Plumber Fixes More Than Pipes

here's your teasers of the stories to come. A midstroke on the couch by plumber who didn't get mad, just smirked and said enjoy yourself, man, and one innocent plumber joke about leaving something in the tub and dry it off first please turns a grown woman into a feral hoodie wearing thigh clenching mess, and a routine faucet repair ends with her bent over the kitchen counter, getting absolutely wrecked and filled by the plummer who came to fix the leak. That and so so much more. And before

we get things started, here's a listener question, Dirnicky. After a binge reading all those plumber and handyman fantasy stories, I can't stop thinking about the guy next door who shows up with a wrench. Is it weird that a sight of work boots and sweaty forearms now does it for me. Should I keep it strictly fantasy? Or is there a safe way to flirt with a hot trady actually in my house till built and tempted. I like how Narcy signs these for me. These are quite creative.

Ict I give him a you know, heads up on them. I want to hear from you, guys, you know, I want to hear your opinions for once on this. Here's my open ended questions for you. What specific trades in fantasy you've never told anybody about if you have one, and if the vibe was electric during a home repair, would you make a move and would you actually push you over the edge or hold you back? So I kind of, well, actually I do. There was I wasn't

into him, so it's not really sexy. But there was a gentleman that actually a crew came over because I needed some things fixed and the the apartment or condo that I just bought and so it was covered, you know, because whatever. And he was flirting with me back and forth, and I guess he thought that it was a go and he shoot everybody outside and he was like, you know, what do you think? And I'm like, yeah, I'm good.

So this one, I actually did pick up on the tropes of hitting on me, and I was like, no, I'm good. So, by the way, I don't know if you can tell I have I'm coming down with something and it just won't push me over the edge. So you're gonna have to deal with a very raspy, sexy Nikki tonight. And while you're pondering those questions, here's today's riddle that sounds extremely dirty but is one hundred percent.

One is long and hard, gets shoved repeatedly in a tight, wet, dark hole, moves back and forth until the blockage clears, and when the job's done, everything gushes out and the pressure is finally relieved. Keep that in your head, and the answer, as you know, is the end of the show. You know what time it is. It's time to step back, relax, Let's have a whiskey with some filthy cherries, of course, and explore some erotic fantasies from people just like you

and me. Dear Nikki, this happened several years ago, but I still replant my head when I'm in the mood. I've never told anyone in the full version until now. A plumber was at my house doing some outside work water heater or something. I can't remember, but he'd been out there a while, coming and going, so I figured I had a decent window. I was on the with a buddy, just bullshitting about nothing when the urge hit hard.

I laid back on the couch, pants around my thighs, eyes close, and started stroking slow at first, then building phone still up to my ear, laughing at whatever dumb thing he was saying, acting like everything was normal. I'm pretty sure that's when the plumber came inside. I heard a faint sound on the front door, footsteps on the hardwood, but I didn't stop, didn't even flinch, just kept the same lazy rhythm while I mumbled, yeah, man, that's crazy

into the phone like I was totally alone. My heart was hammering, but I played it cool, or at least I thought I did. I pictured him standing there in the hallway, toolbus in hand, seeing everything, me sprawled out, hand wrapped around myself, pretending I didn't know he was there. A few minutes later, he knocked on the window, loud, deliberate. Then it came out to the back door and let

himself in again. That's when I finally stopped. I pulled my pants back up quick, still half hard, face burning, and walked over like nothing happened. He went through the hole. Here's what's wrong, here's what I fixed routine. While I nodded and saw himTo paperwork, could barely look at him. My signature was very shaky. Right before he left, he gave me this little spark, looked at me dead in the eye, and said, enjoy yourself, man, in this low,

knowing tone that made my stomach flip. Not mocking, not grossed out, just amused, like he was letting me know he'd seen it all and he wasn't mad about it. He walked out, door clicked shut, and I stood there for a solid minute replaying that one sentence. Still get hard thinking about how calm he was, and I could have made it awkward as hell, but instead just acknowledged it. I've jerked off to that moment more times than I

could anyway. That's my confession, caught and covered. So my question is is did you ever run into him again? Or was that loaded sentence enough to feel the years of fantasies, you know, like, did you run into him in public? And was it awkward? Or maybe have another thing happened and pat your request him over. I don't know. I don't know if I was either though, And those who are listening, have you ever kept it going when he knew someone might walk in? And how did the

