Nipples. That’s all that needs to be said. I love nipples. A nipple itself — or merely the shape of one seen through a bra or some other impediment — or even the slightest hint that one might possibly be in the neighborhood. Any of these nipple situations gets the attention of my lord and master — Mr B. He’s my crown jewels, my package, my decision maker — and it was he, Mr B. himself, who ordered me to take the front sea...