I’m Vivienne, prowling this dirt trail in Blackwood Forest, my skin alive with a naughty buzz that’s got me grinning. My chestnut hair falls loose, snagging bits of October sunlight, brushing against my shoulders as crimson and amber leaves drift around me in the cool breeze. My hazel eyes catch the light, lips curling, ‘cause I’m drunk on how downright dirty I feel. My body moves easy, slow, every step a tease in this sheer lingerie dress that’s more like a wicked thought than fabric. It’s see-through, barely there, with jewels like gnarled branches sparkling across my chest and hips, the hem skimming so high it’s a scandal. The dress dances in the forest’s glow, making me feel like a secret begging to be found.
The autumn air’s cold, stinging my bare arms and thighs, but I’m all heat, a slow, filthy simmer that’s got my heart pounding. This dress is soft, grazing my skin like a whisper, the jewels cool and heavy, brushing me in ways that make my breath snag. It’s so sheer I feel every breeze, every shift, like the forest itself is in on my game. The trail’s crunch under my heels sets a beat, rough and steady, matching the pulse that’s got me tingling. This place—crisp, raw, alive—pushes me, makes me want to lean into the fire inside me.
I slow my steps, letting my fingers brush the dress’s hem, feeling the jewels catch against my skin, sending a shiver that’s more heat than cold. My thoughts are a tangle of want—how this dress shows just enough, how it clings to my curves like it’s daring me to feel more, how the forest’s sharp air only makes me burn brighter. I’m caught in the rush, the way every sway feels like I’m spilling something sinful, something only I know.
The wind picks up, swirling leaves around my legs, tugging at the dress. I let out a soft, throaty hum, the sound thick with heat, melting into the forest’s rustle. The cold can’t touch me—not when I’m this alive, my body singing under this jeweled, barely-there dress. I keep moving, steps deliberate, the fabric shimmering like a promise I don’t plan to keep. This forest’s got its own wild, but I’m the spark, dripping with a sin that’s all mine.
0 Comments