It's difficult growing up sheltered. You literally feel like growing up under an overbearing regime called parents. They dictate everything you do, where you go, and even who your friends should be. I think very few nonAsians can relate and I had very few of them for friends while growing up because my parents only allowed Asian kids from affluent families to be in my social circle. So naturally you can imagine how much I enjoyed college. It was my chance to get away, to be my own woman, and to make my own decisions.
They're right, of course. The psychologists. They say when a young person is suppressed all her life, she has a need to rebel, to break free. Well, I didn't quite go overboard, but I wanted something to symbolize my freedom, something that was just for me. That was when I decided on a tattoo. You may not think that is a big deal, but in a strict Asian family, this is pretty tantamount to open rebellion. However, I was 18, I was young and not quite ready to be so brave. I wanted one that could be hidden, yet provocatively enough to suggest I was independent.
My dorm roommate was one of those all tat up Goth with multiple piercings and dark makeups. I didn't want to be like her of course, but for a naïve girl who knew nothing about tattoos, she was my only source for information. She told me it was important to find a tattoo parlor that was trustworthy because you could easily end up getting an infection or even worse, HIV from dirty needles. So you can imagine my gratefulness when she suggested a place. Because it was my first time, she asked if I wanted her to come with me. However, college is about growing up, being independent, so I chose to go alone.
My classes ended around 6 pm and it was already dark when I headed into town and found the place. It wasn't too shabby, but it was also not in the rich part of town obviously. When I went in, it was as I expected, a dimly lit store with many tattoo designs posted on the walls. I thought it was empty before a voice called out when I was about to leave. You'd think it was some gangly bearded biker freak, but instead I met a very kind faced old man. He was bald with a thin white hair comb over, wearing a pair of gold spectacles, and dressed in a shirt and jeans. From his rolled up sleeves, I could see the beautiful tattoos covering both his forearms. Truth is, if he was more of a shady kind of guy, I'd walk out immediately. However, his clean look and grandfatherly smile made me feel at ease.
As we chatted in pleasantry, I flipped through the tattoo book until I found the cutest looking butterfly. He suggested I put it on my shoulder or ankle, but I chose my lower back. I wanted it somewhere provocative, yet easy to cover up when needed. Hell, if my parents ever found out about the tattoo, I'd be in a whole lot of mess. In a somewhat unexpected grandfatherly stern tone, he replied, "Tats in that area are called tramp stamps. Only naughty girls get it there, not a good studious young lady like yourself."
I was both flattered and insulted by his words. Was I so dull that in a few minutes of conversation he had already labeled me some sort of nerd? Boring overachiever? A good obedient child, the way my parents raised me? When I insisted on the tramp stamp, he shrugged and told me to unbuckle my jeans and get on the padded tattoo table faced down. It was an awkward feeling I admit, especially when I felt his wrinkled hands pulling my jeans off those luscious butt cheeks and left it around my slim thighs. Then before I could react, my panties were unexpectedly pulled half way off my ass. Turning my head around, I was about to inquire when he answered, "They're too high up and will make the work difficult."
I never had a tattoo before and shit, it stung. Each time the needle touched my soft skin, I twitched in pain. After only a few minutes, he sat up in his stool and said, "We can't do this. You're moving too much."
Not wanting to give up, I promised I would be still but the old man was unconvinced. Then without thinking, I nodded when he offered to help. From under the padded tattoo table, he pulled out a pair of leather cuffs as I looked on in puzzlement. Suddenly, before I knew what was happening, he cuffed both my wrists together stretched above my head as I lay on my squished titties. Then on the other side, he did the same with my ankles and I found myself bound tightly to the table. In a reassuring voice he muttered, "Don't worry, many people react this way during their first time. These will hold you still so I can finish the job."
There was a strange feeling that came over me, a mixture of arousal and fear. I'd never been tied down before and naughty thoughts ran through my mind as the shop owner tightened the straps. However, I still couldn't deal with the pain as I cried and continued to struggle, buckling against my restraints while squeezing and flexing my ass each time the needle touched me. Minutes later, again in frustration the old man asked if I needed more help. I didn't know what he meant, only that I wanted to get this done so I reluctantly agreed. That was when I felt my panties being pulled all the way down to my jeans around my thighs. A sudden gasp escaped me when his fingers spread my pussy lips open and a soft round plastic object was shoved deep into me. I turned around just in time to see the old man press a small remote control before the object started vibrating inside my cunt.
I was not a virgin, but shit I had never had foreign objects shoved into me before. The sudden sensation rushed a feeling of shame across my body as I realized my cunt was becoming wet. Cringing my eyes and flexing my muscles tightly, I tried to resist the urge but within minutes my body willfully surrendered without my consent as I cringed my eyes and moan softly, "omg... omg... omg..."
With my cunt on fire, I didn't even noticed when the old man went back to finish the tattoo. I didn't know how long it lasted, but my eyes were closed the whole time while cunt juice flowed out of my wet pussy. Finally the old man said to me it was done and I sighed in relief before opening my eyes. As he squeezed a handful of my soft firm ass, he looked down on me and commented, "I think you're going to be very pleased with this work. It is one of my best."
Flinching my ass to his touch as he groped me, I frowned and whimpered, "What... what are you doing?"
Suddenly the kind expression disappeared from his face and was replaced by a sadistic grin as he replied, "Ever seen a butterfly flap its wings?"
I was confused at his words before I felt his hand pressing between my silky slim thighs again. Then to my shock, I realized he was pushing another soft round plastic thing between my clit and the padded table. I stared at him with the softest puppy eyes while shaking my head and mumbling, "No no no no no... please... no..."
The moment he turned on the 2nd vibrator, I started to throb hard against the padded table, jerking and twitching while flexing my butt cheeks. As I groaned and moaned, the old man said to me, "Good... look at those wings flap... perfect."
As my body lost control to the pleasure, I felt a hard sting and realized he had pulled my head up with a fistful of my hair. Looking into my grimacing face he scowled, "Are you a poser? One of those goody two-shoes who wants a tat to look cool?"
"No... sir," was all I could mutter as my body throbbed to the rhythm of the vibrators in and below me.
