How To Draw Stretch Marks Novels & Stories

“The dark line here it’s darker than it was yesterday. And the way my tits feel… heavy. Like they’re full of something else now.” Mark frowned, the smile faltering. He sat back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dark line? What? That’s just… stretch marks, right? From the first one. You looked perfect in the last ultrasound pictures. They said the line was faint, just a shadow.”

but it felt too good. Then came the moment of truth. "If you want me to go further, you’ll have to loosen the robe," she said gently. "Just so I can work the muscles properly." My eyes snapped open. "No, no. Let’s just keep it at the shoulders for now." I didn’t want her.... or anyone else.... seeing my stretch marks. I wasn’t ready. Not even for someone as sweet as Sara. She didn’t push. Just nodded and went back to kneading my shoulders. I sighed in relief and slowly let my face settle into the padded table, drifting somewhere between sleep and bliss.

Why do the stretch marks look just like the ones on the pendant you gave me? Denise looked anxious for a moment before comforting me, "You must be imagining things, Eliza. Stretch marks are genetic. My mom told me about how your mom's belly was covered in stretch marks as well after she gave birth to you. That's why Dad never touched her after giving birth… "Oh, that's not what I mean, Eliza. Please don't get me wrong. My boyfriend got me an ointment from overseas that works great on stretch marks. I'll deliver it over to you one day soon."

I move in front of my mirror to marvel at my round belly, running my hands over my stretched skin. I’d been worried that my stretch marks would be gigantic since my body is trying to cram nine months of growth into six, but I see only a few feathers of purple and white around my sides and breasts. It’s also difficult to feel self-conscious about them when my mate insists on calling them love marks’ and kisses them every chance he gets.

His voice is that of someone who has reached a foreign river and looks for the first plank to cross. I take the charcoal. My outline trembles at first—the curve of the lake, the shore, small lines for the pillars, spirals for the grooves, a dashed line for the bridge until I stop, because that’s as far as I could see without looking. For the wall, I draw a looped mark: no edge, no frame.

My belly is a perfect, taut swell, skin stretched tight and glowing, faint silver stretch marks cracking across my hips like lightning bolts. Levi finds me standing there, shirt open, staring at myself with wide eyes. He steps behind me, huge hands sliding around to cradle the bump, lips brushing my neck. “There’s my gorgeous boy,” he whispers, voice reverent. “Look how pretty you are knocked up with family seed.” I whimper, leaning back into him. “It’s real. It’s really happening.” “Been real since the first load I put in you,” he says, thumbs tracing the stretch marks. “These are my marks. Proof you’re carrying what I gave you.”

Sara stretched her claws and pointed its tip to her chest. She pushed firmly and the blade stabbed her skin. The dark blood poured in the wound and mixed with Sara's body leaving a black mark. 'Again!' She took out the saber and dipped it in the cask and then she stabbed her chest again. As she repeated the process, a figure began to appear on her body. Sara took two hours to complete the drawing and when it was over it covered her entire right chest area and a half of her shoulder, as for the pain she felt during the process, it didn't even make her tremble.

I sat at my small desk under the glow of a single lamp, sketchbook open, charcoal pencil in hand. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of the city. I started slowly, the way I always did when no one was watching. First, loose gesture lines quick, confident strokes that captured movement rather than perfection. I drew the curve of a woman’s back arching, hips tilted, thighs spread. The pose felt familiar. It was me on Damien’s massage table, head thrown back while his tongue worked between my legs. My breath quickened. The pencil moved faster.

Drew surprises me by stopping our heated kiss and pulling away, only long enough to roll the boxers completely off before hovering back over me and crashing his lips back onto mine. I feel him tug at the hem of my camisole but I refuse to take it off. Instead, I buck my hips up, allowing him to slide my pajama shorts and panties down my hips. We may be in the dark but I'm not ready for him to see all of me yet. There's no telling if he can see the white scars that are on my lower belly from the weight loss. I took a chance the other day when we were swimming, but I was lucky to have put on a coat of Tarra's bronzing lotion that you couldn't see the almost invisible stretch marks. I feel his

Jonathan moaned softly, his hips lifting slightly as the cool ink touched his warm skin. “It feels good,” he whispered. I smiled under the mask and kept going. I drew a small possessive symbol right next to his cock, then moved higher and wrote “Mine” across his left chest, near his heart. I made sure the brush strokes were slow and teasing. I leaned down and licked his nipple while I painted, sucking on it until he was squirming. “Stay still,” I warned, but my voice was rough with lust. I moved between his legs again and lifted them up. I spread his ass cheeks and started drawing another small mark right above his hole. It was a simple “W” that only I would see when I fucked him.