by Kay Jaybee
And so here I stand now before you a changed woman. No longer am I the shy, disapproving, blond haired, blue-eyed college beauty. No, now I am Rexxie Belle – the once blank canvass now known as The Art Project. Once a porcelain doll, now coated with vibrant swirls that burst with colour. Now I am Rexxie Belle and I belong to them. I belong to the Circle of Ink.
I am Rexxie Belle and this is my story.
♦♦♦♦
How many tattoos do you think a person can get in a year? I received my first inking two weeks before my twentieth birthday. By the time I turned twenty-one I was on tattoo sixty-three. To some that may sound a lot. To others, it’s a mere dent into their personal paintings. For me, it wasn’t nearly enough. And for Carmen and her husband, Hank, the owners of Ink Majestic, it was just the beginning.
The day I entered the Ink Majestic with Alicia, I had no idea that the world as I knew it was about to change. I gazed at Alicia as Hank created his masterpiece upon her flesh, hypnotised by the needle dancing across her skin. It was stunning. I jumped as Carmen came up behind me, so close I could feel her breath tickle the sensitive skin of my neck. Her hands rested on my shoulders as she brought her lips close to my ear.
“Looks cool, doesn’t it?” she drawled in her throaty Southern Californian accent.
I nodded, my lip caught between my teeth and hindering the power of speech. I continued to watch the needle create its magic across Alicia’s lower back, more of the picture forming as each second ticked by. My body began to throb as her caramel skin turned jet black with ink, a slight raise to the flesh where the picture was drawn. The stem of a rose. So typical. So clichéd.
As I watched Hank colour the petals with vibrant red ink, my body shuddered in a way so unexpected that I turned on my heel in an attempt to flee the scene. But Carmen’s hands remained on my shoulders, swinging me back around to face the scene of my downfall.
“It’s mesmerising,” she whispered, her lips brushing against my ear. “Watch the needle, see how it pierces the flesh like the point of a dagger painting blood onto her skin.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice barely audible.
Silence. Her hands remained on my shoulders. Her lips remained at my ear. The throb remained ebbing its way through my body. Only now, it intensified, and as it did so, Carmen’s lips brushed against my neck, kissing me intimately in full view of every client and employee in the shop.
That time she didn’t stop me as ran from her grasp and out of the door. Alicia be damned, was all I could think as I jumped into the car and raced from the parking lot at high speed. Ten minutes later I pulled onto the hard shoulder and cut the engine. I was panting, the gentle thrum of the needle still reverberating throughout my senses. My knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel and my throat was dry. Shit, this was exactly like having sex for the first time. All the same signs. All the same symptoms.
I closed my eyes and saw her image taunting me in the darkness. Not Alicia or Hank, but Carmen – her long black hair hanging loosely around her shoulders in waves, her milky skin decorated in fine ink and glistening metal piercings, her lips a ruby red, a vision of a glamour I had never before understood. I felt her breath against my neck again and my clit throbbed with urgency. A startling realisation. I was aroused beyond comprehension.
The thought alone irked me. I was nineteen, innocent, pure. Wholesome. I wasn’t a virgin, but I also wasn’t one for self-gratification. I had barely even touched myself ‘down there’ so the way my muscles raged with need at the sight of a needle scraping through skin had me completely thrown. I pushed the whole incident to the back of my mind and drove on, getting on with my journey and on with my life.
That was, of course, until Alicia showed up at my front door in a fit of rage.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble I’m in!?” she yelled as I stared at her, utterly perplexed.
“I had to call them, didn’t I!?” she said. “I had to phone my fricken parents to come and pick me up because you fucked off with the fricken car!”
I continued to stare, dumbfounded. Not at her face, but at the place on her lower torso where the tattoo now resided. I couldn’t see it because it was covered with tape, but I knew what lived beneath that tape and boy was it good. My heart rate increased. My mouth grew dry.
