No. "Come to mama," Joanne simpered, opening her mouth. The slightly pointed tip of the brush eased between her lips, onto the end of her wet red tongue. She closed her lips, and began to suck with loud, slurping noises, the kind of noises she had made as a teenager sucking cock for the first time. High school boys had enjoyed hearing her sounds of passion, mistaking the smacks and slobbers for skill. She'd learned better, but the man who had helped her learn didn't seem to be interested anymore, and he wasn't here to bitch about the quality of the head she gave his bath brush. She kept on sucking, until her mouth was overflowing with drool and she had to clear her throat and swallow hard.

Joanne's eased the brush handle out of her mouth and she looked at it, turning it this way and that, her eyes examining it for the first time, the first serious time. It was about eight inches long, a fraction shorter than Tom's prick, and not nearly as thick as that sweet tool of his. She could wrap her thumb and finger around it twice – or could have, if she'd been triple-jointed. It was, perhaps, as thick as two of Joanne's slender fingers. She noted the size, made the mental comparison, and ten her eyebrows lifted. Her lips curled up into a wry smile. "Why not?" she said. "At least it doesn't tire out and curl up, the way my fingers do just when I need them most."

And with that she rocked back, bracing her ass and shoulders against the back wall of the tower. One of her legs slipped out to rest on the white fur rug outside the stall, and she lifted her other foot high, resting it beside the tray where the soap was kept. She was spread widely, and she wriggled around until she was comfortable, in the process opening her snatch a little more. She looked down into her wet, matted triangle of pussy hair, saw the red lips of her cunt showing among the curls of fur.