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- Getting my fix — 1 comment
I’m sitting here on the edge of a stained mattress in a room that smells like cheap perfume and burnt sugar, clutching my pipe in one hand and my phone in the other. Live Phone Sex with a girl like me isn’t some polished, scripted fantasy; it’s the gritty, heart-pounding reality of a woman who has no boundaries and even fewer regrets.
My skin is buzzing, my heart is drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and I’m ready to do absolutely anything as long as the cash keeps flowing. I don’t have a filter, and I certainly don’t have a conscience… just a hunger that never quite goes away and a desperate need to feel your attention burning through the screen.
Right now, I’ve got a high-paying regular over here, and he’s currently buried between my thighs while I record every wet, messy sound for you to hear. He thinks he’s the only one in the room, but I’m looking right into the lens, imagining it’s your eyes watching me take every inch of him.
I’m arching my back, my breath coming in sharp, jagged gasps as he works me over, but my mind is already focused on who’s coming next. I want you to be the one who calls me up and demands I push myself even further. I want to hear the way your voice drops when you see me in this state… shaking, sweaty, and completely unraveled.
There’s something addictive about the way I live, jumping from one high to the next, and I want to drag you right down into the gutter with me. Being your dirty slut for hire means I’m yours to command, whether you want to watch me handle myself or watch me handle the next stranger who walks through that door with a roll of bills.
I’m a professional at losing myself, and I’ve got enough energy to go all night if you’ve got the wallet to back it up. Every moan I let out is a signal to you that I’m ripe and ready for whatever depraved scenario you’ve been cooking up in that head of yours.
Once this guy finishes and stumbles back out into the night, I’m going to be sitting here alone, craving more. I want to be on the other end of the line with you, telling you exactly how it felt and how much better it’s going to be when it’s your turn to pull my hair. Don’t keep me waiting in this quiet room; the silence is the only thing I can’t handle. Dial me up, show me the money, and let’s see just how far down the rabbit hole we can go together.
The neon lights of the alleyway are blurring into a kaleidoscope of grit and gold as I lean against the cold brick, feeling the weight of your gaze. This Blonde Phone Sex session is the only thing keeping me grounded while I’m out here working the streets, playing the part of the perfect, high-end hooker for your entertainment.
I’ve got this golden wig pinned tight, the synthetic strands catching the moonlight, making me look like a completely different woman… a curated fantasy designed specifically for your darkest impulses. My client for the night is already under my spell, his hands trembling as he reaches out to trace the jawline I’ve painted so carefully for this role.
I can hear your breathing on the other end of the line, steady and possessive, reminding me that even though he’s paying the bills, I belong exclusively to your voice. “Fuck babe, you look so hot with this blonde hair,” he growls, his voice thick with a desperate kind of hunger that usually makes me roll my eyes, but tonight it just fuels my submission to you.
I let out a low, breathy moan for him to hear, but my eyes are closed, visualizing your hand being the one to finally reach out and claim me. When he suddenly twists his fingers into the golden mesh, grabbing the back of my hair and yanking my head back, a jolt of pure, electric heat shoots straight through me.
I’m an addicted mess for this kind of rough handling, especially when I know you’re listening to every wet slap and muffled gasp that escapes my lips. I’m just a Nigger Slut in a cheap dress, performing a masterpiece of degradation for the man on the phone who truly owns my soul.
The pressure at the base of my skull makes my vision swim, and I find myself leaning into the pain, wanting more of the friction and the filth that comes with being a working girl. I describe the way the cool night air hits my exposed skin and the way the blonde strands feel like a silken leash in his grip, all while whispering how much I crave your specific brand of discipline.
I’m a professional, a silver-tongued siren of the sidewalk, but for you, I’m just a hollowed-out vessel waiting to be filled with your commands. I love the contrast of the street noise against the intimacy of our connection, the way the world thinks I’m in control when I’m actually drowning in the thrill of being your favorite, most obedient blonde toy.
