Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Authors note: Crappy little one-shot I decided to write about fetishes. Enjoy!

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Ding

The ring of the bell that announces new possible costumers was barely heard, with the wails of a popular indie boy band and the soft whimper of costumers (that are new to being tattooed, of course) being serviced.

The dark purple wallpaper were covered with framed tattoos that have the potential to be permanently staining your body for the rest of your life, mirrors that bordered the things that held needles and such that was nailed into the wall, and price listings for if you want a tattoo on your wrist, arm, back, lower back, lower back, et cetera.

The small shop was too crowded with the multiple chairs that were for waiting customers and those presently being drawn on.

But despite the music being too loud, the closed-in space being too claustrophobic, and the strong smell of chemicals, this was her home.

She inhaled the air deeply, almost like she was at the verge of ecstasy. She shivered excitedly, giving more than one glance at the people who were slightly shaking in pain.

Oh, what she would give to be on that chair, laid back on her belly, waiting for the pinch of the needle that would paint a picture that would last for the rest of her life.

She could feel a internal heat growing down 'south'. She muttered a swear word to herself. She just failed her most recent goal of not staining her panties whenever she came here.

She eyed the workers that weren't currently doing anything, as if they were to be delicious-looking food that she was eager to put on her plate. She couldn't wait any longer. In a bold way, she made a beeline to the register. She had a reserved appointment and she wouldn't want to be late.

The person manning the cashier was a head bopping teenager who didn't look a day over 18. He didn't notice her in front of him, because of the hair that covered his eyes and couldn't hear her "ahem" at him because he was listening to the latest My Chemical Romance album.

It wasn't until she tugged the earphones out of his iPod that he actually noticed her. The male blushed a healthy red color, clearly embarrassed. He cleared his throat, and then awkwardly apologized. Kids will be kids.

"Hello," The word rolled off her tongue like it was the first time she ever spoke it, "I'm here for an appointment, under the name Sakura Haruno." She didn't even need to finish her sentence. Everyone in the shop knew about Sakura.

She came into the shop at least once a month for a new tattoo. She had the numerous tattoos to prove it. The boy pointed to an unoccupied artist and Sakura thanked him with a dazzling smile.

She walked over to the tiny curtained room that was used for when shirts or pants were needed to be discarded, for the sake of the tattoo.

When she was walking, the friction of her thighs rubbing against each others jean-covered legs was starting to get her turned on. The thought of only being steps away from another ecstatic process made her speed up her pace.

When she finally got to the other side of the curtain (to her what seemed like minutes was actually seconds.), she began to take off her shirt but thought against it. Instead, she discarded her jeans. A sinister plan was already forming in the back of her mind.

She knew who was going to be her tattoo artist and why it was taking him so long to get there. It was the newest recruited artist there.

She knew from the first time that she walked into that store and his eyes lingered at her cleavage lustfully for a moment too long, that he had a thing for her.

And since she was a little bit...well, y'know...horny, Sakura just thought, 'what the hey, just killing two birds with one stone.'

Sakura giggled. She could hear him and another person whispering loudly, on the other side of the door.

"God Dammit, I can't go in that fucking room!"

"C'mon, she's not that bad. Just go in Sasuke, she friggin' reserved you!" A pause.

"I-I just can't go; it'll be... awkward."

"Just go, she's waiting!"

"B-but," He popped his head in. His eyes widen a bit, looking at the Sakura who was pant less, smiling sexy-like and fidgeting with the trim of her underpants, "Just a second." He went back to his conversation from before. "She's not wearing any fucking pants!"

"...Really?"

"Don't get any effing ideas," Sasuke hissed. It was followed by the sounds of a quiet fight between two people before he finally fumbled in.

"Well," he cleared his throat, then look up. Again, he stepped out of the tiny room. And again, in a hissed voice, he loudly whispered, "Dude, she's friggin' masturbating."

The end.