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.




















