Jess Ch 02
- 1 year ago
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Jess' Tattoo free porn video
Further adventures of Jess. It may help to have read the first story.
"Your tattoo is very beautiful; it's done in Japan."
It wasn't a question and he was right. I was going out more on the
weekends as Jess. My assignment to Alaska had been deferred twice in
as many months, but now it was two weeks until I was shipped out for
the final term of my enlistment. If it wasn't deferred again.
Whatever. I'd been busy. I was at a coffee shop in Shibuya on a
Saturday evening, getting ready for the long train ride back home. The
man who spoke was sitting at the next table alone, and I had noticed
him watching me calmly; he sipped his coffee and read the newspaper.
He wasn't gawking like most Japanese men. He had been intent on the
artwork partially visible on my stomach beneath the cut-off t-shirt
that was my standard travel garb. This time it was my green NORML
shirt, with a large gold flaked cannabis leaf, one of my favorites. He
wasn't staring at my cupcake breasts, curtesy of Thailand's finest, or
their nipple imprints in my cotton shirt. Nor my gaijin legs, crossed
at the thighs, which disappeared into a toned curve beneath a silk
black mini. And I smiled at that, not really at him.
"May I ask where?" he asked, misreading my smile.
His English intonation was excellent. Why not. I asked if he knew of
Furuyama, setting my voice smoothly in its higher, Jess registers (not
that hard, I usually had to intentionally deepen it, especially on the
phone when I got tired of everyone calling me ma'am); his eyes
widened. Furuyama was a famous tattoo artist; among the Japanese
anyway, he rarely worked on foreigners. You didn't choose a tattoo, he
gave you one. Each was a unique creation. And he never worked on
women; so his surprise was understandable. And now he was torn between
burning curiosity and deeply implanted cultural taboos about prying
into a stranger's business. Curiosity won out.
"But how?! May I ask, please? May I join you?"
"Why not," I said, out loud this time, flipping my sketchbook closed
where I had been practicing drawing Manga. If he saw that, I'd be
explaining all night. There was something different about him though,
I was curious to discover what.
He folded his newspaper crisply, matching the corners and moved to my
table with a type of body awareness I recognized in martial artists. I
looked at him more closely. He had longish hair, with streaks of gray;
an eccentric or artist of sorts. Neatly dressed but not the standard
business man issue; pleated slacks and a silk white shirt, trimmed
mustache and beard. Not the typically Japanese male look. It should be
an interesting talk and I hadn't talked much with anyone for months.
Hermit phase, I guess.
"I rarely see such attractive foreign women in Shibuya, they seem to
prefer shopping in Ginza."
"Well, I come here for the books, it's about all I can afford," I said.
"Ah, yes, we have very good bookstores here, many English books. You
will think I am very rude, but I'm really curious about how you
acquired that tattoo. By the way, you notice the small Kanji
characters here..."
His finger casually touched my bare midriff.
My nipples hardened. My god, was my body really that horny?
Nevertheless, I just as casually replied. "Those characters are why he
said he would tattoo me. He was a strange old man."
My new companion burst out laughing.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, "but you also are very strange!"
"More than you know," I said, and smiled. I guess I was leaving
hermitville.
"I'm sorry," he said again, after regaining his composure, "it is you
are so... unexpected. Do you know these characters' meaning?"
"Furuyama told me some things, but I'd like to hear your opinion, he
was probably lying."
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. It was weird how we naturally
clicked with each others' company.
"Soo da ne," he said. Which I thinks translates loosely "well then"
... "it is a very old Japanese belief; it is called 'two spirits' when
a person possesses two spirits in one body. He said that to you?"
"And I thought he was just making that up to see a foreigner's boobs
while he worked on me," I replied.
He laughed again and shook his head. "I need a scotch. Would you make
a quick stop with me at a jazz bar I know before your ride home? It's
just a short walk. I'd like to bribe you with a drink into talking
with me, and the seats are comfortable."
"Why not," I answered. And I was thinking about calling this whole day
"why not," it seemed to be a running theme.I started to pick up my
bill to pay but he snatched it from my hands. He counted out several
bills and put them on the table and then raised his arm like some
Asian Don Juan.
I slid my arm in his and we walked out into the sparkling neon night
of Shibuya.
"So, the two spirits," he continued, "these spirits are male and female."
"Makes sense," I said.
His eyebrows raised. He thought for a moment, and continued. "Some
people say Furuyama is a, what's the English... sorcerer? That his
tattoos have spirits also. Did you know this?" he asked.
