The camera pans up her legs. She's wearing heels, normally nothing special about that, but this is her trademark, those heels. Her skin is smooth, glowing with health and a light coat of oil, rubbed lovingly in. The oil is exotic, smells of musk and flowers, she buys it from a man in Turkey, the cost is excessive, but she can afford it. There are no blemishes, no scars, no marks on those perfectly toned legs. Dancer's legs, they call them. She's leaning on a balcony railing, her long muscular legs spread wide for the camera, for the audience.
She's wearing white, a nice contrast for her light brown skin. Someone once said that her skin was every color, a white woman with a tan, a pale black woman, a Latino... she could be anyone. In fantasies she often is, in fan fiction her ethnicity is the writer's. Like everything else she keeps the answers veiled, hidden, secret.
The white is shorts, tight and tiny. They cleave to every curve, and her curves here are abundant. The spread legs and bend cause the material to stretch even more across her perfect ass, the mound between her legs visible. You could almost visualize the flesh underneath, almost. There is a seam down the middle, crossing her sex, crossing her clit, running up along the crack of her perfect ass. The top of the shorts is as low as the bottom is high, almost but not quite peeling down over the globes of her derriere. She isn't still, of course not, her hips sways from side to side seductively. There isn't any jiggle in those firm mounds of flesh, a bone of contention among ass men everywhere. Is she too firm? Some like the jiggle, but even those men stare hypnotized. It isn't just the curve, but her mastery of her own body. She knows it well, knows how to use it to seduce, to mesmerize. She has spent her entire life learning to use her body like this, that she freely reveals.
Her top is white as well, seeming to blend perfectly into her shorts at first. It's not solid however, but an open mesh, showing her toned body, the heavy curve of her perfect breasts, the nipples protruding from the open material, the sleeves are long, suggesting modesty. The material is tight, form fitting, keeping her breasts from hanging low, her long black hair hanging down, at this angle just short of her toe tips. She looks over the other shoulder at the camera, licking pouty lips with the tip of her coral tongue, her dark liquid eyes shrouded and mysterious. Her face is as exotic, as mysterious as the rest of her. It is unmistakable, and uncatagorizable, unlike any face on earth and yet hauntingly familiar. Her body is her favorite tool, her weapon, but her face is the source of her fame, her appeal, her mystery.
"I am waiting. I want a cock; I want a man to fuck me, to ravage me. I want a strong man to take me, make me his." The words are crude, yet spoken with the soft velvety growl that makes music of them. The voice, the delivery along is enough to make many men stand at attention, ready to go, and she knows it; the soft playful smile caressing her lips is proof enough of that. The Fans already know how this will go. Like the shoes, the choice of words is a trademark, a sign that this is one of HER scenes.
She stands, turns to the camera, her long delicate fingers caressing her flat stomach, peeling up the material, revealing what is already visible, her legs still spread easily, swaying. She's dancing, slowly, subtly, but unmistakably. She is dancing for the camera, for the men watching. The stroke of her hands, while far from her sex, is masturbatory; the entire scene feels that way. Her eyes seem closed; she appears to be in her own world.
"I want a man to touch me, to stroke my body like this. I want him to play with my breasts, pinch my nipples..." her hand pull the shirt up enough for her mimic her words. There is plenty of jiggle here, the soft pillowy flesh swaying gently as she moves. She leaves the mesh up over her breasts, turning slowly, bending down, caressing her legs as she bend, her hair sweeping the floor now. She comes halfway back up.
