Black Journal Ch. 23

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Part 24 of the 29 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 07/05/2014
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Duncan Cyrus, age 26, Artist

It was time for me to take a step. A risk that I should have indulged in my teens. That step of rebellion against the regime of parents and authority figures. That's right, I wanted to get a tattoo. Ok, I lied. I was convinced or conned to get one. Remember the high school, Asian girl, ok, her name was Meifeng. She preferred just Mei, but I have a compulsion for full government names. Especially the ones when big girls are embarrassed of them.

Anyway, we had been chatting, and still no sex. Which didn't bother me. It's funny, most dudes I know get their damn tighty-whities in a jock itch bunch because they seem to waste time talking to a female and don't get the drawls. Not me, I was still trying to get Meifeng to confess to the internet vid. So my birthday had come up and she took me out to dinner. I had steak, shrimp, lobster, potatoes, mushrooms, greens, roll, and a green apple lemonade. I was satisfied beyond measure that night.

Meifeng thought differently. She drove me to a tattoo parlor. The place was very nice looking. It looked and smelled sterilized. I wasn't getting a tat but Meifeng did. She wanted me to watch. She had already had two tattoos across her upper back. It was just the meaning of her name, BEAUTIFUL WIND, in a very sexy font. That night she was getting something on her butt. Yes, I watched and hated the fact some dude was touching her soul-damning back door. She giggled and talked to me as the needle entered her flesh.

My mind was too preoccupied seeing her bare-ass cheeks stiffen and loosen. She knew it was torture for me because she had found out I am an ass-man. She had gotten a Cerberus made. It had a wolf, a panther, and a dragon's head. She had a friend draw it for her. I then spent the rest of the night properly applying ointment to her art.

Also, getting talked into having one done on me. I was more than a little skeptical. First, I had to know what I wanted. That took all of an hour. I went with a FEMO design I had created. It had an evil side and a good side. So I cut it in half - evil on the left, good on the right. I showed it to Meifeng and she liked it. She regretted to inform me she wouldn't be able to be there with me when it gets done. Something about a wedding or other.

The parlor I chose wasn't the one she went to. Funny thing is my dad went to the place. He showed me his back. It was a tapestry of names. He said it was my mom's name in different languages. So I made an appointment with the artist. It was to be some guy named Harley, but it was actually this sweet, succulent top-heavy, long haired, bbw Hispanic girl. She had piercings: nose ring, lip ring, but nothing too outrageous. Surprisingly, she didn't have a lot of tattoos herself. She told me she is very particular about her body. She showed me her art work and I was sold.

I set an appointment for the upcoming weekend. I showed her the drawing and she was impressed by it. By midweek she had informed me she drew up the sketch. I went over after work to check it out. She had added some extra features which I was fine with.

Saturday came and I was sitting in a chair with my arm draped over a cushioned arm easel. Now Harley that day decided to wear these cut up shorts, obviously self-made; with a buttoned up shirt, and a push up bra. So yeah, jaw dropping vision that day. She spoke just as sweet and sultry as she looked. So sitting through these two tattoos was definitely a new and painful experience. I will admit I had to take breaks. Deep breathing, and she laughed at me.

When she talked she spoke about her life in tattooing. She wasn't even into tattoos until her first one. As she spoke I watched her mouth move. The searing pain seemed to go away but there was still the scraping and the stabbing. I handled it ok. When I switched arms she walked over to my other side in front of me. I mouthed a wow silently as her keister went by. Almost could see ass cheek, almost. She sat down on the stool all lady-like. I raised my eyebrows due to arousal. Was that a part of her process when gave tattoos? If it was I wanted to get more tats for this reason alone.

Still, she remained professional and I sat there preparing myself for the second round. As she was in the middle of the second half she thanked me for being a gentleman. I guess other dudes tried to hit on her. First off, she has a weapon at her disposal. I am not pissing her off. So if my dick gets blue balls, it'll go down with the proper "before bedtime care". And second, tats cost a lot of money. So if dressing like she does and giving me a platonic showing of her body that also keeps her calm and confident, then so be it. I thanked her back for telling me about her life.

When she finished I looked into a mirror. Very well made indeed. She covered them and she had lost height. I guess I didn't notice she wore heels. She looked up at me with those deep dark eyes of hers. She patted the parlor chair and closed a curtain around us. I had sat down and then she crawled on top of me. I was so surprised because there were others in the shop. She warned me not to bend my arms and to keep them still.

She planted her lips onto mine. We smacked like we chewed bubble gum. She kissed and rocked as the friction between our crotches grew steadily. Faster, faster, and rhythmically she moved. She moaned a little every time she headed downward. Her warm cinnamon breath tasted so good. Luckily the music was loud. My hands itched to grab her bottom and rub with all my might. It was torture and I had to listen to doctor's order.

She was coming close to releasing because her moaning had become a little more ragged. I tried adding in a rotation with my hips but it was hard to get a skill down packed in jeans. She immediately stopped and I asked what was wrong. She assured me it was part of the session. A denial fetish. The highest number she had was twenty. You know - you reach the apex and then you slow yourself down and then coax yourself back down to an unaroused state. She climbed off of me. Yup, blue balls and sore arms were my rewards that night.

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