don't starve wigfrid

“Take these back to the fitting room and try them on. I’ll bring back some other styles for you to try in a minute,” she said, still speaking too loudly.“Mrs. B., I don’t think you…” Clueless.

“Yeah, I know...” I commiserated, and now that Brucie was no longer in my way I could lean down to give her a comforting hug. “You get used to that part, eventually. Just try to relax, and focus on how good it feels filling you up. He'll start to shrink down pretty quick. You can also put your hand on your pussy, if you want, to hold your lips closed and keep him in there longer. It can help, to make sure he's shrunk down even smaller before you decide to let him out, so he doesn't stretch you so much when he does it. Just don't hold him in there too long, or eventually he'll get annoyed and twist around to nip you on your butt to make you let him go.”

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.