What If...?

Sometimes, however, it isn't a long-ago night in which I surrender to you. It's more modern-day, a normal work-a-day for you, as you recline in your chair, feet up, staring out the picture window at the small park across the street, and the ocean further on. Dusk is just beginning to fall, and safety lights add a fairytale glow to the picturesque scene across the way.

It's been a fairly quiet day in your shop. The tourist season is just starting up, beach bunnies coming in spurts and starts. You enjoy the calm now, knowing that in a week or two, spring break will hit hard, and your shop will be packed with college kids wanting tattoos or piercings to remind them of their debauchery, both of you which provide.

You put your head back, cradled in your hands, and with eyes closed, go over your inventory mentally, deciding on what to restock and what to display. When you hear the door open, you sit up, smiling as you always do, welcoming the newcomer inside.

You look her over as she walks around, looking at the displays of artwork that you have distributed around the walls, the carousels of piercing jewels on the counters. She seems somewhat nervous, quite a bit excited, and you notice she even discretely checks for dust and grime – neither of which she will find here, as you believe in a safe and clean environment for your work.

You look her over as she peruses your store, playing your mental game of trying to predict what she will request. She has long, curling, dark red hair, big blue eyes and soft lips. She is tall, but seems curvy enough in the jeans and button-down shirt she's wearing. She's showing a tasteful amount of cleavage, isn't wearing a lot of makeup, and seems fairly shy, all of which lead you to think that she's more curious than anything. But wait – she has a bit of daring, if you go by the three sets of earrings she wears. Not too much, and fairly tasteful – you'll have to wait and see what this one wants.

Finally, she ambles over to you, shy, faintly blushing. She asks if you have done most of the artwork that is on display, to which you respond affirmatively. She asks if you would be capable of doing a dragon, preferably in purples and blues and greens. Raising your eyebrow at her increasing blush, you again answer affirmatively. After a few moments of silence, you prod her, asking where she would

like

such a piece of work.

Blushing fiercely now, she avoids your eyes and motions in the general vicinity of her chest. Intrigued, you lean forward and ask just how big of a piece she is looking for – and are surprised when she stammers that she wants it to start above her breast (she has to choke that word out) and have the tail curl around and beneath. Her face bright red now, she reaches into a pocket and pulls out a folded paper, saying that she wants it to basically look something like that, and about that size.

Emitting a low whistle, you look at the picture, then back at her, and tell her that to get a tattoo of that size, in that area, would require a rather large chest dimension. You hand the paper back, asking if she wouldn't prefer something else.

She is flushed an incredible shade of crimson now, and stammers that she thinks she can handle it – but she wants to add something to it. Well, two things, really. You raise your eyebrow again, and wait for her to continue. After a second, she does, telling you that she wants the dragon to hold a Celtic cross. And... she pauses, then takes a deep breath, summoning the confidence to continue, she wants the dragon to wear a collar and chain – and the chain must connect to a nipple ring, as if it were to tether the dragon there.

At this, both your eyebrows go up in surprise – definitely not what you had expected of this one. Unbidden, your eyes wander back down to her chest, which you note is rising and falling at a very rapid rate. Clearing your throat, you ask if she has already been pierced, or if that will need to be done, also.

Relieved, she says that she will need to be pierced, and asks if you think you can do the job that she wants. Still looking fairly skeptically at her shirt, you tell her that you know you can handle the artwork and the piercing – but you're still not convinced that there's enough skin there for what she wants.

With that, she reaches up and unbuttons her shirt, then pulls it open, showing you her chest sweetly encased in yellow lace. You are unable to mask your surprise, as she is much larger than you would have thought, unless that's a padded bra. And even then, she most definitely has enough for her design.

