Girl Dicks + Drugs Binge, pt. 3
By this point, all the attention in the room was on me and my “Cock Whore Of The Year” performance. Everyone had their eyes on my wet mouth and dripping pussy and their hands on their girl dicks. I didn’t care if they were stroking themselves or the lady cock next to them, though. I just liked all that attention . . .
Being watched while I’m coming or making someone shoot a huge load really turns me on. It always has. I guess I’ve always been a whore AND a stage whore? I think I’m only really happy when I’m the center of attention, the main attraction . . . nothing wrong with that if you put on a good show, right? And nothing wrong with doing ANYTHING to stay in the slut spotlight, no matter how filthy . . . that’s my philosophy, anyway!
When I go on these binges whether they’re sex or drugs or both or something else.
It’s like there’s nothing else in the world except me and whatever I’m doing, the feeling I’m having. Time stops, and the rest of the world stops. Everything is right there, nothing else matters. For once, my busy mind stops racing and I’m fully “present” in a way that, well, only drugs can make possible. Phone sex is kinda like a drug to me in that way — more things are possible because it exists somewhere outside of “normal” or “real” space and time in some alternate masturbation fantasy fuck the bizarro world . . . like a sleazier (in the best way possible, of course) version of the Twilight Zone!
I wasn’t thinking about any of this as I rode my girlfriend’s cock. I was just cumming. Cumming over and over again, cumming harder every time she filled me with more of her creamy jizz, every time I felt the other girl’s dick burst in my mouth and drip out the corners. I was thinking about how good I felt and how badly I just wanted more.
After the screams from my fifth orgasm faded into moans.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was one of our other friends who had been watching but hadn’t cum yet. I could tell because her cock wasn’t covered in any sticky wetness yet . . . which I could tell because there was a thick line of coke along it that she’d put there, especially for me: the cum slut drug fiend whore of the hour.
As I whipped my head back after snorting the coke (my hair not flipping at all because it was so sweaty it was almost completely matted now), the phrase “candy flipping” popped into my fucked up brain. As the official term for my drug combination slid around in my mind, I grinned and thought of another fitting word for that moment, that night, my behavior: hedonistic. Knowing how bad, how naughty my out-of-control self-indulgence always turns me on even more. I’ve always been an extremist . . . and when I get started with “indulging myself” I have pretty much NO limits. The more shameful and reckless, the better I like it.
My trembling thighs quivered as I was slipped off my girlfriend’s glistening cock by the Coke-Line-On-Her-Dick girl. It was finally time for the girls to pass me around . . .
