𝐌i𝐫a’s M𝐚l𝐥 𝐌e𝐥e𝐞: A M𝐚f𝐢a F𝐮c𝐤f𝐞s𝐭

The mall was a chaotic sprawl, its polished floors reflecting neon signs and the chatter of late shoppers. My black crop top clung to my perky A-cup tits, the hem teasing my taut stomach, while my denim mini skirt hugged my plump ass, barely covering my shapely thighs. Wedge sneakers gave my long, toned legs a confident strut, my dark wavy hair swaying past my shoulders as I weaved through the crowd, shopping bags swinging. My brown eyes, framed by long lashes, scanned the storefronts, and my full, pouty lips curled into a smirk. I’d just dropped serious cash at a boutique—leather jacket, lacy thongs, and a pair of boots that made my heart-shaped face light up in the mirror. The air was thick with fried food and cheap cologne, my pale ivory skin prickling in the artificial chill.

I’d come to unwind after a brutal week hustling, flipping an ‘80s Supra for a fat profit. My BMW E21 waited in the lot, my silver baby I’d fought tooth and nail to keep. I pushed through the glass doors, the evening air hitting me like a slap, cool against my flushed cheeks. The parking lot stretched wide, sodium lights casting harsh shadows. My car was parked a few rows out, gleaming under a flickering streetlamp. I adjusted my bags, my tiny cock and tight balls snug in my thong, and started walking, my high cheekbones catching the glow as I hummed a tune.

Tires screeched, shattering the quiet. A black SUV skidded to a stop, blocking my path, and my heart slammed into my ribs. Four figures poured out, guns glinting—Zion’s Blade, the Eastern European Jewish mafia I’d fucked over at that warehouse shootout. I’d helped Kemar take down nine of their brothers, and now they wanted my head. “You fucking bitch!” one roared, his accent thick, raising a pistol. I dropped my bags and dove behind a silver sedan, bullets pinging off metal. Glass shattered, and I pressed low, my plump ass scraping the gritty asphalt, my long legs curled tight. My breath hitched, my pouty lips trembling as I peeked over the hood.

The four thugs fanned out, all white, mid-20s to 30s, in dark jackets and jeans. The leader, buzzcut and broad, had cold blue eyes and a Glock. Another, bald with a scarred face, clutched an Uzi, his gray eyes scanning. The third, wiry with a ponytail, held a shotgun, brown eyes wild. The last, stocky with a goatee, waved a revolver, green eyes locked on my position. “Mira, you’re fuckin’ dead!” Buzzcut shouted, firing again. I ducked, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty neck, my tiny cock twitching with adrenaline.

The sedan I hid behind rocked as its doors flew open. Three figures spilled out, cursing in thick Italian accents. I caught glimpses through the chaos: one man, mid-40s, stocky, with slick black hair, a gold chain, and a Beretta—his swarthy face twisted in rage. The second, late 30s, leaner, with a scar slicing his cheek, gripped a revolver, his dark eyes darting. The third was a boy, barely 11, short at 5’2”, wiry, with messy brown hair, wide hazel eyes, and a hoodie that swallowed his frame. They didn’t see me at first, too busy returning fire, thinking Zion’s Blade was targeting them.

“Fuckin’ Jews hittin’ us!” the stocky one bellowed, unloading his Beretta. Bullets crisscrossed the lot, and the ponytail thug dropped, blood spraying from his chest. But a round caught the lean Italian in the throat, his body jerking as he collapsed, gurgling. The boy screamed, “Uncle Tony!” and scrambled for cover beside me, his face pale as death. The stocky guy ducked next, his dark eyes meeting mine, my heart-shaped face flushed, my tits heaving under my crop top.

“Who the fuck are you?” he growled, reloading, blood seeping from a graze on his arm.

“Mira,” I panted, my long lashes fluttering. “Those assholes are after me, not you. Got a spare gun?”

He shook his head, cursing. “Fuck no, girl. Stay low.”

The boy, trembling, crawled back into the sedan, his sneakers scraping the pavement. He grabbed a pistol from under a seat—a sleek 9mm—and slid it to me, the metal cold against my palm. “Here,” he mumbled, voice cracking, his hazel eyes wide with fear. I nodded, my shapely thighs crouched tight, and peeked up. Buzzcut and Bald were advancing, Goatee hanging back. I aimed, my hands steady despite my pounding heart, and fired. Buzzcut’s head snapped back, a red mist exploding. The stocky Italian popped Bald, but a bullet slammed into his shoulder, and he slumped, grunting, “Fuck!”

