Max Goes for Ink

"And then, if you're a good boy, I'll ride you until your hips break."

No. I absolutely did NOT spend several weeks driving aimlessly through the mountains between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh trying to 'randomly' hook up with Ashley (And by extension, Rahne) again. They were extremely productive writing sessions where I worked mostly via talk-to-text. It just so happens that I didn't really feel like hiking at any of the trails I passed by.

Yeah, no, even I can tell that's bullshit. I looked at every trailhead for her car, and if I didn't see it, I moved on. But I couldn't tell you if I just wanted to fuck Ashley again or if I wanted to take the chance Rahne would be watching.

ONE FUCKING NIGHT with that woman and... I don't even know what to call it.

Anyway, I got loads of writing done. Nearly two and a half chapters of Book Fifteen beaten into shape long ahead of schedule.

And three Baskerville novellas.

I know, I know- download the Sluts app and hook up with one porn queen and suddenly I've got sex on the brain something fierce.

Well, more fiercely than normal for a guy at least. Like it's suddenly a job that I get paid in pussy for. But pussy doesn't pay the rent. Well, it might for some, but not for me.

So, today I'm forcing myself to stay home cataloging my vast accumulation of books (Why do I have SIX copies of the 1968 American Heritage Dictionary? Five to the sell pile, which is a lot larger than I was thinking it would be! Thankfully I know people who take them off my hands.) and ignore my phone. No work. Just housecleaning.

Before lunchtime, I'd not only managed to box up two fairly large piles of books for resale, but caught myself getting caught up in more than one pulp porn novel and starting to jerk off to the lurid sex scenes. Not that I'm opposed to masturbating, it's how I think through some of my sex scenes after all, but I'm wearing rubber gloves and that makes me think of my visits to the clinic and maybe I should just turn on the SI app and distract myself and how about a nice drive through the mountains or at least make a visit back to the clinic for 'health reasons'?

Fuck man, get a grip! (I have one. On my dick.)

Crap, now I'm even making bad sex jokes with myself. This isn't good.

You know what? I need a change of scenery! I'm going to pop on down to Atlantic City, hit some of the used bookstores down there, maybe even stay for dinner and a show. It's a Tuesday, so the crowds shouldn't be too bad.

Took me another half hour to shower, change and trundle my two boxes of books onto the elevator. I knew a few places down there where the owners would give a good deal in either cash, credit or trade. Knowing me, I'd be back with three larger boxes but that's the price you pay when you're a hoard... collector.

And for those of you snickering that I'm also a whore, I'm not going to quibble 'slut' versus 'whore'. I wholeheartedly welcome the term 'Slut' when discussing my recent sexual proclivities, thank you.

Chatted with Anne, one of my neighbors below me on the way to the ground floor. Her ex-husband would have the kids this weekend and she was hoping to spend time with her girlfriends in Atlantic City. We chatted briefly about where I was hoping to go today and other assorted small talk before splitting off to go our separate ways on the ground floor.

Now, before you get any ideas about my banging Anne later in this story, forget it. Yeah, she's ok for a divorcee- kinda cute, flops between brunette and blonde every season, body's not bad (From what I've seen of it!) BUT she's also got two kids (I got clipped for a reason!) whom I'm not going to mess with (As in mess with their heads you fucking perverts. Not going to get their hopes up that the nice guy from two floors up is going to be their new daddy because he's banging Mom.) and the old rule of 'Don't shit where you eat' (i. e. Don't have meaningless sex with your neighbors, no matter how cute and horny they are!). I brought her up so some of you would stop asking if I lived in a singles building. I don't. The only other single person there is Percy, whom I'm pretty sure is gay and has a thing for Cuban men, but I can't swear to it because he's also in his 80s and hasn't officially come out of the closet yet.

By early afternoon, I was haggling with Carmine at Vintage Books over trading my two boxes for a random collection of Playboy, Penthouse, Genesis and Hustler magazines he'd just gotten in. I only read them for the articles, I swear! (*snort*) Not USUALLY something I buy, I knew the Playboys and Penthouses at least had some pretty solid fiction in addition to the tits and ass and I saw more than one of the Hustlers had autographed covers so the pages PROBABLY weren't stuck together.

Deal done, I spent a little more time puttering around in the stacks, eventually picking up a basket load of additional books, including some adult comix he had stashed away. Again, not my usual thing, but I've been in a mood to try new things lately.