Trying to get your pulse back under control, you nod your acceptance, and as she pulls the shirt back closed, you reach for the appropriate paperwork, explaining the process to her, as well as the care that will be required when it is all done. Luckily you know this rote by heart, as you are too busy trying to calm your raging erection, something that has not happened to you like this since the first few nipple or clit piercings you had to do. In the years that you've had this shop, you've learned to separate business from pleasure, and it's become just like any other job – except that you get the added bonus of being able to touch some incredibly hot women in their most intimate of places....

Finally the paperwork is done. Leading me over to a reclining chair, you have her lean back, then sit on the stool next to it, reclining her chair to the appropriate height. Pulling her shirt open, you realize her bra closes in the back, and ask that she remove it. Sitting up, she takes off both the shirt and bra, and sits back, her skin so pale against the chair that you can see the flush working up from her chest to cover her neck and cheeks. Soothingly you talk to her, explaining every step of what you are doing, interspersed with questions about how she had chosen this design, and things of that nature.

Once you have everything in place, you explain that you want to be sure of the dimensions that she wants, just so there is no misunderstanding. You tell her to watch in the overhead mirror as you trace what you believe it is she wants, asking her to make any corrections. Then you lean over, and running your dark fingers over her creamy white skin, approximate the area and design that she is looking for.

As your hand glides over the skin where the dragon's back is to be, you hear her gasp. Trying to ignore both that slight sound and your once-again-raging erection, you keep talking, describing it to her, now circling her nipple where the tail will be, watching that nub get hard from your touch. Closing your eyes for a second, you take a deep breath, and shifting in the chair, try to readjust the tightness of your jeans. Opening your eyes, you shift your hand again, now explaining how you see the chain and collar on the dragon. Your finger caresses down the inside curve of her breast, showing how the chain is loose and draping, showing that the dragon is a willing captive, tethered to this rosy nipple – and with that you give her nipple a quick flick with the pad of your thumb – and watch in surprise as her back arches completely off the chair and she moans in obvious pleasure.

Coming back to your senses, you apologize profusely, tripping over your own tongue, saying you don't know what came over you – you don't usually touch a customer that way. You are sure you are going to have a lawsuit on your hands over this one – but to your surprise, she reaches up, places a finger against your lips, and tells you that it's all right. She explains that she was watching in the mirror, and the reflection of your dark skin against her white breast aroused her – but when you flicked over that nipple, and she could both feel and watch it, it about drove her crazy. She tells you that she's never been with a black man before – in fact, she's been married and a 'good girl' for the past 11 years, and although she's fantasized about various situations, nothing has ever stimulated her like the contrast in color that she just saw reflected in the mirror. So saying that, she then asks if you'd rather not do this for her – she'll understand if it would cause problems, and she'll leave.

You think about it for a moment. Judging by your reaction to her, it's going to be very difficult to have your hands on her in a strictly non-sexual way – but something about her draws you to her. You can't explain it. And even though you know she is married, you have this compulsion to have your hands on her, daydreaming that eventually you can add your lips and dick into play.

Taking a deep breath, you explain that you will do her design, if she likes. But, you add with a laugh, trying to break the tension, there's some type of chemistry going strong here – and if you both aren't very careful, and very professional about it, it could very well result in her first taste of black dick. Smiling, and by now blushing fiercely again, she says just one word, and you feel it go straight to your already throbbing dick – "yummy."

Finally you are ready to get down to work. Adjusting the overhead light, you lean over and begin the outline of your design, unable to help noticing that wicked contrast yourself, now. She's right, it does look damn good. With a groan, you force your mind back to the work at hand, and while your talented fingers shape the tethered dragon, you decide that conversation would at least hide the breathlessness you are both experiencing.

