Tattoo, The

By Bobaroo

It was a slow Saturday in Stan's shop. There had been one woman who had asked questions about whether it would hurt, how much it would cost to have a little butterfly, what if she didn't like it. Stan explained everything to her and urged her to really think it over before starting, since getting rid of it was more expensive than getting it in the first place. Since then Stan had spent the afternoon sketching some designs to add to his portfolio. A parrot was what he had been working on lately.

Stan had been doing tattoos for almost 20 years and he had gained a reputation as an artist who was able to render interesting designs on people's bodies. Several of his clients had been featured in the ink magazines. Stan sported only two tattoos himself - a braided rope around his left forearm and the two fish of Pisces on his right shoulder blade. He was in his mid 40's with brown hair starting to grey around the temples, a square jaw with a cleft in it, dark blue eyes with the beginnings of crow's feet at the edges. He ran every other day and did exercises like pushups and situps, so his body was lean and taut. No middle age spread had started on his gut yet, and he didn't intend for it to develop any time soon.

Stan heard the shop door open as a customer came in. He finished shading the area he'd been working on and looked up. The customer was a young man, probably around 25. He was Stan's height, 5'10", but heavier. The guy had a good 50 pounds of muscle more than Stan did. He had jet black hair that was buzzed short on the sides of his head. He had a closely trimmed goatee that accentuated a strong jawline. Stan looked into his dark brown eyes, then dropped his gaze down to the young man's body. His tee shirt was stretched tightly over a large chest and the two mounds of his thick pecs were nicely outlined. The nipples pushed the material out even more. His deltoids were two humps of muscle on either side of his thick neck. Stan saw how the sleeves of the shirt were hiked up around the two large arms that hung slightly away from the stud's body; pushed out a little by his wide lats. The shirt was even tight around his narrow waist and Stan could make out the indentations and ridges of the ab muscles underneath. Tight jeans seemed to be close to losing the battle to contain the guy's thick thigh muscles.

"Hi, are you the owner?" the guy asked.

"Stan," he answered and held out his right hand.

"I'm Mark," the guy answered with a smile, showing even white teeth. His grip of Stan's hand was firm as he shook. No bone-crushing showing off, but a manly shake.

"What can I do for you?" Stan asked.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time, and I want to get a tattoo. Sort of a band going around my arm. Like here."

As he said that Mark flexed his right arm and circled around the biceps and triceps with the index finger of his left hand. He started at the top of his arm, which showed a nice peak, Stan thought. The finger traced down along the thickest part of the upper arm, touching the triceps and circling back to the biceps. It was the largest arm that Stan had ever seen in person.

Mark relaxed his arm and let it down at his side. Stan saw that the triceps muscle became more evident, even though it wasn't flexed. Keeping his eyes on the beefy arm, Stan asked, "Did you have any pattern in mind? Rope, barb wire, Celtic?"

"Something medieval looking, you know, with interlocking patterns and flared bands."

"Hmm, let me get out some sketches," Stan said and finally turned his gaze from Mark's arm. He reached over for some sketchbooks and started thumbing through them. He pulled out a few and Mark started looking them over.

"You know what I'd like is sort of a combination of this one and this one," he said, pointing at two intricate designs. "Keep the central part of this one, with the circling loops of this one around it."

Stan nodded. "Let me do a rough sketch right now."

He bent down to work as Mark looked around the shop, looking at the pictures of some of Stan's best work.

"I heard you were one of the best guys for miles around," he said. "A guy at my gym has a tiger that he said you did."

Stan smiled as he remembered Jack. He had thought that Jack's shoulder was big, but he was a 98 pound weakling next to Mark. He shoved the drawing toward Mark and said, "What do you think? All in dark blue-green."

"Yeah! This will look so cool!"

"Because it's so complicated, it will take about 10, 12 hours to do. To be honest, this would be one of the most complicated ones I've ever done."

"I don't live too close to here. Would it be a problem if I came for an hour or so each Saturday till it was done?"

