21Sextury
Cherry Kiss, Amirah Adara, Angelika Grays Pic(s)
The morning sun, a molten gold coin pressed agat the cool glass, painted a long, warm stripe across the floorboards where she stood, her skin drinking in the light. Each deliberate, fluid movement was a silent conversation between muscle and intention, a slow arc of an arm carving through the still, dust-moted air. A fine sheen of moisture began to bloom along the graceful curve of her spine, tracing the delicate architecture of her shoulder blades as they shifted like wings beneath her skin. The deep, conscious expansion of her lungs filled her chest, a rising tide that lifted her ribs and tightened the smooth plane of her abdomen. She could feel the powerful stretch along the back of her thigh, a taut, singing line of pure potential from knee to hip. Her entire being was focused on this private symphony of strength, every sense amplified in the hushed quiet of the room. The scent of her own warm, clean skin mingled with the faint, earthy aroma of her own exertion, a primal perfume. Her heart beat a steady, percussive rhythm agat her ribs, a drum counting the seconds of this intimate ritual. In this state of unadorned being, there was only the body, honest and alive, moving with a raw, unspoken poetry.
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