God, I hate the rain.
It pounds against the plate glass windows at the front of the shop, a warm tropical rain that was typical for this time of year. Every late afternoon like clockwork, thick black clouds drift in from the Gulf and dump an inch or two of rain in about an hour. The temperature drops ten degrees, the streets flood, the roof leaks, and an hour later the broiling sun will return.
Within twenty minutes it will be as dry as a bone and as hot and muggy as hell outside again.
That afternoon was no different than any other day. I watched the rain begin to sluice against the glass, illuminated by flashes of frequent lightning. Thunder pealed, loud enough to rattle the windows and my bones, both. The streets were deserted – not even the tourists were brave enough to be out and about in this storm. They were no doubt huddled in one of the many small cafés along the main strip, drinking lattes and bitching about the prices of the kitschy tee shirts and souvenirs they’d just bought.
I’d just turned away from the window, heading toward the back of the shop to snag a Coke from the fridge when the bell over the door jingled. Sighing, I rolled my eyes, thinking that a tourist had decided that my tattoo shop would be a wonderful place to wait out the storm. It happened all the time – they’d dash in out of the rain and spend an hour perusing the catalogs and photos of clients on the walls, asking a million questions (Question: Does it hurt? Answer: Duh. Question: Can I use your bathroom? Answer: Only if you get a tattoo, which brings us back to Question
) and generally wasting my time.
Turning back, my face already creasing into a scowl, I saw a young man of no more than eighteen or nineteen standing nervously by the door. Tall and lanky, his tank top and cargo shorts were plastered to his lean body from the rain, along with his shoulder-length blonde hair. Rivulets of water dripped down over his tanned shoulders and arms. His wet clothes clung to him, outlining some very nicely toned abs and pecs.
Okay, skaterboy, come on in, I thought, feeling the urge to frown slip away and a smile tilt my lips. If I had to be bored by a tourist then at least I’d get in some eye-candy time in the process. He flashed a crooked, shy grin at me that was innocent and sexy at the same time, and I was suddenly very glad that the counter hid my bottom half from him. Wouldn’t do to frighten the kid off with the monster that was beginning to rear its head in the crotch of my Levi’s.
Well…perhaps monster is a bit of an exaggeration. Still, my cock at full mast was nothing to sneeze at.
“Come on in,” I said cheerfully. Cum on, cum in – whatever’s your pleasure, I continued in my head, eyeing his chiseled biceps and sinewy forearms. The kid worked out, so it seemed. I wouldn’t mind lifting him for a few reps myself, come to think of it. “What can I do to you…er…for you?”
“Um, well…I was thinking about getting a tattoo. I mean, I want to get a tattoo.
Definitely. Right now,” he stammered, as if still trying to convince himself that he wanted one.
“Then you’re in luck – I just happen to have one I could part with,” I laughed. “What did you have in mind?” I asked him. I knew what I had in mind, and it only involved one painless needle – the one that was currently pressing up against the zipper of my jeans.
“Nothing too big. Not for the first time, anyway,” he said. His voice was slightly Etiler Escort raspy, reminding me of the sound a zipper makes when it’s unzipped slowly, one tooth at a time. Then again, that might have just been my wishful thinking exerting itself.
“Ah, a virgin,” I laughed, then raised a brow as his cheeks flamed. Uh oh. Something was telling me that a tattoo was not the only thing this young man hadn’t tried yet. I cleared my throat and continued. “Okay. Have you thought about what design you’d like to get? A tribal maybe?” I suggested. I quickly scanned the shelf behind me for a catalog of designs, spreading it open on the counter. “I’m Craig, by the way,” I smiled, offering him my hand.
He took it, smiling that sexy half-smile again. “Mark.” He eyed my forearms and shoulders, his hand still gripping mine. “Whoa, yours are awesome, dude.”
I shrugged. I was used to people ogling my tats. Two full sleeves worth, and although my tank top hid most of them, they continued up across my chest and back . Had a few more on my legs as well, which he’d see when I moved out from behind the counter. Which would be as soon as I could get my cock to stop trying to jump up out of my jockeys.
