Lover's surrender to eternal passion's plight while underneath the glow of vermilion skies encased in the harmony of flourescent light. Scarlet red lipstick paints a whore's brazen lips as she wanders the evening in search of the sensuous and vain. The bandits of the night find sanctuary in a midnight bliss while forbidden ecstasies flow like a golden heaven's rain.
Men whom act as the devil's puppets tread lightly over the fiery passion's which glow aflame like the furious depths of hell. It is upon a prostitute's voluptuous hips and within her seductive lips that sensuality as haunting as a black raven's song moves lustful men along into her web as she waits to suck them dry. Moments of vanity which swell her breasts and puts fire in a man's chest, these longing men can never deny.
It was a busy evening in the French Quarter of New Orleans. A voluptuous black prostitute named Natasha Harris was out and about, roaming the streets in her red stilettos and tightly fitting red strapless mini dress with stockings. Natasha was 37 years old. She wore her hair in a black bob with red highlights going through it. She had a full ass and hips that were to die for. She was 5 feet 5 inches tall and had dark brown eyes. She wore somewhat long red fingernails.