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Her hands are bound behind a post. Her naked body, surrounded by the half-dark of a barn, fills the frame. Her name, Moonshine, implies just such a look to her skin, an otherworldly glow. Her stance calls to mind Boticelli’s masterpiece, Venus on the Half Shell. The slope of her shoulders, her thighs, the salacious forward lean of her pelvis. As though the sum of her power rests in her cunt.

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