“I kind of like that one,” he said, pointing to a small tribal flame design.
It was a good choice actually, for someone’s first tattoo. It was small, with crisp, easy lines. It would be a snap for me.
“Great! Let’s get going,” I said, finally coming around from the back of the counter, hoping that his eyes didn’t drift south to where the bulge at my crotch was threatening to bust a seam.
He blushed crimson, but didn’t stop staring at my groin. I was willing to bet that he was wondering what else I’d had tattooed, and I was sorely tempted to drop my pants and show him. The kid was hot, and I was bored and horny, a dangerous combination.
Professional, I thought to myself. You’re a professional. Act like it. I sighed and ushered him into my workspace, a partitioned section near the rear of the shop. Sitting Mark on my worktable, I jogged back into the shop and locked the front door. I didn’t want to have to stop once I started to ink him, should anyone else come in.
“Okay, now where are we going to put this?” I asked, holding the stencil of his chosen tattoo in my hand.
He blushed again. The kid blushed more than a virgin on prom night, and I was beginning to think that the only thing he might have had experience in was being a virgin.
“I wanted it somewhere that wouldn’t show,” he said softly. “You know, in case I didn’t like it.” He bit his plump lower lip and I nearly came in my pants.
Oh, please, I prayed, let it be where I hope he wants it to be.
His long slender fingers dropped to the waistband of his cargo shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping them quickly, as if he was afraid that if he took too long he’d lose his nerve. He exposed the silky tanned flesh of his right hip.
I nodded, unable to speak for a moment. He wasn’t wearing underwear and I could see a few curling, light brown pubic hairs peeking out as he pulled his shorts to the side.
“Okay. Um…you’re going to need to lose the shorts, though,” I said. “I can’t work with you holding them open like that.”
Mark’s eyes widened a moment, then he nodded. Lifting his hips up, he pulled his shorts down and pushed them to his ankles.
Oh. Dear. God. Remember Escort Etiler what I said before about a monster? It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration on Mark’s part. His dick hung between his legs like a long, thick sausage. How did the kid manage to keep that tucked in his shorts without wearing underwear? Strap it to his thigh? My own cock saluted his accomplishment by springing to rigid attention again.
Mark’s cheeks flushed bright fuchsia as I helplessly stared at his well-endowed package. Under my gaze, it suddenly began to stir to life, growing hard before my very eyes and he mewled, a sort of half-strangled groan.
“I’m sorry!” Mark gasped, as he reached for his shorts to pull them up. His blue eyes were as wide as saucers, and I realized that he was scared shitless that the big, tough, tattooed guy was gonna deck him for daring to get a hard-on while sitting half-naked on said tattoo guy’s worktable.
That was it. My brain ceased to function altogether at that point, ceding all rational thought processes to my crotch.
“Don’t be,” I whispered, smiling gently. “Maybe we should take care of this before I tattoo you,” I grinned, shrugging. “It’ll make you relax. If you’re tense, it’ll only hurt worse.”
“Butt? Later. Right now, I think I’ll just use my mouth,” I interrupted, effectively shutting him up as I settled myself on my swivel stool. I placed a hand on either of his sculpted thighs, spreading them as I scooted in between them. I could nearly hear his heart hammering in his chest as I slid my hands up over his thighs to his groin, brushing my fingers across his pubic hair. I did hear his moan, sweet and soft, when my calloused fingers wrapped around his thick length.
I had me a double-handful of burnin’ love. So hot that I could feel it scorch my palms, Mark’s cock spat a few drops of nature’s lubricant the moment I touched it. This was not going to take long. Not at all, I thought as my mouth hovered over the dripping head of his massive erection. Flicking my tongue out, I lapped at the pearly drops that seeped from the tiny slit, before opening wide – and I do mean w-i-d-e – and swallowing him whole. Or rather, swallowing as much of him as I could.
It was enough, though. Drawing my lips back I let my teeth graze lightly across his delicate, velvety-soft skin. My tongue swirled around his cock’s head, curling under its ridge, before my lips once again closed and I drew him into my throat.
