Nothing makes you stir more than a pair of mules, pantyhose feet slid inside and Ms. Madalynn greeting you as her slave. Crossed legs, flicking her stiletto on and off of her heel, she’s painting a picture of submission for you. She’s clad in sheer shiny nylons, the shine of the heels as she flicks and dangles them. You’re slave for her, entirely. You’d give anything to bury your face in those nylon covered feet.
