Adultery The Swamiji: The Ashram of the Sacred Angels

[shailu4ever]

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"She is perfect," Ahalya thought, "like a living work of art."
 
Priya stood still, her naked body glowing in the lights of the lamps placed around them, the weight of the moment hanging in the air around her.
 
There was a stillness to her body, a quiet power that came not from raw force but from elegance and strength intertwined. Priya’s form was sculpted, sleek, and refined, like a statue carved by an artist who had seen the divine in her.
 
Her breasts were full and elegant, rising from her chest with a natural, luxurious roundness that was both soft and proud, yet never heavy.
 
They were perfectly proportioned, curving with a subtle fullness that drew the eye in a way that was both graceful and sensuous, without being overtly sensual.
 
"Her breasts are both full and dignified," Ahalya thought, her gaze lingering. "They carry the weight of her grace, standing as an offering to the divine in the most humble of ways."
 
The muscles of Priya’s arms were taut and lean, a result of the discipline that ran through every part of her life.
 
There was a fluidity in her movements, a grace that was cultivated from years of controlled labor, and yet beneath that grace, her arms possessed a quiet strength, the kind that comes from knowing one's power and choosing not to flaunt it.
 
The lines of her body were sharp, defined, purposeful, as though each curve and plane had been honed by the rhythm of her work in the Ashram.
 
Ahalya marveled at how unashamed Priya was, as though her body was just another sacred offering, neither to be flaunted nor hidden.
 
"How is it that she stands so unburdened and completely naked?" Ahalya thought, captivated by her composure, her self-assurance radiating from every inch of her.
 
Priya’s waist was slender, narrowing into the gentle curve of her hips, which were slight but elegant. She was not full-figured, nor did she possess the same kind of strength as Radha, but there was a femininity to her form that radiated grace.
 
Her figure didn’t demand attention; it simply held it. The smoothness of her skin, unmarred by scars or imperfections, was like that of someone who had never had to battle against her own body.

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