The commission from that Mustang sale’s burning a hole in my pocket—five grand, cash in hand, and I’m itching to finally snag a ride of my own. The sun’s a relentless fucker today, blazing down on Jack’s Used Cars, turning the lot into a shimmering oven. I’m strutting around in a cropped black tank top, tight as hell, hugging my small, perky tits—nipples poking through the thin fabric since I skipped a bra. My denim short shorts ride up my plump, juicy ass, frayed edges barely covering the tops of my long, toned legs. Pale ivory skin glistens with a sheen of sweat, and my dark, wavy hair bounces just below my shoulders as I move. Sneakers—white, scuffed—keep me grounded, but every step screams I’m 5’6” and 56 kg of pure, fuckable trouble. My heart-shaped face—high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips—catches the light, and my striking brown eyes, framed by long lashes, scan the lot for Mark.
He’s leaning against a beat-up Civic, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. Mark’s mid-20s, white, tall and lanky—maybe 6’1”—with shaggy blond hair that falls into his blue eyes. He’s got a wiry build, all lean muscle under a faded gray tee and ripped jeans, a goofy grin splitting his tanned face. Cute, in a scruffy puppy way, but I’ve got bigger fish today.
“Hey, Mark,” I call, sauntering over, hips swaying, letting my shorts ride higher to flash more of my toned thighs. “Got a minute?”
He looks up, grin widening as his eyes rake over me—my perky tits, my juicy ass, those legs he can’t ignore. “For you, Mira? Always. What’s up?”
I lean against the Civic, crossing my arms under my tits to push them up, pale skin glowing in the sun. “Just cashed in big on that Mustang. Five grand. Figure it’s time I get my own wheels. You know cars—whatcha think?”
He chuckles, tossing the rag aside. “Five grand’s a start. What’s your dream ride, huh? Lay it on me.”
I smirk, tossing my wavy hair back, full lips parting. “Porsche 911 930 Turbo. Sleek, fast, fuckin’ sexy—just like me.”
Mark laughs, loud and sharp, blue eyes twinkling. “Shit, Mira, you don’t mess around. Even a used one with high miles is, what, a hundred grand? You’re dreamin’ big.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my brown eyes, lashes fluttering. “I know it’s outta reach. But I’ve got a soft spot for ‘80s classics too—BMWs, Mercedes. That retro vibe gets me wet.”
He pauses, rubbing his chin, then snaps his fingers. “Wait a sec. You might be in luck. There’s this junkyard a few miles out—Rusty’s place. Saw a BMW E21 there last week. Body’s solid, but the engine’s toast. Could probably snag it cheap, like under a grand.”
My heart skips, and I step closer, letting him catch the faint jasmine off my skin. “No shit? An E21? That’s the old 3 Series, right?”
“Yup,” he says, nodding. “First-gen. Rusty’s a cheap bastard—bet you could haggle him down. Plus, I know a garage that’ll cut you a deal on fixing it up. With my word, maybe five grand total, and you’ve got a classic BMW purring for you.”
I grin, full lips stretching wide, high cheekbones sharp in the sunlight. “Fuck, Mark, you’re a genius. I’m sold. Where’s this junkyard?”
“Off Route 12,” he says, pointing west. “Tell Rusty I sent you. He’s a grump, but he’ll deal. Good luck, hot stuff.”
I wink, pushing off the car, my plump ass jiggling as I head for my borrowed ride—a shitty loaner from Jack. “Thanks, babe. Owe you one.”
The junkyard’s a rusted sprawl of twisted metal and forgotten dreams, stinking of oil and decay. I park and step out, sneakers crunching gravel, my cropped top riding up to flash my flat stomach, shorts hugging my juicy ass tight. My wavy hair’s a dark cascade, sticking to my neck in the heat, and my pale skin prickles as I spot the silver BMW E21—sleek lines, a little faded, but the body’s intact. I can see the potential.
