Miss Layla, a temptress of the orient, toys with her audience, pleading, "Tell me that you want me," her voice a sultry whisper that dances along the edge of a moan. She lounges on a plush, velvet chaise, her body draped in a loose, silken robe that hints at the treasures hidden beneath. Her almond-shaped eyes, accentuated with kohl, flutter closed as she imagines your touch, your lips on hers, your hands exploring her lithe, exotic body. She parts her legs slightly, allowing the robe to slip open, revealing a tantalizing V of dark, trimmed curls, a promise of the delights that await if only you'll tell her what she longs to hear.