As his cock shuddered and filled my mouth with his silver cream, I groaned with an involuntary delight. I wondered how good an idea it had been to come here. This indignity, which nevertheless gave me wood, would be a small price to pay if I could delete this brand from my forehead.
I had recently had a hook-up with a tattoo artist, which ended badly. I was very drunk at the time, but I vaguely remember going back to his place, though I don't remember now where that was. We kissed and petted for a while and I started to go down on him. I blame the unsettling effect of too much alcohol and my gag reflex for what happened next: I got sick on him. After that, I passed out. When I woke up, I was home, though I don't remember how I got there. I also had a note from the tattooist telling me this was his way of making me pay for giving him blue balls and getting sick all over his lap. When I saw my forehead in the mirror, I discovered the word 'cumslut' inked into my forehead with red lettering outlined in black.
To go out, I tried to hide the lettering by wearing a cap low on my forehead. Sometimes the shadow of the visor completely obscured the tattoo. Other times, more critical eyes made out the inscription and showed surprise or humour. Other eyes grew lusty, and over the past few days, though I made the effort to stay in as much as possible, I had been boldly taken orally or anally by tramps, pizza delivery guys and grocery store clerks.
I tried cosmetics to hide the tattoo, but even if it successfully disguised the tattoo, I couldn't make the treated area the same colour as my natural skin. Also, the make-up wasn't durable enough to stand up to my sweating forehead. I treated the area with a tattoo fading cream but I could see no immediate improvements.
So, I did some research online about tattoo removal. Laser treatments could remove tattoos in just a few sessions, but red was one of the hardest pigments for the lasers to break up and fade. The costs of the process were not pretty for a man of my means, nor could the work be done by the time I returned to work from vacation in just a few days, but those estimates were from a laser therapy clinic. The literature I read also said that some tattoo parlours have lasers and offer removal services. I reasoned that tattooists might be willing to move the sessions closer together and get the job done quicker. I checked online resources for local businesses and found there were over ninety tattoo parlours in the city. Only two advertised 'laser tattoo removal'. Visits were by appointment only. I called the first parlour and a man took down my name and told me to be there by three o'clock the next afternoon.
I wore a bandage around my head to completely hide the 'cumslut' brand on my forehead. When I arrived at the parlour, I was uncompromised by men who might have been tempted to use me if they saw the inscription above my eyes. When I entered the shop, a voice in the back called out that he would be right with me.
I looked around the parlour. There were dozens of patterns and designs on the wall ranging from the cute to the obscene. A couple of chairs and a couch created a lounge area in the shop. There were binders on a table filled with additional designs. The floor was checkered black and white tile.
When the tattooist came out, he was a lean fellow with a cap of curly brown hair. He was clean-shaven with a few facial piercings. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He had tattoos all over his neck and arms. It looked like good quality work and I assumed he designed the patterns himself. He was a living portfolio of his art.
He looked at the clock and saw it was three p.m., so he greeted me tersely. "You're the guy who needs a tattoo removed super-quick?"
"Yes," I said.
"Is that it under the bandages?"
"Yes."
"Alright." I felt ever so slightly intimidated when he crossed to the front of the shop and locked the door, but I remembered this business was by appointment only. It made sense he would be locking the door so he could give his one customer his full attention. "Let's go in the back and I'll have a look under the lights."
We walked behind the counter into his work space. Now that we were in his studio, he introduced himself as Greg. At his direction, I lay back in a reclining chair and he turned on a strong lamp. It almost felt like I was at the dentist. He peeled off the bandages and I blushed as the layers hiding my shame were quickly peeled.
When my forehead was exposed, Greg whistled.
"I think I see the problem," he said with a sympathetic smirk.
"Yes," I said, quickly glossing over the content of my tattoo and pressing him for his professional opinion. "Do you think it can be removed? How long will it take? I'm on vacation now but I'm expected back at work on Monday."
"That's only five days from now," Greg said, as he continued to examine the tattoo. "From what you said, you already know red is one of the hardest colours to remove. The black can probably be faded out in three or four sessions. The red... that might take five or six sessions. Maybe more. And they can't be hurried. The skin has to heal between treatments. Looking closely, I see that there is some deliberate-looking scarring. If we fade the pigments completely, the word 'cumslut' will still stand off your head in scar tissue. That can likely be removed by a cosmetic surgeon, but that's not for me to say."
I didn't like the sound of these delays. "Can we start now?"
