A quick bit of impromptu fiction, based on the idea of getting a tattoo:

She leaned against the cushion, breath held in anticipation. Her breasts squished against the pad in front of her chest were a little painful, but she pushed harder, thinking the pain might distract her from the other pain. The other pain which hadn't even started yet, but which she knew would. She could feel cool air on her exposed back, and every brush of breeze caused her to tense even more slightly.
"It'll be ok. You need to breathe." His voice almost made her jump. Almost, but not quite, she assured herself, realizing that if she had to assure herself of that it probably wasn't true. "If you don't want to do this, you should tell me now." His tone was calm, reassuring, but she wasn't reassured.
"It's ok, I want to." She hated the breathiness in her voice. She paused to fill her lungs with air, and looked over her shoulder to meet his eye. "I'm sure."
He shrugged and nodded as he sat in the chair behind her. "You'll feel a sting. Let me know if it gets to be too much and you need a break." She was no longer looking at him. Facing forward, she nodded curtly.
Once he started, she realized that it didn't hurt as much as she had expected. In fact, the anticipation of the pain had been much worse than the pain itself. Not wanting to disturb the artist's work she smothered the sigh that wanted to escape her chest. She would just have to keep looking. Maybe the next one would be it. Or maybe she would have to keep looking for something that would hurt enough.
As the pain continued, she relaxed more, resting her head against her heavily tattooed arms. Maybe the next one would be the one. Until then, she would just enjoy this while she could.