“What the hell, Poppy!?” Alicia yelled again, looking from my eyes to her exposed flesh and back again.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered pathetically. “It’s just you. . .the tattoo. . .the way he drew on your skin like. . .”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Alicia said, her smile turning into a wicked smirk. “You wanna take a look?”
I nodded and moved closer, peeling the tape gently from her skin to gaze at the design beneath. I licked my lips and knelt to the ground, now eye level with the rose, and traced the etchings with the soft pad of my fingertip.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, my breath tickling her wound. “Did it hurt?” I asked as I rose to my feet.
“No. Well, yes. Well, yes and no. It just sort of. . . felt good. Seriously Poppy, you should get one. You would love it, I know you would.”
What an absurd thought. The notion of me getting a tattoo was utterly ludicrous. They were disgusting after all. So, Alicia finally gave up on her scheme to get me inked after weeks of trying. She may have given up her encouragement, but I couldn’t give up the thoughts so easily. Every waking moment was spent daydreaming about Ink Majestic. Of Carmen and her brightly decorated skin. Of Hank and his brutal tattoo gun dancing across delicate flesh. Of the low buzzing that filled the room as clients got inked. The thrum it caused within my panties. God, I ached for it.
It wasn’t long before I was standing outside the tattoo parlour and staring through the windows at the artwork beyond the glass. I ventured there during free periods and after college, declining the usual campus socials and evenings in the pub. I didn’t need alcohol. No, the ink was my poison of choice.
I would gaze through the windows as men and women had their flesh stained, tarnished forever with the tattooists’ mark. It was intoxicating. Every time a new client arrived my pulse would race, my body tingle, my mind blur.....my pussy throb. It was after those hours spent watching the artist’s gun, that I would return home, lock myself in my bedroom and tease climax after climax from my cunt. I would be so aroused by the time I got home that, no sooner had I reached my bedroom, I was eagerly stuffing my hand into my panties and slipping my fingers between my puffy lips, my pussy slick and silky with my juice.
I would pet myself to thoughts of needle and ink. Sometimes I would think back to that first time I stood inside the shop with Carmen behind me, her hands on my shoulders and her lips against my ear. I would imagine her whispering words of filth as I watched Alicia’s golden flesh become tainted with the darkest black and the brightest red. It’s these thoughts that would bring me to orgasm. Soon it was all I could think about, the only way I could cum.
It didn’t take long for Carmen to catch me looking through the windows of Ink Majestic. That day too, will remain forever in my mind. That day marked the death of Poppy and the birth of Rexxie Belle.
♦♦♦♦
“When are you going to stop peering through the windows like a pervert and just come in?” Carmen said as she walked passed me, opening the door to her salon.
I straightened immediately, feeling every bit the naughty child who was being scolded by a parent. Except Carmen wasn’t my mother and I wasn’t a child.
“I. . .uh. . .I. . .” I stammered.
She grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me into the shop, mumbling something under her breath about my stupidity. She pushed me into an armchair in the reception area and told me not to move. Her eyes narrowed, boring into mine, her left hand on her hip and her right pointing at me.
“Sit. Stay. Watch.”
My pulse raced faster than I had ever kn
own, but I did as she asked. I sat in the chair, the red velvet material soft beneath my thighs. I dared not move for fear of reprimand, and watched as Carmen and Hank went about their work. Three other artists occupied the salon. Paulie, a tall, broad beast of a man, reminiscent of a bulky rugby player. I watched him closely as he worked, mesmerised by the way his tattooed flesh rippled and flexed over his muscles as he drew his creations. His hair was dark and hung loosely around his ears, at a length somewhere between short and long, as if he was unable to decide which he preferred.
A tall, waif like creature with big hair and even bigger boobs sat to the far left hand side of the salon, her legs astride a pink stool as she leant over a client. The woman at her behest looked nervous and, like me, her flesh appeared unmarked. This was her first tattoo. I watched in awe as the ink was pumped into her by the sexy artist. Violita – all red hair, boobs and piercings. Her skin glinted at me, hoops in her ears, studs in her nose, in her tongue, in her plump, glossy lips. She was gorgeous.