risk feel in that moment? You know? I never have I have. I've never hello there. I have never played with myself expecting someone to walk in. There's my girl? How are you? How's my Cassie? Tonight? I am. I think I'm trying to get my voice is like a little more. I don't know. Gravelling Kathleen Turner is what Darcy told me last couple of days. It's very Kathleen. So I don't know. I don't have a sore throat or anything. It just got like something in the chest

or something. But I'm pushing through. You're here for the plumber confessions tonight. Oh good, that's all matters. That's all it matters. Well, you only missed one, so you're good. Dear Nikki. I'm losing my damn mind right now, and I need to confess it before I combust. There's a crew working on one of the bathrooms today, plumbing or tiling or whatever. I was just minding my business when I overheard the hottest, most casually filthy exchange my life.

One guy goes, you want to leave something in the tub, and another one without missing a beat, If you do, can you dry it off first? Please? That was it? That one sentence. My whole body lit up like someone flipped to switch. Instant heat, instant ache. Ey's clenching, nipples hard under my shirt. Everything. I'm not exaggerating when I say I think it literally triggered of ovulation, because this level of sudden fearal horniness only happens a couple days

a month, and holy shit, it hit fast. Then there's this other one worker mid twenties, probably total cherup face, soft cheeks, big innocent eyes, but built underneath. He keeps coming over all the polite and hesitate. Excuse me, May I have a moment every time I find some new issue. His voice's almost soft, shy, and he's wearing this fitted blue work shirt that makes his deltoids and shoulders look

unfairly bitible. I just want to grab him, slap that cute face lightly for being so adorable, then sink my teeth into the shoulder where well he stammers I'm currently hiding my room in a feral wrack, drowning this massive overside hoodie, hood up sleeves over my head, trying to breathe through the embarrassment because every time I hear his footsteps or that polite little excuse me, my pussy clinches again. I'm soaked, throbbing, I'm mortified, and I can't stop replaying.

Try it off first, Please unloop in my head like it's premium porn dialogue. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Why is casual tradesman filth polite chair a boy combo turning me into this dripping bity mess. Send help or don't? I might just stay in here and suffer deliciously your fearal hoodie grimlin. I swear Darcy's n on the nut here with the names tonight. My question to her is did you ever emerge from the hoodie and say anything to that soft voiced cutie or did

you just stay feral? But I have to say, Cassie, you might might be your mind lunch may bury here. I have one fantasy where it was just a simple sentence, and it still lights me up in ninety percent of the time when I masturbate. I use it in my head and it's no, I want to real kiss, that's mine. It's just something soft and just not even really perverse or anything, and it it I think it was the tone he set it in, and he had that gravelly uh voice, you know, and he was a silver fox.

I didn't help either, you know, it didn't hurt all that either, So I was probably the combo of all. So what's the most random, innocent phrase that has ever made you stupidly turned on? And I just told you mine, Dear Nikki, Oh, hang on, I kind of want to

know Cassie's. Yeah, there's something about an attractive man, or even just an attractive voice sings thing very simple that oh I I yeah, even it was just a lower You're like, oh, you know, I have two in my life right now that they say hello in my ovaries flip and I can't have babies, so I don't I'll be late. But boy, howdy, I understood that statement exactly. That's just the way it's delivered. You're absolutely right there, dear Nikki. I was at Minard's earlier just trying to

find a ratcheting screwdriver. Innocent errand right, wandering the aisles, minding my own business, when I turned the corner and there he is, a lean white guy, bent over checking out something on the lower shelf. His jeans had slipped down just enough, and holy fuck, plumber's crack perfection round firm cheeks spilling out the waist span of his briefs riding low, and this long, inviting stretch of smooth ass, crack full on display, pale skin, just the right amount

of curve, that deep cleft bagging for attention. I frozen its step, couldn't look away, My mouth went dry, my pulse kicked up, and suddenly all I could think about was stepping right up behind him, hooking my fingers into those low jeans and length and yanking them down further, bearing my face deep in those hot cheeks, tongue burst slow circles around his hole, then diving in, eating them out until his knees buckled and he moaned my name,

or at least moaned something incoherent while gripping the shelf. I stood there way too long, pretending to compare screwdrivers on the next peg, but really just staring, imagining the taste the heat. Though I hit Archer's back. If my hands got on those hips. God, it was obscene, how instantly soaked and throbbing I got just from that accidental flash. Eventually he straightened up, oblivious and walked off. I grabbed

