Jim gazed at the heavily muscled man in the picture, a vivid snake tattoo winding up his thick biceps. The young college student admired the works of art: the beautifully drawn snake, bright green with crimson eyes, and the finely sculpted arm it encircled. He'd been working out for a year, trying to make something of his thin body, wanting nothing more than to look like the huge men he peeped at in the gym.
"You see something you like," a deep, gravely voice asked about six inches away from his ear. Jim jumped and whirled around, facing the speaker. He looked much too big to have moved that quietly. The man's massive torso strained at his tight leather vest, his upper arms thicker than Jim's calf. Up the right shoulder climbed the same green snake that Jim had marveled at in the picture.
The man stood still, allowing Jim to examine his body. He flexed his arms slightly, the muscles bulging, making the snake writhe on his tanned skin. Finally he cleared his throat and asked Jim again.
"Uh, yeah, I guess," Jim squeaked. "Um, I'd like a tattoo."
"That's a start. Which one?" Jim pointed at a framed picture of a crouching tiger, coiled and ready to spring. "Nice. C'mon back." The tattoo artist led Jim back into the studio area, pointing at a high cushioned table. Jim sat on the edge, eyeing the rack of electric needles and dyes.
"Where would you like it," the man asked, pulling up a rolling chair.
"On my arm," Jim said, pointing to his right bicep. As he pulled off his shirt the man poured a double shot of some clear alcohol. "Here, drink this. It's your first time, and it'll hurt like a bitch. This'll help." Jim downed the tasteless liquor, coughing at the harsh bite. He lay down on the table and watched as the artist swabbed his arm with disinfectant and topical anesthetic. Between the liquor and the painkiller, Jim barely felt the humming needle touch his skin.
The artist worked quickly, drawing the tiger's outline with sure, confident strokes. Switching inks he began to color in its fierce orange stripes. Jim's eyes blurred, his mind wandering as he lay still. A sharp pain brought him back. He looked down, watched the needle stroke across his skin, a line of burning pain following it. The anesthetic was wearing off and he groaned, fighting to keep from pulling his arm away.
"Lie still," the man commanded. Jim tried but he couldn't help twitching as the needle touched him. The man shut it off and rooted in a cabinet under the table. He pulled out a small cartridge, twisted the top and shoved it under Jim's nose. "Breathe." The sharp stink seared his sinuses, sending his head spinning away from the needle's pain. Jim lay quiet, bonelessly relaxed as the man finished his work.
The artist put the final touches on Jim's new tattoo a few minutes later. He swabbed up the trickles of blood and taped a bandage over the raw skin, his strong fingers warm on Jim's bare skin. His hand lingered on the boy's shoulder, slowly caressing the soft skin. Jim's eyes tried to look at it but whatever the canister held had blurred his vision. He tried to shrug the man off him, but none of his muscles seemed to work.
The artist's hand crept up to his bare chest, fondling his hardening nipple. His gentle touch sent shivers through Jim's body. The man stood and moved down to the end of the table, pulling off Jim's shoes and socks. He reached up and undid the boy's pants, his palm brushing the mound of Jim's soft cock. He pulled pants and boxers down Jim's slack legs, leaving the boy totally naked.
A touch of panic penetrated Jim's hazy brain, burning through the drug. Shit, he thought. Shit.
The man's calloused fingers cradled Jim's soft dick, playing with the thick tube. The touch was enough to send blood pouring down, his soft cock inflating with every heartbeat. The man held it as it grew, the pink head pushing through his fingers until his fist was wrapped around a fully hard prick. He pumped softly, playing with the velvety shaft. Jim groaned deep in his throat as he enjoyed the man's manipulations.
The artist released Jim's shaft and moved back to the end of the table. He grasped Jim's legs and pulled, the boy's naked skin sliding easily over the padded surface. He pulled until Jim's ass was right at the edge, then rested the boy's feet on a low self built into the wood. Jim felt a cold breeze on the hot flesh of his hole.
The man sat on a low stool and leaned in between the boy's legs. Jim could only gasp at the soft touch of his tongue. It lapped and swirled, traced the outline of his hole and prodded the center. Slowly, Jim felt it begin to loosen his tight pucker. It felt better than he had ever imagined.
The man slipped one fingertip easily into Jim's dripping hole. It didn't feel like much until he reached the prostate. Jim's whole body shuddered at the touch, his dick pumping a shining trickle of precum that oozed down his fat shaft. The artist twisted his finger, gently pulling the thick walls of Jim's ass. When they were relaxed enough he slipped in a second, and then third finger. The boy felt an intense fullness, pleasure radiating out from his gently massaged prostate. He knew what was coming next, and burned for it.
The huge, rough looking artist picked up a lube bottle and poured some over his fingers, thrusting them in and out of the boy's willing ass. When all was nice and slick he stood and peeled down his tight leather pants, kicking them aside. Straining his eyes, Jim could barely see the beautiful six inch meat that flopped out. The man stepped forward, his nodding dick perfectly level with the boy's slack pucker.
The hot, spongy head pressed into his chute. Jim worried that the man hadn't put on a condom, but all thought of that was driven out by the sheer, flaming ecstasy that blossomed in his ass. The thick pole slid in, spreading his tight ass lips wider and pressing firmly on his prostate. Dimly he felt the rough tickle of the man's pubes as he ground his crotch against Jim's ass cheeks.
The artist abruptly jerked his hips back, pulling almost out and ramming back in. The force pushed Jim's body up the table: the man hauled him back, fucking deep. The fat prick plunged into Jim's ass, sending waves of pleasure through his body. The man started fucking, hard and fast, enjoying the grip of Jim's virgin pussy. The pleasure, the heat, the thought of this huge man taking his ass set the cum boiling in Jim's balls. The artist was taking short little strokes, rubbing the on Jim's prostate, getting close. He buried his cock as deep as it would go and bellowed, emptying blasts of cream into the boy's ass. On the fourth jet Jim's cock blew, sending pulses of cum all the way to his face.
The artist pulled his dripping cock out of Jim's abused hole. He sat down and pulled his needle rack to him. As the cum drooled down from his puffy-lipped hole, Jim barely felt the sting as the man drew a second tattoo, right on Jim's ass. He finished quickly and picked the boy's limp body up, carrying him like a baby out into the display room. He dropped the boy onto the couch and returned to toss down his clothes. Jim heard him disappear into the back, a lock clicking loud in the silence.
Slowly the drug wore off, until he could stand and dress himself. He hurried home to jump right in the shower, forgetting the second tattoo until his fingers touched the bandage. Drying off he peeled the gauze away, peering at his ass in the mirror. It was on his right cheek, close to the crack. A tiny red cherry and black writing: TAKEN 10/17/03 BY JON T.
Comments welcome: Danrafe3@hotmail.com