Black Widow Spider Web Tattoo Novels & Stories

She could never have imagined that the brushes in front of her had been intended for guests. When the fog faded from the mirror, she opened her eyes and swore at her reflection. She could see the red and purple marks of the hickeys he had given her on her chest and neck. Then she put a trembling hand at the base of her neck. A kind of black tattoo had taken shape there. Three parts stood out. At the top stands the head of a black wolf baring its fangs. Then, behind the head of the animal, a crescent moon was drawn. And finally, just under the wolf's mouth, two elegantly intertwined letters: M.B.

Both cobras faced each other in their defense position on his midriff, their fangs in display, and their forked tongues stuck out. She didn't see the whole tattoos as his towel covered them; she knew the cobras extended to his crotch. At least she completely saw the diabolic tattoo of a furious wolf on his right breast. Beads of water trickled from his damp hair down to his face. Strands of his wet hair fell over his forehead, as his hair was unkempt. Steams erupted from his body like he doused himself in a boiling tub.

He bent his head and tongued the tattoo on her right butt cheek. India sucked in a quick breath. Then he turned his head and tongued the tattoo on her left butt cheek. Another hissing intake of air. Colt flattened his tongue and dragged it up and down her spine, over the infinity symbol—two long, twisted black lines—a tattoo that started above her butt and ended at the gigantic butterfly spread between her shoulder blades. No traditional tramp stamp for his India. Her skin was a canvas; every marking on her was a work of art.

, he asked sarcastically. Venitia overlooked his sarcastic question and said "There was a time I read about the black spider poison and...." She was hastily interrupted. "What do you know about the poison", Luca asked "I was going to explain that before you interrupted me", Venitia glared at him. "Sorry", he muttered. "As I was saying; the poison was gotten from the black widow spider, the rarest specie of spiders. Once it gets into the body of the host, it kills the host within hours...."

He had raven black hair that I first thought were dreads at first glance but then I realized they were actually neatly made thick braids that breached down to his ribs, and covered his round face. He also had almond shaped eyes like the Asian looking small brute behind me, the only difference was this guy had silver–red eyes. Ripped leather black pants with only a silky robe–like jacket he had on. Why wasn't he wearing any shirt? His entire brown chest was consumed with red ink of a flame illustration up to his collarbone, from there was a simple swirl of red and black spider tattoo on the side of his neck then a red ink of three small spheres in triangular formation on his forehead.

My beloved, at that hour, died to protect this unusually damned woman, named Haydée What, this gangster didn't have enough money for a whole grill? Yes, apparently, he didn't pay well enough to be betrayed by another member and murderer of the rival gang. With a tattoo of a spider web on her right temple, running down below her ear, in that spider part of the tattoo on her neck and some cursive writing. The screech of the tires sounded on the road, and it was just enough to see the small spark of panic on his face. He looked back.

But my eyes kept moving down, taking in every detail, committing it to memory even though I knew I shouldn't. And then I saw it. On his right hip, just above the waistband of his sweatpants, partially visible where the fabric sat low on his hips. A tattoo. A spider tattoo. Black and detailed, about three inches across, sitting right there on his hip bone. The world seemed to tilt sideways. All the air left my lungs. My vision tunneled until all I could see was that tattoo. That exact tattoo. I knew that tattoo. I had seen it before. Had stared at it for long minutes. Had traced it with my fingers. Had kissed it.

The light traveled over the line of his shoulders and the slope of his spine I noticed a tattoo on his back close to his shoulders I hadn’t picked up before: a spider inked over what looked like the faded outline of a skull. Faint shadows of the old design showed beneath the new one. I considered asking, but some things felt private, like bookmarks in someone else’s book. I let it be.

Long jagged lines that once ran from my shoulders down to my waist. I covered them eventually after overcoming my fear of riddles of course. The tattoo artist worked for nearly ten hours straight, weaving thick black ink over the damaged skin until the scars disappeared beneath the design of a massive spider spreading across my back. Its legs stretch outward over my shoulders, the body resting directly over my spine. The bell rings and my opponent steps forward. He is large, muscular, the type of fighter who relies on raw power rather than strategy. Normally I might enjoy testing him slowly, breaking him down piece by piece.