“Twenty, that will get you like four BJs, or you can fuck me twice, or once without a rubber,” Sara shouted, leaning back on the wall, across the street from the old guy who asked.
She straightened up, adjusting her undersized bra, propping up her tightly pushed-up assets.
Satisfied that her titties, she was still getting used to calling them that, would attract the right dirty old man; she adjusted her lace stockings, her thigh-high shiny boots constantly pulling them down.
Sara was embracing her new calling, loving it.
Sure, there were still a few punters who recognised her.