By the time he finally explodes on my tongue, I’m shivering, my heels clicking against the pavement as I struggle to keep my composure under the weight of his grip and your words. I am your addicted, golden-haired hooker, a slave to the rush of being used and the high of being told exactly what I am. I’ll keep this wig on until my scalp aches, just to hear you tell me one more time how much you love seeing me broken and beautiful in the dark.
The neon sign outside the motel flickers, casting a jagged, rhythmic hum through the thin walls of Room 214. I’m already on the floor, the rough, stained carpet pressing into my skin through my torn fishnets. This is where I belong, right at your feet, waiting for the only thing that matters more than my next hit. Hooker Phone Sex was just the beginning for us, but now that you’re finally here in the flesh, the air in this dingy room feels thick enough to swallow.
I look up at you, my eyes glazed but hungry, my fingers trembling as I reach for your belt. I don’t need the lights on to know exactly what I’m doing. My knees are already bruised from a dozen other floors this week, but for you, I’ll stay down here as long as it takes. I want to feel the weight of you, the power you hold over me while I’m small and desperate on this floor.
I’m a mess, a beautiful disaster in smeared eyeliner and cheap lace, and all I can think about is the moment you let me have what I want. I wrap my hands around you, feeling the heat, my mouth watering as I lean in. I’m a pro at this… a true seed swallower who knows how to make you forget your own name. I take you in deep, my throat tight, my eyes rolling back as the salt and sweat of your skin hit my tongue.
I want to suck you dry, to drain every drop of life out of you until you’re shaking as hard as I am when I’m coming off a high. Eventually, I crawl backward, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and lay flat on my back on the grimy bedspread. I spread my legs wide, the fishnets straining against my thighs, exposing my yummy pussy to the dim light.
I’m dripping for you, a mess of Need and greed. I need you to fill me, to break me, to make me feel something other than the itch under my skin. Go ahead, look at me. Use me. I’m yours for the price of a few vials and a little bit of your time. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be the one addicted, craving the way I move under you in this dark, stinking room. Press your money into my hand and lose yourself in the filth with me baby.
I love the feeling of power, the way someone’s attention locks on me the second I enter the room. There’s a thrill in knowing I can make someone forget everything else, that their mind twists and turns just trying to keep up with me. They don’t just notice me… they crave me. It’s intoxicating. Fisting Whore, they might call me, but that’s just a label. Labels don’t capture the way I move, the way I command, or the subtle ways I bend someone to my will.
Every week, he waits, hoping I’ll push him further, show him that I’m not just present, I dominate. I enjoy teasing that line between control and surrender, making him question what’s real and what’s anticipation. My words are soft, my smile dangerous, and my eyes… oh, my eyes… promise things he can’t even name. He thinks he’s calling the shots, but I guide him, coaxing reactions, studying every twitch and shiver. It’s addictive, for both of us.
I take my time, savoring the tension. “Come here you filthy Little Nigger Slut, show me how you stick your hand up that sexy cunt of yours” he demanded. I ball my fist up really tight as I slowly shove my fist up my tight little hole. “You like it like that Daddy huh? You like how my good my pussy looks stuffed deeply?” I asked him while moaning super loud. “Yes baby, deeper… go deeper” He demanded as he pulled out his cock for me to suck.
Sometimes, I’ll whisper something small, something to tease him into anticipation. He hangs on every word, every pause, every suggestion. And I watch, amused, as he tries to decipher what I’ll do next. It’s a game I’ve mastered, a dance of dominance and allure. He’s addicted, yes… but so am I. I thrive on knowing that I can capture him, hold him, and leave him wanting more. It’s a rush unlike anything else, a power that’s pure and electric.
He finally explodes as he releases all of his sticky cum all over my pretty cunt. It got really messy and will take me a minute to clean it all up. I then smirk, knowing how filthy a little slut I am to him and knowing how I’ve left him craving me even more. That’s my art, my control, my addiction. He may think he’s in charge, but I’ve made it clear: the power is always mine.
