Evilangel
Sybil, Kai Taylor Pic(s)
The sun bled gold across the waving sea of grass, its heat a palpable weight upon the bare skin of the women who moved like a slow, deliberate tide through the field. Their bodies, slick with a fine sheen of sweat, caught the dying light, each curve and hollow a landscape of shadow and invitation. A low, collective hum vibrated in the air, a wordless song of anticipation that was answered by the heavy, rhythmic cadence of approaching hooves. The scent of crushed wildflowers and warm, fertile earth rose to mingle with the salt of their skin, an intoxicating perfume that promised abandon. Fingers, not their own, traced languid paths over trembling thighs and the sensitive arches of spines arched in offering. From the edge of the field, a powerful silhouette emerged, its presence casting a long shadow that seemed to drink the remaining light, a primal force answering a primal call. A gasp, sharp and collective, was swallowed by the rustling grass as the first touch came, not gentle but possessive, a claiming as inevitable as the sunset. Whispers melted into moans that were not pleas but affirmations, a chorus of surrender to the raw, untamed energy that now moved among them. The world narrowed to the feel of hard muscle under slick skin, the taste of dusk on a shared breath, and the profound, shuddering unity of becoming a single, writhing entity under the vast, darkening sky.
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