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

My Story Time:

Okay, bestie, time to spill the tea. No cap, this corner is my office, and tonight? It's been extra. My throat is raw. I just finished swallowing for a group of five, and my hair’s still sticky. I can feel the cum cooling on my scalp, it’s a whole vibe, and not a good one. I’m leaning against the brick, trying not to gag, when this guy in a cheap suit walks up. He gives my new tits a long look—these giant silicone pillows are practically screaming ‘look at me’ under my latex top—and smirks. “Heard you’re the swallowing slut,” he says, his eyes already on my pink lips.

My heart does this little drop. Here we go. “Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile, my glossy lipstick probably smeared. “That’s me.” I try to sound boujee, but it comes out desperate.

He doesn’t even haggle. Just unzips, and his dick is already hard, poking out. “Prove it,” he says, and it’s not a question.

I get on my knees, the pavement gritty. I take a breath, the smell of him and the leftover cum from the last guy mixing. I open my mouth, take him in, and start sucking. He’s thick, and I have to focus not to choke. I’m using my tongue, my hand working his shaft, and I can hear him groaning. “Such a good little cocksucker,” he grunts, his fingers tangling in my high ponytail, right in the wet spot.

I’m trying to keep it together, but my stomach is sloshing. I feel his balls tighten against my chin. “Gonna fill that slutty throat,” he warns, but he doesn’t pull out to warn me—they never do anymore. He just thrusts deeper and I feel the hot pulses hitting the back of my throat. I swallow on reflex, once, twice, but it’s too much. A third thick rope and my gut clenches violently.

I pull off, coughing, strings of cum and spit connecting my lips to his dick. “Fuck,” I gasp, the taste overwhelming. I can’t hold it. I turn my head and vomit onto the alley floor, a pathetic mix of his load and the last three guys’. It’s so humiliating.

He just laughs, tucking himself away. “Disgusting slag,” he says, but he’s still smiling. He tosses a couple extra bills at my feet. “For the mess.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my neon pink polish looking filthy. “Thanks,” I whisper, gathering the cash. I just want to go home. But as he walks away, another car slows down. The window rolls down. “Hey, Slut!” a voice calls. I take a shaky breath, paste on a smile, and shake my ass a little, making the word tattooed on my lower back dance. Time for one more.