My Sexcation

by Pseudonymous

I really wanted to sleep with a midget, just once in my lifetime.

It all started out innocently enough. I learned that prostitution was legal in Nevada, so long as it was outside the Las Vegas city limits. This got me thinking about one of my life goals, to have relations with a little person. As Nevada is not exactly within acceptable driving distance just to get a little ass I decided I would have to make a vacation out of it. My wife had been pushing me to book us a vacation anyhow. Yes, my wife. As any good woman should, she supports me in my life goals. She wants me to self-actualize, and if that means playing spin the midget on the cock then so-be-it.

So I placed a call to a favorably reviewed brothel, The Sex Buffet Loveranch. I advised them I had very specific fantastical needs, and inquired if they had any midget prostitutes. I was quickly corrected by the person on the other end, “We call them Dwarfitutes, sir!” Well, alright, call them whatever you want just tell me that you have one available for my demented fantasies. I was given information about their two Dwarfitutes, including web profiles with photos, specialties, etc. I quickly made my decision which one I preferred, and booked a few hours with her. The decision was an easy one, as I wanted to fuck a scaled-down chick, not one whose head was larger than my own, but on a 4 foot frame.

One condition of my married ass being allowed to knock the tiny boots off of a midget, is that my wife get to observe. And you thought I was the freak, right? So my understanding spouse and I arrive at The Sex Buffet Loveranch, and check-in at the front desk. The setup is much like a Doctors office. Check in at the front desk, and wait in the lounge pensively.

After the longest 5 minutes of my life, the side-door to the waiting room opened up. As the smoke was clearing and my eyes adjusted to the strobe-lights, a deep and ethereal voice bellowed, “Mr. Pseudonymous, if that is your name, she is ready for you.” At that moment the half-sexiest woman I have ever laid eyes on stepped forward from the mystical chasm. She did not say a word, just took my hand to lead me to the back.

I grabbed my wifes hand, and we were all on our way. We, all-at-once, began to sing and skip. “Oompa Loompa dippity dee.”  We smiled, laughed, and sang for what seemed like 15 minutes. Through fields full of the brightest sunshine, and the greenest grass I will ever know. Finally, we reached her room. She used her psychic telekinetic midget powers to open the door without a touch, and we entered.

My wife took an observational seat to the side of the room. As for me, I have never been one for the slow undressing process, so I stripped in what seemed 4 seconds, and stood next to the bed. I was going to ask where to place my clothing, when my height challenged sleep-pal twitched her nose , and my clothes vanished into thin air. I asked her for her name, so I would not call out short slurs during our intercourse. She told me her name was Samantha, but that her working name was Hoberry Shortcake.

I’m not sure if it was just the sexy pitch of her voice, the acoustics of the sound coming up at me from such a low angle, or the sheer tension and excitement of it all, but I went from flaccid to massive instantly. She gave a wry smile, and told me she liked to “work up” to things. I wasn’t quite sure how to take this, coming from a harlot, but then she started doing toe-touches and other stretches. She stepped forward and grabbed my Dwarf Stabber with both hands, and began to do chin-ups. Looking down at her double-fisting my cock, with her tiny hands, made me feel like I was John Holmes when I considered it to scale. This was the most exciting workout I had seen since Carmen Electra’s Aerobic Striptease.

After her warm-up period she told me to put a rubber on, and to lie on the bed. I, of course, did as I was told. She climbed up onto a shelf on the wall, and I watched in confused amazement. She raised her arms up in a triangle, placing her hands together in a praying position, and winked at me. I almost fainted and screamed like a school girl as I watched her leap off of the shelf performing a backward 2 and ½ somersaults with 2 and ½ twists in the piked position, landing vaginally directly onto my fornicating member. Wanting to be sure to make her feel somewhat included, I looked over to my wife, to see her holding up a scorecard with a giant 8 on it. The photo on the wall next to her, an image of Simon Cowell with a huge frown, was a bit off-putting.

After riding me like a rodeo cowboy for some time, she whispered in my ear that she has never been that good at separating business from pleasure. She told me of her dreams to be a stripper rather than a hooker, and asked me if I would like to see her art. Of course I agreed.

She climbed off of me, and with another nose twitch, she was instantly dressed as a tiny policewoman. She walked over and climbed onto the stage, and began to dance around on the stripper-pole. Alright, it was a coffee table and a floor lamp, but to scale it was just uncanny. She completed her performance, and my wife and I both applauded and stuffed quarters into her thong.

After her show she asked me if I was into pegging. I quickly let her know that I had never tried or considered it, but the surrealism of all that I was doing that day made me think, “Why limit this experience?” She told me to roll onto my stomach, and I obliged. When I rolled over she saw my lower back Man Stamp which incorporated a jungle scene and the words “Ewoks: The Battle For Endor.” What followed could never be fully put into words, but I will give it a shot.

My Halfling Hooker squealed with excitement. She told me of another fantasy she had always wanted to act out, and I told her I was more than willing to go along with it. She stepped into the bathroom and returned seconds later in a full, very realistic, Ewok costume. This thing was Hollywood special effects quality, not some Walmart costume. I lie there in amazement, as she climbed up behind me, with an insanely realistic fuzzy Ewok strap-on. She lubed me up with oil, and inserted it into my willing starfish. One forceful Jedi-thrust into my rectal cavity and she hit my prostate, causing my Purple-Helmeted Yogurt Slingshot to explode as I reached my peak.

As I lie there, exasperated, my midget mistress came out of the bathroom giggling. It took a second to sink into my mind what had just happened. With a naked midget smiling at me from the doorway to the bathroom, and a furry weight on my back, the thick silence was broken with an exasperated, “Oonh! Zibbity wikkit, zooza mi zu!” Then I felt what can only be described as a reverse hershey-squirt, as the Ewok shook violently. I fainted.

I later awoke back in the waiting room, my wife – with paler face than I had ever seen on her – stroking my hair. I told myself it was all just a dream. We got up to leave, and I went up to the counter to pay for services. The total was $300.00, but I put $299.00 on the counter and quickly exited. I always wanted to say I short-changed a midget.

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