The
clank of an old copper bell sounds as I pass through the door of one of
England’s oldest tattoo parlours. The door closes to the tiny establishment,
nestled along a narrow, cobbled path in The Shambles.
The parlour owner told me once
that this place starting inking patrons over a century ago, when a Viking
descendant visited England’s rocky shores to see the land his ancestors invaded
at the turn of the millennium. He fell in love with an English peasant girl in
Aberdeen but was beaten and banished from the town for his Norse heritage. He
spent the rest of his life single here in York and opened a tattoo parlour, a
depressed renegade after hearing news of his lover’s death a year later. Men
and women of all walks of life from all over the world sat in these old leather
chairs, sharing stories of battle and loss through ink and ale. The place’s
current owner is the great grandson of that Norseman.
His name is Artur. And he is
my boyfriend of two wonderful years.
The
outside noise is now muffled with the door closed, and all that permeates the
air in the little shop is the buzz of a vintage Danish tattoo machine and the
smell of sandalwood and steam, surrounding the old autoclave as it keeps the
shop equipment sterile between uses.
Artur
is leaned forward, his broad back to me as I step toward an old lounge chair
several feet behind him. He hears the click of my spiked heels, his favorite on
me, and judging by the tempo of my pace instantly knows who’s behind him.
Still
focussed on his work, on the client hunched over in the seat in front of him,
he calls out before lifting a quick eye to the mirrored walls.
“Josephine.”
I ease
back in the chair with a smile as my eyes catch him looking at me for a moment
as he sits up.
“Artur,”
I nod back with a quick grin.
Aside
from the client in the chair, we are the only people in the parlour.
“Busy
day today?”
“Not
bad, pet. Had a leg piece to do earlier and William finished a sleeve this aft,
before heading home.” Artur keeps his focus on the subject the whole time he
speaks.
I rise
from the chair and come to stand just behind my man, looking past him at the
beautiful blackwork he’s setting down for a dragon on his client’s right
shoulder.
“Looks
amazing sweet.”
Artur
lets out a faint grunt as he finishes outlining the dragon’s scales on the big
man sitting in front of him. The patron looks in the mirror and eyes me up and
down.
“That
you’re lady, Artur?”
“Yea.”
“Blimey!”
The old man turns his head with envy. “I’d fancy inked up legs like that on
Meredith.”
Artur calmly sat up and wiped his back with a cloth, taking
the cocky compliment all in stride.
“Argh.
Go home to your wife shag her good. Then bring her here tomorrow and I can ink
her up for ya.”
The
client gets up and looks at the artwork in a set of mirrors. “Great work, as
always, mate. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
After
bandaging the new work, the client throws his shirt back on and gives Artur a
handshake before heading out the door.
Artur
steps outside and inhales the evening breeze before returning back inside. He
looks at me with hungry eyes and smiles.
“Fuck
me Josie.” His eyes loiter on me before he turns to lock the parlour door and
flips the little hanging sign to CLOSED.
He’s
called me by my middle name twice this evening. It’s always Lola, but lately,
when he wants something…something only I can give him, he calls me Josephine,
and it melts me. Every time.
Artur
cleans up the equipment and sets his tattoo machine on a clean cloth for the
night before unbuttoning his shirt and removing it to reveal a black singlet
underneath, now covering only a few of the numerous brightly coloured tattoos
wrapped around his chest and arms.
He
pushes open a gate that leads to the backroom… a more relaxed area with a
refrigerator, an old leather recliner and a vintage Roberts console radio on a
benchtop alongside his more esteemed tattooing equipment.
“Drink,
babes?”
I nod,
and he grabs a couple of Green Jacks from the fridge and hands me one.
He
twists off the cap and leans in to place a soft kiss on my lips before taking a
swig. He tosses the cap in the garbage and walks over to a small but
comfortable padded table.
“Get on now... Let’s see that
arse.”
