Tattoo Subspace

An impulsive tattoo has been on my bucket list for a few years now. I always thought it would be while away on holiday, but it came in the form of Friday the 13th — the day before Valentine’s Day. I’m generally not a fan of the hallmark holiday, so I leaned into the 13th instead. When the suggestion was made to get tattoos, I was an immediate, “Yes!”

I have always enjoyed being tattooed. Some of my tattoos were, quite literally, life-altering. The zen state I entered during the eight hours of my under-bust piece shifted something fundamental in me — my sense of self, my understanding of who I was capable of being. It's a whole story.

—-

Yesterday’s tattoo would take barely an hour. I wasn’t expecting to be in long enough to feel the zen. It was on the inside of my bicep, so a decently tender area, but I assumed I needed to be under for a long time to access the drift.

As the first line went in, my body melted.

Now, let’s be clear. Yes, I am a switch, but I typically do not enjoy much pain inflicted on my body.

Somehow, the command of a tattoo artist is exactly the Domme I need to find bliss in pain. She told me where to lie, how to lie, where to put my arm, and that I would be ok.

As the pain heightened, I noticed a smile creep into the corners of my mouth as my closed eyes rolled back. I could feel my muscles go slack — all care and worry wicked away.

I watched myself in awe…. and then I saw it. My inner submissive was in absolute ecstasy. I could see her all blissed out laying sprawled out on a bed of black velvet. A giant smile of pure, unfiltered pleasure.

Oh… really?

I often struggle to drop into subspace. The mental chatter pulls me out over and over.

But there, in that tattoo studio with no walls and no privacy, I was gone. Floating in the abyss of dark delight. I would open my eyes just for the enjoyment of feeling myself fall back through the layers of reality. Yessss.

There is something… the choice of the surrender, I put myself on that table, I laid my arm out for her use, I gave her my skin, my pain — an offering. I was the sacrifice of the hour, laid open for use.

The buzz of the machine definitely played its part. The sound demanding I prepare myself for the next line of pain. The harsh buzz obstructing any attempt of my brain to regain control.

As she shaded a part, the pain increased dramatically, and I winced. Before the next buzz sounded, she laid her free arm across my arm. The warmth melted me back into the darkness, and when the buzz began and the pain fired, it was cushioned by the warmth of her. Swaddled.

As she wiped my tender skin with the cool, wet cloth, I felt angst. “It is almost over.”

I wanted to stay. “Keep me, Mistress.”

I betrayed none of this to her. If anything, I was awkwardly casual. It was almost like having a crush on someone and trying to play it cool. Sigh.

I am so curious. Is this MY thing? It would not be a unique thing. Many people deeply enjoy the pain of tattoos. I am so curious if they also receive the gift of subspace. Will I be getting more tattoos to feed my inner submissive?