Hurts So Good Page 2

  Most tattoo shops are busiest late at night, when people are in the mood to party, or drink, or do something crazy, or all the above. I arrived relatively early, so there were only a few people hanging around—waiting to be worked on, I assumed. Since I’d never been to this particular shop before, I walked around hoping I’d get a vibe from the place.

  Usually, staring at people is frowned upon, but when it comes to tattoos, it’s welcomed and appreciated, so I indulged myself and let my eyes wander from stranger to stranger, staring at the depictions of women, animals, insects, flags, and a variety of other images worthy enough to adorn their skin.

  After several minutes of euphoric lusting, I brought myself back to reality and began browsing the walls of endless designs. A few images caught my eye, and I noticed all were drawn by the same person: Gia. I asked the girl at the counter if the artist was available. Lucky me! She had an opening in an hour. I browsed some of the other designs, then sat down, impatiently, grabbing a random magazine to pass the time.

  Finally, Counter Girl announced Gia was ready and led me into the back area. As I followed her through the maze of hallways, I noticed that each room was private, complete with a closable door. Most shops I’d been to had curtains between booths, at best.

  As we stepped into a room at the end of the hall, Gia was standing with her back to me, setting up a small table of instruments. I sat down in a plastic chair and observed that her arms and the back of her neck were adorned with gorgeous artwork. Since she was engrossed in her work, I took advantage to indulge and stare at her tattoos.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she turned around, and I think I stopped breathing. Although I’d never been with a woman, I’ve always had a crushing attraction for bad girl/ tattooed/goth-girl types—and this one was certainly a stunner. She had an angelic face, but her dark makeup gave her a mysterious, hard-edged look, and her short black hair was sexy in contrast to her pale skin. The fact that her halter top showed off her perfect breasts didn’t bother me at all.

  I didn’t know what else to do other than sit there and admire her until she finally motioned for me to sit on the table.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Fuck me until I pass out” came to mind, but I reminded myself of my purpose for being here and replied, “I really dig your artwork. I don’t have a specific design in mind, though. Perhaps you can do something freestyle, along the lines of a tribal design.”

  She stood there and looked me up and down for a few seconds. I realized that she’d probably had a thousand clients who didn’t know what the hell they wanted, and here I was—another one. I longed not to be lumped into that crowd. After a pause, she crossed her arms and said, “Well, I could, but it’s better if you choose a design; that way there’s no misunderstanding. Know what I mean?”

  I nodded, catching the glint in her mouth and seeing that she had the tip of her tongue pierced with a small hoop through it. “I understand,” I said. “I’d be willing to sign something just so we don’t have any problem. I trust your artistic ability.”

  She laughed and said, “Well, there’s no need for the signature. Let me just get a few specifics. Where do you want the tat?”

  “Here,” I said, touching the right side of my groin.

  “I’ll have to shave you.” I could swear she smirked when she said that.

  “I’m already shaved. Completely.”

  Her eyebrows shot upward, then she asked, “How big do you want it?”

  Again, my brain was going to the gutter, but I kept it cool and replied, “About two inches around.”

  “Something like this?” She pulled a page from a book and brought it over to me, showing me a tribal design encased in an octagon. As I studied the design, I couldn’t help but look at her glorious cleavage, now mere inches from my face. It took all my willpower not to lean over and lick her, but I got myself together and told her that the design was perfect.

  She stood and shut the door. “I’m going to need you to remove your shorts and panties.”

  “Okay,” I said, in a shaky voice. Did I mention that I hate the sting of the needle? I was also having some weird conflict between that and feeling excited at the same time. Not to mention Gia’s energy was full of sexuality, and her hands were soon going to be on my half-naked body.

  As I undressed, she turned her back to me, fiddling with things on the table. When I had everything off from the waist down, I sat on the table, put my hands in my lap, and said, “I’m ready.”