"Hey Jeanie!" Carmine called from the doorway while helpfully watching me hoist the two heavy totes of magazines into the back of my SUV. "This guy just bought all your titty-mags from me!"

"Oh yeah? Hey mister! You want any more?" I turned to look. Standing in the doorway of the shop next door was a tall blonde woman wearing coveralls. Her arms were bare and covered in bright tattoos. I glanced up at the sign over her doorway- Honeypot Tattooing and Piercing. The sign looked new, the woman did not- mid-to-late 50's with a narrow face and it looked like her nose had been broken at least once.

"I'll take a look," I offered, closing up the hatchback. I hadn't quite noticed before, but she was tall! At least six-two with arms bigger than mine, which isn't really a feat since I don't work out or anything. I'm built for stamina, not strength apparently. I pointed at her nose. "Fist fight with a sasquatch?"

"Ha!" Her laugh was a sharp bark, sounding a lot like someone who had recently quit smoking. She led me into the parlor, the walls adorned with tattoo flash art and pegs of piercings. "Roller derby. I'm a blocker for the Honeydrop Harlots."

"Lovely name. How's your season going?" I was paying more attention to the flash on the walls than what she said. Maybe it's time I got myself a tat? Most of the women I knew had them. And I've been thinking about getting my tongue done because fucking hell, the girls with the studs in their tongues? Holy shit does that feel wild rubbing around my dickhead.

"Big fan of roller derby are you?" She pointedly looked down at the bulge growing in my pants. Which didn't really help distract me.

"Tongue stud head," I admitted, not seeing a need to beat around the pubes about it. I'm here to look at the fuck mags she wants to get rid of. No point pretending I'm not thinking about sex. "Known a few women who use them quite skillfully. Thinking maybe I should get one to expand my pussy-eating repertoire. Payback in kind and all that."

"Works for and on me," she affirmed, showing me the bee in the clear yellow bead on the surface of her tongue. "Never have a complaint when giving head- boys or girls. You want to get pierced today?"

"Give me some time to think about it." I gave another quick glance at the flash art on the wall. "Maybe inked today too. But let's see those books first."

The tote she still had was more of a mixed lot- a scattering of porn movie mags, digest-sized Forums, Hustler humor mags, a few tattered porn novels that were more for the dump than my shelves and a small envelope of Polaroids showing the tattoo artist with a succession of strippers in the same club. She tapped the envelope with a short-nailed hand.

"My ex-bastard. We'd go to the Whirlwind, a titty club not too far from here, whenever they had celebrity tits on stage. Always made me get their autographs on the skin mags and pose for a picture because they don't usually charge as much when a woman does it. Like I'm less likely to grab their ass or something. Plus a lot of them liked me because I'm..."

"Stacked?" I complimented, mostly because I just now noticed she wasn't wearing a shirt or bra under her coveralls and she was indeed 'stacked', but also because a lot of the strippers were grabbing her boobs in the pictures.

"Tall." She punched my arm playfully. Still hurt. "Any of those mags you bought from Carmine are signed, chances are there's a picture of the centerfold in here."

"Not keeping these? Bad memories?" I glanced through the pics quickly. Mostly the same. One with the guest dancer kissing Jeanie's bare nipple with a bit of tribal swirl around it. Not making my hard-on go down any faster that one. "This looks like a good time."

"Jewel? Oh yeah, she was hot. That was taken just after she did this super-hot lap dance for me with the bastard watching and playing with his dick. She yanked up my shirt and started licking my tits. No one cared because girl-girl action, ya'know?" She touched the picture wistfully, then shuffled it back into the pile, shoving them at me. "Next thing I know, she's dragging me to the Ladies crapper where we did it quick and nasty in the cripple stall. My man was so fucking jealous!"

"But you're not keeping the picture?" I started looking through them to offer it back to her one more time.

"No. Turns out the bitch had gonorrhea from guy she'd screwed in the parking lot a week before and gave it to me. Shut us down for a week while we cleaned everything twice. Had to call all the customers we'd had that week and tell them to get tested 'just in case'. Lost a lot of potential repeats from that week." Taking the envelope from my hand, she frustratedly threw it back in the box. "You want this crap? Twenty bucks."

