Some say, ‘From pain comes wisdom,’ but Megan had endured a lot over the past weeks and felt no wiser. Her boyfriend left her and it had hollowed out her soul. When she pushed through the door and rang the bell at Trader Dan’s, she was hoping to put a bullet in her old life and thumb her nose at the jackass who left her behind.
And Trader Dan’s is just such a place; where souls are bared, pain will be endured, and whatever healing occurs will be everlasting.
As she settled into the proprietor’s chair with the tools of the trade laid out neatly on a small table nearby, Trader Dan’s resonant voice filled her ears with a tale from another age. It seemed charming but odd to her. Perhaps it was just his effort to entertain his clients or calm frazzled nerves. Regardless, Megan found herself drifting back in time while the man gave her ‘wisdom,’ prick by prick.
“Meijuan sang like an angel, and from a very young age her voice would echo in the cavernous St. Ignatius Cathedral in Shanghai. Although she never really understood the words she had memorized, her performance of “Ave Maria” on special Sundays brought converts from high born Chinese and peasants alike. But she had even no such stature, because she was the illegitimate child of a visiting American Bishop and an ethnic Mongol housekeeper. She had become a permanent ward of church at birth.”
The tattooist paused his story to dip his needle in an ink cup, and Megan watched as another inch of her skin disappeared under deep indigo before he continued.
“She grew up to be a beauty too, a stunning mix of Asian and western features would make her seem a native in the Beijing, Lisbon or even Seattle. As she came of age, the good sisters of the St. Ignatius orphanage knew they had a problem. They knew her voice and exotic look would draw unwelcome attention from men no matter how well they kept her cloistered away. Then, sure enough, on a rare cold day with snow falling in the city center, she was stolen away by a wealthy Chinese landlord and hidden in a town, far from the coast.”
Megan pressed her head back into the rest and concentrated on the ceiling as the tattooist stretched the skin of her breast with his fingers, driving in colored ink with a circular motion. It had been like a hundred bee stings at first, but now her skin just ached, doggedly accepting his touch. She closed her eyes and imagined lost innocence and a stolen life. The tattooist’s story resonated with her.
“So, what happened to her?” she asked.
The tattooist glanced up from his work on Megan and nodded thoughtfully. He said, “Well, at first she resisted, but he marked her with blue birds on her breast to announce his ownership of her– for anyone who might see. For a time she was content as a concubine, playing the Pipa and singing in a Xian tea house to earn her keep.”
He paused, and the tattoo machine went silent. “But then everything changed,” he said.
“And?” urged Megan.
“And, I think that’s all I can do tonight,” said the tattooist. “Would you like to see?” he asked as he held up a hand mirror. Megan was distracted and surprised that the session had ended so abruptly. She took the mirror and examined the birds cavorting on her left tit, from her collar bone to her nipple. The tattooist reached over and wiped away traces of blood that still oozed from her skin.
“I love it!” said Megan as stepped off of the barber chair. The modesty towel fell away in her haste, and she she stood viewing her body in the full length mirror wearing only her panties. She’d really only intended to get a small tattoo on the back of her shoulder, but this seemed much bolder and more defiant. Like it or not, it was hers now, and only hers, forever. Tempted to touch it, she reached her fingers to her chest, only to be stopped by the ‘tut-tutting’ of the tattoo artist.
Megan glanced at him watching her in the mirror. Was it too soon? She’d just had a bad breakup from a long relationship and should be reluctant to chase another wild hare. She asked slyly, “So, is that what it means? Do you own me now?”
He grinned and shook his head, “No, more correctly, you own a piece of me.”
Megan felt a stirring in her gut as she watched his eyes roaming her body, a stirring she’d felt off-and-on throughout the tattoo process. She turned excitedly and presented herself, hopping on her toes in a way that made her boobs bounce.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Beautiful!” he said, chuckling.
Megan silently hoped he would make a move, but she waited patiently as the tattoo artist applied antiseptic and a protective covering. As he pressed the last piece of tape on her chest and over her shoulder, Megan raised her eyes to his and that simmering lust rose to a boil. Their lips were inches apart but neither moved closer. Their eyes were frozen and fixed on each other.
The artist blinked first and they both turned away.
