Gilded Butterfly
Author: MissFyt
Codes: MF, Oral
Celebs: Megan Fox
Disclaimer: As per usual, this is fiction and fantasy and nothing more. No celebrities were harmed during the creation of this story.

My shop was a little place just south of LA, lost in the suburbs on the borderline between the City Of Angels and Orange County. I had a good rep in the community and a long waiting list, sure, but it's not like all those pseudo-punk celebs and their movie star girlfriends were beating down my door, you know? The day Megan Fox walked in was just another sun-blind Tuesday in the boring 'burbs. We weren't expecting a movie star.

No grand entrance for this girl. She strolled in all low-key, like she was just another SoCal girl in shades and shorts looking for some fresh ink. I was sitting with my back to the counter, working on a design in one of my rare hours between appointments, when I heard her clear her throat.

"Help you?" I said it before I turned, realizing that Joe - the other artist working that day - was talking to a young couple. I stood and took in the girl standing before me.

"I'm looking for Brian," she said.

Looking for me. Taking off her shades and just killing me with those sexy eyes, so bright against a backdrop of dark hair and tanned skin.

"I'm Brian," I said, recognizing her. How could I not? I didn't think too much of Transformers, but there aren't too many can forget that shot of her bending over the open hood of a Camaro, casually inviting a million horny guys to fantasize over that flat, brown belly and the perfect curves of her hips and ass.

"Megan," she said. "Sorry to barge in without an appointment, but I had a free day and I heard you were the best."

"Someone's been spreading lies about me again," I said. My throat was dry, and as beautiful as her eyes were, it was hard to keep mine from drifting down to the black tank-top that hugged her torso tightly enough that I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. I silently thanked the gods for the over-enthusiastic air conditioning that kept the shop at a fairly constant seventy-something degrees, cool enough that the tips of her nipples stood outlined in thin cotton.

Megan's eyes slipped away from mine, scanning the pictures on the walls and the open books on the counter. "Your work?" she asked.

"Most of it."

She nodded. "I googled your stuff."

"You're looking for something specific?"

"I'm looking for you," she said. "Here's the thing. I really want a new tatt, but I can't decide on a design. What I've been looking for is someone talented and creative to come up with something for me."

I had to laugh. "Tattoo Megan Fox," I said. "Did I win a competition?"

"Could be," she said. "I mean, if you're interested and we end up doing this, I would totally talk about it. I get asked about my tattoos all the time."

I shook my head. "Appreciate the thought, but I do good business and I don't think I could handle E! in here."

"You won't do it?"

"I didn't say that. Come on back and let's talk about it," I said, opening the counter door so she could follow me through the curtain and into what I always - despite the presence of an ever-changing cast of talented, misfit artists - thought of as my office.

"Nice," Megan said.

"We try," I replied, turning towards her, once again failing to keep my eyes on her face. Without the counter covering her below the waist, I could see that her top left bare a smooth expanse of stomach, beneath which a pair of light grey boy-shorts rested loosely on her hips.

"You try pretty well," she said, and smiled at me, flirting. I actually felt myself getting hard, felt warmth creeping into my face.

"So...give me an idea," I said.

"Well, I want something that kinda compliments what I already have. I'm thinking about a theme, you know?" Megan pointed at my bare right arm, sleeved with a multi-colored pack of serpents I'd designed myself, their mouths opening towards the hand I'd used to create them. "Like that. Something big and meaningful."

"Alright," I said. "Show me what you have."

She glanced towards the curtain. "No-one's coming back here, right?"

"Joe," I called out.



"Got it, boss."

"No-one's coming back here," I said. "Besides that, this isn't anything I couldn't Google, is it?"

"No, but it's not the same."

"True. I'd lose a customer if I started jerking off."

She laughed at that, and if I hadn't already fallen, it would have happened then; staring at those full, pouting lips, that endearing little gap in her teeth.

"Alright, alright," she said. "First," she lifted her right leg, showing me the star on her ankle, just above the top of her sneaker, "then," on the back of her left forearm, a portrait of Marilyn Monroe. "And now for some skin." She turned her back on me, crossed her arms over her front, lifting the back of her tank-top all the way to her shoulders. I couldn't help but breathe in sharply, not at how great her tatts were, but at the fact I was looking at her naked back, just a couple of feet from being able to put my hands on her tiny waist.

"Pretty cool," I said. On the left side, a short - I guess - poem: Once there was a little girl who never knew love until a boy broke her heart. On the right, way up close to her shoulder: We will all laugh at gilded butterflies. "Shakespeare," I said.

She half-turned towards me, and the look on her face was of such pleasant surprise that I actually managed not to just stare at the exposed underside of her left tit. "You like it?" She asked.

"I love it. You being a celebrity and all. Not so sure about the other."

Megan dropped her top and shrugged. "I wrote that myself," she said. Then, without giving me a chance to react: "drum roll, please."

No matter what else happens to me before I die, I will always remember the moment Megan Fox, one of the most desirable women in the world, smiled at me and pulled down the waistband at the front of her shorts. It wasn't all the way, but it was enough to let me know that a bra wasn't the only item of underwear she wasn't wearing, and enough for me to see that tattooed on her lower belly, just a few inches up and to the right of her pussy, was my name.

"Holy fucking Jesus," I muttered.

She burst out laughing. "My boyfriend," she said.

"The 90210 guy," I replied.

"Oh, fuck you." But she was still laughing at my reaction, and still holding the front of her shorts down. My cock was numb in my pants.

"Well," I said, "there goes my best idea."

"Give me a break. You must have some ideas."