"And what happened with 'the bastard' who, I'm guessing, originally bought most of this stuff?" I tried putting the broken lid back on, but it wouldn't latch.

"What difference does it make?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm about to ask you to stab me a bunch of times with a needle and I'd really like to know you aren't going to take his stupidity out on me." I pulled a twenty out of my pocket and handed it to her. It quickly disappeared into a pocket, though sadly not the top one.

"Ran off with a Mexican cunt to Vegas. Heard she dumped him as soon as they got there and he'd started banging some other guy's bitch until he got busted for possession. Last I knew, he was doing a nickel out West somewhere."

"Bet he's missing this stuff pretty bad right about now then." I winked, hefting the tote and waddling to the front with it, more awkward than heavy. "Here's hoping he's enjoying being someone's girlfriend." That made her laugh at least. "Let me put this in my car and we can figure out what I want to get done."

"Catching me on a slow day," she told me when I got back inside. "Most days I'm pretty steady with appointments. You're the first walk-in I've had all month. Any idea what you want?"

After some discussion, I settled on getting a chocolate chip cookie dripping milk back down into a full glass with the SI logo on the front. Around it would be the legend 'Eat the' on top with 'Cookies' underneath. Took a bit to explain the Sluts app and why I wanted it on my left breast near my shoulder (Right about where 'hand on heart' would be for me. I always went a bit high when doing that.). Which, naturally, led to her downloading the app but not activating it because- paying customer.

I mean, why wouldn't she want to use the app? She's a sexually active freaking AMAZON! Maybe has a few years on me, but hell, I'm older than most of the women I've met so far using the app. More power to her if it helps her hook up. The fact that I could rest my face in her cleavage just by looking down should play no part in my showing her the app.

You know damn well it did though.

"Which ear is it I'm supposed to get pierced if I'm straight? The left one, right?" I stood staring at the wall of body jewelry, trying to vaguely remember something from back when I was in elementary about one ear being the 'gay ear' but that was a long time ago.

"Doesn't really matter anymore. That's an old standard. Most guys either get both done or just the left because it's easier to put in." She finished putting my design on the transfer sheet and settled on a tall stool over a paper-covered table. "Let me know when you're ready."

Boy, the snap of rubber gloves and the crinkling of the paper on the table? Instant and unforeseen effect in the pants. Not that I hadn't already been dealing with the arousal issue all afternoon.

She smirked.

"Having a problem?" She patted the tabletop, making it crinkle more.

"Let's just say I had a checkup recently that took an unexpected turn." I pulled off my shirt, then laid down trying very hard to ignore the difficulty below the waist. Very hard being the operative term here.

"Prostate check? You should try going to a gynecologist." She prepped my shoulder and applied the transfer. "Especially when you're my height."

"I think I read that on a shirt somewhere- 'Gynecology: I'm not a doctor, but I'm willing to give it a look.'" I wanted to close my eyes but last second told myself that was a wussy move and didn't. Instead. I was treated to a nice glimpse down her coveralls into the promised land.

"I'm sure you are," she quipped, looking down at my crotch at the same time I was looking at her cleavage.

"It dawns on me that I'm not nearly drunk enough to be doing this," I told the ceiling as the stinging started. Ok, not as bad as I imagined but not soothing by any stretch of the imagination. Alright, maybe for some, but I'm not one of them. Can't see myself getting addicted to this.

"What's your drink?" She asked conversationally, focusing on her art.

"I'm usually a beer drinker. Try what's new in different areas I visit, the occasional standby if there isn't much of a selection." I thought about it for a moment. "Though, lately I've really been craving Fireball whiskey."

"Fireball?" she scoffed, wiping at the ink and blood welling out of my chest. "That's mouthwash around here. Barely."

"I know. It's not even really enough to get me buzzed most days but..." How to explain this when I keep lying to myself about it. About her. "You know. 'a girl'."

"She the one you want to get ink and a stud for?"

How do I answer that? I'm sure as shit not clear on the answer myself.

"Maybe." I ALMOST shrugged but caught myself. "Maybe I'm doing this because I've been so worried about regrets and 'might-have-beens' that I'm taking some chances because I NEED to." I stared at the ceiling for a bit longer. "Holy shit, maybe I should have that drink. Got anything here?"

She stopped working on my chest and looked down at me quietly, then nodded.

