I slide into head-to-toe black leather—corset cinched, gloves tight, boots so glossy they mirror your desperation. You writhe on the floor where you belong, nose grazing the zipper of my thigh-high leather boots, while I enjoy a good book. No eye contact, no words—just the tantalizing creak of leather and the gleam of my heel when I swing it just out of tongue-reach. Focus on your task you’re lucky to even lick my boots. Listen to my breathy mocking laugh each time you whimper; your credit card even more eager than your cock. I ignore you so perfectly that my boots become your entire universe. Ready to pay for the privilege of being erased beneath them?