Zita, Skin Artist

Zita, Skin Artist

A colleague of Frank Poireau at Matrix Life Insurance, Gérard Dujardin, was a real party addict. Nevertheless, as a legal adviser to the insurance company, he did an excellent job. He thought that Poireau led a monotonous life because he rarely, if ever, went out in Brussels. “A real stay-at-home”, Gérard called his colleague mockingly. Dujardin didn't know that Frank had his hands full with having to show his outsized dick every now and then and fuck women in a rut.

Yet, Frank Poireau accepted one of Gert Dujardin's invitations. He wanted to go on a “fuck hunt” with Frank in Brussels. Dujardin's only intention was to pick up a willing woman in a bar or dance hall and fuck her. He said that plainly to Frank. To find out how that would work, Poireau decided to go with Dujardin for a night out.

So, on a Saturday night, they ended up in a noisy disco not far from the South Station in Brussels. It was called "Les Palmiers". The party was in full swing, the music very loud. The speakers blared in that room full of spinning and swirling bodies. Frank's colleague Gérard immediately mingled with the dancers, and Frank noticed after a while that Gérard was trying to hit on an attractive Moroccan girl. Poireau was not interested. Finding a willing woman in Les Palmiers was the last thing on his mind.

That didn't last. Then, Frank saw her standing by the bar wearing little more than a pair of shorts and a bra, both see-through in a sort of zig-zag mesh pattern. That beautiful woman with strikingly big breasts was, so to speak, a million miles away from Frank’s usual type, the girls and women he was used to fucking, mostly former ULB students and the occasional person he had known through his work at Matrix Life Insurance.

This woman had tattoos on almost every visible part of her body, from the butterflies on her arms to the bats on her thighs, plus a number of whimsical figures that Frank couldn't immediately identify. Indeed, that woman whose age Poireau had trouble estimating was far removed from the usual classic, untattooed-skinned girls with whom he was having sex at the time.

Frank finished his drink and ordered another. When he got that, he wasn't very subtle and sat down next to the tattooed woman on a barstool. As soon as he started talking to her, she told Frank that her name was Zita and that she was a "skin artist". He didn't have to ask her what that meant. It was obvious from her appearance. Frank knew after a few minutes of talking that she was worth getting into her panties and that he wanted to fuck her. That's what he wanted to say to Zita, but he didn't get that chance. His colleague Gérard Dujardin got off the dance floor with the Moroccan girl and started talking and joking with him and Zita. Apparently, the skin artist wasn’t pleased with that. Without any explanation, she left the company and mingled with the dancers.

An hour and a few drinks later, Dujardin left with the Moroccan. He said goodbye to Frank and whispered in his ear that the girl was going with him to his apartment. She had agreed that he would fuck her, but it had to be in her ass. She didn't dare run the risk that he would get her pregnant, or that her parents would find out that she had sex before she was married.

When his colleague was gone, Franks felt someone's eyes on him: it was her, the skin artist. He didn't hesitate and went straight to her. At five o'clock in the morning, he and Zita left the Les Palmiers discotheque, hand in hand. She took him to a rather dilapidated building behind South Station. There was a tattoo studio on the ground floor. Zita led the way, up a rather rickety staircase to the first floor. There, she had a cozy sitting room with all kinds of furniture that Frank thought she might have bought at the flea market on the Place du Jeu de Paume or in one of the shops of the Rue Blaes. She poured them both a drink and sat opposite Frank on a couch that had sagged a bit.

Frank thought Zita liked him as a sex partner and that they would still do it that night, but it didn’t happen that fast. At first, Zita told him to hold his horses. However, Frank gave her enough hints to let her know that he would like to have sex with her. It didn't take him long to convince Zita, especially after he had shown her his oversized cock. She took off her panties, but not the rest of what she was wearing. Frank began to kiss and caress her. He tried to get her ready for love, but Zita didn't like that at all. Maybe she was too tired after a long night? She told him to stick his erect dick in her cunt right away. Poireau did that, but it didn't go very smoothly. Zita's pussy wasn't wet enough, and then, the size of his erect cock… Zita tried to make it easier for him to access her fuckhole by spreading her legs even further. It worked a bit. Frank didn't get much more than half of his dick into her snatch. Because he was so horny, he came after a few minutes. Sex with Frank had been of little or no pleasure to Zita herself, that was clear to him…

That early morning they washed and just ended up talking. Zita had an appointment in four hours. She had to color in a tattoo of the Atomium on a client's back. She and Frank talked so long that he fell asleep on that old couch above the tattoo parlor.

In the morning, he woke up, confused. It took Poireau a few seconds to realize where he actually was and why he could hear the buzz of a tattoo gun. Soon after, Zita reappeared. They looked at each other. She was now apparently rested from the night before, and Frank seemed to feel she liked getting fucked again. He had made no mistake: within seconds they were kissing passionately. As she prepared to leave, Frank assumed she had to go back down to work. It may have been, but Zita seemed to change her mind. Instead, she slowly took off her top and pants, revealing her tattooed body. Her breasts, in particular, were spectacular: large, round, with on each a cobweb tattoo and pierced nipples. She still kept her panties on. The sight of the skin artist's body decoration excited Poireau and he felt his penis swell.

Then, Zita herself took the initiative. She pushed Frank down on the couch, pulled down his pants along with his knickers, and began to give him a blow job. As he cried out in pleasure, she put a hand over his mouth.

“There's someone downstairs,” she whispered. "We must be quiet."

The danger of the situation unleashed Poireau's riskier side. He got really excited to bang Zita hard right away.

"I don't care," he moaned. “Take off your panties and let’s enjoy it.”

After they had kissed and caressed for a few more minutes, Zita pulled down her panties and gently guided Frank's cock inside her pussy with her hand, wrapping her legs around his waist. It went smoother than a few hours before. Her kitty was much wetter now, and it yawned a little. Frank lost control and thrust his swollen cock pretty hard into her puss. Maybe he hurt her a little, given the size of his dick. Anyway, she turned him over on the couch and got on her knees and elbows. She wanted Frank to come in from behind her. They would do it "doggy style". So, it happened. In that position the fucking went smoother than before. It was just as if Zita's wet fuckhole had suddenly become much more spacious. While Frank was working on her back and his cock went up and down effortlessly in her fuckslit, they suddenly heard footsteps: someone was coming up the stairs. Somehow, they managed to make themselves look presentable at lightning speed. They had just finished grooming themselves when Zita's equally heavily tattooed colleague opened the door to the sitting room. He could clearly see what had happened. Frank was really embarrassed. So, he mumbled a few vague excuses, shoved his still erect penis into place in his underpants, gathered his things, and headed for the door. As he left the tattoo parlor, he took another look downstairs at the tattoo guns that lay within reach next to the fake leather reclining seats.

It was his first time in a tattoo parlor, and also the last. Frank Poireau never saw Zita again. Sometimes, he still thought of her, the skin artist, and of their strange nocturnal encounter. Although their second lovemaking was cut short, the contact with Zita brought out a side in Frank that he had long forgotten. It made him see that, contrary to what Gérard Dujardin claimed, he was not a homebody and that he was confident enough to fuck any girl or woman without hesitation in a bedroom or sitting room.

© Robur Quercus 2022