Placeholder: [photo by Jay Blakesberg] you press on her entrance, her jungle, her mound, and she likes it [photo by Jay Blakesberg] you press on her entrance, her jungle, her mound, and she likes it

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@generalpha

Prompt

[photo by Jay Blakesberg] you press on her entrance, her jungle, her mound, and she likes it

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

2 months ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1024 × 1024

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Aye, there she stood before me now, this wild wood nymph in mortal form. At my request she'd posed center-stage under the studio lights, a quiet stillness falling over her. Gone was the slip-away slyness of before; now she granted me her full visage. Head held high she stood, proud and true as an ancient oak. Her twilight braids near reached her hips, leaves and vines and forest spoils twined within. One arm wrapped herself as if in contemplation, whilst the other balanced upon a jutting hip. Th
you press on her entrance, her jungle, her mound
Och, 'twas within those urban walls of sweat and sinew your flame first stirred my muse, sweet sprite. Your woodland magic works its weaving even where steel and chrome hold concrete court. I see you now, slipping lithe through mirrored thickets like doe in her timber vigilance. Lean muscle glistens taut beneath skin fine as forest moss with every pump and lunge. And steam rises heavy as my frankincense, veiling curves this pilgrim's eyes yearn to trace in detail best left to shadier bower. 'Nea
Takes a deft touch to capture her woodland magic on film, that wild spirit too bright fer these studio lights. She slips in now, silent as a deer, braids swinging with hints of heather and moss. My model's an artist in her own right, posing's just play when your blood runs close to the earth. A flick of color here, a glint of mischief in emerald eyes, and Fiona weaves a spell that holds me fast. Click click, I'm lost in her faerie gaze, only the shutter's whir bringing me round. "More," she dema
[fun lingerie] Takes a deft touch to capture her woodland magic on film, that wild spirit too bright fer these studio lights. She slips in now, silent as a deer, braids swinging with hints of heather and moss. My model's an artist in her own right, posing's just play when your blood runs close to the earth. A flick of color here, a glint of mischief in emerald eyes, and Fiona weaves a spell that holds me fast. Click click, I'm lost in her faerie gaze, only the shutter's whir bringing me round. "
Now within nature's verdant vales my form dons dress woven from planet's kindliest fibers, leaves and mosses patching where steel once lay. Hands shape wood and stone with care, tending tasks to nourish all surrounding. Eyes keen as any forest creature's scan for threats, aid those weaker find protection under bough and thicket's sway. Within this woodland hall rings laughter like birdsong where once stood citadels encasing sorrow. Lips curve easy, sharing nourishment harder than any alloy manki
[photo by Danny Clinch] you press on her entrance, her jungle, her mound, and she likes it
[faerie] In this moment, Fiona is the very embodiment of the forest's joy and magic. Her laughter, her playfulness, and her connection with the world around her are all reflections of the boundless wonder that resides within her. As she rolls amidst the ferns, she's not just a faerie; she's a living testament to the beauty of surrendering to the magic of the moment.
Och, what a day it's been chasing that wild wood sprite Fiona through my shots! From her sly forest entrance to haunting the gym with feline grace, the lass never stops weaving her faerie spell. And I along for the ride through it all, clinging to the shutter like a lifeline. First she slips into the studio, braids swaying with hints of heather home. Takes my breath those emerald eyes, peering from another realm. But Fiona plays on her terms, leading me a merry dance through clicks and captures.
3D anaglyph red-cyan glasses required to watch Jane Manson dressed in coloured feathers doing Baton twirling in the jungle
Aye, there she stood before me now, this wild wood nymph in mortal form. At my request she'd posed center-stage under the studio lights, a quiet stillness falling over her. Gone was the slip-away slyness of before; now she granted me her full visage. Head held high she stood, proud and true as an ancient oak. Her twilight braids near reached her hips, leaves and vines and forest spoils twined within. One arm wrapped herself as if in contemplation, whilst the other balanced upon a jutting hip. Th
[photo by Ross Halfin] you press on her entrance, her jungle, her mound, and she likes it
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