Big Daddy
Jill Elliott
They say I look almost like Dolly Parton, except my boobs ain't quite that huge, my hair ain't quite that blonde, my clothes ain't quite that cheap, but almost. My bank account balance ain't got quite as many zeros as Dolly's either but I make good money from those good ol' Texas boys. They sure do believe in the old adage bigger is better.
My most faithful customer told me to call him Big Daddy. He's the spitting image of our president George W. but swears he's not. He has to have war movies playing in the background while he's banging me. Guess the sound of all those explosions, guns and people screaming in agony really gets him hard. The first time I played one, he mused, "I just want you to know that, when we talk about war, we're really talking about peace." It sounded just like he was reading from a speech and he was staring off into space, or it could have been an imaginary teleprompter.
He ordered me to play the Star Spangled Banner every time he walks in the door.
He doesn't like me to open my mouth at all, unless it's to shove his tiny little dick in it. If I do say something he generally says, "Not now Condi," or once in a great while "Not now Laura, can't you see I'm busy being Commander in Chief."
Come to think of it he doesn't say much. Guess he must do a lot of talking in his job, because he always arrives here parched, and asks for a bourbon to wet his whistle.
Sometimes I wonder if he finished high school 'cos he says the dumbest things like "you misunderestimate me if you think I can only last for three thrusts" or "Do you think I'm a miserable failure when I don't take a long time before I jerkulate" and "You know I can do more better than that."
Most often he wants me on all fours, my well-rounded ass way up in the air. I charge him extra if he marks me with his riding crop. A girl's gotta look good for all her customers all the time, that's the motto I was brought up with anyways.
He loves to suck on my big brown nipples. Guess he wasn't breast-fed as a baby, or he's trying to get over some kind of oral fixation. Lots of guys trying to give up drinking seem like they're wanting to get some sort of juice from my tits.
The funniest thing about this trick is when he talks to his Christian God. Right after he takes off his pants, he clasps his hands together and says, "For what I am about to receive, may the Lord make me truly thankful" and right after he's shot his wad he calls out, "Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord."
Come to think of it, he never does come visiting on a Sunday. Maybe it's his day of rest when he muses about his faith-based initiative, or he has to go to church with his wife and their twin daughters.
