Fresh Ink

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For my Baba.


I mean, tattoo day is always exciting, right? I know it’s going to hurt and I get to both want and resist that. I know it’s going to be gorgeous even though I haven’t seen the stencil yet. But this time I have the added layers of an artist I haven’t yet worked with. Who is stupidly beautiful. And Baba hyping me up until I’m out the door.

“Get ready as if you were going on a first date where you know you’ll be having sex.”

Okay… So, in addition to moisturizing and staying on my water for days leading up to the appointment, I’m shaving, I’m fretting over what to wear, and I’m touching myself thinking about new hands being there.

“Wear the panties with the lollipop on them.”

Right… sit there, being hurt by a beautiful woman, in these tiny, thin little things with a mouth right over my mound…

“Wear your nipple jewelry.”

Great, now my nipples are going to be singing the whole time, too. Like they wouldn’t already.

“Baba, I’m going to be soaked.”

“Oh, I know, pet, I have a plan for that.”

Blink. Pause. Blue dots on a black screen

“Go get your white thong from your go bag and put it inside my pussy. All the way.”

Proof that not only is it technically possible to worship and hate someone at the same time, but it also gets me very very excited.


Between you and me, can I just share that even if the pussy is reallllly wet and you realllly want it AND you happen to like the sensation of dry fabric sliding up in there and soaking up all that goodness… Getting a whole damn pair of panties, even a thong, up in there is work. It’s good work, with its own reward, but it’s work. And this clever slut found a great way to do it. It just also required having three fingers up in there, too. A slut’s gotta do what a slut’s gotta do.

“Document everything.”

Of course! I may be a bit flighty, but this particular behavior is so well reinforced I can’t imagine not.

So I send Baba images of the thong (or at least the tiny tag that’s still visible), a full-body showing the underwear I’m wearing ON THE OUTSIDE (fine, and flying the middle finger), and my pretty little nipples all dolled up.

By the time I pull into the parking lot, I’ve become intimately aware of just how insidious the panty-stuffing assignment is. I’m full-ish. There’s pressure, but there is absolutely NO WAY it’s going to generate any satisfaction and there is NO WAY it’s going to slide out… Baba is a clever slut, too! Y’all pray for me.

By the time I’m seated in her private studio, I’m a couple of steps past flustered. A couple of steps past aroused. And about to get a tattoo within spitting distance of this very hungry, very tender pussy. She calls me over to place the stencil, pushes up my shorts, which slide back down on the slippery fabric of my panties, does that again, and asks, “Are you okay taking these off?”


I’m about to have her literally under my skin, why does dropping my shorts feel so intimate?

She kneels in front of me, this time with only the tiny panties between us, and wipes down my thighs for the stencil. The lotion is cold bahis şirketleri and I guess I gasp, because she looks up at me and grins and my knees very nearly buckle. It’s everything I can do not to stroke her hair and pull her in, rubbing myself all over her pretty face.

Stencil placed, I’m left to entertain myself for a moment while it sets and she gets ready. Doing something other than surfing porn might have been a wise call, but… I am who I am.

Finally, she pats the bench and I hop up dutifully. I lay back, as she arranges my legs and hear a little, “Oh.” Oh gods, what has she seen? The panties? Am I wet around them? It’s better – and worse. She forgot to grab the little pillow, so she leans over me, all soft warm breasts in my face to reach the pillow and tuck it under my head. I smile sheepishly. She grins. She does that a lot and it’s completely adorable.

I can honestly say the tattoo itself is one of the least painful I’ve ever gotten. She is efficient with a very light hand. But it would leave out the rest of the story, which is that I don’t care what the tattoo gun is doing when she has one arm on each side of my thigh and her face inches above my mound.

Just about an hour later, she finishes the first tattoo, cleans off my thigh, tapes some saran wrap on, and shoos me off to the bathroom. I’m grateful for the chance to collect myself and spend a moment just breathing before releasing a stream of pee. As my body relaxes a bit, I become more and more aware of the panties filling up my cunt. They have a weight and presence beyond what I had noticed before and… Oh. oh fuck. That tiny bit of fabric that I left out (courtesy tab!) has wicked up a pussy full of pee. Baba’s pussy is stuffed full of pissy panties and I can’t leave them in there because there’s no way she won’t notice THAT and I can’t take them out because THEN what would I do with them and I didn’t bring my phone in the bathroom because I sure didn’t expect ANYTHING to happen and I apparently spend some time twisting myself up over all this because this lovely dear woman comes to check on me. You know, the same flustered me that neglected to lock the door…

She asks me if I’m okay and somehow the whole story comes spilling out. The panties, the piss, the need for documentation. I watch her face work through amazement, laughter, and finally thoughtful consideration as I dig myself a deeper and deeper hole.

“Well, we don’t want you getting in trouble on what’s supposed to be a fun night, right? I can’t have you having a bad time in my studio…”

And she directs me to hop up on the bathroom counter, spreads my legs with those warm, soft hands, and pulls out her phone. I’m lost. Done. Ded. Blushing up to my collarbone. I think, this cannot get any hotter or any more surreal. I’m wrong.

She reaches between my legs to tug the heavy panties out. I can’t resist a slight, involuntary twitch and gasp at the sudden emptiness. And at the thought of what’s next, my blush climbs all the way up my face.

“I have to…”


I can’t look at her, staring somewhere past her left shoulder.

“I have to put them in my mouth.”

“Of course bahis firmaları you do.”