The last thug, Goatee, bolted for the SUV, tires squealing as he peeled out. The lot was a warzone—bullet-riddled cars, blood pooling, glass glittering like diamonds. The boy stared at the dead Italian, his uncle, while the wounded guy clutched his shoulder, blood soaking his shirt. “Girl,” he rasped, his swarthy face pale, “drive us to the compound. You owe us for this shit.”

I bit my lip, my brown eyes narrowing. Zion’s Blade was my mess, but these guys had saved my ass, even if they didn’t know it. “Fine,” I muttered, grabbing the sedan’s keys from the asphalt. The boy helped the wounded guy—Vito, I heard him called—into the back, laying the dead one, Tony, across the seat. I slid behind the wheel, my mini skirt riding up, my plump ass sinking into the leather, my long legs working the pedals. The boy, Luca, sat shotgun, his hazel eyes flicking to my thighs, then away, his hands shaking.

The drive was a tense fifteen minutes through the city’s veins, neon signs blurring past—pawn shops, strip clubs, diners glowing in the dusk. Vito groaned, blood dripping, muttering about “Pop’s consigliere.” I kept my eyes on the road, my wavy hair plastered to my sweaty neck, my tiny cock pulsing nervously in my thong. The sedan smelled of copper and sweat, the weight of the dead guy in the back pressing on my nerves. “What’s your deal, Luca?” I asked, breaking the silence, my pouty lips pursed.

He shrugged, his boyish face tense. “Just… my dad’s business. You’re, uh, pretty good with a gun.”

I smirked, my high cheekbones catching the streetlight. “Had to learn. Those fuckers wanted to carve me up.”

Vito coughed, blood flecking his lips. “Keep drivin’, girl. Compound’s on 57th, big gates.”

The city gave way to a gated estate, iron fences looming like prison bars. Mafia goons swarmed the car, all Italian, late 20s to 40s, in suits and leather jackets, hauling Vito and Tony out. Luca trailed me as we were hustled through a mansion—marble floors, gold-framed paintings, the air thick with cigar smoke. They shoved us into a lavish office, where Mr. Salerno sat behind a mahogany desk. Mid-50s, broad-shouldered, with silver hair, a tailored suit, and cold gray eyes, he radiated power, his gold watch glinting as he leaned forward, a lion sizing up prey.

“What the fuck happened?” he barked, his voice low but deadly, eyeing Vito, who was barely conscious, then me, my pale skin flushed, my tits straining my crop top.

Vito wheezed, propped up by a goon. “Crazy fuckin’ Jews shot up our car. No clue why, boss.”

Salerno’s gaze pinned me, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. “And you, girl? How’d you get mixed up in this shit?”

I shifted, my wedge sneakers scuffing the rug, my shapely thighs flexing. Lie, and I might skate with these Italians, but one call to Zion’s Blade would expose me. Tell the truth, and I could be fucked—or gain allies against those Eastern European bastards. My brown eyes met his, long lashes steady. “I’m Mira. Those guys? Zion’s Blade. I crossed them a while back—had to take out nine of their crew in a warehouse deal gone bad. They tracked me to the mall, opened fire. Your guys got caught in the crossfire.”

Luca’s eyes widened, his wiry frame stiffening, a mix of awe and fear on his boyish face. Vito grunted, shaking his head. Salerno leaned back, steepling his fingers, his gray eyes boring into me. “You got Tony killed—a husband, a father. Endangered my son, Luca.” His voice softened, but it wasn’t kind. “But you fought like a soldier, brought my boy back, and didn’t bullshit me when you could’ve. That’s rare.”

I swallowed, my full lips glistening. “So, what’s the play?”

He waved a hand, dismissive. “Lock her in a guest room. I’ll figure out what to do with you.”

Two goons, both late 30s, one with a buzzcut, the other with a slick ponytail, escorted me to a plush room—king bed with silk sheets, flat-screen TV, minibar stocked with whiskey. The door locked behind me, and I paced, my wedge sneakers thudding on the carpet, my plump ass swaying in my skirt. The TV droned some reality show, but my mind was a storm—Zion’s Blade hunting me, the Italians weighing my fate, my E21 still at the mall, probably ticketed by now. I poured a drink, the burn calming my nerves, my tiny cock twitching as I replayed the shootout, the adrenaline still buzzing.

