tatts Our Tale

Greetings everyone, I’m new to this place and wanted to share my tale. Based on my initial introduction: I am a 65-year-old widower who has worked as a professional tattoo artist since 1983. Having spent that much time in the trade, I have inked nearly every inch of the human body possible. Over the decades, having witnessed it all, I became somewhat cynical about the process and viewed it simply as part of my daily routine. I met my wife on MySpace; we chatted for a few weeks before she invited me over for steak dinner and to stay the night. We connected well. After some time passed, I moved in with her, and months later we tied the knot (my third marriage, hers second). We were both head-over-heels, and life was wonderful. She already had several large tattoos when we met and spent considerable time in tattoo parlors, so she was accustomed to people being quite bare. She would visit my shop regularly, and often I’d have a young, attractive client sitting there in her panties and t-shirt while getting inked. She never caused a fuss and accepted it gracefully. Later, she found employment at a dog grooming and boarding facility, which suited her passion for animals perfectly. Consequently, I saw less of her during work hours. Here is some more background. We met in 2008 when I was 49 (divorced for three years) and she was 48 (widowed for three years). We had both lived independent lives within the biker community. She blew me away from the moment I saw her: 5’8”, platinum blonde hair, full-figured with well-shaped hips and a distinct Norwegian look. Very self-assured and experienced in life, I knew she was my soulmate. For five years we lived passionately, enjoying every moment as if it were our last. One evening when I returned home, she started asking me which body parts I had tattooed and whether I had received any “tips”. Her meaning escaped me at first, so I answered yes naturally and proceeded to list them off. She became a bit sharp with me, saying you know what I mean, but I just stared at her in disbelief. I didn’t understand. I am aware of the tipping culture between tattoos she explained, and I simply replied that it’s not my style. The next day we spoke again, and she admitted she was feeling quite insecure and had let her imagination run wild with logic. I reassured her that I wasn’t interested in any young beauties trying to get a discount, especially since I already have such a rare gem at home. I believed the issue was resolved. A week later, she suffered a severe heart attack that severely damaged the left side of her heart. After spending ten days in the cardiac ICU, she came home to wait for a transplant. We had several talks during the following week. She still harbored nagging doubts; perhaps because she is now restricted from strenuous activity, I might lower my standards and stray with someone younger and prettier. I promised her that I would do whatever it takes to ensure that never happens. Then came the big question: whether I would wear a chastity device while at work. Without hesitation, I said yes. I wanted her to realize she is the center of my world and that I will do anything to maintain that status quo. I agreed without knowing exactly what kind of device it would be, but I knew if it eased her stress, I was happy to comply. After all, it’s only for eight to ten or eleven hours each day, mostly while sitting, and I really wanted her to be content.