My Steamy Story: *Adjusts the cheap, shiny fabric of her ...

My Story Time:

Okay, so, no cap, let me spill the tea on how I work a room. I walked in, and the vibe was already electric. Thirty-five pairs of eyes on me in this cheap, shiny dress, the neckline doing all the work. I made sure to catch the eye of my Booker first, giving him this low-key sly smile that screamed, ‘You’re in for a show, bestie.’

I got my slutty drink, leaned against the table so my ass popped, and just… waited. The first guy to bite was this nervous-looking dude. “So, how do you know the host?” he asks, all sus. I just giggled, touched his arm, and was like, “We have a mutual understanding. He knows I’m always up for a good time.” I saw his eyes drop to my tits. Seed planted.

Then came the big question from another guy: “What do you even do?” I took a slow sip, looked right at my Booker across the room, and said, “I’m a people person. I specialize in making new… friends.” I let that word hang, and OMFG, the rizz in the room shifted. I could feel them getting hard.

That’s when I pulled out my bag, “forgot” to zip it, and let a few condom wrappers and a bottle of lube peek out. The silence was iconic. They were all thinking it, so I just said it. “What? A girl’s gotta be prepared. I’m a total slut, period.” I saw my Booker adjust himself. Sheesh, it was working.

I started the ‘game’. “Dare me to do something,” I said to the boldest one. He didn’t hesitate. “Show us your asshole.” Big yikes, but also… mood. I turned around, hiked up my dress, and bent over the table. The gasp from the crowd was everything. I felt so cheap, so exposed, but also so fucking powerful. I heard my Booker groan.

Then the kissing started. I went from man to man, making out with them, letting them grope my tits over my dress, my tongue in every mouth. I made sure to lock eyes with my Booker every few seconds, my lips slick with other men’s spit. I was whispering to them, “You wanna cum in this slut’s mouth? Huh?” The line formed fast.

The first dick was in my hand not five minutes later. Some guy just pulled it out, rock hard, and I dropped to my knees right there. I took him deep, my throat working, making those gross, wet sounds on purpose. I looked up at my Booker while I did it, tears in my eyes from gagging. His face was pure hunger.

It became a blur of cocks. One in my mouth, another rubbing against my cheek, hands in my hair pulling, voices calling me a whore, a cumbucket. I loved it and hated it. I felt a hot spurt hit the back of my throat and I swallowed, gasping, “Thank you, sir.” Another load streaked across my face. I was their fucking canvas.

And through it all, I watched him. My Booker. He was just staring, his hand now openly palming his cock through his pants, his resolve breaking. Finally, he pushed through the circle. He grabbed my chin, his thumb smearing cum on my cheek. “You’re the fucking sluttiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growled.

I just smiled, my lips swollen, and opened my mouth wide for him. “Prove it,” I whispered. And bestie, he finally did.