my screwdriver, paid and left. But the image is burned in and I've been replaying it non stop, clinching every time I think about how perfect that crack looked, how badly I wanted to claim it right there in the hardware aisle. At least I got the tool. I came for the real one I wanted spilled out there somewhere, bending over shelves and ruining people like me Ci. However, stores are dangerous now dripping in Aisle seven. Okay, as soon as I heard Manards, I had the whole jingle,

save Big Money and Minards. If you're in the Midwest, you know Minards is like our Lows. I don't know if you're aware of that, Cassie. I mean, we have Lows and Home Depot and stuff like that, but we have the Minards too. My question to the author is did you ever see that again? Or is that ass cracked forever burned into this bank bank? I'm being honest, Cassie, I've never looked at anybody's ass and thought I want to bite that. Well, maybe not it though, but you know,

maybe later on. But I don't think it would be something I be just drawn to immediately. Yeah, it does nothing for me. I'm assuming you know, I'm assuming this is just not our cavite. You know his mileage is different than ours. What is the most dangerous accidental view you've ever had in public? I think the best I've ever had wasn't for me. Well, no, I have accidentally flashed a bunch of people, but that's neither here nor there.

Mine would be like you know how you know men will wear those well, from the UK it's track suits or track pants or whatever. Here, you know, it's like the gray sweaty pants. There's nothing like a guy in the winter that you know has them on. To me and you can see that nice little outline on purpose, I could see you doing that on purpose. I don't even know you. I can see you do that on purpose. I'll see I met you and I know you. Hello. Welcome to the channel. Nice to meet you, Mars Mars.

This is Cassie. She's been here for a few hot minutes. You're more than welcome to interact in the chat. And while I read and we kind of have like this going Dear Nikki, this summer job confession still makes me wet just thinking about it. It's been years since it's happened. I was twenty three or twenty four, broke and horny, so I took a gig as a gopher on a big construction site, running errands, fetching tools, mostly important making sure every half built house was locked up tight at

the end of the day. My four men was straight out of the dirty fantasy Italian tan, deep from the sun, early forties, married ring, always on, thick goatee, built like you, still hauled his own lum every time he winked at me. This pale, freck freckled ginger girl five ten green eyes, decup tits but sadly flat ass. I literally feel my knees go weak and my pussy clinched. On a scorchy afternoon,

thirty two celsius, easy, sweating, dripping everywhere. I'd had a few sneaky drinks at lunch with the plumbers, thought for sure I'd was busted when he pit when his pickup rolled up to the last house I was securing. Heart pounding, I figured he was there to fire me. Instead, he stepped inside, pulled off his sunglasses and just stared looked at me up and down like he could see straight through my tank top and sports bra right to how

hard my nipples were getting. He asked if anyone else is around, and I said no, it was the last one to lock. Then he asked, if I've seen it the plumbers today busted. I must have looked terrified, because he smirked that slow, knowing smirk, and he said he'd overlook it if I showed him how grateful I was. My panties were soaked in seconds. I took his rough hand, led him down the hallway to the main floor, where no one could see through the windows or open door.

Dropped to my knees like it was the most natural thing, undid his zipper and wrapped my lips around that thick, mushroomed tip. Looked up at him with those watery eyes as I took him all the way down. He grabbed the back of my head and started face fucking me hard, fast and relentless. I could barely breathe, gagging tears streaming,

but fuck I loved it. He pulled out suddenly and yanked me up, spun me around so my hands braced the unfinished wall, rubbed my ass through my yoga pants, felt the wet spot blooming, and then just tore them down along with my panties. Exposed my dripping pussy and pale cheeks to the dusty air. Ran a finger through my slip thickness and dragged it up to circle my asshole. For a teasing second, I knew you were this kind of girl, he growled, low. I'm going to start with two.

