The Rose Tattoo – DoctorB
It all began with a free reading project at the end of my senior year of high school. In the midst of a tremendously boring semester of English replete Chaucer and Thoreaux we were given a free reading assignment. Read any book and report to the class about it. I like to read so I went to the local library and looked through the fiction section looking for something daring and sexy. The school library was downright Dickensian in its reading selections. Nothing offensive or remotely bawdy was on its shelves for fear of bringing down the wrath of the religious right wing whackos that seem to feel the First Amendment is a serious problem.
The public library was the place for seeking out the risqué works of fiction. Here I first read Erica Jong’s “Fear of Flying.” Here is where I had learned to become a woman and here is where I learned the keys to a boy’s subjugation.
Many of the girls in my class called me a cock tease. They were partly right. What I really wanted from a boy was not his dick but his soul.
I was also called one of ‘Those Gothic Bitches’. I had naturally black hair and I did like to wear black but not for the death and misery theme that the Goths lived. I looked good in black and black was my ‘power color’. More importantly, the boys thought I looked good in black.
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As I wandered the library, I found a book with a fascinating cover. It was a body shot of woman covered in a tattoo of vines and blossoms. The book title was simply, “Tattoo”. It sounded erotic so I read the prologue. I checked the book out and read it cover to cover over the weekend. The imagery from the book was powerful and several times during the weekend, I masturbated to the images in my head.
During the week, I prepared my report and I made sure it would be shocking. The sole goal of my oral report would be to make sure none of the boys in my class dared stand up quickly for fear showing their hard-ons. I enjoyed this sort public display of sexual power.
When I gave my report to the class my teacher was rather shocked. In my report, I did not try to censor the erotic imagery of the author in any way. My classmates were speechless. The boys were firmly planted in their chairs as I knew they would be.
I was, of course, sent to the principal’s office. Since the teacher had set the ground rules I was not punished, but the principal did send me to a guidance counselor who then made an appointment for me with a shrink. I was seriously pissed by the whole affair, as were my parents. They threatened to sue the school! I relented when the prospect of not graduating was hinted at. I know when to stand and fight and I know when to do what is required to succeed. I knuckled under to the pressure and kept my mouth shut. A strategy I had learned in the library.
I did my three sessions with the shrink. It was nerve-racking, boring and very hostile. I didn’t want to be there and he knew it. He did make one bizarre suggestion and that was to rent the movie “Tattoo”. I thought he was supposed to cure me of my “problems”. Instead, he was suggesting that I explore them. I found it quite odd that he was not trying to force me to conform as every other adult had done until now.
His explanation was quite simple, “You’re 18 and of legal age. At some point, you need to confront your sexuality and explore it. You may find your sexually aggressive behavior is not who you really are. On the other hand it may be exactly who you are.”
OK, I thought, that makes sense. He did tell me the movie sucked.
He was right. The movie sucked big time. However, the image of Maude Adams being held against her will and tattooed was something I could not get out my head. I was most certainly not a sexually submissive person, but the image of a beautiful woman turned into a living piece of art was compelling.
Two weeks after graduation I went to a well-respected tattoo studio and got a small rose tattoo on the inside of my left ankle. Just long enough to show above an anklet sock and just large enough to be seen from several feet away.
As the summer wore on, I wondered about the book. I had taken a small first step in what would become a long and enjoyable journey.
Late in August while working in classy restaurant bussing tables, I met a man who would open a larger world to me. We caught each other’s glances while I poured his water, cleared his plates and tended his table. When our eyes met, I did not break eye contact and when circumstances allowed I would stand fully erect and stare down at him with my best predatory smile.
On the way out he handed my his business card, it read, “The Gift of a Life Time.” He told me to call him the next day about a job, which I did.
When I called he did not want to discuss the job but asked me out. I was not happy. He explained, “You are an employee of a classy establishment, if I had asked you out in front of the other employees the maitre d’ would have fired you on the spot. On the other hand a ‘job offer’ to so-called underlings is expected and accepted. If you’re still upset we can hang up and call this a misunderstanding. Your choice.”
We started dating very casually.
It was two months before he made any type of sexual advance, which I found unusual in the extreme. I had asked why it took him so long. He only said, “I want you to learn to be comfortable around me. I am not after sex; I am after my soul.” I knew what he meant.
We made love only a few times and never at his house. I just figured that he was married which I later learned was not true. He only told me he would bring me to his home when I was ready. That provoked several questions on my part. “Which do you crave more, the mystery or the knowing?” he asked.
“The mystery,” I said
“Good. Then leave the mystery be and enjoy the ride,” he said.