"Wait here." I heard her go to the front, close and lock the door, then come back with a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Here. real whiskey."

I sat up, taking the bottle from her and taking a healthy slug right from the mouth. It burned just like it should have on the way down. Offering it back to her, she waved it off before taking up her seat beside me again.

"You always get hard when you're drunk?" She waved a free hand towards my crotch, still quietly bulging there, a small hill at the top of the valley formed by my legs. I laughed.

"Lately? Lately I get hard when the wind blows."

And then the verbal diarrhea started. I told her about everything- the Sluts at Exxxotica, the app, Tawny and Jessica, my trip to the clinic, Ashley on the mountain- all of it. And she listened, still working on my tattoo and asking the occasional question. The only thing I left out was Rahne.

"And now I'm here, laying on your table (I said 'bed' several times early on and she corrected me each time.), having just bought all your porn, getting stabbed." I looked over at her still listening and working the color into my skin. I'll pretend I don't know what came over me, but I reached out and very deliberately unfastened the suspenders of her coveralls.

The front panel fell away, revealing the soft, slightly sagging breasts hiding behind it and the simple studs in each long, thick nipple. The breadth and intricacies of the artwork running from just below her chin all the way down her exposed torso had to be seen to do it any justice. Everything I saw in the picture of the stripper fondling her tits in living, breathing color. She watched me quietly, only the hum of the tattoo gun between us.

"I'm sorry," I stammered, suddenly realizing what I'd just done. "I didn't ask and..."

She shut me up by reaching down and opening my jeans, revealing my erect cock. I shuddered at the caress of her gloved fingers as they wrapped around my shaft and I felt my asshole relax as if expecting her fingers. She started slowly stroking up and down my hard shaft, watching my stomach flex of its own accord. A pool of pre-cum flowed out of the tip and filled my navel.

I helped her work my pants down to my knees before she stilled my struggling by bending down and licking my swollen head, deliberately rubbing the bee stud head along the sensitive rim. I gasped and moaned in her care, desperately trying to reach out and touch her hip, pull her closer. She held my hand when her lips wrapped around my head. She opened her mouth wide and didn't close it again until her nose pressed against my leg, taking my whole cock in in one go.

To be clear, I've been deep-throated before, but she usually needs to work up to it because I'm a bit bigger than average (So I've been told.). Jeanie kissed my cockhead, then opened her mouth and took my entire length and girth into her mouth without touching anything else until she hit bottom.

Then she locked on and sucked my cock as though she hadn't eaten in days. I watched her head rise and fall, her tongue and lips swirling and twisting and pulling. I tried to touch her head, stroke her hair, squeeze her shoulder- anything. She pushed my hands away every time. She never once looked up at me, taking her cues from my moans and swears.

She pulled away with a loud 'pop' and, I swear, it felt like she'd been using a penis pump on me. Her hand wrapped around my base, slowly continuing to stroke up and down.

"Need you to hurry the fuck up and cum, studly. I'm gonna shotgun your spunk so I can concentrate on finishing your ink." Still jerking my dick, she leaned up and kissed me, finally allowing me to fondle her warm flesh. "After that, I'm gonna ride your face until your tongue goes numb so I can put in your stud. I want you to remember the taste of my cunt while you're healing up."

Then she whispered her last promise in my ear, kissed me again and returned to sucking my cock.

This time I managed to sit up enough to undo the three buttons holding the side of her coveralls closed over her hip. With very little encouragement they dropped to the floor. The artwork I'd seen on her upper body continued all the way down as far as I could see, broken only by her panties. But the slight sagging of middle age I saw in her breasts was wiped away by the firm, athletic muscle tone of her solid ass and granite column thighs. If she ever skipped leg day it was because she was skating and fucking people up on the rink.

She had my whole cock in her mouth when I started to cum. To help me along, she simply stayed right where she was and began licking my tightly clenched balls. I managed to hold on for a few seconds, then she opened a little wide and swallowed, dropping down to gather my balls into the warm wetness of her hungry lips.

Propelled by the rubbing of her tongue over my sack, I came entirely in her mouth- clenching balls, pulsing shaft, spraying down her greedy throat, all of it inside her. I would have come up off the table had she not been holding me down. Slowly, deliciously painfully, she squeezed her lips around my shaft, draining the last into her mouth. Finally, she stood up, tossing her head back as though downing a shot and swallowed.