"No," I replied. But I lied. I discovered Furuyama's existence through
Manga. I thought he was a fictional character, an old master tattoo
artist whose work was often woven into supernatural themes of a Manga
series I had become addicted too. I had pestered a Japanese national,
who was a field-tech at work, and my only real friend at the base,
about whether these type of tattoos were historical or just a
fabrication of the incredibly fertile minds of their Manga authors. He
insisted that they were real and that, to my surprise, the tattoo
master in the story was actually based on a contemporary artist. I
think he was sorry he ever said anything. I bugged him relentlessly,
bribed him with contraband and finally, after straining his network of
networks to the point of annoyance, made contact with the reclusive
Furuyama. Perhaps Japan, with its tight social fabric, has only 3
degrees of separation between any two individuals. Perhaps my friend
ran in stranger circles than I knew.
But the meeting with Furuyama was another story, one I really wasn't
comfortable getting into for personal reasons, and we had already
arrived at the club only a few blocks down from the coffee shop. The
neon edging and glass door were cobalt blue; he pushed it opened the
sound of liquid jazz and soft lighting hit me like a revolving door
into another dimension.
Someone yelled "Master!" behind the counter; only it sounded like
"Mastaaah!" Scotch was poured and delivered, without asking, to a
small booth we settled in. Must be a regular. Correct that, I thought.
He might be the frick'in owner if they are calling him "Master."
"Can I offer you something?" he asked.
"I'll have the same," I replied. And he pointed to his glass and
nodded at the waiter who bowed and rushed off.
"My name is Taki, by the way, and yours?"
"Jess."
Someone shouted "OOOOSSSSUUUU" from across the room. A man hurried
over and bowed to Taki. Taki didn't rise, but gestured for him to sit.
The man squeezed into the booth next to me, both men's thighs touching
mine I noted wryly.
"Nobu-san, this is Jess, Jess, my nephew Nobu."
"Pleased to meet you," I said. He looked me from head to toe with a
big shit-eating grin.
He took in everything with his eyes like a long sloppy lick, from the
straps and heels up my toned legs to the subtlety colored double
dragon tattoo and belly button piercing on my midriff to the way the
shirt was hanging off my pert boobs framed by the long silky hair of
my jet black wig.
Nobu was at least a decade younger than Taki, shorter hair, casual
clothes; there seemed to be a slight bulge growing in his pants after
his visual smear of my body.
He didn't speak English, but he pointed at my shirt and yelled "GANJA!!"
I laughed and said in my pre-school Japanese that I liked Ganja. Which
made him all excited that I spoke Japanese; a misconception I had to
squash quickly. Taki and I carried on our conversation, or rather
interrogation now, I had many questions about their culture upon which
my ex-girlfriend was notoriously uniformed, but Taki took each in
turn, amused by my questions and insightful in his answers. He seemed
too distracted by my onslaught to return to the subject of my tattoo.
Or perhaps he sensed my reluctance to discuss it further. The shots of
single-malt kept coming and Nobu, who had obviously started partying
before us, at some point had passed out, head rolled back, hand on my
thigh.
"Jess-san, I am sorry, but the last train has run," Taki said.
Shit! It was 1am!? Time had passed so quickly. And pleasantly.
"I am afraid this is my fault, I will pay for your taxi back, wherever
you are going. But, is it true that you like Ganja or were you just
teasing Nobu? It is so hard to tell with you."
"Yes, I like ganja," I said.
"Ah. Good. Would you like to try some I brought from Amsterdam? We can
go upstairs, and I will call for you a taxi after you sample this,
it's really too good to miss."
Aha, so he was the owner. Typically shop owners actually live in
residence above their businesses. No big deal. I'd get a good buzz and
a taxi ride back to my apartment, a fitting end to an interesting
evening. My theme again? Oh yeah, "why not?"
"Sure," I said.
We got up and Nobu stirred. Taki invited him upstairs with a wink. And
Nobu pantomimed taking a hit. Taki nodded; our trio speaking a street
language without saying a word, then Taki shouted good night, I think,
in Japanese and headed up some stairs behind the bar. We entered into
a living room. A sumptuous couch lined one wall, an equally decadent
easy chair aligned next to it, both facing a large plasma TV in the
center, a sleek sound system and a glass coffee table/aquarium with
the most amazingly iridescent aqua acrylic bong centerpiece . Taki and
I took the couch and Nobu hopped into the easy chair, revived and
excited like a school kid at the opportunity to smoke some good weed.
At least some school kids. OK, the ones I knew then.
Taki took out a small wooden inlaid box from beneath the couch, popped
it open and, ignoring the bong completely, began to expertly roll a
joint from the contents of the box. Within two tokes it brought me to
a place I rarely got to experience. It made the thai-stick I got from
flight-line contacts on base seem like cheap mexican skank. Nobu,
unlike myself, apparently could still speak. And he didn't even shout
this time.
"Tattoo?" he pointed at my midriff. "Only?"
Being incredibly psychic, I of course knew his meaning exactly. He
wanted to see the whole tattoo. The tails of the visible dragons
actually extended up to encircle my breasts. I giggled.
