P*rnstation: Filthy Erotica Collection

I shouldn’t have been nervous. It was just a tattoo. But sitting in the waiting room with my ass about to be on display for a total stranger, my stomach was in knots. The shop smelled like ink and antiseptic, but there was a low hum of bass from somewhere in the back, like even the walls vibrated with s*x. And then he walked out. Tall. Broad. T-shirt stretched tight across his chest, arms covered in black ink that disappeared under the cotton sleeves. His hair was messy, dark, falling across his forehead in a way that made him look like he’d just rolled out of bed after f*****g someone senseless. “Who’s getting their ass done today?” he asked, voice deep, like the question wasn’t filthy as hell. My hand went up before my brain caught up. His eyes slid over me, slowly like he was peeling clothes off with his gaze. My thighs pressed together instinctively. “Follow me,” he said, smirking as if he already knew what kind of mess I was going to be by the time he was finished. I trailed him down the hall, every step making me hotter. He opened the door to the room. It was a dim lights, black leather chair in the middle, tools laid out neatly on a tray. I didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked to my ass when I stepped inside. “Alright, sweetheart,” he said, pulling on gloves with a snap that made my n*****s tighten. “Drop ‘em. Need to see what I’m working with.” I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to, but because my p***y was already throbbing just from his voice. “You shy?” His smirk deepened. “You came here to get your ass tattooed. I’m gonna be looking at it for the next couple hours. Might as well get used to it.” My hands shook as I unbuttoned my jeans, pushing them down along with my panties until cool air hit my bare skin. He whistled low, not even pretending to be professional. “f**k,” he muttered, eyes locked on my ass. “That’s a sight.” Heat shot through me and I climbed onto the chair, face down, ass up, the leather cold against my stomach. I could feel my own heartbeat in my clit, and I prayed he wouldn’t notice. Except of course he noticed. He knelt behind me, setting up his stencil, but his fingers brushed the inside of my thigh like he was testing me and I bit my lip to stop a sound from escaping. “You nervous?” he asked with his breath hot against my skin. “Y-yeah,” I said, my voice shaking. “Don’t be.” His thumb dragged just a little too close to my p***y. “I’ll take good care of you.” I almost moaned. He hadn’t even touched me where I needed it, and I was already dripping. The machine buzzed to life, and I jumped but his hand pressed firm on my ass, holding me in place. “Relax, sweetheart. Gotta keep you still if you don’t want me to f**k up the ink.” That word—f**k—rolled off his tongue like he meant more than just the tattoo. The needle bit into my skin, sharp but not unbearable. I tried to focus on the sting, but all I could feel was the way his hand gripped me, spreading me slightly, keeping me steady. My p***y clenched helplessly, wetness pooling between my thighs. And then it happened. I gasped—too loud and too needy. His head tilted, eyes flicking up at me with a slow, knowing grin. “You moanin’ for the needle, or for my hand on your ass?” My face burned. “I-I didn’t—” He chuckled deeply. “Sweetheart, don’t lie. You’re wet as f**k. I can smell and see it.” I froze. My p***y throbbed harder at his words. He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke. “You came here for ink, but I think you want more than my needle in you.” My stomach dropped. My p***y gushed. I tried to swallow, tried to hold in the sound that threatened to break free, but it came out anyway—half moan, half whimper. “Thought so,” he said, voice low and cocky. The buzzing stopped as he set the machine down, and the sudden silence made my pulse roar in my ears. His gloved hand slid over my ass, squeezing like he owned it. “Tell me the truth. You’re soaking that chair right now, aren’t you?” I buried my face in my arms, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I—no, I—” “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” His tone went darker and deeper. Two fingers pressed along the inside of my thigh, pushing closer and closer, until he dragged them right across the wet slit of my p***y. My whole body jolted. “f**k,” he groaned, almost like it was him who’d been touched. “Dripping. Just from me putting my hands on you.” “Please,” The word slipped out before I could stop it. “Please what?” He circled my clit through the thin layer of wetness, not quite touching it directly, teasing me until my legs shook. “You want me to stop? Or you want me to make this p***y c*m all over my chair?” I could barely breathe, my voice coming out broken. “Make me.” That was all he needed. His gloves snapped off, hitting the floor, and then his mouth was on me. He spread me open with both hands and licked a slow stripe from my dripping entrance up to my clit, groaning into me like he’d been starving for it. “Holy f**k,” I gasped, my fingers gripping the sides of the chair so tight my knuckles ached. “Sweetest p***y I’ve ever tasted,” he muttered against me, tongue flicking my clit before he sucked it hard into his mouth. I cried out, bucking against him, but he held me down easily, one arm wrapped around my hips to keep me still while his mouth devoured me. His tongue slid inside me, curling deep, then he pulled back to lap up the mess I was making like he didn’t want to waste a single drop. The sounds were obscene—his mouth slurping, my p***y squelching and the low growl in his throat every time I moaned louder. “Oh my god,” I panted, the pressure building so fast it scared me. “I—I’m gonna—” “c*m,” he ordered his voice rough, before sucking my clit again, harder this time. My vision went white. My whole body shook as the orgasm ripped through me, my p***y spasming around nothing, clit throbbing against his tongue. I screamed into the leather, shaking and crying out as wave after wave crashed through me. He didn’t stop. He licked me through it, slow and relentless, dragging it out until I was sobbing from how good it felt, my thighs trembling violently. When I finally collapsed, breathless and wrecked, he pulled back with his lips shiny, chin dripping with my c*m. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning down at me like the cockiest bastard alive. “You taste like f*****g heaven,” he said, his voice low and satisfied. His eyes were dark, hungry, locked on me like I was the only thing in the world he wanted to eat again. And then he licked his lips, slowly, before pressing two fingers into my swollen p***y without warning. I yelped, jerking forward, but he shoved me back down. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just getting you ready for my cock.” My head spun. He was going to f**k me. And god help me—I wanted it more than anything.