Think While You Ink

"Jesus fucking wept!"

They'd started just after a late lunch, and the day was drawing to a close. This was her second sitting too; there was a lot of detail in this one, and she'd probably be back anyway. A couple of hours was all she could handle, realistically – otherwise she'd stand up from the couch and fall straight back down again.

The first time she'd tentatively opened the door, she'd been pretty nervous anyway. So many people had recommended the place, and it was a bit intimidating – not in a grungy way, more in a oh-shit-I'm-outta-my-depth sense. Clean – no, spotless – professional, and artistic. Cool artwork on the walls. Retro tattoos everywhere. The other artists were bearded, rimless glasses, flesh tunnels in their ears. Hipster.

This time around she'd not been quite so unnerved. It was busier when she'd returned for the second appointment, but livelier too – three or four artists working on clients, everyone talking, the artists laughing and their subjects trying not to for fear of moving.

She'd stood on a chair as he applied the stencil to her lower leg. She watched from high up as he carefully positioned it just-so, his head bowed over his work, his own tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt, creeping up his neck. He blew a lock of hair away from his face as he straightened, telling her to lie face down on the padded massage couch.

It hurt like hell on the back of her calf. More than the first time, when he'd worked around the side and over her shinbone. She'd distracted herself with her phone, checking her Facebook account, her emails, anything really. She'd noticed last time that he'd not been much of a talker. She'd tried to engage in conversation, curious about the man who was leaving permanent marks on her body, and whilst he was perfectly polite, he didn't seem to want to chat.

"Smarts on that bit, doesn't it," he'd said, as she took a break for a moment to adjust her position. She'd done her best to stay still, but joked as they started that she'd have to make a real effort not to kick him in the face. After a while she'd had to fidget, because she'd held herself up on her elbows and was starting to tire.

"Too right," she sighed. "Ah well, be worth it in the end!"

He'd laughed with his colleagues but didn't seem to want to make small talk with her. As she lay back down, she glanced backward, appreciating how he looked as he concentrated on changing the needle in the tattoo gun. She went back to her phone, quickly squashing her thoughts. His girlfriend had been there, spending the last of her lunchbreak with him. And she'd got her own man at home. She was quite happy. Nothing wrong with appreciation though, she thought. No-one has to know.

The sting in her leg made it hard to think anyway, so she looked around the room. One of the tattoo designs on the wall depicted a buxom young woman bent over a sailor's knee, taking a spanking, her heels flailing in the air. She wondered who'd drawn that one, and entertained the faint hope that it was one of his. That he liked the idea.

The afternoon was drawing in and he'd almost finished. The other artists had completed working on their clients and all but one had disappeared for the afternoon. The bearded dude in the drainpipe jeans.

"You almost done there?" Beard-dude called over.

"Yeah, just some highlights and a bit of shading to go. You head off. I'll lock up."

"You sure? Thanks man. She doesn't look like the mugging-for-the-takings type," Beard-dude grinned at her. "In fact she's been quiet as a mouse."

"I didn't shut up first time round," she smiled back. "Nerves I guess."

"Ah, you got no reason to be nervous now though," smiled her artist. "Pro now, aren't ya? See you in the morning, dude," He raised a hand in farewell to his colleague, and the bell on the door rattled as he closed it.

She'd laughed quietly.

"What?"

"You, taking the piss out of me. Just because it's only my second tattoo, and you're covered.."

"I wasn't!" he protested in mock horror. "Besides, these have been collected over years."

It was odd, she'd noticed, but as the needle burned on her skin, she felt his gloved fingers as he pulled the skin taut. He was gentle, but where his fingers made contact, she could feel the same burning sensation as where the needle buzzed. Like it was transferring pain. How strange that it should feel that way.

"Where'd it hurt most on you, then?" she asked, feeling a need to fill the silence of the shop.

"Hmm..." he tried to recall. "Probably the same place – or ribs, I think. That's always sore."

"It's transient though isn't it," she mused. "I'd still rather do this than be pierced. This hurts less."

He laughed. "I guess that depends on where you're pierced though! And piercing's quicker. Come on then, own up... Where?"

He was more talkative when there was no-one else around. She chuckled and dropped her head between her arms, onto the couch.

"Oh, now you're asking!"

"Ohhh... One of those, was it?"

