How To Draw Stretch Marks Novels & Stories

Looking in, she saw Kaeden standing in front of a mirror, looking at his stomach and rubbing it. Kaeden had on gym tights and a sports bra, while barely standing up straight. “What happened now?” Turning his head to look at her, he complained, “Ma~ just look at my stretch marks. Why is my stomach so big? I haven’t been standing for long, but my legs already want to give in.” Miranda chuckled. Shaking her head, she walked into the room and grabbed the fluffy tan blanket on the bed, then looked at him. “You complain about the same thing every day.”

I read through the instructions again, memorizing each step. Draw the circle first. I didn't have chalk, so I used an eyeliner pencil that I barely used. The dark line appeared stark against the beige carpet. I traced it carefully, making sure the circle closed completely. No gaps. Place the physical component in the center. I put my hair in the middle of the circle. The dark strands looked small and inadequate there. Focus on the mental image. I closed my eyes and thought of my mother. Her smile in the photograph. The way Martha's voice had softened when she talked about missing her. I tried to imagine her somewhere right now. Walking. Breathing. Alive.

I reached for the robe and pulled it off completely. Her body was perfect, her skin was unblemished except for the tiny stretch marks that formed around her hips side and those marks were a turn on for me. Stretch marks turned me on, there was something sexual and sexy about them. She didn’t try to cover up, she stood still and allowed me drink in every inch of her, the fullness of her breast and her perky nipples, her curves. My eyes lingered at the bald spot between her thighs, it was so smooth and I couldn’t wait to run my tongue around that part.

Stretch marks and all, particularly the little moles that speckled her stomach and back. They’re a constellation he had enjoyed exploring more times than he could count. Drawing lines between them in his mind. He lifts one leg to his shoulder, and straddles her other leg. Lifting her arse to slide into her, then lowering her back down so she could relax. He puts one hand on her elevated leg, and the other roams over her breasts and skin as he moves slowly. She groans deeply as he pushes into her deeply.

It took everything not to squirm. I didn’t know how I finished, but somehow I managed to and I handed the marker back. He stepped closer and our fingers brushed again as he took it. Then he guided my hand, just for a moment, tracing a correction over the sketch. “Good,” he said, calm as ever. “Your silhouette is clear, but your proportions need control. Shorten this line here…” he tapped the waist. “...extend the legs without losing balance. Fashion exaggerates height, not distortion.”

“Th-that’s it. It’s perfect.” He pulls a marker out and holds my hand. “Start with the point of the blade here?” “Yeah.” He flicks the blue marker on my skin close to my wrist. “End of the blade here?” He holds the marker close to my skin. “Longer.” I nod as he slides the marker up my arm. “Right there.” He flicks the marker again, then draws a circle. “Then the rose will be about here.” “Perfect.” “Leni, you sure you want a tattoo that size on your forearm? It’s pretty big.”

She drawled in a low whisper, "I do." I brought her forward, allowing her to arch her back into me. She had stretch marks spanning across the swells of her breasts. The look gracing her face let me know that she was uncomfortable with me seeing them but I found them to be so fucking perfect. I brushed my lips over those markings, feeling her shiver. Using the tip of my tongue, I caressed the lines she was so self-conscious about, nipping and sucking along the skin enough to bruise red. When I was done, I pulled back and rose a brow as I analyzed my work. I was quite proud of it, she had my markings littering her entire chest, "How wet are you?"

“Someone has to keep you in line.” Later, after breakfast (which he spoon-fed me despite my protests), I sat cross-legged on the bed, my robe sliding open. The mirror across the room caught my reflection. I froze. My belly curved outward, round and undeniable now. My hips were wider. My breasts heavy, veins visible. And faint pale lines had started to spiderweb across my skin—stretch marks, soft and new. I swallowed hard, my throat thick. Grabbing the jar of cream from the nightstand, I scooped some into my hand, rubbing it onto my bump. The coolness soothed my skin, but my chest felt hot, my eyes stinging.

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.

Finally, with full concentration, she began drawing. Seeing her work, Mark lit another cigarette and, still holding the same David pose, began playing with the smoke. Sitting in one position for so long, he soon grew restless. Still, he was happy that Anna had finally started sketching him, so he remained relaxed. On the other hand, Anna seemed to be wrestling with the drawing paper, pencil in hand. The more lines she drew on the paper, the more lines of tension appeared on her face. After a while, she somehow managed to draw Mark’s face correctly. But when it came to sketching his body, her hands froze again at the sight of his open shirt.