Franklyn Newton | fiction | Living Ink

  
  
  

Living Ink


When asked, Ashe could never quite say why she chose the tattoo she did. Surely it must mean something, people would ask. It was so intricate, so elaborate in the way it enveloped so much of her body,

It must have taken days.

It must have hurt.

There was so much she wanted to say, explanations and details cascading from her as she tried to verbalise what the tattoo was, what it meant to her, how it had come to be. Her usual near-silence undone in an avalanche.

The image was a demon of sorts, a woman that had come to her in a dream one night
some months before. Ashe had snapped awake, desperate to grasp at her shape and capture the image of her before she could evaporate in the way dreams often did. She rolled out of bed and spent the rest of the night knelt on the floor, nude and dusted with charcoal, willing herself awake, trying to keep her choppy hair from her eyes. As the sun rose, the sketch came together; the demon's eyes alert and double-pupilled, hair like ribbons of smoke coiling around her pallid, almost grey, skin with a life of its own. The lips were difficult; she remembered a snarl, a combination of threat and sensuality, fangs on her lower jaw curving up toward her sharp cheekbones. As Ashe drew, the image began to burrow into her mind, and her every thought turned to the demon.

Ashe didn’t know her name; she just knew she needed her.

Whilst she searched for a tattoo artist with a style that would do her demon justice, she idly scribbled one small addendum from her own conscious mind. A friend. A python, pearlescent white and coiling around her belly, between her breasts, resting its head lovingly on her shoulder. On the phone to the artist, she caught herself admiring the image she’d made, touching up the shading here and there and losing track of the conversation enough that she had to resort to the list of talking points she’d written down. She liked to know everything about the process beforehand.

Ashe had always wanted to draw in some way professionally, something that let her create everyday even if it was the same thing over and over. But her work in the past had been met with something akin to amusement that left her embarrassed and ashamed, sketchbooks shoved under the bed and forgotten. But this obsession of hers had awoken something, a new fixation, a subject worth drawing.

It hurt, sure. But she’d expected that. The needle was like a low level burn as it punctured her skin. But it wasn’t unbearable, just a curious sensation. Small talk didn’t come naturally to her, she had trouble remembering even the artist's name, felt no small amount of guilt hearing the other artists and clients in the studio having full, lively conversations. Instead she focused on sitting as still as possible, if nothing else she could be a motionless canvas.

Most of the session she watched, mesmerised, whilst the studio's music wormed into her. Speakers set into the ceiling emitted a low droning hum that seemed to flow through the room. It was the sound of wind in a scorching desert, sand whipping at bare skin, chords that seemed to stretch on forever, bass rumbling with the needle. Everything around her began to lose shape, blurring around the edges, fluttering flash art in the corner of her eye.

The session flew past as gradually the image began to take shape on her upper arm. First in outline, then shading, the demon grew, carved into her, built up layer by layer. So fascinated by the process, that when the artist took a smoke break Ashe hadn’t realised it had been four hours already.

“Just the highlights and we’re done, yeah?” The artist said on her return, but Ashe barely heard, so entranced was she by the combination of music and sensation as the image neared completion.

“Do you want to take a look?” Ashe came to her senses. It was over. The artist -- Soph? -- that was her name right? - chewed on her lip ring as she stripped off her latex gloves, then sprayed something along Ashe’s arm that muted the remaining pain. She felt strangely disappointed at the loss of feeling, the unnatural numbness caused more discomfort than the pain itself, like a connection severed.

Her knees shook as she approached the full-length mirror across the room to see herself in combination. She had never felt feminine, nor masculine either, her body was a clumsy awkward thing that got in the way, an inlet for all the overwhelming things of the world. But beneath the gleaming coat of antiseptic, the demon made her feel complete, emerging from mist and smoke, her body both bared and obscured. Ashe thought of her dream where the demon had towered over her short broad frame, enveloping her, becoming part of her.

Mystified, Ashe came close to touching the slowly oozing plasma and ink before she remembered that it was by all means, an open wound. “Oh, she’s . . .”

“You probably don’t want to do that.”

“Shit sorry,” she mumbled, feeling foolish for making such an amateur mistake. “Thank you, for this.”

“No prob, bringing her to life was fun. Send me pictures when it's healed, if you can."

“Sure. I'll take care of her."

“Where did you say she was from? When I was looking for extra references online I couldn’t find anything.”

Ash shrugged and pulled on her shapeless winter coat. “I don’t know, she just came to me.”