"Yup. It's weird, sitting there fully clothed from the waist up, while someone's bending over your nether regions with a fucking great needle."

"Oh.. Oh! Shit! I thought you were gonna say nipple!"

"Erm, no. I'm told that's bloody agony, although I do kinda fancy it. No, this was.. well.. they call it a VCH." She was pretty sure he'd know exactly where that went.

"Takes all sorts, I suppose. You don't look the type," he said.

"Is there a type..? I didn't keep it anyway. It was really annoying. What about you?"

"Oh.. um.. no. I stick to ink."

She could see that. He wore long shorts and his lower legs were covered, as were his arms, and she'd noted that there must have been something across his shoulders at least. Still, that seemed to be par for the course – she'd never met a tattooist that didn't have shitloads of the damn things themselves.

"Okay.. just about done here. You did well – no wriggling. Wanna look?"

She sat up slowly. She'd go and look in the mirror, and decided to get moving. She dropped her feet to the floor and stood up, but it must have been too fast. Her head spun.

"Woah, easy there!" He'd grabbed her shoulders before she'd fallen, and she found herself blinking up at his concerned face. She was too wobbly to trust herself and just stayed there for a moment, half on the bench, half standing, with him supporting her. She felt like an utter twit. And she felt acutely aware of his proximity to her.

"Smooth huh?" she giggled weakly.

"It's OK, don't worry. It happens a lot. Even people who have had loads of tats still get cocky and overdo it."

He had strong hands. Big, and warm on her shoulders. She shook her head to clear it.

"You OK yet?" He still looked concerned. Fucking hell, she wished he wasn't touching her right now. Sure, he'd spent the last couple of hours touching her, but that was different. She was weirdly giddy. Like being slightly drunk, she thought. Her mouth ran away with her and she nodded toward the spanked girl on the wall, blurting out:

"One of yours?"

He withdrew, and looked sheepish. She eased herself off the bench, standing on her own. Shaky, but standing.

"Ah. Ha.. Yeah. Yeah, that's mine."

He was rummaging in a cupboard behind the counter. She could see just a mop of unruly hair, and then his eyes, as he rootled around.

"Don't normally do this but I reckon you could use it..."

He had found a small bottle of Jack and poured a slug into a disposable cup, passing it to her. With a shrug, he poured one for himself. She wasn't sure why – it wasn't like he'd got the shakes, was it? No, definitely not – his hands were as deft as ever as he covered the new tattoo, gently wiping away excess ink and blood, carefully wrapping her leg with clingfilm. She wished she was as steady.

She narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of the cup as she sipped gingerly.

"Don't give much away, do you?"

"Huh?" he was baffled.

"The.. You know, the girl. So you distract me with hard liquor rather than risk me asking about her,"

Fucking hell, that'd be bravado from the whiskey, plus the close call from nearly hitting the floor. In a detached sort of way, she could imagine her sensible side looking down at her recklessness and sighing.

He bit his lip, which made something low down in her belly twist, so she downed the rest of the booze because it seemed like a better alternative than staring at him. She'd almost forgotten the sting in her leg in favour of an ache - Yep, she thought, that kind of ache – in her nipples, and between her legs. So bloody typical, really... here she was, no makeup, ratty old jeans with one leg rolled up, socks with holes in, in front of an inexplicably attractive man who'd just spent a good couple of hours making her suffer.

She almost spat it straight back out again when she heard him say quietly "Yep... Gotta love giving a good spanking. Don't get the chance much these days, the girlfriend doesn't go in for it, but.."

Jesus, jesus, jesus. She didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to imagine being bent over his knee. Didn't want to imagine how the texture of his clothes would feel against her bare skin. Or what his hands would feel like. Oh fuck, big hands. Big, clever, nimble hands. He must have seen how her skin flushed, how she licked her lips, because he stepped closer to her again. He took the plastic cup from her. She backed up, the small of her back bumping into the couch.

He followed. He was just an inch or two from her and she was sure he could see how her breathing had changed. She looked up at him.

"Shame," she murmured.

And he moved like lightning, his mouth crushing hers, one hand flying to the back of her head. She opened her mouth for him, and his tongue pushed, hard and insistent. She whimpered at the sensation of being so wanted, and he kissed her even harder than she thought possible, growling as he pushed one warm hand under her shirt, tugging roughly at the cup of her bra. He tasted of whiskey, with the slightest hint of cinnamon. His tongue was so hot it almost burned.

