Frisk Drawing Novels & Stories

"Wow, that was so fast. I thought it was going to take hours or something. " "It's just a sketch; that doesn't take much time. " He explains as I stand a few steps away from him and Emerson turns the drawing to my view. My eyes widen at the sight of the beautiful craft he has created. He's right; it's more like a sketch but you can clearly tell which details are which and it looks so fucking beautiful. The outline of the way my hair rolls down my shoulders, the top that I slid off my shoulders to reveal the skin under and my hands on my crossed legs– everything is so fucking perfect and I can't believe Emerson Ford is capable of something like this.

Firm. I closed my eyes. I tried to paint in my mind. The lines were still wrong. I opened my eyes. She was licking my underarm now. Her tongue traced the muscle. The hair. The scent of me. She moaned against my skin. Her hand never stopped stroking my cock. I reached for the sketchpad beside the bed. Charcoal in my other hand. I started to draw her. The line came out clean. Sharp. Alive. I drew her eyes. The way they looked up at me. Endearing. Devoted. I drew her mouth. The way her lips wrapped around my balls. I drew her hair. The way it fell across her shoulder as she licked my underarm.

The woman at the front desk smiled when Flynn paid for two and handed us mini easels, pencils, and two packs of coloring. “What should we draw?” I asked when we sat across from each other. Flynn let his gaze trail across me once. “How about we draw each other? Then we judge each other’s drawings at the end.” My veins thrummed in excitement. I loved a good challenge. “How long?” “Twenty minutes. I’ll set a timer.” He tapped a few buttons on his phone before setting it between us. I started sketching immediately. I’d always been decent at drawing. It was nothing professional since I was going to be a doctor anyway, but I’d been doing rough sketches since I was a child.

“Dad, look!” Leo exclaimed, his voice clear but still small. I turned, stunned, to the doctor. "What is that? I thought the gift was a piece of candy." "It's a charcoal sketch I did of the Catskills. I have a small portfolio here. When I saw him with his coloring pencils, I thought he might appreciate the focus on structure and line," Frederick confessed with a wide, genuine grin. His explanation finally clicked and proved how thoughtful he was. “Thank you for being so considerate, Frederick.”

*Kiera* Will has stepped out on the balcony, I am not sure if it is the same call or if he had more to make, but he seems not to be too agitated, which I assume is a good sign. As I clear the table, the sound of Frida’s crayon scratching against the paper still echoes in the background. I sneak a glance at her… her long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders in wild tangles. She’s so absorbed in her drawing, her focus unwavering, that she doesn’t even notice me watching.

One stands out to me. The heading reads: ICE DAGGERS. In the first drawing, a woman has her hands outstretched, fingers crooked in a come hither motion. The second sketch features her arms going up, at the third, her palms turn over. Then the fourth sees her draw it back and before her, jagged icicles fromed from water hover. I replay the maneuver in my head, cataloguing it.

"What does your new friend look like, Heidi?" Heidi proudly lifted her drawing. It was a crude, childish sketch of a very tall figure standing between two giant green trees. The figure was colored completely in dark gray and black crayons, but the most unsettling part was the face. Heidi had used a bright yellow crayon to draw two massive, perfectly round circles for the eyes.

“And stay…very still.” I smile at Frankie as he does as he’s told and I open my liquid mascara, very carefully drawing a long line of it down by the edge of his lashes. As I do, I consider again how good looking he is. His face, in the end, doesn’t really lend itself to the kind of feminine lines I’ve painted on him with my makeup kit. But with that strong jaw, and his full lips, and the unfair length of his eyelashes? Damn, but Frankie really is pretty. Boy pretty.

Groaning, she grabbed the pencil and started to fulfil her heart's desire. She slumped onto the couch and sketched on the first page of the notepad. She didn't realize how the time flew by, as she spent her time perfecting her sketch. She drew a serpent that was peeking out of a human skull, ready to spit its poison to the next person who dared disturb him. She was almost done with it when Frank entered the room. Gasping, she hastened to hide the notepad in the fear of angering him. She had used something that belonged to him without his permission.

I shouldn’t be… this wet. My eyes flicked to the side table. A folder. Labeled in thick, black ink: FIORELLA. I hesitated. I shouldn’t. But my hand was already reaching. The first page—sketches. Fiorella smiling. Laughing. Lying half-naked in bed. Hair tangled. Nipples inked in perfect detail. His strokes were rougher. Angrier. More possessive. The sketches inside were older—pencil, charcoal, red ink.