I received a request for a certain type of story from one of my readers. I do not want to go into details about his scenario, so I will just let you read for yourself. And please remember, I am only creating this story based on a few things I know and Google, so please do not expect it to be 100% correct in the details:
We walked through the door, the little chime going off.
“Coming,” shouted a gruff, deep voice.
The man who walked out was a giant bear of a man. His head was shaved but he had a full beard, reaching past his collar bone, fanning out and giving him a savage, barbarian look.
He wore a sleeveless black vest with a grey shirt underneath, and jeans, faded in the back. When he turned, I caught a glimpse of the Hells Angels logo on the back of his vest.
His arms were wreathed in both old, fading tattoos, and newly inked ones. On each forearm was mirrored a skeleton, surrounded by a shroud, on a motorcycle with a skull mounted in place of a headlight.
On his left shoulder was a topless woman, her legs spread to reveal her panties covering her pussy, wearing a corset, stockings and high heels, laying on top of a motorcycle.
On his right arm was a full arm wrap. A skull sat on his elbow, breathing flame, with the top cracked open. The flame from the skulls mouth flowed up to a motorcycle engine. Gears could be seen through the flame.
This man scared me instantly. Intimidating was not even close to how you would describe him. His eyes were brown and malevolent, watching, staring, probing, challenging.
He looked at me, and I felt like I was about to collapse, my knees so weak they surely couldn’t hold me up.
He looked back at my boyfriend, Mike, and asked what we were there for.
Mike handed him the tattoo design he wanted done.
It was a fairly simple, Celtic tribal tattoo, custom designed by Mike himself to wrap around his upper arm.
I watched this biker tattoo Mike’s soft, smooth arm. The needle, piercing his flesh, spitting its ink into him, under his skin, making it a part of him. Like thousands of tiny sexual encounters, penetrate, thrust, cum, exit, over and over, again and again. (Yes, I personally have two tattoos, and know exactly what it feels like)
His skin grew red and angry, his face grimacing as he tried to not cry out in pain. Sweat beaded his forehead, while the tattooed biker continued on mercilessly, relentlessly, undisturbed by his pain.
Once finished, the tattoo artist put down his gun and let Mike take a few moments to catch his breath.
“That will be $200.”
Mike looked at him oddly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have the money. I will need to get it.”
“I can’t let you leave until you pay what you owe.”
He glared menacingly, causing me to shake and wondering exactly what he would do to Mike.
“If you won’t pay me, I will take my money’s worth from your girl here.”
He gave me a lustful look, eyes roving up and down my body.
I squeaked, causing the tattoo artist to burst out in laughter. It was not a nice laugh.
“Fine, do it then. She will do anything I tell her to, so feel free to use her to pay for my tattoo.”
He looked back and me and licked his lips, pointing with his thumb towards the back.
“Get in the backroom girl.”
Mike interrupted.
“She is mine, so I will come too. Hope you don’t mind me watching you.”
“Doesn’t matter to me. If you’re not careful, I might take some of my payment out on that pretty ass of yours too.”
I walked toward the back with the bear of a tattoo artist following behind close enough behind that he could reach out and touch me without stretching his arm. And he did.
He put his hand on my ass, causing me to let out another squeak.
“Move.”
He slapped me across the ass, hard enough to hurt, and I sped up, not wanting to anger him.
We got to the back, which appeared to be a small office. It seemed somewhat normal, a desk, chair, computer happily showing a screensaver. This would not have fit in a suit and tie type of place though.
There were posters sporting half naked women all over. There were photos of clients, showing their arms, their shoulders, their breasts and penises. Their asses. It even looked like someone had their anus tattooed and let this guy take a picture.
He moved the chair away from the desk and sat down. Motioning me to come over, I hesitantly complied.
He cupped my chin with his beefy hand and turned my head side to side. I was a horse to this guy! Was he going to examine my teeth too?