The couch banged up against the counter as he pushed her against it. His fingers found her nipple and twisted, hard. She squealed into his mouth and he laughed, pulling away just enough to catch a breath.

"Like that, is it? Thought so..."

She just looked at him, her swollen lips parted, breathing hard and fast. He held her gaze, his clear grey eyes unflinching. He was smiling, a small wry smile that spoke volumes. He knew what was happening just as well as she did.

She moved her own hands up, slowly, not daring to race. Twisted her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulled him down again, and kissed him again. Slower, at first. This was the chance she'd given him – a moment to withdraw that he'd not taken. They both knew that they shouldn't have even been in the same room alone together, not really. But it was between the two of them, now. He hadn't run for the hills. Her blood sang with the thrill of realisation; he wanted her, right now. She'd moved her other hand up the side of his body, enjoying the warmth of him, but now she slipped it under the waist of his shirt, to feel his patterned skin. He groaned into her mouth and his tongue slipped deeper, taking over.

His hand fell to her jeans, pressing right there between her thighs, cupping her. The heel of his hand was hard against her clit through the thick denim and she was breathless. Jesus fucking christ on a bike... She'd dared to daydream, and here it was – a fantasy from her own faithless imagination. Her mind was spinning, so close to losing all reason and functioning on instinct alone. Fuck.. The smell of him!

He tore at her t-shirt, dragging it over her head, and scrabbled at her bra. 99% of men she'd ever been with were useless with these things, she mused, and yet suddenly it was on the floor with her shirt. He unbuttoned her jeans and shoved them down, then caught himself mid-action, easing them over her sore leg gently. It put his head right next to her pussy, covered only by a pair of unsexily practical plain knickers. He breathed in through his nose, his eyes closed... Then looked up at her with a downright mischievous look playing over his face.

"On the bench," he directed. She hopped up, her legs swinging like a small child. He'd found one of the low rolling stools, and sat down in front of her. He pushed her knees apart. A wet spot darkened her cotton knickers, and she blushed despite herself. She wasn't quite sure of his intentions until he brandished a pair of scissors at her – and she must have looked worried half to death, because he cocked one eyebrow: "Safe hands, come on..".

Before she knew it he'd snipped the underwear away. She was exposed completely.

He dipped his face towards her pussy and breathed her in again. She leaned back on the couch, supporting herself up on one elbow, wanting to watch his face – but automatically closing her eyes in shocked bliss as that searing hot tongue licked her from bottom to top, spreading her lips apart, giving away just how wet she was.

"Fuuuck," she breathed. She was incoherent – now wasn't the time for intelligent conversation.

His thumbs held her, spread wide, and he lapped at her clit, drawing it into his mouth, nipping unbelievably gently with his teeth. She shuddered. She opened her eyes and saw him watching her, and he was smiling again. He dipped back down and this time his tongue pushed into her. Her back arched and she grabbed the back of his head, hissing at the extremity of the sensation.

She was disbelieving of it. She'd never known a man to do this... to eat pussy with such clear enjoyment. The sensation was amazing – the warmth of his breath, the smooth slickness of his tongue on her hot flesh, the scrape of his stubble on her thighs a harsh counterpoint.

She couldn't help but push herself against his face, wanting more, murmuring words that didn't make any sense. She yelled out as he pushed a finger into her, teasing her, knowing exactly where to touch. He added another and she gasped. She could hear herself! Christ, she was so soaking wet that as his hand moved, her cunt made obscene noises. Worse, she loved it. He lifted his face, still finger-fucking her with three fingers now, his thumb running over her clit.

"I think you needed this, didn't you?"

She could only groan in agreement. Oh, she definitely did, but she sure as hell hadn't expected it. He laughed that quiet, knowing little laugh again and pinched her clit with one hand, while fingering her faster with the other. She squealed and her hips lifted, wriggling as she felt an orgasm building. She was amazed – it wasn't normally so easy to make her come – and she managed to gasp out a warning just before her whole body stiffened and shook.

He dragged his fingers from her pulsing cunt and strummed her clit hard, making her wail aloud as her pussy squirted hot liquid over the bench. He exclaimed, a mixture of surprise and delight, and pushed his fingers back into her more slowly now, dragging them over the swollen lips of her pussy, spreading her juice over his hand. Her head dropped back to the bench, her chest heaving. She was spaced out and stunned – she didn't think she'd ever come that violently before.

