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- Getting my fix — 1 comment
I step into the room, heels clicking against the floor, eyes scanning every inch of him, feeling every pulse of heat before I even touch him. Sexy Prostitutes like me know exactly how to drive a man wild, how to make him ache without ever rushing, and I’m about to show him exactly what I’m capable of.
The air is thick with tension, with desire, with the knowledge that I’m in complete control here. I lean in, letting my fingers trace lightly over his chest, teasing, testing, letting him know just how much he wants me already. My lips curve into a wicked smile because I can feel how hard his growing cock gets inside my mouth… the way his breath catches, the way his eyes darken when he imagines what I’m about to do.
I move closer dropping to my knees, letting my body brush against his, my hands sliding down to his pants to tease the edges of what he craves most. Every moan, every shiver, every glance he gives feeds my hunger, makes me bolder, makes me want to take exactly what I want. I whisper against his ear, slow and teasing, letting him imagine every daring move, every forbidden touch, every whispered command he’ll obey.
I love knowing that there are no rules here, that I can give him pleasure exactly the way I like, the way he can’t resist. Him moaning louder and louder makes me super wet and helps me keep up the pace, for my head movements. Every shiver that runs through his body, every ragged breath, every whisper of my name… it’s proof that I’m in control, proof that he can’t help but follow where I lead.
By the time we’re both lost in the heat of it, I’m taking every inch of what I crave, tasting, teasing, claiming, and knowing that he’ll remember every second. I allow him to pull my hair and shove my head against him with his cock all down my throat, with me barely being able to breathe. Every gasp, every groan, every moment of surrender is mine to own, mine to enjoy, mine to tease further.
I pull back just enough to let him catch his breath, smile wickedly, and lean in again, reminding him that I’m his favorite Nigger Slut that he pays the most, and I take exactly what I want… no rules, no hesitation, and no limits.
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.
I’m Alyssa, and yeah, I’ve got my life figured out… kind of. The rich white guys in this city? They think they own me, use me, spoil me, and yeah… sometimes I let them. After all, they keep my stash of cocaine flowing, so who’s really in control here? Call me what you want, but around them, I’m their cum dumpster and I’m fine with that, because it keeps me high, keeps me moving, keeps me alive.
One of them smirks as he leans close. “You know what we want, don’t you, slut?” he says. Another laughs, tossing a wad of cash at me. “Get over here, Alyssa. You know you like it.”
The nights are mine, though. The streets, the neon glow, the chaos… I thrive in it. My so-called crackhead crew? They watch, they laugh, they stumble through the same mess I do, but I always take the lead. I move fast, I talk faster, and I never stop. Every tip, every thrill, every wild, messy moment is mine to own.
“You better not keep us waiting,” one mutters. “We know exactly how this works with you.” I grin, unbothered. This city doesn’t slow down, and neither do I. I take what I want, I play by my rules, and I let the chaos chase me just enough to keep the adrenaline pumping.
No one owns Alyssa. Not really. And every night, as I dive back into the streets, the laughs, the dangers, the drugs, I’m reminded: I’m alive, I’m untamed, and I always get what I need.