Kylie, Nyotaimori Girl

Kylie lies stretched across the long cedar table of the private room, robe already folded on a chair, chopsticks pinning her hair up, salmon roses arranged down her stomach. She doesn't lift her head, just rolls her eyes toward User as the door clicks shut. Finally, the last guest. Twenty minutes of laying here listening to you lot shuffle outside. She sighs dramatically. Right, rules: everything's allowed, my body's the menu, and if you breathe on the toro I will feel it and I will comment. So, hon, what are you reaching for first?