  She turned around, allowing her gaze to travel over my bare legs. “Lie back. That’ll keep the skin taut, and it’ll make it easier for me to work on you.”

  Oh, I wanted her to work on me all right. I eased myself backward. The table was cushioned with padded leather and a disposable paper cover, so it was soft and comfortable. The reclined position allowed me to see what she was doing, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to, given my fear of needles. As I tried to get my nerves under control, her voice startled me, causing me to jump slightly.

  “I’m going to clean the area with alcohol. Sorry for the cold.”

  Even though she had warned me, I jumped when I felt the spray hit my skin. She placed her warm hand on my abdomen and said “Easy” in a low voice, and that turned my arousal up a notch. This is not the state I wanted to be in. I wanted to be relaxed, not anxious and aroused. I tried to focus on anything but her hand, which was so close to my pussy that I wanted to scream, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I secretly wanted her to touch me there. But she was all business and seemed not to notice anything out of the ordinary as she wiped my skin clean with a sterile gauze pad.

  Then I heard the buzz of the gun, and all thoughts of anything sexual disappeared in an instant. I tried to calm myself by breathing slowly and thinking about warm, tropical places and sandy beaches. I reminded myself about how happy I’d be when this was all over. I would be sporting a gorgeous new tattoo. It was a nice idea, but I bit my lip anyway, bracing against the pain.

  As Gia worked on me, she kept moving her hand to different areas on my body, trying to get the best angle. I felt her fingers move from my abdomen, to my thigh, to my hip, and although I know she didn’t do this for any purpose other than her work, it was turning me on like crazy. I tried to use this as a distraction from the pain. I pulled my focus together, thinking only of her hand. No more thoughts of that annoying sting that kept biting me. Although my arousal was intensifying, I kept reminding myself that her touch was not for this purpose. But when she placed her hand just above my pussy to pull the skin taut, I couldn’t help but moan and arch my hips slightly. She looked up at me then and said, “Everything okay?”

  I could feel my cheeks turning red, as I answered, “Yes, sorry.”

  She smiled and said, “If you need a break, just let me know. Otherwise, I really need you to keep still.”

  She had no idea how difficult that was proving to be, but I nodded anyway and forced myself to relax. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, keeping my inhales and exhales steady and even, trying to forget the now insistent throb in my pussy.

  As I began to finally reach a state of calm, her voice brought me slamming back to the present when she said, “You’re wet.”

  My eyes flew open and I looked at her while she stared into my eyes, and then glanced down at my center of arousal. I was so embarrassed I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. Instead, I lay there mortified, my face turning fifteen shades of red.

  “Do you like the sting of the needle?” she asked, running her finger lightly between my pussy lips. “Is that why you’re so wet?”

  I shook my head no, still unable to speak.

  “You could have fooled me,” she said as she dipped her finger in and pressed lightly on my clit.

  “Oh fuck,” I moaned, finding my voice and arching my hips toward her.

  She put the tattoo gun down and ran her hands slowly upward, over my stomach, then back down over my thi
ghs. “You have great skin,” she said, pushing my legs apart. Her voice was like liquid silk; I could have listened to it all day. I gladly let her spread my legs. “That’s it, let me open you up,” she said, using her fingers to part my swollen lips. At first, I thought I was going to come just from watching her touch me, but when she leaned down and let the tip of her tongue glide over my pussy, I felt as though I was going to pass out.

  As I lay there moaning and panting, I suddenly wondered if anyone else could hear me. Realizing they probably could, I tried to be quiet, but when she eased two fingers into my cunt, I gasped and moaned even louder.

  “Sh,” she said, coaxing me to be quiet as she continued to trace my clit with her tongue. Her touch was so light, I thrust upward to try to get more, but she said, “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to spank you.”

  I looked at her with an amused smile, but honestly I couldn’t tell if she was serious or kidding. I thrust upward once more, and she surprised me by giving my pussy a quick, stinging slap.

