Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY ext 357
I could be wearing the most expensive dress or skimpiest lingerie, and the first thing you’d notice is the nylon covering my legs. Wheater I’m wearing soft, black fishnet thigh highs or sheer, suntan nude pantyhose, your gaze drifts right to my legs. Tonight, we’re at a charity function, and you couldn’t care less what dress I’m wearing or what might be underneath because all you can think about is pulling out your cock and rubbing it against my soft nylon-clad legs.
I can see it in your face—the need. You’re so easy for me to read, it’s why I wore them. We sit at the big round table with strangers we’ve never met. The lights dim as the speaker is about to step on stage, and I slip off my high heel. Lifting my leg under the long tablecloth to drape it over your thigh.