A Piercing in California

The man holding on to her tit was not her husband.

She'd walked long blocks in a town she did not know, sweat dripping down her back and into her bra in the California heat despite the dark and the late hour. She wasn't sure where she was going. She was very aware of the double-takes of men on the corners who saw her. Small white women weren't supposed to be out in this area at night. She knew that, and it scared her, and thrilled her.

What she was after was bling. This trip to Cali had come at the last minute, another fucking work trip, and she'd lost things in the packing and traveling. Among them, her belly ring. It hadn't been festooned with real diamonds or anything, but she missed the curve of metal that pierced her navel. Gave her a reason to show off the stomach she worked at keeping.

But she did have one alternate reason to seek out a body mod shop in the dark.

The place she'd found in a listing on her smartphone eventually appeared. It was cleaner than she'd expected. It was a well-lit nicely decorated little shop covered with art options for people to pick as tattoos. It even had a little bell over the door to signal her arrival. Which was good, as there appeared to be no one there. Still, the AC blasted and felt like a wind from heaven as it chilled the salty drops on her skin.

As she waited, she pulled at her tank top, at the spot between her breasts, to get some cool air on her torso. She hadn't worn a bra, just the tank, a skirt, and shoes with a heel far too high for this neighborhood.

"Do you for?" asked a voice. He'd caught her off guard.

"Oh, hey. Hi."

"Hi." He gave her a smile. He looked like a skinny biker, in jeans and a t-shirt, sinewy arms covered in a sleeve of color from shoulder to finger tips. There were even markings coming out from under his dark beard, slithering down his neck. "Help you?"

She was for some reason tongue tied, and pointed at her belly button. The man smiled again and went behind the counter.

"Got a big assortment, various metals. You take a look and we can try them all."

"I don't want to keep you open if you were ready to close," she said. Though she did want to keep him open.

"I'm in no hurry, little lady," he said. "You take your time."

She perused the case, pointed at a few, and he dutifully pulled them and she pushed up her tank, then held each ring next to her navel, looking down, chin tucked. "I dunno. I'm not sure anymore. Any you'd recommend? You're the expert."

"Well, I like the jewelry look, maybe give a little message." He went to another case and pulled some items, brought them over. He laid them out one by one.

One had pink stones that spelled 'ROCK.'

The second read 'Peace' in little fake gems.

Then, with no hesitance at all, he put out the last one, a hook of stainless steel with a black charm on the end with white letters: 'SLUT.'

The man looked her dead in the eye as he put it down; she couldn't look up at his. Her cheeks flushed a little.

Her first though: How can he tell?

Her second: My god, I'm fucking soaking wet.

"I have..." she said, catching her breath, "I have another question."

"Shoot."

"Nipple piercing," was all she could say.

He waited, then finally said, "We do them. Sure."

"I have a, uh, special circumstance," she said. "I should... show you."

He didn't say anything to that, just moved his head toward the back. She followed.

In the rear was a tattoo chair that reminded her of the dentist, and other stations for less intense work. He led her to a stool. He pulled a slightly lower chair over and sat. When she did likewise, his face was at the same level as her chest.

"Show me." He said it less as a request to a customer, and more like a command. It made her cunt tingle to be talked to like that.

She lowered the tank top sleeve on her shoulder, pushed it down her right arm until the shirt could drop and expose her entire breast for him. It was obvious—the nipple was partially inverted, a consequence of breastfeeding. Doctor said it was nothing to worry about, but she'd thought frequently about a nipple ring, a little barbell through the nipple that, once erect, maybe could make it look more like before.

"Interesting," he said. And stared at it.

"Do you think—"

"Get it erect."

He'd done it again. She glanced at his lips, his hands, wondering what they'd feel like if he touched her. That, as much as the command, drove her own hand to her breast, massaging it. Squeezing it. When the nipple popped out a bit, she grabbed at it, pinching and pulling to get the nipple to distend. The cool air in the shop helped. Her other nipple was definitely erect, poking through the fabric of the tank top.

"Yeah," he said. "I can work with that." And he lifted his hand, and cupped her entire breast in it. She gasped a little. Especially when he squeezed it.

"Maybe... you should taste it," she suggested.

He looked at her now, and she was suddenly unsure, felt like she'd read the signals wrong, that she'd overstepped...

Then his tongue came out and ran across that nipple. And he squeeze the breast tighter, making the white skin around the pink areola match in hue. Her nipple felt like it was on fire suddenly—he was sucking it. Grazing with his teeth.

"Fuck, yes," she said.

She thought briefly of her husband at home with the kids—how upset he'd be if she actually got the nipple ring. How totally worth it that would be. But this, this was so much better. And he'd never, ever know.

The man's other hand kneaded her other covered breast now, then he lowered the tank strap on the other side, letting both the girls swing free.

She could smell her own musky sent now, the wetness between her legs driving her crazy.

