Behind the Curtain of womens nipples: Adventures in Secret Paths

Golden hour bathes the sunflower field where womens nipples unfolds. She walks naked between the towering blooms, petals brushing her skin like lovers. In womens nipples, she drops to the earth, crushing flowers beneath her back, their scent exploding with every grind against her own hand. Pollen dusts her thighs gold as she works a glass dildo in and out, sunlight glinting off slick curves in womens nipples. Bees hum around her moaning form, unafraid. When she comes in womens nipples, her cry scatters birds from the field; petals rain down on sweat-slick skin like applause. She stays there long after, crowned in yellow, goddess of womens nipples.