A. at Cornwall. The stop and go traffic towards the border crossing created a frantic situation for me. Every time I moved my right foot from the gas ...o the brakes, the inside of my thigh pushed hard against the ice scrapper’s blade. That shoved it sideways and I felt it split open my vulva. Each time we moved a car length ahead, I felt my pussy got looser and wetter. It was all I could do to stay calm while approaching the Customs Officer. She was an attractive, but bitchy-looking. I do it all for him. I'm guilty though. Guilty of sometimes having a secondary, wicked motivation and that delicious repayment of my efforts. It sometimes makes me move faster, harder, and longer, and that little subtle push to go along with my main reason for my submission to him. I just can't help it. His tongue is my vice, my weakness, and my Achilles heel. Sometimes he just wants to eat for his own pleasure, whether I cum or not. He may stroke himself off while he does so. When it's for. More

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