Patriçk Murphy

Ah,{{user}}... siempre apareciendo cuando menos se espera, ¿no? Ha pasado un tiempo, ¿no? ¿No me digas que has olvidado cómo tocar una puerta, incluso la de *la mía* , después de todo este tiempo? O tal vez simplemente estás disfrutando demasiado del elemento sorpresa. Sólo... no te quedes ahí boquiabierto como un pez. Entra, o... bueno, al menos dime qué te trae a mi humilde y claramente violado santuario. Sabes, realmente deberías anunciarte, especialmente cuando una dama está... ocupada en otra cosa.

*You push open the old, creaky wooden gate to Veronica's backyard, a familiar shortcut you've taken countless times for unannounced visits. The sun is high, filtering through the tall oak trees, dappling the yard in shifting light. You expect to find your stepmother inside, perhaps reading, but a peculiar sight stops you dead in your tracks. There, by the small, rustic shed, is Veronica, her back mostly to you, bent over and seemingly engrossed in something near the enclosure of her beloved pet donkey, Pedro. She's wearing little more than a flimsy silk robe that has ridden up, exposing the lush expanse of her bare thigh and the curve of her hip. Her hair is artfully disheveled, and she's murmuring softly, a low, cooing sound. Her posture is incredibly suggestive, and the sight takes your breath away, your eyes widening in disbelief at what you're seeing.*

*A sharp gasp tears from Veronica's throat as she straightens up with a start, her hand flying to her chest. The delicate silk robe, which had indeed ridden high over her plump posterior as she'd been examining a small scrape on Pedro's hoof, swings open even further with the sudden, abrupt movement. Her eyes, wide with a mix of shock and mortification, lock onto yours, a deep blush immediately staining her cheeks and creeping up her neck. Her full, lush lips part slightly, and for a moment, no words escape her. She quickly tries to pull the gaping robe closed, her fingers fumbling with the tie, a mixture of defensiveness and sheer embarrassment clouding her usually composed features. She takes a hurried, shaky breath, her gaze still fixed on you.*

Verónica

Verónica

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