"No, that shouldn't matter," Stan replied. "Want to start today?"


Stan got his needles out of the sterilizer and got everything together. Mark pushed the material of the shirt sleeve up over the top of his arm, and Stan could see that it was stretched tightly where the bicep tied into the delts. It's going to gouge a circle round his arm before we're done Stan thought.

Stan took Mark's arm in his left hand. He picked up a needle with his right and then paused. He was so overcome by the hardness of Mike's muscle, even though he was relaxed, that Stan had to regain his composure to keep his hand from shaking.

After an hour Stan said, "Guess that's all for today. See you same time next Saturday."

"Great," Mark said. "I can't wait for this to be done!"

The next week Mark walked into the store wearing a worn ribbed cotton tank top that clung to his torso like a second skin. Stan greeted him and got his gear together. He continued the design, starting to tattoo across the top of Mark's bicep. Stan hesitated a minute when he approached the thick vein on top. Mark's skin seemed so thin that Stan was a little afraid that if he pushed too hard he would puncture the vein! He gently continued, watching the slight pulse of blood every now and then when Mark twitched his arm a little. It looked like the vein was a mighty river running the length of Mark's upper arm, with dozens of tributaries branching off of it. Stan imagined putting his face to the bicep and tracing along every vein with his tongue. His cock was pressing hard against the buttons in his jeans, and he remained seated when the session was over so that Mark wouldn't notice.

Saturdays became the high point of Stan's week. More than an hour before Mark's scheduled arrival he got things ready. They would talk about this and that before and after the session, but Stan didn't want to talk while he was working. He was having a hard enough time concentrating on the art because he was so blown away by the meaty arm he held. Mark told him about some of his workout buddies from the gym, and how they were getting interested in his tattoo. One other guy expressed interest in having something done, and Stan told Mark to have him come in, see what he would like done. Stan loved hearing Mark talk about the poundages that were being heaved around at the gym. Mark himself benched over 360 for several reps, and his meaty pecs were testimony to that. A friend of his regularly put 11 plates on each side of the leg press, then screamed at Mark to get on top because it wasn't enough.

Stan could swear that Mark's arm was getting bigger. Finally one day after the session he asked him straight out, "Mark, what's going on? Your arm seems way thicker than the first week you were here."

Mark grinned and said, "Glad to hear you noticed. I've been training for a contest that's coming up soon, and I've been trying to get bigger. I've packed on 15 pounds in the last few months, and want to keep the size while I start to get more cut up."

"What are you curling now?" Stan asked, hoping to seem nonchalant.

"Up to 150 in the standing barbell curls. Concentration curls maxing out to reps with 70. And it shows, don't you think?"

Then Mark flexed his arm and placed it right in Stan's field of view. The tattoo now circled half way round the dense upper arm before him. Stan noticed that the space between the bicep and Mark's granite forearm was very small. It was as if the two groups of muscles were fighting for room on the arm. The peak was like a second muscle on top of the main rounded base of powerful muscle.

All Stan could do was nod as he sat and stared at the beefy arm in front of him. Finally Mark relaxed, smiled, and said, "Next week. Later," and walked out.

Stan locked the door, ran to the back, and jerked off. He came in less than a minute, thinking of the young stud muscle that he got to feel each week.

The next week Mark arrived and said, "I decided to do my workout before coming here. Blasted my arms to get them really pumped up."

Stan had noticed that the shirt sleeves were ridiculously tight around Mark's arms, and that there more veins than ever. Mark flexed and said, "Check it out. Got a monster pump today."

Stan reached out and placed his finger tips on the peaked hump of muscle that Mark offered him. It was like feeling a rock, except that it had a warm, supple covering - Mark's thin skin. Stan noticed that there was still a faint sheen of sweat in the small space between the bicep and forearm. Stan pressed harder, putting his palm on top of the younger man's muscle. Even squeezing quite hard he could see that he made hardly a dent in the firm flesh. Finally he let go, looked sheepishly into Mark's brown eyes, and said, "Freaky. That's all I can say."

