Easy Hourglass Tattoo Drawing Novels & Stories

Annie's POV The store is small and intimate tonight with how lightning flashes from outside the glass window. A small moan and a low hum of the aircon nearby. I sit with my legs swinging on the high table watching my best friend work. Ashton has his dark shades in his hair, holding back the long strands, his back is bent and his focus on the tattoo he is drawing on the girl. The girl asked for a star on her left breast and fuck, I can't stop watching the way Ashton's gentle hands takes care of her.

We spend an hour picking the exact shade (deep storm-cloud purple with a faint shimmer that shifts to ocean teal when the light hits it). Then I hand the guy behind the counter my design sketch: - Left toe: tiny blackbird in flight - Right toe: tiny river-wolf silhouette - Heel tab on both: three blackbird beads in silver thread - Inside tongue: the forty-first line of Deep Script in microscopic Atlantean (the one about forgiving the tide) The guy doesn’t even blink. This is Hot Springs. He’s seen weirder. Shoe guy: “Two weeks. You want the glow-in-the-dark soles too?”

" I looked him in his eyes and he gave a small, sad smile. "It is. I'm glad we came to do this together. Is matching tattoos too cheesy?" I snorted and shrugged. "So what if it is? It's not for anyone else but us." After about half an hour, his dad came back to us and showed us a beautiful sketch of a lily with a little bit of greenery in the background. It looked almost exactly like I pictured it. And I noticed he added something on the inside that made my heart break a little bit. It was a tiny baby, curled up in a fetal position, asleep. It was almost indiscernible, but when I saw it I took a deep shaky breath.

The complete watershed in my life. Dazzled by the delicate features that went from the proximity of her neck at the beginning of her spine, to the lumbar... Oh your sins... My index finger caressed the features aimlessly, bending me over to look closer, paying attention to the small details, it was a veritable labyrinth, where the lines in Arabic were delicately contoured forming leaves and black petals, it was visible that there was always an empty space on the side so that new drawings could be made on her skin, but the representation of life, like a trophy that he exposed his glories which he did not regret left me dazzled.

Diana sat in the lounge chair, hugging her knees close to her chest. A small, hitching sigh wracked throughout her. She inspected her hand for the thousandth time, peering at those crescent-shaped marks that Hecate's touch had left on her skin. They looked like tiny tattoos, drawn with black lines and resembling little moons. She had one on the inside of her wrist, another on that soft part beneath her thumb, and another right in the middle of her palm.

VANESSA My fingertips ghost over the delicate lines of the drawing in my lap, in awe of the painstaking detail that went into every stroke of the pencil to create it. It’s a depiction of me- like every other sketch in this book- and in this one, my eyes are the main feature, crinkled at the edges, a giveaway that I’m smiling even though my fists are tucked in front of my mouth to hide it. My hair frames my face in loose waves, every strand etched with such precision that you can see the movement in the drawing like it’s captured a moment in time.

Coloured chalks in hand, she is deep in concentration. The noisy chatter of the young adults as they take their seats behind her barely registering as she concentrates on the task in hand. She has already drawn the parted legs and rounded arse cheeks and was now working on the pussy lips, the outer labia. Her drawing was graphic in its anatomical correctness and state of arousal.

She was upset that I didn't recognize her, and seemed deeply upset when I pushed her arms away and stared at her. Despite the simple black dress, the neckline was deep enough for the tattoo of his capital sin to be quite significant and easy to decipher. In the center of the small trunk was the image of a fat badger with his mouth wide open, where a small man fell into it. Around the animal, crosses, tombstones and flames spiralled over the woman's pale skin. The rest of the drawing was not noticeable enough for me to lose more than a few seconds staring, so I looked away when she also looked.

The remnants of pain were still trying to occupy a place on the sensitive reactions in the nerves in her body, like they were causing an electric shock. Moreau's arm moved tentatively to greet the mirror that Abihirt brought closer. She quickly adjusted her sitting position. She was transfixed by the reflection of the nipple clamps on her breasts. There was no clue what Abihirt would do in the future, but Moreau tried not to think too far ahead this time. Immediately drew attention to the new tattoo—a small one under the chest. Beautiful. The sketch of a rose seen in the studio earlier, with budding petals and covered by a stem that was only half, as the rest was on Abihirt's new tattoo. Rig

she yells back, then pulls away from the curb. I watch her taillights disappear down the empty street, my stomach doing little flips. I’ve wanted this tattoo for months. A delicate vine of roses curling over my left hip bone. Something pretty and feminine and mine. Tonight feels perfect. The air is cool, the city quiet, and I’m finally doing it.