"I do, I do. I'm just...that's pretty awesome. He must fucking love that."

"He does."

"I'm...I remember seeing this picture of this chick who was married to Scott Weiland, you know, the Stone Temple Pilots guy. It was like a magazine shoot or whatever. On her stomach, she had - and I don't know if it was a tat or just something they did for the shoot - but she had an arrow on her stomach, pointing down towards her pussy, you know, and written above it: Scott's. I remember thinking that was just about the hottest thing I'd ever seen."

Megan was staring at me. "I've seen that picture," she said.

"I remember thinking, like if the guy had that, too. Something like that..."

"Brian wouldn't, he's kinda clean cut..."

"Asshole. I totally fucking would. In a heartbeat."

"Megan?" She asked.

I'd been staring at my name on her stomach. Now I looked up and met her eyes. "What?"

"Megan? Tattooed on you?" Like it was really important to her.

"Megan's," I said. "Ownership. Possession."

"That's..." she laughed a little. "You get it."

I nodded. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I reached out and touched her stomach, surprised at how hot her skin was. I let my fingernails skim across the letters of my name.

"You can touch me, if you want," she whispered. "Got your name on me. I'm yours."

"Fuck..." I pressed my hand flat to her belly, smoothed her skin, let my fingers follow the waistband of her shorts.

"I'm so wet right now," she said, reaching out with both hands, one tugging down my fly, the other reaching inside, taking hold of my cock. "I need you to touch me."

As if I needed an invitation. I pushed my hand into the front of her shorts, my fingertips skimming over the light stubble that covered her crotch, finding her pussy as hot and slick as she'd said. Megan moaned when I touched her, tilted her hips up towards me. She had my cock out of my pants, gripped in one warm fist that moved slowly up and down its length. Her other hand moved underneath it, back inside my fly to grab and squeeze my balls.

"Like that?" she murmured. "Come over here."

She led me across the room by my cock, backing up until she found one of the chairs and sat down. She stared at my cock like she was admiring a piece of art, jerking me off with that same rhythm, lifting her eyes to find mine as she leaned slowly forward and opened her mouth.

"I can't...fuck..." I climaxed explosively the moment her lips touched me, straight into her open mouth. I couldn't have stopped it if I'd wanted to, and Megan clearly hadn't wanted me to. She let her head fall back, her mouth open, my come clearly visible on her tongue and dripping from her lips. As I watched, she used a finger to scoop all that had escaped back into her mouth. Then she closed it, swallowing theatrically.

"Don't you lose that," she said, still slowly stroking my cock, keeping me semi-erect.

"I'm...I'm trying," I gasped.

"Sit down," she said, getting up from the chair.

We swapped places, and Megan grabbed my hand, pulling it down to my cock to replace hers. I jerked myself off with a light, easy rhythm, still sensitive from my orgasm, as she peeled off her tank-top, showing me her tits, her large nipples pink and swollen, their tips erect. She slowly bent to take down her shorts, revealing what I'd already felt; a crotch covered with just a sprinkling of dark hair, the glistening pink flesh of her pussy.

"You're beautiful," I said. "Jesus Christ. You're the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen."

She smiled. "You gonna keep it hard for me, baby?"

"Yeah," I said, and I was. Despite the fact that Megan's lips and chin still showed how recently I'd come, I was fully erect again.

Naked except for her sneakers, Megan bent over me. She unbuckled my belt, undid my pants, and pulled them down around my thighs. Then she straddled me, her knees to each side of my thighs, my cock against her and then inside her, feeling the grip of her pussy and her weight pushing me up into her. I sat up and grabbed her ass. There was nothing slow about the way she moved now, riding me hard as she whispered breathlessly in my ear, telling me how big my cock was, how I was going to come inside her, how it was making her feel, what a whore she was. I pushed her back so I could look at her as she fucked me, at her gorgeous face and her perfect little body, her tits moving as her hips pushed forward and back, forward and back. My balls felt swollen and full, my cock huge and hard inside her, and I knew I was going to come again.

"Come for me," I said. "I wanna see you come."

She closed her eyes like she was concentrating as hard as she could, her body writhing on top of me. "You fucking own me," she whispered. "I'm your whore." Her body tensed and relaxed, then tensed again. She pushed herself down hard on top of me, burying my cock in her pussy, her wet heat all over my crotch. Her fingers clutched at the arms of the chair and for a few seconds she stopped breathing, muscles spasming, her body trembling all over. I groaned and came again, inside her this time, my cock pulsing and twitching, stealing my strength until all I could was just lay there and go with it.

"Fuck," it came out as a moan, and Megan pulled herself vertical with an effort and then fell on me, her face in my shoulder, her tits a soft weight against my chest. "Fuck," she murmured. "That was fucking awesome."

I laughed and stroked her hair. We lay there in silence for a while, listening to the distant burble of Joe stalling the young couple, telling them I'd be done soon.

"So," Megan said, finally. She straightened and then lifted herself off my softening cock, grabbing her clothes from the floor.

"So," I said. I pulled up my pants and buckled my belt, watching her dress.

"Any ideas?"

"I could draw some things," I said. "Get some ideas on paper. But..." I watched that tattoo disappear beneath her shorts, "I think we'll need to do another consultation."

Megan pursed her lips, then absent-mindedly wiped them with the back of her hand. "I'm staying near here," she said, "interviews and stuff. A week, maybe two. I'll give you my number." She grinned. "You're the only Brian in town."

"We'll get together," I said, "laugh at gilded butterflies."

Megan's face got serious. "I think I'd like that," she said.

And believe me, she did.