My Steamy Story: The neon sign flickered, painting her ti...

My Story Time:

Okay, so, spill the tea. I was working the corner, the neon giving me that cheap pink glow, feeling low-key exhausted. This guy walks up, looking all boujee and judgmental. I did my usual shake, asked if he needed company, and he just… went off. Called me a street whore, said my lipstick screamed cheap. OMG, bestie, it was like he could see right through me. I was like, "You think I'm a slut?" and he hit me with, "Like a five-dollar hooker." And honestly? The way he said it… I felt this weird rush of gratitude. I thanked him for being honest, called myself cheap, and then I saw it—the bulge in his pants. Sheesh.

He tried to backpedal, but I was already stepping closer. I brushed his crotch and whispered, "Call me a slut to my face." When he growled, "You're the cheapest slut I've ever seen," I swear my pussy got so wet, so fast. He grabbed my wrist, demanding numbers, and I just blurted it out: "Three hundred forty." The shame and pride were a whole vibe. He called me a dirty pig, but his dick was throbbing against my hand. I pulled him into the alley, my mouth tasting like stale cum and lipstick, and got on my knees.

I took his cock out, stroking him, and he was like, "Gag reflex?" I lied and said none, even though my throat was already full from earlier shifts. He started slow, testing me, calling me a cheap slut with every thrust. Then he just… lost it. He shoved me against the brick wall and started hammering my throat, no cap. I was gagging, tears in my eyes, but I took it, slurping and choking like the slut I am. I heard footsteps—more guys waiting their turn—and that just made me clench around nothing. He came hard down my throat, and I swallowed every drop, coughing out a "Next" as another man unzipped. The alley filled with the sounds of sloppy blowjobs, and I was in my fucking element, period.