“Get outta here!” said Aubrey, Megan’s girlfriend, incredulously.
The two were sitting face to face at a two-top in a coffee shop and Megan had just given Aubrey a peek at her new body art.
“Show me again,” insisted Aubrey, who leaned even further across the table.
Megan looked around carefully to make sure no one else was watching and quickly wrenched her shirt collar to the side, exposing more of the tattoo. After a few moments and a whistle from her girlfriend, she covered up.
“Wow, that’s bad-ass, girl!” said Aubrey appreciatively. “Who… er… where did you get it done?”
“Oh, at ‘Trader Dan’s'” said Megan, “And, I’m not even sure that’s his real name. I guess it’s Dan.”
“You let some guy tattoo your boob, and you don’t know his name?” asked Aubrey.
Rather than answer, Megan swiped on her cell phone and laid it on the table. It was a selfie Megan had taken with her tattoo artist at his shop.
“Hubba, hubba!” exclaimed Aubrey.
Megan smiled. Aubrey had just affirmed the feelings swirling through her brain over the last few days. She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes, imagining where and how soon she would get her next ink. She’d found a man with good looks and taste, someone she trusted. The thought of committing, submitting to him didn’t concern her. In fact it bubbled up a hunger in her like the savory aroma of rosemary from a pot of homemade stew.
“What will Gabe think?” asked Aubrey.
At the sound of her ex boyfriend’s name, Megan’s face went blank and her pleasant musing disappeared.
“Fuck him,” said Megan flatly, “We aren’t seeing each other any more.”
“Oh,” said Aubrey, flustered, “I didn’t know…”
“He suggested we take a break. We argued, and I lost. I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s gotta a thing going with someone else, maybe someone he works with,” said Megan with a reproach.
“But, you were so good together,” objected Aubrey.
Megan closed her eyes again briefly, recalling her life Gabe and said, “We were. I really felt good about building a life with him, getting married, starting a family… Hell, he was even good in bed. But HE disrupted that, and… it hurts. I don’t know how I can trust him now, or ever again.”
Aubrey’s brow creased, “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back. I know he’ll want you back. What will you do?”
“We’ll see,” said Megan, eyeing her friend. Aubrey seemed to have a curious concern for Gabe, but it didn’t matter. Could her ex have a place in her life now? Doubtful. She found herself profoundly indifferent to the prospect.
Megan slipped her fingers into her blouse and touched her tattoo idly. She had sampled an appetizer at a banquet, and it had only made her hungry for the main course. And her stomach was growling now. It was time to make another appointment.
“So, you see,” continued the tattoo artist, “The drought caused many to starve and triggered a revolution, pitting the peasants against artists, academics and the wealthy, who were painted as lazy elites. These ‘others’ were blamed for crop failures and mass death, because they didn’t work the fields. Meijuan found herself in an impossible and dangerous situation.”
“Ow!” shouted Megan. A sharp pain sent a ripple through her body, causing her to contract away from the tattoo machine and the artist’s hand. The artist swabbed her skin with a damp paper towel. He had been working on a new area above and over her hip, outlining a larger piece.
“Shh. Shh. You’re OK now. The worst is over. Let it pass. Listen to my voice. Concentrate on my voice and that will help you through it,” he said.
Megan closed her eyes to better focus on his soothing words. Her pain faded and she felt only ache where he continued to work, as her body produced exactly the right chemicals to mute the needle’s effect. Even the buzzing of his tattoo machine seemed to fade into the background as he continued his story.
“Meijuan hid in an outbuilding while her master was dragged into the street and beaten by young thugs. He was stripped, shackled and hauled away to work in the fields as a peasant. For the crime of being a successful landlord, his property was forfeited to the state. Fearing her own fate, and having a home no longer, she imagined a disguise that would allow her to pass for a low-born worker. She scraped her fingers across the the earthen floor of the hut, and covered her face and arms with dirt.”
The artist paused to examine the large goggle-eyed chameleon that now graced Megan’s thigh. It clutched a leafy branch that extended onto her butt. When complete, the green lizard’s tongue would arch onto her stomach and encircle an unsuspecting blue maiden fly perched over her hip.
“She was a clever girl, then.” offered Megan.
