The grimy arcade pulsed around me, a fucked-up orchestra of flashing neon and retro game chirps ricocheting off the sticky linoleum floor. My fingers flew over the chipped buttons of my favorite fighting game, eyes glued to the flickering screen as I smashed another high score. Each win hit like a goddamn drug, letting me escape into a world where I called the shots. I’m Mira, 18, and after two years of carving myself into the woman I was meant to be, I’m a fucking knockout: 5’6”, 56 kg, with small, perky tits that strain against my top, a plump ass that begs to be grabbed, a tiny cock and balls tucked away, and long, toned legs that could wrap around anything—or anyone. My fair skin glows under the arcade’s lights, my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones, straight nose, full fucking lips—tilted up, those big brown eyes with lashes long enough to kill framed by dark, wavy hair spilling past my shoulders.
Tonight, I’m rocking a tight black crop top
that hugs my tits like a second skin, the hem teasing the curve of my flat
stomach. My miniskirt’s a slutty little number, clinging to my hips and riding
up with every move, showing off those smooth, fuckable thighs. It’s bold as
hell, screaming femininity—hormones and gym time turned me into a wet dream,
and I damn well know it. The rustle of my skirt blends with the game’s bleeps,
keeping me locked in the moment.
A shadow creeps into my vision, and I catch
a glimpse of Brad—resident arcade asshole, mid-20s, white, built like a jock
with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His buzzcut frames deep-set blue eyes
that gleam with cocky bullshit, and his chiseled jaw cuts sharp under the neon
glow. He’s in a faded gray tank top and ripped jeans, tanned skin flexing with
tattoos snaking out from the sleeves. The guy oozes confidence, a walking
fuck-you to the scrawny geeks usually haunting this dump.
“Damn, sweetheart, you’re tearin’ it up,” he
says, leaning against my machine with a lazy smirk, arms crossed like he owns
the place. “But I could smoke that score with my eyes closed.”
I flick my eyes to him, fingers still
mashing buttons. “Oh yeah? You talk a big game, tough guy. Prove it.”
He laughs, low and rough, stepping closer.
“What’s the matter, princess? Scared I’ll show you up?”
“Scared’s not my style,” I fire back,
smirking as my character lands a combo. “But I’m curious—what’s your deal?”
Brad’s grin widens, teeth flashing. “How
about we make it fun? I beat you, you’re mine for the night. All mine.”
My heart skips, but I keep it cool, tossing
my hair back. “And what do I get when I kick your ass?”
He leans in, voice dropping to a husky
murmur. “If you win, I’ll fuck off for good. Leave you to your little joystick
throne.”
The stakes hit me like a punch, but the
thrill’s too good to pass up. “Alright, hotshot, you’re on,” I say, easing off
the controls. “But if I win, you’re also buying me a six-pack. Top-shelf shit.”
“Deal, baby girl,” he chuckles, that deep
rumble vibrating through me as he cracks his knuckles. “Let’s see what you’ve
got.”
A few regulars shuffle over, drawn by the
tension, the air thickening as Brad slots a coin in. His eyes lock on mine,
cocky as hell, while the screen flares up with our avatars. We’re neck and
neck—my precision against his brute aggression. Sweat beads on my forehead, my
perky tits heaving under the crop top as the final round blazes by. Then, one
fucking slip, and his character nails a combo. “KO” screams across the screen
in red, and my stomach drops like a brick.
“Well, shit,” he drawls, voice dripping with
victory. “Looks like you’re mine now, huh? Come on—move that sweet ass.”
He turns, striding toward the back, and I
follow, pulse hammering. We snake through a graveyard of busted machines to a
shadowy corner behind some trashed pinball tables. The air’s thick with dust
and stale pizza grease, dim light throwing jagged shadows. His hand presses
hard against my lower back, steering me like I’m his goddamn prize.
We stop, and he spins me to face him, eyes
raking over me. “Strip, slut,” he growls, low and mean. My hands shake as I
peel off my crop top, letting it hit the floor. My small tits bounce free,
nipples hard as fuck in the cold air, begging for a pinch. His gaze eats me
alive as I shimmy my miniskirt down, the fabric sliding over my plump ass and
long legs, pooling at my feet. I’m bare now, my tiny cock and balls dangling,
and for a second I think he might back off—but those blue eyes just burn
hotter.
He grabs my chin, tilting my face up, thumb
brushing my full lips. “You’re gonna be my good little bitch tonight, right? Do
every fuckin’ thing I tell you?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, voice quivering, those
big brown eyes locked on his.
He smirks, stepping back to unzip his jeans,
and his cock springs out—seven inches of thick, veiny meat, curved up, the head
slick and swollen. “On your knees, princess,” he says, stroking it slow,
watching me like prey.