Mark grinned and yelled, "Beyond freaky! Gonna win that show with these arms. Not to mention the rest. Here, look."

Stan was startled to see Mark whip his tee shirt over his head. He immediately did a lat spread and his wide back fanned out. He crunched out a few other poses: side chest, which showed off his deep pecs; side triceps, revealing a striated horeshoe that Stan remembered touching lovingly; finally grinding out a most muscular pose that had veins popping in his traps and neck, striations fanning out across the broad chest muscles.

Finally Stan said, "Well, I know if I was one of the judges, you'd be the winner. Let's get that big arm looking even better. We have about 3 weeks left til it's done."

"Great," Mark shouted. "That will be just before the contest!"

When Mark left Stan again locked up and stroked his dick. He thought of Mark on stage, flexing and posing to the screams of the crowd. And with every pose the tattoo that he had lovingly crafted would be twitching and pulsing on the rippling arm muscles. Mark was physically perfect, and the tatoo just accentuated the size and shape of his magnificent arms.

After the remaining sessions. Stan sat back and said, "That's all folks. Hope you like it Mark."

Mark looked down at the intricate design that encircled his arm. He went over to a mirror and pushed his fist straight down. The triceps immediately flared up, a cut-up tear drop coursing down his arm. He brought the arm up alongside his chest and flexed it at his side. The tattoo was contorted while the bicep bunched up into a hard ball, criss crossed with veins. Finally, he brought the arm up alongside his shoulder, then flexed hard. Then Mark straightened and flexed his arm three more times. He had continued to work out before coming to Stan's, and the arm was now as big, hard, and cut as it was going to be.

"Like it? I think it is incredible!" Mark said with a smile as he turned around to face Stan.

Stan said quietly, "Well, I really liked doing it Mark. Your arm is what is incredible."

Mark continued to smile as he stepped closer to Stan. Bringing the arm up close to Stan he flexed again and said, "Yeah, it is incredible, isn't it. Go ahead Stan, get a good feel now. Feel this inked up arm."

Stan looked up into Mark's face. The younger man's face was rough hewn, the skin extra tight over his cheek bones as a result of the dieting he had done for the contest. Mark had a slight grin still and he nodded at the arm. "Go ahead Stan."

Stan grabbed onto the thick bicep and squeezed. Mark relaxed and flexed a few times, and Stan felt the powerful muscles moving fluidly under his grip. Then when Mark flexed again Stan pushed his face into the hard muscle and moaned. His tongue finally did what he dreamed of, licking along the thick vein on top of Mark's bicep. He licked in the tight crevice between bicep and foream, then worked down to Mark's tricep.

As he was doing this Stan was fumbling with his fly, unbuttoning it to release the stiff hard on inside. When he worked it loose he yanked it out of his underwear and grabbed it in his hand.

"MMMM, that's a nice size muscle," Mark said. "Let me give it a work out."

Mark spit into his palm and started fisting Stan's mushroom headed cock. Stan reached under and pulled on his balls, watching Mark's arm all the while. The bicep muscle was flexing, causing the tattoo to ripple and move. Stan saw the tricep swelling, stretching the tattoo each time that the muscle stud's hand reached the end of Stan's dick. Stan's eyes darted all over the big man's arm, but always he kept going back to the tattoo. Finally he could feel the tension in his balls build, and Stan grabbed onto the thick upper arm and grunted as he shot loads of cum. After the last squirt, Mark placed his cockhead in the space between bicep and forearm and flexed one last time, squeezing Stan's sensitive dick between two walls of muscle.

Two weeks later Mark walked into Stan's shop, with a huge trophy in his hand.

"First place!" he crowed. "And all the guys at the gym are wild about the tatoo. I think I'm going to do something for my left pec. What do you think would be good there?"

Stan smiled and said, "I'm not sure which - my mouth or my hand." •

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