"Holy fuck," she murmured, more to herself than anything. Then she realised what a mess she'd made. "Sorry! Ah shit.. Dammit..." She sat up, about to scout around for paper to clean up. He laughed at her and grabbed her arm.

"No chance, babe," he smiled wickedly. "Get over here. Right now."

He helped her stand, shakily, and led her towards the chestnut-brown buttoned chesterfield sofa that waiting clients would normally loll on. She half tumbled onto the cushions and landed, naked, staring up at him. He flung his own shirt into a corner and tugged his jeans over his hips. She stared dumbly, drinking in the sight of his lean, inked torso. The patterns, words, pictures, life stories she supposed... they carried on downwards, over his hipbones, to meet the tattoos that ran up his legs.

His cock was rock-hard and he stroked it, not taking his eyes off her.

"Get on all fours," he said. She complied, her forearms resting on the arm of the sofa. He sat slowly behind her, running his hands over her rump, grabbing her arse-cheeks and spreading her wide. He abruptly buried his face in her pussy, tongue diving inside, nose up against her asshole. He came up for air and gasped, "Fucking hell, you taste so good...".

She felt him manouvre behind her, his hands still on her arse, his thumb occasionally drifting over the pucker of her hole, and then suddenly he was inside her. His cock slid into her smoothly, opening her up, stretching her cunt, and he kept on going until she was utterly full of dick. She squealed as his cockhead nudged her sensitive cervix. He withdrew achingly slowly, letting her get used to the sensation, and then rammed himself home hard and fast.

She felt his hand twist into her hair, tugging her head upwards, and arched her back. The pain of the pull on her scalp was exquisite, ebbing and flowing as he pounded her from behind.

"That's it, babe," he murmured. She could hear the smile in his voice. "Come on, let me hear you."

She couldn't help herself – she was squeaking in pain each time his dick slammed into her, but she adored it. She heard the smack of skin on skin as his hips met hers, and her cunt was making deliciously obscene wet sounds.

"Please," she gasped out. "Please, please, please..."

He didn't cease his movement, groaning in pleasure. "Ah... Please what? Do you want more? Fuck, your pussy's so damn tight round my cock... Don't ask me to stop now."

"No, not stop,". She could hardly get her words straight. "I want to see..."

"Oh!" He understood her breathless gabble, and pulled himself free of her tight hole. The air felt cool on her pussy lips and she savoured it briefly, before he pulled her hips back and helped her lie back on the couch. She looked up, wanting to watch his expression as he pushed himself back inside her.

He did so slowly, his eyes closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. She squeezed his cock, once, as hard as she could, using her pussy muscles to show him just how hard she could work it. His eyes flew open and it was his turn to cry out.

"Fuck, babe... Do that again and I won't last five minutes!"

She met his gaze, and held it as he began to move, more slowly now. He bent forwards and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth – then released it and moved his mouth to hers, kissing her, opening her up with his tongue as he opened her cunt with his cock. She dared to tangle a hand in his hair, now, and moaned her need into his mouth.

He sat back, and pushed his thumb between her lips, wetting it, then dragged it over her clit, watching her face for a reaction. She tensed and a red flush began to creep over her chest. A faint smile played over his face and he moved faster, fucking her a little harder, massaging his thumb in circles around her stiff clit, flicking it hard and feeling her body respond.

Her eyes had drifted closed as she enjoyed the sensations, but he wasn't having that.

"Look at me," he said softly. "I want to watch your face when you come for me. I'm gonna make you come so hard, babe, and then I'm gonna come all over you."

Christ. Just those words were enough, but he sped up, moving faster and harder. She hadn't been fucked like this for a long, long time – with a lot of guys it was all over in minutes, but he was too damn good for that. His thumb pushed her clit against her pelvic bone and she screamed. Her entire body was rigid as she came, her cunt muscles bearing down hard, trying to force his cock out of her. He pushed hard and deep into her though, prolonging her agony, and true to his word he was watching her face, only pulling his cock out right at the last second – and she wailed, loud and unbelieving, as her orgasm peaked, her cunt walls squeezing tight, and again – again! At some level she marvelled – a rush of hot fluid soaked her thighs as she squirted.