Phoenyx: Flesh & Fire (22 page)

His rubber gloved hand on my left buttock with a gentle smack.

“Hmm, do that again,” I purred. He did, again and again.

I couldn’t stand it any longer. One hand tugging on my nipple ring, I slid the other underneath and started to touch myself, stroking my labia and feeling my warmth.

Then I felt other fingers there beside my own, and the buzzing stopped. I twisted my head around to look. He placed the tattoo gun aside and peeled off his gloves.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t apologies,” I said. I sat up on the side of the couch and spread my legs, hands on my thighs and licking my lips as I waited for what he’d do next.

He walked back to the door and went through. I was just beginning to feel disappointed when I heard the music volume increase – The Zoo with its deep thumping beat, and then he was back through, and locking the door behind him.

“You can’t lie on your back yet,” he told me. “The ink...”

I nodded, chewing my lip as I stroked my clitoris and tugged on that ring. He hit a light switch and the room turned to red from cold white.

“Do you do private things like this in your job back home?” he asked.

“No, I’m not a hooker. I’m a stripper. I only do this for love, not money.”

That made him smile. I was beginning to love that smile. I turned around and leant over the couch, pushing my ass up at him. The couch was a perfect height to bend over. I spread my legs and buried my face deep in the vinyl cushions, inhaling the smell of my own sweat and sexual juices.

I heard a zip open and then I felt him, his cock head teasing the outer lips. Then the needle gun started up again, and as he slid gently inside me, inch by inch, I felt almost ready to gush. The needle pricked me in the back and I squealed.

“How...” I gasped, “How will you...”

“I can stay inside you for hours. I can ink at the same time. It’s such small movements; it won’t matter if we go gently.”

“Oh my fucking God,” I moaned. “For...hours?”

“I did say it would take a while.”

“I’m almost ready to cum,” I whined.

“Good. Then you should be dry by the time I’m finished. And we can have wine, and start over again.”

This went on for God knows how long, the slowest, most gentle fuck ever. He felt like a machine, never varying his rhythm, keeping me perpetually on the edge.

Then I heard a clink behind me. I looked up, startled, and there stood Honey in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a huge grin pasted on her face.

“Uh?” I gasped. “How did you…”

She lowered her shades in that self-consciously sexy way of hers, peering at me from over the black lenses. “Johnny gave me the key to this place last time,” she said. “I have an open invitation.” She ran her eyes over us both. “And this looks very much like a party worth crashing, if you don’t mind.”

She locked the door behind her and strolled over to the bench, stretching her Lycra miniskirt as she moved. I could already see the hard bulge forming under it, long before she pulled the hemline up and that now very familiar girl-cock slapped out of her G-string and onto the bench in front of me.

“Shall we?” Johnny asked, urging my ass back into action with a slap to both cheeks. I gripped Honey’s rapidly extending prick in my hands and looked up into her eyes.

“We shall,” I grinned, and pressed that cock to my lips as Johnny began to squeeze into me again, inch by inch, pushing me further onto Honey as he did so.

“I put the sign in the door to read
closed
,” Honey said while I swallowed her extending length. “I don’t think you’ll be doing any more work tonight, Johnny.”

“How could I, when I have my best and sexiest customers?”

“Better not cum too hard, Phoenyx,” she told me, “or you’ll end up with a zigzag dotted over your back.”

“Give me some credit,” Johnny argued. “I’m a professional.”

She leaned in tight against Johnny and rubbed her hand over his neck. “Told you you’d love her, didn’t I?” she said, with a grin in my direction.

“I know you well,” he said. “You have perfect taste.”

Honey smacked her lips. “Oh yeah. And she tastes perfect, believe me.” She dumped a couple of shopping bags up on the workbench. “I found some things for tonight,” she explained. “You’re not doing anything, are you, Johnny?”

He shook his head. “Nothing that wouldn’t involve the pair of you. Maybe we could hit the Club Electric.”

“Oh yeah,” Honey squeaked. “You’ll love that place, Phoenyx. And then, afterwards...” she looked over at Johnny and licked her lips. “What about it, babe?”

He smiled broadly at that.

“Yes,” he said. “Afterwards, indeed.”

