Sure, we can have drunk phone sex if you can’t get your dick hard enough to shove it inside of my pretty paid pussy. We can even cyber if you don’t think I’ll be able to understand your slurred words enough to get you off. I mean, as long as you can see the keys on your keyboard, Guy. I don’t know, you’re fucking trashed, though.
I really thought that ice we just demolished would get your drunken dick going enough for me to do something with it, but you really must’ve pickled yourself today if doing lines off of my cash collecting cunt couldn’t even get you hard. There might be a little dust coating the inside of the bag if you think it’ll help, but I kind of think you’re done for the night.
Why don’t you just go home, get your cum rag out and give me a call so you can jack your own crank while I dirty talk you toward the crazy, chemical fueled orgasm you’re after? You know nobody can jerk it like you can yourself and, if it doesn’t work out for you, you’ll save a lot of money on your trashed transaction for the night. That cyber idea might be perfect for you, but if you start sending messages like “I’mnf inding ouyr palausy an whoote coont” then you really should just keep ahold of that cash and save it for when you’re more coherent and ready to cum inside of a cum guzzling slut.
It’s up to you though, I know you really want to juice your sloshed junk now. I’ll gladly help you out, but you obviously are in no shape to try to fuck me. Want me to put it in my mouth and see if I can get it to grow?