An hour later, the door clicked, and Luca slipped in, carrying a tray of pasta, garlic bread, and a glass of red wine. His messy brown hair fell over his hazel eyes, his hoodie and jeans unable to hide his age, his wiry frame almost swallowed by the room’s opulence. He set the tray on a side table, his gaze flicking to my perky tits, then my face, a shy smile breaking through. “Figured you’d be starving,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

I sat on the bed, crossing my long legs, my skirt riding up just enough to tease. “Thanks, Luca. Didn’t expect room service in a mafia lockup.” I grabbed the fork, twirling spaghetti, my pouty lips closing around a bite, savoring the rich sauce.

He leaned against the wall, watching me eat, his hazel eyes lingering on my high cheekbones, my wavy hair. “You’re not like anyone I’ve met. Most people would’ve pissed themselves back there.”

I smirked, sipping wine, my brown eyes glinting. “Takes more than a few guns to make me shake. You held up okay yourself, kid.”

He blushed, scratching his neck. “Yeah, well, Dad’s world ain’t exactly safe. You learn to roll with it.”

We talked—small stuff at first, the city, his school, how he was a middle schooler that hated math. He was 11, and his boyish face and short stature did little to hide his age. But he tried to act mature, like he belonged in this den of killers. His flirting started light—complimenting my eyes, saying my hair looked like a model’s. I played along, leaning forward, my perky tits pressing against my crop top, my shapely thighs shifting. “You’re sweet,” I teased, my long lashes fluttering. But his words got bolder, dirtier, hinting at what he’d do if we weren’t in his dad’s house.

I raised an eyebrow, setting the tray aside, my heart-shaped face tilting. “Hold up, Luca. How old are you again?”

“Eleven,” he said, grinning, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief. “Why? Too young for you?”

I laughed, my full lips curling. “You talk like you’ve been around the block, kid. Where’s a middle schooler learn to flirt like that?”

He shrugged, stepping closer, and my eyes caught the bulge in his jeans. My jaw nearly hit the floor—there was a fucking monster in there, straining the denim. How the hell did this scrawny kid pack something that big? “What’s… going on down there?” I asked, my voice playful but curious, my pale skin flushing.

Luca’s grin turned cocky. “Macrogenitosomia. Means my cock’s oversized. Big balls, too. Born with it.”

I blinked, my high cheekbones heating. “English, kid. What’s that mean?”

“Big dick syndrome,” he said, chuckling. “It’s a condition. Everything works, though. Better than most.”

My breath caught, my tiny cock twitching hard in my thong. This was the boss’s son, and I was already neck-deep in trouble. But that bulge—fuck, it was calling my name. “Prove it,” I said, leaning back on my elbows, my long legs stretched out, my skirt riding up to flash a hint of lace.

Luca didn’t hesitate. He unzipped his jeans, tugging them down, and out sprang a fat, veiny 9-inch cock, half-hard and thick as my wrist. My brown eyes widened, my pouty lips parting. “Holy fucking shit,” I muttered, my pale skin prickling with heat. The thing was a beast, uncut, with a slight curve and heavy balls hanging low. “Does that… actually work?”

“Find out,” he said, stepping closer, his monster cock swaying, his hazel eyes daring me.

I froze, my heart racing. Fucking the boss’s son in a mafia compound was a death wish, but my body was screaming yes. My plump ass shifted on the bed, my shapely thighs spreading slightly. I slid to my knees on the carpet, my wedge sneakers digging in, my skirt riding up to expose my thong. My brown eyes locked on his, and I reached out, my fingers wrapping around his shaft, the heat and weight making my tiny cock throb hard. “You’re trouble, Luca,” I murmured, my pouty lips brushing the tip, ready to dive into the chaos.

