As I felt it begin to penetrate me, I pressed my hands onto his thighs and arched my back.
“Watch. It helps, really,” I said over my shoulder.
I had no idea if he heard me or not. I was all too eager to get started. Without warning, preparation, or any idea of how well his thick oversized shaft was going to fit inside of me, I began to work my hips like a stripper on a pole.
His cock felt like it was in my chest. I exhaled a loud moan out into the room, took a deep breath, and began my journey to achieve another much needed orgasm at Blake’s expense.
As I squeezed his thighs in my hands and bucked my hips back and forth, his thick shaft worked in and out of my tight wet pussy no differently than if it had been fashioned solely for my delight.
A matter of a few seconds and no more than three or four strokes into the affair, his cock begin to swell. It was all I needed. I relaxed, slowed my pace, and attempted to milk him of his juices. As I felt him begin to erupt inside of me, I gripped his legs in my hand, bit my lip, and arched my back.
“Oh my God,” he growled as his cock swelled to twice its size.
And he exploded.
“Holy…”
“Fuck…” I bellowed.
The orgasm felt as if it came from my deep within my pussy, which was something I wasn’t used to. Orgasms in my past were more of a sensation of my skin and outer region, but this felt as if it developed inside my soul.
From my nipples to the tip of his deeply situated cock, my body tingled. I blinked my eyes repeatedly, fully expecting something to change, but it didn’t. Satisfied I had truly found my mate, and Blake had found his calling in life, I lifted my throbbing pussy from his slowly diminishing rod and collapsed onto his legs, chest down.
“That was incredible,” I said, my face resting on his thigh.
He raised himself up on his elbows slightly. “It was awesome.”
I tilted my head to the side, turned to face him, and grinned. Looking at him from my vantage point allowed me to glance all the way up his torso, seeing his each and every well-defined muscle. At the top of his mid-section, his swollen chest heaved up and down.
I glanced to the side at his tattooed arms. The tattoos on his sweat-covered biceps glistened as he situated his arms. He gazed down at me and grinned.
“How uhhm. How long until we can do it again?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Until we can fuck again?” he asked as he ran his fingers through his hair.
I made a feeble attempt to shrug my shoulders. “Uhhm, whenever you can get it up.”
“Okay. Give me a few minutes,” he said.
My eyes widened considerably. “You’re not done?”
He chuckled and shook his head as he ran his fingers through his hair again. “Done? No, I’m not done. But I may have some bad news.”
“Uhhm, huh? Bad news?”
He grinned and nodded his head. “The next time I visit Doc Racine, I’m going to have to tell him I’m a sex addict, and this time I won’t be lying.”
I grinned in return.
Thank God.
BLAKE
My subconscious fears had become reality. Sex wasn’t something I desired or wanted from time to time, it was an addiction. At first I believed it to be no different than anything else new to me. As a child and as an adult, whatever was new to me - as long as I enjoyed it - received all undivided attention. As a kid, my new bicycle was my focus. As an adult, my newest motorcycle received my attention. Whenever I made a new tattoo machine or purchased a new television, they were the objects of my desire until something newer or more interesting came along.
I dismissed my initial desire to have repeated sex with Riley to this old pattern of behavior for the first few days, but now, after two weeks of time had passed, I realized I had a problem.
Choosing whether or not to address the problem was something I had yet to decide.
The chairs used by tattoo artists are chosen as a matter of personal preference, and typically most artists choose to recondition or rebuild a vintage dentist’s chair. My personal favorite was the Ritter from the 1930’s I had recovered and refinished to an almost new state. One advantage of using the Dentist chair was the chair’s ability to adjust into almost any position from flat to upright, and everything in between.
At present, my chair was almost flat, with the upper portion slightly elevated. Riley was in it backward, with her legs dangling over the portion designed for the head, and her pussy elevated to a perfect height.
And I stood behind the chair doing what Riley described as the required precursor to sex, her moaning echoed throughout the shop.
“If you keep wiggling around, I’m going to spin this chair around and shove you full of dick,” I said as I pulled my face from between her legs.
“No. No. Don’t do that. I’ll hold still, I swear,” she begged.
“You better,” I said as I pressed my palms against her inner thighs.
She lowered her head onto the cushion of the chair. “I will.”
After watching her sink her upper teeth into her lower lip, I buried my face between her legs and began to suck on her clit.
As I fingered her slowly and methodically, I flicked my tongue against her nub. Appearing to be uncertain if she wanted to continue or run away, she raised her hips for a few seconds, allowed me to have my way with her, and eventually lowered her hips and began to squirm along the leather cushion in an attempt to get away.
Five minutes into her indecisive behavior, and I did my best to appear to be angry with her.
“That’s it,” I bellowed as I slapped my hand against the side of the chair, causing it to spin in a circle.
“What?” she snapped back as she spun past me.
“You can’t fucking hold still. That’s it,” I said.
