Dark Needs(22)

It felt so good to welcome the devil back, even if just for a short time. I felt so f*cking good in fact that I found myself humming as I finished covering the last hole, patting down the dirt with the flat side of a shovel before covering it with brush and branches.

I lit a cigarette.

Pure satisfaction coursed through my veins.

My cell rang.

"Yeah."

"Brotha, you still around?" King boomed through the phone. "I got a situation here I could use your help with."

"Yeah man, what you need?”

"Gotta put the fear of God into some piece of shit."

"Done." I said, flipping my phone shut. I took a deep drag and blew the smoke into the night.

I put the last of the brush I'd gathered on top of the freshly packed dirt. When I stood back I couldn't help but smile.

Life is good.





KING


COMING SOON


The day I got out of prison I was tattooing a * on a *. The animal onto the female part.

A cat on a cunt.

Fucking ridiculous.

The walls of my makeshift tattoo shop pulsed with the heavy beats of the techno music coming from the biker party raging on the floor below, shaking the door as if someone were rhythmically trying to beat it down. Spray paint and posters covered the walls from floor to ceiling, casting a layer of false light over everything within.

If those bikers weren’t so vital in my new plan I would have tossed them out hours before. But the truth was that I needed them more than I cared to admit.

The little dark haired bitch I was working on was moaning like she was getting off. I’m sure she was rollin’ because there was no way a tattoo directly above her clit could be anything other than f*cking painful.

I really needed a different hobby because this one was becoming annoying as f*ck. Back in the day I could just zone out for hours while tattooing, finding that little corner of my life that didn’t involve all the bullshit I had to deal with on a daily f*cking basis. It didn’t help that the tattoos people were requesting were becoming f*cking dumber and dumber. Football team logos, quotes from books you know they’ve never read, and wannabe gangsters wanting tear drops on their faces. In prison the tear drop tattoo represented taking a life. Some of these little bitches probably couldn’t step on a roach without cowering in the corner and crying for their mamas.

But since my cliental consisted mostly of bikers, strippers, and the occasional spring breaker that found themselves on the wrong side of the causeway, I should’ve lowered the bar on my expectations.

When I was done with the purple cartoon cat tattoo, I applied vaseline, covered it with wrap, and disposed of my gloves. Did this girl think that guys would be turned on by this thing? It was good work, if I didn’t say so myself, especially for being out of commission for three years, but it was covering up my favorite part of a woman. If I undressed her and saw it…I would flip her over.

Which sounded like a good idea.

Instead of giving her instructions for its care and sending her back into the party, I roughly grabbed her hips and pulled her down the table toward me. I stood and flipped her over onto her stomach, with one hand on the back of her neck I pushed her head down onto the table and undid my belt and fly with the other.

She didn’t have any money…I didn’t do free.

I took her * as payment for her new tattoo…of a *.

Fuck my life.

She had a great body, but after a few minutes of irritating over-the-top moaning she wasn’t doing it for me, not even close, so I grabbed her throat with both hands and squeezed, picking up my pace, taking out my frustrations with each rough thrust in rhythm with the heavy beats from the other room.

Nothing.

I almost didn’t notice the door opening.

Almost.

Staring up from my doorway was a large but vacant pair of blue eyes framed by long straight icy-blonde hair, a small dimple in the middle of her chin, a frown on her full pink lips. A girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen, a bit skinny, a bit haunted.

I didn’t even realize I was still pumping into the brunette, my orgasm taking me by complete surprise. Closing my eyes, I blew my load into * tattoo and collapsed onto her back.

What the f*ck?

When I looked back up to the doorway, the doe-eyed girl was gone.

I’m f*cking losing my mind.

I rolled out of and off the brunette who was luckily still breathing, although unconscious from either strangulation or the dope that had made her pupils as big as her f*cking eye sockets.