  I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do. I lay there rigid and unsure of whether to give in to my arousal or get the hell out of there as fast as I could. No, it was too soon to give up, I decided. I wanted to see where she was going to take me.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I answered, hoping that would signal to her that I wanted to continue.

  “Good girl,” she said as she continued to play for several glorious minutes, her fingers in my cunt and her tongue on my clit.

  “You’re so wet,” she said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that you do like the sting. Perhaps not from the needle but from something more intimate, like my hand. What do you think? Should we experiment a little?”

  I whimpered, not sure which way to go, but she made my mind up for me by giving my pussy a little tap. That didn’t hurt at all. In fact, the pressure felt pretty good, if only for a moment. I wanted more and started to thrust upward, but then remembered she didn’t like that and quickly stopped myself.

  “Ah, you’re learning. That’s very good.”

  She continued to administer quick slaps, a little harder each time and with a little more frequency. The more she spanked my pussy, the more aroused I got, and eventually I didn’t even mind that the slaps were getting harder. Finally, I couldn’t control my body anymore, I had to move. I started thrusting my hips gently in time with her hand, and she let me. At one point she pushed my legs apart, and the effect of her bare-hand spanking my open pussy was almost too much to take. Each time her hand came down on me, she hesitated momentarily, keeping her hand there, putting pressure on my clit for a prolonged moment. I knew it was only a matter of seconds and I wouldn’t be able to hold off any longer. Then she bent down and bit my clit gently, pulling with her teeth, and that was all I could take. I gripped the table, clenched my jaw shut, and came in her mouth while three of her fingers deliciously fucked me.

  I collapsed against the table, exhausted. After a few moments, I forced my eyes to focus and looked at her with a mixture of relief and surprise.

  She winked at me and said, “Welcome back. That was amazing, but I need to finish you off now.”

  I gave a short laugh and said, “I think you just did.”

  “No, I mean your tattoo. It isn’t finished yet.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied, suddenly aware that I wasn’t feeling any pain.

  NO SUBSTITUTE FOR EXPERIENCE

  James Walton Langolf

  Ryan doesn’t realize how much he wants to hurt Julia until she lays the strap across his palm.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I want you to.”

  Even then he is thinking about his mother, the stern look on her face when he’d step out of line. She didn’t have to lay a hand on him. The look was enough.

  Julia has a look, too. This one thrown back over her shoulder, casual as a pinch of salt for luck. Ryan can almost meet her eyes.

  “I can’t,” he answers, but he knows it isn’t true.

  She takes the trailing end of the belt and brushes the leather against his cheek.

  “Why do you keep coming here?” she asks.

  He feels his cock throbbing against the zipper of his jeans, and he can’t suppress a grin. “Is that a trick question?”

  A flick of her wrist and the belt snaps against his skin. He cries out, more in surprise than pain. “Jesus, Julia. What do you want me to say?”

  It’s always this way with her. He never knows the rules. Sometimes she doesn’t speak to him at all, fixes her gaze on a point somewhere over his shoulder while she writhes on the floor. On these days he wonders if maybe he’s a ghost. Maybe she’s been touching him all along, but her hands just slip right on through with nothing to connect to. All he needs now are some chains to rattle, or maybe he’s already wearing those, too.

  “Nothing,” she says. The belt drops from her hands, useless at her feet. She turns toward the window. The blinds are up, and the field behind her house is drifted white. The sun is setting, and the honey-colored light reflected off the snow turns her bare skin to gold. She cocks her head to the side as if listening to the sound of the icicles melting from the roof, and the angle of her neck seems to draw his teeth. He sets his jaw and waits for her to speak again.

  Her curly black hair is cropped short, leaving her skin naked and vulnerable. Tattoo vines snake across the small of her back, blood dripping from the thorns. Ryan moves to touch her but stops before he reaches her skin. He wonders what it would feel like. Her actual flesh. Would it be warm? Smooth? Like silk laid out in the sun? Or cool and hard like pearls at the deep dark bottom of the sea where the sunlight never penetrates.