"OK," I said.
"OKAYYYY!!" Nobu shouted, his volume control busted again.
I pulled my shirt up, exposing my braless and flawless b-cups, the
tattoo wrapping between my breasts and the points of the tails
blending seamlessly into my pierced nipples.
"WOW!" Nobu said, followed by a string of Japanese; upon which my
elite psychism offered no clue.
Taki also stared in amazement; entranced his hand reached over and his
fingers traced the design across my breasts. I panicked a little, what
the fuck was I doing? But Taki's caress was so delicate. Waves of
pulsation swept my body. He flipped the joint in his mouth with just
his tongue and motioned for me to lean forward; he blew the smoke into
my mouth. I leaned forward, inhaling, until our lips were touching. He
put the joint on the table and begin to kiss me; his hand, which had
never left my chest, spread casually to cup an entire breast.
My tongue sparred playfully with his, sparks of our essences
intertwined in the back of my head. I placed my hand on his chest, and
with his free hand he guided it down to a tent on his crotch.
Unzipping his slacks, I slid my hand inside. He wasn't wearing
underwear. I pulled his thick, short cock out of his fly. It was rock
hard. His tongue was penetrating my mouth, his hand squeezing my
breast. Without warning the left side of my body started to burn in
the outline of my tattoo, my breast seemed to swell against his hand,
pushing it away from my body as I glanced down panicky, still lip
locked but from the side of my eyes I could see my size B's now looked
like double D's. This was some powerful smoke! I stroked Taki's cock
and glanced over to see Nobu, in the chair across from us. His pants
half off, stroking his cock while he eyes moved between Taki's hand
squeezing my tit and my hand slowly jacking him off Taki's thick cock.
I pulled my lips from Taki; my tits were on fire, in a good way, the
sensation of the dragon tattoo flowed into my breasts. I needed more.
I leaned down, kissing the head of the cock secured in my hand, slowly
sliding it into my mouth. Both Taki and Nobu moaned loudly.
Taki pulled me back up and maneuvered me to down onto my side,
positioning me in front of him on the couch with my back to him. He
hiked up my skirt and pulled down my panties; snuggling against me,
his bare pelvis against my hips and his cock sliding between the
cheeks of my ass. The head of his cock, slick with my saliva and
pre-cum anxiously tilted against my anus. I rotated my hips back,
making myself available, when the other side of my tattoo fired to
life. The hot liquid sensation flowed down between my legs, I reached
down suspecting what I would find. My middle finger slipped into a wet
pussy; I felt thick, insistent pressure against my ass and the head
of his juicy cock slipped in with a plop. I gasped. His hands returned
to my tits, squeezing; he began to inch further inside me. I slipped
my finger deeper in my pussy as his cock pushed deeper into my ass.
And then he was fully inside of me. I was moaning now involuntarily
and he slowly began to pump in and out. My eyes opened again to see
Nobu, watching his friend ass-fucking the foreign girl that was
fingering herself while he excitedly jacked off. His eyes locked on
mine and he almost lost it.
But I gestured him over. He waddled the distance, with his pants down
to his ankles and his hard cock angled toward my mouth. I wet and
parted my lips and let him fill l my mouth with his cock. I fingered
myself off while I sucked off Nobu; Taki was now pounding my ass, his
right hand gripping my hip, pulling himself in deeper with each wild
thrust; Nobu couldn't take it and grabbed my head in both hands,
forcing himself all the way in; his cock spasmed cum in my throat. The
tattoos had woven throughout my body now, everything seemed natural,
the proper order of things. No part of my spirit was male, I was the
divine whore, fulfilled in penetration. Nobu's cum begin to dribble
from my mouth, Taki grunted, bucking harder into me, his body
twitching violently; I felt his warm cum spill deep in my ass. At the
same time, my frenzied fingers brought my aching pussy to orgasm,
seizing my whole body in ecstasy, pulsing against the ebbing pulses of
the two cocks still inside me for seemingly hours. Finally the waves
stopped, my body slumped; Nobu splayed out on the floor and Taki fell
back into the fold of the couch with a deep sigh.
Taki made good on his offer, and within a half a hour I was in a taxi
home, the taste of cock still in my mouth and my ass still throbbing
with the aftershocks of his handiwork. In the taxi, the tattoos had
withdrawn back to the surface of the skin, my breasts had returned to
a manageable size and my cock was back in my panties, under my dress,
at half mast, wondering what the hell happened. That was some pretty
good ganja. Had I hallucinated the whole thing? I had to get home and
get some sleep. Tomorrow was normally my day off, but I had to pull an
extra shift; just I and the Japanese field tech would be at work, and
I had some questions for him about this tattoo master that he was
going to answer. Or else.
Nadine
- 24.05.2020
- 10
- 0