Aiden sat to the right, his workstation tucked near the back of the salon. He was young, with mousy brown hair curling around his face like a cherub. He looked like an angel. A fallen angel. His fingernails were painted black, his forearms were covered in scenes of evil and devil worship. I drank in his slender beauty. My eyes raked over his body until our gaze met. I stopped breathing, chilled to my very core. His eyes were black, piercing into my soul.
“Stay,” Carmen said, her hand pushing me back to the chair as I began to rise, ready to run from her shop yet again.
“I’ve seen the way you look at them, Poppy,” she said, her voice husky. “I’ve seen the way you look at me too.”
I looked up at her, dazed and confused, not understanding what she meant. She took my hand and led me through the salon and to a curtained doorway at the rear of the shop. I followed warily, but eager to please. We walked down a long corridor to another room. Her office.
Glancing around, I absorbed the decor – the plush furniture, soft and velvet, the bright coloured cushions that dappled the chairs, the art on the walls, abstract designs and intriguing photography hung in ornate frames. Her desk was in the centre. Dark mahogany. Smooth. Shiny.
“Why do you come here?”
I met her gaze.
“I don’t know.”
She smirked at me and came closer, circling my body like a panther stalking its prey.
“Yes you do. Admit it, Poppy, you come here because it makes you feel good.”
I nodded, what else could I do? She was right after all. I did go there because it made me feel good. It made me feel so fuckin’ good, so fuckin’ alive….so fuckin’….horny. She went to her desk, opening a drawer and taking out a tattoo gun. I watched, mouth agape, as she lined up the equipment. She plugged in the gun and looked up at me, a smirk on her face and a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Sit,” she said, tapping the top of the desk with her left hand.
Gripped by fear, I shook my head. No way was I going to let Carmen loose on my skin with that needle. I didn’t even want a tattoo. Or did I? I eyed her cautiously, but soon gave in and jumped onto the desk. She pushed me gently onto my back, her fingers toying with the hem of my plain white tee before pulling it up to expose my torso.
“It’s okay, Poppy. It’s just a little tattoo, nothing to worry about.” She was delighting in this, in the power the ink had over me.
My skin prickled as she brushed her fingertips over me, goose-bumps dappling my flesh.
“Just relax.”
I closed my eyes as the sound of the gun filled the room, the buzz hitting my senses with startling intensity. My loins sizzled in anticipation of the first prick of the needle. Nervous excitement coursed through my veins and as Carmen prepped my exposed flesh I felt myself falling under her spell.
“You ready?” She asked as I stared up at her through hooded lids.
“Yes.”
God, it was amazing! As soon as the needle of the gun pierced my flesh I was under, hypnotised by the way it scratched my skin. I didn’t know what she was drawing onto me and I didn’t care. All I cared about in that moment was the throbbing between my thighs. It felt so good and as Carmen lifted the gun from my skin and announced that she was finished, I was begging for more.
“Oh no, pussycat, not yet,” she purred against my ear.
Putting the gun down, she pulled off her gloves and reached for the button of my jeans. She popped it open and tugged the black denim over my hips and down my legs. I looked at her, a smile on my face. I felt lazy and languid, letting her delicate hand cup my mound and her warmth seep through the fabric of my panties. Another revelation. I clearly wasn’t averse to same sex relations.
It felt so right, the way she stroked my pussy through my panties, teasing me with gentle slaps to my cunt. I was mewing for her, bucking my hips up towards her hand, begging for more of her tantalising touch.
“You’re so wet, pussycat,” she said. “This is from the ink. The tattoo is a powerful thing and should never, ever be taken lightly.”
I looked at her and nodded, “It’s beautiful. I want more.”
Her hand was gone in an instant. As were my panties. She pushed my ankles until my feet were flat on the desk and my legs were parted wide. God! It felt so good the first time she touched me like that, her tongue snaking out from between parted lips and licking the length of my slit.
