I sat on the edge of the stained, cigarette burned bed in this dingy motel, listening to the drip of a leaky faucet that never stops. When the phone finally buzzed, I didn’t give you a warm welcome; I gave you that low, gravelly rasp of a woman who’s been through the ringer and needs her next hit. You’re calling me for hooker phone sex because your “boring” wife doesn’t have the hunger that I do, and you need a taste of the street to feel like a man again.
I can hear you trembling on the other end, but don’t get it twisted… I’m not here to be your sweetheart; I’m here to bleed you dry for every cent you’ve got so I can stop the shaking in my hands. The itch under my skin is turning into a full blown roar, and I’m ready to be exploited just to get that next fix in my system.
I know you’re sitting there in your clean house, imagining what it’s like to use a “crack whore” like me… someone who’s got no pride left and a pussy that’s already drenched and aching for the kind of rough handling you’re too scared to give at home. You want to spice things up? Then tell me how much you’re dropping in my hand to watch me succumb to the need right here on this grease stained mattress while the neighbors bang on the walls.
It’s getting intense now, isn’t it? I’m sliding my hand down, my thin fingers trembling as I imagine you pinning me down in this dark room and taking exactly what you paid for. I don’t need some “hero” to come to rescue me; I need a hit of “cocaine” that makes the world stop spinning, and I’m ready to earn it by being your favorite piece of filth.
I want to hear you gasping as you get close, picturing you splashing your sticky cum all over my “nigger pussy” until I’m wearing your mark like a badge of shame in this hellhole. The high is calling my name and I’m about to break, pushing myself until I’m screaming for that payday. I’ll be your bottom ho, your playground, and the secret you can’t get out of your head.
Keep the dirty talk coming and promise me that cash is real, and I’ll make sure you forget what a “normal” life even feels like. By the time we hang up, I’ll be out the door to find my drug supplier, and you’ll be left in the dark of your own bedroom, wondering how a girl like me got so deep inside your mind.
Alyssa
(855) 733-5746 ext 4838
All Credit Cards Accepted
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