The Tattooist's Tremendous Tool - Sex Stories

The Tattooist's Tremendous Tool

Gina had talked me into my first tattoo, a small honu just above my right ankle. Todd, her tattoo artist, was of Polynesian descent, Hawaiian and Samoan, and the honu, or sea turtle symbol, stylized in black ink, was one of his specialties. I’d loved it, and when Gina went back a few weeks later for what would be her fifth tattoo, I let them talk me into my second.

This time, he did a bumblebee, shaded to look three-dimensional, on the back of my left shoulder. It was so realistic that when I wore something sleeveless or backless, it was not uncommon for someone to warn me that there was a bee on me! That was always good for a laugh and was a great conversation starter.

The last couple of sessions he’d been working on my butterflies, by far my most ambitious tattoo, and I was sort of figuring my last… although, you never know! As Gina says, tattoos can be addictive. Now though, when I wiggled, he put his gloved hand in the middle of my tummy and pressed me to the table.

“You have to hold still!”

“I can’t!

He straightened and looked at me. “I’m hurting you.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not it.” He was tattooing the final butterfly, the smallest, on my smooth mound at the front of my cleft. They rose from there in a swirling column, six total, past my navel and up, each larger than the one below. It had been getting more intense in the last couple of sessions, my tummy far more sensitive than my shoulder or ankle had been, but now, spread before him, naked, with ...

... him between my legs as he bent over me, I was intensely aroused. My hips were on autopilot as I humped the air, and I was powerless to stop it.

“I’m going to mess this up if you don’t hold still.”

“I know, Todd. I’m trying.” It was late in the afternoon – we were the last two people in his shop - and I knew he wanted to get out, so I felt bad about slowing him down just because I couldn’t control my libido.

“If it’s not because I’m hurting you, then wha…” I could almost see the realization hit him. “Oh. That. Really?”

I nodded, embarrassed. I was comfortable with Todd, given the amount of time we’d spent together, most of it with him touching my body in one place or another, but this group of butterflies had taken it to a far more intimate level. I was so aroused I was almost trembling; my nipples were hard and poking through my t-shirt, and I could feel the result of that arousal trickling down to my ass crack. If it kept up, I’d be leaving a very humiliating puddle of my juices on his table!

He leaned back and looked at my exposed pussy. I’m sure he could see how wet I was, and probably that my clit was rock hard and jutting, my lips swollen, and he said, “Wow, you’re not kidding!”

“No, I know. I can’t help it. God, please don’t embarrass me any more than I already am.”

“It’s okay, Rayne; don’t be embarrassed. I’ve heard of this happening… just not to me. It’s normal though, I guess, nothing to be embarrassed about. Is it the vibration of the tool doing ...