Pierced

  Pierced

  By

  Natasha Knight

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Pierced

  Copyright© 2012 Natasha Knight

  ISBN: 978-1-60088-779-6

  Cover Artist: Sable Grey

  Editor: Keynyn Brysse

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Cobblestone Press, LLC

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Dedication

  For B, who is constant and real.

  Chapter One

  She’d been considering coming into the tattoo parlor for some time. Anthony had noticed her park her car, get out and walk first toward, then past the shop for weeks now. Someone else might not have paid any attention, but Anthony did. He and his brother Joel owned the tattoo parlor on Fifth and Crescent with the huge picture window that overlooked the busy street. Joel, the younger of the two, worked a few hours a week. Anthony, at thirty-seven, had been tattooing for the last ten years and Chaos was his baby. He’d established Chaos four years ago, and now, after what seemed like ages, they finally had enough money saved up to renovate the place. But renovations meant a stop to business, or at least less business, so as Anthony worked on the shop, he had time to observe the passersby and this woman had caught his attention.

  Although she was not what most guys considered hot, Anthony found her sexy. She was small, maybe five feet, two inches tall, and had long, dark hair, a slim figure, and an incredible ass. In fact, that was what had caught his eye—her ass as she walked away from the shop that first time. A small waist that swelled into a nice pair of soft, round cheeks that he couldn’t help but imagine getting his hands on. The look in her eyes told him her heart pounded as she considered whether or not she had the guts to walk into a tattoo parlor with a guy like him inside.

  Anthony was about six feet, three inches tall. He worked out some and mostly just had a good, solid build; always had. He shaved his head bald but left a short layer of dark stubble on his face. His full-sleeve tattoos tended to scare off suburban women, which she definitely was. He guessed she was about thirty, thirty-two. She didn’t work down here, not dressed like she was. She wore tight faded jeans and a linen jacket most days. Likely patronizing the high-end shopping district located just two blocks away.

  And here she was again, her black Audi turning onto the wet street to find a parking space. Anthony kept working as a smile crept along his face. He had a feeling today was going to be the day.

  He watched out of the corner of his eye as she tried to fit her car into a tight spot along the street. Clearly parallel parking was not her forte, but she seemed determined. After three tries she finally succeeded, and stepped out of her car. A truck yielded to let her cross the busy lane and she did so, running without an umbrella through the heavy rain. He didn’t look away today; he wanted her to walk in. He wanted to work on her and hoped she’d want something intricate on some very private part of her body. He wanted his hands on her skin.

  The bell over the door rang as she opened it and Anthony turned, trying to look at her as he did everyone else who walked into the place.

  “Morning,” he said, climbing down from the ladder he was on. He was painting a mural along the wall and it was almost finished. Tribal art would cover all four walls soon, all black and white with one point of bright, powerful red. He liked it; it suited him.

  “Good morning,” she answered. Her voice fit with the rest of her: kind of nervous and quiet, coming out small. Anthony smiled as her eyes fixed on the tattoos that marked his arms and neck. He considered taking off his shirt, but knew she’d just go running right out the door that it had taken her weeks to walk through.

  “Are you open? I guess you’re renovating,” she said, looking around. Anthony wrapped his paintbrush in foil and wiped off his hands. The room was kind of a mess, but he had to move things around to get the walls painted. He’d left one table in the middle of the room for those clients who still came to get work done. For the most part, though, it was so quiet now that Joel didn’t even need to be at the shop.

  “We can work through the renovation. What can I do for you?” Anthony asked, coming a little closer. She looked even smaller now that she stood in front of him. She leaned just a little bit away and he wondered if she was even aware of the small movement. He smiled and held out his hand. She was nervous and maybe a little scared. He liked that combination very much.

  “I’m Anthony Lawson; I’m the owner of Chaos and the main artist. You’re here for a tattoo?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, slipping her small hand into his rough, paint-smudged one. “Sorry, I’m Maggie,” she said. “Maggie Adler. Nice to meet you.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand but instead waited for her to continue.

  “I wanted to have my belly button pierced.”

  Damn. A piercing. It would be so quick it’d barely be a teaser.

  “Mmm hmm,” he said, still holding on to her.

  She kept talking, something she probably always did when she was anxious. “I was wondering if you do that? I mean, I assumed a tattoo parlor would do that. Only if it won’t hurt so much though,” she quickly added.

  Anthony exhaled a small laugh. “Let’s have a look.” He let go of her hand, grabbed the nearest chair and sat down right where he’d been standing. “Lift your top,” he said, his eyes fixed on hers, studying her reaction to him. Christ, he was starting to get hard.

  She fumbled to open the buttons on her blazer and lifted her shirt to reveal a flat, tanned stomach. Anthony grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer, setting her off-balance. He held on to her longer than necessary as he pretended to check out her navel. When he released her, she remained where she was, sucking in a breath as he ran his hand over her belly button.