“I’ve had so many orgasms I feel like I’m going to pop or something, I’m sorry, it’s sensitive,” she said as the chair came to a stop.
Without warning, I pressed the lever on the side of the chair, lowering the end of it to a flat position; causing her hips to be at the same elevation as her head. Now with her knees bent and her legs dangling over the end of the chair, I reached for my belt as I shook my head from side-to-side.
She batted her eyes and grinned. “What?”
“Here’s what,” I said as I pushed my jeans to my thighs.
I grabbed her ankles, pulled her toward me slightly, and guided myself into her wet pussy.
“Oh God…” she moaned as I slowly pushed myself into her.
I watched the length of my cock slowly disappear. After burying it as deep as possible, I pulled back slightly, grinning at the sight of the glistening shaft as it slowly slid free of her dripping pussy. Seeing her excitement spread all over my throbbing flesh was enough to feed me with energy for an entire evening.
“You know what I like about fucking you in the shop?” I asked as I began to work my hips back and forth.
“Uhhm…what?” she asked, her breathing already becoming labored.
I exhaled my response with another quick thrust of my cock. “Everything.”
“You’re…breaking…” she paused and raised herself onto her elbows. “The rules…No fucking in…the shop.”
“Rules are made to be broken,” I said as I continued to work my hips back and forth, attempting to maintain focus on my cock as it repeatedly disappeared inside of her.
I found the process of having sex to be much more than entertaining; it was an almost magical experience. The human body was designed to do exactly what we were doing, and I planned on continuing until I was incapable.
Riley sat up slightly in the chair and shifted her eyes to my crotch as I continued to pound away.
“Watch, it helps,” I said sarcastically, repeating her comment from the first night we had sex.
“I can’t watch…for…long,” she said.
I grinned, gripped her waist in my hands, and pulled my hips ba
ck slowly. As my stiff dick slid from her wet folds, she sighed. After a moment of staring down at the head of my cock, I shifted my eyes slowly along her body, eventually stopping at her face.
The most beautiful woman in the world is made even more so by simply shoving her full of a good stiff dick.
“Ready?” I asked.
“For?”
“Ready?”
“Yep,” she said with a nod.
I watched my cock disappear until my balls were against her ass crack. After a few seconds of savoring the feeling of her warmth, I began to pound away without mercy. My physical condition wasn’t the best in the world, but my determination was unmatched by any man.
As I thrust my hips back and forth, taking as long of strokes as I was able to without completely pulling out, Riley’s labored breathing became apparent and louder than the sound of our slapping flesh or the music playing in the background.
After a few minutes, she began to wail.
The sound of her reaching climax was all I needed.
My call to action.
As she cried out into the room, her pussy contracted around my throbbing flesh. I buried myself deep inside of her and groaned as I exploded every ounce of my love deep within her soul.
“That…”
“Was…”
“Amazing,” she said.
“I love fucking you,” I said.
She exhaled a heavy sigh. “Good, because I love it when you fuck me.”
I leaned forward, kissed her stomach, and stood for a moment absorbing her beauty. As her eyes fell closed, I grinned and shuffled to the bathroom. After cleaning myself in the sink, I pulled up my jeans, buckled my belt, and gazed into the mirror.
My life had changed drastically. I had been living in a world complicated with a combination of fact and fiction and remained somewhere in between in a sea of uncertainty. Often incapable of separating what was genuine from what was contrived; my mind resided in limbo. Now, attempting to comprehend the reality of the dream I was living in seemed all too confusing.
It was almost as if none of it could be real.
The bathroom door opened. I stared blankly at Riley’s reflection in the mirror. I reached out and pressed my hand against the cold glass, obstructing the image of her face. After a moment, I slid my hand to the side and blocked my own reflection.
As her hand touched the bare skin of my upper arm, I turned and glanced over my shoulder.
I needed proof.
“I want you to do something for me,” I said.
She squeezed my arm lightly. “Name it.”
“I want you to tattoo me,” I said.
“What?” she gasped.
“Just something simple, I’ll guide you through it,” I said as I shifted my eyes toward the mirror.
As I gazed at our reflection, she leaned forward and rested her chin on my shoulder.
“If that’s what you want,” she said.
“It is,” I responded.
I simply needed to know for sure.
RILEY
Before I was ever in a relationship, I had a vision of what I wanted the man in my life to be. It was more of a dream, but consisted of an outline of the qualities he would possess nonetheless. Blake was not only everything I had once dreamed of, but much more.
Blake was unpredictable in so many respects, yet so much of what he did was foreseeable and expected. It was almost as if he had moments or waves of uncertainty which required him stepping out of himself to take a look at everything around him from the outside.
During these times, I found him to be interesting, artistic, and genuine. It wasn’t that I questioned his sincerity or authenticity in his normal manner of living, but when he was uncertain of his surroundings there was much more depth to his being.
“Just a line across your wrist?” I asked.
He glanced up, grinned, and nodded his head once. “That’s it.”
Although he had instructed me on how to do it, I sat with the machine in my shaking hand uncertain if I could actually proceed.