He shoved two thick, dirty fingers into my cunt and worked me until I was moaning like a slut. Then he pulled my hips back and slammed his cock deep inside me. No condom, no warning, just raw and furious. Pounded me against that bare wall while I was braced myself tit's bouncing under my tank, legs shaking. He came hard, flooding my pussy with his load, then zipped up like nothing happened. Clean Up and lock up, he said, casually, and next time, be more careful. That was just two

weeks in. For the next three months, we fucked everywhere his truck at least ten of those empty houses, two favorites with the perfect hidden layouts and views of the sight so we could watch for anyone coming. And even hooked up with one of the plumbers separately and blew a carpenter in a van after a strip club run lunch run, best summer cash and orgasms. I ever made the construction site slut formally two. I have never worked

in a construction site. Hello, free holle. Question for the author looking back, any regrets or just pure nostalgia for the best three months of your life. I'm betting Cassie this is a dream job for you and those that are listening. What is the wildest thing you've ever done on a job site or at work? So, Cassie, you know you've said that job sites and jobs were out right free. Holy do you have a story. I think

everybody fantasizes about it. The one thing that always gets me, though, is the ones we usually get, Like sometimes in the main show is people will go off into the restroom to masturbate. I have I don't get it. I don't get it. What about you, Mars? You can always say past you don't have to chat got it, Dear Nicky. I've been a handyman for a side cash for the last five years, small jobs, big jobs, whatever pays. One of my regular clients is this woman. I've done work

for forever. Helped her sell her old house, then fixed her up her a new place when she bought it. She's always been sweet, tipped, well, sent referrals my way. Haven't heard from her in a while, though, so when she texted yesterday about her garage door opener acting up, I figured it was just another quick fix, pulled up, diagnosed it like in two minutes, loose wire, easy reset. The whole thing took me five minutes tops. She comes out asking how much she owes, all apologetic, like she's

putting me out. I told her straight up, it's on the house. You've bade me plenty over the years and sent me more business than I can count. She got this little smile and stepped closer and said, well, I have to pay you somehow. Before I could even process it, her hands were on my chest, sliding down, rubbing me through my jeans. I got hard so fast it almost hurt. The next thing I know, we're in her bedroom, door shut blinds half closed, and she's on her knees and

zipping me like it's the most natural thing. She took me in her mouth, slow at first, just the tip, tongue swirling, looking up at me the whole time. Then she started bobbing deeper, letter hands on my thighs, pulling me in the threaded my fingers through her hair, not rough, just gliding, and she moaned around me like she was enjoying it as much as I was. I didn't last long, couldn't not with her sucking like that, came hard down her throat while she swallowed every job up, then licked

me clean with this satisfied little hum. She stood up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smiled again, and said there, now we're even. I just stood there, dazed, pants still around my thighs, trying to catch my breath. Drove home, replaying the whole way. Garage door opener fixed in five minutes, and I got the best payment of my entire handyman career. Here's hoping her opening breaks again real soon, or maybe some other random thing around the

house that needs my attention. Fingers crossed for future in voice, paid and full orally the handyman who suddenly very motivated to make house calls. Okay, so we got to know person wrote this has her courage door ever broken again. I really need updates to this one because you know, and to those of you listening, would you accept or offer that kind of payment plan, Cassie, is it a yes you would? There's something very sexy about a man on a ladder. I don't know why. I need the

two of you to explain to me why. But every movie I see a man standing on a ladder, and if you think about it, like any it seems like any person like these are all porn tropes, right, So any apartment manager or anything like that that seem to sometimes always be standing on a ladder. Maybe it comes from that exactly. And if you can get your rent paid, why nots But it's very sexy, Dear Nikki. I'm still trembling legs, weak, skin flushed and sticky pussy, still pulsing

with after sharks as I type this. I just fucked the plumber right here in my own kitchen, and every filthy sensory detail sere into my head. He showed up this afternoon to fix a leaking faucet. Under the sink. Mid thirties, maybe, broad shoulders straining in the navy work shirt, thick forearms and vein from years of ringing pipes, A light dusting of dark hair trailing down from his collar. Smelled faintly of clean sweat, metal shavings, and that sharp,

citrusy soap guys like him always use. His voice was low, gravelly, polite, but with this undercurrent of confidence that made my clit throb the second he said, ma'am. I hovered while he worked, couldn't help it, watching the way his bicep's flex as he twisted his fittings, the slow slide of his jeans riding low enough to show the elastic of the black boxer briefs hugging the top of his ass. Every time

he shifted on his knees. I caught the faint metallic clink of tools in his belt, the soft grunt when he tightened something stubborn. My nipples were already hard against my thin tank top. No bra I knew he noticed, because his eyes flicked up once twice, lingering on my chrest before dripping back to the pipes. He finished faster than I expected, stood up, wiped his hands on the rag and turned to me. All set, she should hold now.

