Tattoo Ch. 05: Second Opinion

All participants are over 18.

*****

It had been a week since I woke up with 'CUMSLUT' tattooed in bold red and black letters across my forehead. Those seven days had been filled with more hot, dirty sex than I would ever have imagined possible. I had lost count of the times I'd been taken. The vagrant, the grocery clerk and the butcher, the tattooist I consulted after his branding, two cops, and the libidinous pizza delivery man, Curtis, who made good use of my ass on several occasions. I had to admit that I had enjoyed being the submissive whore of every man who laid eyes on that tattoo, but the mark had been placed on me without my knowledge or consent (yes, I was that drunk) and this wasn't a sustainable lifestyle. I was on holiday now, but in a few days, I would have to return to work, and what would HR make of the ink on my face?

To the end of having the tattoo removed, I consulted a tattooist named Greg. He told me two things of importance: first, it would take months for a laser clinic to break down the red inks in the design; second, my tattoo was a kind of trademark for a renegade tattoo artist known only as Vance. Greg doubted anyone would remove the tattoo if there was a risk of pissing Vance off. After I blew the man, I went to the police, where Constable Mayhew and Detective Masters took my complaint... and my ass and mouth. It was my first spit-roast. The policemen believed that Vance might be an urban legend rather than a flesh-and-blood man. Such was my tormentor.

Later, back at my apartment, Constable Mayhew came over and took sloppy seconds in my ass after the pizza delivery man unloaded there a few minutes before. The stated purpose of his visit was to tell me that he had made contact with another similarly-tattooed victim. The man gave Mayhew his contact information and the constable forwarded it to me. I could understand how two such victims might support each other and commiserate, but I was determined to take more decisive action against what I called 'the mark of the cumslut'.

To that end, I called and made an appointment with another tattoo parlour on the other side of town. I hoped they might not be deterred by Vance's reputation. Just maybe they could do the job faster than Greg believed possible.

As the hour of my appointment arrived, I was ready and eager to visit the parlour. I hadn't been fucked that day, so I hadn't been made to feel like a little bitch. My confidence had risen slightly and I felt hope.

On the way over, I purchased a woolen cap, like a toque, in a dollar store. I dispensed with my cap, which was inadequate to fully cover my forehead inscription. The weather wasn't cold enough to wear one of these really, but it could easily be pulled down to cover the tattoo on my forehead.

When last I visited a tattoo parlour, I was alone with the tattoo artist with whom I'd made the appointment. This time was different. I had made the appointment with Marcus, but his business partners and fellow tattoo artists, Craig and Daphne were also present.

The trio were studded with piercings and all were heavily inked. Marcus had a long full reddish-brown beard and a shaved head; he was dressed all in black and his muscular frame filled out the clothes admirably. Craig had long, wild, black hair; he was smaller than Marcus, but quite fit, and he clearly had a fetish for leather. Daphne, a blonde woman, had a bowl cut styled after the fashion of Mr. Spock on Star Trek; she liked to wear tight, revealing clothes, so I could see she had a phrase in Elvish tattooed on her right boob, opposite a Klingon inscription. Being bisexual, I thought all three were dishy in their own ways.

Still wearing my toque, I urged Marcus to see me privately, but he said his partners would offer their insight into my problem as well. I sighed and reluctantly submitted. I was grateful that there were no clients in the parlour at the time to see my shame. I quietly pulled off the woolen hat and exposed my "CUMSLUT" tattoo.

"Oh, right," said Marcus after a moment of silence. He whistled. "That's Vance's work, isn't it?"

"So I'm told. I was tattooed while I was passed out after a night of drinking, so I only have hazy recollections of a face. But others have mentioned Vance. I believe that's who's behind it. I just want it removed."

"Well, I assume you googled this before you came here. You probably know that tattoo removal can take weeks, even months. This red ink is stubborn even against laser treatment."

"Yes, I know. But it's possible, right?"

"Yes, given time."

"Can you do it?"

"No. My laser doesn't have the range offered by a laser therapy clinic. That's what you need."

"Are you sure there's nothing you can do? I've been told by another tattooist that nobody would take the job out of fear of incurring Vance's wrath."

"Nobody wants to piss Vance off. Why'd he do this to you?" Marcus asked me earnestly, but I noticed his eyes already wandering from my eyes and my forehead down to my torso and my crotch. My cock twitched in my pants and I wondered if Marcus noticed. I blushed under his scrutiny.

