Scott stepped back just enough to let Chet turn in place. He fondled his cock as he watched Chet assume the position—hands flat on the padded surface before him, legs stretched as far as the briefs trapping his thighs would allow. He glanced to one side and could barely see them in the mirror on the far wall—the angle was bad. But to his right, if he leaned forward a little, Chet could see enough in the other mirror to fuel his desire. His ass in the air, waiting. Scott jerking his dick as he stared at Chet’s backside, ready to dive in. Yes.
As he watched in the mirror, a feeling of detachment descended over him. He saw Scott squat behind him, saw Scott’s hands reaching for his ass cheeks a second before they touched his buttocks, lifted them, separating him so Scott had complete access to his innermost spot. He saw Scott lean forward, tongue darting out, then felt that hot, wet organ lick his anus, rimming him. “God,” he gasped, clenching the chair beneath him, as Scott’s tongue squirreled inside him and that damned piercing rubbed over super-sensitive skin, breaching his hole. His cock throbbed for release, his balls ached. Though he didn’t mean to, he stood on tip-toe as lust washed over him. “Please, please, please.”
Scott’s tongue fucked him, in and out, its piercing triggering a furious storm of sensation flooding Chet. Damp fingers worked him wider, slipping inside, making way for the main event. Chet pressed the side of his face flat against the leather chair and watched in the mirror as Scott fingered him with one hand. With the other, he raised a condom packet to his mouth and tore it open with his teeth before expertly rolling it onto his own cock. Chet watched him guide the thick, veined member closer.
A moment later, he felt the flared tip butt between his ass cheeks.
With a grunt, Scott thrust his hips and shoved his cock inside.
Chet moaned with pleasure. The leather had warmed beneath him, slightly damp from condensation and a little drool. “Yes,” he sighed, arching his back to raise his ass to his lover. Scott found a hard, steady rhythm, one Chet was familiar with, and their bodies bumped together at a furious pace. Chet closed his eyes, giving into the fucking, savoring the fullness in his ass for as long as it would last. He didn’t have to see Scott’s hands on his hips in the mirror—he felt them there, holding him in position as Scott pistoned into Chet’s ass. Eventually one would find its way beneath Chet to jerk him off as Scott came. It would be fast. Sex between them usually was.
So when Scott screwed himself in as far as he could go and stopped, Chet opened one eye, curious. He felt as if he stood on the edge of a precipice of desire that yawned before him, the other side just out of reach. One push, maybe two, and he’d take the plunge. He’d fall headlong into ecstasy. He’d come in a rush of delight that would leave them both breathless.
Then why had Scott stopped?
The answer came in the form of a dull drone behind him. He recognized that sound, all too well. Pushing himself up off the chair, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Scott fiddling with the frequency on his tattoo machine, the needles buzzing in one hand.
Chet’s gaze swept the table beside Scott. Ink poured into tiny containers, ready to use. A&D ointment dolloped into a gelatinous blob to one side. The latex gloves on Scott’s hands—when had he put those on? The napkins to wipe away ink and blood, the disposable razor to shave the area, the antibacterial soap to clean the wound…
“Whoa,” he cried. He clenched the muscles in his ass around Scott’s cock to get his lover’s attention. “What the hell’s all this shit?”
“Relax,” Scott purred.
Chet didn’t see how he could. “Aren’t we in the middle of something here?”
The smile Scott gave him looked slippery. With a wink, he set the tattoo machine down, the buzzing ceasing. But he picked up a napkin and the razor, and placed his hands on Chet’s back. Firm. There was no arguing with the strength in those hands. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he said as he drew the razor gently down Chet’s back. “The endorphins are going to drive you crazy—”
“You’re doing a good job of that yourself,” Chet muttered. He tried to squirm but couldn’t get out from under Scott’s hands. “Can’t we just wait until we’re done fucking before you get into…this?”
The soap was next. Scott squirted it onto Chet’s recently healed tattoo, the liquid cold as it ran down his lower back and over the curve of his ass. A few drops found their way between his buttocks to sting his widened hole. “Scott, please.”
