<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/02/cc/7d/02cc7dd8e0d76469ac60fd12421d4095.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>N’ebthe:</strong><br/><strong>Race/Culture:</strong>Nefasi<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Storage area, Slave piers<br/><strong>Day/Time:</strong>Yaus al-Niwt (Day of Houses), Amt (first month) of Alak Paret (Harvest Season), Mid-Morning<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Zidir, Ilhan<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Would she honor them? It was a comfort to know she had the illusion of a choice. So she would meet the two half way. The wisps of cloth that clung to her shoulders were brushed aside, allowing them to drift from her arms and down the gracious bend of her waist. The semblance of a top quickly became a belt that hugged around her wide, supple hips and left little of her upper half to the imagination. It would become plainly clear that her eyes were not the only gift she’d assumed from the divine and they’d seen fit endow her a physique just as every bit as lovely as her essence.<br/><br/>Silky smooth mocha-caramel licked the swell of her breasts, each a large handful but just small enough to retain a perky elasticity that was rare among women of her age and stature. Her stomach wasn’t a mere plain of existence but beautifully toned by years of walking and horseback. Women were known for their hourglass shape but hers was nearly a cello. The lower half of her body was left as scantily clad as it had been the first moment he saw her and she made no move to disrobe further. He asked for more not all, yes?<br/><br/>All the while her spirit caressed and wound with his, her head giving a subtle tilt as her shoulder rolled back in presentation.<i>”Does this vessel please you?”</i>A slender brow lifted.<br/><br/>