Think While You Ink Pt. 02

She did.

A week or two later, once she was certain her finances were in order, she sent the email - a brief and businesslike request for a booking, along with a couple of reference images. A response came back a day later - another late afternoon slot.

She drove into town, trying hard not to think about what had happened before. She wasn't going to mention it. She'd not told a soul, and guilt had plagued her - every time she had flashbacks to that day, every time she felt herself drifting off to daydream about it, every time she felt even slightly horny, she felt the pricking of her conscience. Well, less pricking, and more stabs at the heart. She knew damn well she ought to find another artist. But he was damn good, and they were both adults, right? They could move on. Put it all aside as a silly, adrenalin-fuelled moment of madness. She didn't want a repeat performance. Of course not. What sort of woman would want to repeat the hottest, most fulfilling sexual experience of her life? Christ. Who was she kidding...?

The shop was quiet, only one other artist working - a scary-cool looking lady with a lip piercing and more eyeliner than an Amy Winehouse tribute act.

They went through the usual pleasantries - how are ya, what are we doing today, check the stencil position in the mirror, clean the station, settle down on the couch. She didn't expect any more than that - he wasn't much of a talker while he worked, and this being her third visit she'd known he'd be pretty silent. She didn't attempt any more small talk, and the tension hung heavy in the air between them. She fiddled with her phone, tried to read, anything to avoid just sitting there and feeling his fingers on her skin.

She sat up and watched as he changed colours, saw him wipe a little ink onto the back of the black latex gloves he wore. She supressed a shiver. For some reason, those black latex gloves always made her feel a bit funny; kind of dark. She laughed to herself, wondering if she was developing a fetish. Perhaps it was a recognised one - people wore latex clothes, didn't they?

He glanced up from her leg and met her gaze.

"C'mon then, what's so funny? Don't you laugh under your breath at me..."

He was cocking an eyebrow at her, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She hadn't realised that she'd laughed out loud. She swallowed hard. She knew she was blushing furiously and she really, really hated it when that happened - her stupid body, giving her away again.

"Um... Nothing, really nothing," she sputtered. "You so do not need to know."

"Oh I do," he replied, quietly, studying her face.

Mercifully, this little interchange was interrupted by the other tattooist packing up and leaving. She waved a cheery "seeya Monday" as she left the shop.

He turned back from locking the door and visibly relaxed. "D'you want a drink?" he asked. "Not anything alcoholic, I mean. Coffee?"

She nodded. It'd be nice to get a bit of sugar and caffeine into her system. She'd started to feel a bit shaky after an hour of tattooing. Not to mention the studious ignoring - that took effort. Still, he didn't have far to go and after today, it'd be all done.

She watched him through a door into the back room as he flicked on the kettle and retrieved mugs, pushing a hand through his messy hair and sighing out loud, like he was tired - or relieved. Or perhaps both.

He handed her a steaming mug and she blew over the top, vapour rising in front of her eyes. She sipped gratefully and felt tension leaving her muscles. She'd worried too much about all this, hadn't she? He was just being kind. Professional and kind.

"Go on then, fess up," he teased. Again, that quirk of a half-smile, and something inside her clenched. She tried hard to look innocent, and clearly failed, because he was laughing at her over his own coffee mug.

"No chance. I'm not telling you that!" She laughed too, colouring slightly. Professional kindness might not last in the face of her telling him about the images in her mind, relating to his clever hands in shining black gloves. She was keeping her mouth shut.

He leaned back against a workbench. She tried not to look - and failed miserably - as he stretched, working out the kinks in muscles that had held the same position for a long time, rolling his shoulders, and reaching his arms up over his head. His well-worn t-shirt rode up slightly and she caught a glimpse of ink over one hip. Without thinking, she leaned in, pointing.

"Oh, now I like that a lot," she murmured. "What was the inspiration there?"

He held the hem of the t-shirt raised just enough for her to study the tattoo a little more closely. It was a detailed black-work depiction of a wrecked ship, a ghostly vessel left abandoned. A beautiful, yet strangely wicked-looking mermaid reclined on rocks nearby. The whole work stretched over his hip and round his side. She peered, getting a good look.

"A song, actually. Ever heard "Song to the Siren"? Tim Buckley sang it originally. I guess I just liked the song, it's kinda haunting, so..."

