Dani and the Christmas Dildo

He pushed his head through the pillows and kissed my thigh; I was sitting next to his head. "I'd let you tattoo me," he said sleepily.

My eyebrows ascended. "Really?" I felt a whimsical smile flutter onto my lips. "What would you let me tattoo? I can do it right now."

"No, no," he grumbled. "I'm not in the mood. You can do it, I dunno, this weekend."

I tickled him. "This weekend is Christmas, buddy." I reflected. "We're open, but you must have something else to do." His eyes snapped open, amused.

"You're open Christmas?" He sounded impressed. He shifted, now lying sideways, his gummy cock thick even as it drooped. "That's something else interesting about you."

I shrugged my narrow shoulders. "A lot of our clients are witches," I told him, not even joking. "Christmas is a good day for them to get things done. We always get a bunch of walk-ins." I rubbed at his arm; I was surprised how much I enjoyed touching his skin. "Seriously, what do you want me to do?"

He looked off into the distance. "You pick. You're a famous artist."

I pursed my lips, a little naughty and very excited. "You'd trust me?" I held his gaze a moment, and then arched nudely over toward the bedside table to grab a Sharpie. "Really?"

He looked bored. "Like you say, it's the 21^st century." He rolled back over. "Do your worst. I've seen your stuff; it'll look great."

"As far as you know." I began doodling, intricate and weird Celtic shapes appearing along his spine, down over his kidney, around to his flank. He'd look good; a little shading... "I'm serious, Jake."

"Me too." He closed his eyes. "Let me know when you're done."

I paused, the marker fading in his sweat. "Here's the deal," I told him softly. "Christmas Day. If you come see me at the parlor, I'll ink it. Free. Just come before noon; I'll be heading out for dinner with my folks." I resumed, a whorl near his hipbone. He flinched from the tickle. "If you're the pussy I think you might be, I'll just do the witches instead."

"Ooh. A dare." His eyes opened slowly, like a cat's. He let a smile play around his lips. "You said 'pussy,' Dani."

"One-shot deal, Jake. Impress me," I murmured. "And you can't clean the Sharpie off in the meantime, either," I finished.

His eyes drooped again. "Try me."

And that's why I kept glancing at the door on sleety, grey Christmas morning, in my usual tattooing getup of various tight lycra and leather items. It was slow; the assorted weirdos usually slept late on Christmas, so I was sketching. Twice the door chime went, and each time I spent a mindless hour doing tribals. It was going to be a calm, leisurely day; I'd need the peace, to prepare mentally for Christmas dinner. I was certain Jake wouldn't come, and I wasn't about to hold it against him; I'd enjoyed him. Some part of me didn't want him to be the kind of guy who'd meet a weird girl, fuck her deeply, and then let her ink him, all in, what, four days?

But a bigger part of me wanted him to walk through that door. Which was why my head snapped upward when I heard the door chime go.

I smiled.

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