2
He pulled back just enough to speak against her wet skin.
“You’re going to come on my tongue while this ink is still hot. Then we’re going to talk about the next piece.”
His mouth returned, more focused now—sucking her clit in steady pulls while two fingers slid into her, curling against the front wall.
She was so wet the sound was filthy. He fucked her with them in the same rhythm as his mouth, and Jody’s hips started rolling, chasing every stroke.
The orgasm hit hard and sudden. Her thighs clamped around his head.
Her pussy clenched around his fingers in tight, rhythmic pulses, and a fresh rush of wetness spilled over his hand.
She cried out, the sound echoing in the empty shop, one hand flying down to fist in his hair while the other stayed carefully away from the fresh work on her chest.
Chase worked her through it, slowing only when the tremors started to ease. He gave her clit one last soft suck, then pressed a open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh. When he looked up, his mouth and chin were shiny with her.
He stayed on his knees, breathing hard, eyes dark.
“Still with me?” he asked.
Jody nodded, dazed, thighs still open, pussy twitching with aftershocks.
Chase rose slowly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned over her. His voice was rough. “That was the warm-up. Next time the needle comes out, I want you already this wet. And the piece after that one is going lower.”
He rested a careful hand on the un-inked side of her ribs, thumb stroking. Fully clothed still, cock clearly hard against the front of his jeans, but he didn’t push further yet. He waited.
Chase rose from between her thighs and reached for the clean paper towels and green soap.
He worked carefully, wiping the excess ink and blood from the fresh piece on her breast while she sat there still open and trembling.
The cool wetness made her skin jump. He smoothed a thin layer of ointment over the raised, red lines, then pressed a sterile bandage in place with gentle pressure, smoothing the edges so nothing would tug.
“Keep this dry for the next few hours,” he said, voice still rough.
“No tight bras. No touching it more than you have to.”
His eyes dropped to the discarded black underwear on the floor.
He picked them up, the fabric still damp in the center, and tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans without comment.
Jody’s cheeks burned. She pulled the sports bra back down carefully over the bandage and stepped into her jeans bare. The denim felt rough against her sensitive, still-slick pussy. Every step made her aware of the missing underwear and the residual throb between her legs.
Chase walked her to the locked front door. He unlocked it, held it open, and leaned in just enough that his mouth brushed the shell of her ear.
“Text me when you get home. Aftercare instructions are the same as always—except tonight you don’t get to come. Not until I say.”
She nodded, throat tight, and left.
Three hours later her phone lit up on the nightstand.
Chase: Touch yourself thinking about my mouth. Don’t come until I say.
Jody was already in bed, bare from the waist down, the bandage on her breast a dull, warm reminder.
She slid her hand between her legs and found herself still wet.
Two fingers circled her swollen clit the way his tongue had, slow at first, then firmer.
She pictured the way he’d looked up at her with her wetness shining on his chin.
Her hips rolled. She got right to the edge—thighs shaking, breath ragged—then forced her hand away because he’d told her not to come.
The ache that followed was sharp and constant.
She slept restless.
Three days later the shop smelled the same—green soap, ink, the faint metallic edge of blood under antiseptic—but everything felt different. Jody pushed the door open at 7:15 p.m., after closing. The open sign was already dark. Chase locked the door behind her the second she stepped inside.
He didn’t greet her with words. He just looked at her, eyes dark, and nodded toward his station.
She was wearing a loose tank top and a soft bralette underneath so nothing rubbed the healing ink.
No underwear again—she’d left them off on purpose.
The soft fabric of her leggings was already damp between her thighs from the walk over.
Three days of denial had left her constantly wet, clit sensitive enough that the seam of the leggings made her breath hitch every few steps.
Chase pointed to the chair. “Shirt off. Bra too. I want to check the work.”
Jody peeled both layers up and off. The bandage was gone; the new piece on the upper curve of her left breast was still pink around the edges, the lines clean and dark.
Chase snapped on gloves and ran careful fingers around the perimeter, checking for any raised spots or irritation.
His touch was professional for exactly ten seconds.
Then his bare thumb (glove peeled off) brushed the outer edge of her nipple and stayed there.
“Healing well,” he said. “You followed instructions.”
“Most of them.”
His mouth curved. “Show me how wet you are.”
