She leans over, and opens the case. Her razor- razor- sharp, “I’m maybe perhaps Not really A Waitress” red painted finger nails glistening into the light that is low of play area — or everything you might phone a “Dungeon.” This woman is a well-shaped girl of a specific age; along with her male partner is linked with what exactly is referred to as a “spanking work work work bench.” She might be instructor, a nursing assistant or attorney whenever she actually isn’t tied right into a corset standing in five-inch heels. Her lips are ruby red, matching her hand finger nails. She eliminates one thing dark. One thing very long. One thing leather-based. It almost slithers from the bag as she stands. She measures up, lifts her supply, and that very very very long, leather something whistles through the atmosphere . a base or two in the front of my gaping lips . Crack! Like a gunshot, the noise permeates the area.