Spy Tugs
Spy Tugs Pic(s)
The afternoon sun cast long, golden beams through the slats of the window blind, illuminating dust motes dancing in the warm, still air. A faint scent of sandalwood and lavender oil hung in the room, a calming fragrance that did little to settle her own racing heart. She watched the magnificent bird, a Cochin rooster of impressive size, as it strutted peacefully across the plush towel she had laid upon the massage table. Its feathers were a spectacle of deepest obsidian, shimmering with an iridescent blue-green sheen in the shifting light. Taking a steadying breath, she warmed a small amount of specialized oil between her palms, the process a familiar ritual. Her movements were deliberate and gentle as she began to work her fingers into the dense muscle of the bird's breast and shoulders. The rooster, accustomed to these sessions, emitted a low, contented cluck, its head tilting with evident pleasure. She could feel the subtle knots and tensions begin to release under her practiced touch, a small victory in her unique vocation. Focusing intently, she carefully manipulated one of its legs, ensuring the joints remained supple and strong. A profound sense of quiet accomplishment filled her as the creature remained placid and trusting under her care.
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