Ink #Flashfiction

I walk through the billowing night toward your studio, the crisp winter winds burnish my skin and ruddy my cheeks, fallen leaves skitter and dance over the paving, emanating the jitter in my bones. Until this evening I was unsure if I would honour my acceptance of your invitation, I still teeter on the brink of turning back. Nevertheless, I am approaching your place, intrepid heart urging me on, drawing me ever closer. I pause by the shop front, where soft blue light spills from behind the pages of designs. They are placed like tiles across the glass pane, testament to your artistic skill.

My hand at the door, pushes through into the warm, enveloping interior and the momentum pulls the rest of me along behind it, almost against my will. You smile and greet me  as you close it again behind me, the place is empty but for us. I feel light-headed as I take off my coat and gloves, altered somehow, as though I am not really me at all. You bring out your book and show me the design you have created just for me, or at least, with me in mind since you were not sure I would accept it. It is intricate, feminine, modern and tribal in its form, intended for placement in the small of my back.

You reach behind me, your touch warm against my cold skin, and trail your finger tips over the area you wish to inscribe. My flesh tingles at the heat of your breath on my neck and I thrill, as I knew I would, at the nearness of you. Your sweet, delicate scent provokes a memory, our first kiss, my first taste of you and a champagne soaked, coke fuelled promise of more. As you unbutton my shirt and slip the fabric over my shoulders I turn my face to yours, I want that taste again, but you move away from me then, to ready your needle and ink.

I straddle your bench, arranged so that I can lean against the back board. You gently wipe the area to sanitise it and slowly drag the blades of a razor over me, ensuring that the area is completely smooth. Your hands deftly caress and brush my skin, sending prickles of sensation over my back and down my arms. My nipples push against the fabric of my bra, the delicacy of your touch and the changing temperature combine to provoke them. I find I am extremely aware of your proximity and willing you ever closer, no longer afraid of the pain I might feel.

You begin. Your long delicate fingers rest against my spine, your face deep in concentration. For what seems like hours, you are consumed by your craft, lost in the creation of the art that will be permanently displayed on me. I watch in the mirror next to us as your needle rapidly punctures and scratches my skin, heat building and burning me there as you skilfully inscribe your design. Every now and then, your eyes catch mine, and you stop briefly to stroke and touch me, smile and tell me how well I am doing and how beautiful I look.

You straddle the bench behind me now, a few small details and some highlights are all that is needed. Your hand slides around to my stomach, your palm flat against my skin, pulling me back toward you. I become breathless as you finalise your work, leaning back to cast a critical eye over your piece. Your scrutiny of my body excites me. One hand reaches for me now, brushing aside my hair from my neck, exposing the soft, tender skin. You hook your hands over my shoulders and pull me to rest my back against you, the brush of your lips over my nape gives me goose-flesh and I find it hard to catch my breath.

You slide my bra straps over my shoulders, exposing both breast but leaving them supported and lifted by the material. You deftly pull and squeeze my nipples as you kiss my neck, your lips brushing gently over me. I rest my hands on your thighs next to me, my fingers gripping you as my excitement builds. Your mouth moves breathily across the top of my back and you slide forward, pulling me against you as you do. Your fingers slide down now, deftly unbuttoning my jeans and slipping below my waist band.

I rock backwards, tilting my hips to accept and urge your touch, I gasp as your finger finds my clit. You laugh softly as you play with me, clearly amused by my eagerness and sensitivity to your touch. My skin blazes with my desire, the burning sensation from where you have inscribed my flesh with your needle has spread through me now, heat gathers and intensifies in my cunt and I begin to shudder with every stroke of your finger. My hand covers yours and we find the rhythm I need.

With a voice broken and strangled by desire, I call out, desperate to come. You hold me, closer and harder,your fingers pushing into me,sliding over my slick flesh and dipping deftly into my cunt, stroking me inside as you bite down hard on the soft skin of my neck. My senses, confused by the clash of pain and pleasure, scramble for a hold on the moment. I feel my cunt beginning to grip and squeeze, my stomach tightens and I tense beneath your expert caress. When I come, I come hard, gripping and pulling at you, fingers digging into your soft thighs, as you pull me closer. You whisper and mumble your encouragement as your movement slows and my tension ebbs.

I turn to face you now, our mouths meet and I finally taste you. I will be forever yours, my flesh now branded by your mark of ownership.