There is NO SCAT in this story - maybe dirty ass-licking but no actual shit!

Name’s Daisy. I’m a teenage hooker. A teenage dirtbag, literally.

See, the punters I choose are the filthy laborer types, young fit guys who hardly ever wash (‘specially when they know they’ll be seeing me soon).

I like ‘em fit-bodied, sweaty, stinking. Some of ‘em even dress special for me. They know what I like, what turns me on so they’ll wear underwear they use as cumrags, they’ll wear the jeans they use to piss into while they have a good wank or a squeeze-off into them. If they ever wash, they know not to wash for a few days before they plan on seeing me.

I live in a trailer. It’s a pretty small one, very old, and def not pretty to look at.

Inside I set the atmosphere for my guys. I never clean up, there’s empty been cans and liquor bottles, some empty and some half cunsumed littered about along with cig butts and the occasional used condom (some guys insist on using condoms - I can’t understand why?)

At one end of my cramped living space is a makeshift bar with plenty of liquor, shots, bowls of prepared weed and when I know who’s coming there’ll be lines of coke prepared and ready for the party.

My day never starts til midday when I wake up. I take a look around the place to see if I can remember what went on the previous night. Sometimes there’ll be one or two punters laying about the place ----- off the booze and coke-fuelled night they just had. Naked, of course, and usually streaked with the bodily fluids they’ve picked up from the orgy of the night. Sometimes I’ll get down with the guy and start licking his cock to wake him/they up. If I’ on my own I’ll feel between my legs and scoop some filth out of my cunt. I love to smell the fingers of that hand while I frig myself off with the other. Sometimes I’ll roll over and scoot down the filthy black sheet on the bed (never washed, of course) til I find the stuff that’s leaked out of me overnight. I love to cum with fingers thrumming in my cunt while I wipe my face in the pool of jizz that’s leaked out during the night, sniffing and then finally licking at it, wiping my face in it til I have a beautiful cum.

Sometimes I’ll find a skidmark of cockcheese where it’s been wiped off on its way to find my cunt or my mouth. I ‘specially love to find those glistening, slimy threads and if I do, I’ll save them for my final cum.

“Cockcheese or smegma is the slut’s caviar,” I was told a long time ago by someone very close to me. She was a hooker too and she knew what she was talking about when it came to anything to do with pleasing punters and earning a good buck or two.

“If a guy’s giving you his cheese then that’s a privilege, he might have saved that up ‘specially for you so appreciate that and let him know you appreciate it. You lick it nice and slow, see? Don’t rush and tilt your head on one side, look up at him while you swirl your tongue around the tip, under the head where the rich stuff is. Let him see your tongue and lips coated with his gift.

“And, girl, NEVER waste it by swallowing. One you have the full taste in your mouth you can either let it drool out of your mouth over your tits and belly. Some guys like you to skin the foreskin right back and drool it back right where it came from, then close the foreskin back, ready for him to fuck you. Or if you’ve got another sluts company that night he may slide his way over to her and watch while she suckles it off of him.

“So DON’T WASTE IT! Some guys like an explosive spitting of it right over their cock and balls.

“And there are those ‘specially filthy guys that like you to kiss them with their own crud. They’re the best, those guys and you’ll get the best tips and returns from them.

“Some punters even like to watch you licking another guy’s smeg and they’ll grab you and lick the other guy’s smeg off of your face and out of your mouth, they won’t waste it either, they’ll spit it out over their bellies or their cocks.

“A lot of guys want to shit on you, on your cunt or in your mouth. I’ve never been one to like shit. Not saying it wasn’t good at the time but you can’t get the smell off of you afterwards and likely you wont get no work the next day, so watch out for that one.”

Yes, I have a lot to thank mom for, she taught me well.

Want more? Just ask

I wanna be impaled in a one bar prison. My master would stand me on blocks so I’m about a foot off the ground, secure me on my bar and then take the blocks away. I’ll be at the mercy of gravity.