He could obviously smell it too. He pulled back, looked her right in the eye, and spread her legs. The skirt rode up on her, and she gripped the side of the stool as he pulled her forward slightly. She was wide open for him, and his mouth hungrily plunged in. His tongue ran along the fabric of her thong, up and down the slim covering of her pussy lips. He took a hand away from her leg, now extended in the air, long enough to pull the thong to the side. Then his tongue—rough, like a kitten's! or so she imagined—was on her clit. In her. He was not gentle as he lapped at her. His goal seemed to be to drink as much of her up as possible, pausing to punish her womanhood as he went.

"More," she begged. "Please."

He stood. Her legs lowered as his hands and hers went to his jeans, pulling the belt and the button and the zipper to get them off fast. To copulate as quickly as they could. He pulled out a nicely sized cock, not very long but with a girth she knew would fill her. Her stool put her at the right height—he rubbed the smooth head of that shaft against her mound, once, twice, thrice and found the wet opening.

He was in her and pounding her into the stool. He wrapped his arms around her, one at her waist to hold her, another with his hand up to wrap in her hair. He pulled it roughly, pulling back her head, so he could run his mouth up and down her throat and neck. He never stopped fucking her hard, giving her everything he had. She feared he might come, like some eager teenage boy, but he seemed built for stamina, just pistoning repeatedly into her and making her head feel light and dizzy and full of cotton.

When he did pull out, it shocked her a little, it was so abrupt. He stayed in charge. He guided her off the stool by her hair, his thick fingers still wrapped in her blond locks. He pushed her, until she was on her knees, and she was thankful there was a small rug in front of the stool. It was all she had time to appreciate.

His thick dick was at her mouth, still wet from her, redolent with the smell of pussy, and she gloried in that, wishing they had another woman there for him to fuck, so she could suck strange cunt juice off his shaft as well as her own.

She lost herself in the fantasy for a bit as she went down on him. After a minute, she was no longer blowing him as much as he was fucking her mouth, using her tongue and lips as a fuck hole for his pleasure. She opened her mouth wide to get gasps of air along with whatever her nose could pull, but sometimes he pushed her face onto his cock so deep her nose pecked as his pubes. She felt the drops of her own drool on her chin and tits.

When he pulled his cock out completely, she gasped, for real this time, gulping air and marveling at how she wanted more.

He picked her up and spun her around, leaning her over the stool this time, arms pinned at her sides by his hands. She wondered for a moment if he'd take her ass, if she could handle it without lube and preparation...

He settled for slamming into her pussy again, and the angle made her cry out with each impact of their bodies. He never let go of her arms, even curled them behind her back so he could hold both her wrists in his big hand.

"Yes, you fucking use me," she said."

"What's that, slut?" he asked, loudly, angrily even.

"Use it. Use that pussy, god, use it. Fuck it, fill it up. Please, fucking fill it up!"

He slammed her again and again. "You like that. You fucking rich sluts, love coming in here and getting your tits played with and your pussy's fucked. Don't cha?"

"Yes, baby," she said, and wondered at how many other women just like her he'd had. "Tell me I'm a slut."

"You're more than just a slut," he said, slamming her. He reached forward with his free hand, got another handful of hair to use to yank her backwards onto him. Then he let go of her hair and slapped her ass. "You're a fucking dirty whore. A goddamn cum dumpster."

"Oh fuck yes," she said. "I need it. I need your cum. Flood me with cum, I'll do anything."

"You fucking cum gobbling—" he couldn't finish. He leaned forward, pulled hard on her tit—the first one she'd made so erect for him—and slapped it hard and the sting made her see stars.

She felt a hot injection as he gave a strangled cry.

"Oh my fucking god, yes," she whimpered and tried to buck her ass on to him, squeezing him, feeling the endorphin rush of man cum flooding her insides.

He backed away, and fell against his own seat. Freed, she turned and saw his penis there, like a purple tree branch it was so swollen. She couldn't help but put her mouth on it again. She had to taste it. He gasped now, sensitive. She put a hand against her pussy and felt his deposit of white gold gush out onto her palm—then she brought it up and used it to massage his cock, as a jerk-off lube, that she also hungrily licked and swallowed as she went. She wanted another fresh load, and he managed to somehow, despite what he obviously thought he was capable of. It was little more than a dribble of ejaculate, but the fresh spunk landed on her tongue and lips and she did gobble it down, licking her lips as she did.

He pushed her back then, unable to take any more touching.

She knew how it was once men cum—they need rest, no longer have the energy. She wasn't hurt.

He was breathing heavy as she pulled her tank back up and smoothed her skirt.

"Maybe we'll do that piercing tomorrow," she said, knowing full well she flew out in the morning, back to home, the husband, the kids, and real life. But for tonight, she had to go find another hard cock. She was just getting started.

She left the proprietor of the shop there, cock still out but clean as a whistle. On her way to the door with the bell, she scooped up one of the rings on the counter, and inserted it as she the bell tinkled.

The jewelry said 'ROCK.' She knew the 'slut' title was obvious from how freshly fucked she looked to every man giving her a double take on the darkened streets of that California town.