  “We can do it now,” he said.

  “Will it hurt?” she asked.

  “Depends on your tolerance for pain,” he answered smoothly and stood. “Lie down on the table while I get a needle.”

  “Oh. Uh, maybe I should come back when you’re open for real.” She fumbled with her purse and took a step toward the door.

  “So you can run away like a frightened little rabbit?”

  She stared at him wide-eyed.

  “You won’t come back if you leave now.” He turned to walk to the back room. “Choose a piece of jewelry from the case, then lie down on the table, Maggie,” he said as he looked over his shoulder at her.

  She obeyed. That was a good sign. He figured her to be a submissive; everything about her screamed it, actually. Even her body type, petite with a great ass for spanking, whipping…

  Fuck! He was hard. Stepping into the back office he found the new, individually wrapped needles and chose one. He thought to ease his erection down, then decided against it. In fact, that was the moment he decided to proposition Maggie Adler. Better to let her see just what she’d be getting into if she accepted his invitation to play.

  When he returned she was lying on the table. She’d taken her jacket off and her hands were fisting the fabric of her shirt.

  “I’d like the butterfly in the top row. The pink one,” she said before he even asked.

  He took the simple, small navel ring she’d chosen out of the case and walked to the table where she lay waiting. Without speaking, he took her hands and placed them on either side of her. He then lifted her shirt up to just under her bra. He smiled when she didn
’t resist. He eyed the soft pink lace for a moment before turning his attention to her navel, cleaning it with an alcohol swab. It would be easy enough to pierce, but he wanted to draw it out.

  “Are you nervous, Maggie?” he asked, taking the needle out of its packaging.

  “No,” she answered.

  “Then why are your knuckles white?” he continued as he pressed the needle into the flesh at the top of the belly button.

  She tensed as the needle broke the skin. “It hurts,” she said, gripping the edges of the table.

  He looked her in the eye then. “A little pain can bring a great deal of pleasure. Heighten it, even, to unimaginable levels.” He watched her reaction. Her eyes grew wider but he didn’t quit. He pressed the needle through the soft flesh and she winced when it came out the other side. Fastening the jewelry in place, he covered the wound with antibacterial spray. “Finished,” he said, stepping back for her to have a look.

  She lifted her head, but before her gaze found the shiny new piercing, it settled for a moment on the hard length of his cock barely contained by his jeans. Her throat worked as she swallowed. She quickly turned her attention to her belly button.

  “It looks great,” she said. It did; the jewelry was displayed beautifully against her toned, tanned stomach.

  “Do you have any tattoos?” he asked her.

  “No,” she answered, trying to keep her eyes from returning to his crotch. “My ex… Well, to be honest, he had a lot of rules for me to follow. A tattoo was definitely not on the ‘allowed’ side,” she continued. He could see that she still kept glancing at his pants from under her thick lashes.

  “Allowed?” he asked, extending his hand to help her sit up. Now this was getting really interesting.

  She ignored his hand. “That’s one of the reasons he’s my ex,” she defended, sitting up without his help and swinging her legs over the edge of the table.

  “But you always do what you’re told?”

  She looked at him as she stood and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. “I have to go. How much do I owe you?”

  He didn’t smile. “Nothing. It’s on the house.”

  “Oh.” She picked up her purse. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded once, watching her, enjoying her discomfort.

  “Thanks, I guess.” She sounded uncertain.

  “So he’s your ex. You in a relationship now with someone who doesn’t allow you to do what you like to your body?”

  “I’m not in a relationship,” she answered flatly.

  “I’ve been watching you the last few weeks. You come here, park your car and walk toward the shop. You almost, just almost, made it in once or twice. What got you so scared?”

  “I…”

  “Don’t waste time denying it. I’m not here to judge you. You’ve just piqued my curiosity.”

  “I, uh, I don’t know really. Maybe it was you and the other guy or maybe it was just the place. I don’t know,” she answered.

  He could see how nervous she was getting. “Maybe the idea that you were breaking the rules?”

  “Maybe.” She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, but she didn’t leave.

  “You’ve intrigued me, Maggie. In fact, I’d like to break some rules myself.”

  “What do you mean?” The color drained from her face.

  He grinned. “All I can think of right now are all the wicked things I’d like to do to you. You see how turned on I am by you, right?”

  Her gaze darted from his eyes, to his crotch, then back up. She didn’t answer.

  “Ever been spanked, Maggie?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to be?” Not a sound from her. “You’re curious or you would have run like hell by now.”

  “I’m sorry, I…”

  He ignored her, continuing. “I’d love to take you over my knee, bare your ass and spank it. Doesn’t the idea turn you on just a little bit? Me talking about it?”

  “I don’t understand.” She stared at him wide-eyed.

  “Nothing to understand. No apologies and no judgments. If the idea intrigues you, come back Friday night at ten.”

