok then, ya'r choice. Good luck, son." and with that the taxi was off.

He lit another Lucky. Perhaps Jody-girl was pulling his leg, he thought after some time, looking around the dimly lit intersections. Then he saw the small murky neon sign at the end of one of the unfinished buildings in a side street. "Tara T" it read with a pink and blue snake curling around. It led to a concrete stairwell down to a basement door. There was a bell knob in the center of the door with 'Tara' clumsily printed below.

He stubbed out the Lucky, climbed down the stairs, pushed the button and waited. The scotch'n'dry was wearing off, and he longed for more of the same. Someone was fumbling with the lock on the other side of the door, opened it and let him in.

"Come on in." She said, "I'm Tara. Guess you wanna see me for a tattoo." Matter of factly, smiling. Securing the door behind him. Barefoot-Tara wore baggy jeans and a loose fitting tanktop, not exactly hiding the fact that there was nothing beneath it but her jutting breasts.

He had introduced himself and then parked his body into a comfortably cushioned wicker lounge-chair, holding a scotch'n'dry. Tara sat opposite him sipping an orange juice. The flaking walls of her smallish workshop were adorned with the usual array of posters showing tattoos neatly grouped according to style, price and design. In a corner sat an old vinyl couch. Minus its back. Next to it stood a table neatly lined with inks and needles and assorted tattooing stuff. A TV flickered silently in another corner next to the phone. The room was kept tidy. Some incense hung in the air.

He lit another Lucky and looked at Tara. "What have you got in mind, then?" she asked. Her eyes watching his face and hands. He tried to explain his idea of a Celtic tattoo for his left buttock. "On your butt?" Tara giggled softly, "You got someone special in mind? A misses perhaps?"

"Uh, no. It's just something I've wanted for some time."

"You from around here?"

"No, not really. Got here a few weeks ago. I'm from the Eastcoast. Work with a local paper back there."

"You a journalist?"

"Nah, I work in accounting, but needed a break. So I asked for a couple of months off. Sort of R&R. Never been to this side of the woods and thought to check it out."

"Where d'you live, then?"

"Oh, I'm renting a small apartment at the other side of town."

"All by your lonely self, then?" Again that giggle.

"'Fraid so." he laughed back. 'Might get lucky still', he thought to himself. 'A perfect three-hole rootrack; just what I've been looking for tonight', his thoughts were drifting ahead already.

"And how'd you find me all by your lonely self?" Tara cut in.

"Uh, do you remember a girl called Jody? Nice Celtic tattoo on her upper left arm?"

"Jody?" Tara seemed to hesitate for a moment, thinking. "Blond curls, curvy?"

"Yep, that should be her. Real nice, and chatty, too." he ventured. "Met her in a bar..."

"You got laid?" Tara cut in, obviously amused by the thought, stretching her legs and leaning back, sipping her orange.

"Yeah I wish." he ventured, nursing his drink. "She never came back from the lady's room. Must have chickened out, I guess. Real shame." he stubbed out his Lucky, took a sip, talked about Jody, then the cabdriver, and looked at Tara.

Stretched out in her armchair, her breasts had never lost any of their ample ambitions to head skywards. Great set of lungs, he mused. Her long jet-black hair flowed smoothly onto her shoulders, framing an oval face. Her eyes were a set of shiny black coals now resting across the drink in her hands. Once he managed to take his mind of her breasts, he seemed to be drawn in by her eyes. Like Asian, he thought. And by that bronze, tempting, slightly ebony complexion. Her smile displayed a perfect set of sparkling teeth surrounded by the most luscious set of lips he could remember. She was tall. Taller than him.

All legs, early thirties; all sex. He took her in like one big gulp.

'If that broad's single, I should get real lucky', he thought, sipping his scotch'n'dry.

"If I may ask, Tara, where're you from? You don't look like the typical mid-western gal, if you don't mind me saying."

"That's Ok. I'm part Creole, part Cambodian." She stretched some more. "Dad's from Louisiana. Mom's from around Phnom Penh. I moved here when I got married some ten years ago. But Paul walked out on me soon after, and I decided I like it around here. Nice and cosy. Suits my sense of independence and for what I'm doin'. Don't like too much live-in baggage no more, if you know what I mean. Don't like them too big cities, neither." Her lips kissed her glass, shiny coals studying him.

Cambodia. That would explain them eyes, he thought, and the old man must have been black Creole, hence that skin.

He pulled another Lucky, lit it, and thought about what sort of bloke in his right mind would leave a woman like that. Shit, he'd kill for a piece of arse like that.

"Want another one?" Tara got up, nodding at the empty glass in his hand. Smiling that smile again.

"Uh, sure. Thanks. Why not." he passed her his glass and watched her walking towards the small kitchen hidden by a curtain from the main room. Great arse, too, he thought as he starred at the sight of her rather impeccably developed buttocks straining through the jeans.

She got back carrying two glasses, putting his on a small table next to him, then spreading herself into her lounge chair.

She had put some soft lounge music on. They drank some more. He his scotch'n'dry. She had switched to gin'n'tonic. She took one of his Lucky's and he lit it for her. 'She smells like Apricots', he thought as he leaned over. Warm.

They talked for a while about a design for his tattoo. Celtic it should be, he said. American Native Indian, she suggested. Then insisted. Just one colour. Black. Intricate. Very ornate and abstract. Very much a one off. She'd love to do one. Just for him. On his butt.

Finally they agreed. It would be a great tattoo. He killed his Lucky.

He thought of Jodie-girl. Gratefully. Sure, she was younger, but Tara definitely had the better curves. And looks. By far. He sipped his drink. 'I'll get lucky', he thought. 'What a broad', he thought as his head started to feel a bit heavy. 'Like comfortably numb', he thought. He watched the girl smiling her soft alluring smiles at him, putting out her Lucky.

'Perfect teeth', he thought. His vision had gone slightly blurry. 'Must be the scotch', he thought. He refocused on Tara. Her eyes were perfect coals set in two slightly upward angled teardrops. Watching him intensely. 'Like some beautiful snake's eyes', he thought. Steely. But that, he didn't notice.

She got up and to the tune of the music slithered out of her jeans. Smiling steel back at him. A black miniature of a slip stretched taut around her hips as she swayed towards him on long, perfect legs. He relaxed, reaching towards her as she lifted the tanktop over her head.

'All legs, and what a great set of tits', he thought again as he watched her breasts reaching skywards. She came closer, crouching before him, her nipples beckoning from close-up.

"Feelin' nice and cosy?" Her voice was singing, now full of sex. Teasing. He nodded. Grinning.

"Mighty horny, aren't we tonight." She giggled, her hand working the bulge hidden in his jeans.

"You sure look great, Tara." he warbled.

"You reckon you up for some serious playtime, big boy?"

"Sure. No worries, Tara. Whatever goes" he tried to be in control, trying to smile his best smile. Trying to prop himself up. Slipping further into the chair. His legs just wouldn't work no more. 'Those tits', he thought as she leaned over him, 'must have those tits'.

"That's great." Her voice. Soothing. "Just relax. Let mama take care of things." Last he took in were her breasts swaying tantalisingly close in front of his eyes. Then a warm darkness descended over his mind as he felt hands removing his loafers and jeans.

'I'm going to get lucky tonight', he thought, smiling as he drifted along the haze stemming from the last scotch'n'dry Tara had mixed for him. Just for him.