In the glimmering lights of nightlife, on a small city street, a young woman sets a blanket down on the sidewalk. She smooths it out with her petite hands. And then she begins to strip.
Her name is Peyton. She has wide hips, long black hair. Once, she was quite the rebel. Back then, she wore big black hoodies that hid her curvy figure. Back then, she was a back-talking brat who loved to bad-mouth slutty behavior. However, quite recently, three very exciting events have changed her life: Firstly, her sexual partner has claimed sexual ownership of her. Secondly, in a landmark decision, public nudity, public sex, and prostitution have become legalized in her city. Thirdly, she's become a prostitute. She would never forget the night that her mistress slipped a hand down her shorts, squeezed her ass, and hissed into her ear, "I'm going to milk so much money out of your body. All your money's my money, bitch. If you want anything, you'll have to come beg me, and I'll know it if you cheat me, you little slut." Peyton once hated that woman, but when she met her mistress's cock, everything changed. Peyton has been drunk on cock musk ever since.
For that reason, Peyton is now stripping naked on the sidewalk. She's wearing a high-cut itty-bitty hoodie over her huge breasts. And she pulls it up, revealing two heavy, jiggly boobs— round, but with a slight milfy droop to them. She shakes them from side to side. Each plump breast is about the size of a volleyball, and far more supple and juicy.
Peyton takes a moment to rub her red face. Most passersby glance to her for a split second, then look away out of embarrassment.
But she continues. She reaches her shaky little hands to her jeans. She unbuttons the front button. And then she drops her pants to reveal her curvaceous naked hips. Between her juicy thighs, it is all on display: a long, limp cock dangles between supple thighs. Her cock is tender, even jiggly. It's as soft as her areolas. Peyton is a futanari, and she's also been cursed with a long, forever-limp dick, cushioned by balls as big as peaches.
Peyton lowers her plump ass onto the blanket. She pulls her backpack closer to her, and she pulls out the sign her mistress wrote up for her. Peyton holds it in her hands, and her eyes read it for the first time.
"I love sex. Please pay for my pretty pussy or my limp dick." Rates are already listed out below.
The sign is ridiculous. Peyton trembles with nervousness. Her cock feels so hot and swollen as it lays limp on the blanket. Will strangers really like this?
She leans the sign on the red brick building behind her. She adjusts it; makes sure the sign is even. Then, she gets to work.
Peyton gets down on all fours, and she dances. She starts to shyly twerk, and the movements are too subtle. She's barely invested; too embarrassed. Instead of rapidly and wildly jiggling around, her asscheeks lightly tremble and shift, while her naked pussy, red and swollen, glistens between her legs. Her long cock hangs down nearly to her knees, and it gently sways with her shy twerking. Across the street, passersby glance towards her side profile. She stays there, on all fours, shyly jiggling her body all over. She drops her head down so her hair hides her face, allowing her to hide some of her embarrassment.
Then, she turns her body. She faces her ass outwards to the opposite sidewalk, just so she can keep her face hidden. She gently, awkwardly twerks. She twitches her horny pussy. And she does it all beside that sign: "I love sex. Please pay for my pretty pussy or my limp dick."
Then: a stranger shuffles right up to her. He stops.
Peyton trembles all over. She ducks her head down, and her face becomes buried fully in her long black hair. She can just barely see the dark murkiness of his shoes, his dusty pants.
"That's a dumb cock you've got," he says. "Bitch," he adds.
A pause.
Peyton tries to twerk a bit.
"Thank you," Peyton says quietly.
"Oh," the man says.
Peyton's limp dick drags along the fabric as she half-twerks. She holds her breath when it crosses a fold in the fabric and sends pleasure through her throbbing meat.
"How much, by the way?" the man asks, far too casually.