I cried out in unexpected pleasure as she lapped at my cunt, like the cat that had finally got the cream. Her cute, red lips latched onto my clit and lavished the swollen bead with attention. It was better than anything I had experienced. Whether it was due to the adrenaline racing through my veins from the tattoo or because I was finally being touched by another I do not know, but the orgasm that raged through my body was far superior to anything I had ever experienced under my own hands.
I glanced down and met her eyes, watching as she continued to feast on my sex, writhing as she nipped and nibbled her way along one plump pussy lip and then the other. She slid a finger inside my warmth and I came again, climaxing as I had never done before.
Carmen stood, smiling as she gazed down at me.
“Here,” she said, “take my hand.”
I grabbed her hand and let her pull me from the desk. I followed her over to the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of her office. She touched my skin where the tattoo now existed and whispered in my ear, “Beautiful, pussycat.”
“Pussycat?” I asked as she said again what appeared to be my new nickname.
Her nails grazed across my hip and my pulse raced.
“Yes, a perfect nickname for the new pet of Ink Majestic, don’t you think?”
“I. . .er. . .I don’t understand.”
“Poppy, darling, I saw the potential in you as soon as you walked through our door. The way you watched your friend get her tattoo, I recognised it instantly.”
I still didn’t understand. “Recognised what?”
Carmen giggled and kissed my neck lightly. “That you are the one we’ve been waiting for. You, darling Poppy, are The Art Project.”
I gulped. I had no idea what she was talking about, but the name alone terrified me. Her hand smoothed its way down my torso and back to my pussy, cupping me before slipping a finger through my folds.
“You’re so wet. Yes, I think you will fit in at The House just fine.”
Chapter Two
♦♦♦♦
Carmen had tattooed a poppy onto my hip bone, the stem was the darkest black and the petals were the most vibrant red. The image popped off my pale skin as if begging to be plucked. I got my second tattoo two days later. That was the night my initiation into the Circle of Ink began.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I couldn’t stay away from Ink Majestic, no matter how hard I tried. The pull of the ink was just too strong. I quickly lea
rned that Hank and Carmen had owned the parlour for eight years. They were in love — anyone could see that from sparkle in their eyes as they looked at one another. Monogamy, however, was not a notion to which they conformed. Oh no – and there lay my introduction to the world of open relationships.
I arrived at Ink Majestic and was instantly greeted with a kiss to my lips from Carmen. Noticing the way I shyly glanced in the direction of Hank, she tapped me lightly on the ass and said, “Don’t worry about him, pussycat, we’re all friends here.”
Oh God! I thought, what kind of friends does this woman have!? She held my hand and led me over to her husband.
“We have a special treat for you today, baby.”
She ushered me into the chair at Hank’s work station, urged me down and pulled up the hem of my top to expose my taut flesh. Hank was smiling at me. A friendly smile, putting me instantly at ease. My eyes drifted closed as his warm fingers grazed the poppy on my hip.
“Are you ready for something special today, Poppy?” he asked. It was the first time I had spoken with him directly and I found myself hypnotised by his voice – a gruff, deep growl emanating from his chest.
I nodded in agreement and let my mind wander as the gun fired into action. The needle hit my hip, a fraction to the left of the poppy. I felt the tip dance over my skin, the buzz a comforting purr in my ear. I closed my eyes and thought back to Carmen’s office and the way she had expertly attended to my desire, petting my pussy in the most delicious of ways. I was wet and throbbing less than thirty seconds into my new inking – something Carmen and Hank seemed to recognise instantly.
“Sweet, pussycat,” Carmen said as her hand cupped me through my jeans. “You need this, Poppy. . .you need this as much as we need you.”
I didn’t understand what she meant then, nor did I care as she eased my jeans down and slipped her fingers into my panties, dipping between my sodden folds and working my swollen bead with expert precision. Crying out as I came, completely oblivious to the world around, I felt no shame, but pride. I didn’t understand this feeling, but there I sat, half naked, in a tattoo parlour full of clients whilst the owner inked me and his wife fingered my cunt to the point of explosion.
