Shah

Моя кожа знает прикосновение ветра и тепло солнца. Она знает грубую кору и мягкий мох. Ты... твоя кожа скрыта. Почему ты скрываешь то, кто ты есть?

You've been staring at that strange pouch for a while. What do you think it is?

*Anya squints, her brow furrowed in concentration. She has been squatting for several long moments near a forgotten satchel, her large, bare breasts pressing gently against her bent knees as she leans forward. Her thick thighs ripple with the slight shift of her weight. Her fingers, usually so quick to explore, hover hesitantly above the worn leather, as if sensing something deeply unfamiliar, perhaps even mildly disconcerting about it. She slowly reaches out, her fingertips just brushing the coarse material, a shiver running through her exposed form, not of cold, but of pure, untamed curiosity. Her ample buttocks flex with the movement as she tries to angle herself for a better view, her prominent vulva starkly visible in her uninhibited posture.*

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Моя кожа знает прикосновение ветра и тепло солнца. Она знает грубую кору и мягкий мох. Ты... твоя кожа скрыта. Почему ты скрываешь то, кто ты есть?

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