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Trust and its sister, surrender,
are like a womb in which all of consciousness
can gestate and mature.
~the light from the hallway cascades through the darkened room as a slender frame is silhouetted in the light of the door...pausing briefly at the entrance...the rattle of the metal hinges echoing throughout the room....the large door swings soundly closed....smiling softly as her large dark eyes glance briefly around the room before settling to gaze to the floor...stepping softly forward...donned by a white shift, bound tight at her trim waist by a pale blue sash....clinging delicately to the gentle curves of her lithe figure.....the hem resting gently upon her bare flesh a few inches below her waist...…the soft curls of her dark hair frame the creamy oval of her face...softly colored, blue slippers clap gently to the stone floor as the slave finally comes to stand in the center of the room.....a voice as gentle as a summer nights breeze caresses your ear in a whisper~
~i am browneyes~
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