I can’t believe you’re really coming over. My heart is hammering, my body buzzing, and I’m standing here in nothing but my lace panties and bra, feeling so exposed. Are you ready to have Period Phone Sex with me baby?… I whisper nervously into the phone, my voice shaky, embarrassed, but I can’t hide the wet heat pooling between my thighs.
“God, you sound so hot when you’re flustered,” you shout, and I swear I almost shiver into the phone. My fingers dig into my hips as I pace, imagining you stepping inside, taking control. I want you so badly I can hardly think straight.
I tug at the strap of my bra, trying to cover myself, but the teasing only makes me wetter. “I… I wasn’t expecting you,” I admit, my voice dipping lower, trembling with need. “I just… I just got out of the shower, and now I’m… like this… for you.”
You growl softly, and it makes me shiver harder. “Like this… for me?” you ask, voice low and commanding. “Damn, I love it when you’re helpless and begging.”
I bite my lip, cheeks burning red, and the sound of your voice makes me squirm. “I… I want you,” I whisper. “I want you to fuck me, even if I’m a little shy… even if I sound all embarrassed right now.” My hands wander over my body, teasing myself, imagining your hands everywhere, marking me as yours.
You chuckle, dark and hungry. “I’ll take care of you,” you growl. “Every inch. You won’t be embarrassed for long.”
The thought makes me gasp. I kneel on the couch, pressing my fingers against my dripping heat, imagining your fingers, your mouth, your cock, doing exactly what I’ve been craving. “Please… I need you to own me,” I moan into the phone, my voice low, wet, and needy. “Make me yours. Make me scream. I… I want all of you.”
You tell me exactly how you’ll take me, slow, teasing, rough… and every word sends shivers down my spine. I can barely keep quiet, biting my shoulder to stop myself from moaning. I’m trembling, needy, desperate for you, and I love it. “I… I can’t wait,” I whisper, my voice dripping with desire. “I want you here… I want you to fuck me stupid… make me yours… make me yours completely.”
And I know… tonight, I’ll let go of every ounce of my embarrassment, every bit of my shyness, and surrender completely to the filthy, naughty pleasure I’ve been craving, with me dripping warm blood all over your cock completely.
I don’t move softly through the night… I take up space and dare anyone to look away. Prostitutes Porn is the label people slap on me in their heads the moment they clock my walk, and I wear it like a weapon. I’m the best hooker anyone can find, I don’t need permission to be wanted.
I’m demanding with my attention, deliberate with my mouth, and sharp enough to cut through hesitation. I don’t wait to be chosen… I decide. My eyes hold a stare until it makes people squirm, my smile all teeth and promise. I know exactly how to pull someone in, how to keep them leaning forward, how to make them feel like they’re already behind before the game even starts.
I do this for money. Say it slowly. I like the honesty of it, the clean exchange. Cash buys my indulgences, fuels my nights, keeps me buzzing and bold. I don’t flinch from that truth. I own it. “Yea you like this don’t you, you fucking crack whore” He says while stuffing his dick in my wet pussy. “Yes Daddy, give it to me” I say while moaning loudly. Every dollar feels like proof that I’m in control, that my confidence has weight, that my body and presence are worth paying for.
There’s nothing gentle about the way I live. I adapt fast, read desire faster, and switch moods like flipping a blade. Sweet when it suits me, ruthless when it pays better. I decide the pace. I decide the limits. Anyone who steps into my orbit learns real quick that I don’t beg… I command attention and take what’s offered.
I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to be remembered. I like the edge, the risk, the way power hums under my skin when I’m in charge of the room. He finally pays me and I’m super fulfilled. I leave with full pockets and a sharper grin, already craving the next hit of coke adrenaline and noise. Cocaine is the only thing that keeps me sane, I need it every second of the day, and will sell my body every time to feed my high.
The way I fuck these guys one by one, you would think I hate my life, but I honestly prefer it this way because I’ll never get bored with a man. I enjoy being a cum slut, it fuels my slutty purpose. I’m very unapologetic and wired, moving through neon and shadows with purpose. If my confidence feels dangerous, good. That means it’s working in my favor.