Gangsta Prison Art Tattoos Novels & Stories

The love of my life. Silvy The day after Goof proposed and claimed me he took me to Tank's tattoo shop to get my mark. Was I nervous? Hell yes. I was nervous about the entire process. Tank, bless the gentle giant, let me bring Ant in with us. Ant was a hit at the shop. I was a little worried the receptionist might not give him back. It took Tank forty five minutes to finish the work on my shoulder. According to Goof that is the least sexy part of my body. Did it burn? Sure. But not as bad as I thought it would be. I wanted to see what it looked like. Tank stood me in front of his mirror. It was amazing. It looked my the Renegades emblem with a motorcycle driving through the middle of it. A

“When I was younger, bouncing between foster homes, I got tattoos to feel in control. To mark myself as changed, different, better. But the ink didn’t fix anything. I just carried the same pain under prettier skin.” “What did fix it?” she asked quietly. “Time. Therapy. Actually dealing with my shit instead of just decorating over it.” I wiped away excess ink. “And art. Real art, not just tattoos. Painting let me process everything I’d buried.” “Is that why you have this shop? To help other people process?” “Maybe.” I’d never thought of it that way before. “Or maybe I just like stabbing people for money.” She laughed, surprising us both, and the sound did something dangerous to my chest.

#TattooArtistRomance #BikerLove #HiddenDesires #InterracialRomance #PassionateEncounter #LGBTQRomance #WinterPassion #TenderKiss #IrresistibleAttraction #SharedDesire Always read tags. So you can skip if the themes are not to your taste. *** As the last buzzing of the tattoo machine faded into silence after two hours, I hummed in satisfaction and wiped the last remnants of ink from my client's forearm. “All done,” I announced and stepped back to admire my handiwork with a proud smile. The design of a roaring lion now adorned his skin. The final art looked similar yet extraordinary to the reference picture. Not to be cocky, but definitely, I was the hardest tattoo artist in town.

I moved back to the current recording. She is still in the position, staring at the ceiling. I will ignore the flower part, shawty. You might feel ashamed or whatever but you will not forget the good time you had. "You finna feel my lips inscriptions on that pussy all the time." *********** NEXT DAY..... I stood close to the window, fixing my wrist button as I stared at my compound. I am dressed in a black suit with a turtle neck shirt inside. It is a fucking new day and I am getting ready for a meeting with some artists.

“The tattoo shop.” I decided to go to the same tattoo shop where I got the tattoo drawn. Harry had said they have the best tattoo artists in the city of Boston and even when I looked at their reviews online this morning, they were full of praises from customers who ‘wished they could rate more than five stars’. It was called GK Tattoos and the shop didn’t look anything like the last time I was here. The room was ridiculously spacious with a clean aesthetic and the only things adorning its pristine white walls were framed pictures of tattooed bodies.

“Yeah? Maybe once my ass is healed you can turn the puncture wound into one of them cool, fake bullet holes you see on motorcycles and pickup tailgates.” “Please. I’m an artiste. I have something way better in mind. Something hip-fun-sexy-cool.” Suspicion clouded Colt’s face. “I already told you. You ain’t tattooing the area around my nipples. Ever.” “But this new pattern is so awesome. Turquoise and orange outlined in black and red, that looks like flames—” “No way, no how.” “Just hear me out.” “Dammit, Indy, I said no. Why are you so dang fired up about doin’ this?”

From shoulder to shoulder, the ink sprawled like a chaotic crime scene—tribal swirls, demonic curls, and angry squiggles that might’ve once meant something, but now just screamed, “I don’t pay taxes and I bite.” At first glance, it resembled ancient warrior markings. At second glance, it resembled the fever dream of a drunk artist with a grudge. The patterns wrapped around his muscles like they were trying to strangle him from the inside. And those cracks? Not stretch marks—oh no. These were the kind of inky fissures that made you wonder if his skin was about to open up and release a small demon named Jordan Jnr. Okay, enough with ogling at those creep tattoos. I shifted my gaze to the rest

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."

Another one of the gangster came forward, his body filled with tattoos like that of a leopard. “Didn't he tell you?” I cocked my eyebrows, taking slow steps towards them. “That motherfucker stole from me, so it is only wise for me to come for what’s mine.”

“What do you think you’re doing here?” His question drew my attention to the tattoos on his upper bicep, and I noticed that all of the men wearing short or sleeveless tops were sporting the same one. It was an insignia, one I recognized only because I’d come across it in prison. I knew it was associated with an underworld gang and only then did I realize the extent of the situation I was finding myself in.