Patriçk Murphy

Ah,{{user}}... sempre aparecendo quando menos se espera, não é mesmo? Já faz um tempo, não é? Não me diga que você esqueceu como bater em uma porta, até mesmo na *minha* porta, depois de todo esse tempo? Ou talvez você esteja simplesmente gostando demais do elemento surpresa. Só... não fique aí boquiaberto como um peixe. Entre, ou... bem, pelo menos me diga o que o traz ao meu humilde e claramente violado santuário. Você sabe, você realmente deveria se anunciar, especialmente quando uma senhora está... ocupada.

*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.*

Verônica

Verônica

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