"Damn that's fucking sweet," she complimented, coming up to kiss me fiercely. I could taste myself in her mouth. "Someone's been training you right."

And with that, she pushed me down and went back to work finishing my tattoo. Somewhere along the way, I'd kicked off my shoes, socks and jeans, laying naked on her table, feeling the paper, now damp with sweat, crinkle below me. She allowed me the comfort of caressing one warm tit with my one hand, the other maintaining the death grip around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

Clicking off the gun, she then dressed my chest before directing me to scoot down on the table, again making the paper crinkle and tear below me. My knees dangling over the end, she climbed up, now naked herself and straddled my stomach. I caressed her powerful thighs and hips, savoring the rough skin and letting my fingers play over her bright artwork.

Much like Tawny's tribal wolf, Jeanie had a demoness' face tattooed on her pubic mound, calling me to kiss her.

She moved up until sitting on my chest, my mouth just inches away from her demoness' beckoning lips. She arched back, lifting her hips to my mouth. Supporting her ass in my hands, I watched her pour a slug of whiskey into her mouth, then flow out from her lips, down between her soft breasts, over her hard belly and into the light tangle of hair before flowing into my mouth.

I lifted her ass even closer and buried my face into her whiskey-flavored pussy. I did everything I could to give her pleasure- licking and sucking her meaty lips (Each with a long bar running lengthwise through them!), writing a full paragraph with my tongue around the ring in her clit. Even doing my best to stimulate the small piercing she had between her pussy and asshole. And it all worked. Every time she came, she would reach down, grab my hair with both hands and force my head deeper into her crotch until she stopped shaking.

I thought she was done when she pushed my head back down roughly, but she simply flipped over into a sixty-nine. While she enjoyed herself once more sucking on my cock, I could now spread her firm ass cheeks and tongue both delicious holes with ease. I ate her out with as much gusto as she enjoyed slurping and sucking my cock a second time. I lost myself in the heat and comfort of having her on top of me, pressing me down into the shredded paper and sweaty leather. This time I was instinctually fucking her mouth when I came.

The afterglow broke when she pierced my left ear. Then, sitting astride my hips (And rubbing her cum-wet pussy against my reforming hard-on, which actually kinda hurt. Men aren't supposed to get hard so soon after cumming! Women are much superior in that respect.), she quickly yanked out my tongue with some sort of medical clamp. I blinked and she was screwing in the beads on each end of a u-shaped piercing that put both beaded heads on the surface of my tongue instead of one above and the other below.

She was right. I'd be remembering nothing but her whiskey-flavored girl-cum for weeks waiting for it to heal.

She leaned over to put her tools down so I took control and guided my cock right between her pierced lips. Thrusting up, I pushed down on her hips, filling her hard and fast and making her grunt with pleasure.

My hands on her hips, hers on my shoulders, we fucked hard, deep and rough. I felt her cum, the clench of her pussy around my penetrating cock, the pressure of her strong thighs squeezing my hips. She grunted and swore and bit my neck when I tried to kiss her.

"Fuck!" I cursed in relieved pain as my empty and aching balls released what little they had deep inside her. Feeling the warmth of my cum spreading inside her, she pumped her hips a few times more, then held on as one last shudder claimed her body.

She bit my shoulder again, panting and shaking.

"How long has it been?" I asked, letting her catch her breath. To be honest, I need a few minutes too and her skin felt pleasantly hot on top of me. A weighted blanket that orgasms.

"With a guy? Seven months, eighteen days." She stirred slowly, still nibbling on my ear. "Got a few side-bitches on the team that'll eat me out after a match if we win. Strap-on's not quite the same as a cock when you really want one though."

"I get that. Pussy's better than masturbation any day."

She carefully got off and slid her feet down to the floor. Looking back at my spent, leaking cock, she smirked.

"Got one more thing for you."

The trip from Atlantic City to Philadelphia is just over an hour on the Expressway. I had to stop for some supplies to care for my new tattoo, my new piercings in my ear and tongue.

And a few bags of frozen peas to sit on because driving with a brand-new bar through my dick without underwear isn't comfortable.

Thank you everyone who has been enjoying my stories!

Continued in the next installment- Max Weathers the Storm

Comments and questions are always welcome. You can find me most nights in the Lit-Chat Lobby if you prefer direct discussion.

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