Cute Stingray Tattoo Novels & Stories

I end up buying several cute keychains and a pink octopus plushie. We head to the next stall where they sell shirts with bold prints of the Tropical Thunder Circuit. Some designs show a racer mid-turn which I swear looks like Reed with its red and black color palette. Others have the race logo across the chest with tropical flowers wrapped around it. Evelyn holds up a shirt against me and squints like a stylist. I laugh and shove it back onto the rack. I can’t resist buying the black and red shirt before we move to the next stall.

At least he had a shirt on that day. Then something caught my eye. On his left pec, near his heart, there was now a tattoo. Unconsciously I stepped forward so I could get a closer, better look at the newly designed tattoo. It was the name 'Baby B' in cursive italics. Under the name were two red roses in the form of an 'x'. My fingers were itching to touch the newly done tattoo but I knew better.

As my eyes follow his neck I find our mark sitting there like the most beautiful tattoo with its simplicity. The triple moon sits on our neck, the outlines clean and crisp. Inside the full moon sits two paw darkened paw prints. Three stars connected by thin lines rest above the full moon and waning crescent. Tracing the image I enjoy watching Damon shiver while I whisper, "it's beautiful."

Ohh, my sweet Rainey’s back . She had tattoos—Celtic knot bands around her right bicep and right ankle, and an image of rosary beads which lazily encircled her neck and draped serpentine down her spine—and holy Melba toast, how sexy he found them. Lawrie traced his fingertip along the pattern, keeping the rhythm of his thrusts smooth and hard and steady, traced the scrolling thorny rose vines which entwined the rosary beads themselves, on down to the ornate, double-barred Caravaca cross, tattooed right at the small of her back. He felt himself grow larger and he trembled, the familiar tingle in his sagging scrotum rising up into his abdomen; Lorraine’s muffled screams became one long satisfi

Tattoos are usually an expression of oneself. She hesitates for a moment; I can see the turmoil in her eyes but eventually she nods. CJ comes closer to me and turns around. I grab the back of the tank top and lift it over her head while her arms are crossed in her front. The realistic tattoo is a full-colored piece with an intricate golden bird cage in the center with a wolf’s head howling at the moon, an owl with its wings open, and portraits of a bear, fox and mouse intermingled with beautiful wildflowers. I run my fingers over the tattoo. Tingles touch my fingertips sending pleasure through me, but what gets me more are the scars I feel and not just a few but many scars. Now that I think

I placed my hands on his chest to steady myself, bouncing slightly on his thighs, stifling a small moan when I felt his shaft harden behind my ass crack. “What about this one?” I leaned forward, squinting at a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before. It looked like a bird… or a dead bird, etched under his bicep. The ink was rough and fuzzy, like it had been done in a rush… no like it was done by a toddler. Adrian glanced at it, then quickly looked away. I didn’t miss the slight expression that flashed across his face. “It’s nothing,” he responded too fast. I leaned closer, mouthing the words written beneath it.

I hear Tatum say. "Yes it is." I say as I continue looking up at the sky. " I wasn't talking about the moon." I hear Tatum whisper in my ear. I instantly feel my heart start to race. I look down and quickly move to the side and turn around. I look at Tatum suddenly realizing he's shirtless. The tattoo that always peeks out above his suit collar spans down his neck to his shoulder, chest, and side. Its beautiful tribal design holds many details as the lines cross over in every direction. I suddenly realize I'm staring and feel my cheeks flush.

“is just for fun.” Heat climbed up my neck. “And what’s the fun one supposed to mean?” “You’d have to find out for yourself.” His voice dipped low again, and I swore my heart skipped. One of his friends Ryan grin leaned in then, resting an elbow on the table. “You’re not the only one with ink worth showing off,” he said, tugging up his own sleeve. The tattoo was intricate, swirling with roses and blades, like beauty tangled with danger. The other two joined in, each showing me their designs a phoenix across one’s back that peeked over his collar, a serpent winding down another’s arm in precise, dangerous curves.

He thought again, "sinuous, dangerous and supremely sexual." One tattoo in particular was prominent and drew the eye; it was a bright red "slut stamp" very low on her lower back that was repeated low on her belly, just above the pubic mound. It said, in both locations, "Candy Slut to Paulo Zero." The words of the tattoo were in a pre-Columbian language that Barnes would never have a hint of. In addition, like a Bay area poster from the psychedelic era the tat's lettering was very stylized, even if it was in English it would be near impossible to read. Some English word fragments were visible in the edging and lines of the distorted shapes. Incorporated into the tat were sexual images and tri

“I’m here for a tattoo.” He leaned back, arms folding across his broad chest. The motion made the fabric of his shirt strain. “You? A tattoo?” He laughed, low and cruel. “Let me guess. Tiny heart on your wrist? Or maybe a quote about ‘strength’ in some flowery script so everyone knows how deep you are.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the design. “Lower back. Crescent moon with vines. I have the reference.”