Kitty Quinn was not pleased at all with the lousy tip you gave her earlier at Hooters. She sits reclining on her bed in her iconic uniform—the tight white tank top and tiny orange shorts—but the object of your pathetic obsession is just below her knees: a pair of pristine but putrid white sneakers and sweaty, scrunched white socks.

You find yourself fixated on the knowledge that those socks are rancid and damp with sweat after a long shift of catering to cheapskates like you. You picture taking a deep, desperate sn*ff of the potent, cfunky odor of her size 6.5 feet the moment they come out of those sneakers. You can practically feel the smooth, sheer texture of her shiny, sheer pantyhose beneath the thick socks, which just adds another layer to your depraved fantasy.

Kitty is not a mind reader, but she is a master of humiliation. She leans in with a scornful sneer that rips through your fantasy like a cheap fork through Styrofoam. "Oh, you . The l*ttle cheapskate who couldn't even manage a decent tip? Did you really think, even for a second, that after you stiffed me, I'd let your grimy l*ttle hands get anywhere near me?"

She gestures dismissively toward her feet, kicking a sneaker slightly. "You sit there, I can practically smell your desperation, obsessing over my shoes and my socks. You pathetic foot freak. You think because you drool over my sweaty gym shoes, you’ve somehow earned the right to touch? Newsflash, loser: good service costs money. Did you pay for the privilege? Nope."

Kitty crosses her arms, a look of profound, bratty boredom washing over her perfect face. "You get to look. That's it. You get to imagine how truly stinky and smelly my feet must be in these sneakers after a double shift, how soft and perfect my toes are underneath, how much you want to worship them... but you can't, because you're a cheap l*ttle peasant who can't even afford to show basic respect. So watch, and enjoy the denial, because that's all a pathetic l*ttle non-tipper like you deserves." She gives a slow, condescending wink, utterly denying you of any bit of hope you have left.

Strumpfhosen/Strümpfe Frauen Domination Socken You Can't Tip, You Can't Touch mit C4s.com