I went to college that fall and we kept in touch by e-mail. We flirted by e-mail and we wrote each other erotically charged stories.
He suggested I read the “Story of O” and tell him what I thought about it. I read it and told him that I would enjoy controlling someone so completely.
His e-mail reply only said that I should declare myself a business major. He told me that we would not correspond again until the end of the school year. This did not concern me. I knew he would be back.
As the year ended, I received a single e-mail from him. An invitation, no it was a summons, to come to his vacation home in Oregon. Finally I was invited to his home! He made no offer to pay my way but he did say that his door was open and he would be expecting me.
I did not think it odd that expenses did not accompany the invitation. I concluded that this was a test of some kind to see what I was willing to do get to him. Fair enough. I was up to the challenge and a goal always helped me achieve great things.
I worked two fairly shitty jobs to earn enough to make it to his house which as it turned out was not just house. It was a palatial estate east of the Cascades in the high desert. It was incredible, it was stark and as he put it, “No one can hear you scream.”
During our e-mail correspondence, I had explained my desires to dominate another. He had a surprise for me. He gave me a slave to play with for a weekend. I was to indulge my every sexual desire with it (her). I was in heaven.
During my time with him he trained me in the ways of a ‘Top’. What to do, how to act and how best to bring thrilling pleasure in the midst of shocking pain. I became a powerful woman under his tutelage.
As the summer wore on, I decided to add to my ankle tattoo. I had it lengthened into a vine that circled up my leg, around my left buttock ending above my long since shaved sex. Rose blossoms were added to the vine in various colors I enjoyed.
I was becoming more fit as time went on and evolving into a powerful dominatrix. My mentor, now lover, explained his reason behind his suggestion of my pursuing a business degree. His business is sexual appliances, BD and S&M paraphernalia and associated web sites and publications. He also produces movies on the subject and told me flat out he picked me to run his “Deviant Empire” when he retired in ten years.
His only demand was that I not merely succeed at college but dominate the curriculum. I smiled at his choice of words. He only said that he wanted me to be near the top of my class any way I saw fit. Over a sumptuous meal and fine wine we toasted our partnership with each us having a devoted slave at our feet. As the song says, “The future’s so bright I have to wear shades.”
We corresponded frequently over the next school year and I again spent the summer at his estate. I began to learn the business from him and was given ever-increasing responsibility.
As with the previous summer, I decided to increase the size of my rose tattoo. I had it extended from above my crotch sweeping it around the small of my back to spot below my right breast. Both breasts now sported substantial-looking rings. The rose tattoo looked very lifelike with an enormous blossom and closed bud below my breast. I now had a male slave to please me and he enjoyed tracing the line of the twisting vine that now ran from ankle to breast. He was devoted to me and I took great pleasure in tormenting him.
The next two years passed very quickly and I graduated number five in my class. I had the undying gratitude of two professors who discovered quite a bit about themselves during my college career. They were, in a word, devastated that I was going. One of them had been rumored to wear women’s underwear on campus. I of course knew that rumor was true.
Having my degree, I assumed a senior management position for my mentor and lover. I again decided to add to my rose tattoo. This time extending the vine around my right breast, over the shoulder and plunging it down my back ending with a six inch blossom above the crack between my buttocks. It took a few months to complete the work but it was worth it. Both my personal slave and I loved it and the tattoo gave me a commanding air.
Over the next two years, my mentor slowly gave me more control of his company. I now ran all the day-to-day operations and under my command the company grew at a respectable rate earning almost $300 million last year alone. My plan was to increase the size of the company to $1 billion in four years.
My mentor was impressed and told me he had decided to retire a full three years early. He was going to live the good life and travel the world looking for new items to add to our product line.
On the night of his retirement dinner, we toasted each other and the rest of company’s leadership who made our expansion possible. I may be a dominant woman but I know that no one can micromanage such a large enterprise. I had sought out talented people and had delegated to them the responsibility needed to succeed. As a group, we were unbeatable.
After dinner, my mentor and I spent the rest of the night alone. He told me that he was overjoyed by my success. He also said that there was one thing left for me to do before I could finish my expansion plan. I asked him what that might be.
“You need to complete your tattoo,” was all he said. I thought about that and he was right. I had wanted to expand my work of art but couldn’t think of a way to do anything new with it. It would be cliché to extend it down my right leg.
My mentor then noted, “There is some skin you have not yet considered.”
I reflexively touched my head.
He smiled and said, “Consider it, follow your heart, it has led you this far and it will take you farther still if you just listen.”
I smiled back and said, “I’ll consider it.”
