𝐌i𝐫a’s M𝐢d𝐧i𝐠h𝐭 𝐒t𝐨p: 𝐀 𝐂o𝐩’𝐬 𝐂o𝐦m𝐚n𝐝

The city’s a pulsing beast at 2 a.m., all neon glow and concrete grit, the kind of place that chews you up if you don’t bite back. I’m weaving my E21 through the backroads, still high on the club’s thumping bass and the sweat of grinding bodies. My black mini dress is a second skin, clinging to my small, perky tits, the deep V-neck showing off my pale ivory skin, the hem so short it’s a miracle my plump ass isn’t flashing the world. My strappy heels—silver, sky-high—make my long, toned legs look like a goddamn runway, and my tiny cock and balls are tucked tight in a lacy black thong, hidden for now. I’m Mira, 18, 5’6” and 125 pounds of pure, unfiltered chaos, a trans girl who’s been living this truth for two years. My dark, wavy hair’s a mess from dancing, spilling past my shoulders, brushing my collarbone, and my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose proud, full pouty lips slick with gloss—catches the streetlights as I drive, brown eyes glinting under long lashes with that post-club haze.

The club was a fuckin’ zoo—downtown dive, all strobe lights and sticky floors, where I spent the night grinding on strangers, tequila shots burning my throat, my pale skin shimmering with sweat as I danced. Some frat boy tried to grope my ass, but I slapped his hand away, laughing, my wavy hair whipping as I spun, my shapely thighs flexing in those heels. I didn’t hook up—too many posers, not enough players—but I’m still buzzing, my tiny cock twitching at the memory of the heat, the want, the chaos.

I’m halfway home, cutting through a secluded side street—narrow, lined with shuttered warehouses, the kind of place you’d film a crime scene—when red and blue lights flare up in my rearview. “Fuck,” I mutter, heart slamming hard, my pale fingers gripping the wheel tight. I pull over slow, gravel crunching under my tires, the city’s hum fading to a distant drone. My E21’s silver paint gleams under the lone streetlight, but I know I’m screwed—this car’s not fully legal yet, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture.

The cop takes his time, boots heavy on the pavement, and when he leans down to my window, I get a good look. He’s white, late 30s, with short brown hair buzzed tight under his cap, piercing blue eyes that cut through the dark, and a jaw so sharp it could slice glass. His uniform’s crisp—navy blue, badge glinting, name tag reading “Officer Daniels”—and it hugs his broad chest, thick arms, and narrow waist like it was tailored for him. He’s 6’1”, all muscle, with a faint scar on his left cheek that makes him look dangerous in the best way. His voice is deep, steady, but there’s a flicker in his eyes as they roam over me, lingering on my long legs, the curve of my pale thighs, up to where my dress strains against my perky tits.

“License and registration, please,” he says, but his tone’s already got an edge, like he’s more interested in me than the paperwork.

I flash him a smile, letting my long lashes flutter over my brown eyes, my pouty lips curling just enough to tease. “Officer, I just rebuilt this car—it’s my pride and joy. I’ve got my license, but the registration’s still in the works. Here’s the bill of sale from the junkyard.” I lean over to the glovebox, giving him a peek at my cleavage, my wavy hair falling over one shoulder as I dig out the crumpled paper. I hand it over, my pale fingers brushing his rough ones, lingering a heartbeat too long, and I catch the way his jaw ticks, his blue eyes darkening.

He scans the bill, but his gaze keeps flicking back to me—my full lips, the way my dress hugs my tits, the pale skin of my neck. “Alright, I see,” he says, voice dipping lower, a little rougher. “So right now, this vehicle isn’t properly registered, which means it’s not legal to drive on public roads. Here’s what you need to do to fix that.”

I tilt my head, letting my hair spill further, my high cheekbones catching the light. “Oh, really? I’m all ears, Officer.” I shift in my seat, the dress creeping higher, baring more of my shapely thighs, and I don’t miss the way his eyes follow the movement, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

He clears his throat, but he’s already leaning closer, his breath warm with a hint of mint. “First, since you bought this from a junkyard, you’ll need to get a Salvage Vehicle Examination at a DMV-approved facility. They’ll verify the VIN and check that the car’s roadworthy.”

