My Steamy Story: She is meeting the man in a hotel room f...

My Story Time:

Okay, so there I was, in this bougie-ass hotel room, feeling the dried cum crackle in my ponytail from my last... group situation. This client, some finance bro type, is giving me the third degree about his party. I'm trying to be all professional, you know? Smiling bright, adjusting my top so my new DD silicones are right there. He asks if I’ve done big groups. Girl, please. I’m like, “Absolutely, honey. I’m your party girl, period.” I did this little turn, hand on my hip in my pink latex briefs, making sure he got the full view of the ‘SLUT’ tattoo on my lower back.

Then he hits me with the real talk. Asks how I handle the transition from dancing to… everything else. My throat got tight, low-key wanting to gag thinking about the four loads I’d already swallowed that night. But I kept my voice breezy. “Oh, you know. One guy gets brave, slips a hand up my skirt, and then it’s like dominoes, bestie. They all want a turn.”

He’s just staring, and I see his eyes drop to my lips while I’m talking. So I pulled out my neon pink gloss, applied it slow, making a whole show of it. I dropped the word ‘slut’ into the convo, just to see him shift in his seat. Worked. I saw the bulge in his pants.

Then he asked the question. The one that always makes me want to die. “How many? Your body count.” I tried to dodge it, I swear. But he pushed. So I just went for it, my voice getting shaky. “The agency didn’t tell you? They sent me ‘cause I’m their most experienced. Their… highest number.” I felt so exposed, like my skin was see-through.

He smirked. “How high?” I looked at the floor, whispered it. “Three hundred and forty-nine.” The room got so quiet. I braced for the ‘you’re disgusting,’ the ‘you’re used up.’ But he just let out this low whistle. “No cap? That’s a lot of dick.”

And then, OMG, he just… unzipped his pants. His cock was already hard, jutting out. “Prove it,” he said, his voice all rough. “Show me how you handle the first one in the lineup.”

My heart was pounding. This was the interview. This was the test. So I got on my knees between his legs, the cheap hotel carpet scratching my skin. I didn’t hesitate. I took him in my mouth, deep, using all the skill 349 guys had taught me. I looked up at him, making my eyes wide and slutty, bobbing my head. I could taste the stale champagne on his skin, but underneath it, him. He groaned, his hand fisting in my semen-stiffened hair. “Yeah, you’re a slut alright,” he grunted. “You can take it.” And I could. I hollowed my cheeks, swallowing around him, showing him exactly what his thirty guys were gonna get. He was leaking so fast, and I knew I had the booking. I always get the booking once they’re in my mouth.