After about twenty minutes or so, Britt began to fidget, and was constantly tugging at the upper shoulder strap of her bra. “Is something wrong,...dear,” asked Miss Ames, “you seem to be in great discomfort!?!” “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” replied Britt, “it’s just that these stupid straps practically cut me in half, my shoulders are killing me!!!” Since they were tucked away in Miss Ames’ private office, and the next appointment. Over and over you blow on my tenor sax, you lick the marshmallow meal and slurp up the melting cream and use it to groom the puffy, heart-shaped headgear that’s bulging at the tip of my outlet. Again and again, my shaft gets beaten down by your tacky covered lips, and I feel my cock becoming weary from your velvety sweet treatment. Shit! Fucking Ms. Cookie Monster is giving me head! I’m going batty, and I’m losing my marbles. Your mouth is humbling my arrogant dick, figuratively putting it on. More

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