His explanation trailed off as she examined the skin. He sounded slightly embarrassed at her lack of reply, but really she was caught a little off guard - she could feel his body heat, and his scent filled her senses. Clean, but also a hint of musk. God. She was so damn close to him, and the strip of bare skin she could see was so enticing. She was close enough to reach out with the tip of her tongue and taste him...

"Um... Yes, god, sorry," She shook her head to clear it. "Yep, I know it well. I saw this clip of him singing on the Monkees show..."

"Ha, yes! That's the one that sold me on it. Just him and the guitar. It's stunning." He let the shirt fall and sipped his drink.

"Heart rending, isn't it! I can't believe you know it - well, I mean, not just know it, you had a tattoo of it, if you see what I mean."

"Yeah, well... It has meaning for me. Not all of my ink has meaning attached, but that one does. And I have lots of other stuff."

She wasn't going to ask the meaning. Not now, anyway. And yeah, she thought, thanks for the reminder - I know you have lots of others. I wasn't liable to forget that little fact. She tried to concentrate on not spilling her coffee.

"Okay, well, we should really try and get a bit more of that outline done, if you have the energy,"

She blew on the cup, trying to cool it. Did that work? Who really thought that blowing on hot drinks made them go colder, for god's sake? And as for the Siren thing... well, she'd never met anyone who even knew the song, let alone liked it. Every time she heard it, it made her heart ache. It was just the sort of song that went right for the heartstrings.

"Um, I said, outlining?"

She jumped a little. She'd been lost in thought, trying to think sensible thoughts and ignore the more nebulous ones that kept threatening to break into her consciousness. His skin. His smell. His taste. She looked up and met his inquiring gaze. He took the coffee cup from her hands, gently, and placed it out of reach. He'd perched on the work stool opposite her, ready to start working again, but he'd figured that her mind wasn't really on the tattooing any longer.

He rolled the stool further forwards, his legs wide, and leaned in to kiss her. The first touch of his lips on hers was like electricity - it stole her breath. His tongue drew a gentle line over her bottom lip, and encouraged her to open to him. Tentatively she responded and he kissed her harder, one hand on the back of her neck, a low growl in his throat making her skin run to goosebumps. He broke away, looking her in the eye, wordlessly seeking approval. She reached out for him, and tasted his mouth - coffee, warmth, that hint of cinnamon she'd done her utmost to forget. Her nipples turned to stone and she could feel herself starting to ache in the most sensitive places. She moaned into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip.

What the fuck was this gorgeous, clearly cool, probably popular man doing, she wondered. He was kissing her with the same amount of neediness that she was responding with. There was no way he'd spent the last couple of weeks daydreaming about their previous encounter, was there? Men like this probably got the lay of a lifetime twice a week, didn't they...?

He stood, and without a word dragged off his t shirt. She simply stared - yet again - at his lean, rangy physique, and the works of art etched into his skin. A map of his life, his experiences externalised.

And then she realised that his hands were at his belt buckle, and then his fly, and he was pushing his jeans down over his hips, over the sirens inked there, over the shipwreck. She thought for a split second that perhaps she understood why the sailors followed siren song, despite knowing their certain fate.

She leaned into him, breathing in his scent, holding his diamond-hard cock at the base. The need in her to please him, to bring him pleasure, took over. She ran her tongue over the hot, velvet-smooth skin of his shaft, from root to just below the flare of the head. Her tongue ran up and down his length, making him wet, and she adored the taste of him. She flicked gently, feathering licks on the sensitive underside, and a wordless moan fell from his lips. His hand went to the back of her head, twisting into her hair, encouraging her silently.

She met his eyes, her hand not leaving his dick, and in answer to her unspoken question he bit his lip.

"Ahhh, fuck. Do it," he urged. She teased him, stroking him slowly, smiling up at him. The power she wielded turned her on so much; he wanted it, and she knew it. His hips moved involuntarily.

She relented and took him into her mouth, slowly sliding him further in, and his hand clenched in her hair as he hissed through his teeth. He pushed on the back of her head, but she wouldn't give in that easily - not yet. This moment was hers to savour, and she kept going, agonisingly slowly. He filled her mouth and soon enough the tip of his beautiful cock nudged at her throat. She moaned, a low, primal sound, and the sensation made him gasp yet again.

