He needed a dose of my brand of phone sex humiliation. He hired me to strip for him. He paid me great money and he was vetted properly. He had no criminal record and everything he told me about himself checked out. He did lie about one thing. He told me he had a monster cock. I was dancing to some Lady Gaga, stripping off seductively when he pulled it out. I stopped my dance, got this dumbfounded look on my face and found myself struggling to not say, “Where’s the beef?” He had a little sausage link at best. I’m spoiled by anaconda meat. If he was hoping I would fuck him, he didn’t have enough money. I didn’t care how much he offered, I was set to tell him it wasn’t enough. It appeared that he wanted some small cock humiliation phone sex. I gave it too him too. I told him all the things that were in my head. I laughed hysterically at the notion he thought he had a big dick. I have seen a bigger package on the Ken doll I played with as a little girl. I kept dancing and showing him the body, he was never going to get. At one point, I started singing that En Vogue song “You’re Never Gonna Get It.” He was tossing money at me like I was at The Pleasure Palace on stage. I’m not gonna say the floor was covered in Benjamins like it was at the Atlanta strip club after the Super Bowl, but I won’t be worried about the rent anytime soon. I dodged a bullet because I was certain this fat old bastard was going to try to pork me with his sausage link. He just wanted some humiliation phone sex from a cock size queen.
Cassandra
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