“Uh-huh,” I hum, nodding slow, my voice soft and sweet as I trail my fingers along my neck, drawing his stare to the pale curve of my collarbone. “Sounds like a hassle.”

“It can be,” he says, his eyes snagging on my pouty lips as I bite them lightly. “After it passes, you’ll need to submit paperwork to the DMV for a rebuilt title. Bring your bill of sale, the salvage inspection certificate, and an application—MV-82, I think.”

“Got it,” I purr, my voice dipping low, my perfume—something sweet and spicy—wafting toward him. I cross my legs slow, the dress riding higher, teasing the edge of my plump ass, and his jaw ticks again, his blue eyes darkening further.

“Once you have the rebuilt title, you can register the car and get plates. You’ll need proof of insurance too—state requires at least liability coverage.”

“Insurance, right,” I say, letting my fingers brush my pale thigh, my brown eyes locked on his, lashes teasing the air. “You’re so thorough, Officer Daniels.”

He smirks, a slow, dangerous curl of his lips. “I like to be thorough, sweetheart. After registration, you’ll need a State inspection—brakes, lights, emissions if applicable—within 10 days. Since your car’s pre-1996, it won’t need an OBD-II test, just a basic check.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” I pout, my full lips trembling just enough to reel him in, my pale skin glowing under the streetlight. “Is there any way to… make it easier?”

His smirk widens, voice dropping to a husky edge as he leans closer, his arm resting on my car door, his face inches from mine. “Well, since it’s not registered, I can’t let you drive it away. You’ve got two options: arrange a tow truck or trailer to move it, or if you try to drive it, I’ll have to impound it, and you’ll face fines for unregistered operation.”

My pulse spikes, but I keep my cool, trailing my fingers along my collarbone, watching his eyes follow the movement like a hawk. “Officer Daniels, a tow’s gonna kill me right now—I’m broke after fixing this baby up. Can’t we… work something out?” I bite my lip hard, letting the suggestion hang thick between us, my brown eyes glinting with promise.

He chuckles, low and rough, his blue eyes raking over me—my perky tits, my long legs, the way my dress barely covers my ass. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Makes me wonder what else you’re good at besides driving illegal cars.”

I shrug, my tits lifting with the move, my pale skin catching the light. “Maybe I’m good at making a tough night a little better. You look like you could use some fun after a long shift.”

His grin turns predatory, and he steps back, adjusting his belt. “Step out of the car, miss.”

My heart’s racing now, but I’m already hooked, my tiny cock twitching hard in my thong. I slide out slow, heels clicking sharp on the pavement, my long legs stretching as I stand, the dress riding up high, teasing the bottom of my plump ass. I don’t fix it, letting him drink me in—my shapely thighs, my pale skin, the way my wavy hair falls over my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face.

“Turn around, hands on the hood,” he says, voice thick with want, his blue eyes burning into me.

I obey, bending over the warm metal of my E21, pale hands flat on the hood, ass pushed out, the dress hiking up to bare the lower curve of my cheeks. He steps close, his boots loud, his body heat radiating as he starts a “pat-down”—his big, rough hands sliding up my legs, squeezing my thighs, lingering on my ass, kneading hard through the thin fabric.

“Fuck,” I gasp, arching into his touch, my tiny cock throbbing, my plump ass begging for more.

“Naughty girl, huh?” he mutters, his breath hot on my neck as he presses against me, his hard cock bulging through his pants, grinding into my ass. “Let’s see how naughty you really are.”

Officer Daniels’ hands are still on my plump ass, kneading hard through my black mini dress, his fingers digging into my pale skin as I’m bent over the hood of my E21, the metal warm against my perky tits. My long legs are trembling in my strappy silver heels, the dress hiked up to bare the lower curve of my cheeks, my tiny cock throbbing in my lacy black thong. His breath’s hot on my neck, his hard cock grinding into me through his uniform pants, and I’m already dripping for it, my brown eyes glinting with need under long lashes, my full pouty lips parted as I gasp.