Scott kissed Chet’s shoulder and stayed there, hunched over him, until Chet turned to look back. His leonine eyes were so beguiling, Chet felt any fight go out of him. “Trust me,” Scott whispered, his breath hot against Chet’s skin.
Chet couldn’t believe it, but he did.
With a wiggle of his hips, Scott reminded Chet just how intimate this moment was between them. Chet felt his libido surge as the cock in his ass bumped his prostate, and between his legs, his own erection throbbed. Scott shoved in as far as he could, shifted his weight from one foot to the other to settle in, then leaned down over Chet’s back, one hand holding the skin taut beneath it, the other poised with the tattoo machine humming in his grip. “Hold absolutely still,” he breathed.
Chet went rigid with nervous anticipation. This was going to hurt, he knew it. It’d been a bitch last time and he’d told himself he’d never let Scott talk him into any more ink…
Then the needle touched his skin and Chet didn’t dare breathe. It didn’t feel quite as bad as he remembered. Sure, it stung a bit, but it felt like a burn he might get from having sex on a low, scratchy carpet. Maybe it was the needle itself—Scott had told him the last time that the fill work would go easier than the outlines. Maybe it was the fact this wasn’t his first time under the gun. Maybe he’d blown the first experience up too much in his mind and nothing could’ve been as bad as he remembered.
Or hell, maybe it was the hot guy plowing him from behind as he got inked, he didn’t know. But other than the constant droning in his ears and an itchy feeling on his back, the tug of Scott’s hand as he manipulated Chet’s skin, the press of Scott’s wrist against Chet’s spine as he plied his art, Chet didn’t really feel it this time.
Carefully, he rested his chin on the leather table before him. “That doesn’t feel too bad,” he admitted.
“It’s the endorphins kicking in,” Scott said. He raised the tattoo machine off Chet’s skin and jiggled his hips a little, sending sparks of electric lust flickering through Chet’s groin. “Your body’s in overload at the moment. Sex and pain are just two sides of the same coin.”
Chet didn’t answer. Instead, he placed his face on his hands and watched his body in the mirror, watching Scott peer over his back, hard at work. Every so often, he’d pause and move around a bit, reviving the sexual energy between them. When he had to lean back to get more ink in the needle, he’d thrust in and out of Chet’s ass a few times, just to keep them both aroused. Time passed in a carnal blur, the sensual drawn out to extremes. Part of Chet ached for immediate release, an end to this exquisite torture, but part of him hoped the night would never end.
After a while, Scott turned off the tattoo machine. Silence pressed in around them. He set the needles aside and shook his hand, fingers flexing to work the life back into them. “Enough playing around,” he growled as he gripped Chet’s hips. “You ready to come?”
“Oh yeah,” Chet moaned. Was he ever.
His back stung from the fresh ink, but when Scott began to fuck him in earnest, the feeling dissolved between the ardent waves of rapture roiling through him. Scott eased a hand beneath Chet, catching his rock-hard cock in a fierce grip and pumping it as they moved together. The added friction pulled Chet on toward orgasm. Hugging the tabletop, the leather heating beneath his quick breath, Chet gasped, “Yes,” and “God,” and “Scott, please, God, Scott!” as his lover rode him into the chair. When he finally came, his cock shuddered as ropy jism spurted into Scott’s palm.
A few seconds later, he felt Scott’s
release fill him inside, the hot surge igniting another, more powerful climax within Chet. He came again, knees weak, legs shaking, arms locked tight around the tattooist chair to keep him from puddling to the floor in a satiated heap.
God. Yes, Chet was sure of it now. This was love.
* * * *
The tattoo was completed fully clothed. Or rather, Scott was clothed—Chet pulled up his briefs and put his jeans back on, but left his sweater folded on the stool. Lying on the tattooist chair, he stretched out with his arms folded under his head and watched his lover work in the mirror. Scott seemed intent on his art, his hands sure and strong on Chet’s back. Chet kept quiet, wincing only once or twice when the needle stung a little. He was afraid to speak, really. Afraid that if he did, he’d say something he’d regret.
Something like I love you.
