2 girl phone sex is the only reason I’m not ripping my own skin off right now. This place is a total dump, smelling like burnt chemicals and stale sweat, but the phone is buzzing and that means a fix. Angela is sprawled out on my dirty trashed mattress, her legs spread wide, moaning into the receiver like a total whore for some guy paying by the minute. I’m right there in the middle of it, my hands all over her, making sure every wet, slapping sound travels straight into that trick’s ear.
We’re putting on a filthy show, a breathless duet of desperate voices just to keep his credit card active. Angela brought her little doll over… the pretty one that usually gets a lot of attention from older men. She knows I’m shaking and crashing hard. She offered the doll up like a sacrifice, telling me to sell the bitch to the highest bidder so I can get enough crack to stop the tremors. I’ve already got a buyer lined up who likes his toys “used,” and the thought of that white smoke hitting my lungs is the only thing keeping me from losing my mind.
This is the real druggy porn life… no filters, no soft lighting, just the raw, ugly itch of a hit. While I’m staging this scene for the caller, my eyes are darting to the door, waiting for the runner to show up with my baggie. Angela’s arching her back, her cries getting louder as some random guy tells her exactly how he wants to stretch her out. I’m playing my part, whispering absolute filth into the phone, my voice raspy from the pipes and the hunger.
I’m a filthy crack whore and I know it, but as long as the money keeps flowing, I’ll say whatever disgusting thing he wants to hear. The buyer showed up right in the middle of the call, a total freak who wanted a show before he took her little doll. I watched him unzip his pants while forcing his cock deep down the little one’s throat, while his eyes glazed over while he stared at her pretty little face with her gagging slowly working her tiny little mouth. He didn’t care about the doll; he just wanted to degrade it.
Before he grabbed his prize and bolted, he came all over Angela little one’s face and left a happy customer, tossing an extra fifty on the stained carpet. I didn’t even blink; I just snatched the cash, my heart hammering, thinking about the “crack” I was about to melt down. If you want to hear what a real breakdown sounds like, you better call me. I don’t do “sweet” and I don’t do “nice.” I do dirty, I do raw, and I’ll take your load over the phone if it means I get my next hit through cheap phone sex.





















