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

My Story Time:

Okay, so, full transparency? I am standing on my corner, feeling like a walking, talking cum dumpster, no cap. My hair is still wet and stringy from the last group, and I can feel it starting to crust at the ends. My throat is raw, my jaw aches, and my stomach is sloshing, like, high-key queasy. I’m low-key wondering if I can even handle one more dick tonight without literally exploding.

Then this car slows down, and this guy leans out. He’s got that look, you know? He just smirks and goes, “Hey, Slut.” And I mean, sheesh. Oof. My tattoo feels like it’s burning under my skimpy latex, begging for his eyes. But I just toss my ponytail, put on my glossiest smile, and go, “Looking for a date, handsome?”

He parks and gets out, already undoing his belt. “Heard you swallow.” It’s not a question. My heart does this little drop, but I just nod, my neon pink lips saying, “Yeah, I do. Best service on the street, period.”

He doesn’t even haggle. Just walks me into the alley, pushes me against the brick wall, and pulls his cock out. It’s already hard, and I’m thinking, Okay, one more. You can do this. I get on my knees, the pavement gritty, and take him in my mouth. I’m trying to be all sexy, bobbing my head, but I can still taste the last three guys, and my gag reflex is screaming.

He doesn’t warn me. Just grabs my ponytail, fucks my throat hard a few times, and then groans. I feel his cum hit the back of my throat, hot and salty, and I swallow on reflex. But it’s too much. My stomach clenches, a wave of nausea hitting me like a truck. I pull back, gasping, and before I can stop it, I’m puking—a pathetic mix of cum and bile right onto the ground between us.

I’m mortified. Tears mix with my dripping eyeliner. “I’m so sorry,” I choke out, wiping my mouth. “Half price. Please. I… I can still finish you. My pussy’s right here, or my ass, whatever you want.” I’m begging, my voice shaky, totally pathetic. He just looks down at me, at the mess, and shakes his head with a laugh.

“Fucking disgusting slut,” he says, but he’s still hard. He doesn’t leave. He just zips up, tosses a crumpled bill at my feet—not even half what we agreed—and walks away, leaving me kneeling in the alley, covered in my own shame, wondering what the hell my life even is.