Prologue
Needles. She’d always fucking hated needles.
So a tattoo and piercing shop was pretty much the last place she ever thought she’d be, much less strapped – strapped! – down to a leather table, half-naked, with a sexy ink-covered man coming at her with … a needle. A sharp, shiny, pain-giving, scary-ass needle. No way. And yet, if the wetness between her legs and the stiffness of her nipples were any indication, apparently she didn’t “hate” needles at all. She fucking LOVED the idea of them. Or, her body sure seemed to, anyway.
But fuck … my labia? Seriously? What the hell was I thinking, signing on for this? What if he fucks this up? Sexy hunk or not, the guy may be a total nutbag. What if he permanently maims me or something goes wrong? Infection? I liked my pussy. We were friends. Longtime friends. We were close.
His strong, tann ed hands forced her legs apart.
“Open for me. Keep open. You wouldn’t want me to fuck this up, Janna.” His voice was low as he leaned in closer to her bared mound. She felt a finger, then another , enter her pussy and probe the slickness there, withdrawing and plunging in again, as if testing the depths.
“Fuck you’re wet, girl. And I do approve,” he rasped. “Look at this fucking wet pussy. I think someone is a little excited about me piercing her labia. Ten-gauge, I think. Yeah. Three on each side.” He held up a shiny silver piercing needle, almost daring her to look closer at it.
“Mark, I don’t know about this. I’m not really a piercing kinda girl. I mean, my ears, yeah, that’s one thing. But this is too much. I can’t–”
“ Shhh!” he hissed softly and swabbed at her labia with a wet towelette. “You don’t even know what you’re capable of doing, do you, Janna? You have no idea … yet.” His eyes shot from her pussy to her face, boring into her with intensity – an artist preparing to create, using living flesh as his canvas. In the throes of creativity, he was sexier than ever, Janna thought, but a little scary, too. Yet she found herself sucked in by his intensity, intoxicated by it, almost as if by osmosis. She enjoyed the feel of his hands firm upon her, holding her the way he needed her to be, a piece of raw material for his art. He tested her flesh – tested strengths, its pliability, its resilience as a canvas. His passion for his work brought out intense feelings of eroticism in her … too long repressed, denied. She felt she could go anywhere with him, under his guidance, and literally, in his hands. The small fearful voice in her would go quiet for a while, but then return – it was part of the struggle in her to accept the darkness in herself, to allow it full expression in the hands of another. Submission.
Jesus, I never should have agreed to this. I’m delirious now. Tattooing my arm from shoulder to wrist is one thing ... but this? This is insane. Certifiably nuts. OK, I am insane now. It’s official. My tombstone should read, “Here lies Janna Sommers. She went batshit insane one night and let a maniac tattoo -– albeit a gorgeously sexy one with an amazing smile and great eyes and – oh shit Janna –she let him pierce her pussy all over like it was a pincushion because she was pathetically horny and kinky. And you see how she ended up. Let her story be a lesson to all of you, my friends.” Fuck, that’s way too long for a tombstone. I’ll have to edit that down. Delirious … yes, yes I think I am. Quite.
“Deep breath!” Mark commanded, and before she’d had a chance to comply, a sharp pain again, a pain like no other … down there . Again.
How many has it been now? Five? Five!?
“Oh CHRIST!” she squealed, “Fuck! Fucking fuck fuck FUCK!! that fucking … Oh my god!”
“Oh come on, it’s all over … you did well on that one, Drama Girl. That was the last one, too. All done now. Six! Fuck your new rings look hot.” Mark looked over the edge of his black-rimmed reading glasses at her
Needles. She’d always fucking hated needles.
So a tattoo and piercing shop was pretty much the last place she ever thought she’d be, much less strapped – strapped! – down to a leather table, half-naked, with a sexy ink-covered man coming at her with … a needle. A sharp, shiny, pain-giving, scary-ass needle. No way. And yet, if the wetness between her legs and the stiffness of her nipples were any indication, apparently she didn’t “hate” needles at all. She fucking LOVED the idea of them. Or, her body sure seemed to, anyway.
But fuck … my labia? Seriously? What the hell was I thinking, signing on for this? What if he fucks this up? Sexy hunk or not, the guy may be a total nutbag. What if he permanently maims me or something goes wrong? Infection? I liked my pussy. We were friends. Longtime friends. We were close.
His strong, tann ed hands forced her legs apart.
“Open for me. Keep open. You wouldn’t want me to fuck this up, Janna.” His voice was low as he leaned in closer to her bared mound. She felt a finger, then another , enter her pussy and probe the slickness there, withdrawing and plunging in again, as if testing the depths.
“Fuck you’re wet, girl. And I do approve,” he rasped. “Look at this fucking wet pussy. I think someone is a little excited about me piercing her labia. Ten-gauge, I think. Yeah. Three on each side.” He held up a shiny silver piercing needle, almost daring her to look closer at it.
“Mark, I don’t know about this. I’m not really a piercing kinda girl. I mean, my ears, yeah, that’s one thing. But this is too much. I can’t–”
“ Shhh!” he hissed softly and swabbed at her labia with a wet towelette. “You don’t even know what you’re capable of doing, do you, Janna? You have no idea … yet.” His eyes shot from her pussy to her face, boring into her with intensity – an artist preparing to create, using living flesh as his canvas. In the throes of creativity, he was sexier than ever, Janna thought, but a little scary, too. Yet she found herself sucked in by his intensity, intoxicated by it, almost as if by osmosis. She enjoyed the feel of his hands firm upon her, holding her the way he needed her to be, a piece of raw material for his art. He tested her flesh – tested strengths, its pliability, its resilience as a canvas. His passion for his work brought out intense feelings of eroticism in her … too long repressed, denied. She felt she could go anywhere with him, under his guidance, and literally, in his hands. The small fearful voice in her would go quiet for a while, but then return – it was part of the struggle in her to accept the darkness in herself, to allow it full expression in the hands of another. Submission.
Jesus, I never should have agreed to this. I’m delirious now. Tattooing my arm from shoulder to wrist is one thing ... but this? This is insane. Certifiably nuts. OK, I am insane now. It’s official. My tombstone should read, “Here lies Janna Sommers. She went batshit insane one night and let a maniac tattoo -– albeit a gorgeously sexy one with an amazing smile and great eyes and – oh shit Janna –she let him pierce her pussy all over like it was a pincushion because she was pathetically horny and kinky. And you see how she ended up. Let her story be a lesson to all of you, my friends.” Fuck, that’s way too long for a tombstone. I’ll have to edit that down. Delirious … yes, yes I think I am. Quite.
“Deep breath!” Mark commanded, and before she’d had a chance to comply, a sharp pain again, a pain like no other … down there . Again.
How many has it been now? Five? Five!?
“Oh CHRIST!” she squealed, “Fuck! Fucking fuck fuck FUCK!! that fucking … Oh my god!”
“Oh come on, it’s all over … you did well on that one, Drama Girl. That was the last one, too. All done now. Six! Fuck your new rings look hot.” Mark looked over the edge of his black-rimmed reading glasses at her
Similar Books