A guy lumbers out from a shack—Rusty, I’m guessing. Late 40s, white, stocky as hell, maybe 5’9”, with a thick gut straining a stained flannel shirt. His black hair’s thinning, slicked back with sweat, and his grizzled beard frames a square jaw. Hazel eyes, sharp and predatory, lock onto me, roaming over my perky tits, my plump ass, those long legs he can’t peel away from. He’s got a rough, working-man vibe, hands calloused and dirty as he wipes them on his jeans.
“Well, fuck me,” he drawls, voice gravelly, stepping closer. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in my shithole?”
I flash a cocky smile, tossing my hair, brown eyes glinting. “Hey, Rusty, right? Name’s Mira. Mark sent me. Said you’ve got a BMW E21 I might like.”
He smirks, eyeing my shorts, then the car. “Yeah, that’s her. Silver beauty, huh? Body’s good, but the engine’s fucked six ways to Sunday. Lookin’ at twelve hundred.”
“Twelve hundred?” I laugh, stepping toward the car, bending slightly to inspect it—knowing damn well my plump ass pops out, shorts riding up to tease. “C’mon, man, it’s a shell. I’ve got cash, but I ain’t that flush. How about five hundred?”
He steps closer, hazel eyes darkening as they trace my toned legs, my pale skin. “Five hundred? You’re dreamin’, sweetheart. Ain’t a charity. Thousand’s my floor.”
I turn, leaning against the hood, crossing my arms to lift my tits higher, full lips pouting. “Thousand’s still steep for a dead ride. Six hundred, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
His laugh’s a low rumble, and he closes the gap, breath hot with tobacco. “Worth my while, huh? You’re a bold little bitch. What’s that mean?”
I tilt my head, lashes fluttering, letting my wavy hair brush his arm. “Means I’m flexible, Rusty. Seven hundred, and I’ll sweeten the deal—your call how.”
His eyes spark, raking over my heart-shaped face, my perky tits, my juicy ass. “Seven’s closer, but I’m thinkin’ five hundred… plus a taste of that tight little body. And I’ll even drop it at Mark’s garage for ya.”
My pulse kicks, but I smirk, stepping into his space, pale skin brushing his flannel. “Five hundred and delivery? Fuck, Rusty, you drive a hard bargain. Deal—but you better make it quick.”
He grins, teeth yellowed, and nods toward a stack of wrecked cars. “Over there, doll. Let’s seal this shit.”
Rusty’s got me pinned with those predatory hazel eyes, his stocky frame looming as he jerks his grizzled chin toward a stack of rusted car carcasses in the junkyard’s shadowed corner. The air’s thick with grease and decay, and my sneakers crunch gravel as I strut after him, my cropped black tank top clinging to my pale ivory skin, sweat trickling between my small, perky tits—nipples stiff and poking through the thin fabric. My denim short shorts are plastered to my plump, juicy ass, frayed edges riding high on my long, toned legs, and my dark, wavy hair sways past my shoulders, sticking to my neck in this goddamn heat. My heart-shaped face—high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips—tilts with a smirk as I feel him sizing me up, his gaze a filthy caress over every inch of my 5’6”, 56 kg frame.
“Move that sexy ass, doll,” he growls, his voice a gravelly rasp, leading me behind a beat-to-shit pickup truck, its hood dented and warm from the sun. He’s late 40s, white, 5’9” of rough-hewn bastard—thinning black hair slicked back with sweat, a grizzled beard framing a square jaw, thick gut straining his stained flannel. His calloused hands flex as he wipes them on his jeans, the bulge there already swelling.
I lean against the truck’s hood, crossing my arms to shove my perky tits higher, my pale skin gleaming in the dusty light. “Alright, Rusty,” I purr, brown eyes glinting under long lashes, “five hundred and a drop-off. What’s this taste you’re so fuckin’ hungry for?”
He steps in, tobacco stench hitting me like a slap, his rough hand sliding up my toned thigh, fingers brushing the edge of my shorts. “You’re a hot little cunt, Mira. Gonna start with that pretty mouth—get on your fuckin’ knees.”