"Christ, yes... Go on, swallow it,"

She did. She pushed a little harder and he slid further in. Her nose was by now right up against his pelvis, and he was seated completely in her throat. She held herself there for a moment, and then pulled backwards, slipping him free of her mouth with a wet sucking sound. She grinned.

"Fucking hell, that's amazing."

"Oh, you like that? Better give you some more, then..." She sucked him back in.

"Shiiiit... Oh god, that's so damn good. I don't know if I can control myself with you doing that,"

She chuckled round his cock. She didn't want his self control right now. She wanted to see him quite unmanned, to feel how badly he wanted to get off. She sped up her motions to show him just what she wanted, and he took hold of her head with both hands. She knew what was coming, and took a couple of deep breaths. He started to move his hips, taking over from her, fucking her mouth in long, smooth strokes.

"Jesus Christ, that feels so fucking good. I'm gonna fuck your face so hard... Get ready..."

He withdrew, smearing pre-cum across her lips, smacking her cheeks with his raging hard, dripping cock. He pushed into her mouth and pulled her hair, twisting it with both hands, pulling her onto him. His hips pistoned back and forth, forcing his dick down her throat, making her gag slightly. He seemed to like the noise - her gasps for breath, her choking, spluttering gags. She timed her breathing as best as she could, but he was relentlessly fucking her mouth now, hard and fast, and the effort made her eyes water. She reached under him with one hand, playing with his heavy balls, which were pulled up tight to his body. She felt his dick twitching in her throat and knew that he wasn't far off.

"Oh fuck. Fuck. I'm gonna come."

He looked down at her and somehow she met his eyes again.

"I'm gonna come and you're gonna swallow it all," he ground out from between clenched teeth.

His head went back, eyes closed, teeth bared. He shoved himself deep into her mouth, holding her there as his cock spasmed in her throat. She swallowed as best she could, and streams of his searing hot spunk shot straight down - she barely tasted it. As she started to struggle for air, he released her, and she pulled back, gasping. She caught her breath, and then gently lapped at his soaking, sloppy dick, cleaning him as he recovered.

She dipped her tongue into the slit on the tip of his cock, and he twitched.

"Okay... Jesus, enough!"

She smiled, satisfied with her efforts. He passed a hand over his face, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and breathed hard. She looked up and saw a bead of sweat trailing down his torso, and resisted the urge to poke out her tongue and lick that up, too.

"Good god woman, that was... I mean, fucking hell. Unbelievable..." he shook his head. He'd come so hard - perhaps she was wrong about the hot-sex-on-tap thing after all. He had the drained look of a man who hadn't shot his load in a while.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The whole thing had made her horny as fuck - giving blowjobs always did, but especially this one. Was it because he knew what he wanted? The dirty talk had made her even wetter, and she couldn't remember wanting anyone quite as badly as she wanted this man. Her own chest rose and fell, and she realised that while he was almost naked in front of her, she was still clothed.

He seemed to have had the same realisation, and stepped close to her. To her surprise, he kissed her again; he must have been able to taste himself on her tongue, but he didn't seem to care. His kiss was gentler than before, more delicate, and his exploring tongue made her think of how it felt elsewhere.

"I think I should redress the balance here," he murmured quietly, close to her ear, his hot breath amping her up even further. His fingers found the hem of her top, yanking it over her head, and he very swiftly found the clasp of her bra, freeing her from it and dropping it to the floor. He cupped her breasts, one in each hand, nipples between finger and thumb. She sucked on her lower lip, waiting to see what he'd do.

He pinched at them, pulling forwards, enough to hurt - but what a sweet hurt. Her nipples ached, and he grazed his teeth over each one, sucking hard. Now it was her turn to hiss in pleasure-pain as the sensations shot straight to her core.

He moved her so that she sat on the edge of the couch, then pushed her back. "Lay down," he smiled craftily, and hooked the work-stool with one foot, dragging over. He popped the button on her jeans, and she lifted her hips as he dragged them down. She had expected him to yank her knickers down with them, but no - he left those in place. She'd worn simple plain cotton, and they were soaked through. He saw, and lifted a questioning eyebrow at her.

