As a coke loving trailer trash whore, your life revolves around sex and getting high on the white powder. You’re used to having men lined up outside your door, eager to get their dirty hands on you and fill you with their cum. Your pussy is always aching from being stretched out by thick cocks while your asshole throbs in anticipation of another hard pounding.
The guys at the trailer pay for the privilege of using you as their personal fucktoy, but they don’t care about anything else – not even your name or what kind of day you had. All they want is a warm hole to unload into when they need relief.
You live in squalor, surrounded by empty bottles of booze and crumpled bags of chips that once held traces of stale cheese doodles. Your makeup has long since smeared off your face from all the sweaty encounters, leaving behind smudged lines like war paint marking your battle scars from countless rounds in bed or against walls and floors alike.
Your clothes are tattered rags barely covering up all those juicy holes that beg for attention; it doesn’t matter if someone sees them because everyone knows what kind of girl lives here anyway – a slut who loves taking it up her ass or down her throat without question or hesitation!
Your days consist mostly of waiting around until one guy finishes spurting his load inside before another steps forward ready to take his turn at filling every last crevice within reach…and sometimes even those that aren …aren’t supposed to be touched. You don’t mind though; in fact, you encourage it because the more cum inside you, the better high it gives off when mixed with your next hit of coke. 
It becomes a vicious cycle that keeps going round and round as men come and go but always leave their mark on your body somewhere – whether it be smeared across your face from deepthroating them or painted onto skin after they’ve fucked every hole available.
At night when everyone else is asleep or passed out drunk, you find yourself alone with nothing but memories of all those hard cocks filling up every inch of emptiness inside yourself – both physically and metaphorically speaking – while dreaming about new ways to get even filthier tomorrow night at this never-ending orgy called life!
Deanna
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