Spine Tattoo Pain Scale Novels & Stories

Silence. I scream as loud and high-pitched as I can. His punishment is swift as a hard slap from his hand lands on my already sore ass. It cuts off the scream instantly because I’m fighting through the pain just to breathe. Damn that one hurt like hell. I get about thirty seconds of silence before the hum of the tattoo gun starts up. I can’t help it and tighten my entire body in dread. This can’t be happening to me. How wrong I am.

Chapter 2 Freya POV “Oh fuck that stings,” I gasped the second the needle hit my skin, the sharp bite digging deep into the softest part of my inner thigh. My fingers dug hard into the leather arms of the chair and my back arched right off it before I could stop myself. The pain burned hot and immediate, spreading out in sharp little waves that made my whole leg tense up, but right underneath that sting the constant deep vibration from the tattoo gun hummed straight through my flesh and settled heavy and throbbing right between my spread thighs.

Tracing the tattoos on his chest, I tried to count his scars to distract myself, but it was difficult to determine where many of them ended and others began. “All these tattoos … why did you get them?” His fingers trailed up my spine and continued to my neck, then higher up, tangling in my hair. His lips brushed my forehead, and I peered up at him. Was this simulated affection? Simulated tenderness? “Pain and pleasure,” he said in a low voice. “I can feel those like anybody else, maybe even stronger.” “But if you feel pain even stronger than others, why would you submit yourself to having a needle pierce your skin over and over again for many hours? Why do you go into the cage? Why do you se

But, I had this subtle existing pain in my spine that had always come up on strong impact. His bed ain't the soft type of shit I had in my room. His bed was far more than that. " You're a guy!" He said, I didn't say a word further, I just lied flat on my tummy. Making sure I didn't force myself too much on the spine side. And that was when his strong hands came in. He pressed right by my waist softly. I heard the soft crack in my bone. The pain was still there, but most of it was gone. I felt his hands slowly slide beneath my shirt, the hard layer of his hands sending shivers down my spine.

That's what I was—utterly, pathetically helpless. The tattoo gun dipped and rose, each puncture sending shockwaves through my body. I could feel every stroke, the skin swelling, the ink seeping deep. It burned like acid, my balls tightening in reflexive pain. I hated myself for this—for being weak, for letting him chain me down, for the way my body sometimes betrayed me with flickers of unwanted arousal amid the torment. “Why... why are you doing this?” I whimpered, voice breaking as sobs wracked me.

"So what if you know? You've already signed everything over. The house and car belong to Maia now. And since you're tied to the system, you'll be sick as a dog soon. You won't have anything left to fight with. You won't live much longer anyway!" At the mention of the system, Maia grabbed my arm, pointing at the small wound there with a triumphant grin. "Wow, it's working fast. Look at your skin—it's starting to rot already! Soon, you'll be covered in sores and pus just like I was. You'll be begging to die in no time!" The little scrape on my arm did look bad, but it was just a cut I'd gotten while cleaning, irritated by the heat. It had nothing to do with the pain-transfer system.

“I told you to leave me be. What the hell are you doing in my r—” I take one hard step toward her, and the pain detonates. A violent, crippling surge rips through my spine. My knees buckle. My hand slams against the floor as I drop, breath punched out of me. Not now. Not in front of her. Fuck! I grit my teeth, but it does nothing. The pain claws through me. White-hot and merciless. My vision blurs. I look down The black tattoos along my forearms pulse. Faint lines of red thread between them like veins burning from the inside.

I wasn't so worried anymore and I believed in his words. After about an hour longer, I realised that he was right. The tattoos didn't actually hurt that much in comparison to being beaten around by a Strigoi. The main reason why the ceremony hurt was due to the fact that I was beginning to get cramp from having to stay firmly in the same position for such a long time. Well, that and the fact that there was so much ink being etched onto my skin. It wasn't so much a real painful sensation but more of an irritatingly tingly and stinging sensation.

"I don't want to watch you die. I can't do it again." Die? Again? Blinking, I slowly came back into myself and felt all the small hurts I had been missing. My legs are scratched almost to the bone from the metal of the tank scraping across my shins. I am bleeding, but not so badly that I will not heal. Five long needles are poised along my spine, each one set above my spinal cord, woven between the overlapping scales of my back. As I look over, I feel them press in slightly and my body goes completely still as the first drops of neurotoxin enter my system.

She felt the cold muzzle of the staple gun press against the varnish at the top of her spine, just below her hairline. "This will hurt," he stated, a simple fact. The POP-HISS of the pneumatic driver was deafening. A bolt of white-hot pain seared through her as the staple punched through the varnish, the paint, and into the flesh and muscle of her upper back. She screamed, a raw, animal sound she didn't know she could still make, her perfect pose breaking as she jerked forward. "Hold!" Lucien roared, his hand a vice on her shoulder, forcing her back into position.