already unsettled nerves.
“Go ahead and take your shirt off,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll put the stencil on and you can see how it’s going to look.”
I pulled my thin cotton shirt over my head. Underneath I was wearing a sapphire colored string bikini top from last summer. I thought the color looked great on me regardless of whether or not I had a tan, and the suit was one of my favorites, and well worn. My blonde hair has always been long and very fine, and I realized that it was static-y from the discarded shirt. I hastened to smooth it out.
Mike walked over to me with the paper stencil. “Raise your arms.”
I did, holding my elbows with my hands level with my nose. Mike applied the stencil delicately. His fingers brushed against the skin beneath my breast softly and I could feel myself break out into goose bumps.
“I need to move this a little,” he said, gently tugging the string stretching across my ribs up to accommodate the upper portion of the stencil. His warm hands pressed down firmly on my skin, smoothing the paper and transferring the design. He pulled the paper off and led me to a full length mirror on the wall.
“What do you think?”
The purple stencil stretched from just under and behind my right breast down my rib cage. It was beautiful, the lines accenting the curves of my body rather than masking it, almost like an optical illusion. I smiled at him. “Let’s get started,” I said.
I went to the chair again and sat in it stiffly. Ok. This was it. I tried to remember to breathe. Mike walked over to the cabinet and crouched down in front of it. After a moment I heard a Spanish guitar playing softly and I noticed there were speakers in two corners of the room. “I hope you don’t mind the music. It helps me focus when I’m working.”
“No, not at all. It’s nice,” I said, my voice squeaky.
He sat on a wheeled stool chair, like the kind doctors use, and moved next to me. I couldn’t figure out where to put my hands, and they fidgeted with one another in my lap. He moved my right arm over my head. I could hear myself breathing, short, shallow breaths. “Hey,” he said soothingly, looking directly at me. He rested his latex gloved hand on my ribs. “Relax.”
“ I probably should have mentioned that I had never had a tattoo before,” I said, trying to force my stiff torso to loosen up.
He chuckled. “A virgin, huh?”
I blushed furiously. I probably matched the color of his walls. He smiled again and patted my ribs. “There’s no need to be nervous. You’re in good hands.” He picked up the gun, gazing intently at my side. “You ready?”
It was now or never. I nodded, swallowing hard. He smiled, his eyes locking on mine, before he leaned his head toward my ribs. The gun started up, a fast vibrating sound, and I steeled myself for the pain. He placed his left hand on my shoulder, keeping my body in place, and started in on the design.
To my surprise it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. It was definitely unpleasant at first, but after a few minutes my body got used to the pain and I almost started to be lulled into a trance. I felt a pressure down below and to my amazement I realized that I was actually getting turned on by the feeling of it. I wasn’t sure if it was the feeling of getting a tattoo or the tattoo artist who was applying it. Probably both. I focused on his arms, the tendons and powerful muscles flexing as he worked. He was wearing a black short sleeved t shirt with a red skate boarding logo on it, and I could see his skin from his biceps down. Both his arms were covered with tattoos, intricate black designs. Most of them seemed to be Japanese. A large black koi covered the inside of his right arm and I watched, fascinated, as it flexed while he worked.
After a few more minutes he broke the silence. “For a virgin you’re sure taking this like a champ,” he said, smiling up at me.
I warmed at the praise , my pussy tingling. I
“Go ahead and take your shirt off,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll put the stencil on and you can see how it’s going to look.”
I pulled my thin cotton shirt over my head. Underneath I was wearing a sapphire colored string bikini top from last summer. I thought the color looked great on me regardless of whether or not I had a tan, and the suit was one of my favorites, and well worn. My blonde hair has always been long and very fine, and I realized that it was static-y from the discarded shirt. I hastened to smooth it out.
Mike walked over to me with the paper stencil. “Raise your arms.”
I did, holding my elbows with my hands level with my nose. Mike applied the stencil delicately. His fingers brushed against the skin beneath my breast softly and I could feel myself break out into goose bumps.
“I need to move this a little,” he said, gently tugging the string stretching across my ribs up to accommodate the upper portion of the stencil. His warm hands pressed down firmly on my skin, smoothing the paper and transferring the design. He pulled the paper off and led me to a full length mirror on the wall.
“What do you think?”
The purple stencil stretched from just under and behind my right breast down my rib cage. It was beautiful, the lines accenting the curves of my body rather than masking it, almost like an optical illusion. I smiled at him. “Let’s get started,” I said.
I went to the chair again and sat in it stiffly. Ok. This was it. I tried to remember to breathe. Mike walked over to the cabinet and crouched down in front of it. After a moment I heard a Spanish guitar playing softly and I noticed there were speakers in two corners of the room. “I hope you don’t mind the music. It helps me focus when I’m working.”
“No, not at all. It’s nice,” I said, my voice squeaky.
He sat on a wheeled stool chair, like the kind doctors use, and moved next to me. I couldn’t figure out where to put my hands, and they fidgeted with one another in my lap. He moved my right arm over my head. I could hear myself breathing, short, shallow breaths. “Hey,” he said soothingly, looking directly at me. He rested his latex gloved hand on my ribs. “Relax.”
“ I probably should have mentioned that I had never had a tattoo before,” I said, trying to force my stiff torso to loosen up.
He chuckled. “A virgin, huh?”
I blushed furiously. I probably matched the color of his walls. He smiled again and patted my ribs. “There’s no need to be nervous. You’re in good hands.” He picked up the gun, gazing intently at my side. “You ready?”
It was now or never. I nodded, swallowing hard. He smiled, his eyes locking on mine, before he leaned his head toward my ribs. The gun started up, a fast vibrating sound, and I steeled myself for the pain. He placed his left hand on my shoulder, keeping my body in place, and started in on the design.
To my surprise it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. It was definitely unpleasant at first, but after a few minutes my body got used to the pain and I almost started to be lulled into a trance. I felt a pressure down below and to my amazement I realized that I was actually getting turned on by the feeling of it. I wasn’t sure if it was the feeling of getting a tattoo or the tattoo artist who was applying it. Probably both. I focused on his arms, the tendons and powerful muscles flexing as he worked. He was wearing a black short sleeved t shirt with a red skate boarding logo on it, and I could see his skin from his biceps down. Both his arms were covered with tattoos, intricate black designs. Most of them seemed to be Japanese. A large black koi covered the inside of his right arm and I watched, fascinated, as it flexed while he worked.
After a few more minutes he broke the silence. “For a virgin you’re sure taking this like a champ,” he said, smiling up at me.
I warmed at the praise , my pussy tingling. I
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