Tattoo Virgin Read online

  DISCLAIMER

  Tattoo Virgin is a work of fiction intended for adults 18 and older.

  Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover Images courtesy of: Ambro/FreeDigitalPhotos.net,

  & Digital Art/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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  Tattoo Virgin

  “So, Amy, what do you think?” He held out a flimsy, white piece of paper with a purple design inked on it, a design I would soon have on me forever. He leaned down a little to show me, his shoulder almost touching mine as we looked at the picture together. The design was large and would cover the entire right side of my ribs with a spindly, interlocking outline of jasmine flowers. It was beautiful, detailed, delicate: it was absolutely perfect.

  I looked up at him, embarrassed as my pulse leapt from his proximity. “It’s wonderful.” If I sounded breathless it was because I was trying not to breathe. This close I could smell his faint cologne combined with his own warm, manly scent, and the effect was heady.

  His name was Mike Ramirez, and his reputation preceded him. At 29 years old he was young to own a renowned tattoo parlor, but he was just that good. His work was careful, creative and stunning. And he also happened to be the single most beautiful man I had ever met, not that that had any bearing on his talent. He was tall, probably about six feet, I imagined, and his wide shoulders and lean muscled body were a testament to long hours spent in a gym. As his name suggested he was of Latin origin, most likely Mexican. When he spoke, his voice rich and commanding, there was just the smallest hint of an accent. He had beautiful, creamy brown skin and a full head of thick black hair. His most shocking feature, however, was his eyes. They were a pale green and stood out dramatically against his otherwise dark features.

  It was a tribute to his talent that all I had heard about him was his reputation as an incredible tattoo artist, not how incredibly fucking sexy he was. Needless to say, when I had walked into his parlor a week ago I had been rendered nearly speechless. He was entirely professional however, not even smirking while I stammered what type of design I wanted and fought the spread of blush raising from my chest to my forehead. He was probably used to the reaction he elicited.

  He smiled at my praise of the stencil but said, “You sure it’s what you want? No tweaks or anything? Don’t be afraid to tell me if there’s something you don’t like. It’s going to be on you for a long time.”

  Damn, it was hard to concentrate when his eyes were looking directly at me. “No, no, I love the design,” I said, shaking my head. “Really, I couldn’t imagine it better.”

  He smiled again. “All right then, let’s get started. Follow me.”

  The parlor was one of the cleanest I had ever been in, with individual rooms that shut with sliding Japanese doors. His whole parlor had a Japanese theme, with Japanese art lining the crimson colored walls. The parlor was silent and I didn’t see any other tattoo artists, which I commented on.

  “We’re not normally open on Wednesdays,” he said, leading me to a room at the end of the hall and slid the door shut behind him. I walked to the black leather padded chair dominating the space as Mike moved over to a tray sitting on a low cabinet running along the far wall where a series of paint caps and tattoo guns were aligned neatly. “I like to give everyone a day off, but sometimes we use it to catch up on our appointments. It’s been busy at the shop lately.”

  I fidgeted with the stitching on the leather seat. I was completely alone with him in this parlor. The thought was not helping my 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 could feel myself getting wetter. “It doesn’t really bother me,” I said. “It’s almost soothing.”

  He laughed. “Th
at’s not what most people seem to think. Especially on the ribs.” I said nothing, just continued to watch the koi flex and dance. After another few minutes he spoke again. “I’m always curious why people pick their tattoos. Why the jasmine flower?”

  I blushed again. “Well, it’s kind of silly,” I said.

  He raised his head, his stunning green eyes on me. “Try me.”

  “Um, well, you know how different flowers have different meanings, right?” He nodded his head. “Well, the jasmine flower has a few different meanings. To some it represents nobility, grace and elegance. Things like modesty and kindness.” He nodded again, still focusing on the tattoo. “But the flower can also represent beauty, deep affection, and, well, s-sensuality.” He paused for a second, his eyes locking on mine, before resuming his work. I felt flush, embarrassed to continue, but I pressed forward anyway. “And the thing about the jasmine flower is that it blooms at night. Almost like in secret.”

  Mike was silent for a moment. “So you’re saying you’re like the jasmine flower?”

