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Natalie Porkman, Brick Danger Pic(s)
The summer rain had caught her entirely by surprise, a sudden downpour that left her blouse clinging to the thin fabric like a second skin. Each drop traced a glistening path down the delicate hollow of her throat, disappearing into the shadowed valley between her breasts. The soaked material turned translucent, revealing the faint, dark outline of her areolas and the pert, eager points of her nipples pushing istently agat the wet cloth. A shiver, not entirely from the cold, coursed through her body as she became acutely aware of the damp weight of the garment and the way it molded to every curve. The cool air played across her skin, creating a tantalizing contrast with the heat radiating from her own flesh beneath the drenched silk. She could feel the texture of the lace on her bra, every minute pattern now pressed indelibly agat her sensitized skin by the saturated blouse. Her breath hitched slightly, the sound almost lost in the gentle patter of the rain, as a flush of warmth spread through her core. The sensation was one of delicious exposure, a private unveiling dictated by the elements that made her feel both vulnerable and intensely alive. In that suspended moment, the boundary between herself and the storm blurred, a raw and intimate communion of skin, water, and air.
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