Lust

Her sapphire eyes gaze yonder through the steam dissipating aloft, like a transparent veil. Behind which her face peers through the dark sleek hair that runs down her face and around the contours of her bosom: the way the light aluminates off her wet pail flesh; as the water beeds down her neck, around her curves, and over the pink nipples which are perched perfectly amidst each breast, as if to stand gaurd to a pure heart. There she is with the water girdled around her waist – the skin shimmers beneath, from her posterior (where her hands lay aside), down her crossed legs as she lays back upon a handsome rock at the brink of the pool: in the perfect stature of a lady. Keen eyes are not needed to see the beauty in such a portrait. Such an aw-ing picture should infer an immense and mighty lust deep in any man. A lust that can bring a man back to his primitive and savage roots, that craves to romp like a beast in the wild – rough and without restraint – skin to skin, luscious, naked and whole.

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