I laugh, low and wicked, dropping slow, my long legs folding as my sneakers scuff the dirt. My shorts ride up, plump ass cheeks spilling out, pale and begging for a smack. I look up at him, full lips parting, my wavy hair falling around my face. “Show me what you’re workin’ with, big boy.”
He fumbles his jeans open, and his cock flops free—seven inches of thick, gnarled meat, veins bulging like ropes, the bulbous red head glistening with pre-cum, a fat drop beading at the slit. I wrap my pale fingers around it, stroking the hot, pulsing shaft, feeling it jerk in my grip. “Fuckin’ hell, Rusty, you’re loaded,” I tease, smirking, then lean in, my full lips stretching wide as I suck him in deep. He groans, a guttural rumble, hips bucking to shove it down my throat. I gag hard, drool spilling over my chin, coating his balls, but I work him like a goddamn pro—tongue swirling around the salty head, lips sliding wet and tight, hand pumping the base where my mouth can’t reach.
“Shit, choke on it, you dirty little slut,” he snarls, his rough hands tangling in my wavy hair, yanking me forward as he fucks my face. My tiny cock twitches in my shorts, leaking a wet spot into the denim as he uses me, grunting like a goddamn animal. His balls slap my chin, heavy and sweaty, and I moan around him, the vibration making him curse. He yanks me off after a minute, spit stringing thick from my lips to his dripping tip, and hauls me up by the arm, his grip bruising my pale skin. “Bend over the hood, bitch—gonna tear that ass up.”
I stumble forward, shorts still clinging, tank plastered to my perky tits as I brace my hands on the truck’s warm metal, my long nails scratching the paint. My plump ass juts out, pale and round, and he grabs my shorts, yanking them down to my knees in one rough tug, denim scraping my thighs. My tiny cock and balls dangle free, exposed, my tight hole winking at him. “No fuckin’ panties?” he growls, smacking my ass—hard—crack—the sound echoing as my juicy cheek jiggles, a red handprint blooming fast.
“Nope, you lucky bastard,” I gasp, pushing back, my wavy hair falling over my face, sticking to my full lips. “Fuck me raw—give it to me.”
He spits on his fingers, a thick glob, and smears it over my hole, then shoves two in—rough, calloused, stretching me with a slow, burning twist. “Goddamn, you’re a tight little bitch,” he mutters, pumping them deep, scissoring me open as I moan, my toned legs trembling. He adds a third, knuckles grazing my insides, and I clench around him, panting, my perky tits heaving under the tank. Then he pulls out, spits again—hot and wet on my ass—and lines up his thick cock, the fat head pressing insistent against me. He rams in—balls-fucking-deep in one savage thrust—and I scream, the stretch ripping through me, my pale skin prickling as he fills me to the hilt.
“Take this dick, you greedy fuckin’ whore,” he spits, gripping my hips, fingers digging bruises into my ivory flesh as he starts pounding me against the hood. My tits bounce wild under the tank, nipples scraping the fabric, and my tiny cock slaps my stomach, leaking sticky trails with every brutal slam. He spanks me again—crack—left cheek, then right, my plump ass rippling like a goddamn wave. “Fuck, this juicy ass is mine,” he grunts, pulling out slow—his cock slick with my heat—then slamming back in, the truck creaking under the force, my long legs buckling as I brace harder.
“Harder, you piece of shit,” I beg, voice raw, my wavy hair a sweaty curtain over my brown eyes. He laughs, dark and filthy, and keeps thrusting, his thick shaft splitting me open, balls smacking my pale thighs loud and wet. Then he pauses, thick cock slithering out of my gasping hole, and reaches for a beer bottle from a crate nearby—brown glass, cold as fuck, half-full of flat, piss-warm brew. “Gonna stretch you out, you nasty little cunt,” he says, spitting a thick wad onto the neck, the saliva dripping slow as he presses it to my gaping hole.
