Ink Can Be Washed Away. So Can You

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the tattoo removal techniques showed in this story are fundamentally unsafe and dangerous, so at the cost of sounding like a mid-2000s presenter, don't try this at home. The usual disclaimers apply: this is a fantasy, and in real life you should practice your relational life consensually, or not at all. All characters over the age of 18. Now, without further ado, enjoy the read!

INK CAN BE WASHED AWAY, AND SO CAN YOU

I am subject to two distinct types of bondage.

The first is a bondage I can feel with my body. It's the very little slack I'm given when I try to stretch my arms and ankles. Immediately, the cuffs chaining me to the bed remind me that my motion is constrained by a superior force.

That I've been corralled like a fleeing beast, hemmed in like sheep in a slaughterhouse, fenced in like a domesticated animal, made lesser and confined by the will of my tamer.

It's pretty powerful stuff. And yet, the second type of bondage is far more potent.

Ispyria has eyes like the ocean.

Sounds romantic, but that's not how I mean it. Of course, in popular culture and everyday life, we have a sanitised version of the ocean. It's the endless, breath-taking vista you stare pensively at while you reflect on your life. It's the gentle, cool water you splash in playfully when you go to the beach with your friends. It's the birthplace of life on earth, and the smooth highway of pleasure cruises and exciting voyages.

But deep down, we all know that's not what the ocean is. Not really.

It's a place that can kill you with cold alone.

It's a place fundamentally hostile to land-bound life, of unfathomable and inscrutable depths, a place so vast that even sunlight doesn't reach all the way through it. Our lizard brain knows that there could be anything down there. That at any point, death may be hunting beneath the waves.

In that sense, Ispyria's eyes are very much like the ocean.

You can lose yourself in them and suddenly know, in the way that only fear lets you know, that you've overextended yourself. You have swam too far. You need help, but you're too far away for anyone to hear your screams now, and the water is getting so very cold, and there's something moving just under the surface that you swear looks like a silhouette, circling you, lurking, hunting...

"Gnnnnhhh..."

It's the closest thing I can manage to a cry for help. Inaudible to anyone who could actually help me. Inaudible to anyone but Ispyria, who just finds it endearing and amusing enough to favour me with a loveless little smile.

"It's okay, Esther," she says, gently. "Just go with the tide. Let it wash you away."

It's easy to get washed away, like blotted ink. The tide is so much stronger than a mere female human body, after all, and it's all around you, in every direction, lifting and pulling you at the same time. So easy to give in.

Deep down, you know you shouldn't.

You know the tide belongs to the ocean, and if you give in to it, something really bad will happen. You know the pull belongs to Ispyria, and if you lose yourself in her eyes, something really bad will happen.

Unfortunately, I am subject to two different sets of vibrations, both contributing to erode my defences until I succumb.

One is the vibrator Ispyria pressed against my cunt after she bound me with her cuffs and twice-bound me with her eyes. It's been buzzing and building up my climax steadily and inexorably, like the rising of the tide.

The other vibration --

Hard to think about --

No, no, I don't want to --

So fucking scary --

The whirring head of Ispyria's tool moves across the inside of my wrist, and I can feel the tattoo there -- the small flock of birds I got when I left home for the first time, eighteen and free -- being ground away layer by layer.

"There we go," Ispyria says. "Look at that. Your little birds are flying away, Esther."

I try to pull my arm back, but the cuff holds me fast, because I'm--

corralled like a fleeing beast--

hemmed in like sheep in a slaughterhouse--

fenced in like a domesticated animal--

made lesser and confined by the will of my rapist--

The pain of the abrasion against my skin is like a bright, blinding light, utterly blotting out my senses with a deluge of pain... but the vibrator between my legs keeps humming.

My body doesn't know what to do with all these signals at once. It's trying to sort them into categories: pain, pleasure, fear, and arousal. That's what brains do, and it becomes all the more important when you're losing your grip on reality. Everything under the sky must be neatly sorted into tiny little boxes.

