I had to argue with him to keep my ears pierced. My mother had gifted them to me for my twelfth birthday. And he despised tattoos. There was no tellin... what he would do if I came home with a tatt, if you believed all his bluster. In reality he was a pussy. I knew deep down that I could do anything and he would eventually accept it. That’s why I had no second thoughts about getting a small heart tattoo just above my vagina. And why I allowed myself to be fucked by the tattooist and his brother. ..uncontrollably....I felt as though Iwere going to melt. And then he'd continue with the conversation and withina minute or two I'd compose myself.Looking back, I guess I was falling under his control even then.We'd discussed virtually everything in the past, there were no taboos. Allof the (to my mind) shocking, embarrassing fantasies that I harboured,fantasies I'd tried to repress but that just never went away...we talkedabout them all, with no judgement, no lecherous comments, just. More

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