Cayenne Klein
Cayenne Klein arrives from Budapest with auburn hair and green eyes. Five-seven, one-twelve, size seven feet, measurements thirty-four A, twenty-four, thirty-four. Her feet look perfect. She uses them to finish men, the way another woman might use her hand. Nothing gentle about it. Just the steady slide of arch and toes until release. Later she reaches for toys. Small ones, thick ones, any color that catches her eye, each one worked slowly into her ass while she keeps her back arched and her breath short.
Cayenne Klein
Cayenne Klein arrives from Budapest with auburn hair and green eyes. Five-seven, one-twelve, size seven feet, measurements thirty-four A, twenty-four, thirty-four. Her feet look perfect. She uses them to finish men, the way another woman might use her hand. Nothing gentle about it. Just the steady slide of arch and toes until release. Later she reaches for toys. Small ones, thick ones, any color that catches her eye, each one worked slowly into her ass while she keeps her back arched and her breath short.