He did, he knew he did, but he also knew saying it out loud might scare Scott away. He didn’t want to chance it; he’d rather savor the few stolen moments they had together than risk them for the hope of something more. So he held his tongue and watched Scott, his heart swelling, his throat full with emotion he didn’t dare admit.
Scott moved to Chet’s other side, his back now to the mirror. Chet could no longer see his hands, so he shifted his gaze to Scott’s face instead. No longer a reflection in a mirror but here, right over his shoulder, brows furrowed in concentration. The tip of his tongue peeked from between his lips. Chet remembered the feel of that warm muscle on his dick, in his mouth, in his ass. Love you, he thought, projecting the words as if Scott would somehow hear them in the buzzing of the tattoo machine between them.
With a sigh, Scott turned off the machine and wiped the ink and blood off Chet’s back. “There. Done.”
“How’s it look?” Chet asked. He sat up a little and tried to look at the design, but couldn’t see it.
“Awesome, of course.” Scott set the machine aside and grabbed the bottle of liquid soap, squirting a stinging spray onto the tattoo as he wiped it clean. “The first of many, I bet.”
Chet wasn’t so sure, but he knew better than to say anything. He struggled to sit up. “Let me see.”
Before Chet could slide off the chair, Scott barred his way, grabbing his arm in a fierce grip until Chet met his stare. He knew what was coming before Scott leaned in to claim an insistent kiss. But what Scott murmured into him took his breath away. “Come home with me tonight.”
“What?” Chet pulled back in surprise.
Scott didn’t drop his steady gaze. “You heard me. You can say no.”
“I’m not saying no.” Chet’s mind reeled—this was something new for them, the next step, a turning point in their relationship. To be honest, he didn’t know what to say. Did Scott know what he was asking? Did he even suspect what it meant to Chet?
Scott’s hand tightened on his arm. “You’re not exactly saying yes, either.”
“I’m just…” Chet shrugged, at a loss for words. Finally he admitted, “I don’t know what to say, really. We’ve never…”
“We could.” Scott relaxed his grip and rubbed his hand down Chet’s arm. The touch was soft and comforting. “I like you, Chet. I know I haven’t exactly put it into words but I’m not the type to go around saying shit I don’t mean. Tonight—it was special. You can’t deny it.”
Chet assured him, “I’m not.”
“It meant a lot to me,” Scott continued. He dropped his gaze to his hand, now trailing over Chet’s forearm. “You mean a lot. I want you to know that. I want…”
Chet held his breath, afraid any move he made might make this moment disappear. “What?” he whispered. “What do you want, Scott?”
Scott’s hand folded into Chet’s, and he raised his eyes to meet Chet’s. “You. Only you.”
Something burst deep within Chet, flooding him with a warmth that tingled down his spine. He threw his arms around Scott in a tight hug. He felt kisses on his cheek as Scott carefully hugged him back, arms around Chet’s waist to avoid hurting his new tattoo. Into Scott’s ear, he sighed one word.
“Yes.”
THE END
Inked in Blood
I decided to get my last tattoo on a whim. It was late in the evening, almost nine o’clock, but the red Open sign still blazed outside Tattoo 804. I could see the neon as I cruised down Broad Street, heading home from what had turned out to be a wasted night. The guy I’d been seeing on and off the past few weeks had chosen tonight to break things off with me…after I paid for dinner, of course. So I wasn’t in the best of moods as I shifted gears, trying not to hit any of the lights as they flickered from green to red along Richmond’s main drag. I missed the one just before the tattoo parlor, and my brakes squealed as I ground to a halt at the intersection a block away. As I revved my engine, I stole a glance at Tattoo 804’s large, inviting windows—the pool table inside called my name, and I could think of a place or two on my body that needed new ink. Before I could change my mind, I stepped on the gas pedal and shot through the light when it finally turned green, coasted across two lanes of traffic, and eased to a stop at the curb in front of the place.
By the time I got inside, though, I began having second thoughts. It was getting late, and I didn’t want to do anything I’d regret in the morning. I didn’t see any hours posted on the door, but I also didn’t see anyone else, either. I was the only customer in the whole place, and I couldn’t hear anything over the pounding hard rock music that pulsed from the walls to tell me I wasn’t alone. No buzzing needles, no employees chatting it up in a corner, nothing. Raising my voice, I called out, “Hello?”
