Angie Scott
7.7K views
Angie Scott came from Hungary, a woman with a catalogue of names: Sally B, Angie, Suzie, Zsuzanna, Sally, Erica. She stands five-six, a hundred and one pounds, but it’s her 33A-24-35 that lingers, every inch of it unassisted. Blue eyes watch from beneath pale-blonde hair that catches light like silk. The narrow waist, the modest swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips—nothing padded, nothing bought, just the slender architecture of a body that refuses to be overlooked.
Angie Scott
Angie Scott came from Hungary, a woman with a catalogue of names: Sally B, Angie, Suzie, Zsuzanna, Sally, Erica. She stands five-six, a hundred and one pounds, but it’s her 33A-24-35 that lingers, every inch of it unassisted. Blue eyes watch from beneath pale-blonde hair that catches light like silk. The narrow waist, the modest swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips—nothing padded, nothing bought, just the slender architecture of a body that refuses to be overlooked.