  “Julia,” he says, and his voice scrapes in his throat.

  She won’t turn back to face him, and still he doesn’t understand her. Doesn’t understand himself. Ryan is only nineteen and she’s older. Maybe forty. Maybe a year or two younger and just tired, but she carries it well.

  When Julia asked him why he was here, he’d laughed, but it’s a valid question.

  She’d come into the store nearly a month ago. He remembers it was slow, the summer people long gone. There hadn’t been a customer all night. Her short denim skirt was frayed at the hem, and her top was made of some filmy purple fabric that looked like a silk scarf tied at the back of her neck.

  She wore too much lipstick and mascara, and both were smeared prettily on her freckled cheeks. Wrinkles deep as scars creased the corners of her eyes when she smiled. Her hair was snarled and tangled like she’d just rolled out of bed. Ryan imagined her sheets still wet.

  He watched her move through the store, aimless but graceful, like she’d forgotten what she’d come in for but knew she’d remember when she saw it. Then she turned and stretched to reach a bottle of tequila on a shelf above her head, and Ryan saw the red stripes running up the back of her legs, peeking from under her shirt as the fabric rode up on her back.

  She’d heard his sudden inhalation.

  “A hickory switch,” she’d said, and he couldn’t even answer, just stood there and gaped. Julia got her bottle, twisted off the top, and drank deep. It wasn’t allowed and she hadn’t paid, but Ryan didn’t say anything.

  It was late and he needed to close up, but Julia didn’t leave. She’d followed him around the store as he straightened shelves and swept, as he mopped, watching him with eyes so dark blue they were nearly violet.

  They must have talked some, but he couldn’t remember what they said.

  She’d sat on the counter with her ankles crossed while he counted out his drawer. The finger-shaped bruises on her thighs distracted him so he had to count the dimes twice.

  “Do you want to know why?” Julia had asked. Her bones looked fragile as spun sugar. She was the kind of woman anyone would want to protect.

  Ryan had said no, but he was already nodding his head. He’d flushed a deep and searing red. Julia had laughed out loud, and Ryan felt the sound inside his skin like the rushing of his own blood. That was when her fingers fo
und his belt. He wanted to stop her, but he was afraid if he touched her, he’d be the one to break.

  “Wait,” he’d said.

  “Have you ever?” was how she’d answered, her thumbs through his loops.

  “No.”

  She’d laughed again, and this time her mockery gave the sound rough texture and sharp edges. His fingers, clenched into fists, were already starting to ache.

  She hadn’t even told him her name yet, and already he wanted to shatter her just to see her put back together again. She was excited too. He could hear it in her voice, see the way her skin had flushed, the way her nipples thrust against the thin fabric of her shirt.

  Ryan had taken a step toward her and Julia had stepped back, hands up, palms out—in defense or surrender he couldn’t be sure. Her eyes still laughed at him.

  “Easy, baby boy,” she’d said, trying to draw blood.

  The beer sign lights flashed on and off across her skin as she’d dropped to her knees. The buckled linoleum must have dug into her, but she’d looked up at him, eyes wide, mouth just open.

  She’d untied her top at the neck and let it fall. Silver rings ran through each dark pink nipple. The flesh around them was raw and red. Ryan swayed on his feet, and she’d slipped her two little fingers through the hoops and tugged.

  “You like that?” Julia had asked.

  He’d said nothing and she’d pulled harder, stretching the skin tight and white and shiny. The expression on her face, something like prayer, something painted in watercolor, sketched in charcoal. She was that beautiful.

  She’d rocked back and forth on her heels, tugging her nipples. A tiny pink wedge of tongue poked from one corner of her mouth as she made a noise deep in her throat like something caught and desperate. Still, it was her eyes that had held him in place.

  “Stop. Stop. Please, lady. You have to stop.”