I have my first ever tattoo now, finally. Or well, not as finally as I would have liked, since it isn't finished yet. It took to long, and about 1,5 hour after the time I had told Mistress I would be home, I said enough, and decided that the rest would have to be done another day.
In a way, it sucks. It sucks that the design got much more complicated than I had anticipated, that the appointment was made in a hurry and at an odd time, and that before I called it a day I got a terse text message from Mistress that even though she would try to be supportive and loving when I got back, she was furious and disappointed and worried that it would cost a lot more than agreed on, and that she would have a hard time being supportive.
And I totally got that.
Fortunately, the cost didn't sky rocket, we had agreed on a price before hand (thank god!) and it's now paid (almost) in full by the money I got as a graduation gift from my dad and his side of the family. I got home 1,5 hour late and didn't get to say good night to little S, which sucked, but we hugged this morning and she forgave me. Mistress did too, of course, once I was home again and eaten dinner and we had cuddled for awhile.
But it feels a bit typical for us. I suck at making plans and keeping track of time, she sucks at having plans change or things not going as she has expected. So the simplest things can turn in to huge drama, and this wasn't really a simple thing.
I wanted the tattoo to be a beautiful reminder of who we are for each other. I guess it is, now. For good and bad.
It is beautiful, by the way. And just before we fell asleep, when I was lying chained to the bed on her arm, and she had said good night so that I wasn't allowed to speak any more, she whispered in my ear that I was her slut, her good little girl, that she was proud of me, and as the last thing, that I was her marked little slut.
And I love that I am.
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