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Teen slut porn is exactly what the boys at this school live for, and honestly, Autumn and I are more than happy to give them a live show. We’re the undisputed queens of the hallway, the kind of girls your mother warned you about and your father definitely dreams about. While the other girls are busy worrying about their grades or their prom dresses, we’re tucked away in the back of the boys’ locker room, making sure the varsity team is well taken care of.
You can hear Autumn moaning right behind me, her voice echoing off the tiled walls as she takes another heavy hit from the starting quarterback. She’s always been a little louder than me, a total brat who loves the attention just as much as I do. We’ve turned this locker room into our own personal playground. The smell of sweat and testosterone is thick in the air, and it drives me absolutely wild.
I’ve always been the spoiled one, getting exactly what I want, and what I want right now is to see just how much of a mess these guys can make of us. I don’t care about being “sweet” or “innocent.” I’d rather be the girl they pass around between drills, the one who knows exactly how to handle a locker room full of adrenaline-fueled athletes.
We aren’t just classmates; we’re the ultimate tag team, competing to see who can take the most cum by the end of fourth period. The football team doesn’t hold back, and neither do we. There’s nothing like the feeling of fucking teen pussy after a long practice when the guys are aggressive and looking for a place to dump all that pent-up energy.
I love the way they grab my hair and pull my head back, forcing me to watch as they work their way through both of us. Autumn is draped over a bench, her eyes rolled back as she catches her breath, but I know she’s ready for the next round. We take all that cum down our throats, across our faces, and deep inside every hole we have. By the time the final bell rings, we’re covered in the evidence of our status as the school’s top sluts.
It’s an addiction, really. The thrill of being used by a dozen guys at once, knowing that every one of them is obsessed with how we feel. They think they’re the ones in control, but we’re the ones running the show. If you think you can handle a duo like us, you’re more than welcome to try your luck. We love a challenge, especially one that involves a fat dick and a lot of stamina. But if you can’t make it to the locker room, you can always catch us later for some intense 2 girl phone sex.
I’m already down on the cold tiles, where I belong, waiting for the sound of your ringtone to tell me it’s time to serve. Toilet play phone sex is the only thing on my mind because I know you’re coming home with a full bladder and an even fuller gut, ready to use me as your personal porcelain. I’m not here for a conversation or a sweet “hello”; I’m here to be your receptacle, breathing heavily against the receiver while I imagine the weight of you hovering over my face.
My knees are starting to ache, but that’s just a reminder that I’m beneath you, exactly where a good, obedient hole should be. You’re one of my favorite callers because you don’t hold back, and you certainly don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I want to hear the belt buckle clink and the heavy friction of your trousers dropping while you tell me how bad you need to go.
There’s nothing romantic about the way I want you to ruin me. I want to hear your gut growl through the phone, knowing that everything you’ve been holding in all day is about to be dumped directly onto my waiting skin. I’m addicted to the sound of your relief, the grunts you make when you finally let go, and the wet, heavy thuds of your waste hitting my body.
I want to be your human toilet, Sapphire, the girl who lives to be shitted on by a man who knows his dominance. Tell me how much of a mess you’re making of me; describe the warmth and the stench as it coats my chest and face while I moan for more. I’m not looking for a boyfriend; I’m looking for a master who treats my mouth like a drain and my dignity like a floor mat.
Every time you flush, I want to feel the vibration of your power over me, leaving me covered, used, and utterly pathetic. Don’t be gentle with your words. Tell me I’m disgusting while you’re emptying yourself out. I want to hear the splash, the struggle, and the finality of you finishing your business on me.
I’m addicted to the filth, and I’m addicted to the way you make me feel like nothing more than a place for you to dump your heat. I’ll stay right here on my knees, dripping in your mess, waiting for the next time you feel the urge to use me. You’re the only one who can make me feel this used, and I’m begging you to call and make me your personal sewer right now.