In the military tent, a scene of exquisite spring beauty unfolded.
It had been a long while.
They reveled in their joy.
Miss Rita, wearing not a stitch, was currently sprawled lazily upon the soft olive-green military blanket.
Having released a fervent passion, fatigue inevitably crept in, prompting her to close her eyes for a brief nap.
The warm orange light of the Alchemy Lamp shone on her smooth skin, casting a delicate glow akin to the gossamer of silk.
The way she lay there was suggestive and languid, the sublime curve of her back delineated with perfection.
Her silhouette flowed seamlessly from her shoulder blades to her even waist, then suddenly curved upward, her polished buttocks boasting an extraordinary proud arc.
Her breasts were compressed and deformed but spilled out halfway like round porcelain bowls, just so.
This was the splendid figure she had honed through rigorous training, soft and supple in its beauty.