Mark was bucking under me now, his hips rising to thrust himself as deeply into my mouth as I would allow, his hands sliding between his legs to fondle his furry sac. He was quite vocal, which I liked. Moaning louder, groaning, growling, making a complete symphony of sounds as I sucked hungrily on his turgid dick. My own cock wept in sympathy, and I released his length just long enough to free my own.
He was going to come soon, I just knew it from the way he was writhing on the table. Not a chance of me letting that happen, not until I’d had a shot at his tight little ass. I let go of his erection – much to his obvious and loudly voiced protests – and opened one of the drawers of my workstation.
Flinging unwanted items over my shoulder like a madman – cotton balls, alcohol swabs, Q-tips, a half-roll of butterscotch Lifesavers – I finally found a cellophane-wrapped condom and a small tube of lube with just enough grease left in it to do the deed.
Thank Etiler Escort Bayan God, because I really didn’t want to resort to lubing him up with 3-in-1 Oil.
Urging Mark up onto his hands and knees, I tried to allay his fears by getting up close and personal with his asshole. It seemed to do the trick.
After only a few moments of licking at his winking little hole, he was back to groaning and wiggling his hips. Squeezing out the last of the lube along with a burp of air from the tube, I coated my Trojan-sheathed prick and his puckered little rosebud. Slipping my finger into his asshole, I ignored his surprised yelp. God, he’s tight enough to cut off my circulation! I thought as I slowly finger-fucked him.
I took care to prepare him as best I could in under sixty seconds – since that was all the time my cock was going to allow me before taking control of the situation and ramming itself into his ass.
Rotating my finger, I stroked his prostate and lowered my mouth to nip at the soft flesh of his asscheeks. Mark had taken to stroking his cock, evidently completely out of patience with me for leaving him hanging the way I had. Shrugging mentally, I added another finger, slipping it in next to the first. Twisting them, I elicited another yelp from Mark, and peeking between his legs I watched his hand jerk his cock furiously. He was gonna blow, and any minute now.
Removing my fingers with a well-lubed plop, I replaced them with my cock. It was like fucking a furnace. His rectum was so hot and clenched so tightly around my dick that for a moment I feared it would either lop my cock off altogether or cause it to spontaneously combust.
I pushed myself into him to the root. Okay, I thought. I can die now. Right now, and I’d die a happy man. Almost surprised to find that I was still breathing and still the owner of a raging hard-on and a pair of balls that had swollen to roughly the size of cantaloupes, I began to rock my hips, thrusting deeply into him and withdrawing, again and again. My hips slapped his ass with loud cracks, until he screamed as he shot his load in great white streaks across my worktable.
I’d thought that his ass was tight when I’d first entered it, but it was nothing compared to the waves of vise-like contractions that squeezed my cock as he came. It was too much – way too much. No normal human being’s ass could squeeze like that, I thought wildly as I pulled out of his ass and ripped off the Trojan. Who was this kid? He was like fucking G.I. Joe-with-the-super-kung-fu-asshole-grip. I barely had time to give myself one good stroke before I came hard, coating his back with about a gallon of good old-fashioned joy juice.
We were silent for a few minutes, both of us panting and wheezing and trying to breathe. Mark lay facedown on my table, unmindful of the lake of sperm that squished beneath him.
“I’m feeling relaxed now,” he said, his voice muffled by the leather of my worktable. “Really relaxed. Really, really relaxed. Really, really, really- ”
” I get the point,” I interrupted, “You’re relaxed.” Standing up, I smacked him playfully on the ass. “Ready for that tattoo, now?” I asked, ready to get back to business. The rain had stopped outside, and I needed to get him done before any potential customers came pounding at the door.
Mark took it like a man – and he did well with the tattoo, too. He’s been back many times since then, going bigger and bolder with each visit. We’re working on a sleeve for him now.
I’m the only one that he allows to ink him, and he always arrives when I’m alone in the shop, just as it’s starting to rain.
And he always needs to relax first.
God, I love the rain.