Mind Blind Saucy Side: Vows Upon Skin (Sally)

“Ouch!” You glare accusingly over your shoulder at Sally, who pulls back the tattoo pen from your skin and shrugs non-apologetically.

“I told you this would hurt,” she states.

“You compared it to kitten scratches!” It feels a little awkward arguing while laying on your stomach with your exposed rear in the air, but you can’t exactly move while the tattoo is still only partially completed. You and Sally settled on a stylized depiction of your and her initials, lovingly designed by your wife herself. So far, only the S had been inked.

“Well, it’s not as if I’ve personally ever got a tattoo before,” Sally says. “Now, hush and let me finish the outline. We’ll do shading and color next session.”

“Why did I agree to this?” you grumble, burying your head into the pillow of your and Sally’s shared bed. Sally decided that the bedroom was the best location, since it had furniture to lie down on and the large bay windows let in plenty of light.

“Because you love me,” Sally says. She lightly smacks your butt cheek (the one not being inked, thank god) with the flat of her palm. “And because this ass is mine, now.”

You let out a chuckle that ends in a yip as she resumes working.

It sounded so romantic at the time. When Sally revealed that the reason she’d been holed up in her studio was because she’d bought a tattoo gun and been practicing on pieces of fruit, you’d thought that her suggestion of DIY matching tattoos to commiserate your marriage was inspired. Wedding bands could slip on and off; tattoos lasted forever, a permanent part of your body just as Sally was and always had been a permanent part of your heart. Having those tattoos in a private place also made for a cheeky secret just between the two of you (quite literally, given your tattoo location, although Sally intended to do her own on her inner thigh for obvious accessibility logistics).

Fifteen minutes into the process, however, you were beginning to regret saying yes. A quick web search while Sally was preparing her tools revealed that the human butt cheek contained 2,500 nerves endings, and you could swear that your wife’s tattoo gun was stabbing each one.

“How much longer?” you grit out.

Sally lifts the tattoo gun. “Does it seriously hurt that bad?” she asks, her previously teasing tone lowering with genuine concern.

“It’s bearable,” you reply, although your skin still stings. “Just a little more painful than expected.”

“My poor baby.” A curtain of red curls drapes over your line of sight as Sally leans down to nuzzle your cheek. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

“Thanks.”

Truthfully, the pain is less severe than it was initially. Each prick of Sally’s linework feels like nails scratching a sunburn, but you no longer flinch every time the tattoo gun moves.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Sally promises in husky whisper as she starts on the letter of your first name.

It’s clear that she’s trying to distract you, but you’ve always been amenable to distraction. Luckily, your wife has a way of making you forget everything except her existence.

Hell, she even got you to agree to this tattoo.

“Make it up to me how?” you ask, lowering your own voice to match her seductive register.

The tattoo pen pauses, and you feel fingertips ticklishly trace around the curvature of your glut. Sally’s canvas, as it were.

“I’ll think of something,” Sally purrs. “You’ll need to be on top, though.”

The imagery created by her promise is engrossing enough that you almost don’t notice as she resumes inking your skin.

“We’ll have to go slow,” Sally continues. “I won’t be able to wrap my legs around you, given the fresh ink.” Her voice pauses, the silence filled only by your heavy breaths and the buzzing of the tattoo gun. The low intensity burn of pain has been replaced by heated anticipation, and you find yourself craving more.

“Then again,” Sally adds almost casually, “I’ve never been good at restraining myself. You might have to tie me down to make sure I don’t accidentally rub against anything sensitive.”

The pen lifts, and you feel a cool cloth wipe over your tender skin. Sally doesn’t pull it away, trailing the soft fabric down the lower curve of your ass until it brushes—just barely—against an even more sensitive area.

“I don’t know,” you choke out, your back arching in a shiver. “Rubbing sounds nice.”

Sally giggles. Her laugh is too high pitched and enthusiastic to be called sultry, but it still makes you want to turn over and drag her down with you into bed, half-finished tattoo be damned.

“A little pain with your pleasure?” Sally murmurs, and this time you’re taken aback by how throaty and aroused her voice sounds. “Not something we’ve tried before, but I’m game to experiment.”

She draws another steady line across your skin, adding a final flourish to the S, and the hairs on your forearms lift as if electrified. The pain isn’t pleasurable, not exactly, but that you’ve begun viewing it as the precursor to a reward. The pain now makes you imagine pleasure, which gives rise to emotions which are . . . turbulent. Conflicted, to say the least.

“I think we may have just unlocked a new kink,” you admit, only half joking.

Sally giggles again. “So long as I don’t have to ink you with a new tattoo every time that we get frisky,” she teases. “Our coworkers might start asking questions if you come back from our honeymoon with full body art.”

You shift so that you’re resting on your hip. Sally sets down her equipment, immediately sensing your intentions, and you grab the back of her neck and pull her down into a fiery kiss.

“No needles required for me to find you sexy,” you tease after your lips part. It’s not a line worthy of the Oscars (in fact, it borders on cringe), but your breathless words are enough to make Sally’s pupils dilate. You grasp her chin so that she has no choice but to stare up at you, observing her reaction with primal satisfaction: her puffy kissed lips, her lust-glazed eyes, and delicate artist hands braced against your shoulders and trembling far too much for you two to resume the tattooing session anytime soon.

Sally’s tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip in a gesture that speaks to both her eagerness and her nerves. Despite spending the majority of your lives together, some experiences are still new to you both. You two have a lifetime of exploration together, just as Sally promised in her self-written vows.

“What about just paint?” your wife suggests breathlessly. “The more I think about it, the more I want to tattoo all of you.”

Your brain had been straying back to Sally’s earlier comment about being tied up, but this works too. You lay back on the bed and spread your arms wide . . . only to wince as your fresh, still only half-completed, tattoo rubs against the bedsheets.

“Your butt!” Although referring to what was usually her favorite part of your anatomy, Sally’s tone is more horrified than suggestive. “We forgot to bandage your butt!”

At Sally’s exclamation, the smoldering mood between you dissipates like candy floss thrust into a cold fountain. You half-laugh, half-groan, and then turn back over onto your stomach so that Sally’s artwork is once again exposed.

“Might as well finish the job,” you say. “But next time . . .”

“Yes?” Sally’s voice dips an octave as she tries to recover, unsuccessfully, the lost atmosphere.

“Next tattoo session, we use a numbing cream.”