Drawing Stuff Novels & Stories

He holds one out to me, “see? Water soluble.” I take the marker from him, “it also says for toddlers.” “So?” He argues as he picks up another one. He shakes it briefly and draws a stick figure on the white tile, “this is you and this is me,” he tells me as he draws another one next to it. He grabs another color and draws a house, “and this is our house.” Another color and another smaller stick figure, “and this is our kid playing with our dog.”

A tear had crept out. " I'm... I'm.. Fine." I muttered, smiling and cleaning my face. Ana shot me a quizzical look and stared at my paper. " you've not drawn anything " she pointed out. " time's almost up" " oh! I'll start something now" I quickly said picking up my pencil. I stared at the paper and hesitated. I had nothing to draw. What is wrong with me? From the corner of my eyes I saw Ana roll her eyes and bring out something from her bag which she passed to me. There were papers.

And I start drawing a new one that fulfills the new fantasy I started having lately. Kingsley with his ass in the air, so full of my cum it’s starting to drip and his arms tied behind his back with ropes. Even though my cock gets hard from the moment the drawing starts to take shape, I know it won't be satisfying unless I make it as realistic as possible so I spend an hour working on the details of his face and when I finally finish drawing, my erection is so hard it hurts. I pull it out immediately and grab it in my hand to jerk off with almost punishing force because this is getting to serious creep level.

Hopefully, she saves herself and me the stress and just tells me what she had on her mind. "I like the ones where..." She gulps and tugs on her bottom lip. "I have a butt plug in my ass." Her legs press together and she pushes herself back into my chest. My imaginations are wild. I don't just stop at drawing what I see. I also envision what I would like to happen and draw them in my sketchbooks. Recently, I've gotten obsessed with drawing Celestine with something shoved in her ass. Be it a toy or my finger.

The wall she wants the painting on is completely empty; I just need to remove the white rug someone thought would be a good idea. The suitcase is on the floor. I open it and can see the colors. There are so many there that I now understand why it's so heavy. The brushes are clean. Well, two of them are. Three more are completely dirty, and the bristles are compacted with paint. I pick up a thin brush with some black paint and begin to outline the lines of the drawing. I found a whale on G****e. It's easier to see than to use my imagination alone. I lost the habit of drawing, but little by little it's back. The whale is taking shape; now I just need to draw the firmer lines in a light tone.

The coloring comes next, then I decided to stop when my back felt too tired to continue. I was a hyper-realistic drawing artist in real life. There were people out there waiting for my newest creation. I had followers, and collectors, who knew they were real-life drawings. Those sick wannabe killers made my life easier when they were willing to pay a crazy amount of money for my creations. I was known for my dark arts, lots of blood, decapitations, and violence, all cringing effects for first-timers. But for those who have the thirst, they seek me out privately and I rarely had my drawings on display for long since they would quickly sell off once I put them on my web. Maybe I should draw th

“This was from a free-draw session last week. The prompt was ‘My Family at Home.’” I looked down. Katie had drawn our mansion with meticulous detail. There she was, a stick figure with a yellow dress in the center. To her left, a tall stick figure labeled ‘Daddy’ stood at a big box labeled ‘Office.’ Lines came out of the box, like rays. To her right, a smaller stick figure labeled ‘Mommy’ stood at a box labeled ‘Bakery.’ Similar rays. The three figures were connected by dotted lines, not solid ones. In the corner, she’d drawn a small, smiling sun. But between the ‘Office’ and the ‘Bakery,’ she’d drawn a thick, black, scribbled wall.

You were never my boy toy. I took a sit farther away from him, opened the sketch pad and started drawing on it the design which I had thought about yesterday. My pencil worked on its own accordance on the paper. I forgot that Dhruv was even in the room and worked with my myself. The ideas pouring out of my heart, making my hands move. One sleek here, one there. Some layers here and there. It happened for some more time when my design was done.

As he open The door opens. The crying subsides. I press the crayon harder against the paper until it snaps. I stare at it for a second. Then I drop it. I don’t fix it. I don’t pick another color. I just sit there. The crying eventually stops. Of course it does. It always does when he goes in there. I look down at my drawing. It’s supposed to be the new house. I tried to draw it earlier, with the big windows and the long hallway and the stairs that make noise when you step on the third one.

A piece of paper fluttered out. It was a drawing. Crayons on construction paper. Catherine picked it up, and her blood ran cold. The drawing showed two stick figures standing on a jagged white line (the ice). One was labelled "Daddy," drawn in blue. The other was labelled "Sad Man," drawn in red. They were fighting. But above them, the sky was ripped open. A black hole was drawn in the clouds. And coming out of the hole wasn't light. It was a tentacle. A massive, black, spiraling limb covered in eyes.