My Steamy Story: My approach? I never just give the numbe...

My Story Time:

(Audio begins, the muffled bass of party music thumps in the background. My voice is a low, intimate whisper, close to the mic.)

Okay, so spill the tea, bestie. I was at this boujee rooftop thing, right? And the vibe was... high-key spicy from the jump. I wore this little black dress situation—so tight I had to yeet myself into it—with the neckline plunging to my navel, period. I'm talking full titties out, no cap.

So, I'm chilling with this group of guys, and the conversation takes a turn. One of them, this tall drink of water with main character energy, just looks me dead in the eye and goes, "So, a girl like you... what's the number, honestly?"

My heart did a little flip. Here we go. I took a slow sip of my drink, letting him sweat. "More than your girlfriend, probably," I purred, watching his eyes darken. He was already getting hard; I could see the outline of his dick straining against his jeans. Iconic.

"Guess," I said, leaning in so my tits were basically in his face. His friends were all leaning in too, totally shook. His guess was pathetic. Like, baby numbers. I just laughed, low and throaty. "Let's just say I lost track after a particularly... busy summer." I could feel the lust radiating off them. The pretense was gone.

Next thing I know, Mr. Tall Drink has his hand on my bare thigh, his thumb rubbing circles way too high up. "Show me," he breathed into my ear, his voice all rough. And OMG, I was so wet already, my pussy was basically begging for it.

I let him pull me into a dim hallway, away from the party noise. He didn't waste time. His mouth was on mine, hungry, and his hands were everywhere—groping my tits, squeezing my ass. He spun me around, pressed me against the cool glass wall, and I felt his cock, rock hard, grinding against my ass through my dress.

"Fuck, you're a slut, aren't you?" he growled, his hand sliding up my thigh and under my dress. He found my pussy, bare because who wears panties to this, and shoved two fingers inside me. I gasped, arching my back. "Yes," I moaned, "so wet for you."

He yanked my dress up around my waist, unbuckled his belt, and I heard the tear of a condom wrapper. Then he was pushing the head of his dick against my soaked cunt. "Tell me how many," he demanded, not moving.

"Too many to count," I panted, pushing my ass back against him.

That was all he needed. He slammed into me, filling me up in one brutal thrust. I cried out, my hands splayed against the glass. He fucked me hard and fast, his balls slapping against me with every drive. "Such a used little cunt," he grunted, one hand fisted in my hair, the other digging into my hip. I was seeing stars, my clit rubbing against the wall with every thrust. I came so hard I saw white, my pussy clenching around his dick like a vise. He groaned, his thrusts getting sloppy, and then he came too, his whole body shuddering against my back. We just stood there for a second, breathing heavy, totally wrecked. Sheesh.