The Three Graces Ch. 1

Chapter 1: Tattoo

The hostages were free from Tehran. The rescue attempt FUBAR, the politicians stepped in and made their greasy deals. Pillars of smoke rose into the desert sky in his dreams. He accelerated through the humid night air, down the dark stretch of road. The roar of the bike's exhaust echoed off the still, dark trees, moss hanging off their branches.

The lights of his destination appeared ahead on his left. He swung the bike into the gravel parking lot and rolled to a stop among several other machines. Loud country rock music spilled out into the parking lot. He kicked the kickstand, switched off the engine, lit a cigarette, and sat, listening to the music and the ticking of the engine as it cooled. Two buildings sat off the highway, the run down bar and a small tattoo parlor, its red neon sign blinking in the night.

Resigned, he flicked the butt, swung his leg over the machine, and headed for the light pouring from the door. Several drunk soldiers barged through the door as he climbed the steps and he stopped at the rail to let them pass as they staggered off to their cars.

The place was packed, as usual, several hundred soldiers and ten or fifteen local women, dancing or standing around. He was amazed at his luck when he wedged his way through the crowd, grabbed a vacated stool at the bar and ordered a PBR. By the third, he knew he should have gone to Houston.

"Sweet Home Alabama" blared from the speakers, accompanied by a chorus of drunken soldiers as he headed for the door. The night air was much better than the close confines of the bar. He was thinking he'd ride awhile when, abruptly, he headed for the tattoo parlor.

A wind chime jingled as he opened the screen door and he heard the buzzing of a tattoo in progress. A young woman, oriental, looked up from where she was working on a soldier's shoulder and regarded him quietly. He stopped in his tracks as the brown eyes held him, knowing he'd seen that look somewhere before.

"Are you OK?" she asked in a soft voice.

"I'm fine," He replied, and went to look at the designs covering the walls of the waiting area. She went back to her work.

The usual designs were there, eagles, panthers, bulldogs, roses, skulls and daggers, Pink Panthers, Tasmanian devils. He grabbed a book off the table and sat on the couch. A second book though, smaller than the others, had pictures of tattoos rather than the designs. Flowing dragons, intricate in their detail, coiled around arms and flowed across shoulders. Armored warriors struck menacing poses from bare skin, most men, some women. He turned the pages, stopping to study each picture carefully, until he turned a page and was hit by a bolt of lightning. There, done in black on a woman's back was the figure of a warrior in armor, holding a drawn sword, with the head of a wolf. Long black hair had been tied into a ponytail and ran down the center of her back to show off the tattoo for the photograph.

"Can I help you?" jarred him back to reality. The young woman stood looking down at him. They were alone in the shop, the soldier had left without him noticing. She had a ring through her lower lip and the ends of tattoos could be seen on her forearms, crawling out of the brown sweatsuit she wore. She was darkly tanned and light brown hair braided in pigtails hung shoulder length, strands escaping to frame her face.

"I think I know what you want," She said, as she took him by the hand and led him through the shop to a door in the back. The door opened into a small room. Tatami covered the floor with a mat in the corner. A small shrine was the only other furnishing in the room.

"Take off your shirt while I get ready." She motioned to the sleeping mat.

As he complied, she went to the shrine and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, revealing her body, covered in tattoos. A grinning dragon came over her shoulder to loll over upthrust breasts. She pulled off the bottoms and the rest of her was similarly clad. She knelt and struck a small bell. The tone reverberated through the room. Picking up a small ladle she poured water over her head and then slipped into a silk robe. Grabbing some small trays, she came over to the mat and knelt beside him, water dripping from her hair and beads standing on her partially exposed breasts.

She made ink by grinding a black stone in a small tray, mixing it with water. There was no tattoo machine, only slivers of bamboo with needles set in their ends. When the ink was ready, she began. First, she carefully shaved an area of his left breast with a straight razor, then, sitting astride him, she started pressing the needles painstakingly into his chest, forming the design. Sweat, forming on her brow, occassionally dripped into his face as she concentrated.

He lost all thought of pain as he watched her work,consciouss of her thinly covered, decorated body and the heat he felt between her legs. He shifted , embarrassed, as his cock betrayed him and began to engorge. Noticing the bulge forming, she smiled down at him and rubbed herself several times along its length.

"Hold still," she said, "You're breaking my concentration."

"You're not doing much for mine," he quipped in reply and relaxed, content with the movements she made as she dipped the pens in the inkwell. So distracted, the time passed quickly and the pain became almost pleasurable.

Finally, she paused above him, nodded, and set the implements in their stand. She cleaned off the tattoo and taped a square of gauze over it. He expected her to break their intimate connection but she remained sitting astride him. She met his questioning eyes and smiled. Bracing her arms on his chest, she resumed rubbing herself along the bulge in his jeans, watching his face.

Sitting up, she allowed her fingers to trail down across his abdomen to the button of his pants. Her fingers went inside his waistband, where they immediately contacted the head of his cock. She took her weight off him and undid the buttons, pulling him out and stroking the shaft with both hands.

He was ready. His cock jerked at her touch. She moved back to him, fitting the head to her hairless pussy. He groaned as he slid into her. She settled onto his pelvis and rocked back and forth, letting her head roll back when he arched his back and ground his hips into hers. She squeezed her muscles on his quivering cock and the torture was exquisite. He bucked on the mat, trying to get deeper inside her though that was not possible.

His hands found her breasts as she squatted above him and began to go up and down on his cock, meeting his pelvis and then sliding to where the head almost came out of her before dropping back down again. She increased the pace until they were both yelling and covered in sweat. Her pigtails flopped up and down as she grasped his hands to her breasts. She knew he was going to cum, his cock swelled in her pussy so she squeezed it as he shouted and shot inside her. Exhausted, she fell atop him laying her head on his shoulder. They remained like that for some time.

He woke up dazed, that strange feeling of not knowing where he was. Memory came back and he grinned. Looking around, he was alone in the small room. She must have gone back out front. He fastened his pants, reclaimed his shirt and went to the door to the front.

A middle aged man was in the front room, black leather vest, long black hair, covered in tattoos. He looked up in surprise as the door opened. The girl was nowhere to be seen.

"Ummm," he managed, "Where is.....?" The man gave him a blank look.

He left the question hanging in the air and left the shop. His bike waited in the gravel parking lot. The new tattoo throbbed as he rode home.

To Be Continued...