Sarah's eyes were closed but the room was still clear in her mind. She had been there seven times before. The parlour was small but reputable. It was fronted by large glass windows and with brick walls inside hidden behind reams of white paper holding black tattoo templates. In the back was a cushioned table where she now lay. Her jeans were pulled down low and her damp skin stuck to the plastic cover where it was bare. It wasn't a hot morning but the pain of the tattooist needle performing its work left a thin layer of sweat over her body.
She had inspected each of the premade designs upon her first visit. The patterns were beautiful but none had fit her personally. For Sarah hadn't come in to get a piece of art. She wanted to mark a celebration, to mark her liberation. Each time the tattooist saw Sarah come through his door he knew she had taken another step towards claiming her life back. He knew he wouldn't need his book of sketches because she carried her own motif.
As always the room stank of mentholated spirits. The sweet, acrid smell of rubbing alcohol and chemicals found in a sterilised environment. Sarah wiggled her nose as the violent fumes worked their way past her senses. Seven times she chided herself silently, she had been here seven times and yet she still found the process near unbearable. She reminded herself every bite of the needle was deserved. Every sting was a reminder that she could never be weak again. With her eyes clenched she lay still. She thought back to the inspiration behind this final tattoo. His face leaped into her mind and she listened to the artist finish his work.
She had been sitting in a darkened booth only the night before. The world of late night bars had become a life and death struggle, use or be used. Sarah understood that now and like the finest metal forged in heat she knew this world would allow her to reclaim herself. She had lost the right to that. Given it away voluntarily to a man she had called master before she was wise enough to know better. But even now, so long after leaving him behind she still felt his absence. She hated the doubt she felt inside, the insecurity and worst of all the fear his absence left.
Her very skin crawled with anxiety and subconsciously the nails of her right hand scratched at the soft flesh of her left arm. Finally they bit through and she sighed audibly with relief as blood flowed down her scarred skin. The pain was real, the only thing that brought relief, the only thing she could control.
Picking up her handbag from the old stained lounge beside her she opened it up. Sarah had learnt to always be prepared and quickly mopped up the blood with a tissue before applying a band aid to her wound. She knew there was something wrong with her, a sickness inside, and tonight she was going to rise above it. Tonight, one last time she was going to prove to herself that she was not weak, worthless, or pathetic. Tonight was the last, the final rosary that declared her penance complete.
As she placed her bag back down a figure across the empty dance floor caught her eye. Sarah saw him head straight for the bar and immediately she knew he was the one. He was different to the others she had used. The man looked in his early thirties, and physically very similar to her master she thought with a scowl. But that's where the similarities ended. This man appeared to be an accountant and wore a plain brown suit. His ugly tie was only bettered by his hideous shoes and he was obviously uncomfortable in the surroundings of the pub.
The carpet was sticky and the air smelt of smoke as she crossed the floor. Her eyes never left her target. He looked shy and nervous. He looked divine. With an effort of will power Sarah pushed her poisonous thoughts down and forced a smile across her face. It wasn't a sweet smile but it matched her appearance. In her early twenties she looked anything but an innocent. Her heels were tall, leather skirt short and her vest cut dangerously low.
"Hi" she said to the man in a breathy voice. "My name is Sarah."
"Oh, ahh, are you talking to me miss" The man replied looking around for another possibility.
"Of course, what's your name silly?" Sarah smiled back, leaning forward to be heard over the music and offering him a nice view of her small cleavage.
"David," he answered. He looked like he wanted to say more but couldn't quite get his tongue to work. Sarah smiled to herself, she had picked well tonight.
"Well, nice to meet you David," Sarah said as she seductively took his hand. "Would you like to buy me a drink?"
She almost laughed at his hurry to get the attention of the bartender. She had been doing this for long enough to know he was hooked already. But that didn't mean she was going to go easy on him.
"Are you going to ask me what I'm drinking?" Sarah inquired as she tapped his shoulder and brought a single finger to her mouth.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, of course. Sarah what would you like to drink?"
"I'll have a quick fuck and ... maybe you should join me," she replied, immediately turning and walking away without waiting for a response. She made her way to the exit shaking her hips not even stopping to make sure he was following.
Out in the cold night air Sarah stepped into the street and lit up a cigarette. She stood waiting impatiently until the door opened again to let out her accountant. "I'm glad you decided to join me," she said.
"I don't normally pick up strange women. You aren't a hooker are you?" he inquired, coming down the stairs with a briefcase in his hand.
"Who ever said you picked me up?" She laughed out loud with a sound that never seemed to touch her lips then turning Sarah began to walk away.
"Where are you going?" He asked after her in a hushed tone.
"I have booked us a room and we don't want to be late." Sarah responded in a dangerous tone as she turned off the main road into a quiet street.
He didn't answer and after a moment of silent thoughts quickly followed after.
Sarah had planned ahead and booked a room in a cheap hotel. It wasn't that she was sure of finding her prey. Her master had always insisted she be thoughtful and she rubbed her ass as the memories of his punishments ran through her mind. Carefulness had become her motto, always cautious, always planned. Mistakes brought pain that she had all too often received. It made her angry when her thoughts travelled back to her master. She didn't know what had given him the right to judge her but she had learnt her lessons well. Now she was in control and she wasn't going to make any more mistakes.
The room was small. Its ugly green walls were a rival for David's suit. An ornate double bed sitting in the middle of the floor was the only furniture and a window on the far wall offered a magnificent view of the bricks comprising the next building.
Stepping aside to let him into the room Sarah closed the door and took a nervous breath. This was her test, a test she had set for herself. Somewhere at the core of her being she still begged for instructions. More then anything she wanted David to take her and make her feel safe. But she knew there was no safety except in herself. Submission was for the weak and she needed to be strong.
Sarah took another breath. She let the air settle into her lungs. Words were forced out of her mouth as she stepped forward.
"Now we are here, let's see what we have. Strip for me David."
David had been inspecting the room and his upturned nose told her what he thought of it. At the sound of her voice he turned back towards her and considered his actions before he placed his briefcase beside the bed. With exaggerated movements he hoped would be sexy he threw his jacket into a heap in the corner, quickly following with the rest of his coverings.