She holds the sopping panties up to my mouth, the wet graham cracker smell of clean piss simultaneously erotic and humiliating, “Open up.” This time I close my eyes. I can’t possibly. But I do, at the feel of her thumb stroking my bottom lip, and she pushes the panties into my mouth. I want to cry, I want to come, I want this to be over, and I want this moment to last forever.

“I bet your Baba wants to see your whole face, darlin. Open your eyes for us.” And it is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life to look into the face of this beautiful woman with a mouth full of my own mess. She takes a couple of images – and pity on me, taking the panties out of my mouth and dropping them in the sink with a wet plop.

Another one of those considering looks from her, another fucking grin, “Well, *I* think you’re doing very well.” And, with the same sort of businesslike professionalism she placed the stencil, she slides three fingers firmly into my cunt. My head falls forward on to her shoulder with a little sob, “Thank you.”

She works me relentlessly with her fingers, in and out, shifting her angle slightly each time until she finds the spot inside that makes me reach for more, “Tell me when you’re close.” I nod on a gasp. I was close before she touched me, but… yeah. “Almost there,” I grit through my teeth, spreading my legs just a little bit wider and bearing down on her hand as she… stops? Why the fuck is she stopping? She pulls out her fingers, swats my now throbbing pussy lightly and says, “Just wait, this will make it even better.”

She directs me back to the table, “Just leave the panties in the sink, they’ll entertain whoever finds them.”

“What about the ones I was wearing?”

“Hmm, you will want those for going home, I assume?”

I nod, she picks up my panties and loops them around her thick hair like a damn scrunchie. Again with that grin. This woman is wicked.

I lie back down (worst luck, the pillow is already up), aimed the other direction so she can work on my right thigh. Again, with the warm softness on either side of my legs, this time she’s fully leaning her breasts against me, and she has the nerve to ask me if I’m ready. I’m so ready. I’m, like, over-ready. I’m well done.

I AM NOT READY FOR THIS. She starts the machine and rests her wrist on my mound to start outlining. I’ve never been much for vibration, but this is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It comes with the slight scratching sensation of the tattoo, sure. And it’s held by a beautiful woman who has me completely at her mercy. But it’s also this sort of low, rumbly vibration that is doing as much to my insides as my outsides. I tip my head up and look down at her.

“I told you I’d make it even better.”

Fuuuuuuck. My head falls back on the little pillow and I give up. The next 45 minutes are a blur of arousal and pain and warm hands and soft hair and I’m flying low. And she’s asking me something through the haze. I shake my head and blink.

“Oh boy.. I was asking if you needed to go to the bathroom again while these sit for a minute kaçak bahis siteleri before we take pictures.”

“Oh, yes, please. Always.”

More saran wrap and tape and her thoughtful look, “Any other projects you need to complete?”

I laugh softly and shake my head, “No, just gotta clear my head and get home safely.”

“I think I can help.” And follows me into the bathroom.

I sit down on the toilet and stare at her as she squats in front of me. “Just keeping the babies clean,” she places her hands over the new tattoos, keeping the saran wrap secure and opening my thighs.

“I… can’t… not with you… right there.”

“Sure you can.”

That fucking grin.

I look down at her hands until I feel a trickle of urine. Almost worse than not peeing. I realize I’m holding my breath. A deep breath in, and out, and the trickle is almost a flow. She kneels up in front of me and I almost lose it, but lower my head to her shoulder and close my eyes and am able to let go, finally releasing a full stream of piss and the breath I was holding. Again.

“I’m surprised your Baba doesn’t make you practice that.”

I blink. That seems to be the only response I have for this amazing woman, as she leans forward to lick me very carefully, and gently, too gently, clean. I moan a thank you, or maybe a please, they’re sort of connected, right?

“Are you allowed to come?”


“Are you sure?”

“Sorry, yes. Never before the appointment, but after is fine. I’m just usually too sleepy.”

That fucking grin.

“I got you.”

She pulls my hips forward so that I’m perched on the front edge of the toilet. I feel, if possible, a little more off-kilter as I can’t brace my legs and feet against anything. She pulls a pair of nitrile gloves on again and I have an odd sense of deja vu as she asks me once more if I’m ready.

“I mean, I think so?”

It’s almost unerotic, the workman-like way she approaches my pleasure, but there is so much pleasure… 2 fingers, gently but firmly in my ass, not stroking, if anything just holding me there. 2 fingers, then 3, then, FUCK, my pussy is full, my ass is full, and I’m pretty sure I’m the one making that high, whining sound as she works her hand in and out of my cunt, “Say when.”

What does she mean? When I’m full? When I’m ready? When I’m done? Because I can’t THINK with her warm, gloved hand working in and out like that. The first orgasm is effortless, I’ve been close for hours, it seems. She goes looking for the second, stroking harder and deeper and using her hand in my ass to lift me up to receive it. The third we both work for, her whole fist pushing up and into my pussy as I bear down, finally whimpering out a “when,” when I can get air back in my lungs. She laughs and unceremoniously pulls her fingers out of my ass, leaving me a little shell-shocked and all the more vulnerable when she rotates her hand inside my still quivering pussy and slowly pulls it out. I can’t tell if I’m having an aftershock, or maybe a seizure, as my pussy collapses back in on itself, but there is a certain comfort in the feeling of her tugging my panties back up my legs and over my mound.

Definitely an aftershock as we return to the table, she pulls the plastic, cleans up the new babies one final time for pictures, and documents her work. “I’ll send you all of these.”

“Thank you,”

“Oh, darling, thank you.”

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