You ask her about mundane things at first, where she lives, what she does for work, things like that. You discover that she lives almost around the corner from you, and after several years of the workforce, she has decided to go back to school and get her degree, which is part of the reason she finally decided to get her tattoo done – she won't have to worry about it offending anyone at work. You talk about your shop, and laugh about some of the people who have come in, she talks about life with kids and the, what she terms 'teenyboppers,' in some of her classes. As you talk, it gets more personal, without either of you realizing it. She tells you that long ago a friend had designed another tattoo for her, a little devil – and she almost got it done, but chickened out, even though she carried that drawing around for years. When you laughingly ask where she had been going to put it, as you can't see her being the type to have a tattoo on her shoulder, she blushes fiercely and says that it was going to go where the dragon is now – it was the lesser of two evils, as far as locations went. Chuckling, you say that you can guess where the other location was, and lift your hand to press it gently on her hip. Even more embarrassed, but comfortably at ease with you, she shakes her head no and moves your hand inward and downward several inches, until you can feel the heat rolling off the apex of her thighs, then presses your fingertips to her and huskily murmurs "right here."

Feeling yourself throb inside those jeans of yours, you barely resist caressing her, but instead pull your hand back and wag your finger in her face, mockingly telling her that would have been a very naughty thing to do...what would her husband have thought? At this she laughs, and says that all happened before her husband – that in fact, before she got married, she had been fairly wild at times. At your disparaging look, she hastens on, telling you that yes, in fact she did go through quite the wild stage. The stories she tells you amidst the blushes are certainly not what you would have expected from the creature before you.

Laughing, you both talk about other experiences in your lives, ones that seemed mortifying at the time, but are really rather funny when you look back on them now. She tells about being a virgin, giving blow jobs to five guys in a car one night, because she had wanted to keep her virginity. When you ask if she was able to keep it, she informs you that yes, she was – even though the way they were caressing her made her hotter than hell, they never got under her clothes – which would have done it. With a mock evil leer, you tell her that if

you

had been in the car that night, there's

no way

she would have gotten out of it that easy... you would have taken her virginity, and made her beg for more. With that she just closes her eyes, and moans, then tells you that if that's the case, she wishes there was a way to turn back time!

Smiling, you ask her when she finally lost her cherry, and are astonished when she tells you that she was almost nineteen. It was her first boyfriend – because the guys in the car didn't count, they were strangers – and they even ended up engaged, which luckily didn't work out. When you ask why it was so lucky to have ended, she flushes again, and tells you that he was pretty small. When you kid her, telling her that he couldn't be but so small, she informs you that yes, he could – he was barely four inches, even when aroused. Amazed, you just look at her, then burst out laughing. She smiles, and says there was a good side to it though – at least it didn't hurt so much when she lost her virginity! You just smile to yourself, thinking it's a damn good thing you

hadn't

taken her cherry, 'cuz it definitely would have hurt!

When you both finally stop laughing, you ask what other wild and crazy things she's done. All the while you've been talking, your hands have been busy, and time has just flown by. You are by now coloring in the outline, something you normally wouldn't do in a first session on something of this size, but she seems to be handling it all very well, and truth be told, you don't want this to end. When she doesn't answer you right away, you look up, and notice she is once again watching your hands in the overhead mirror – and you can see that hot, burning light in her eyes again, telling you what your touch does to her.

With a deep breath, she tears her eyes away from the mirror, and looks back into yours. Well, she says, she's done just about everything, with the exception of going bi. She says that alone has no appeal for her, but just about everything else goes. Once again she has shocked you, and she laughs at your amazed expression of disbelief. She laughs again, telling you that really, she loves sex, and some of her favorite times have been in public places, with the danger of getting caught. She has had sex in stairwells, in rivers, in the ocean in bright daylight on a crowded beach, on the beach at night with other people walking by... the list goes on and on. At one point she even points to the gazebo in the park across the street, and tells you she's even done it there, at night, and again on the picnic table by the water. You look out the window, amazed and envious. In your mind you can picture her there, hot and sweaty, glistening in the safety lights, moaning and writhing, demanding more and more from her partner.