I drop, the cold floor biting my knees, and
wrap my hand around his hot, pulsing shaft. My lips stretch wide as I take him
in, tasting salt and musk, sucking hard. He groans, hands fisting my wavy hair,
shoving deeper till I gag. “Fuck yeah, choke on that dick, you dirty little
cunt,” he snarls, fucking my face slow and rough. Spit drips down my chin, my
tiny cock twitching as he uses me, those groans filling the air like a filthy
soundtrack.
He yanks me off with a wet pop, leaving me
gasping. “Not done yet, you sexy little fuck,” he mutters, hauling me up by the
wrist. He drags me to a ratty couch—stained, sticky as hell—and shoves me
toward it. “Bend over, ass up—show me that juicy fuckin’ hole.”
I grip the edge, legs trembling, my plump
ass thrust out like an offering. His hand cracks down, a sharp slap that
jiggles my cheeks and stings like a motherfucker. I yelp, arching, and he
spanks me again, harder, building a rhythm that turns my ass red and hot.
“Shit, look at that bounce,” he laughs, smacking me till I’m moaning, the pain
twisting into a sick, needy heat.
He pauses, and I feel his thick cockhead
press against my tight hole. “Gonna fuck you raw, you slut,” he growls, pushing
in slow, stretching me wide. I bite my lip, gasping as he fills me, inch by
goddamn inch, that veiny shaft splitting me open. He starts thrusting, deep and
steady, hands clamping my hips, bruising my fair skin. “Take it, bitch—feel
that dick own you,” he grunts, leaning over me, breath hot on my ear.
I push back, ass meeting his thrusts, my
tiny cock leaking onto the couch. He laughs, dark and nasty. “Fuckin’ desperate
for it, huh?” Then he pulls out, leaving me empty, and spins me around. “On the
couch—spread those pretty legs wide.”
I collapse onto it, ass hanging off the
edge, legs splayed. He grabs my ankles, hoisting them up, and steps between my
thighs, his cock teasing my swollen balls. “Look at this tight little pussy,”
he says, then leans down, kissing me hard—tongue shoving in, tasting of beer
and sweat. He slams back into me, deeper now, balls slapping my ass with every
thrust. The couch creaks, my tits bouncing as he gropes them, pinching my
nipples till they throb. “You love this shit, don’t you, you cock-hungry
whore?” he rasps.
“Fuck, yes!” I moan, loud and shameless, my
tiny dick pulsing as he rails me. He pulls out, shoving his cock back to my
mouth. “Clean it, slut—taste your ass on me,” he snaps. I suck him deep, the
sharp, filthy flavor hitting my tongue, his grip tightening as he swells.
He yanks me off, tossing his tank top aside,
showing off a broad, inked chest rippling with muscle. “On your back, bitch,”
he orders, and I flop down, legs spread. He climbs over me, pinning me with his
weight, and thrusts in hard—stealing my breath. “Gonna wreck this hole,” he
snarls, pounding fast, biting my neck till it stings. My nails rake his
tattoos, my ass clenching as he drives deeper, the slap of skin echoing.
“Take it all, you filthy fuck,” Brad growls,
his thrusts turning wild and sloppy, hips slamming into my plump ass like a
goddamn battering ram. My tiny cock bounces against my stomach, dripping
pre-cum, as he unloads—hot, thick spurts of cum blasting deep inside me, his
muscled body shuddering over mine. Those perky tits of mine heave with every
ragged breath, my long legs trembling on the creaky couch. He doesn’t pull out,
though—his thick, seven-inch cock stays buried in my stretched hole, pulsing
with the last of his load. His hand clamps around my throat, squeezing just
enough to make my head spin, those deep blue eyes boring into my big brown ones
framed by sweat-soaked lashes.
“More for you, you dirty slut,” he whispers,
voice low and vicious, a smirk twisting his chiseled face. Then I feel it—a
warm, fucking invasive rush as he starts pissing inside me. My eyes widen, a
choked gasp escaping my full lips as the hot stream floods my ass, filling me
up like a goddamn balloon. “Yeah, that’s right,” he sneers, tightening his grip
on my throat, “take every fuckin’ drop, you nasty little bitch.” The pressure
builds fast, his piss mixing with his cum, swirling inside me, stretching my tight
hole beyond anything I’ve felt before. My fair skin flushes red, my wavy hair
sticking to my sweaty back as I squirm, pinned under his weight.
