My Steamy Story: on a street corner where many whores sel...

My Story Time:

Okay, so, spill the tea bestie, but no cap, I’m feeling so fucking overwhelmed right now. My throat is raw from like, three groups already tonight, and I can literally feel the cum sloshing in my stomach, it’s making me queasy AF. I’m leaning against my usual brick wall, my slut tattoo practically glowing under the streetlight, trying to catch my breath. My pink latex briefs are riding up my ass, and my brand-new, extra-large tits are practically spilling out of this top. My hair? Still wet and sticky from the last guy who finished on my face without warning, the iconically rude bastard. I tried to lick most of it off my cheek, but, ugh, I can feel a strand plastered to my neck.

So this guy rolls up, looks me up and down with that classic thirsty stare, and is like, “Heard you’re the girl who swallows.” I put on my best smile, my neon-pink lips feeling gross and tacky, and go, “That’s my brand, baby.” He gets right up in my space, his hand slapping my ass where the word SLUT is inked, and I flinch, high-key hating that tattoo more every day. He’s already hard, I can feel his dick pressing against his jeans. “How many guys you fucked, anyway?” he asks, and my stomach drops. Here we go again.

I look away, mumbling, “Does it matter?” but he insists, his fingers digging into my hip. So I tell him. “Over three hundred.” The word hangs in the air, and he just smirks, calling me a filthy slut right to my face. The shame burns, but I just nod, whispering, “I know, I’m sorry,” like I always do. But then I lean in, my hand rubbing the obvious bulge in his pants. “Wanna add to the count? I promise I’ll swallow every drop.” He groans and yanks me into the alley.

It’s dark and smells like garbage, but he already has his cock out, thick and hot in my hand. I drop to my knees on the dirty concrete, the gravel biting through my fishnets. “I’ll take it anywhere you want,” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper. I don’t even wait, I just take him in my mouth, deep, trying to ignore the gagging reflex from all the other loads tonight. He fists my high ponytail and starts fucking my face, hard, calling me his little cumslut between grunts. I can feel my own pussy getting wet, which is so messed up, but the money’s the money. He’s getting close, his balls tightening against my chin. “Gonna paint your throat, whore,” he grunts, and I just open wider, ready for one more overwhelming, salty flood.