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| Dance of the Virgin Continued...... | ||||||
| Reaching the banquet table her hand reaches forward, curling around something, concealing as she rolls back, making her way across the ground, the barren desert, seeking the oasis of to one she calls Master. Thighs spread wide in recognition of who she is and what she needss, her body sparls forward with fluid grace, her cheeks laid to his boot, her head gently turning to brush over the worn leather, her heated gaze rising as her upper body lifts to the pulse of the erotic rhythms. Holding her body erect with pride, her perfectly rounded bottom pressed to her heels, her belly quivering with need, her arms unfulr before him, palms extending as her head bows forward in a riotous spilling of silken curls. In her hands the offering of a sweet succulent larma, her journey from white to red come to fruition. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . | ||||||
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