  I don’t know why I continued. Something was making me bold, or at least a little reckless. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Kind of. Like, people have always seen me as this delicate little thing, you know, like how most people see the jasmine flower. I’m elegant, modest, kind. But, I’m sick of being seen just like that. I’m sick of being just that. I feel like I’ve always had this secret side to me that no one sees. So I’m getting it tattooed on me so everyone can see.”

  “That makes sense,” he said. “But why do people see you that way?” By this point he was working on the lower half of the tattoo, pressing his free hand lightly on my stomach.

  I hesitated before answering. “I just always have been. I was never a rebellious kid. I was a straight A student, I still am. Full scholarship and all that. I’ve just always played it safe.”

  “But not anymore?” His head was angled near my hip bone and I could feel his warm breath puff across it lightly as he worked. I swallowed thickly and my pussy throbbed.

  I smiled. “No, not anymore.”

  We were both silent as he continued to work, and I drifted to the combined sounds of the guitar music and the tattoo gun. After about twenty minutes he spoke up again.

  “You know, I just can’t picture you being the shy girl.” He paused. “I mean, I can picture it, obviously, you’re a bundle of nerves, but I don’t get it.”

  I felt embarrassed. “What do you mean?”

  He was silent for a second, as if weighing what he was going to say. “Look,” he said and then stopped again. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re hot.”

  I felt my face flush. “What?”

  He gestured to me with his left hand impatiently. “Chica, you know you’re gorgeous, ok? Don’t act like you don’t know it.”

  I don’t think I was breathing. I tried to say something but all I did was sputter. So he continued. “I know guys must have been hounding you all through school. How you managed to have and keep the image of someone so innocent is beyond me.”

  Finally my sputters turned into actual words. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way but you don’t know me at all. I had braces and baggy clothes all throughout high school, and I braided my hair down my back every day. My first kiss was on a dare at summer camp when I was thirteen and that was the most action I saw all throughout high school. I was basically a looser.”

  “You were a virgin all throughout high school?” he laughed incredulously. Where had this conversation come from? Where was the professional guy from before? Why were we talking about this? My face turned beet red.

  “Yes,” I said tersely, close to tears. “Still am, if you really must know.”

  Mike’s eyes widened and he stopped tattooing and stared up at me. “What? Jesús Cristo, you’re a virgin?”

  A few hot tears of shame rolled down my cheek. When I was agitated I tended to blush and tear up; when he was agitated apparently he reverted to speaking Spanish. “Yes!” I burst out. “21 years old and still a virgin! Now can you please stop making fun of me and finish this tattoo so I can go?” I was breathing hard, gasping even.

  Mike’s face sobered and he looked at me with kind eyes. “Hey, hey,” he said softly. He put the gun down and rolled closer to my head. “I’m sorry, Amy, really. I’m not trying to make fun of you.” He paused again. “It’s hard for me to believe that you’re still a virgin, yes, but only because you’re so incredibly beautiful. With the hair, those pretty blue eyes, this amazing body. And, chica, your skin is like milk. You’re unbelievably sexy. I don’t know how some guy hasn’t tried to make you his by now.”

  My heart was in my throat. “It’s not like I didn’t want anything like that. I was always so jealous of other girls. But high school is about politics. And in college I go to classes and the library and my dorm room. And that’s it. It’s who I am.”

  “But not anymore, right?” he asked, mirroring his earlier question. His eyes locked on mine, the light green smoldering, and I felt heat spread from the top of my spine down.

  “No,” I said, almost whispering. “Not anymore.” Was he leaning closer to me, his lips inching towards mine?

  “Your tattoo is done,” he said abruptly. “I was just finishing up the final touches.”

  Stunned at the change of subject, I nodded and managed to stammer “O-oh, ok.”

  He got up and held a hand out to me, pulling me off the chair. He led me to the mirror and then stood behind me, his huge hands engulfing my waist. We both looked into the mirror, and he grinned at my stunned expression. He put his head down next to my ear and whispered. “What do you think, chica?”

  I couldn’t believe it. My skin was slightly red in places but the tattoo was breathtaking. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and it was now a part of me. “Thank you,” I breathed.