But these inputs all bleeding together now, mixing like watercolours until I can't tell where one ends and another begins.

"You got this one when you were eighteen," Ispyria says. "You thought it meant something. Freedom and independence, right? The start of your adult life. So, to remove it now that your independence has come at an end, well..."

The machine whirs, and my eyes well with tears from the pain.

"It's only fitting."

I want to argue, but there's no talking back to the ocean. I can shout to the waves that I've always been my own person, that those birds mean everything to me, that they represent--

The vibrator pulses harder and I lose the thread of the thought entirely.

"Nooow you're getting it," she says. "Feel how good it is to let go. Every time I take something away from you, you get a little reward. Doesn't that feel nice?"

In monstrous cruelty, it does.

The dermabrasion tool moves to a new spot and I realise with a sickening lurch that she's targeting the small compass tattoo on my other wrist. The one I got after my first solo backpacking trip. I picked it to remind me that I could always find my way.

"No... Not that one. Please."

"Especially that one," Ispyria says. Her ocean eyes hold mine and I feel myself sinking again, water roaring forth and sloshing and rolling and ever-advancing, until they close over my head to entomb me. "You don't need to find your way anymore, Esther. You're not going anywhere. I've got you, and I'm much stronger than you."

You can't tell a single wave apart from the ocean, they bleed into each other. So, too, pleasure and pain submerge me like a continuous tide. The grind of the dermabrasion machine, the buzz of the vibrator, the tugging of the bondage, and the pull of the gravity well nestled deep in Ispyria's eyes. They're all working in concert to unmake me.

The stimulation to my clit is getting to me, and just like the animal I am, I break out in muffled and pathetic vocalisations.

"Good girl. That's the power of association, can you feel it? Pain into pleasure. Defeat and loss into arousal. Every time something gets taken away, you feel good. Every time you become less, you want more."

She moves to my shoulder. To the tat located there, a stylised representation of the moon phases, which I got after getting together with Nicoleta the ones I got after getting with Nicoleta in university.

"No," I say in the weak and feeble voice of a victim that can only offer perfunctory resistance to her rapist. "That's for my... she was..."

"You haven't said a word to each other in years, Esther. Let me wash her away."

She gives a little giggle, almost to herself. "You soon won't be able to even recall her name, anyway."

The machine touches down and I...

I scream and I moan at the same time and I don't know which is which anymore.

"That's the spirit," Ispyria says. "Let it all out. Let it all go. Let it happen, isn't that what they say? When raping someone? And I am definitely raping you, in a much more thorough way than most people ever could rape you. But it's fine, because you deserve it. Look how well you're doing for me!"

No... no, I don't want praise from my rapist... I don't want to feel this pleasure... but I am feeling it anyway. It is being imposed upon me, violently and gleefully.

Ispyria s sanding me down, and I'm enjoying it.

"This one," Ispyria says, and her finger traces the outline of the small butterfly on my hip. "Tell me about this one, Esther."

I don't want to tell her. But her eyes are the ocean, and I'm already so far from shore. I'm just a stupid girl in the grip of the tide. Compliant, and desperate.

"My... my best friend in college, Mariya..." I hear myself say. "We got matching ones. We were going to be friends forever."

"How sweet," Ispyria says. "And where is this friend now?"

"We... we drifted apart after college."

"So it's already meaningless, isn't it?" Ispyria's eyes flash with hunger. "Just a little piece of dead history you've been carrying around on your body. Let me take it off for you."

The vibrator's intensity increases. My back arches off the bed as much as the restraints allow. Ispyria waits, patient as the tide, patient as erosion, patient as the slow grinding of glaciers against mountains.

The machine descends.

The ink comes apart under the abrading head, and while the pain is excruciating, somehow it feeds directly into the pleasure building between my legs. The wires are getting crossed. I know that tattoo removal at home is dangerous and insane. She's literally exfoliating and sandpapering layers of my skin to do this. It'll do irreparable damage to me. Everywhere she's scrubbing the ink away, scars will remain.

