Saturday came and I was sitting in a chair with my arm draped over a cushioned arm easel. Now Harley that day decided to wear these cut up shorts, obviously self-made; with a buttoned up shirt, and a push up bra. So yeah, jaw dropping vision that day. She spoke just as sweet and sultry as she looked. So sitting through these two tattoos was definitely a new and painful experience. I will admit I had to take breaks. Deep breathing, and she laughed at me.
When she talked she spoke about her life in tattooing. She wasn't even into tattoos until her first one. As she spoke I watched her mouth move. The searing pain seemed to go away but there was still the scraping and the stabbing. I handled it ok. When I switched arms she walked over to my other side in front of me. I mouthed a wow silently as her keister went by. Almost could see ass cheek, almost. She sat down on the stool all lady-like. I raised my eyebrows due to arousal. Was that a part of her process when gave tattoos? If it was I wanted to get more tats for this reason alone.
Still, she remained professional and I sat there preparing myself for the second round. As she was in the middle of the second half she thanked me for being a gentleman. I guess other dudes tried to hit on her. First off, she has a weapon at her disposal. I am not pissing her off. So if my dick gets blue balls, it'll go down with the proper "before bedtime care". And second, tats cost a lot of money. So if dressing like she does and giving me a platonic showing of her body that also keeps her calm and confident, then so be it. I thanked her back for telling me about her life.
When she finished I looked into a mirror. Very well made indeed. She covered them and she had lost height. I guess I didn't notice she wore heels. She looked up at me with those deep dark eyes of hers. She patted the parlor chair and closed a curtain around us. I had sat down and then she crawled on top of me. I was so surprised because there were others in the shop. She warned me not to bend my arms and to keep them still.
She planted her lips onto mine. We smacked like we chewed bubble gum. She kissed and rocked as the friction between our crotches grew steadily. Faster, faster, and rhythmically she moved. She moaned a little every time she headed downward. Her warm cinnamon breath tasted so good. Luckily the music was loud. My hands itched to grab her bottom and rub with all my might. It was torture and I had to listen to doctor's order.
She was coming close to releasing because her moaning had become a little more ragged. I tried adding in a rotation with my hips but it was hard to get a skill down packed in jeans. She immediately stopped and I asked what was wrong. She assured me it was part of the session. A denial fetish. The highest number she had was twenty. You know - you reach the apex and then you slow yourself down and then coax yourself back down to an unaroused state. She climbed off of me. Yup, blue balls and sore arms were my rewards that night.