The next night, as one of my personal slaves brushed my hair, I considered how best to finish the project that had started seven years before. It would be a crowning achievement, no pun intended. I turned to my slave and said, “Get dressed. You’re going shopping for me.”
I wrote out a list and gave it to him with instructions to be back in one hour. The deadline was unachievable, I knew, and my slave would be sweating bullets about his punishment the whole time. I loved games like this.
What he did not know was he would be given a great gift.
An hour and twenty minutes later my apologetic and groveling slave returned. I examined the bag and in my most blood-curdling manner said, “Follow me to the game room.”
I could see his knees waver, but he followed meekly. I sat in a chair in the middle of the room and told him, “You are being given a reprieve for your disobedience. Now slave, shave my head immediately!” He hesitated. I stared a hole through him with my smoldering eyes. He moved to obey.
He meekly placed the contents of his shopping excursion on a table: clippers, bleach, shaving cream and razors. I directed my slave to use the clippers with no attachments. My slave plugged in the clippers and turned them in. They made a loud pop as they came to life. He stared at me. I commanded him to run them front to back.
He placed the clippers at the front of my head, took a deep breath and pushed the clippers through my hair. Hair cascaded over my shoulders and down my back. He pulled the clippers back and ran them through my hair repeatedly. The feeling was a wonderful combination of feathery tickle and warm deep scalp massage.
He was shivering with fear. “Don’t worry you pathetic wimp. This is what I want you to do. I am allowing you to service me, just differently than normal,” I explained in a motherly tone. He calmed down, took a deep breath and continued his worked. Over a period of a few minutes, all my hair had been clippered off.
I next directed my slave to use the bleaching agent. I wanted a clean bright white canvas for the finishing act of my artwork. He applied the bleaching agent carefully (I made him read the instructions twice). When he was done my scalp tingled but a pale white fuzz replaced the black shadow.
I went to the kitchen for some wine to allow the chemical tingling to subside. While I sat sipping a fine Merlot, my slave quietly knelt at my feet, his head between my legs doing what he was born to do. I wondered at what the final work would look like. As I sat, my mind wandering, an enormous orgasm overcame me. Grabbing my slave’s head, I rammed his face deeper into me. What a feeling to have the ultimate sex toy at your command. One that was never complaining, in fact thriving on his situation.
We returned to the play room for the final act of my little play. My slave covered my head with a thick layer of cream and slowly, perhaps lovingly, began to shave me bald. The bleach had done its job. There was no dark halo left behind the razor. There was only a bright white band of skin. I loved the feeling of the razor passing over my scalp. There was a rather intense scraping noise in my head on the first pass followed by smooth quietness on the second. It was cool feeling, very erotic, as air in the room touched head for the first time. It was in a word, joyous.
I had shaved several men and a couple of women slaves but had never considered it for myself. I now wondered why that was and what sort of profitable business might be born from this sort of fetish. I would set my marketing group to the task come Monday.
As for my now wonderfully naked skull, I had other plans.
I contacted my tattoo artist and told her I wanted to complete my rose tattoo. I made an appointment for that evening and showed up promptly at the appointed time. Her only comment was, “What took you so long to figure it out?”
I smiled warmly and just said, “Wrap the vine around under the left breast, over the shoulder and up the back of my neck and place a vibrant red rose sized to fit within one inch of my hairline on my head. Not a bouquet but one large full blossom.”
She said, “It will take a great deal of time over several visits and it will hurt quite a bit.”
I smiled again at her and told, “Get cracking!”
It took six weeks of three a week, four-hour sessions, to complete the rose tattoo. In its final form, it is a lovely creation beginning at my left ankle and ending on my head. There were blossoms encircling one leg and left breast while the right simply has one large one. The vine was placed where I had directed and the final blossom on my scalp contained incredible detail. Several petals had bees on them and all are very lifelike. There is a small ladybug near one ear.
As a gift from my artist there is a small oriental scene of an egret near where the vine crosses my stomach. There is also wonderful butterfly on the lone blossom above my crotch. The vine is me and I it.
My mentor loved my final creation. He enjoyed the feeling of my shaved scalp.
I had taken complete control of the company with him retaining a minority stock position. It was an odd turn of events to my mind. In all the time I had known him he was always in command. Now I was and it took some effort to suppress the fear of being at the top. It didn’t take long though. I was born to command and thrived on the challenge.
I have also found a new joy in my life as a result. The simple act of luxuriating in a hot bath with a devoted slave running a razor over my scalp is the perfect end to a long day at the office. The rose tattoo no longer calls for new life. The only thing that calls to me now is the razor that my favorite slave wields. The rose tattoo has transformed from a delight of body art into the delight of the razor.