Snuff phone sex keeps life interesting. Men’s sexual fantasies range from the vanilla to the sick. But no judgment from me. Men pay me for all sorts of things. Sometimes I am the victim. Other times I am the accomplice. And sometimes which I am depends on me. I met a man with an interesting fetish at the strip club last month.
He got the VIP room for me, and another stripper named Hailey. And he did not ask about our standard menu items. He did not want a hand job or a blow job. Hell, he did not even want to fuck us. He paid to watch us wrestle each other. We looked at that as easy money. But over the weekend, he wanted to meet us outside the club. He still wanted us to wrestle with each other. However, he upped the ante. He wanted a death match.
When It Comes to Fighting I am Scrappy
Whichever one of us survived won the cash prize. I think it is obvious who won fight club. I adored Haily, but that much cash on the line brought out my killer phone sex spirit. Brought out hers too. But my spirit won out. At first, we thought he might be joking. Like he pulled a Halloween prank on us or something. Once we realized our kinky patron meant to kill us both if we did not embark on a death match, we fought tooth and nail.
I thought I would die. Hailey stood over me by a foot. Plus, she appeared stronger than me too. But I am scrappy. I learned to fight nasty to survive as a young girl. I pushed my fingers into Haily’s eyes blinding her. Once I pulled that move, I had the upper hand. And I already broke the cardinal rule of fight club. I talked about fight club. I will save the details of Haily’s brutal demise for a call. But understand she put up one hell of a fight.
Since I won the battle royale, this rich patron wants to make me the head of his girl fight club. I guess now, I am the queen of violent phone sex fantasies. I told you I was scrappy.
Cassandra SPS
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