  He rotated my hips in his hands, turning me to face him. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said before cupping my jaw, his fingers pulling the back of my neck towards him. His thumb tilted my head back and he captured my lips, crushing them to his own in a mind blowing kiss, his hot tongue probing into my mouth. This was so fucking better than summer camp.

  My arms snaked around him and his hand still at my waist moved down to my ass, squeezing my right cheek roughly through the denim of my jeans. I moaned into his mouth as a shiver ran through my core.

  His mouth broke away from mine. “So have you ever done anything besides kiss?” Panting, clinging to him, I shook my head no. He chuckled darkly before cupping both of my ass cheeks in his hands and lifting me up, his arm carefully avoiding my tattoo. My legs wrapped around his waist and he walked out of the room, supporting my weight with one arm as he opened the door. He took me to the back waiting room where I had signed my consent forms on the first day and sat me down on a pale green divan, my back against the wall. He kneeled in front of me and ran his hands up my thighs, his strong hands squeezing around them. My bikini top had shifted when he had picked me up and my left nipple was threatening to fall out. Mike leaned forward and bit it through the fabric, sending a pulse directly to my clit and making my back jump away from the wall. His hands moved up my body possessively, stopping at the places where my bikini was tied together. In seconds the ties were undone and he pulled my bikini top away from my body with his teeth. Discarding the scrap of cloth on the ground he turned and looked at me, his eyes intense.

  “Goddamn, chica, this has to be the prettiest pair of tits I’ve ever seen.” He leaned in, grabbing one from underneath in each of his massive hands, hefting them up. My nipples stood out straight, harder than they had ever been before, and as he leaned in and lightly traced the areola of my right nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth I couldn’t stop a moan from escaping. He chuckled against my skin, sending shivers down it, and moved to my left nipple, giving it the same treatment. I gripped his broad shoulders, holding on for dear life. His hands moved down to the button of my jeans and so
on they were being pulled from my legs.

  Mike spread my knees apart, kneeling between them. He stared at the thin scrap of cloth covering my pussy, then back to my eyes. “This doesn’t look like the underwear of a virgin,” he teased, yanking lightly at the part of my thong covering my mound, forcing the already soaked material in between my pussy lips. I moaned again and he smiled, rolling his fingers under the strings around my hips. Gently, but quickly, he pulled my thong down, tugging the material out from my pussy.

  I might have been a virgin, but I took care of myself. I was clean shaven and he stared at my smooth mound in admiration, lust lighting up his eyes. He softly ran his fingers up my cleft. “So fucking wet and soft,” he murmured. “Like a flower, una flor.” When his fingers landed on my clit my body jumped as if it had been electrified. It felt so good, so much better than when I touched myself. His fingers were rougher than mine, wider too, and he rubbed my clit possessively as he sucked one of my earlobes into his mouth. When he bit down lightly on my ear, his fingers still rubbing deliciously against my clit, I felt my orgasm hit suddenly, a fast, rising sweep of heat that blasted from my stomach to my scalp. I could feel the roots of my hair tingling and I let out a long, low moan.

  Mike chuckled. “So responsive. If you liked that, wait ‘til you see what’s next.” With that he began kissing down my body, pausing at each of my nipples before tracing right beside the edge of my tattoo with the tip of his tongue. He didn’t lick the tattoo itself but the skin around it was ultra-sensitive and I gasped at the sensation.

  He stopped when his mouth hovered over my pubic bone. I squirmed, knowing what was coming. He huffed hot air over me and I could feel my pussy lips opening up like petals to him.

  “Qué bonita, mi flor de jazmín,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to the cleft of my pussy. His mouth was hot, his tongue warm and wet as it flicked against the hood of my clit. I had never felt anything as amazing as this and my back bucked off the couch. He lapped at my pussy, pulling the thick lips of both sides of my labia into his mouth, sucking each of them delicately before letting them go. He tongued the entrance to my vagina lightly, dancing over it before smooshing his face against my pussy and sticking his tongue in as far as it would go. I yelped and my hands seemed to travel of their own volition down to his head, gripping his thick black hair as I moaned out in pleasure. He tongued in and out, fast, and my heart sped up in time with his motions. When I was on the brink he pulled back, chuckling when an animalistic mew released from my throat.