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Angelina's Wings | Bran_Hopewell | 3


Angelina jogged through the woods toward the lights of the farmstead. The oil lanterns seemed to separate as she got closer, and she realized that it was more than the average house in the woods; it had a barn, a granary, a modest home, and the grounds beyond the farmstead were cultivated and lush with wheat. She ran, allowing herself to be out of breath, coming up with a story along the way.

The thinning woods were crossed in no time and she peered in the windows for a moment before going to the door. She looked down at herself to check her appearance, almost subconsciously. She saw her dusty pink nipples standing out proudly on her firm and heaving chest, her bright crimson bush below that, the thick thatch glistening with her own wetness and the rain. Her tight stomach quivered with the cold and she could see goose bumps on her skin, though she was ignoring the message that it was cold.

She knocked on the door and awaited the response, still mulling over how she wanted to play this situation to its end. She felt the urge to feed growing in her loins and she could practically feel the farmer moving toward the door right before it opened.


Savaged Innocent or Savagely Grateful?

          Savagely Grateful


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