Trying to erase that erotic image from your mind, you ask if she has ever been with more than one guy, to which she responds affirmatively. She tells you it was years ago, long before she got married, and shortly after breaking up with that first boyfriend. In fact, they were friends of that ill-fated boyfriend, that was how she met them. She chuckles and says that she wishes she had known then what she knows now – she would have worn those two boys out! But her ass was still virgin then, so she satisfied them by sucking one while the other fucked her. They used her all night, falling asleep with her between them, then waking up in the morning and taking turns on her. She says she has fond memories, but wishes it had been better – and she married shortly after.

By now, several hours have passed since she walked through the door to your shop. You are now doing the accent touches on her design before you do the final artwork of the chain looping from the collar down to her still-extended nipple. Looking up, you ask if she wants to do it all tonight, piercings too, or if she wants to wait on the piercing. Her eyes blazing into yours, she tells you that if she waits, she's afraid she'll lose her nerve – go ahead and do it all now. But, she has changed her mind – instead of just one side pierced, she wants them both done, please. You ask if she's sure, and she says yes – she's had plenty of time to think about it while you've worked on her, and she likes the idea of being so 'naughty.'

When you finish up the chain, you help her off the chair, requesting that she look over the rings one more time, just to make sure of her decision, since she now wants them in both nipples. You sit there and watch as she ambles over to the display counter, enjoying the way the jeans hug her ass, and as she leans forward to look at the rings, admire the way her full tits bounce and jiggle. Readjusting yourself once again, you head over to the counter, pulling out trays, discussing what would look best from an artistic standpoint. Finally the decision is narrowed down to two different designs. Motioning her to come around the counter, you have her stand in front of a wall mirror. Standing behind her, you lift her breast, cupping it in your hand, surprised at its weight. Your other arm encircles her, and you hold the first of the two designs up to her nipple, showing her how it would look. After a few moments, you release her to turn and pick up the other ring, then turn back and repeat the process.

She stands there, encircled by your arms, and you can feel her quivering. She isn't looking at the selection of rings – isn't even trying to pretend she's looking at them. Instead, she is watching your reflections, obviously enjoying the sight of your dark, well-muscled arms wrapped around her as your large fingers cup her breast. With a half gasp, half moan, she leans her head back onto your shoulder, thrusting her breast more fully into your hand. Her eyes close, and she starts to shift her hips, pushing her tight, white ass into the growing bulge in your jeans. She tips her head, and you feel her lips and tongue caress your neck, licking and gently nibbling on you.

You close your eyes and enjoy the sensations for a moment, liking the feel of this woman in your arms, turned on by the contrast between her creamy white skin and the darkness of yours. The chemistry that has been bubbling between you since she walked in the door turns up even higher, and it's only with the utmost of will that you are able to take a deep breath and step away, reminding her that you're not done yet.

She opens her eyes and turns a fiery red, mistaking your intentions as a rejection. Face flaming, she stammers that she's sorry, she didn't mean to do anything like that, she just got lost in the moment. Walking over to the reclining chair, she picks up her clothing and starts fumbling with the buttons so she can put it back on. When you walk over to her and lift her chin with your finger, you can see the tears of mortification welling in her eyes. Her lips quiver as you look deep into those big blue eyes, and you watch as she bites on those soft, pink lips, trying to stop their trembling.

Leaning down you kiss her gently, softly, sweetly. Then pull away a few inches, and still looking into her eyes, tell her that you meant that you still need to do her piercings – before your completely and totally ravage her willing white body.

Hearing your intentions, she moans, and wrapping her hands around your neck, pulls you to her for a long, deep, drugging kiss. You hold her waist in your hands, wishing like hell you could pull her tightly to you, but knowing that contact like that would be painful on that new tattoo just yet.

When this kiss finally ends, both of you are panting and flushed with desire. Taking her shirt back from her hands, you drop it onto the counter, then gently push her back onto the chair, telling her that if she kisses you like that again before you're done, you're likely to put the ring in her arm, not her nipple!