“Such a tight little ass,” he growls, his voice rough with want, his hands sliding under the dress, flipping it up to my waist, exposing my thong. He yanks it down in one sharp tug, the lace catching briefly on my shapely thighs before it pools at my ankles, leaving my plump ass bare, my tiny cock and balls dangling free, hard and leaking a drop onto the gravel. “Well, fuck me,” he mutters, his fingers brushing my tiny cock, a low chuckle rumbling out. “A pretty girl with a little extra—my lucky night.”

I glance back, smirking, my wavy hair falling over one shoulder, my heart-shaped face tilted just enough to catch his blue eyes. “Like what you see, Officer?” I purr, my voice husky, my pale skin glowing under the streetlight.

“Fuckin’ love it,” he grunts, his hands spreading my cheeks wide, exposing my tight hole. He spits—a thick, hot wad—right onto my ass, the wet heat making me shiver as he rubs it in with his thumb, circling slow, teasing me open. “You’re gonna take everything I give you, aren’t you, you little slut?”

“Everything,” I moan, pushing back, my plump ass begging for more, my long legs trembling. “Just let me off with a warning.”

He laughs, dark and mean, and smacks my ass—crack—the sound sharp in the quiet street, my pale cheek bouncing, red flaring fast. “Oh, you’ll earn that warning,” he says, spanking again—crack—left, then right, my ass jiggling under his hand, the sting making my tiny cock twitch harder. “Fuck, look at that juicy ass shake.”

“Hit me harder,” I gasp, arching deeper, my perky tits mashed against the hood, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty neck. He obliges—crack, crack, crack—each slap harder, my pale skin burning, red marks blooming across my plump cheeks, the pain mixing with pleasure as I moan loud, shameless, my brown eyes watering under long lashes.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he growls, dropping to his knees behind me, his big hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wide. His face dives in, his tongue hot and wet as it licks a slow stripe up my crack, circling my hole before plunging in deep, sloppy, and rough. “Fuck, you taste like a goddamn dream,” he groans, his voice muffled against my ass, his tongue fucking me, spit running down my pale thighs, soaking my stockings.

“Eat that ass, Officer,” I moan, grinding back, my long legs quaking, my tiny cock leaking steady, smearing pre-cum on the hood. His hands squeeze my shapely thighs, bruising me, his tongue relentless, lapping deep, making me dizzy with need. “Fuck, don’t stop,” I beg, my full pouty lips trembling, my pale skin slick with sweat.

He pulls back, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and stands, his hands fumbling with his belt. “Time to open you up,” he says, grabbing his baton from his belt—a sleek, black thing, cold to the touch. He spits on it, slicking it up, and presses the tip against my wet hole, teasing slow. “Let’s see how much you can take.”

“Fuck, do it,” I gasp, bracing myself, my pale hands gripping the hood tight. He slides it in—an inch, then two—stretching me slow, the cold burn making me whimper, my hole clenching around it. “Shit, it’s big,” I pant, but I take it, my ass gripping tight, my long legs trembling in my heels as he twists it deeper, fucking me with it, slow and deliberate.

“Good girl,” he growls, his free hand spanking my ass—crack—my plump cheek quaking, red and raw. “Look at that tight little hole stretch.” He pushes the baton deeper—three inches, four—my ass burning, the pressure intense, my tiny cock dripping more, pre-cum pooling on the hood. “You’re a filthy little slut, aren’t you?”

“Fuck yes,” I moan, my voice wrecked, my wavy hair falling in my face as I rock back, taking it deeper, my perky tits scraping the metal through my dress. He fucks me with the baton for a long minute, twisting it, stretching me wide, my hole gaping when he finally pulls it out, tossing it aside with a clatter.

“Time for the real thing,” he says, unzipping his pants, yanking out his cock—7 inches, thick as hell, veiny, with a fat pink head already slick with pre-cum. He spits on his hand, stroking himself, and lines up, pressing the tip against my slick, gaping hole. “Beg for it, you little whore.”

