My Steamy Story: Here I am. look at the size of those ...

My Story Time:

Okay, so, full tea? I was on the block, in this stupid pink set that felt more like a neon sign, and my new tits were feeling heavier than my student debt. This guy pulls up, and his eyes just... glued to my chest. I was like, "Thanks, they're new," trying to keep it light, but the vibe was already sus.

He starts calling me a bimbo, a street hoe, and I'm just... nodding along, bestie. Because he's not wrong. I am a working girl. The word 'SLUT' on my back isn't for decoration. But then he asks why I talk so cheap, and something in me just... broke. I told him everything. The groups, the blowbangs, the over three hundred guys. I saw the disgust in his eyes, but I also saw his dick getting hard through his jeans. The cognitive dissonance was sending me.

He apologized for calling me names, but his cock was still straining. The conflict was so real. He asked how many guys he'd taste if he kissed me, and I deadass said, "Maybe a dozen from tonight alone." I was so tired, I just wanted to get it over with. I led him to the alley, my stomach churning from the last few loads.

I dropped to my knees on the gritty pavement, no cap. He didn't want sweet. He wanted to face fuck me. I opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue, and just... waited. He shoved his cock in, and I gagged instantly, tears springing to my eyes. I could feel him hitting the back of my throat, and I just focused on breathing through my nose, my hands gripping his thighs.

"Gag on it, you cheap slut," he grunted, and I swear, a part of me felt... seen? In the worst way. I sucked his balls like he asked, my pussy getting embarrassingly wet from the sheer degradation of it all. Then he started tapping my head, his hips stuttering. "Tell me where you want it! Tell me what you are!" he yelled.

With his dick cramming my throat, I sobbed the words around him. "In my throat! Please! I'm a slut! I'm your fucking slut!" The second I choked it out, he exploded. I swallowed frantically, feeling pulse after pulse shoot down my gullet, some of it leaking out the corners of my mouth. When he pulled out, I slumped back against the brick wall, coughing, cum and tears and mascara all down my face. My throat was raw, my lips felt swollen, and my cunt was throbbing. I wiped my chin, looked up at him, and my voice was totally shot. "Thank you," I rasped. "That'll be twenty." The aftercare is non-existent, period.