Cowgirl Ch. 03

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True to her word Marie brought to work a pair of pictures showing off her angel wing tattoo. I found the envelope on my desk with the note, “Don’t pass these around.” The photos were taken in what looked like a doctor’s office, then it occurred to me that it was just a sterile, antiseptic tattoo parlor. Marie was posing away from the camera, but looking back over her shoulder letting the viewer know it was her. She was topless, of course, but instead of wearing pants she was only in a thong. The outlines of the angel wings on her back—which I assumed would be on her back alone—went from her shoulder blades all the way down over the arch of her back and the hump of her rear end and tapered off to points at the tops of her thighs.

It must have taken hours and hours to have all the inking done on her back. And that was just the black outline. It was slowly being filled in. So far she had gotten halfway down. It was oddly beautiful and scary at the same time. Just looking at the photos sent a familiar shiver up and down my spine.

I pulled up the office messenger service on my computer and dashed a note off to Marie.

Got the pix. Very impressive.

It was a minute before she responded.

Thnx. It’s a work in progress. 1st time ive shown someone at work.

That was weird. Marie had never shown the slightest inclination at friendship before.

How much time has it taken?

(pause) Over a year now.

No, I mean, how many hours have they worked on you.

Oh. Probably about 100.

“Wow,” I whispered to myself, then typed. Wow.

My boyfriend thinks it’s beautiful.

It is, I agreed with her.

You should get one, she typed back.

A hot flash rushed over my body. I don’t think so. No. Needles scare me.

She immediately typed back. It doesn’t hurt.

Doesn’t mean I won’t be scared. I replied.

C’mon. My artist will give you a small one for free.

Really? I wasn’t interested in getting a tattoo but I found the subject intriguing.

Sure. For all the business I’ve given him, 15 minutes under the needle is nothing.

I don’t think so.

Guys find them sexy.

And so I found myself calling Michael telling him I’d be home late from work, I was going out for drinks with a few of the girls. Except “drinks” meant “tattoo” and “girls” was “Marie.”

It was a very nice, very clean place. Not quite a sterile as a doctor’s office or surgical room, but very clean, brightly lit and had none of the appearance of a traditional tattoo parlor I was expecting. Marie quickly got the artist to agree to do a small tattoo for me for free, then set me to look through the many, many books of art that I could choose from for my work.

As I breezed through the books looking for exactly what I wanted, Marie pulled off her shirt and bra, as casual as if she were stripping down in a locker room, then lay on a padded table in the back half of the parlor. The artist set to work, adding detail and color to more of her feathers. I barely spared her a glance as I looked for what I wanted. Most of the traditional artwork I wouldn’t even consider, but once I found the section of cartoon animals, it was easy to pick out what I wanted.

The assistant artist, who Marie’s friend directed to work on me free of charge, took the book from me and then asked the important question. “Where do you want this?” He was kind of cute, probably casino siteleri barely out of high school with a scraggly blond goatee and too many earrings, but still kind of cute. I would have seriously hesitated and walked out if he was ugly, but he was cute so I didn’t mind telling him.

“Right here, on my butt,” I said pointing to my left cheek. He grinned at me and I blushed.

“Okay, take off your pants, hop up on the table and I’ll get started.”

I took the table next to Marie. Her head was tilted in my direction. Apparently the pain of tattooing didn’t bother her in the least. Her eyes were slightly glassy and she was relaxed. “What’cha gettin’?” she asked dreamily.

“You’ll see,” I said nervously pulling down my work slacks and shivering slightly. The room wasn’t cold; I was just scared. As I stood their in my shirt and panties, I realized I needed to make a decision. Since I wasn’t wearing a thong I was either going to have to pull up my panties and give myself a wedgie or pull them down and let Mr. Junior Artist get a full moon, and who knows what else.

“Where you getting’ it?” she asked, grinning.

“Right here,” I said, smacking my less ass cheek. She giggled slightly as I climbed upon the table and pulled down my undies.

“I’m Tim,” the artist said as he reappeared with his tools and apparently a stencil from the book. “You’d better show me exactly where you want this.” I propped myself up on one elbow and positioned the stencil on my cheek with his help. He grinned at me as I blushed. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “I’ve done tats right on the naughty bits. This is nothing. And since it’s on your ass, it’ll hardly hurt at all.”

He lied. Or at least he gave me his opinion on how much a tattoo hurts a woman who never had one before as compared to how much it hurts a barely-post teenage boy who was half covered in ink already. It wasn’t screamingly painful, more like someone was slowly and steadily scraping my skin over and over again. I wonder what it would have felt like if I had it done on a sensitive bit of skin.

Marie kept craning her head to try and catch a glimpse of my work, but her artists wasn’t having it. Eventually hers was done before mine and he let her up from the table—after applying some Vaseline and a bandage over the fresh ink—and she immediately rushed over to see what I was having done.

“You’re kidding!” she exclaimed after looking at my ass.

I wasn’t surprised at her reaction, I was a little surprised to see that she didn’t even bother to cover up before inspecting my work. Her breasts were smaller than I expected. She showed no shyness in displaying them for me, the artists or the few other customers in the parlor. That wasn’t at all surprising when I noticed that both nipples were pieced through with a bright steel rod that had little balls on each end holding it in place. Quiet Marie, I thought to myself, so reserved and focused on her job…spends her time adding to her huge back tattoo and getting her nipples pierced. What other surprises did she have for me?

“A cow?” she asked, her eyes not having moved from my butt.

“Yes. I think they’re cute.” It wasn’t truly a lie, and Michael would appreciate it I was certain.

She shrugged. “It’s just that most women get flowers, or butterflies, or birds, cute little animals and such for their first tattoo. You got a cow.”

