Hookers for hire, that’s me, dripping, shaking, and desperate, giving every inch of myself to anyone who pays. My pussy is slick and aching for attention. I’m moaning before anyone even touches me. Every tip, every command, every inch of cash makes me hotter, wetter, trembling with need.
“Crawl over here,” one of them says. I obey instantly, lips parting, hands sliding over my slick thighs. I moan as
fingers trace over me, teasing, spreading me, making me shiver with anticipation. I love the way they watch, hungry and ready, paying for every filthy thing I’ll do.
“Make me feel that wet mouth of yours,” another commands. I bend, opening myself, letting him fuck me. I gasp and whine as every thick, sticky stroke hits. Their sticky cum drips down my thighs and stomach, hot and messy, and I lick it off with a moan, craving more, desperate for every filthy drop.
“Keep going, don’t stop,” they all chorus, handing me cash and a line of coke on the side, fueling my desperation and desire. My body shakes, slick with their sticky cum and sweat. My fingers slide over myself as I ride every filthy rush. Every order, every filthy moan keeps me begging, needy, dripping, and desperate.
I take them everywhere, tasting, feeling, smearing their sticky cum all over me, wanting more.
Money and cocaine drive my lust and hunger, making me moan louder, arch my back, and open wider. I give every messy, wet inch. I scream, moan, and writhe, filthy, messy, and used. I love every second of being their hooker, their slut, their wet, desperate plaything, doing everything to make them pay, want more, and keep me addicted to every filthy act I crave.




















