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Custom Script:

The clip starts as you c*ll me into your office after practice to tell me you're cutting me from the team because I throw like a s*ssy. Of course, I catch like a s*ssy too.

You tell me to lift my skirt, and a wicked smile spreads across your face as I do, just as you suspected—a s*ssy. No wonder I don't shower with the rest of the girls in the locker room. You laugh and humiliate me for my l*ttle pink chastity cage and ask if the administration makes me wear it. But then also compliment me for keeping up such a convincingly feminine appearance.

Imagine what the rest of the team would think if they found out I was a s*ssy?. how humiliating that would be for me. The ridicule would be relentless. All the girls would be pointing and laughing at my locked-up clitty. You then prop your feet up on your desk and peel off the athletic shoes you've been wearing with no socks. You tell me to get on my knees and kiss your big sweaty feet and beg for you not to expose me as a s*ssy to the rest of the team. as s*ssy submissively kneels and kisses your feet, you notice her locked clitty starting to strain and drip precum all over the floor. You roll your eyes in disgust. At least the s*ssy can dribble. Hmm, maybe there's a use for her after all.

Your husband, Mr. Washington (that's right, you married a bl*ck man), coaches the men's all-state basketball team, and they require an alternate fluffer, and you know for a fact that a feminine s*ssy white girl like myself would be VERY popular with the all-bl*ck team. So you make me a deal that if I spend the rest of the season getting p*ssed around and servicing the units BBC, you'll keep my s*ssy secret and may even allow me back on your team next season. Not as a player, of course, but as a towel girl. Describe what it will be like for me as a fluffer for the men's team; on my knees every practice, and at halftime, every game to boost team spirit, you'll stop in every so often to check in on my progress and coach me while I ch*ke on a BBC or two. How fun. You will also talk to the admin about fitting me for a tighter chastity cage and upping my hormone doses.

S*ssy is still kissing your feet and still dribbling. You ask me how your feet smell and laugh. You tell me that the smell drives your husband wild and that your feet are often so sweaty from work that you don't even need lube to give him a footjob. You tell me he's getting a footjob when you get home. So tonight, while I lay in my dorm room bed aching in my tight l*ttle chastity cage, you want me to picture your man's big bl*ck c*ck thrusting between your arches and sh*oting thick white ropes of c*m all over your hot, sweaty feet. Think of the c*m running down your wrinkled soles as I try desperately to rub my locked clitty against a pillow for some relief. Pathetic. You make the L sign with your hand and c*ll me a loser and dismiss me from your office, telling me to prepare myself for the start of march madness, b*tch.

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