“Yes, clever like a fox.” agreed Dan. The tattoo artist took Megan’s knee and drew it gently upward, to view the tattoo from a different angle. Megan followed his lead, rolled from her side onto her back and allowed her legs to part wide, leaving her exposed and tempting. She stared at the man and he stared back, each willing the other to make the next move. The artist turned away and Megan could feel her heart sinking. She felt self-conscious, but before she could cover herself, the man turned back around. He had set his tattoo machine down and was removing his gloves.
The tattoo artist pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a mass of indelible color in forms too numerous to count. There was a predominant dragon though, peeking over his sternum, partly obscured by thick dark hair that had been allowed to grow out. Megan felt a thumping in her chest as he knelt between her legs. She could feel his breath on her skin and could just see his eyes were crinkled in a smile, but she didn’t need to see his mouth.
His tongue was already making her jump and sending joyful energy through her body.
“Um, hello, Megan,” said Gabe on the voice message, “It’s me again. I’d really like to see you. You know, maybe pick things up where we left them? Uh, please call me when you get this. I, uh, miss you a lot. OK, bye.”
“Fat chance.” said Megan as she punched the delete icon.
Megan tossed her phone on the bedside table and stretched herself out on the coverlet with her arms crossed behind her head. Gabe was an asshole; wealthy, but an asshole just the same. She’d ignored his phone calls, and over the past months had grown more and more indifferent. He was past, and she was walking into a more exciting future.
She pulled down her gym shorts and rolled her hip over to get a better look at the most recent work Dan had done on her. The tattoo artist was a surprise. She expected his creativity, artistic precision, and even his masculine lust, but the prick of his needle and his satisfying voice were somehow bonding them. It was like they were conspiring together to make a richer life. Every inch of her body he claimed became a milestone of empowerment for her and one of seeming devotion from him.
Megan’s cell phone started making an odd but familiar sound. She fumbled around on the night stand, picked up the phone, and looked for the caller ID, but it was a Skype call, and the profile was blank. How long has it been since she used Skype? Maybe it was one of her old school friends trying to reconnect. Curiosity got the best of her, and she accepted the call.
It was Gabe! His face filled the screen.
“Hi, Megan! It’s me!” said Gabe redundantly. His hair was slicked back, and the distortion of his phone’s camera made his teeth look horsey and his ears tiny.
Megan hunched forward. Her hair was disheveled and she was wearing only a thin crew-neck t-shirt. She dearly hoped that was all he could see.
“Hey, you look ready for bed! Do you want me to come over?” he asked cheekily.
“Gabe! What are you doing?” pleaded Megan.
“Doing? Haven’t you been getting my messages?” he asked.
“I did and I…” Megan began.
“So, you know I want to get back together.” he interrupted, “I musta been crazy to suggest we -er- pause our commitment to each other. So, that’s behind us now and I…,”
Megan stopped him. “Gabe, we never had a commitment! No ring, no engagement, no commitment.”
“Well, yeah but…” said Gabe.
“Shit, Gabe! YOU walked away!” shouted Megan. She paused to pull her nerves back from the cliff.
“Hey, did you get some new lingerie?” said Gabe incongruously. “I mean, I think I see something frilly through that t-shirt.”
“No Gabe!” shouted Megan. “Just stop it. I don’t want to see you anymore!”
“I know you don’t mean that,” said Gabe. “Listen, I’ll come by tomorrow and…”
Megan punched the red dot to drop the call and let out a long breath. Before Gabe could call back she blocked his profile. God, that was miserable. Gabe was so far out of her circle now, she couldn’t imagine how she could ever have gotten drawn into his frivolous, consumptive lifestyle. He would never, ever understand what she was becoming.
What Gabe really needed was a good smacking. Alarmed by that thought and her rapid heartbeat, she summoned up a practice her tattooist had taught her, one that Meijuan used on her trip across China. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and focused her mind on Dan’s touch and the melodic temper of his voice. Her heartbeat slowed, her breathing became shallow.
Fifteen minutes passed as moments. When Megan opened her eyes, she felt no anger, felt no fear. She was clear-headed and knew exactly what she needed to do.
She called Trader Dan.
