Hazel Plays With Fire Ch. 01

"Fuck no," barked Levy, "slap a pair of double Hs on the bitch."

"Ah," said the Doctor addressing Hazel, "I have examined you very carefully. One must consider body type and proportions when making such a decision. I think that an F-cup is the appropriate choice. It will give the additional volume and I am sure that I can make the process almost invisible for you. I am proud to say that I learned form Dr Nikola himself - a true master in the field. HHs are far from wise, in my professional opinion. They would be hopelessly disproportionate to your body and I will probably not be able to disguise the procedure in any real sense. Also, with your body type, the weight of the implants will cause you terrible back problems in the years to come. In your best interests I think we should say an F-cup."

"Her decision," snapped Levy and fixed Hazel with a baleful stare.

She looked at him, a man she'd only met the previous day, and swallowed hard. "I think I need to have HHs at least. Or could I have bigger?"

The Doctor looked uncomfortable. "In this country we are only permitted to use certain sizes of implant by law..."

Levy laughed harshly.

"...but our sister clinic in Turkey has no such legal restraints. Initially it would even be possible to step up to 32K but..."

"Then that's what I need to have," she said, "32K. When can I have them done?"

Levy snorted his approval. The Doctor looked a little sad and then got his ledger, "I have to give my advice but your choice is, of course, final. I'll book you in for two weeks time - pay in advance at reception as usual."

Then it was back in the car. Out of the leafy suburbs and onto Levy's home-ground. The sort of area that's ten years off being discovered for gentrification. The sort that's ripe for 'urban renewal'. In other words, a shit-hole.

We stopped outside a little sixties concrete arcade of six small one-story shops. Three were shuttered and covered in graffiti. One was a liquor store which was fitted up like a fortress with metal grills. Another was a charity shop selling second-hand clothes and furniture. The third had a hand-painted sign for 'Tattoos and Piercings' and a few curling photos of examples of the owner's 'art-work' in its grimy window. Guess where we were going.

After going inside we were greeted by a rail-thin white guy of about 30. He had a scruffy beard and most of him seemed to be covered in his own and others' ink-work. The guy looked like a fucking junky.

"Levy, my man," he drawled. Levy ignored the proffered fist-pump and then pointed at Hazel.

The man chuckled, "She's lovely - amazing skin, her ink will look great. What do you want put on her?"

"That'll depend Nicky, " said Levy, "but she wants to be a slut and needs some jewelry first. Plain silver for now, just the usual places."

"In the chair and put your tongue out," said Nicky. Now Hazel had her ears pierced when she was young and one had got infected so she had never had any desire to get a piercing. Take a foot of black dick up her ass - certainly. Get a piercing or a tattoo from a skeevy junkie in a filthy rat-hole in the ghetto - never.

Or so I thought.

There wasn't even any hesitation. She hopped into the chair and put her tongue out. She watched as Nicky applied a device to prevent her moving it. Then when he produced his needle she scrunched her eyes up. I moved up and took her hand in mine.

To be fair, Nicky knew his job. With practiced movements he pierced and adorned her tongue and her navel. Hazel saw none of it and only whimpered a little. Her first nipple drew a, "MOTHERFUCKER!" and the second had her gripping my hand so tight she almost broke my wrist. The clitoris was last for the treatment and went as well as you might imagine.

"Come here and look in this mirror," Levy ordered. She went to stand in front of the mirror and Levy put his hands on her shoulder. I could see her trembling a little, perhaps from the shock of confronting her old phobia so brutally. Studs gleamed from her ears and belly button. Little silver rings adorned her proud nipples and a small bar-bell was just visible at her pussy. Another was unseen in her mouth.

Levy observed her carefully in the mirror and then nodded his head. "That's nearer to how a slut should look, don't take them out or they'll heal up on you. Keep them clean and get plenty of practice with that tongue-bar. But now I need to talk business to Nicky while he gets his ink-gun ready. Put your coat on and take lover boy outside and wait."

Once outside I looked at my car and felt the keys in my pocket. "We can get out of here," I whispered, " go to my place. We'll keep our heads down for bit, or move, anyway we can make sure he never finds us."

Her reply was hard to pick up - a numb tongue doesn't aid articulation. "You can go - I told you I have to stay. He'd find me anyway because I'd end up telling him where I was."

I resigned myself. "Then I'll stay too." Just as she smiled and reached for my hand I saw them coming...

Two men, Black as night and dressed pretty much like everyone at 'The Pit' the evening before, were headed our way. "Shit," I hissed, "cover your neck." She backed against the wall and turned her coat collar up while shaking her head and hoping her hair would cover the rest of the big 'BCS' written there.

One guy, mid-40s and running to fat, noticed her. "Shit, fine-assed white pussy to be round these parts."

