The soft pink crowns of her breasts are hard, by her fear, by the sensation of the flesh as it feels the touch of another for the first time, his hands could cup and hold one breast almost entirely within it.  Her lithe frame forms a figure with a slender hourglass, ribs plain against bare flesh tapering down to a narrow waist, and broad, sultry hips.  At the apex of her thighs is her mound, nested with the silver and gold hair so soft, so fine, that the pale flesh beneath is visible, the lips of her sex, the seat of her womanhood.  He can see it all, as it trembles before him in terror and awe.<br/><br/>"Never," she whispers.