“Dan, honey,” she said. “I need a session with you tomorrow. I mean early-early, and all day.”
She paused, listening to his response.
She giggled at his reply and said, “That’s great. See you then!”
“Tell me some more about the dirty faced girl,” suggested Megan.
Dan grinned, dipped his needle and continued tattooing while he spoke.
“With no money and no family, Meijuan survived by pulling up vegetables from garden plots in the middle of the night, and stealing steamed buns from distracted street vendors. Occasionally she traded sexual favors for food or lodging. One thing she had learned from her time as a concubine was that men could be motivated and controlled with her body. It was a skill that she had mastered like you would with any martial art. She lived by her wits as she worked her way south, through a countryside devolving in civil war.”
The artist paused. It was long enough to catch Megan’s attention, so she opened her eyes and watched him. Dan glanced at her, looked at her body stretched out before him and then turned to face her. His eyes were intense.
“Megan,” he said, “Your tattoos should never see sunlight. I want your body covered when you are outside. No more bikinis. No more short shorts. No tank tops. Sun damages the work.”
Startled, Megan asked, “You mean, until they heal?”
“No,” said Dan. “I mean forever.”
It wasn’t a promise he was asking for. It wasn’t a suggestion. Megan was being commanded by a willful man with vision of them together, a future time when she would disrobe and he could enjoy her body with no sun-faded, bluish blotches of color. It was a small but practical command, yet was a turning point in their relationship.
“Yes, Dan.” Megan said, her head bobbing earnestly, “I understand and will do what you say.”
The tattoo artist nodded and continued his work. The needle bit into the skin of her stomach, leaving thin indelible lines from under her breasts to her pubic mound. He only paused when Megan clenched or shuddered from the pain.
Perhaps sensing Megan was distracted by her thoughts Dan spoke no more until his hand started cramping and he set the hot machine down. Megan rocked up on her elbows and watched him methodically disassemble his equipment and dispose of spent cups and paper. Finally, he turned back and swabbed the tattooed area across her belly and applied bandages. He said grinning, “So… I think no sex till this heals.”
Megan curled forward, grasped his head with her hands and kissed him deeply. Releasing him for air, she said, “Oh? Is that so?”
She pushed Dan back, slipped forward and stood naked before him. When he rose from his stool, she grasped his belt buckle and pulled it open. The girl held his gaze as she slipped his pants over his hips, and then followed them down to a kneeling position. As she drew his helmeted cock into her mouth, she turned her eyes up once more to watch his pleasant, placid face turn to ecstasy.
“Girl, it’s been MONTHS! Where have you been keeping yourself?” asked Aubrey.
Megan smiled and said, “Well, I guess I’ve been busy.”
“Nah, come on! I’ve been inviting you over for pool days, but you haven’t made one. Now the summer is almost over. So what gives?” asked Aubrey.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I haven’t been a very good friend, have I?” said Megan
“What’s got you so distracted? asked Aubrey, “You’re not the old Megan I used to know.”
Megan’s face became resolute as she said, “No… I’m not.” But how should she explain just how different she’d become? She twisted in her chair and pulled open her sun dress at the knees, exposing her right thigh. Aubrey gasped at the maelstrom of color that roiled up her leg and disappeared under the dress. The girl impulsively reached out to touch it.
Not wanting to attract any more attention in the coffee shop, Megan pulled her dress together and covered herself again. Aubrey’s hand hovered between them as she managed to say, “Oh my God. That is… dead sexy.”
Megan laughed. She watched a sheen of sweat appear on unflappable Aubrey’s forehead. She could almost sense her girlfriend’s heart beat faster as a vicarious thrill passed through her. Yes, Aubrey got it.
Aubrey took a long pull of her iced Chai Latte staring at Megan’s now-covered leg– till all the tea was gone, and her straw made a chattering, sucking noise among the cubes at the bottom of her plastic cup. “I think I gotta meet this guy,” she stammered, “What’s his name? Don? Dan?”
Megan leaned forward and covered her friend’s hand with hers and smiled. “Yes, Dan.” she said, “And I would love for you to meet him. I want you to understand, though, that I haven’t been avoiding you. It’s just that, well, there will be no more pool days for me.”