***

Ashe walked out of the studio into late afternoon gloaming, holding a paper bag of healing balm and a sheet of self care advice that she read and reread all the way home. No swimming. No sunbathing. That wouldn’t be a problem. She disliked them both. The possibility of being seen. The dressing on her arm rustled as she walked, warmth and endorphins radiating through her skin against the rapidly cooling evening. She thought about the newly finished image she’d seen in the studio mirror and the feeling like she'd taken back a little part of her body in adorning it.

But what she hadn't expected was just how exhausted she'd be even after her extensive research. Low blood sugar. Her apartment was dark when she returned and, too tired to prepare a meal, she ate a fistful of the gummy bears she'd packed then was too anxious to open, and began to undress for bed. Honeyed yellow street lights shone through the gaps in the blinds, enough that she could just make out the image through the now sticky dressing. The object of her dream was part of her now.

Ashe crawled into bed and tried to sleep, to let her body relax and heal but her racing mind refused to cooperate. What would she do now that the tattoo was complete? Would her obsession slip away? Or would it grow? She’d had fixations before, with books and movies, making fan-art and fiction when she could find no more official information but they all faded after a time, stopped feeling the same. But this was different, more intimate.

She tossed and turned, feeling too cold and then too hot, stripping her underwear off. Her arm was clammy with the plastic film that protected her arm, prickly and hot, making her desperate to scratch. But that would damage her. Frustrated, she clenched her fists open and closed, an old technique, trying to resist. Outside, the nightlife was reaching its late evening peak, with the blended sounds of people bar hopping and music of multiple genres bleeding out from every building below. When Ashe had first moved in, she’d considered it a nuisance, but soon it had become a reassuring background hum, evidence she wasn’t alone after all, even if she felt like there was a wall between her and everyone else.

Finally, her vision began to blur as a bottle shattered into the road outside and she felt herself drift, her mind sliding into dream, and her body sinking into the mattress. As her eyes began to flicker shut, she thought could feel someone, a presence near her, chilling the air. A soft rattling hiss sounded; Ashe barely registered it, so close she was to sleep, when something slithered over her ankle.

She bolted upright, and met the dark lidless eyes of a snake.

Frozen in place, she watched as it slithered up to her thigh, cool and smooth, almost slick. Pale and ethereal in the half light of the late evening, it paused briefly as if to regard her and then continued its swaying journey along her body, sliding over her chest. This was... it had to be a dream, she thought, watching the creature move, just the brain processing stray thoughts. Exhausted, she lay back, stretching her arms up for the snake to climb.

A really strange dream.

Her pulse rose at the oddly sensual feeling of its slender body wrapped around her wrists, pulling them close and tight. Heat began to pool between her legs, tempting her to squeeze her thighs together for any sort of friction.

You brought me a gift.

Ashe’s body stiffened.

The voice was guttural, almost ragged like it had been unused for sometime. Eons. She tried to look up but her wrists were bound tighter than she thought, and she wriggled like a hooked fish. The new presence moved around the room, orbiting her exposed body stretched out on the bed. An unseen force began easing Ashe's legs open, the cool night air kissing her body.

It's been so long since I’ve received such worship.

The voice was much closer now. She trembled but, not in fright, she didn’t feel any fear, it was more like anticipation. The day had brought so many new sensations, why not the night? She appeared as quickly as a blink, kneeling over Ashe and half obscured in shifting smoke, a veil that offered glimpses of a scaled body, face, and those eyes and lips she’d tried so hard to capture on paper. Looking at her now, she was a fool to even try.

The demon. Her demon.

Two narrow sets of pupils examined her like a pinned butterfly. Breath a little rasping and sharp against her ear. A hand with nails like claws was drawn across her body with such delicacy but still blood beaded up on her soft belly. Like the tattoo needle from that day, that curious feeling returned. But it wasn't pain, it was . . . something else.

Your inscription, this carving, it called to me.

A low growl reverberated in her ear, curved fangs brushing against her skin, catching just ever so slightly. The demon' lips parted wet and plump, they clung to her fangs just an inch or so from Ashe's face. Up close she could see just how big she was, her head almost brushing the ceiling even when knelt on the bed, each thigh the size of her torso. Breath warm and smoky as she leaned in close, her kiss impossibly deep. The air was pulled from her lungs like she’d been thrown underwater, but still she wanted more.

"Who are you?" Ashe finally managed, feeling weak. "Wha-what do I call you?"