I walk over with a smile. I love
the words that come from his mouth. A month ago, for our two-year anniversary,
he offered me a gift. I told him I wanted a tattoo of two words on my arse.
After whispering my request into his ear that night, he was more than happy to
oblige. Tonight he is checking my new tattoo to see if it needs any touching
up.
I take
a swig of ale before placing it on his workbench and drag my finger along its
steel edge while eye fucking him all the way to the table. I can see the
muscles in his forearms tense as he devours the sight of me. In the depths of
his beautiful ice blue eyes, there lies the confession… that I’m the only one
who melts away his strong, stoic demeanor. To everyone else he appears carefree
and uninterested when he speaks. But when he hears my soft voice, something
inside him kneels at my feet and surrenders to my presence. And god, is it ever
fucking hot…
I step up on a small side bench and straddle the small
table, leaning forward onto my belly.
“How’s
this?” I purr warmly…
Artur stands at the rear of the
low hung table and grabs my waist, and with one smooth motion, slides me back a
couple of feet until I’m off the end of the table from the knees down. The
motion catches me off guard and I giggle nervously. Artur is slow and
unpredictable, like a wolf in the forest depths at dusk.
I brush
my hair to one side of my head while propped on my elbows and try to catch the
evening crowds far past the counter and front window of the parlour. It’s not
easy to see inside this time of day, but I enjoy people watching when Artur has
me in his hands, laying here on his table in the back room.
He
turns the knob on the old transistor radio and to my delight, my favorite Chris
Isaac song comes on, raising the temperature in the room. I reach for an old
embroidered pillow and tuck it under my head, giving my arms a rest.
I feel
the edges of his torso between my calves as he stands there and I swing up my feet,
waving them lazily about so he can read my playful mood.
“Those
spikes, pet,” he growls in appreciation, in a low tone past his lips. The rasp
of his voice takes me like a hand around the neck… Harsh. Sudden. But
controlled. Always in control…
I feel
his warm hands land on my thighs and work slowly up my legs, hiking my miniskirt
up past my round bum. The hem of my skirt rises past the two simple words he’s
drawn on one of my tender spheres and I know time stops…
I melt
him further….
“Aargh,
pet. Your perfect arse makes those words look so good…”
“Well,
I love your artwork on me, baby.”
“Now
let’s have a look…”
As I feel his thumb graze over my tattoo, I bite my lower
lip, ready to tease him further as he leans in close to examine the linework on
my cheek. Not wearing underwear, I
spread my legs slow and count backwards in my head.
3…..2…..1…..
“Fuck
me, princess! You’re so fucking naughty.”
I twist
my head back just enough to see the look of surprise on his face, realizing
that there’s a little jeweled plug sitting neatly in my arse, shining all
pretty for his enjoyment.
“How’s
a man supposed to focus when his woman teases the fuck out of him like this?”
Seconds
later, a firm hand lands on the cheek opposite of my tattoo and I flinch,
knowing I’ve pushed him past his envelope of control.
“I know
you can focus on me, baby. Your hands have such control,” I tease back.
I hear
Artur let out an exhale, knowing he’s somewhere between trying to get his work
done and attacking me to the point beyond both our pleasures!
“Well,
let’s get these shoes of yours off. You know I can’t focus with them on you.”
He gently pulls my spiked stilettos of my feet and tosses them out of view.
Next, he rubs the soles of my feet, massaging them with his thumbs until I surrender
to his hands. The smile spreads harder across my face with his touch. I love
this man so much…
His
digits glide along my calves and up my inner thighs until each hand fills
itself with a butt cheek. My flesh is squeezed, prisoner to his every move. He
releases his grip and swirls his palms around my arse, heating it slowly.
He
slides a finger down the crack of my tush and nudges the plug, wiggling it
around in my butt, sending random tingles throughout my core.