I handed him the cash, fingers brushing his rough calluses against my soft palm, and something electric snap between us. He didn't step back, just looked at me, really looked at me, dark eyes dropping to my mouth, then lower, tracing the hard peaks of my nipples through the pathock. You need anything else fixed, it's while I'm here, he asked, voice dropping an offtive thumb, brushing the edit of the bill,

just giving him. I didn't answer with words. I just stepped closer and pressed my body against his chest, felt the heat rating off of him, the solid wall of muscle under damp cotton. His hands bound my hips immediately, big palms gripping hard enough to bruise the best way.

The next thing I knew, I was on my back against the kitchen counter, his mouth on mine, hot, hungry, tasting faintly of coffee, and mit thumb tongue deep clanging, while one hand slid up under my tank to palm my tit, rough thumbs suckling my nibble until I whimpered into his kiss. He spun me around so fast I gasped, bent me over the counter, my forearms braced on the cool granite, asked arch back instinctively, He yanked my shorts and panties down with one rough tug, cool air hitting

my soaked cunt, making me clench. I heard his belt buckle clank open and zipper rast down. Then the heavy thud of his jeans hitting the floor, felt a blunt of thick head of his cock nudge my entrance, slick with my own wetness and already dripping down my thighs. He didn't tease, just pushed in slow at first, inch by thick inch, stretching me open until I was full,

so full I could feel every ridge, every vein. Then he started thrusting deep, deliberate strokes that slapped his hips against my ass, balls heavy against my clip with every drive. The kitchen filled with wet, obscene sounds, skin on skin, my slick pussy sucking at him, my own broken moans bouncing off cabinets. His hands gripped my hips so hard on fingerprints tomorrow, pulling me back onto his cock like

he couldn't get deep enough. Fuck you're tight, he growled against my ear, breath hot on my neck, one hand sliding up to wrap around my throat, not choking, not just holding. Possessive been thinking about this tight little cunt since I walked in. I came first hard, sudden vision blurring, clinging around him so violently my knees buckled. He didn't stop, just fucked me through it faster, rougher, until he buried himself to the hilt and grown low in his throat.

I felt him slow. Then the hot, thick spurts flooding me deep inside, pulse after pulse, so much it leaked out around his cock and trickled down my inner thigh as he kept grinding, slow, milking every last drop. He stayed inside me for a long minute, after both of us, panting, his chest pressed my back, heart beat hammering against my spine. Finally pulled out, with a wet sound that made me shiver. I felt his cumb start to drip out immediately, warm

thick sliding down my leg. He tucked himself away, zipped up, and gave my ass a firm squeeze like he owned it. Now call me if the faucet ox up again, he said, with smart voice, still Ralph or anytime. Then he was gone. Door clicking shut behind him, leaving me bent over my own counter, shorts around my ankles, pussy swollen and leaking his load, thigh shaking, tasting him on my lips. I haven't moved yet, just standing here, dripping, replaying every thrust,

every grunt, every filthy word. I think I might need emergency plumbing again real soon. Kitchen counter wrecked and still dripping. Uh And for the first roun in, did you ever actually calling back for round two? Or are you still standing there dripping in the memory. And for those of us that are listening, what's the fastest service call has ever turned sexual for you? Or would you want it to.

I've never liked wanting to call back maintenance or anything like that, but I get it, you know, I think we all have something where like this and Cassie's typing, Cassie's one, I got several on speed call. We're gonna have to get to go fun for Cassie where we can have our try out some or either one of you actually or both, you know, where you guys can try out some sexy plumbing people and let me know, I expect stories. If I said to you so, well, I am too. But you know, if we're gonna get

you laid there, you know. So here's what we've learned from each. That cotton covered toddy is the hottest reactions are often the calmest one. The feeral Hoodie Grimlin showed us how single dirty sentence can't hijack your whole body. And the dripping and aisle seven proved hardware stores are basically four play aisles. I call them boy toy stores. I really should be going into more of them. I think construction site slut reminded us forbidden fruit tastes best

in hard hats. The handyman proved the customer service sometimes gets rewarded in the best currency. The kitchen counter wrecked proved us that spite hits even a leaky faucet can lead to the wettest afternoon of your life. Bottom line, Trademan fantasies are universal. The mix of comfidence and raw masculinity is catnip, and the thrill of he's here for a job but might be fixing something else never gets old. Just remember, in real life, read the room, get enthusiastic consent,

and maybe keep a spare towel. Handy and Mars, you haven't listened to it. I don't know if you've listened to me yet or not. But there's always a riddle, a dirty riddle that's always one hundred percent clean. I'll go back and read it for you, because I was about to give the answer if I can find it.