I still replay that New Year's Eve in my head sometimes, the way everything shifted from playful to something heavier, slower, more dangerous.Michele and I had claimed our usual high-top near the dance floor at that downtown lounge—low lights, slow jazz, the kind of place where the air itself feels thick with anticipation. She was wearing that black dress again, the one that looked poured over her body: tight enough to show every curve, low-cut enough to draw eyes like gravity, thin spaghetti straps that kept slipping just a fraction with every movement. Her skin glowed under the warm bulbs, and when she laughed at something I said, the neckline dipped and rose in a way that made my throat go dry.We'd already had a couple of drinks, trading lazy kisses and stupid resolutions for the new year. Our glasses were empty again."I'll get the next round," she said, sliding out of the booth. She leaned over the table, gave me a slow, teasing kiss—tongue just brushing mine—then whispered against my lips, "Be good while I'm gone."I watched her cross the room. The dress moved with her like it was alive, hugging her ass, swaying with her hips. A few heads turned. Mine stayed locked on her.She reached the bar, leaned in to order, hair falling forward over one shoulder. That's when he stepped up beside her. Dark suit, easy smile, the kind of guy who knows exactly how tall he is and how to use it. He said something; she laughed—that bright, unguarded sound I usually get credit for. My stomach gave a small, familiar twist. Nothing new. Michele flirted like it was small talk.He kept talking. She kept smiling. Then he nodded toward the dance floor, palm open in invitation. She glanced back at me across the room. Our eyes met. She gave me that little half-smile, the one that says "this is harmless, right?" I lifted my chin in a go-ahead nod, smirking like it was no big deal.She didn't come back with drinks.Instead she let him take her hand and lead her out onto the floor just as the band eased into another slow number—saxophone dragging the tempo down to a pulse.At first it was innocent enough. His hands settled on her hips, fingers resting lightly over the black fabric. Hers draped loosely around his neck. They swayed together, bodies close but not pressed, moving in that easy rhythm couples fall into when they're testing boundaries.But the song stretched, and so did the space between them.His hands slid lower. Not suddenly—just a slow, deliberate drift until his palms cupped the full curve of her ass through the dress. He pulled her in gently but firmly, closing the last few inches until her breasts pressed against his chest. She didn't resist. If anything, her body softened into his, hips rolling with his in perfect sync.One of his hands stayed low, kneading her ass with slow, possessive circles while the other climbed her back—fingers tracing the bare skin above the dress's low back, then slipping under one spaghetti strap. He hooked it with a fingertip and eased it down her shoulder, just enough to bare more skin. She tilted her head back slightly, exposing the long line of her throat. He took the invitation—lowered his mouth to the side of her neck, lips brushing, then pressing open-mouthed kisses along her pulse.Her fingers tightened in the back of his hair. She arched a little, pressing herself tighter against him. I could see the way her thighs brushed his with each slow grind, the way her dress rode up an inch or two on her legs as she moved. His hand on her ass squeezed harder, pulling her hips flush so there was no mistaking the heat between them. She let out a small, breathy laugh against his ear—too quiet for me to hear, but I knew that sound. It was the one she made when she was turned on and pretending she wasn't.The countdown started.The room exploded with voices—ten, nine, eight…They didn't break apart. If anything, they moved slower, more deliberately. His mouth found hers just as the count hit five. Not a polite New Year's peck. A deep, hungry kiss—his tongue sliding past her lips, her head tilting to give him better access. One hand stayed locked on her ass while the other cradled the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted her.Three… two… one…Confetti rained. Cheers erupted. Horns blared. And in the middle of it all, Michele was still kissing him—slow, filthy, unhurried—her body molded to his, one leg hooked lightly around his calf like she needed the leverage.When they finally broke apart, her lips were swollen, lipstick smeared at the corner of her mouth. The fallen strap still hung off her shoulder, exposing the top curve of her breast almost to the edge of decency. She said something to him—short, private, teasing—then brushed her thumb across his lower lip like she was memorizing the taste.Then she turned and walked back to me.The crowd parted for her. Cheeks flushed, hair mussed, dress slightly askew, that post-kiss glow on her skin. She slid into the booth beside me, pressed her thigh tight against mine, and leaned in until her mouth was at my ear."Happy New Year, Robert," she whispered, voice low and wrecked. Her hand found my leg under the table, nails dragging lightly up my inner thigh. "Did you like the show?"I caught her chin, turned her face to mine, and kissed her—hard, claiming, tasting champagne and him and the edge of something new."Yeah," I said against her mouth, voice rough. "I liked it."She smiled—slow, wicked, unapologetic—and settled against my side, one hand still on my leg, the thin strap of her dress still dangling off her shoulder.The band started another song.And the night was nowhere near over.

MILF knows guys stare at her DD tits. She has fucked tons of guys from work and the bar.

I'm located in North Central Indiana. Looking for people who are interested in getting spunout & no holes barred sexcapade. Interested in women trans girls couples & even men. I'd love to get together tonight