“What if I go too deep? Or not deep enough?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you. Just do your best to follow the stencil. Now dip it in the ink and go,” he said.
I fixed my eyes on his face. He stared intently at the line he had drawn across his wrist and waited. I dipped the needle in the well, stepped on the switch, and lifted the machine to his wrist. As I pressed the tip of the needle into his skin, the sound changed from a loose rattle to a dull drone.
“Perfect,” he sighed.
“Go a little slower,” he said.
I followed the line with the tip of the needle. The ink pooled behind the machine and ran along his wrist and onto the leather support. After a few seconds, I was done.
I lifted my foot from the pedal, stopping the machine. After setting it aside, I reached for the soap, sprayed it into a paper towel and wiped the area clean.
I did it.
A three-inch-wide line across his wrist, heavy at one end and a little lighter on the other was now permanently etched into his skin.
I felt powerful; as if somehow simply doing the tattoo had made me part of who Blake was, or maybe that it had bound us together even more than we already were.
As simple as the process was, the feeling was indescribable. I quickly came to understand why Blake enjoyed tattooing as much as he did. There was a part of him in each and every person he tattooed, and a small part of them remained with him when they left.
“It’s kind of blurry on that one end,” I said as I studied his wrist.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
“Blurry,” I repeated as I shook my head.
He gazed down at the tattoo and flexed his forearm. “It’s perfect. Blurred lines; it’s when fact and fiction become indiscernible. Fantasy and reality fade into a color of grey yarn and you become tangled up in it and can’t escape into the world of black and white you desperately need as proof of the reality of life itself.”
He shifted his eyes upward and smiled, “I fucking love it.”
“I like it more now,” I said.
“Riley,” he said as turned toward me.
“I love you,” he said as his eyes met mine.
I gazed into his eyes. Glistening of browns and greens, they peered back at me as proof of his sincerity.
I didn’t disagree, but I wasn’t prepared to hear it. As my eyes welled with tears and I felt my throat tighten, I reached for his hand. And, as I lightly squeezed his fingers in my palm, I somehow swallowed the lump in my throat and spoke.
“And I, Blake West, love you.”
BLAKE
The pieces of my life I had always found distasteful were never able to be cast aside, forgotten, or simply walked away from. They remained a part of me, and often became part of my day-to-day decision making, reminding me further of their significance in my life.
They lingered in my mind, loitering about in my life because they were unresolved, and resolution was something I found to be impossible or unattainable. I believed my mind had the capacity to be cleansed of all problems my past created if I was simply able to confront the doer of evil.
The human mind strives to fix what it believes to be broken. Consequently, if I believed something to be in need of repair, I felt I could find no peace until I exhausted myself in the process of doing so.
I watched the pen form the words on the paper. I felt writing to be more intimate than typing a letter and printing it. After much thought, extended moments of pause, and a few tears, I stared down at the completed work.
You may or may not have noticed, but I did not begin this letter with any kind of a greeting or recognize you at all by any type of introduction. Additionally, you will find the envelope to be addressed to your inmate number, and not your name. It was not an oversight, but something I truly felt was necessary.
To me, you are a monster, and clearly the opposite of what I believe to be human. I live in a world of grey because
of you although I certainly realize a black and white one surrounds me.
To recognize darkness as being so, we must have an understanding of what is light. To truly comprehend goodness, an understanding of what we believe to be evil is necessary.
You define evil.
I know this because I am as good as I am able to be. I believe I am not as wholesome or proper as I may have been had you not taken my parents from me, but as good as is possible considering the circumstances of my life. I refuse, however, to credit you with creating what little evil resides within me, and I take all responsibility for what little I possess. I reserve hope of one day obtaining a personal sense of perfection, as I am still young and have a lifetime to make whatever corrections I feel I must to do so.
You took something from me which can never be replaced or corrected. I am writing this letter not for you, but for me. I believe conveying my feelings will provide me with a sense of closure and a small bit of satisfaction in knowing although it wasn’t done in a physical sense, I confronted you.
If there is a heaven, and I suspect there is, I find comfort in knowing when I leave this earth I will not have the potential of stumbling upon you or the wake of evil that follows in your footprints.
Until the day you burn in hell I will look down upon you as what you are.
With what little forgiveness I am able to offer.
Blake West
I folded the paper neatly, inserted it into the envelope, and sealed the letter. If nothing else, writing it provided me with a sense of relief so profound, I found it unnerving I hadn’t done it sooner.
Riley’s confrontation of me the day at the lake, our revelation of secrets, and my admittance of what happened to my parents was the first time I had spoken to anyone about my loss short of Doc Racine. Admitting what happened made the loss become real, and the reality of it all caused me to deal with it.
I may have been a few decades late in resolving matters, but found satisfaction in doing so nonetheless.
I picked up my phone and typed a text message.
Write your letter yet?
I pressed send, tossed my phone on the counter, and stood from my seat.
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