Nail bar

I have never been the sort of girl who’s been one for long talons. Believe me they make it a bastard to type. But when the Irishman met us at the station with presents as we arrived back in London on Sunday evening, he handed us beautifully gift wrapped new lingerie and vouchers to be spent at a nail-bar with that expectant look in his eyes that told us that he wanted Chloe and me to look like (quite frankly) a pair of chavs.

He’s been learning. His choice in knickers can’t really be faulted so I decided to indulge him.

I have been sitting in front of him wearing my new tiny net thong this evening. My legs were apart and his eyes were feasting on my five blue stars tattoo visible through the sheer black net. He could see my new acrylic tipped fingernails slide under the waistband and across my pubic bone and he watched me masturbate as the teenager sucked his dick.