I gasp, the cold glass kissing my rim, and he shoves it in—slow at first, the smooth, hard neck sliding past my stretched muscle, wider than his fingers, making me shudder. “Fuck, Rusty, that’s cold,” I moan, feeling it sink deeper, the bottle’s curve stretching me obscene, my plump ass quivering around it. He twists it, slow and deliberate, fucking me with it, the beer inside sloshing—gurgling wet as it starts leaking into me, bubbling up my insides. “Shit, shit, shit,” I pant, the sensation wild—cold glass, warm liquid filling me, my long legs shaking as he pumps it deeper, the bottle’s shoulder nudging my rim.
“Take that fuckin’ enema, slut,” he snarls, tilting the bottle up, pouring more in—beer flooding my ass, fizzing and pooling, a bloated ache spreading through me. My tiny cock drips harder, pre-cum mixing with the mess dripping down my thighs, and he keeps twisting, thrusting it in and out, the glass slick with spit and beer, my hole clenching tight around it. “Look at you, fuckin’ loving this,” he growls, smacking my ass again—crack—making the liquid slosh inside me, a wet gurgle escaping as he pulls the bottle out slow, beer gushing down my pale legs, soaking the dirt.
He tosses it aside, glass clinking, and flips me onto my back on the hood, my shorts still tangled at my ankle, tank shoved up to bare my perky tits—nipples pink and hard as fuck. My long legs splay wide, pale thighs trembling, beer and pre-cum glistening on my skin, my tight hole gaping and dripping. He grabs my ankles, yanking them up, and slams his cock back in—the angle deep, brutal, hitting something raw inside me. I scream, brown eyes wide, lashes fluttering, my wavy hair splayed across the hood as he pounds me senseless. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I chant, nails clawing the metal, my plump ass bouncing with every thrust, the truck rocking hard.
“Goddamn, this tight little pussy,” he growls, leaning down to kiss me—rough, sloppy, his grizzled beard scraping my full lips as his tongue shoves in deep, tasting the drool and beer on me. I gag on it, moaning loud, my pale skin flushing as he fucks me harder, hips slapping my ass wet and loud, the junkyard reeking of sweat, sex, and spilled brew. He pinches my nipples, twisting them savage, making my tits ache and bounce, my tiny cock pulsing against my stomach.
He pulls back, fat shaft slipping out of my gaping pussy, and drags me off the hood. “Ass up, you filthy bitch,” he snarls, shoving me to the ground. I hit my knees, shorts kicking off completely, tank twisted up around my ribs, my pale body streaked with dirt. I crawl forward, planting my hands in the dirt, ass high, plump cheeks spread wide, beer and pre-cum oozing from my hole. He kneels behind me, smacking my ass—crack—left, then right, then left again, my skin stinging red as he lines up and rams back in, his thick cock splitting me open raw.
“Gonna fuckin’ destroy this hole,” he roars, gripping my wavy hair, yanking my head back so my perky tits lift off the ground, my long legs splayed wide. He pounds me into the dirt, relentless, my ass jiggling with every thrust, my moans turning to broken sobs as he stretches me wider, beer sloshing out with every slam. His hand snakes around, jerking my tiny cock—rough, fast, nails scraping my skin. “Come for me, you nasty little tramp—fuckin’ scream it.”
“Rusty, oh fuck, Rusty!” I wail, the pressure exploding, hot spurts shooting into the dirt, my perky tits heaving, my pale body trembling under him. He bellows, slamming in one last time, flooding my ass with his thick, hot load—pulse after pulse, mixing with the beer, spilling down my thighs as he grinds deep.
He pulls out slow, a wet, filthy squelch, his cum and beer dripping from my wrecked hole, pooling in the dirt. I collapse forward, ass throbbing, tank twisted up, shorts gone, my pale skin streaked with muck and sweat, wavy hair a tangled mess. He stands, wiping his softening cock on his jeans, smirking down at me. “Five hundred, slut. Car’s yours—droppin’ it at the garage tomorrow.”
I push up, smirking back, my full lips smeared with spit, brown eyes glinting through the haze. “Fuckin’ deal, Rusty. You’re a goddamn animal.” I grab my shorts, tugging them over my bruised, plump ass, my long legs shaky as I stand, beer still trickling down my thighs. Five hundred for the BMW E21—and a fuck that’ll linger. I’m still the queen of this dirty game.
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