  With that she left and walked—no, ran—toward her car. Anthony couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he locked the door and went into his office. He needed to jerk off before he could get back to painting.

  Chapter Two

  At ten o’clock on Friday night, the black Audi turned onto the street as Anthony watched. Normally this would be a busy time at the parlor, but since they were under construction, he only took clients by appointment.

  “Time for you to take off, little brother,” he told Joel, who followed Anthony’s gaze.

  “Who’s she?”

  “Maggie Adler,” he said. “Go.”

  Joel slipped out the door and went in the opposite direction of Maggie.

  “Maggie,” Anthony said once she was inside.

  “I only came because, well,” she began, “I guess maybe I want to know.” She was revved up, a little flushed, maybe even a little angry. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. “What about me makes you think you can ask what you did?” Her struggle to keep her face composed was obvious.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

  “No. I’d just like for you to answer my question.” She struck a stubborn pose. “How dare you ask me if you can spank me? What was it, ‘bare my ass and spank it?’ How…”

  He laughed, then moved to offer her a seat.

  “How about a nice vodka tonic to help you relax?”

  “I don’t want a drink! And don’t laugh at me!”

  His face contorted as he tried to swallow his laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. You’re just kind of funny. All what, five-foot-two and a bunch of attitude?”

  “Three. Five foot three inches. Almost,” she said, stubbornly jutting her chin out as she struggled to hold his gaze.

  “I’m not your ex, Maggie.” That seemed to get her attention. “No lists, no judgments. Sit down,” he said and walked to the back room. She wouldn’t leave. He wasn’t even a little afraid of that.

  He returned with the bottle of vodka, a can of tonic, and a sleeve of plastic cups to find her sitting where he’d told her. Taking a disposable cup out of the package, he mixed her drink.

  “Sorry for the plastic cup; everything’s packed away with the renovation,” he said, handing her the drink. She accepted it and Anthony saw that her hands were trembling.

  “I don’t even remember your name,” she said, her eyes a little teary.

  “Anthony. But when you’re here and we’re playing, I’d like you to call me Sir.”

  “Oh my god,” she said, putting the cup down and standing.

  Anthony caught her wrist. “Sit.”

  She didn’t.

  “What’s your safe word?” he asked, still gripping her wrist.

  “Daffodil,” she answered. She’d obviously thought about it.

  “You want to use it?”

  She looked at him, considering. “No.”

  There it was. Anthony had been right. “Then sit down.”

  She did.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said.

  “I can’t.”

  “I think you can,” he mocked.

  It took a long time but if nothing else, Anthony was a patient man.

  “I guess I’m curious,” she said as she stared at her lap.

  “Let’s try this again. Tell me what you’re curious about.”

  “What you said.”

  “Maggie, you want this, otherwise you wouldn’t have come. Now answer my question and tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it. And I want you to look at me when you do.”

  He watched her struggle, but it came. “I’m curious about... I’ve never been spanked. I want you to spank me.”

  He smiled. “Good girl,” he said. Then, “Are you scared?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes,
what?”

  Her lips tightened as her fists clenched and unclenched. “Sir,” she spat out.

  He handed her her cup.

  “Tell me what you’re going to do,” she said, taking a long sip. “I want to know how it’s going to work.”

  “That’s fine,” he said, waiting until she drank again. “When you finish your drink, we’ll go into my office where you’ll take off your clothes.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  She swallowed another gulp.

  “Once you’re naked, you’re going to spread your legs wide and bend over for me to look at you.”

  He could almost hear her heartbeat as he studied her reaction to his words. She was aroused, her pupils expanded and her breathing came in short and shallow. He imagined she was already creaming her panties.

  “When I say, you’ll lay across my lap and take your spanking. That’s all.”

  “What about sex?” she asked, her voice small.

  He chuckled. “Only if you want it.”

  “No!”

  “Remember what I said the other day? A little pain can bring a great deal of pleasure. You won’t believe the intensity of the orgasms you’ll have with me, Maggie.”

  She didn’t answer but finished her drink and put her cup down.

  “I promise you’ll be safe with me. If you want to stop at any point, all you have to do is call out your safe word and I’ll stop. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing or how aroused I am. We’ll stop. You feel good with that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes…” he could almost hear her struggle. “Sir.”

  He smiled. “Come with me,” he said, standing.

  She stood and he gestured for her to head through the back door. Once inside, he closed it.

  His office was a little bigger than the front room. Toward the back wall were a large desk and chair. A leather sofa took up another wall and a bookshelf was stacked full next to it. An old, metal filing cabinet stood against another wall and the shutters were closed over the single window. Art in the form of photos and drawings of tattoos hung all about the room. There was no carpet covering the hardwood floors. Anthony took a seat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. Maggie remained standing a few feet from him. She was anxious; the air was thick with it.

 
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