Followed by a tragic past, a decent girl who has never seen the outside world becomes Obsession of a Virille Mafia, whose actions speaks louder than words.
He whispered in her ear, fingers still tightly wrapped around her hair sending excruciating p...
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~🍁~
The scent of burning incense hangs in the air, intermingling with the subtle undertones of antiseptic solutions. An antique, weathered drafting table serves as the focal point, adorned with vials of vibrant pigments and an assortment of needles – tools that bear witness to the artist's craft.
The soundtrack of the tattoo studio is a symphony of ink guns buzzing in rhythmic harmony, punctuated by silence.
Vintage leather chairs beckon clients to surrender to the transformative embrace of the tattooist's skilful hands. The air resonates with the hum of machines, a melodic reminder of alchemy as the skin turns into canvas.
Dressed in a black tank top, a girl fuses a bohemian chic vibe with a hint of avant-garde flair, as she owns tattoos all over her body like body armour. She casually lay over a shirtless masculine body to create the best of her ideas on his back. She smokes up as she crafts the devil's face on his triceps telling a visual story of his journey, a walking gallery of his self-expression.
On the other hand, The man's face betrays a stoic resolve, a willingness to embrace the discomfort in exchange for a permanent mark on his skin. His dark aura was not just about the physical act of getting inked but also about the symbolism and personal significance that each of his tattoos holds.
As the session proceeds to end, The girl dismisses the needled machine, his facial expression remains unshaken despite the continuous contact the needles made to his skin causing a tremendous amount of pain, which he doesn't give a shit about. Rather, he napped the whole hour.
"There you go, just as you described," She declared while staring at his back with lusty eyes eventually biting her lips and making him sit up, as he walked to the 180-degree mirror to examine the freshly added art on the back of his shoulder.
A satisfactory glim made way to his deep-dark eyes, he was impressed and amused. The corner of his mouth creates a subtle and often mischievous or condescending look.
"Excellent...
Name your price," his command resonated through the room making her knees go weak, gawking at his tattooed sleeve in the mirror, the calm yet dangerously deep tone of his manly voice drove her crazy. The twenty-three-year-old man was simply hard to impress, however, he lowkey appreciated her skills and authentic work.
He waited for her response, expecting her to open her mouth and ask for money but she stepped ahead reducing the distance between them. She snaked her thin finger around his neck and tip-toed to give him a harsh suck on his neck.
Her actions didn't surprise him, provided how she tried to seduce him from the moment he entered the studio, he kind of predicted that. He never had to ask for women or work hard to get women. Thanks to his sexiest physical features and Cheabol family background, they were all willingly attracted.
