a question of tatoos

the other night my Mistress invited me out to play music at a bar with Her boyfriend. i gladly accepted, excited to spend some time with Her and to have a chance to perform some good music.

before O/our first set, i brought up the fact that i was considering growing my hair out this summer and wearing dreads. everyone thought that was an awesome idea, i think, with the exception of my Mistress.

She downed the remainder of Her "Shocktop", brewski and then looked me hard in the eye. "you don't wan't to change your hair do you?"  i kind of shifted back and forth on my feet a bit. i am always seemingly unsteady when She clocks me with a direct question like that. trying to muster courage to challenge Her, i replied, "what do You mean by that? ... of course i do."

"Uh... Uh ...", She confidently, confronted me. " No, you want to do something else like .... say, ... get a tatoo." 

"a tatoo ...?", i replied, usure as to where this was going. She took another swig of Her beer and then started to play with one of the pointed stationary order spindles. She gleefully begain to hit me in the middle of the forehead with one, with great tenacity. poking me occasionaly with it's sharp point, making visible red marks, laughing as She went.

"Yeah, a big ol' tatoo right on your ass." i watched as She fondled the straw in my drink and begin to suck on the rum and coke mixture and then expel it playfully and rapidly at me. a few sticky trails slid down my cheeks and dripped off my chin onto the bar counter. 

She countinued to taunt me, but i wasn't going to let Her get the best of me.

"well, tatoos do look good when you are young, but when you get old, they lose their shape and become just a blob of unrecognizable ink." "therefore, i wouldn't want one.", i countered.

with a malicious grin, i watched as Her tongue seemed to glide over the curved sharpened points of Her  teeth.

"That wouldn't matter... After all, ... you are one already." Her words were painfully precise and deadly accurate.continuing to shift uncomfortably on my feet, i  desperately sought an early exit.

She then turned and faced me. feebly,  i noticed that the boots She was wearing gave Her at least an inch over me in height . She pressed Her advantage further then spoke to me candidly, but acutely. 

"It's not about what you want ... It's all about what i want... And I want you to have a big tatoo on your ass with the word, "BITCH" in big bold letters.  not knowing really what to say to that, i watched as she seemed to search my face for any signs of weakness, unease, pain or discomfort. afterall, She did relish the fact that even Her words could be used effectively as weapons to belittle, humiliate and taunt.

yet, the fact of the matter is though, ... i loved to hear Her say those caustic, acid laced words to me. for i so wanted to be Her bitch. to be thoroughly and completely controlled and owned by Her. i wanted to feel the treads of Her boots across my face and the myriad throttling blows of Her fists, pummeling Me into subtastic sublivion and beyond.but most of all, i just wanted to be given the opportunity to totally serve Her.

suddenly, W/we were joined by other people and the precious moment was over. but, not quite. She turned and faced me again. "Now, order Me another "Shocktop" beer."

what could i do? i am honor bound to serve me Mistress, and my Mistress always knows what She wants. always.

but ... back to the question of tatoos ... should i?... would i? ... could i? that answer will remain cloaked and shrouded within the realm of the desires of my Mistress. even so ...