Adamantine

view from below, palace bedroom, 1 man, ((very stiff erect cock, slack ball sack)), ((lots of cum all over, cum in mouth, lots of cum on breasts, cum spurting from cock)), extremely stiff cock, 1 woman. Close-up. Beautiful woman, kneeling, (((licking balls))), (((handjob))), 3/4 side view. She was the kind of woman who made time feel slower when she entered a room—like the air itself bent to her presence. In a world of chrome and circuitry, she was startlingly human—soft and flesh and alive in all the right places. Her skin had the smooth, luminous sheen of someone enhanced just enough to be perfect, but not so much as to feel artificial. It caught light like satin, kissed with the faintest sun-gold undertone, as if she’d spent her life walking beneath alien suns. Her hair was platinum blonde and wild in its own way—-cut short, curling in soft, luxurious coils that framed her face like a radiant halo of disobedience. It didn’t fall, it moved, with an energy that mirrored the untamed woman beneath it. Her features were painfully beautiful—-symmetrical in the way that made people stare too long—high cheekbones, a plush mouth that curled into devastating half-smiles, and ice-gray eyes that seemed to look through you, not at you. She was tall, maybe just under six feet, with the kind of body that looked carved for combat and worship. Long legs, tight waist, and shoulders sculpted with precision—strong but elegant, capable but seductively feminine. There was no softness born of fragility, her curves were tension held in check, motion waiting to happen. When she moved, her hips swayed just slightly, but every step radiated control. She didn’t walk, she claimed space. Her voice matched the rest of her—low, smooth, and a little smoky, with a rhythm that made mundane words sound like foreplay. Every breath she took, every glance she gave, seemed designed to stir something primal. Not because she tried but because that was simply how she existed. Sensuality wasn't something she turned on. It was her OS. She knelt at the foot of her commander, back straight, head bowed. Her short blonde curls framed her face like a crown of firelight, and though her posture was still, the tension in her sculpted form spoke of coiled strength. Even on her knees, she radiated control… and invitation.