She patted her shopping bags and their secret contents. “And then we get to play with toys.”

The first thought that crossed my mind was that Honey had gone shopping for Barbie dolls and model cars, but the leer across her face told me otherwise. Sometimes I felt very stupid for someone of my age, and often wondered how long I could go on blaming that on all my early life having been spent in the country.

It was a good job I had a mouthful of Honey at the time; that stopped me from saying anything too dumb that might just have gotten me laughed at. Besides, between that, the needle in my spine and the cock in my pussy, I had much more important things to think about at that moment.

After three solid hours of inking, sucking and fucking, I was left drained and sagged over the couch, a dry and empty skin.

“Well sometimes I surprise even myself,” Johnny said. “I actually finished that firebird in a single session.” He summoned Honey to his side. “What do you reckon?”

“Johnny babe, I think you’ve surpassed even your own astronomical standards. That’s a good couple of hundred bucks worth of anyone’s money, even mine.”

“No charge, please,” he groaned. “What do you take me for? I do favors for favors.”

Honey slapped my ass. “You can get up now. You want to see this thing. It’ll make your eyeballs burn.”

I rolled on to my side on the couch, dripping and glistening in sweat. With a cock in me at each end and a needle gun all over my spine, I felt that I must have reached the pinnacle of sexual pleasure. I also felt more arid inside than the Gobi desert.

“I need a drink,” I croaked.

“Jeez, I’ve just finished pumping half a pint of cream down your throat,” Honey laughed. “What more do you want?”

“I think the lady may appreciate some wine, or similar refreshment,” Johnny said as he brought mirrors over to the couch. He held one and Honey took the other one so I could see my own back in the reflection.

And then I gasped.

It looked even more magnificent on my skin than it had on paper.

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “I can’t believe how beautiful this is.”

“I made a special effort,” Johnny said. “You’re worth it. Now take it back to Berlin and tell everyone that Johnny Iko in Tokyo did that with magical ink.”

“Sure, pal. And they’ll all come flooding to your door,” Honey scoffed. “But yeah, at least you’ll have a walking, dancing advert for your skills on the other side of the world.”

Johnny opened a cupboard door and pulled out a box of medical things. “I need to cover it up now, at least for tonight. Standard health and safety procedure.”

He bound my back with surgical tape and dressings to soak up any residual blood, but I wasn’t just suffering a delayed reaction – I actually felt nothing. No pain, no discomfort. Perhaps, I thought, I might even ask him for another one, some day.

Having cleaned ourselves up at Johnny’s little sink in the shop; we went on to the Club Electric for the promised drinks. It was incredible, just as Honey had suggested. There were people dressed as androids dancing mechanically in shimmering neon cages, suspended by industrial strength chains from the ceiling, and the whole interior looked like something out of a science fiction film – somewhere between
Clockwork Orange
and
Blade Runner
. It made the Kitty Klub look like a grandmother’s boudoir in comparison.

The Club Electric was in another dimension altogether. I looked around at the thick brickwork, covered in glow-in-the-dark graffiti, the tubular steel and mesh walkways and supports, and it began to nourish ideas in my mind of suggestions I might make to Bruno when we got back. Not so much permanent renovations to the club, but stage design.

Johnny returned with drinks as we settled into a corner table facing the stage, on which two men and two women were frolicking in some stylized, choreographed fashion. He pointed out the more muscular of the two males. “I know of this guy. He’s a
mangaka
for a big art studio, and a friend of mine once inked a dragon tattoo for him that he designed.”

As if to confirm this, one of the women ripped open his shirt and revealed what was clearly a full-color Oriental dragon, flying across his chest.

“Wow,” Honey gasped. She sat forward eagerly, chin in her hands. “This is gonna get good.”

I sniffed the glass that had been put in front of me. “This is whisky and ginger?” I asked skeptically.

Johnny made urging signs with his hand. “Just drink it.”

I did so, and while it might not have satisfied Garbo’s
Anna Christie
at least it went down well with a warm kick and put a fiery lining in my stomach.

As I watched the stage show, things began to get a little more exotic. The performers, having stripped each other down to their tiny respective G-strings, began enacting some kind of ritualized combat involving much grappling and groping, scratching and pulling of hair.

