Keep pushing my limits, blow him harder

I didn't know who I needed to prove myself to.

He was a stranger, a person that I'll probably never see again, and yet here I was blowing him off and giving him a satisfaction and a pleasure that he probably didn't deserve.

And yet I explained to myself that I wasn't doing this for him. I was doing it for myself. I was doing it for my own satisfaction.

I was **** and humiliating myself on a dirty cock with hairy balls for my own pleasure, right?

And yet I was happy, if that's what happiness was, as I kept bobbing my head up and down with gusto, a woman on a plan and needing to reach the beautiful ending that she was hoping would be hers.

The beautiful ending to a romantic valentine evening, right?

And I sucked, blew, slobbered and kept spitting on that cock that I needed to satisfy, the person's moans filling the backseat of the car where we were and urging me on, calling me names that drifted into the background, cancelled by the hazy noise of the party that I had left behind.

And I sucked and blew and slobbered like a horny bitch in need of her bone, in need to satisfy a stranger's bone, as my hand drifted down between my pants and played with my needy snatch.

He wanted me to suck, and so.

I sucked and blew and slobbered till his warning came a bit too late, his penis erupting in a fiery explosion, surprising me as I moved away, and continuing its **** of my face, painting my whore face with its white ooze, a dirty ending to a dirty blowjob, a whore whose one purpose for the evening was to humiliate herself, and who accomplished that goal.

This is what happiness feels like, right?

I opened my mouth, tasting the last few spurts like a needy bitch in heat, because that was what I was.

And I liked it.

"What a fucking bitch. I'll see you around, whore." He kicked me out.