But
before adding a few touch ups to my new tattoo, Artur decides to tease me just
a bit more. He walks to the table, takes another swig of his ale, and scans my
body, from head to toe like an animal before it pounces. I keep my playful
demeanor on point, and cross my feet behind me, being coy in the moment while
our eyes lock.
He
steps to me and places his free hand on my hair, pulling it aside to reveal
more of my neck, and kisses it with a slow burn that forces my eyes closed to
savor it as a princess would drown in the hold of her prince.
Artur
then disappears from sight and saunters slowly to stand behind the table again.
Then there is silence. He knows how test my patience when he has me half naked,
forcing me to wait for his next action, and it’s one of the sexiest things I
enjoy.
I feel
a hand splay across my butt cheek, holding me down firmly, and before long the
shock of a cold beer bottle tickles my skin as he drags its base slowly down my
thigh and speaks.
“I
think we should put something on your leg one day, right along here, pet.
Something big and detailed.”
“Anything
you desire,” my lips return to his ears, fighting the desire to flinch as the
condensation trails across my skin.
“Very
good. Now…”
He sets
the bottle aside and grabs his old vintage tattoo machine from the table…his
favorite one from New York with tall twin coils and a high precision armature.
I hear the snap of latex gloves after he slides them on his hands.
“Just
have to fix the tip of the one letter.”
I slow
my breaths and await the touch of his hands on me. A minute later, the old
machine is dipped in ink and comes to life with a buzz. He presses into my soft
skin and instantly I am his…
Nothing
emulates that pleasant sting on my flesh like the skill that flows from my
lover’s hands. Perhaps, only the naughty tingle of his open palm when he heeds
the words on my bum and gives me a well-deserved spanking.
I pick
up a small mirror on the table not far from my reach and lift it to see his
pensive reflection over my shoulder. He notices and grumbles.
“Stop
that.”
“Why? I
love looking at you.”
“You’ll
get to look at me all you want in a few minutes…”
“Ohh?”
I inquire with a playful smile.
Artur stays silent for the next while, focussed on the last
of his work on my body. The sun is disappearing further behind the mess of
stores that line the narrow road outside the window. I can see only the odd
pedestrian walk past the parlour, unaware that he or she could see me laying
half naked in at the rear of the shop, being inked by the handsome owner, should
they only lean against the window and peer in carefully…
My appointment on his table this evening has become a
constant rush of adrenaline…
“All
done, pet,” Artur exclaims, getting up to look at his work. “Have a look.”
I get up and hold the small mirror to reflect his artwork
into a second mirror.
Looks
perfect.
“Thank
you babe. I love it.” I slip my skirt down over it and turn to him. “Now what
would you like to do tonight, now that’ work is over.”
“I’m
taking you to a pub, Josie.”
“Sounds
good. But I was hoping that—”
“But
first…” Artur cuts my conversation after pulling off his gloves and washing his
hands. He turns to me and scoops me off the floor, careful to support me just
below my arse. “First, I will enjoy my princess. Come with me.”
Artur
steps back with me in his arms, and sits down in his recliner, my dainty body
set effortlessly atop his huge lap. I lean forward, our eyes connected, and I
wrap my arms around him, and take his lips with mine. I seduce his mouth every
few seconds, teasing him closer to the point of no control. The Norse in him
eventually takes over as he’s been dying to taste me for the last hour. He
grabs my hair and pulls me back, then gently bites me just under my jaw, his
way of tasting my sweet skin just before he comes undone. I know him well and
invite his tongue on my skin but not without reaching for his belt buckle.
I hurry
to undo it, as our breaths deepen, wanting to feel him inside me. My legs tense
as I rise slightly, pulling his rock-hard member free of his jeans and give it
a few slow, lengthy strokes. He’s big and likes touch as much as I do, so I
grip his cock hard as my palm plays it before setting it at my lips for a slow,
steady plunge.