He pushed her knees apart further.

"Gonna confess yet? What was it that I didn't need to know?"

"Gloves," she muttered, not meeting his amused expression.

"Excuse me?" he was baffled. She sighed and decided that given her current position, she may as well give up the truth.

"The black gloves," she gestured to the box on the side. "For some weird reason I... I mean... They make me think... Well, I've seen it in films - you know, porn, and..."

"Oh. Oh," he smiled craftily. The penny dropped. He reached languidly over for the box and tugged on the snug latex gloves, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You know, I've seen these in porn too," he said slowly. "Used to make sure hands are very smooth. Nothing that will catch on delicate parts. When you watched, did the girls in the film get stretched?"

Her mouth was a bit dry, but she squeaked out a "Yes". He knew exactly what she was thinking, he was just prolonging it.

"I mean really well fingered," he continued. "Hard and deep. Fisted."

Fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck. He'd said it. Given voice to a secret desire, something she wanted to do very badly but had never managed. And he stood there, looking at the soaked crotch of her knickers, wearing black latex gloves and a knowing look. He licked his lips, and she felt herself get wetter still. She shivered.

He sat on the work stool, his face just above the level of her hips, easy access to her spread legs. From here he could see her face and watch her expressions, and he knew he would have to pay careful attention to her body language; he wanted to make damn sure she was going to love what he was about to do. He didn't want to hurt her, to freak her out, but he certainly wanted to show her something that would test her boundaries.

He reached back to the bench and grabbed a pair of scissors, and slid the blade underneath the leg of her panties. She looked worried at the feel of the cold metal against her skin but he soothed her, murmuring "Shhh," and ran a finger down over her cotton-covered, overheated pussy. He snipped the knickers on both sides and peeled them away, leaving her quite exposed.

He leaned forward, scenting her arousal. He blew gently over her flushed skin and she wriggled. She needed more than that, but he knew what his first task had to be. As his gloved fingers spread her pussy lips, he pulled her clit into his mouth and sucked, flicking it with his tongue. He didn't let up as he slid a finger into her, turning his hand palm-up and stroking the rough spot inside her. He was being businesslike, pushing the right buttons to make her come as quickly as possible.

It didn't need to be epic, it just needed to work... But he couldn't resist removing his finger for a moment, and moving down to the opening of her tunnel he pushed his tongue inside, grabbing her hips, pulling her forwards onto his face, getting as deep into her as he could. She went wild, humping herself against his face and groaning. Jesus... no one had ever, ever done that to her; now she knew why they called it eating pussy! He laughed, muffled, and broke for air, replacing his tongue with the clever finger again and renewing his attack on her clit.

Her body tensed like a bowstring, and with a yell, she came, squeezing his finger so hard that he worried she'd dislocate it. He worried briefly how he'd manage to work with one busted finger; not to mention how he'd explain it to his customers.

She looked down at him, panting, flushed, but slightly disappointed that everything would be over so quickly. He seemed to read her mind and laughed at her puzzled expression. He put a hand on her lower belly and rubbed in slow, circular motions.

"Lie back," he urged. "No way are we done yet. I just needed to relax you a little bit."

He fished out a bottle of lubricant from a drawer. She wasn't going to ask, and she was too blissed out to care anyway. He poured a puddle into one palm and warmed it, before smearing it over her folds. She was soaking anyway, but he wanted to be sure. He poured even more over his hands, coating his gloved fingers in it, and held his hand up for her to see.

Her fuzzy, post-orgasmic glow receded slightly at the sight of his gleaming wet, black hand. She gazed at him dumbly, feeling her horniness kick right back in again. This man was about to do evil things to her body, and he looked like he knew precisely what he was doing - and like he'd enjoy doing it, too.

"I won't hurt you," he said. "But you need to listen to me, and you need to tell me if it's too much."

With that, he slowly pushed two fingers inside her. She sighed, loving the feeling but nervous of what was going to happen soon. He turned his hand, rotating his fingers inside her, massaging the walls of her vagina.

"Relax," he murmured. That'd be damn near impossible, she thought, listening to his voice issue instructions whilst his hand was buried in her twat. But she tried, breathing deeply, and forcing her clenched muscles to loosen.