I was just about to say fuck it and leave when a guy ducked through a pair of swinging doors that led to a back room. He was my age, late twenties I’d say, of average build, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and an oversized tee under an open button-down shirt that made me peg him as a skater type. A battered cap worn backwards on top of his head hid a head full of peroxide colored curls, but his sideburns and goatee were natural, dark. An earring pierced one bushy eyebrow; another pierced the middle of his nose. His mouth didn’t smile when he looked at me, but his eyes did—large, chocolate eyes, expressive, soft. Despite the tattoos up and down his forearms, despite the rings in his brow and nose and lip, I could stare into eyes like that and lose myself, easily.
Despite the night I’d had, my body trilled with lust when those eyes met mine.
“‘S up, man?” he asked with a slight nod my way.
Suddenly self-conscious, I pointed behind me at the door for no real reason and asked, “You guys closed?”
He sort of shrugged. “What do you want?”
That didn’t really answer my question. But he didn’t exactly turn me away, so I moved closer to the counter between us and tried to tear my gaze from his. I couldn’t. “Just a small tattoo. Right here.” I pointed at a spot on the left side of my chest, above my heart. “I don’t know what. Just some sort of cool tribal design, I guess. Or hey, how about a nice dotted line with the words, Insert knife and twist?”
With a laugh that didn’t quite earn me a smile, he asked, “One of those nights, eh?”
“I’ve had better.”
Leaning on the counter, he appraised me for a long moment, silent. I was just about to ask if maybe he wanted to lock up the place and hop in my car for a spin, see if he couldn’t improve my mood, when he reached down to flick a switch just out of my sight. Behind me, the Open sign winked out. “Latch the door for me, will you?” he asked. “You’re my last customer of the night. We’ll see what we can come up with.”
“Naw, man,” I said, shaking my head. “If you have to get home…”
Now he smiled, finally, and it’d been worth the wait. White teeth flashed at me, even and strong. The front ones were slightly large and he had a faint overbite that was more than a little cute. In fact, for a moment he seemed to be nothing but teeth, flat incisors, sharp cuspids, slightly round premolars, a mouthful of perfect dentistry leering at me. His eyes flashed with a h
ungry gleam that made my cock swell in my pants.
I wondered if my evening wasn’t starting to turn around.
* * * *
When the guy told me his name, I heard “Chris,” but I had to sign a waiver and he’d written Rist as the tattooist on the form. I said it softly under my breath, “Rist,” and figured it was probably the most off-the-wall nickname for Christopher he could come up with that wasn’t already commonplace. As I handed back the waiver, I said, “Cool name.”
He shrugged and looked over my driver’s license. “I like it. You go by Tommy, Tom, what?”
I wished I had a neat derivative to call myself, but I didn’t. “Tom’s fine. Tommy. Whatever.”
If I had hoped for a second smile, I didn’t get it. Instead, he nodded at the panels of preprinted tattoo art that hung beside the counter on poster frames. “Why don’t you pick out a design while I set things up? Won’t be long.”
“What kind of price are we looking at?” I asked.
Rist held up his hand, forefinger and thumb about an inch and a half apart. “Stay within this size and I’ll say for you…sixty bucks. It’ll take about an hour.”
“Cool.”
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I began browsing through the art panels and hoped something would stand out. It was hard to concentrate—all I could think of was the pressure in my pants, my thumb pushed tight against my dick, and the bite of my underwear in my balls. From the corner of my eye I watched Rist write up the necessary paperwork. Whenever he glanced my way, I hurried to look busy, flipping through the artwork in search of something, anything, to get inked onto my skin. This wouldn’t be my first tattoo—I had my initials on the back of my arm, just above my elbow, and my college mascot on my right shoulder. So yeah, this wouldn’t be my first lifelong regret. But on the front of my chest, I’d see it more often, in the mirror staring back at me or when I looked down at my naked body, so I needed something I’d at least like after tonight. Something neat, something me.
Tattooed Love - Gay Erotic Romance Box Set (5 Books in 1 Collection) Page 3