I’ve been called Lillin. But you can call me mistress.

Warm breath brushed against her neck, accompanied by the soft click of fangs as she spoke.

You’ve been thinking about me.

“I have. I’ve been...” Ashe breathed, lightheaded. She remembered the thick pad full of sketches and scribbles of her from different angles, lights, occupying her every thought. Obsessing.

"Worshipping."

Lillin’s eyes shone black and gold. They were the sparkle at the bottom of a well, tempting her to lean over the edge. Desperate to touch, Ashe tugged at her restraints to no avail; helpless to the hands, claws even, that explored her, squeezing her tits, her nipples until they peaked. The body that caused her so much discomfort was suddenly a source of pleasure as the demon sucked softly. Their mouths met again, Ashe moaning at the touch of those deathly sharp fangs against her own soft lips and in that moment she wanted to be bitten.

The demon sunk down, kissing and lapping at her thrall's skin, her forked tongue flicking, searching for a soft spot. Ashe wanted more so badly, she wanted to beg. The words 'fuck me' bubbled up to the surface, a craving for fullness that led her to open her legs further.

So willing, so welcoming.

Her voice was a growl so deep Ashe could feel it in her chest, a deep pressure embracing her.

“Shit shit fuck don't bite, don't bite,” - Ashe babbled, overcome with a muddle of fear and arousal, cried out at the sensation of the demon's split tongue teasing her clit. Electricity shot down her body, the serpent finally releasing her from its firm grip so she could guide her mistress down. The demon' locks coiled and uncoiled around her fingers, seemingly with life of its own.

Burying her tongue deep, the demon devoured her, fangs nipping her inner thigh. Ashe yelped and arched her back, fighting the urge to close her legs against the overwhelming pleasure, the feeling she might burst. But the demon was far stronger, holding her still with little effort as she ate.

"Please." She felt herself falling, engulfed in her. "Mistress . . ."

Are you close, my dear?

"Yes! Yes, please...." Her body was on fire, flushed and desperate for release. Lillin sat up with thighs spread, towering over her now, even taller than before, her chest heaving. Ashe moaned in frustration, she was so close it hurt, but daren't argue. She looked up at her, a pair of pupils in each eye, shining despite the darkness, mouth split into a wide grin.

Would you like to worship?

The back of a claw slid along her jaw, green-black like a beetle shell. Ashe's mouth fell open. “I would . . ."

Ashe crawled towards her, enthralled, and took the demon in her mouth, feeling sloppy, drunk on the nectar flowing freely from her. Ashe leaned on her thick, soft thigh for balance, letting herself taste so deeply.

Pleasure yourself for me.

Obediently, her hand sunk between her legs, fingers sliding over her clit and into her pussy. She moaned into her mistress' own, working herself to the keening edge of orgasm, achingly close. The demon began to caress her, but she was too occupied to look. Suddenly her skin began to sear, but it wasn’t restricted to her upper arm. Her entire body burned, like a hundred needles pressing into her tearing into her skin, tugging at her flesh, a wall of sound. Tears stung her eyes but she was so close now, she couldn’t stop herself despite the feeling of her skin being torn open. She let herself slide down onto her fingers, moaning as she sucked on the swollen clit before her.

So hungry . . .

Ashe woke. Sweating and slick, and ripped back the covers to find a distinct wet patch. Her pounding heart began to slow, but she still ached with need. She sat up and tugged open the curtain. It was unusually bright outside for the early morning. It took a second for her to register the time on her watch, as it was already well into the afternoon.

"Shit shit shit." She hissed and sprung out of bed with a towel in hand, already late for work. As the shower warmed, she caught herself in the mirror briefly, then stopped and looked again, eyes wide. She ripped the saturated dressing away, and ran the tap to rinse away the hard residue that now encrusted her entire arm, chest, and hip. It was far thicker than Ashe imagined, and took some effort to slough the grey and brown mucus away. And that lay beneath made little sense. The ink settled overnight, it no longer wept, but it had also changed. Lillin’s wild expression had grown into a broad fanged smile, long split tongue on show. Her eyes were brighter than before, brighter than ink should be. The tattoo now stretched down the length of her arm, wisps of her smoky hair curving up and around her shoulder, reaching down to her wrist and across to her ribs and chest. Again she felt the pull to touch, her skin now smooth. It stung a little but didn't bleed or weep. It was like she had always been there. The demon was inside Ashe, under her skin. And she liked it.

Lillin had taken root.