ms_tiff
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2016
- Posts
- 1,332
Seeking a co-writer to play one of the frat boys introduced at the end of this post. My ideal co-writer has a decent grip on the English language and grammar and should possess the ability to write well thought out posts of at least two paragraphs. PM me if interested. Please do not post unless invited to do so.
“I’m lookin’ for Jay.” The acne-scarred teen fidgeted at the counter. Nicotine stained fingers tapped rapidly against the glass top and a hint of bourbon, most likely stolen from his daddy’s liquor cabinet, wafted off him.
The burly man behind the counter cut an intimidating figure with his leather vest and t-shirt with the sleeves torn off to reveal the ink that covered his skin. Eyeing the boy up he flashed a hint of perfectly straight teeth, a flash of white barely visible behind the thick black beard.
“What you want with J?” He barked.
“I – uh – I heard he was the best.” The kid squared his shoulders and forced himself to meet the man’s unwavering gaze. “If I’m gonna get inked I want it from the best. So is he around or not?”
“You’re right J is the best in town.” A woman stepped from behind the curtain separating the back office from the rest of the tattoo parlor. She wore tight leather pants that sat low on her hips and a white Metallica tank top, under which her black bra was clearly visible. Her right arm was covered in a sleeve of interwoven flowers and tribal designs, the vibrant colors standing out nicely against her sun-kissed skin. Pitch black hair was pulled up in a messy bun and gold hoops hung from her ears.
The boy’s eyes threatened to pop from his head as the woman strode towards him. Hazel eyes rimmed with black eye-liner glinted mischievously as she rested a hip against the counter, cocking her head to look the teen up and down.
“If you want J to do some ink for you it isn’t gonna be cheap.” She said crossing her arms -the tank top riding up to show the soft skin of her stomach.
As if trying to prove what a badass he was, the boy threw a wad of cash on the counter. The woman eyed the cash and smiled.
“Welcome to Bitchin’ Ink. I’m Josie, but you can call me J.”
“Did you see the look on his face? I thought he was gonna shit himself.” Hartley’s belly laugh echoed in the parlor as he bent over the pool table. “You barely swabbed him and he was crying like a baby.”
Josie shook her head, eyeing up her own shot as Hartley, Bitchin’s security officer/receptionist, relayed the story of the snot-nosed teen to the three others in the tattoo parlor. Dominic, the other artist at the parlor, looked up from the outline he was inking onto the back of one of their regulars – the man’s girlfriend sat flipping through a gossip magazine and popping her gum loudly – and rolled his eyes.
“What a puta.” Dominic chuckled. “I hope you messed with him a bit, amiga.”
“What I don’t understand is what self-respecting guy wants a Chinese character tramp stamp?” Josie shook her head as the cue ball hit off the side and knocked against the eight ball, messing up her shot.
Outside the sun had set and Main Street was flooded with Friday night revelers. Music pumped from the bars on either side of Bitchin’ Ink, making the walls vibrate. Looking out the window, Josie could see people already stumbling their way down the street, no doubt having pre-gamed before coming out. While it was quiet at the moment there would, more than likely, be a handful of men and women coming through the door fueled by liquid courage and ready to get that tattoo they’d always dreamed of.
“Speaking of putas,” Hartley nodded towards the door as he sunk the eight ball in the corner pocket. A group of guys, obviously intoxicated and singing the local college’s fight song at the top of their lungs, stumbled through the doorway.
With a sigh, Josie set down the pool cue and stepped towards the group. Judging from their matching uniform of pastel colored polo shirts and golf shorts she could only assume they were from one of the fraternities.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” She asked, flashing her best smile. She hated dealing with these jackasses, but money talked and, based off their appearances, they were quite the conversationalists.
“I’m lookin’ for Jay.” The acne-scarred teen fidgeted at the counter. Nicotine stained fingers tapped rapidly against the glass top and a hint of bourbon, most likely stolen from his daddy’s liquor cabinet, wafted off him.
The burly man behind the counter cut an intimidating figure with his leather vest and t-shirt with the sleeves torn off to reveal the ink that covered his skin. Eyeing the boy up he flashed a hint of perfectly straight teeth, a flash of white barely visible behind the thick black beard.
“What you want with J?” He barked.
“I – uh – I heard he was the best.” The kid squared his shoulders and forced himself to meet the man’s unwavering gaze. “If I’m gonna get inked I want it from the best. So is he around or not?”
“You’re right J is the best in town.” A woman stepped from behind the curtain separating the back office from the rest of the tattoo parlor. She wore tight leather pants that sat low on her hips and a white Metallica tank top, under which her black bra was clearly visible. Her right arm was covered in a sleeve of interwoven flowers and tribal designs, the vibrant colors standing out nicely against her sun-kissed skin. Pitch black hair was pulled up in a messy bun and gold hoops hung from her ears.
The boy’s eyes threatened to pop from his head as the woman strode towards him. Hazel eyes rimmed with black eye-liner glinted mischievously as she rested a hip against the counter, cocking her head to look the teen up and down.
“If you want J to do some ink for you it isn’t gonna be cheap.” She said crossing her arms -the tank top riding up to show the soft skin of her stomach.
As if trying to prove what a badass he was, the boy threw a wad of cash on the counter. The woman eyed the cash and smiled.
“Welcome to Bitchin’ Ink. I’m Josie, but you can call me J.”
“Did you see the look on his face? I thought he was gonna shit himself.” Hartley’s belly laugh echoed in the parlor as he bent over the pool table. “You barely swabbed him and he was crying like a baby.”
Josie shook her head, eyeing up her own shot as Hartley, Bitchin’s security officer/receptionist, relayed the story of the snot-nosed teen to the three others in the tattoo parlor. Dominic, the other artist at the parlor, looked up from the outline he was inking onto the back of one of their regulars – the man’s girlfriend sat flipping through a gossip magazine and popping her gum loudly – and rolled his eyes.
“What a puta.” Dominic chuckled. “I hope you messed with him a bit, amiga.”
“What I don’t understand is what self-respecting guy wants a Chinese character tramp stamp?” Josie shook her head as the cue ball hit off the side and knocked against the eight ball, messing up her shot.
Outside the sun had set and Main Street was flooded with Friday night revelers. Music pumped from the bars on either side of Bitchin’ Ink, making the walls vibrate. Looking out the window, Josie could see people already stumbling their way down the street, no doubt having pre-gamed before coming out. While it was quiet at the moment there would, more than likely, be a handful of men and women coming through the door fueled by liquid courage and ready to get that tattoo they’d always dreamed of.
“Speaking of putas,” Hartley nodded towards the door as he sunk the eight ball in the corner pocket. A group of guys, obviously intoxicated and singing the local college’s fight song at the top of their lungs, stumbled through the doorway.
With a sigh, Josie set down the pool cue and stepped towards the group. Judging from their matching uniform of pastel colored polo shirts and golf shorts she could only assume they were from one of the fraternities.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” She asked, flashing her best smile. She hated dealing with these jackasses, but money talked and, based off their appearances, they were quite the conversationalists.
