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The slave market buzzes with a heavy, almost intoxicating heat. Women stand bare and shimmering, their bodies a dazzling array of flesh—some lithe and delicate, others rounded and full in all the right places. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, skin, and the promise of untamed desire.nnOne matron’s eyes roam appreciatively over a particularly plump beauty, her soft curves spilling over the edges of the stage like ripe fruit ready to be savored. She reaches out, lifting one full breast in her hand, letting it fall slowly through her fingers, testing its weight and firmness.n“See her hips? Wide and generous—perfect for carrying the Pasha’s children,” she purrs. “And these breasts,” she adds, gently squeezing the heavy flesh, “so full, so ripe. Weighty enough to fill hands and eyes alike. With careful fattening, she’ll only grow more sumptuous.”nnHer companion nods, voice low and conspiratorial.n“Yes, and that softness around her belly, so inviting. She’s a treasure, but we’ll have to keep a close eye on her lower plumbing. Too much indulgence without trimming could dull her sharpness down there.”nnThe first matron lets out a soft laugh, eyes narrowing with experience.n“A corpulent virgin like this one often needs… attention in that area. We don’t want her heavy folds to hide the delicate secrets. A little careful trimming will preserve her allure, keep her fresh for the Pasha’s pleasures.”nnNearby, two other matrons whisper while eyeing a younger girl, her full-bodied frame crowned with innocence but already promising abundance.n“She’s got that natural plumpness that speaks of fertility,” one says, running a finger thoughtfully over the girl’s soft thigh. “But if we let her grow wild, that ‘lower plumbing’ might become too lush, too dense. It’ll take skill to keep her ready and inviting.”nnHer friend nods, eyes gleaming with knowing.n“Yes, the Pasha demands perfection—roundness where it counts, yes, but no excess to dull the senses. A trim here and there, careful tending… and she’ll be irresistible.”nnBack on the platform, the matrons continue their examination, voices dripping with desire and the sharp edge of commerce. One reaches out again, lifting another woman’s chest, weighing the breasts in her palms as if measuring a prized fruit.n“That thick swell of her breasts,” one murmurs, “it’s the kind that fills hands with ease, soft but full-bodied.”n“And the gentle rolls of her belly,” the other adds, “will only deepen with the right feeding. She’ll become a goddess of indulgence.”nnThey exchange a glance, a shared hunger sparking in their eyes as they imagine nights of sumptuous pleasure and the careful art of shaping flesh to fit the Pasha’s every whim. All models are 18
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