Jody’s pulse kicked. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings and pushed them down over her hips, stepping out of them.
She stood there bare in the middle of his station, the cool air of the shop tightening her nipples and making the slickness between her legs feel even more obvious.
Her pussy was flushed, outer lips slightly parted, a visible sheen of wetness coating her inner thighs.
Her clit was swollen, the little hood pulled back enough that the sensitive tip was exposed.
Chase exhaled hard. He stepped in close, still fully dressed, and slid two fingers through her folds without warning—slow, deliberate, collecting the wetness. He brought them up between them so she could see how they shone.
“Three days,” he said. “And you’re dripping like I just had my mouth on you.” He pushed the same two fingers into her, curling once, feeling how easily she took them. Jody’s knees dipped. He fucked them in and out twice, slow and deep, then pulled free and painted the wetness across her lower lip.
“Taste.”
She did. Salt and her own arousal.
Chase’s voice dropped. “On the chair. Legs open. I’m starting the next piece tonight—lower, across the ribs and down toward your hip. You’re going to stay this wet the entire time I work. If you get close, you tell me. You don’t come until the machine is off and I say you can.”
He snapped on fresh gloves, mixed ink, and fired up the machine.
The low buzz filled the quiet shop. Jody settled back, thighs spread, already trembling.
The first touch of the needle on the soft skin just under her left breast made her gasp—the sting sharp, the vibration traveling straight down to her empty, aching pussy.
Chase’s free hand rested on her inner thigh, high enough that his gloved thumb could stroke the crease where thigh met hip every time she twitched.
Every pass of the needle kept her on edge.
Every wipe of the cool paper towel made her clit throb.
She was so wet the leather of the chair was going to be marked.
Chase worked steadily, eyes flicking between the growing black lines and the way her pussy clenched around nothing whenever the vibration hit a particularly sensitive spot.
Halfway through the session he paused, wiped the ink, and dragged one gloved finger through her soaked folds again—just once, slow, collecting more wetness—then went back to the machine like nothing had happened.
Jody’s voice came out broken. “Chase—”
“Not yet,” he said, calm, almost gentle. “Take it for me a little longer. You’re doing so fucking well.”
The praise landed hotter than the needle.
Chase worked the last dense patch of shading along the lower curve of her ribs, the needle dragging in steady, controlled lines.
Every vibration sank straight into Jody’s empty cunt.
She was soaked—slick coating her inner thighs, the leather of the chair sticky beneath her.
Her clit throbbed in time with the machine, swollen and neglected.
She kept her hands fisted at her sides the way he’d told her, breathing through the dual ache of fresh ink and denied orgasm.
He finally set the machine down. The sudden silence felt loud.
Chase peeled off his gloves, dropped them, and reached for the green soap and clean towels.
He wiped the excess ink and plasma carefully, the cool wetness making her skin jump.
Ointment came next—thin, slick, smoothed on with the pads of his bare fingers.
He pressed a fresh bandage over the new work, sealing the edges with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Stay right there,” he said. “Legs open.”
Jody didn’t move. Her pussy was flushed dark pink, outer lips parted, the inner ones glistening. A thin string of wetness stretched from her entrance to the chair when she shifted. Her clit stood out from its hood, shiny and tight.
Chase dropped to his knees between her thighs again. This time there was no hesitation. He gripped her hips, dragged her closer to the edge of the chair, and buried his face between her legs.
The first long lick was flat and greedy—from the bottom of her entrance all the way up over her clit.
He groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her swollen flesh.
Then he sealed his mouth over her and sucked hard.
Jody’s back arched. A broken cry tore out of her throat.
He didn’t ease up. He licked into her, tongue pushing deep, then dragged back up to circle her clit with the pointed tip before sucking it again in firm, rhythmic pulls.
Two fingers slid into her without warning—thick, calloused, curling against the front wall.
He fucked them in and out in the same rhythm as his mouth, the wet sound filthy in the quiet shop.
Jody’s thighs trembled on either side of his head.
She could feel every ridge of his fingerprints, every stroke of his tongue, the heat of his breath.
The fresh bandage on her ribs pulled slightly when she arched, a bright reminder of the new mark.
“Chase—please—”
He pulled off just long enough to speak against her dripping cunt. “Come on my tongue. Now.”
He sucked her clit back into his mouth and curled his fingers hard.