Unique Badass Hourglass Drawings Novels & Stories

A video of a model in just a pull-up and crop top wearing ridiculous heals was number one trending with a quote of weirdest fahsion style. She had make up on her face badly applied and her hair was in two pigtails.

His soul almost departed from his body when he nearly failed to clasp the drawing paper. With an enormous conundrum in his mind, Celeb slowly unfolded the paper before becoming frozen in his place. His jaws dropped along with dilating his eyes in disbelieve. He blinked a couple of moment before scanning the artwork deeply. It was the face of a woman lying down under a tree shutting off her elegant eyes in sleep. Even from his miserable sketch, Celeb could infer that the woman was incredibly gorgeous. But the most disquieting part was that it was nearly impossible to decipher her exact facial appearance because of his hopeless drawing skill.

A hollow hour, a time when secrets and fears felt most alive. I poured myself a glass of water without thinking, my fingers numb against the chill of the glass. Drawing had always been my escape—charcoal and graphite transforming panic into something tangible. Settling at the small table by the window, I opened my sketchbook and let my hand move, searching for solace. Dark lines spilled across the page, tracing angles that formed a face—a face all jagged edges, raw emotion, with an intensity that mirrored the storm brewing in my chest.

Eh. The second set was a model that they used a lot. She was always a disappointment, and I passed on the set, despite the lovely thumbnail. The last one caught my eye, and I was not sure why. I opened it up and scanned the pictures first. This was a luxuriantly formed young woman. She was not cartoon Kardashian, but the term hourglass figure was coined for her. She had lovely, luxurious hips and a gently swelling backside. Her waist was narrow and her belly soft but flat. Her boobs seemed real, and pert in an ample way. Pretty face.

"As long as your heavy muscles keep working out hard on the ice rink, absolute zero wolves on the circuit would ever mistake your asset for being my biological father." Ada remains completely speechless over his coffee. COLLINS PARKER POV The exact fraction of a second breakfast fuel concludes, Ada displays the raw design sketches flat on the table for my eyes to analyze. One of the detailed drawings originated from the professional ring designer's office, while the other simple sketch was hand-drawn by Ada’s own claws. After studying both layout options on the paper, my hand ends up pointing directly to Ada’s custom drawing.

Whoever had done the work was a fantastic artist. He stood perfectly still, but his hands clenched, muscles quivering beneath my touch everywhere my hand roamed. My fingers trail down, following the design as it flowed down the left side of his body to his abs. It was free, fluid with gentle curves. A combination of hard lines but also soft florals and swirls amidst dangerous embellished claws that looked more like art than paws. I was disappointed to realize the design disappeared down past his waistband where I could no longer see it.

He flipped again. A full two-page spread: A woman blindfolded and ball-gagged, hogtied across a mattress. Her legs were spread by a bar. Her toes curled in tension. Her holes sketched in tight detail -- stuffed, obscenely, with what was clearly meant to be two separate toys. The kind of drawing someone does only when they've lived it. Or needed to. His cock twitched. He didn't stop flipping. Page after page -- each more shocking, intimate, and raw than the last.

It was an idealized image, but it was definitely supposed to be her. The drawing had long hair, feminine features, and every last detail and imperfection right down to her slightly-too-long nose and the exact shape of her cupid’s bow. Her head was turned to the side, revealing her neck. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach when she saw the series of small scars on her skin.

The soft, muted light from the single window cast shadows that danced across the walls, highlighting the subtle imperfections in the paint. A wooden desk sat opposite his bed, its surface polished to a shine, but it was empty, save for a few scattered pencils. As I scanned the room, I felt an unexpected chill, a whisper of the secrets it held. My gaze fell on a drawer beneath the desk. I opened it slowly, the creak of the old wood echoing in the silence. Inside, sketches and notes lay haphazardly, their edges curling slightly. The first one I picked up depicted intricate patterns of the moon jade, the drawings capturing light in a way that made them shimmer faintly. Anakiyus’s handwriting wa

I wonder what she would come up with next. After a few moments, she finally finished and eagerly called out to me, "Lycan Aaron, can you guess what this is?" Excitedly, she showed me the screen of my phone, revealing her latest creation. I studied the drawing intently, taking in the long oval shape with two balls below and hairs beneath them. At the top, there was a line. Wait. Isn’t that…? “Are you crazy?” I asked, frowning. “Why are you drawing a man’s d*ck?”