He turned my face back toward him, forcing me to look directly in his eyes. How they glittered with some evil, lustful mirth.
His other hand moved down to my bare legs, feeling them below my shorts, rubbing his hands down the length of my legs. Coming back up, he pushed the edge of my shorts a little higher, then slipped his hand inside them, working his fingers upward, feeling the curve of my outer thigh, then slipped them further back.
Caressing my ass through my panties, he slowly forced the fabric back, until his hand was on my bare ass cheek. He let go of my face, but continued watching my eyes, and I dared not look away.
His other hand slid down to my other leg, then under my shorts from the other side. This time, instead of slipping in the outside, he slid his groping fingers in my shorts from my inside thigh.
His fingers wormed their way up my shorts until they hit my panties, right between my legs.
His grin got bigger seeing my sudden intake of breath, the mask I was trying to hold my face to slipping suddenly.
“Already wet I see. You are a regular slut, aren’t you?”
Afraid to do anything, I nodded agreement with him. I didn’t want to know what he would do if I disagreed with him.
He suddenly pulled his hands out and brought them to his groin. I could see his penis bulging there, awake for me.
He stood up, towering over me, his body pushing me back by its sheer presence, our two bodies trying to take up the same space, and mine failing.
He undid his belt, undoing the jeans button, then the zipper. His pants fell to the floor, revealing boxers underneath, straining against his hard penis, trying to contain it, yet almost failing.
He put his hands to the top of the boxers, gave me one last look in the eyes, winked, and pulled them down.
His penis was a beast.
He grabbed my hand and forced it down to grasp his attentive penis. I started stroking it up and down slowly, softly.
His hands shot up and ripped my shirt down the middle, showing off my lacy red bra.
I gasped in surprise and jumped back. He motioned again to his penis, and, no choice left, started stroking his shaft again.
He reached behind him and pulled out a knife. In one quick motion, before I even had a chance to react, he cut through the central panel, causing my bra to spring open, revealing my now uncovered breasts.
I started to turn to run, now reacting, but was to slow. He grabbed my hand and held me in place easily, even with my struggles, while putting the knife back in his desk.
“I am not going to hurt you.”
With the knife no longer visible, I stopped struggling, but still wanted nothing more than to run away. What was he going to do to me?
He put my hand back over his penis, and when I stood there, doing nothing but shaking, he started moving my hand back and forth along his shaft.
That broke my trance, and I started stroking him again.
His hand darted out, pinching my nipple hard. Letting go, he slapped my breast, not incredibly hard, but enough to sting. Pinch, slap, pinch, slap. My breasts turned red, my nipples becoming more and more sensitive, more and more sore.
His hands reached down the front of my shorts this time, working their way under my waistband, under my panties, and down until his fingers passed over my fur. He pushed down further, until they groped their way to my pussy, then entered me.
Upon finding how wet I was, he nodded in satisfaction, then placed both hands on my shoulders, pushing me down, until I was on my knees in front of him.
His penis stood before my eyes, then he pulled my head forward, until I could no longer see the top of his penis, only the base of his shaft.
His other hand brought grabbed my wrist, pulling it until I came into contact with his scrotum.
I knew what he wanted.
I started sucking his penis, trying to take it all in, but my gag reflexes protested. Meanwhile, I caressed and slightly squeezed his scrotum, rolling it around in my hand.
He put his hand to the back of my head and pulled me down, trying to force me to deepthroat his penis.
My throat spasmed, my gag reflexes kicking in. Despite my obvious retching, he kept pushing my head down, forcing me to swallow the entire length of his penis. He came, deep in my throat, while at the same time I threw up, creating a huge mess of half-digested food and cum. I stood up quickly, and he smiled.
“That’s enough. Now I need to go get cleaned up, and you two need to get out of my store. Don’t ever show your face around here again.”
With that, we left, with me trying to hide in the car as we drove home, my shirt in tatters in front.
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