Walking The Streets

"Twenty suck, forty cunt, sixty ass, darling"

"Twenty suck, forty cunt, sixty ass, sugar"

That's my chant as I walk the street, my legs aching from the unnatural position imparted by my 6-inch heels.

My hips sway within the constraints of my micro-mini skirt, which rides over a garter belt and stockings, with a pair of panties on top, for easy removal. On top, a corset pinches my waist in to a ridiculous 18 inches, and supports my breasts in custom-made cups.

"Twenty suck, forty cunt, sixty ass, lover"

"Twenty suck, forty cunt, sixty ass, handsome"

My voice is high pitched and sweet, not roughened by the cigarettes that I puff sexily without inhaling, a prop vital to my success as a working girl. I smile, thought my back hurts constantly from the weight of my breasts, the result of a Mexican surgeon's "brilliant" expandable breast implants and high intensity hormone infusions. My boobs are literally the size of basketballs, and I have to keep my back arched just to keep from falling on my surgically "perfected" face. Perfected, that is, if you like Barbie. The surgeons had a particularly fun time with the facial surgery, given a blank check, and pictures of the most bimbo-like bikini models to use in my remaking.

"Twenty suck, forty cunt, sixty ass, sweetie...and your friend at the same time? A hundred for both of you, darlin...my room is right up the block here."

On my hands and knees I can think again, despite the cocks pistoning in and out of my mouth and the hands on my hips, and twisted into my long ash-blond hair. My mouth, pussy and ass know what to do, having long ago lost track of the number of customers served, and my surgically plumped lips will pretty much guarantee the guy a good time. At least my tits are on a pillow so my back gets a break, and I'm off of my feet. The animal grunts and liquid noises increase in speed, and I know that my customers are getting closer to popping off. I speed up my own movements, to help them along. Despite the hundreds that went before, I knew that when they spilled their seed, I would climax also. You see, a lot of mental "conditioning" has seen to that. The guy in my mouth was first, and he grabbed my hair, forcing his cock into the back of my throat, where he let his spunk fly. I swallow automatically, these days. As he pulls out, and when I hear his declaration that he has to piss, I look up and say "I'll drink that too, for another fifty."

His cock stiffens at the thought, and his piss flows hot and sour into my throat at high speed, automatically finding its way to my belly. His friend's cock swells at the sight, and as he starts shooting into my ass, my own climax builds as I drink and drink and drink.

From behind me, I hear "I have to piss too," as I knew I would, and I turn to remove his condom, and resume my drinking. I'm happy as I hear his friend on the telephone calling his friends to come and share in his new "find," since it means another few hours off of the street, and a payment to my Mistress in the bag. The cock in my mouth hardened once it was drained, and I was sucking once again, and the hours pass in a blur of cocks, cum, and the taste of urine, giving me plenty of time to reflect on my journey.

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dizzy dana

Joining Sissify after transitioning is a thrill.

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