Aubrey nodded solemnly, then her face brightened. “Tell me more. C’mon. Dish!”
Chuckling at Aubrey’s enthusiasm, Megan settled back in her chair and said, “Well, you know he’s good looking and you can see he’s talented.” Aubrey nodded. “And, he’s a story teller,” Megan continued, “He’s telling a story with the artwork on my body, and he’s distracting me from the pain with a heroic tale of another woman’s struggle to find love and happiness.”
Aubrey asked, “Really? Who was that?”
Megan shrugged and said, “A Chinese woman, a long time ago. In our last session, She’d finally made it to Macau and got a job as a singer in a harbor-front night club. But, it was there she met a Portuguese guy and…” She stopped realizing Aubrey’s eyes were glazing over.
“OK, I know, it’s like a cheap soap opera that I just can’t stop watching. I guess I have become as addicted to his voice as his tattoo needle.” admitted Megan.
Aubrey sighed wistfully and asked, “So… when can I meet this guy?”
“Well, would you like to go to Vegas with us?” asked Megan brightly, “There is a tattoo convention out there in the fall. It would be fun to have you along.”
“Oh, absolutely!” gushed Aubrey. “I am soooo there!”
Megan watched the enthusiasm fade from Aubrey’s face. She seemed fixated on Megan’s leg and her expression became more wanton, more envious. She smiled to herself because she recognized that look. Her friend was well on her way– past passion and onto obsession.
“Meijuan and Alberto married in Macau and lived for a time in a small room by the docks. Refugees were pouring into the city and the Portuguese were rapidly losing control, because they had other problems with insurgence at home. Meijuan and her man decided to leave. Neither had a home country that was safe to retreat to so Alberto secreted his wife in a storage area below deck, on a steam ship he was working. It was bound for America with trade goods and spices,” said Dan as his hands and needles relentlessly worked across Megan’s back.
“Poor girl,” said Megan “She must have been really scared.”
Dan nodded, “Yes. The trip took weeks, and she was trapped in a damp metal compartment that reeked of fuel oil and rotted fish. Had she been found, it is likely she would have been thrown overboard. Such was the treatment for Asian stowaways in those days.”
“Don’t you think she could have charmed the sailors, like she did in China?” asked Megan.
“No, the captain was notorious for his cruelty and bigotry. It was Albert’s love for her that kept her safe and fed during the trip. He told no one, because they couldn’t take the risk. It was critical the Meijuan stay hidden till the end,” said Dan.
The tattoo artist released his foot switch and the tattoo machine buzz stopped. He ran his gloved hand slowly over Megan’s back, from the nape of her neck to the dimples above her ass. The tattoo under his fingers was the most complex design he had done for her yet, and he was pleased that it was forming up on her body so well.
“How is it looking?” asked Megan. She had her arms scrunched under her to keep from flattening her boobs and her fists curled up by her chin with her head turned to the side. She couldn’t see his face as he bent over her, but she could feel his fingers lovingly trace the skin on her back.
“Megan,” Dan asked, “How comfortable are you being naked in public?”
“What???” said Megan, startled, as she jerked her head up.
Dan’s chuckle was reassuring. “Hehe. Well, we’re going to the tattoo convention in Las Vegas, you know,” he said.
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never been to one.” said Megan.
Dan paused and said, “Your back piece is really, really coming out good. I am entering you in contest at the convention.”
There it was again, a command, not a request, but Megan now felt an intrinsic connection with Dan from their sessions, and respected his need for recognition. Also, the thought of finally revealing herself to the world as a collector thrilled her. What better way than to pose naked for a thousand horny men with cameras?
“If you help me pick out clothes that are easy to put on… and take off,” said Megan, “I’ll do it.”
Megan walked through the hotel lobby, her heels clicking on its ornate polished floor. She wore an ankle length, form-fitting dress of sheer periwinkle fabric and a white jean jacket. A large tote bag swung at her side as she navigated the crowd clustered around the registration desk.
“Megan!” called a voice in the crowd.
Thinking it might have been Dan, who was checking them in, she turned and stopped dead in her tracks.
“Gabe! What are YOU doing here?” she asked.
