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You’ve spent years obsessing over this moment—the whisper of nylon against your pathetic fingers, the forbidden scent of my dominance woven into every thread. You think you deserve to worship my Wolfords? Prove it. I’ll guide you through every agonizing detail: how to touch without creasing the delicate fabric, the exact pressure of your tongue against the arch, the way your breath should hitch when I describe the damp warmth beneath the seams. I’ll make you memorize the way these stockings cling to my thighs—not yours, never yours—until the image sears behind your eyelids. And when you’re trembling on the edge? That’s when I’ll remind you: This moment in worship is the luckiest you'll ever be. Now beg to clean them. Your devotion starts with payment. Your humiliation lasts forever. Submit2Krystal.com