Probably the person narrating the program. He was talking about Area 51 and the routine helicopter sightings and then it was in my…in my brain. ‘Aren’t you a pretty lady?’ I sat bolt upright, certain something fucking weird had just happened. Fuck, but it hurt! I instinctively examined my side, but the ink remained stubbornly just as I’d left it. It was a little dry and I’d thought of it, so I thought I’d go give it a wash. It was just the trauma and pain messing with my head. That’s all it was. Honest. I padded off to the bathroom with my clear, scentless soap and tried to wash the big thing. Being gentle with a gaping side-wound is totally as easy as it sounds, by the way. When I turned the water on to rinse, I fucking heard it again. ‘Yes, a pretty lady with sexy curves. We like those.’ Okay, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I all but threw the soap down and went after my phone. ‘Okay, dude, I think your tattoo guy just drugged me somehow. Like…like…he dipped the needles in acid or. When I first started sitting for him, we would both always become very sexually aroused as I played the role of muse and he the master. He would take me right there at the platform and I would freely let him. It came to a point where he would orchestrate his work to make love at the same time. It became a highly erotic game that both of us enjoyed, me especially. He was very into the whole sex-play thing then and would become more obsessed over it that I did. He used to sometimes make me spread my legs apart as I sat on the platform, and paint a gross image of my exposed pussy while masturbating with his other hand. Then, unable to take it any longer, he would come to me, go on his knees and lavish his mouth and tongue between my legs, giving me the climax that I wanted so badly. And as I became slippery and wet he would take off his clothes and feed his large, hard cock into me and fuck me hard until he came, shooting his hot cream deep into me.After, he would primly button up and.
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