His friend was wiry, about the same age, with a close-cropped grey beard. "Fuck yeah, hubby brought her to get what she's needing. Premium black dick and Nigga special Sauce."

"Yeah, real special sauce. Soon take a pretty little thing like her and give her a big fat belly."

The two men laughed uproariously and then headed off up the road.

Now I was shaking, "Oh my God, Hazel, do you see what that tattoo will mean. Every time you see a Black guy it'll be the same. If they'd seen your neck before I saw them..."

"...then they'd be in me right now," said Hazel in a very quiet voice, her wide eyes staring in the direction the men had gone. I thought she was horrified at how close we'd come to disaster. God I could be blind sometimes.

"You ready for your ink..." came from behind us in Levy's deep rumble.

"Yeah," said Hazel. Just that, then I heard her heels clicking as she went back into Nicky's den.

A big black hand stopped me following. "You go sit in the car - this is for the grown-ups."

Again that walk like a walk to the electric-chair. I must have been waiting there an hour but finally they came out. Levy strode to the passenger seat. Hazel dragged along after him, her head was down and her shoulders slumped, she got in the back without a word. Her body language spelled out clearly her defeat and humiliation. In the short drive to where I parked, a hundred yards from 'The Pit', nothing was said.

When I turned the engine off we both looked back at her. She was crying. I tried to grab at his throat but he swatted me aside. "What the fuck have you done?" I demanded.

"Raise your hand to me again white boy and I'll kill you," he said quite calmly, " that understood." I took a deep breath and nodded.

"Show him your cunt." Hazel edged up her coat to just above her pussy - the message drawn there was gone.

"Show him your neck." She turned in the back seat and pulled her collar down. Again, nothing. No message and no tattoo. "Thank Christ," I blurted out.

"Thank ME," corrected Levy in his rumbling deep voice, "I'm the one's got no use for milk-toast. Sent you outside and watched you on Nicky's security cam. Told me you nowhere near ready to go where I'd be taking you."

"Why?" asked Hazel.

"He tried to get you to run - you wouldn't. Pretty good. But when my two Niggaz came around you was squirming and wriggling just to hide from them what you keeps telling me you want to be. Little bitch don't know what she wants, I thought. No use till she does - and till she ready to commit."

"So no Niggaz ink for you. You get to go back with him and play at being a slut. Nice weak sauce vanilla shit. It's more than enough for most girls - may not be for you though. I remember how you walked in 'the Pit'. Never seen anything like it. She got spirit, I thought, and not bad on the eye. Got real potential."

"So, I'm gonna give you this," Levy wrote on a piece of paper and pushed it into her coat pocket, "when you realize milk-toast ain't for you and you want to commit to being a real ho then you can contact me. But don't come back here without an invite and don't waste my time. If I hear from you then I'll expect you to play by my rules."

"Rules?" I asked.

"You don't need to know them. Committing blind is all part of it. Just know that I expect my bitches to do EXACTLY what I say - even cute little bitches like Hazel here."

"Oh and I ain't no charity. My expertise comes at a hundred an hour. Collected on the next visit. So that's fourteen-hundred you'll owe me next time, after she calls."

"I don't think she'll be calling," I said.

"We'll see...," and he turned his head to face her in the back seat, "when you're ready to push your boundaries instead of letting him set them - then we'll talk again. Meanwhile, show him what you got to remember me by."

Hazel turned and raised her coat. In the traditional tramp-stamp location of the small of her back was a taped rectangle of gauze.

"Take a look," Levy insisted.

I pealed one corner of tape and held the gauze up. The tattoo wasn't big or gaudy but it sent a message. A little black outline of a spade, like on a playing card, with LEVY written across it in red.

"New idea of mine," said Levy with satisfaction, "for little white bitches who dip their toe in Levy's pool. Good and on display when she in a bikini or showing some skin at the club, or getting fucked from behind. Let everybody know who she REALLY wants owning her."

Then to Hazel, "When you commit, I'll get the spade inked in and add a design round it. Mark you deciding to be my bitch permanently, with no going back." He laughed, "Little bitch is an inspiration. When she's ready we'll have lots of fun. Go to places even I ain't seen or thought of yet."

And with that he was gone, striding back towards his HQ. No goodbyes and not a backward glance. I think he genuinely thought that no woman could turn down that sales pitch of his.

"Arrogant prick", I hissed, as soon as I had the car headed for home, "fuck him. Give me that paper."

She fished it out of her pocket and looked at it. "He was an amazing fuck but I'd have to be crazy to call him again."

I looked at her amazed, "Of course you fucking would be. We're fucking lucky to be getting back home alive. Now hand it over."

She shrugged and gave it to me. I tore it into four pieces. Then I stuffed them into the door pocket where I kept rubbish. I've always hated people that throw trash out of their car windows. I take it home and dispose of it in the rubbish when I get there. Well, as they say, no good deed goes unpunished...