Feelings Of A Prostitute In A Big City. What A Whore I Am

Mom was panting, “Oh yes, Oh yes, that’s amazi… Oh yes” I went back to kissing the sole of her foot, soft gentle little kisses with my puckered mouth. Her pussy seemed to spread open wider as she let out a long moan “uuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh” her legs and feet tensing as she continued to pant, her breathing erratic. Suddenly I felt a throbbing between my legs. The pulsing as my cock began to throb, the feeling of my body and nerves racing towards my cock. I hadn’t been aware of how hard my cock was or how turned on I was. I had been concentrating on mom’s feet. But my orgasm was beginning its race to the top of my cock, from somewhere in the pit of my stomach I could feel the sensation of release.I jumped off mom’s bed, raced to my own room, trying to pull my shorts down, as I felt a squirt of hot cum explode from my cock. My cock freed from my pants, as a second load shot forth. I dived for the Kleenex beside my bed, but another huge load had exploded. My legs had rivers of cum, like. “We are off to a party by a friend of mine” I felt his eyes on me at all times. “Thats nice. I hope you have a nice night then” My body started twitching in my excitement of me being dressed like a girl. I wanted to be a real girl so bad. “Thanks. You look like your cold. Would you like a drink to warm you up” I never been offered a drink by a guy before. “Oh that's sweet of you to offer sir. But only if you can spare some. Don't want to be a bother on your night out together” She laughed “Hehe. Don't say that. You don't need to call us sir and miss. And talking nice like your a problem. Just accept. It's just a drink” I smiled at her. “Then thanks, i like a drink. Hihi”He opened a backpack and pulled out a jagermeister and some plastic cups. He poured some in 3 cups, handed me and his girlfriend one. “Thank you. Bottoms up” The drink felt nice going down, after been sucking those cocks. She tapt on her boyfriend shoulder “Pour the girl another one i think she needs it. What your.
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