Her old boyfriend stood awkwardly a few feet away. They were surrounded by a pandemonium of vacationers in holiday attire. Some already had tall, fruity drinks in their hands complete with paper umbrellas and very long plastic straws. Gabe may have been the only person for miles wearing a suit.
“I…I thought it was you…” he stammered. His eyes were drawn to Megan’s up-swept hairdo. In the time they had been together, he’d never known her to do anything so elegant with her hair. Mother would have approved.
“Gabe? What are you doing here?” Megan repeated.
Snapped from his reverie, Gabe said, “Oh, I’m here for a seminar, for, ah, business… My God! You look great!”
Megan couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you. I feel great.” she said. “It’s good to see you, too!” she lied.
Gabe moved a step closer, and said, “Say, since we’re both here… why don’t we get some drinks, to, you know, catch up?” He had that cheesy, horny expression that Megan hated so much.
“Sorry, Gabe. I’m here for a convention and I won’t have the time.” she said firmly.
At that moment, Dan stepped out of the crowd with two plastic key cards in his hand. “We’re all checked in, babe,” he said as he gave her a peck on the cheek.
A mischievous smile crept over Megan’s face as she watched Gabe’s face turn sour. She hooked her hand around Dan’s neck, pulled herself into him and kissed him full on the lips.
Not getting the brushoff message, Gabe’s face reddened. Then he noticed a tattoo rising over the collar of Dan’s black shirt. He said loudly, “Oh, so you’re hanging with tattooed bikers now, huh? Is this the freak you’ve been wasting time with?”
The cacophony of the crowd seemed to dim and passing hotel guests began forming a rough circle around the three of them, guessing a fist-fight was about to start.
Dan took a step forward and Megan could feel the muscles in his arms harden. She held him back and said, as cordially as she could muster, “Gabe, we’re here for the tattoo convention.” She nodded at a cardboard placard on a tripod in the lobby center, welcoming guests to the International Body Art Festival.
Gabe’s mouth hung open and he tugged his tie and collar open as if the fire lighting up his cheeks needed more air. “So, you’re here to see THAT show? Don’t tell me want to get a tattoo!” he shouted. “How could I take you back after that? Why would ANYONE want you if you’re tattooed like a street walker!”
The crowd, many there for the same convention, chimed in with a round if obscene catcalls and halfhearted boos.
“Who IS this guy?” asked Dan, suddenly becoming more aggressive. Megan stepped in front of him and said, “Let me handle this.”
She stood between the two men, faced Gabe and set her carryall on the ground. The crowd grew quiet to hear what she had to say. Even her ex-boyfriend quieted and straightened up.
“Gabe,” she began, as she removed her jacket and handed it to Dan, “You know we’ve been apart for a long time.”
“Yeah, but…” pleaded Gabe.
Megan held up her hand to silence him. She unbuttoned three buttons at the top of her dress, and making sure she had Gabe’s attention, and said, “Yet, you refuse to believe it’s over between us. I need to tell you, there will be no going back– not from this.” She waved her hand with a flourish, the birds on her chest came into view and Gabe’s jaw dropped.
Megan turned quickly to the tattoo artist and said, “I love you, Dan, more than I can say.” She kissed him again, pulled the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground.
A hush fell over the lobby as Megan’s exquisitely rendered back piece came into view. A very animated Chinese goddess of war and sex, riding a phoenix with cinnabar wings spread across Megan’s back. Among thunder clouds and nine-color trailing robes, she held aloft a sword to exact vengeance on those who would harm the innocent. A glowing pearl lit her placid white face and cherry lips as a reminder, she was, first and foremost, a sensual, sexual woman sent from heaven.
While the crowd fumbled with their cell phones to fire up video apps, Megan turned slowly to exhibit the extent of her tattoos. A fox curled around her right thigh, chasing small animals and insects that rose across her stomach. Scattered dragonflies morphed into birds as they swept up between her boobs, landing on her chest, and the artist had captured a chameleon on her left leg in mid transformation from flesh color to green.
It was all done in a rich neo-Asian style and the composition covered most of Megan’s back, torso and thighs.
After two turns, Megan faced Gabe again.
“So, dear Gabriel,” she said sympathetically, “I’m not here to see the show.” She paused and then added dramatically, “I AM the show.”