“I like cows,” canlı casino I said. It was then that she noticed I was staring at her chest. My eyes hadn’t moved from the barbells going through her nipples. I was fascinated with the way the light sparkled off the balls.

“Apparently you like women’s breasts too,” she commented with a light laugh.

I winced. Hopefully she thought it was because of the needle and not my embarrassment. Last thing I needed was to discover that Marie was a lesbian and thought I was coming on to her. “No, it’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that I’ve never seen pierced nipples before. Well, not up close and in person,” I amended.

“You like them?” she asked raising her hands to cup her small boobs. “Ian did them for me.”

“That’s right, I did,” my tattoo artist, apparently named Ian, said.

“You want yours done?” she asked me.

“No!” It came out more emphatically than I intended.

She laughed. “It took me a while as well. Small steps.” She still didn’t make a move to cover herself. She must have been proud of her body. It was attractive enough; she was a small woman, barely above five foot two, but lithely built with curves in all the right places.

“I would have thought your tits were bigger,” I blurted trying to change the subject and doing a horrible job of it.

She laughed and gathered up her top and bra. She displayed the undergarment to me; it had copious padding that added to her small Bs bringing her up to an adequate C. “I wear the thick bras because they hide my piercings better, especially the rings. I like wearing rings better than studs and barbells, they’re prettier.”

I just nodded in agreement as she slipped on the bra then her shirt. Marie didn’t seem to be suffering any of the pain that I was undergoing, but she was probably used to the needle—and who knows what else. After getting dressed she looked down at my naked ass again. I was starting to feel seriously underdressed in the small parlor.

“It looks good, cute and sexy,” she complimented me and Ian.

“Thanks,” I breathed. Ian said nothing. The pain was starting to increase from an annoying itch up to an eight-hour sunburn level. Then Marie did something completely shocking. She laid her hand on my ass right next to my tattoo. I froze, then looked over my shoulder at what she was doing.

I have naturally pale skin, not pasty white, just the kind of pale where the day after summer any tan I might have had is instantly gone. I was delighted to see that my tattoo stood out boldly from my skin, but alarmed to see that everywhere around it my skin had turned bright red, as if my ass had been exposed to the sun all day. This was where Marie had placed her hand. It wasn’t exactly sexual, but it wasn’t exactly completely innocent either.

“You do have sensitive skin,” she commented. “The flesh is hot. You’re ass is going to be sore tomorrow.” She didn’t remove her hand. I was torn between telling her to get it off and telling her if she was going to leave it there to do something a little more exciting with it. I was acutely away that her bare hand was barely inches away from by now moistening pussy.

“Done,” Ian announced, breaking the spell between us. Marie removed her hand, looking more than a little guilty. I started to pull up my panties but Ian stopped me. “I’ve got to put the bandage on first.”

The tattoo was barely three kaçak casino inches across but after slathering the Vaseline across my already sore bottom and then taping on the wide bandage, I felt like I was wearing a diaper instead of panties. Ian went over the aftercare instructions with me as Marie listened in. Not that she needed to know how to care for a tattoo. She’d been through this a hundred times before.

Once out of the parlor and walking back to my car, I began to quiz her again. “You do this all the time?”

“Yes. It’s going to take about twenty more hours to finish my feathers.”

“How many other tattoos do you have? I just saw your big one.”

She smiled as she reached her car. “You’ll have to wait to see those,” she said, then quickly kissed me on the lips, slipped into her car and drove off. I was left wondering what the hell that was all about, what she was hinting at, and if I’d be able to sit down long enough with my ass on fire to drive home.

Michael immediately knew something was up when I limped inside the house.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, not overly concerned since I was moving, but slowly and jerkily.

“No.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

I sighed and looked at the kitchen chair. There was no way I was sitting on that hard wood surface. “Okay, let’s go into the bedroom and I’ll show you.”

I hobbled in front of him. I’m sure he was staring at my ass and could see the bandage hiding my tattoo. What was I thinking? I’m not the sort of person to make sudden, rash decisions like getting a tattoo or picking up a stranger in a bar. I was going to be stuck with this tattoo forever. I had been careful with the placement so it would be hidden even when wearing a revealing swimsuit, and even in today’s world lots of different people got tattoos for all reason. So why had I gotten a cow permanently placed on my ass?

Once in the bedroom, I dropped my slacks to the floor and laid belly down on the bed. I was certain Michael could see the bandage under my panties.

“What?” he asked.

He was clueless so I eased my panties over the hump of my ass to display the bandage to him.

“What is that?”

“Take it off and you’ll see.”

Apparently he was either too eager or too stupid to realize he shouldn’t just rip it off, which he did causing me to scream out in pain, but he didn’t even hear my shout.

“Holy shit!” he cried out. “That’s fantastic.”

I was surprised and looked over my shoulder at him. “It is?”

His eyes were shining in excitement. “Yeah. Sexy. And cute.” He touched it with one finger and I squirmed away.

“Don’t. It hurts. Can’t you see the red?”

“Oh, sorry.” He barely heard me, he was still staring at it. “I really want to fuck you now,” he said while starting to undress.

“Don’t,” I warned him. “My ass hurts too much to have you slamming into me and I’m not laying on my back while you fuck me. You’ll have to wait until it’s healed.”

I forced him to wait two days before I allowed him to fuck me again. He thought that was an unnaturally cruel and long time to go without sex, even though I allowed him to nurse whenever he requested it. Michael seemed to forget that I liked sex too—I had become accustomed to getting fucked just about every day, sometimes twice—and the wait seemed interminable to me as well.

Still, he appreciated the tattoo—even though it was completely out of character for me. Michael said the decoration only added to my sexiness, that it gave him something else to look at and admire when he was fucking me. Plus it reminded the both of us the current lynchpin of our relationship.

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