In those places, my skin will never be smooth again. It will heal abnormally. It will never be unmarked again. Because I will never be free and unbranded again.

"Good girl." Her free hand strokes my hair, gentle and possessive. "You're learning so fast, I knew you would. I could tell from the moment I met you that you were made for this."

Ispyria's finger traces along my ribcage, and I know what's there. The quote I got tattoo'd after I survived the car accident that should have killed me. Still here.

"My my. This one looks important," Ispyria says.

"Don't..."

Her little smile stretches a tiny bit further. She enjoys my feeble attempts at defending myself. "Tell me, pet."

My hips jerk involuntarily as my cunt seeks more of the vibrator's ministrations, and with a broken sob, the word spills out of me.

"Alyssa wrote that. After I almost died. It's her handwriting. It's... please, please don't take that one, I'll do anything..."

"You think I'm going to let you stay with your girlfriend?" Ispyria laughs. "Alyssa doesn't matter anymore. But I do like hearing you beg."

The dermabrasion tool whirs to life again.

I'm openly sobbing now. Alyssa's handwriting is being sanded off my body and I can't do anything but lie here and take it like a stupid bitch. A wet fucking whore.

"Feel that, slut?" Ispyria smirks. "Feel how your cunt is clenching right now? It's okay. You're going to cum while I erase your precious little girlfriend's note. And afterward, every time you think about her, you're going to remember this moment. You're going to remember how good it felt to have her taken away from you. Washed away by the rising tide."

"No... fuck... ooohhh..."

"Yes." The tool presses harder and the pain flares brighter. "You're almost there already, aren't you? I can see it in your face. You want to cum so badly. You want to cum while I ruin you."

It feels fitting that the damage to my skin will be permanent. The damage she's done to my psyche is also permanent, isn't it? And besides, it's like... a mark... a brand... like I'm cattle...

"Yes you do," Ispyria says. "You want that very much. More than you've ever wanted anything else. It's worth almost anything to cum like that, isn't it, pet? Even if it means I get to scar you. This way, you're going to carry me with you forever. Even if you somehow got away from me -- which you won't -- you'd still have these scars. Every time you looked down at your body, you'd remember who's your tamer."

I'd remember, yes. I'd remember who's my rapist. I'd remember who's my Mistress.

My thoughts scatter like --

Like birds.

Flying away.

"Your skin is going to be so ugly after this," Ispyria says, almost tenderly. "All rough and discoloured and ruined. Nobody else will ever want you. Nobody else will ever look at these scars and see anything but damage. But I'll look at them and see the only thing that matters: I'll see me."

I can feel myself slipping under. The water is so cold, and Ispyria's face hovers above mine, so close that it looms impossibly large in my field of vision.

No. Her eyes loom impossibly large.

Blue, and deep, and cruel, and unfathomable, like the ocean in storm. Twin diamonds etched from the deep blue sea, demanding every ounce of focus my body and brain can muster... and every ounce of servitude, too.

I'm drowning in her eyes.

My body is convulsing with the need to cum. My mind is writhing from the need to let go, with the need to just --

"Say it," Ispyria says.

"I don't --"

"Say you want to cum while I erase you."

That would be poison to my soul and nectar to my mindfucked brain and electricity to my cunt. It would be the beginning of my end. The acknowledgement of my vanquishment. The harbinger of my enthrallment. The vanguard of my destruction...

"I... want to cum while you erase me... Mistress."

Ispyria smiles. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen.

"Good girl," she says, and turns the vibrator up to its highest setting.

I scream and I cum at the same time, my whole body convulsing against the restraints, and somewhere in the back of my mind I know that something fundamental has just broken, something that was holding me together, something that made me me.

But the pleasure drowns out the knowing. My ink and my mind alike are washed away, succumbing, at long last, to the rising tide...

And disappearing, once and for all, in the unfathomable depths of my Mistress' eyes.

THE END