Sometimes I just can’t believe the amount of detail Dmitrys puts into his drawings. The tattoos, the graffiti, the lipstick marks…everywhere you look there’s something new. There aren’t too many artists (hentai or mainstream) that spend this much time on the details but it’s these little touches that add up and allow the viewer to be completely immersed in the scene. When I look at this pic I can almost hear the sound of the city in the background, I can almost smell Wendy’s sweet sweat, I can almost taste her cum in the air. All of this is possible because of all the little details Dmitrys takes the time execute – That and the awesome story that accompanies the piece…
Sparrow grunted as she pulled her cuffed hands under her butt and wriggled her legs through. Now that they were in front of her she could work on them quicker.
“Just nicked a fuckin’ carton of fags,” she muttered, picking at the cuffs with a safety pin. “Fuckin’ pigs.” She was squatting in the shadows of a subway platform. Luckily, it was 3AM, so she didn’t see a single person around. Her ears picked up the clack-clack-clack of heels on stone. That cop was still after her!
Police Officer Wendy Boothe puffed as she trotted down the stairs, one hand on the rail. She had no idea someone could run so fast when their hands were cuffed. Now her quarry was trapped here in the station. Her heart pounded as she crept onto the subway platform. The thrill of the chase exhilarated her. She took her pistol from her holster, knowing that things could easily turn violent with a punk like her perp.
Wendy caught a glimpse of movement and swung her aim towards it. An arm snapped out of the shadows like a striking snake and a metal cuff latched to her wrist. She gasped in surprise and her arm was dragged behind her. Her gun clattered to the floor as her other wrist was caught by strong fingers. The other cuff hooked round her wrist. She struggled vainly and realized she’d been handcuffed to a graffiti-covered pipe like a rookie.
Her eyes fell on her attacker as she picked up Wendy’s gun. It was the blonde punk she’d booked for shoplifting! The tough-looking girl’s body was criscrossed with leather straps over her grimy shirt and scandalously short shorts. A spiked dog collar wrapped around her neck and an anarchist “A” was shaved in the stubble on her head. Intricate tattoos crawled down her arms and legs, partially obscured by layers of ripped fishnets and opaque tights. She wore a pair of scuffed clodders on her feet. Everywhere were buttons, logos, spikes, chains and rings. Wendy was shocked and ashamed that someone with so much jingling adornment could get the drop on her. Her eyes widened as the girl picked up the gun.
“How– how did you get out of my handcuffs?” Wendy demanded, her voice cracking.
“I’m Harry fucking Houdini, that’s how,” the girl drawled, checking the sights on the gun. She slowly swung it towards Wendy’s head.