“The physical power of man overcomes woman, but becomes subservient to her beauty in return,” Johnny pointed out. “An eternal, never-ending symbol.”

“Sounds familiar,” Honey slurped into her cup. “Looks good, too. Gives me ideas.” She turned to me. “How’s the back, by the way?”

I almost didn’t get her meaning at first. And then I remembered about the huge flaming bird I’d spent a whole evening having drawn on me.

“I don’t feel anything,” I said. “Is that normal? I had expected it to hurt a lot more.”

“Usually,” Johnny said. “But, magic ink,” he added with a wink. “It has many special properties.”

“You know, Johnny,” Honey laughed, “just ‘cos you’re smart and cute and brilliant – and your country has turned out some of the cleverest shit ever – doesn’t mean you can fob us off with any old bull dressed up as Eastern philosophy.”

Johnny sank back in his chair and folded his arms huffily. “Yes it does. You know how awesome I am, Honey. Don’t try to impress your lovely friend, because you’ll always lose against me.”

She cast a long look at the stage, where the two men, having stripped the panties off the women and pinned them to the floor, were now in the process of binding them with lengths of rope. I loved the litheness of the women – their small risen breasts, finely-toned yet subtle musculature in contrast to the thick bulk of the men. It was a beautiful contrast, and yet perfectly balanced, also. A balance I’d seen reflected in Honey and her slim, athletic body – a body that I was feeling the need to see again very soon.

“Maybe I’ll just make you subservient to my beauty then,” she suggested. She turned to me. “Hey, Phoenyx. That’s a good question. Are you top, or bottom?”

I blinked, my usual alternative reaction to saying “Huh?” and showing myself up, yet again.

“You mean you haven’t been pushing those buttons of hers until now?” Johnny asked, sounding surprised.

“To be honest, I’ve been too busy pushing her little pink buttons. But now I’m keen to find out.”

“I just go with the flow,” I said, knowing that would never commit me to anything that I may want to bug out of later, once I realized what it really entailed.

Johnny drained his drink and stood up. “We can reconvene at my place if you want. Perhaps we can all push each other’s buttons?”

I felt Honey’s hand crawl across my thigh.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” she said, and leaned in. “Remember what I said about him, and that rope?”

I was looking back at the stage and frowning at the rather bizarre contortions that the helpless women were now being twisted into by the rope-wielders.

“As long as it’s nothing like that,” I said, pointing. “Looks damn well uncomfortable.”

“There are always options,” she replied, and her hand moved up to my belly. “Maybe he’ll even let you share a few secrets.”

Johnny bowed. “Come then,” and off he went.

Back at his apartment, the first thing that struck me was how compact, yet orderly, the place was. It occurred to me that we in the West wasted a lot of space in our homes – possibly because we had a lot more of it to spare. The hotel room had been pretty small and basic but it wasn’t a home – however, Johnny seemed to have maximized the limited space available to him, with the help of cunning interior design.

“Does anybody want anything?” he asked as he brought on the kitchen lights with a wave of his hand over a small panel in the wall.

Honey sneaked up behind me and hung her arms around my neck. “This one,” she told him. “While you sit bound to a chair, forced to watch us.”

“You know I can do escapology from rope?”

“Who mentioned rope? I’m talking chains and handcuffs, baby. I’ve seen the contents of your wardrobe, remember.”

Johnny leant back against the cupboard, watching, as she explored the front of my body with her hands.

“Yeah, I still have chains,” he said. “But I was planning on using them all on you.”

She broke off from her fondling of me and strutted off towards him, swinging her ass under her skintight skirt as she went.

“This is the problem with threesomes,” she sighed. “Someone tends to end up as a spare wheel.” She pushed herself against him, dominating his shorter frame with her impressive stature. She slid her knee between his legs and rubbed the toe of her boot up his calf.

“I don’t mind being spare,” he smiled, “If it means I get to watch you two get it on.”

She slid her hands under his tee-shirt and pulled it up, showing off a well-developed chest and abdomen. She turned to look at me.

“Want a piece of this?” she asked me. “Look, two pierced titties, just like yours.”