He wanted a smoking fetish phone sex call. I don’t always smoke, but when I am drinking, I can’t help it. All my friends at the strip club smoke. I pick up nasty habits easily. Well this dude wanted me to shame his little dick. He has read my blogs and knew I was a size queen. He also knew that if I can handle an anaconda, I would know his little shrimp dick doesn’t measure up. He sent me pictures. I don’t wear glasses, but I needed a pair of those magnifying glasses to see his shrimp dick. It was so tiny. I took a deep inhale on my cig and blew smoke rings around his pathetic wiener. The smoke made it disappear completely. I couldn’t believe this loser was paying me to laugh at his sorry ass excuse for a manhood. How fucking pathetic must a man be to pay for small cock humiliation phone sex? I told him he couldn’t touch his little wee wee or I would flick my ashes on it. My cigarette was longer and about as thick as his pencil dick. I should have charged him double the normal rate. You know, like an annoyance tax or something. I was happy to laugh at the images of his nub that he sent me and puff of my cigarette. I couldn’t contain my laughter, however. Loser. It turned him on to know that I wasn’t being nice because I was getting paid. I was giving him my real reaction to his small dick. I hope I never have to meet a man in person with such a little dick like his. Wait, if I did, it wouldn’t be a man. A man has a real dick. This guy was a boy at best, maybe even a male barbie doll. Most satisfying thing about that call was my cigarette.
Cassandra
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