Tattooed Wife Novels & Stories

We looked so much alike it was terrifying. “What… What is this? Why… Why are we dressed the same?” I asked no one in particular. Even to how our hair was styled, our shoes, our poses. Even… Even the scar. I remembered that when we first got married, Julian had persuaded me to get a tattoo. It was at the back of my neck. I was deathly afraid of getting a tattoo but he assured me that it was a small one, and that he found it attractive. So I got it. After I did, he changed towards me. He became even more loving, and I was glad I got the tattoo. But this woman… This woman had the same tattoo as me. She had the same everything as me!

" Confusion showed on the woman's look. "Hope you aren't making a mistake?" she asked again. I nodded my eyes on her. "Yeah, I'm very sure," I insisted. "My wife has a tattoo on her leg, and she's a light-skinned person, not dark-skinned. Jemima, too, is light-skinned." I practically begged the lady to see my point, my words tumbling out too fast.

not the owners. She held his hands in her and kissed them. "These hands have done wonders Ashton...every night for 4 years they have taken care of my numb legs with just one hope...to hope something which was next to impossible. Tell me, Ash..why you didn't leave this not so beautiful wife? Why you tried everything to make her see her own beauty? Why you didn't divorce this crippled wife and married some beautiful model? Why you worked every second of these 4 years to make me stand up on my own?

He looked like he was barely holding himself together, like he needed this as badly as I did. I reached between us and rubbed my clit in frantic circles. The third orgasm built fast, sharp, unstoppable. My walls fluttered around his thick cock as it hit that perfect spot over and over. Just as the peak crashed over me—body tightening, pleasure ripping through every nerve—my eyes dropped to his open shirt. Black ink. An intricate, coiling dragon spread across the left side of his chest, right below the collarbone. My husband hated tattoos. He had told me once, early in our marriage, with cold finality. He would never.

"I don’t care about that contract. That thing was just a wall, a cover for her, it was a very big lie. I want this marriage for real and I am going to make sure it works" I stared into my eyes. "I want her for real," I said slowly. “I hate the fact that the blasted man, whatever his name is, had her and let her slip off his finger's, I am going to make her the person she wants. I am going to make her happy.” I took a deep breath. My hair was all over my face. I pushed it back. I grabbed it all and lifted it up with both hands and then I saw it. The tattoo. It was right there on my shoulder, near the back of my neck. It was not just a mark, it was a symbol and more importantly a secret.

Realizing that she shouldn't push Abihirt, when she knew there was a wet stitch wound there—still visibly reddened, probably causing her husband pain and needing more serious time to calm down. "Didn't I tell you to rest at home?" While taking a position right next to Abihirt. Barbara never left her husband's body. When the man's right arm bent to just touch the wound on the shoulder, the tightly packed muscles stood out firmly. There was another purpose, however, in which Barbara was a little curious about the meaning of her husband's new tattoo. Just a petal—less and thorny sprig, which could be interpreted literally to mean a rose.

As they get closer I notice that they are covered in tattoos with one that is the same on all six, although on different parts of their arms--A golden chrysanthemum with three drops of blood falling from the petals. "Sir," their leader steps forward and bows. He is a tall black man with dark skin, his tattoo a series of beautifully rendered black ink and a deep bold reddish-orange. His bald head glows in the sun as he looks up at us both with crystalline blue eyes that almost appear white. "Madam." "Dante," he nods. "This is my wife, Charlotte. I thought you two should meet since you are watching over her." "At your service, Mistress Kane," he crosses his chest and bows to me as well. "My b

Toying with a dagger out of nowhere, Lynne said offhandedly, “Ray, she’s a cheater. Sheh did you dirty. Should I carve her for you? Krystal’s knees buckled, and she knelt before me. “Ray, we’ve been married for seven years. Think of what we once meant to each other…” I kicked her down. “Don’t talk to me about feelings. Seven years of marriage, yet you stood by as your father struck me, and your lover humiliated me.” She hung her head low in shame. “Ray, I made a mistake. I wanted a child so badly that I believed his lies. It won’t happen again… “Ray, the family legacy rests on my shoulders. I needed an heir. Surely, you can see where I’m coming from.”

"Of course not!" I sat down. It was almost funny, attending my own wife's wedding and whatnot. I started looking around. Before long, the older woman beside me struck up a conversation. "Those two look perfect together, don't they? It wasn't easy for them to get married." I gritted my teeth, but the bitterness still came. "What made it hard?"

The camera zoomed in, and I saw it clearly: the delicate violin tattooed just below the crest—the one he’d gotten for me five years ago. "My wife, Alessia, is a gifted musician," Dante said, a smile playing on his lips as he raised the hand wearing his platinum wedding band. "She gave up her dream of becoming a world-class violinist for me. That sacrifice is etched over my heart. It can never be erased." I reached up and touched the gauze on my collarbone, the skin still aching. Never be erased? The memory of the photo slammed into me. Two months ago. A text from an unknown number.