It’s humiliating as fuck—hot liquid surging
into me, spilling out around his cock in little spurts, dripping down my plump
cheeks to soak the shitty couch beneath us. The smell hits hard, sharp and
pungent, mingling with the arcade’s stale air, and my tiny cock throbs harder
despite the shame burning through me. “Look at you, fuckin’ leaking already,”
he taunts, easing his dick back just enough to let more gush out, then shoving
it back in deep, forcing the rest to stay trapped inside. My stomach cramps from
the fullness, a bloated ache that makes me moan—half pain, half twisted want.
He keeps going, pissing slow and deliberate now, watching my face contort, my
high cheekbones flushed, my lips parted as I pant like a bitch in heat.
“Feel that, huh? Stuffed full of my piss,”
he grunts, rocking his hips to slosh it around inside me. I clench around him,
trying to hold it in, but it’s too much—streams of warm, golden filth seep past
his shaft, trickling down my overflowing ass, pooling on the couch beneath.
“Fuckin’ gorgeous, you little cumdump,” he says, smirking wider, finally
letting the last of it flow into me. My ass is a sopping mess, overflowing, the
couch drenched, and I’m shaking, caught between disgust and a sick, throbbing
need.
He pulls out slow, his cock glistening with
cum, piss, and my own slickness, splattering my ass with the last drops as he
stands. “Still think you’re hot shit, princess?” he taunts, grabbing my wrist
and yanking me up hard. My legs wobble like a newborn fucking deer, but he
doesn’t give a shit—he spins me around, shoving me face-first against the
gritty wall next to the couch. My cheek scrapes the rough surface, palms
slapping against it for balance, my plump ass jutting out, dripping and red
from his earlier slaps. “Up against it—spread those sexy fuckin’ legs,” he
barks, kicking my ankles wider when I’m too slow.
I brace myself, thighs aching, and he smacks
my ass again—hard—making it jiggle and sting. “Scream all you want, bitch,
nobody’s gonna hear you back here,” he says, lining up that thick cock with my
soaked hole. He slams in, no warning, burying himself balls-deep, and I cry
out, forehead banging the wall. Piss squirts out around his shaft with every
brutal thrust, splattering my legs, the floor, his jeans—a wet, filthy mess as
he pounds me senseless. “Fuck, that’s tight—best little ass I’ve ever wrecked,”
he grunts, hands bruising my hips, yanking my wavy hair back till my neck
arches painfully, those perky tits bouncing with every jolt.
“Fuck you, you bastard,” I gasp, pushing
back into him, my tiny cock rock-hard and dripping, sm smearing pre-cum on the
wall. He shifts, angling deeper, tearing me apart, the sloshing piss inside me
spraying out with each thrust, hot and slick around his dick. “Goddamn, you’re
a messy little slut,” he laughs, slapping my ass again, the sting making me
clench tighter. My legs tremble, barely holding me up as he rails me, his balls
slapping my skin, the wet squelch of my fucked-out hole echoing in the dim corner.
He pulls out fast, spinning me again, and
shoves me to my knees. The linoleum bites my skin as he towers over me, cock
swaying, smeared with every nasty thing we’ve done. “Open that pretty fuckin’
mouth,” he snarls, grabbing my jaw and forcing it wide when I hesitate. He
thrusts in, filling my throat, and I gag hard, tears streaming down my flushed
cheeks, tasting the bitter mix of cum, piss, and my own ass. “Swallow it, you
nasty cunt,” he growls, fucking my face raw, hands clamped around my head. My lashes
flutter, spit and tears dripping, my tiny cock pulsing as he uses me like a
goddamn toy.
His hips stutter, groans tearing out of him,
and he comes again—hot, bitter spurts blasting down my throat. I
choke—swallowing what I can, the rest spilling over my swollen lips, down my
chin, onto my perky tits. But I’m right there too—the humiliation, the
pounding, his filthy dominance pushing me over the edge. “Fuck, fuck!” I moan
around his cock, my body shaking as I cum, my tiny dick spurting weak, hot
ropes onto the floor, my legs buckling under me. He pulls out, smirking as I
slump against the wall, coughing, wrecked, cum and piss streaking my fair skin.
“Bet’s fuckin’ paid, princess,” he says,
voice casual like he didn’t just destroy me. He zips up, slinging his tank top
over his shoulder, tattoos glinting with sweat. “See you around, Mira—maybe
next time you’ll grow some balls and win.” He struts off, disappearing into the
maze of machines, leaving me a half-naked, trembling mess—ass throbbing, cum
and piss dripping down my legs, my crop top and skirt crumpled nearby.
I grab them with shaky hands, pulling the sticky fabric over my sweaty, fucked-out body, my plump ass still stinging as I stumble back into the arcade’s neon glow. My high score’s gone, some asshole’s name in its place, but every brutal second of Brad’s victory is burned into me—shame, exhaustion, and a twisted fucking high I can’t shake.
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