Offering a blowjob to a male tattoo artist

The bell over the shop door rang, bringing the proprietor's grumpy eyes up from a porno mag. Those same eyes blinked at the sight of the young lady before him. No, defnitely not a lady, he corrected himself.

"H... Hi," she said hesitantly.

Damn, he hated hesitant. They took all day to make up their mind what they wanted and half of them backed out in the end. With a sigh he tossed down the magazine, letting a two-page picture of a gal being hosed by cum turn toward the girl. He half-hoped it'd scare her off.

"I want a tramp stamp," she said, eyes wide and fixed on the magazine.

The man styled himself Bones. Supposedly it was his idea, in honor of an uncreative pirate flag tattooed across his chest. In reality it was **** upon him by old friends who made fun of his almost skeletal appearance. Years of **** hadn't done much to help him pack on the pounds, and now in middle-age he maintained the skinniness of youth, even if he had none of the same health.

"Oh yeah? Given some thought to it, huh?" he asked, looking around for his glasses. Getting old sucks, he thought, though not in quite those terms. He never thought of himself getting older because of course it wasn't happening to him. He just kept changing for some reason and it sure as hell wasn't his fault. He was eating the same things he was as a teen and it didn't hurt him then, so it obviously couldn't be hurting him now.

"Yeah, I want it to read 'Spank Me'."

He looked up, hands poised above the cursed spectacles. "Oh really? Like a little spanking, do you?"

The girl ignored him. "I'll, uh, I'll give you a blowjob for five bucks off."

Bones stared, glasses halfway to his face. "For... five...." he repeated. "Well, that can be arranged," he choked out. How long had it been since anyone else had touched him? His clientele tended more toward the rough sort, down and outers angry with the world who alternated between using needles to get high and using them to get marked.

"You'll have to go to the seat. Straddle the back and hug it. Hang on..." he said, moving to lift the arm-rests, only to freeze as she wiggled her hips, slipping off her tiny skirt.

"I could've done it by pushing the skirt down," he protested, somehow affronted by and aroused by the action at the same time. Damn, he'd put down his glasses again. He had to take a look at this chick. But did he want to know she was butt-ugly and could only get men by throwing herself at them? Hell, she was practically paying him to fuck her mouth, wasn't she?

"Oh I like taking off my clothes," she purred, and Bones picked up the glasses he'd dropped on the counter.

"Right, well..." he began as he turned, freezing as he saw her clearly for the first time with eyes that didn't see everything as a blurry blob beyond a foot.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," he muttered to himself. The chick was hot! But what was up with her hair? It looked like someone had butchered it on purpose.

Must be one of those girl-things, he thought. Like the no-make-up look, the just-fucked hairstyle, or just-woke-up one, or his favorite, the cum-glazed lips. Was that actually a style or did he read it in the fantasy letters section?

"Is that...." he stared closer at her face, seeing streaks of nearly-clear liquid drying on her cheeks.

"Oh, uh...." she colored just a little, the suggestion she was under permitting no more. "It's cum. I let a guy cum on my face and I don't like to wipe it off until it's dried completely. Four hours, usually."

It was amazing how easily and flawlessly the lie came out. Inside she was dying of embarrassment, while on the outside she was looking at him like a sultry whore.

"Oh," he gulped. "So, ah, you want mine there too?" he asked, and she nodded eagerly, getting down on her knees in an instant.

"Right, well, okay. Here we go," he said, nervously stepping up to her.