A cheer rose up from the crowd as dozens of fellow convention-goers muscled in closer to capture the event for posterity. Gabe was pelted with water bottles and drink cups as he was sucked back into the throng. Dan threw Megan’s jacket over her shoulders; and scooped up her dress and bag as he hustled her out of the lobby. “Honey,” he said with a grin, “I think that stunt just earned us a spot at the winner’s table.”
Aubrey popped her head out of a souvenir shop just off the lobby. She saw Dan and a giggling, half-naked Megan rush by, and called after them, “Hey, what’d I miss?”
On the morning after the convention, Dan was hunched over Megan again working between her legs. He found himself distracted by her breasts, one tattooed and one not, as they danced before him, teasing him to reach out and squeeze them. Megan, for her part, was stretched out, enjoying the adrenaline rush that coursed through her body as Dan’s tool pierced her over and over again. She marveled at the intensity and concentration on his face, knowing that was all for her. She was his muse. She was his canvas. She was his lover.
A rivulet of sweat rolled off of Dan’s forehead and shook from his brow when Megan suddenly convulsed and called out. She gripped his arm and said hoarsely, “No. Don’t stop.” Dan nodded curtly, knowing he was close to finishing. His brow furrow deepened and he redoubled his efforts. Megan spread her legs a little wider to give the tattoo artist better purchase, and he took full advantage of the opening, leveraging every scintilla of his being for the final strokes.
A few moments later, it was done. Dan collapsed beside Megan, exhausted from the marathon effort. His body pulsed with endorphins and he did finally pass his hand over her chest and grasp her tattooed boob, affectionately tweaking her nipple. Megan instinctively reached between her legs and her fingers found a small puddle of semen tangled in the short hair above her vagina.
“I’d like to find the guy who invented heart shaped tubs,” said Dan still catching his breath. “He’s a genius!”
Megan laughed and added, “Or the girl who invented satin sheets!” She sat up on the bed and looked around the room nodding, while Dan idly scratched her back.
“It was sure nice of the hotel to comp us the honeymoon suite,” she said.
“It was all you, babe,” said Dan as he rubbed the flat of his hand over her intricate tattoo. “You’re blowing up on social media, and I guarantee, there are thousands of guys out there today wishing they were me right now,” he chuckled.
Megan laid back next to Dan with her arm draped over his fuzzy belly. She wrinkled her nose and said, “No, silly, it was YOUR tattoo work that won best in show. I’m just proud to have been your canvas.”
Dan rolled up on his elbow and pressed his body into Megan’s. He kissed her and ran his hand down her side to her thigh. “I promise you,” he said, “You will always be my canvas. And, trust me, I have plenty more ideas…”
Megan drew her finger tips playfully over her tattooed fox and asked with faux sincerity, “Oh really? Do you have more stories of your grandmother to fill in the blank places on my skin?”
Surprised that Megan had figured out the truth about his source of inspiration, Dan’s eyes widened and he smiled sheepishly. Then, laughing, he said, “Have I told you about my grandfather yet?”
In a smaller room one floor down and at the end of the hall, Aubrey twisted around in front of a tall mirror eyeing the tiny bunny rabbit tattooed on her butt. It was about two inches square and sat high enough that it could be covered with a bikini but not a thong. She smiled remembering Dan’s considerate touch and the momentary pain as he injected ink under her fair skin. It really had not been as bad a she thought it would be. Of course, Megan was holding her hand and reassuring her through the whole process.
Aubrey decided she loved the cute little bunny and was really looking forward to showing it off at the pool back home.
As she pulled and prodded the skin around her tattoo, stretching it just to see it bounce back, she imagined how it would look if it were larger. Her heart beat a little faster at the thought of her butt cheek being covered in permanent color and then having the ink extended down her leg to her ankle. What would she put there? There were so many, SO many possibilities. What if she just let an artist pick a design for her? What if…?
Aubrey closed her eyes and reached between her legs as she dreamed of a handsome tattooist rescuing her from a life of groceries and tennis lessons. Her hand motion quickened as she considered how it would feel to be lying naked on a padded table, submitting to a man determined to tattoo her body from head… to toe.
Now, that’s a story we’d all love to hear.