Cute Stingray Tattoo Novels & Stories

As she unbuttoned his shirt, she noticed the tattoo of a horse on his neck which was mostly concealed by his shirt. "This is one of Christopher Stallion's men," she said. "What?" "Look at him," she said, pointing to the tattoo. "That is impossible," the governor incredulously. "My men are all trusted men." "But he has the tattoo of a horse on his neck. It would interest you to know that Stallion has a similar tattoo, and so does every member of his gang. Do you doubt it? I have a tattoo of a scorpion on my back because I am a Black Scorpion. All the members of the gangs have tattoos on their bodies."

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.

Her companion replied, equally impressed, "Yeah! Where did they find this model? He has a remarkable build and a gorgeous back!" At that, Annie's gaze landed on the red birthmark at my waist. She froze for a moment, then shook her head and scoffed. "He's okay. Compared to others, he's still far from perfect." With a sharp, mechanical buzz, Hudson started the machine. I was pinned firmly to the chair, paralyzed by terror. The sharp needles, without any ink, pressed directly into my back, performing a brutal dry-run "tattoo". My body convulsed in pain. This forbidden blood-tattoo technique was agonizing. The needles sliced through my skin at high speeds, using my own blood to trace the design.

I carry my face from his chest slowly and carefully, not to wake him up I roll over and lie on my side. I admire his sinful beauty, if I can just touch it once more. That's right I can touch it, after all he's sleeping. I flatten my palm on his chest and feel each rhythmic movement his chest makes when he breathes. I outline his body with my hands, over the six divisions on his belly to the tattoo on his chest. I remember when he got that, I came back tired from the classes I had and he came into my house grinning like he just won a lottery. He made me close my eyes, trust me I still cheated, opening my eyes slightly to try to take peaks of whatever surprise he was bringing up. When I opened

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.

“I am. Who's asking?” He visibly breathes out in relief and holds out a hand for a handshake. On his outstretched hand is a tattoo of a turtle, the tattoo very similar in style to the one I saw on my older seatmate on the plane. It’s larger too and coils around his wrist in a similar pattern. The turtles head rests on the inside of his palm while its legs fall to his wrist, there’s a splash of clear blue water wrapped around the green turtle and for a second I wonder if life-like tattoos are starting to become a trend here. After discovering I’ve done nothing but stare at his hand, I immediately grasp his palm so I don’t appear rude. “It’s nice to meet you Coral Ray, I’m Devon Prescott. I wa

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.”