A man from a record label was there and said he wanted to sign the band to a contract. Mick expressed interest but referred the man to me to review an... potential deal. I whispered to Mick that they shouldn't play any of our original stuff unless I said it was okay. He nodded and went up after the break and they played. The record label turned out to be non-existent. The man wanted to manage the band for a hefty percentage but said he could get them better gigs for more money and a recording. I don't know if he underestimated my ticklishness or my strength. Either way, my foot came out of his grip in a Jackie Chan-style kick. Its impact with the flimsy wall seemed to make a comically loud sound. While my orgasm insisted on its completion, I watched the neat box around me go trapezoidal in slow-motion. Santa looked up just as I felt him tighten. His pleasure panting took on an edge of concern. "Oh... oh...oh, shit." The collapse of the cardboard workshop ruined his orgasm and made. More

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