The Scar Story ***TRIGGER WARNING - MASOCHISM & BL••D*** I ..

The Scar Story ***TRIGGER WARNING - MASOCHISM & BL••D*** I had a tattoo that I got on some weird whim as a token for a partner. As I was getting it, I knew it wasn't what I wanted. Not in how it looked or what it meant or who it was for. But I still went through with it. I wanted to wear it as some sort of badge of honour for the time I was going through. Fully knowing in the back of my mind it would evolve later in life. Cut to: Years later and deeper into my mas0chism, I decided it was time to go. And to close the loop of what it represented, I wanted it to hurt as bad as it did to let that life go. So I opted to cut it off. I contacted a human who had modified my flashbag in the past and asked if this was a thing he was still willing to do. Months later I m3et him in the back of a tattoo shop with a head full of false ideas and big ego. He quickly informs me that what we're doing is off the books, not a joke, and that I should probably focus less on my phone and more on getting into the zone. I took that seriously. But nothing could prepare me for what came next. I expected an intense tattoo. I expected a sensation similar to something I already had in having my flesh p|erced, cut and marked in the past. But this was exactly what it promised to be - flesh being sliced into with a scalpel. The initial tattoo was an outline - which meant there needed to be two to remove it. Typically I deal with pain with music and breathing and humming and as much meditating as I can find. This process required screaming and moaning and just accepting that each time the metal touched me, a new uncontrolled sound was going to come out. At some point when we took a break, I heard two girls come into the shop and decide to take the plunge and get their belly buttons pierced. Then my sadist steps back over and informs me we're about to enter the sawing phase. Right...it's got to come off. So as the tw33ns settle themselves in the other room, I start having a crossover between an exorcism, orgasm and near d3ath experience as he slips the blade between the layer of flesh and fat or whatever comes next and begins to drag it back and forth between the two freshly opened incisions that have already started to pulse. I made sure they were gone before I came out. I have absolutely no idea how long it took. You could tell me 5 minutes or 50 and I'd believe both. In those states, all time collapses and the only thing there is is "now". Which is exactly why I love that dance. After I collect what is left of myself and take a look at what I've discarded on the table, the kinky fucker I enlisted to do this to me looks and me and goes "I suppose we could have used the lidocaine..." That's what I get for opening my mouth about what I could take. And as if that was it...after all that...comes the aftercare. Which SOMEHOW manages to be worse. But we'll save that for another time...