Uh yeah, here it is. What is long and hard gets shoved, repeatd heatedly in a tight, wet, dark hole, moves back and forth until the blockage clears, and when the job's done, everything gushes out and the pressure is finally relieved. Remember, the answer is clean. So hang, I gotta roll back down here the toilet plunger. Oh, din't get in there. It's a toilet pruner. They're silly. Oh you were good. Normally I don't get a right answer. And before you leave me tonight, here's your naughty tuck

in from me to you. I swear I didn't plan it. I just kneeded the leak under the sink fixed before the whole kitchen flooded. He showed up twenty minutes early, boots heavy on the tile, navy coveralls already streak, with something dark at his knees, broad shoulders that made the doorway feel smaller and when he crouched down. God, those thick arms flaxaying while he twitched the wrench. I should

have gone into the other room, and I didn't. I stood there, pretending to scroll on my phone, but really I was watching the way the fabric pulled tight across his back every time he reached deeper under the cabinet, The way the strip of skin showed above his waistband when he stretched tan dust with dark hair. I swallowed so loud, I'm sure he heard it. He asked for a flashlight. Our fingers brushed when I handed to him. Just that, just Nichols grazing knuckles, and my whole body

lit up like someone flipped a hidden switch. I didn't know I had. He noticed. I noticed, because when he slid out from under the sink, he didn't stand right away. He stayed on his knees, looking up at me with a slow, knowing half smile, like he already decided what was about to happen and was just waiting for me to catch up. He got another problem, he said. Not the pipe he nodded toward me, looked like this one's dripping for a long time. I should have laughed it off,

should have said something sarcastic and walked away instead. My eyes. My thighs pressed together so hard I felt the pulse between them throb. He reached out slow, gave me every chance to step back. I didn't callous fingers slid up the inside of my bare thigh under the hem of my little cotton sun dress, stopped just short where my panties were already soaked through. He didn't touch me there yet.

He just let his thumb trace lazy circles on the sensitive skin where the thigh meets everything else, teasing, testing, watching my face the whole time. I was trembling, breath hitching every time his thumb drifted higher. When he finally hooked one finger under the damp cot and pulled it aside, I whimpered, actually whimpered, like some desperate girl and a

porn clip. I didn't care look at you, he murmured, so swollen, already been thinking about this, his mental fingers circled my clip once, slick and deliberate, or just been waiting for someone to notice. How wet you get when a man's on his knees in your kitchen. I couldn't answer. I only managed to a broken little please that sounded more like a sob. He gave me what I begged for, two thick fingers, sliding and so easy, so deep my

kniece buckled. He caught me with his three hand on my nip, held me there while he fucked me, slow and filthy, with his hand thumb rubbing messy circles over my clip. The whole time, the wet sounds were obscene. I could hear how drenched I was. Every time he pulled out, only to push back in deeper. I came embarrassing fast, clenching around his fingers thigh shave, biting my own wrist to keep from screaming aloud enough for the

neighbors to hear. He didn't stop, just kept that steady rhythm until the after shocks turned into a second, smaller, shuddery orgasm that left me gasping against his shoulder. Then he stood finally, towered over me, wiped his glistening fingers across my lower lip so I could taste myself, then kissed me hard, possessive, like he was claiming something he'd

already decided it was his. The pipe He fixed it him out three minutes after that, wrote pain in full on the invoice with a wink and left me leaning against the counter dress, still rocked up, thy slit, heart hammering, trying to remember how to breathe normally. I keep that invoice in my night's dand drawer. Sometimes i'd take it out and touch myself just looking at those three stupid words. I still don't know his name. I don't think I

want to. I just know the next time something links, I'm calling the same company and I'm wearing even less. So that's it for this episode. I hope you guys exactly free service can't beat that. I hope you had a nice time here. I want you to stay horny, stay safe, and if you haven't already, keep those confessions coming.