"I don't remember much. I was hammered from a night of drinking. He picked me up at a club; I don't even remember which one. We went back to his place and started playing around and I, uh, I went down on him and threw up. Then I passed out."

"The perfect date," Craig declared drily. He was standing beside me and I felt his eyes checking out my ass. It made me uncomfortable and aroused me at the same time.

"Are there no other alternatives? I need this tattoo gone in days, not months."

"You're out of luck. I led with the best option."

Daphne interrupted our discussion with a new line of questioning. She stood directly in front of me. She was shorter than me; I had to look down to see eye-to-eye with her.

"Well, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you a cumslut?"

I felt my ears and cheeks burning and the hesitation before I replied was as good as an answer.

"You know," Marcus said. "You do have a nice body. A little skinny for my taste, maybe, but not bad."

"And you've got a juicy ass," Craig chimed in. He put a hand on my backside. I visibly shivered when Daphne cupped her hands over my genitals and squeezed my cock and balls gently through my jeans. "Oh, yeah. You're into it. I feel your trouser snake getting hard. I want to see you suck Marcus."

Here we go again, I thought, my resolve to remain continent shattering to bits.

I fell on my knees in front of Marcus, who was already unfastening his pants. A moment later, the longest cock I'd ever seen in real life popped out of his underwear. I took it in hand and began licking the head of the organ. The penis soon swelled and stood perpendicular to its owner. I jacked the base of his dick while I treated the cock-helmet to a tongue massage. He tasted clean. He was shaved of pubic hair; there was day-old stubble there.

"Oh, fuck," Daphne said as she put her hand in her pants. "That's fucking hot."

Craig must have been licking his lips behind me, because he had full view of the backside he complimented earlier. This was not enough for him; he wanted access. I felt him unbuckling my belt before he yanked my pants and underwear down. Daphne liked this idea and she began tugging at my clothing.

Soon, I was stark naked.

Craig manipulated me into a new position. I lost my cocksucking rhythm for a moment as he adjusted me on my hands and knees; he pulled my legs apart so he could enter my ass. Marcus had to kneel at that point so I could keep his cock at sucking level.

Craig didn't use any lube; he just spat in his hand and stroked his cock with the saliva. He pressed his cock-head against my back door and slowly pushed his way in. When he had it shoved in up to the hilt, I moaned and the sound was echoed by Daphne.

"Oh, yes, Craig, fuck that cumslut's ass. Feed him your cock, Marcus."

Her voice was strained as she flicked her bean beneath her pants. She used the other hand to play with her tits, rubbing them roughly through her top.

As Craig began to fuck my ass in earnest, it was hard to ignore the sensations in my intestines and continue to perform a good blowjob. His cock was just the right shape and length to assault my prostate in the best way. My innards felt warm and my bowels full. It felt fantastic.

Marcus moaned as I tickled his piss-slit with my tongue. I looped that muscle around the head of his cock in an endless spiral of stimulation. I continued to jack the root of his pecker with my hand but Daphne was not having it.

"Get that cock all the way down your neck, cumslut. Take it all."

I didn't take my mouth off Marcus' dick to speak, so when I answered Daphne that I couldn't take it all, the sense of my words was muffled by the tube of flesh I was sucking. She wasn't put off. She knelt beside me and started pushing my head against Marcus' groin. I believe I passed the five-inch mark before my gag reflex responded. Daphne let me come up for air; I nearly threw up. All the while, Craig continued to batter my ass.

"See what you can do with the proper encouragement?" Daphne asked.

She didn't wait for an answer. She simply began to piston my head up and down the length of her co-worker's cock. I offered no resistance, but I continued to choke and cough and wheeze, and pre-cum and saliva ran out the sides of my mouth. I was blinded by tears. Eventually, after several minutes of adjustment, I was close enough to the root of his schlong that I scratched my nose against his pubic stubble. I can't say I loved every minute of giving that blowjob, but I was proud of myself: for the first time in my life, I was deep-throating a man. Daphne's encouragement was no longer required; I was sucking him the way she taught me, taking him all in, then stimulating the head of his cock for a few seconds before taking him back into my throat again.

Eventually, I was sucking Marcus on automatic. My neck and jaw muscles ached, and I was sure that I would have a sore throat tomorrow, but I was not so distracted by discomfort that I forgot the other man in my backside.

Craig had been pounding my ass for several minutes, neither slowing down nor speeding up, but maintaining a regular pace and rhythm. Now he began to hammer me faster and faster, building toward his eventual release.

