SPH Experiences: The Sex Worker
By VirginGooner.
I found her online, on some escort site with blurry photos and promises of discretion. Her name was Lana, mid-20s, curvy with long dark hair and a bio that screamed ‘no judgments, all fun.’ I booked her for an hour at a cheap motel on the edge of town. My hands shook as I drove there, heart pounding like I’d run a marathon. What if she laughed? What if she backed out? But I was done waiting. I needed this.
She arrived right on time, knocking softly on the door. I opened it, and there she was—taller than I expected, in a tight red dress that hugged her tits and ass. She smiled, all professional, and stepped inside. “You must be Mike,” she said, her voice smooth like honey. I nodded, fumbling with the cash. $200, as agreed. She took it without counting, tucked it into her purse, and eyed the bed. “First time?” she asked, already slipping off her heels.
“Yeah,” I admitted, my face burning. “I’m… nervous.”
She chuckled, not mean, just knowing. “Relax, baby. I’ll take good care of you.”
She pulled me close, her hands on my waist, and kissed me. Her lips were soft, tasting like cherry lip gloss. I kissed back, awkward at first, then bolder, my hands sliding up her back. She unzipped her dress, letting it pool at her feet. No bra, just black lace panties and those full, heavy breasts right there. My cock twitched in my pants—such as it was.
We tumbled onto the bed, her on top, grinding against me. I groped her tits, squeezing the soft flesh, thumbs brushing her nipples until they hardened. She moaned a little; fake or not, it got me going. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” she whispered, reaching for my belt.
I froze. This was it. The moment of truth. She unbuckled me, tugged down my jeans and boxers, and… stopped.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She stared at my exposed dick, which was already as hard as it could get—barely poking out, a sad little nub surrounded by a nest of pubic hair.
“Oh my God,” she said, not whispering anymore. She sat back on her heels, covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Is that… it? That’s your cock?”
I wanted to die. Pull the covers over my head and disappear. “I-I know it’s small,” I stammered, trying to cover up.
But she batted my hand away, leaning in for a closer look. “Small? Honey, this is a clit. I’ve seen bigger on little boys.” Her tone shifted from seductive to mocking, a smirk playing on her lips.
I felt my face flush hotter than ever, but weirdly, my tiny dick stayed hard. The humiliation stung, but it also… turned me on?
Pathetic.
“Please,” I begged, voice cracking. “I paid you. Just… let me fuck you. I need to lose my virginity.”
She shook her head, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up like a taunt. “No way. I’m not putting that joke inside me. You’d barely feel it anyway—if I even noticed. Sorry, but no pussy for you tonight.” She glanced at the clock. “But hey, you paid for the hour. Clock’s ticking.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I was too desperate to stop. “What then?” I asked, hating how small I sounded.
She grinned, wicked now, and leaned back against the headboard, spreading her legs a bit. Her panties were still on, but the outline of her pussy lips showed through the lace. “Jerk it. Go on, stroke that little thing while I watch. Maybe if you cum quick, I won’t have to sit here bored.”
I hesitated, but the ache in my balls won out. I wrapped my fingers around my minuscule shaft—my hand dwarfed it completely—and started pumping. Up and down, the skin sliding over the pathetic length. It felt good, the friction building fast, but her eyes on me made it intense. She watched, unblinking, her expression a mix of pity and amusement.
“Look at you,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “Thirty years old and still a virgin because of that babydick. No wonder no girl’s ever wanted you. It’s embarrassing. I bet you’ve never even touched real tits before mine, huh? And now you can’t even fuck ’em.” She reached up, pinching her own nipple, twisting it until she gasped. “This is what a real man gets. Not you.”
Her words hit like punches, each one making my stomach twist, but my hand moved faster. Precum leaked from the tip, slicking my strokes. I stared at her body—the curve of her hips, the way her thighs pressed together—as I jerked harder.
“Faster, loser,” she commanded. “Show me how quick that shrimp cums. Bet it’s over in seconds.”
She was right.
The humiliation fueled it, the shame twisting into something hot and urgent.
My balls tightened, and with a whimper, I came—spurts of cum shooting out, landing on my stomach in weak dribbles.
Not much, just a few pathetic strings.
She burst out laughing, pointing. “That’s it? That’s your load? Jesus, even your cum is tiny. Clean yourself up, virgin boy. Session’s over.”
I lay there, spent and humiliated, as she dressed and left without another word.
I didn’t lose my virginity that night, but I got something worse: the confirmation that my dick really was the end of the line.
And yet, as I drove home, sticky and ashamed, I already knew I’d be jerking off to the memory later.
The End.
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