Hidden behind the wings of the brightest white was an angel that hid her beauty.
Her only assignments were to instill a sensuality, the purest of sexual attractions.
Nothing vile, nothing selfish, but the desires and the fires of the consummation of the mixtures of raw lust, of a real showing of love.
You will never see her, the way she sees it is that it's not about her.
She's in the aura of a room, of the coolest breeze that come in through the window, stirring the embers, starting passionate fires.
She causes the inner pulls, the aroused peak that hardens and tightens, just before the actions of a match of two of the fiercest competitors.
She's in the play, in the readiness of warmth in the skin, making it crawl with yearnings essences.
The beginnings of penetration that both bodies so desperately needed.
The vaginal grabs and the perfect thrusts that hit walls with a surprising exotic cry.
She's in the sweat of bodies that are happily overwhelmed and overworked in the heat.
In the release.
In the moans and calls of relieving satisfactions that finally explode into a messy cauldron of delight.
Maybe, next time you will think of her?
No, her wand of emphatic powers will cause you to forget.
This is just a small part of the workings of the sensual angel.

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