Poppy Knows His Whore Stuff

When guys come to me for a hard round of phone sex humiliation, I like to give them exactly what they want.  Like my foster daddy always said, “You can’t fake the funk, Sugarlump.”  It’s hard to act ashamed if you aren’t full of shame, so I do everything that I have to do to really make my callers feel the mortification I have inside of me.

Yes, I know I’m a dumb bitch who was only born to be used as a piece of walking fuck meat, and of course I know I’ll never amount to anything more than being a vessel for the holes that I let every guy get a piece of.  What good is it if I don’t really make you feel like I know it?  Not much good at all, wouldn’t be “worth the hassle of a refund, Honeybun” as my foster daddy likes to say.  I can tell you with my words, but if I’m going to believe it then I have to live it, so I like to invite a heavy hand into the mix while I’m jerking off cruelty loving cocks over the phone.

I’ll never forget my foster pop telling me “Any blow job worth doing is worth doing well, Silverbell” the very first time he shoved his uncircumcised prick in my young little slut mouth.  So I always give my Poppy a call to help me make my callers cum by putting me through all of the humiliation they want to see done to me.  I can’t whore write all over my own body.  I can’t believably slap myself until I make myself cry.  Poppy can do it all and then some, even coming up with stuff that my callers couldn’t even dream of concocting.  

I like being put in my whore place and taken down a peg or two, but If I’m going to talk about it then I’m going to live it.  There’s never been a shortage of men in my life who want to make me feel like a real cum loving gutter skank.  Poppy is the only one who’s always done his best to make me “walk the cock pleasing walk, Beanstalk.”

Kate

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