You approach Mistress Quail for a simple reason: you are wanting her to rate your cock. You pay her, you send her a picture, and now you wait for the results. However, what you receive is definitely not what you expected. She looks at her phone to see the picture you sent and nearly gags. She has been scarred by how pathetic it is. She then starts comparing it to things like naked mole rats, carrots, and even pinky fingers. She talks about how small and sad it really is. It’s so small, a mosquito could not survive off of it. It doesn’t deserve to be called a cock or even a clit. It’s practically nothing. After all, what woman would want to be near your pathetic little worm? You clearly don’t have sex with women because your cock couldn’t satisfy her. Anything and everything is bigger and better than your sad excuse for a penis.