Chapter 3: The Tattoo Artist

Friday, September 20th, 2013 – Rex Irvine – Paris, Texas

"Fuck, Rex, another beaut," grinned bucktooth Hal as he looked at the black mamba I just tattooed coiled around his skinny arm. He was a greasy piece of shit, but his credit card always cleared, and he was in her every few weeks getting another tat to add to his collection.

I glanced at the clock. Almost 9 PM. Another slow night. But as it dragged on, more drunks would wander in looking to get "tattooed up." It sucked for my social life, but I had loans to pay and my dick of a landlord needed his pound of flesh. But I was getting some good buzz; this time next year, Spider Monkey Tattoo and Piercing would be in the black. Then my ol' lady could get off my back.

Maybe.

I peeled off the latex gloves, throwing them and the tattoo needle into red biohazard trash can. You couldn't be too careful. I bet half my customers had hep A or C. No way in hell was I going to get that. I flexed my thick arms, working the kinks out, and went out to the waiting area to get the next customer.

There was a single man, arms as thick as a normal guys legs, his head shaved save for a three inch strip down the middle, buzzed short and dyed purple of all colors. It wasn't my place to judge; people were free to do what they wanted to their bodies. Piercings dotted his face, and he had a pair of sleeve tattoos. They were nice work, not as good a mine, but nice.

"You know what you want?" I asked. He touched none of my scrap books and he didn't seem interested in all of my works of art hanging on the wall; anyone who didn't think tats weren't works of art were stuck up or stupid. Art could be found anywhere a person was moved to create it.

"Yeah," he answered, reaching into his back pocket of his stonewashed jeans.

The door opened and a tall cop walked in, his steely, gray-blue eyes scanning around the lobby, his hand resting on his gun. A chill stole over me. Why was he here? I had been clean for years, just ask my parole officer. The cop's eyes fell on my customer, who swallowed, jerking his hand out of his pocket and holding it out wide.

"Get out!" growled the cop.

"Yes, sir," my customer swallowed, stood up, edging around the cop, and dashed out. The customer may have had fifty pounds on the cop, but he still ran out like a bitch.

What the hell was this?

"You're closed for the rest of the night," the cop barked.

"Now listen here," I said, getting heated. "You can't just come in here and bark orders. This is private—"

"Be quiet and kneel before your Goddess!"

"What the fuck!" Was this cop high on meth or something?

The doors opened and four naked women walked in. My eyes drank in their beauty. A pair of twin teenagers, redheads with nice, perky tits; an older woman in her twenties with a lithe and graceful body; and a drop-dead gorgeous teen with platinum-blonde hair and eyes that seemed to glow like twinkling stars.

I fell to my knees. She was a Goddess incarnated in flesh. Her bearing spoke power and her movements spoke majesty. She strode straight towards me, my eyes falling on her trimmed, blonde bush sticky with her passion. The lips of her well-fucked pussy peaked out of those stained curls.

"I wish my host to have a permanent memory of this night," she purred. "You shall tattoo a seven-pointed star right here." She touched her groin just to the left of her bush. "Then a second seven-pointed star here." She touched her right, budding breast, circling her pink nipple.

"I will," I breathed, my cock hard as a rock.

"Strip and let me gaze upon your strong countenance."

I pulled the black, leather vest I wore off, throwing it carelessly on the floor. Her eyes appreciating my muscular form covered in tattoos. Then I unfastened my heavy, black belt studded with stainless steel. I kicked my shoes off and dropped my jeans and boxers, my cock standing thick and proud before me.

"Very nice," she purred, touching my muscular flesh. "You stir such passions in me. Handmaids, you may amuse yourselves."

"Thank you, Mistress," purred one of the twins and, to my lusty delight, kissed her naked sister on the lips.

I wanted to stay and watch the hot sight, but my Goddess motioned me to follow her with her graceful hand. "Do not worry. You shall taste both of them as your reward for this evening," promised my Goddess.

The Goddess gracefully sat on the reclining chair, spreading her legs. I could smell the cum oozing out of her. "Use silver," she purred as I gathered my supplies on a rolling table. "And barbells piercings to adorn my nipples."

I grabbed my tattoo gun, a fresh needle, silver ink, a piercing needle, and a pair of silver barbells to adorn her nipples. I didn't bother with gloves. She was a Goddess, not covered in disgusting diseases like my normal customers. The gun hummed to life, and I went to work free-handing a seven-pointed star.

"Such pain," she groaned with orgasmic delight. I looked up in concern and saw rapture painted on her face. She mewled and gasped as the needled dipped over and over into her flesh. "Keep working, and you shall taste my flesh when you are finished."

My cock throbbed in anticipation.

I drew the star, accompanied by her sweet moans of joy. Her pussy grew wetter and wetter, exuding a heady, spicy aroma that only inflamed my desires. It didn't take long to finish the star by her groin, there wasn't much space to work in, so it was small.

"Your skill is to be praised, artist," she purred as I wiped away the blood.

"Let me put a bandage on it," I said.

"No need."

I glanced at the tattoo, and it was healed. Instead of being inflamed, it looked like she had the star for months. A miracle.

"And now here," she purred, hooking her legs around his waist as he stood up and she pulled him to her.

My cock sank into her warm, wet, tight depths. I groaned as the Heaven of her cunt embraced me. A gasp passed her sweet lips, her back arching as I buried all the way into her, nudging the bottom of her cunt.