Artur
growls at me. I place my free hand on his shoulder and slip it under the strap
of his singlet, eager to feel the definition in his traps. Fuck… The lines on
his body are my weakness. He is his own artist…years of a man building his own
shapely canvas, then the same man, a marvel of artistry with all the intricate
artwork adorning his muscular physique.
His
hands travel up my shirt and find my breasts, instantly hardening my nipples
with the heat of his touch. I melt on him, and slide down onto his shaft,
inching my way past the stingy pain that pleases me when he edges in a little
dry. I come to rest at the base of his torso and reach behind him to find the
elastic that holds back his mess of long hair and bust it loose, freeing his
locks for my hands to get lost in.
“Fuck,
my prince,” I moan between our lips, before letting his tongue find mine.
His
fingers leave my nipples and his grip finds my waist, ready to take me for a
ride on his cock. He lifts and lowers me, to get me started, and I fall into a
rhythm we both seek, my legs buried in the chair at either side of his body.
I love
mounting Artur. The penetration is intense, as is the ability to see him and
kiss him, just as he eluded to ten minutes ago. I cradle his bearded chin in my
hands and rock back and forth, our breaths becoming deep and ragged. My eyes
cast a lewd evil at his icy blues, begging him to give me his skilled hands.
He
comprehends my stare and lets me turn around, taking position on his recliner to
reverse cowgirl. Slowly, his hand slithers up my chest and sits at my jaw, his
thumb grazing my cheek, awaiting the entry I seek… I lean back and rest on his
chest, and drown in my fantasies…
I place
a hand on his massive forearm and let his two mid fingers slip close to my
mouth, swirling about my lips as I sway on his cock. I want more of him to
penetrate me. With eyes shut, I open my mouth, and let two tattoo covered
fingers enter me. The warm, salty taste of his skin on my tongue stuns my
senses into addiction. Having him in me at both ends is the most arousing means
of being owned by the man I love, and my sense of logic crumbles as I become
more an animal, a frenzied mortal racing toward complete lustful consumption.
God,
the sensations this man brings me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before in
my life. With Artur, we understand each other’s fantasies, each other’s darkest
desires. With Artur, I can let myself go, and he will be right there to hold
onto me and ride out every beat of pleasure that blasts through my heart. Every
moan. Every singular touch. It’s a fast ride up a mountain of bliss to the
cliff’s edge before you are thrown weightlessly over the edge and feel free
from restraint, becoming yourself a moment of timeless energy that defines
elation!
My
tongue slithers about his warm fingers as his body holds me tight. He stays an
anchored steed in the chair and lets me ride his cock hard as I feel my crest
of pleasure quickly nearing. I clench hard to keep my little toy inside as my
arse rubs tight against Artur’s groin, and the fullness taking over me
accelerates my ride toward an incredible impending orgasm.
Nearing
those last few moments when everything tightens before the wave hits, I suck
his digits one more time then open my mouth and arch my back tight against him!
I feel a blast of energy wanting
to lift my body off his as the pulses of pleasure slam through me. The muscles
in my thighs and calves tremble viciously, and I curl myself up until I’m
sitting straight up on him. I flinch up and lift from his cock, wetting him as
my juices meet his seed, and I turn around and sit on his lap, wriggling about
for the next few seconds as I wave goodbye to the last of my jubilations.
“Goodammit
Artur.”
“My
princess,” is all that emerges from his lips as he runs his fingers through my
hair with a perfect smile.
We seal
our evening on his chair with a long kiss.
“Most
perfect way to end my workday.”
“Indeed.”
“Now go
hop in the shower upstairs, so we can go to the pub.”
I smile
and dismount him before pulling my skirt down and bending over to fetch my
shoes. A hand lands firmly across my one arse cheek, and I turn about,
startled. I stare down my lover with a furrowed brow.
To my
smile I’m met by my tight-jeaned handsome bastard of a lover, pointing at me over
an owning grin.
“Hey…
You asked for it!”