“Fuck me, Officer,” I beg, voice desperate, my plump ass thrust back, my pale skin trembling. “Shove that cock in me—please.”

He slams in—hard, deep, his thick 7 inches filling me to the hilt, the stretch perfect, my hole squeezing him tight. “Fuck!” I scream, the burn making my vision blur, my long legs buckling, my heels scraping the gravel. He doesn’t wait, just starts pounding, his hips smacking my ass loud enough to echo down the empty street, his balls slapping my pale thighs with every thrust.

“Take it, you tight little bitch,” he grunts, his hands digging into my hips, yanking me back onto every brutal thrust, my plump ass jiggling, red and sore from the spanking. My tiny cock’s bouncing, leaking pre-cum everywhere, smearing across the hood, my perky tits mashed against the metal, nipples hard as rocks through the dress.

“Harder, fuck me harder,” I moan, loving how he’s splitting me open, my hole clenching around him, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty face, my brown eyes half-shut, lashes wet with sweat. He speeds up, hammering my prostate, making my toes curl in my heels, my long legs trembling, my pale skin slick with heat.

“Greedy little slut,” he snarls, pulling out sudden, spinning me around fast. He grabs my wrists, yanking them behind my back, and I hear the click of metal—handcuffs, cold and tight, locking my pale hands together. “Let’s see how you take it like this,” he says, pushing me back against the hood, my cuffed hands digging into my lower back, my long legs spread wide, heels dangling in the air.

He lifts my dress higher, bunching it at my waist, and shoves back in, his thick cock slamming deep, my hole stretched obscene. “Fuck, yes!” I scream, my perky tits bouncing free as the dress slips down, my pale chest heaving, my tiny cock smearing pre-cum on my stomach. He leans over me, pinning me to the hood, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wider.

“Goddamn, you’re bendy,” he groans, thrusting deep, his cock hitting every spot, my hole clenching tight, my plump ass sliding on the hood with every slam. “Fuckin’ wreck this pretty little ass,” he growls, slapping my breasts—crack—my pale tits burning, red and raw, soft flesh jiggling from the impact of his hand.

“More, fuck, more,” I gasp, my voice hoarse, my brown eyes locked on his blue ones, lashes fluttering as he pounds me, the car creaking under us. He grabs my tiny cock, stroking fast, his rough hand tight, making me moan louder, my pale body trembling, my hole gripping him like a vice.

“Cum for me, you filthy slut,” he snarls, and I do—hard, my tiny cock spurting weak, watery jets across my dress, staining the black fabric, dripping down my pale stomach. My ass clamps down, milking his cock, and he roars, pulling out fast, stroking himself as he unloads—hot, thick ropes of cum blasting over my tight balls and plump ass cheeks, streaking my pale skin, dripping down my ass, pooling on the hood.

I’m a goddamn mess—dress trashed, thong gone, heels scuffed, handcuffs biting my wrists, my pale skin bruised and sticky, cum everywhere, my plump ass throbbing, my tiny cock limp and spent, my brown eyes dazed but glinting with a smirk. He uncuffs me, rubbing my wrists gentle, and helps me up, handing me a hanky from his pocket to wipe down.

“Keep all your receipts for parts and labor—DMV might ask,” he says, zipping up, his voice calm now, like he didn’t just fuck me senseless. “Don’t drive this until you’ve got plates and insurance, or next time, it’s worse.”

I nod, breathless, my pouty lips curling as I adjust my dress, cum still dripping down my pale thighs. “Thanks for the warning, Officer Daniels,” I purr, my wavy hair a tangled mess, my long legs shaky as I slide back into my E21.

He tips his hat, smirking, his blue eyes still hungry. “Stay out of trouble, Mira. Or don’t—I’d love to catch you again.”

I laugh, low and rough, my heart still racing as I start the engine, the ache in my ass a sweet fuckin’ reminder. I dodged a bullet with my body and my charm, and I’ll sort the car tomorrow. For now, I’m driving home, unstoppable, the city’s neon glow fading in my rearview, my pale skin still tingling with the night’s chaos.