"Oh, fuck him good, Craig," Daphne said. She continued to rub her clit under her pants.

Marcus was getting close too; I could tell by his increasingly shallow breath and the tremors in his cock, which seemed to grow harder against my tongue.

"Oh, you cumslut, you're gonna make me come," Craig said.

While Craig striped my back with lines of hot cum, Marcus groaned and I felt the spasms of his dick in my mouth. After a second or two, pure, delicious jizz washed over my taste buds. Marcus still occupied so much of my mouth, there was hardly room for his semen; it ran out of my mouth and a fair amount settled in a sticky white blob on my jaw. The rest of his cum slid down my throat.

The taste of semen, the vigorous fucking, and the cherished feeling of being used like a whore by two strangers while another watched, pushed me over the edge and I came too, erupting in spurts all over the floor beneath me.

Daphne, the witness to our spit-roast, was still touching herself with energy and purpose.

"Oh, my fucking God," she said breathlessly as her orgasm overtook her. "You faggots are making me come!" She bit her lip and groaned through her teeth as the waves of ecstasy washed over her.

Now that we had all come, we began to descend from the heights of our rapture and realized our exposure in an unlocked storefront facing a busy street. It was true that I was the only one that was naked, but the other two men had their dicks hanging out to dry. They tucked them away and buttoned up their pants. Daphne threw Craig a towel, and he wiped the drying cum off my back. When he was done, there was still a dry spot on the towel, so he handed it to me and I rubbed the cum off my face before swabbing my own ejaculate off the floor.

I dressed awkwardly in front of them. When I was fully clothed, we resumed our conversation as if we'd never had a passionate sexual interlude.

Marcus broke down my situation succinctly.

"There's no way you can get rid of that tattoo in a matter of days."

I was disappointed, but this was the answer I had been expecting.

"On the other hand, you have the option of covering it with a new design that will hide it."

I considered it for about a second-and-a-half. It wouldn't do. My workplace appearance standards wouldn't allow tattoos to show above the neck; that might have been a discriminatory policy, but it would be difficult to challenge. Making the tattoo on my forehead larger, but less offensive, was not the option for me.

The conversation ended just as two twenty-something girls entered the tattoo parlour, never suspecting the orgiastic scene they had just missed. They browsed through a book of sample art, looking for ideas for their next tattoos.

"Sorry we can't help, man."

Craig and Daphne echoed Marcus' sentiment.

"Maybe you still can," I said. "Do you know where I can find Vance? Or can you tell me anything about him?"

"I don't know anyone who has the full scoop on Vance. I saw him once; handsome son of a bitch. He's white and has long black hair. He dresses in custom-made clothes and to me he looked like the vampire Lestat. Men and women fall at his feet wherever he goes. He's been in more than one fight, but the story goes he always wins. He likes to bet husbands he can get their wives into his bed, then he wins the bet."

Craig added a little more to my picture of Vance.

"Rumour has it that he used to be the go-to tattoo artist of the stars in Hollywood before some scandal broke and drove him away. Nobody seems to know what happened. Then he set up shop here about a year or a year-and-a-half ago. Maybe I shouldn't say he set up shop, since he seems to do all his work at home, wherever that is. He won't work in a parlour. He takes clients confidentially and sparingly. He's only available by referral. I've seen some of his work and he's one of the best I've ever seen. He's very choosy about who he works on."

"Lucky me," I said.

"Well, you're not his first. I don't know what sets him off, but he's tattooed probably a dozen men and women I've heard about with degrading labels. 'Cuckold', 'Cocksucker', 'Bottom', 'Slut' and so on."

That accorded with what the police had told me. Vance would be hard to find if he didn't want to be found. My mind griped at the luck; I had met Vance, by all accounts a conquering spirit, when I was drunk and vulnerable. If I'd had one or two fewer drinks, I might have been sober enough to give him a proper blowjob and thus avoided his ire. There was nothing to be done about that now.

Apparently, there was nothing to be done about this tattoo before my return to work in three days.

I left the tattoo parlour with shredded hopes. I wore the woolen toque low on my forehead to hide my tattoo; I'd had quite enough action for one day. The afternoon was passing and darkness was closing in as I walked back to my apartment.

I may have thought I'd had enough sex for the day, but I was hungry and I found myself wondering if I should order a pizza. After all, Curtis, for whom I was lately a most frequent booty call, might be working deliveries.

I picked up my phone and punched the number in.