My knees hit the plush carpet of the guest room, the wedge sneakers digging in as I knelt before Luca, his monstrous 9-inch cock swaying inches from my face. My brown eyes, framed by long lashes, locked onto his hazel gaze, a smirk tugging my full, pouty lips. My black crop top strained against my perky A-cup tits, my denim mini skirt riding up to flash the lacy thong hugging my plump ass. My dark wavy hair spilled over my shoulders, brushing my pale ivory skin as I leaned forward, the heat of his dick radiating against my high cheekbones. My tiny cock throbbed in my thong, tight balls aching, my long, toned legs spread for balance. The air was thick with tension, the faint hum of the TV drowned out by my pounding heart.

“Fuck, Luca,” I murmured, my voice low, fingers curling around his thick, veiny shaft. It was heavy, warm, the uncut tip glistening, his balls hanging low like fucking plums. “This thing’s a goddamn beast.” My heart-shaped face tilted up, my pouty lips brushing the head, teasing him with a flick of my tongue.

He grinned, cocky as hell, his wiry 5’2” frame looming despite his youth. His messy brown hair fell over his hazel eyes, his hoodie half-unzipped, showing a lean chest. “Told you it works, Mira. You gonna suck it or just stare?”

I laughed, my high cheekbones flushing. “Oh, I’m gonna do more than suck, kid.” My fingers tightened, stroking slow, feeling him harden fully, the 9 inches pulsing. I was in deep shit—fucking the boss’s son in a mafia compound was suicide—but that cock was calling me, and I never backed down from a challenge. My shapely thighs tensed, my plump ass swaying as I leaned in, my lips parting wide.

I took him in, my pouty lips stretching around the fat head, the salty taste hitting my tongue. My brown eyes flicked up, watching his face twist with pleasure as I sucked, slow and deep, my tongue swirling under the tip. “Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned, his hand tangling in my wavy hair, tugging just hard enough to make my tiny cock twitch. I moaned around him, the vibration making him buck, pushing deeper. My long lashes fluttered, my pale skin prickling as I worked him, bobbing my head, spit slicking his shaft.

My free hand cupped his heavy balls, rolling them gently, my nails grazing the sensitive skin. He hissed, thrusting shallowly, the head hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, eyes watering, but didn’t pull back—fuck that. I relaxed my throat, taking him deeper, my full lips sealed tight, sucking hard. My shapely thighs quivered, my plump ass high as I leaned into it, my crop top riding up to bare my stomach. Spit dribbled down my chin, soaking my pale skin, but I didn’t care—this kid’s cock was a fucking masterpiece, and I was painting it with my mouth.

“Shit, Mira,” Luca gasped, his voice rough, both hands gripping my hair now, guiding my pace. I let him, my brown eyes burning into his, daring him to take control. He fucked my mouth, slow at first, then faster, the wet slurp of my lips echoing in the room. My tiny cock strained in my thong, leaking, my tight balls aching as I rocked on my knees, my long legs flexing. I pulled back, gasping, a string of spit connecting my lips to his cock. “You like that, huh?” I teased, stroking him fast, my pouty lips swollen.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled, yanking me back onto him. I dove in, sucking harder, my tongue tracing every vein, my hand pumping the base. My high cheekbones hollowed, my heart-shaped face flushed as I worked, spit and precum mixing, dripping onto my crop top. I deep-throated him, nose brushing his pubes, gagging but holding it, my eyes tearing up. He moaned, loud, his hips jerking, and I felt his balls tighten. I pulled off, panting, my lips glistening. “Not yet, kid,” I said, smirking, wiping my chin. “I wanna play with this monster some more.”

I stood, my long legs steady, and pushed him onto the bed. His jeans were around his ankles, hoodie rucked up, his 9-inch cock standing proud. I straddled his thighs, my mini skirt hiking up, my thong barely containing my tiny cock. “Let’s see what else you got,” I said, my brown eyes glinting, leaning down to kiss him. His lips were soft, eager, his tongue meeting mine, a hungry edge to it. My perky tits pressed against his chest, my wavy hair falling around us, my pale skin brushing his.

I broke the kiss, my pouty lips hovering. “Take my top off,” I ordered, voice husky. He fumbled, tugging the crop top over my head, my perky A-cups bouncing free, pink nipples hard. His hazel eyes widened, hands groping my tits, squeezing rough. “Fuck, these are perfect,” he muttered, pinching a nipple, making me gasp, my tiny cock twitching. I grinned, grinding my plump ass against his thighs, feeling his cock nudge my thong.

“Now the skirt,” I said, standing, turning so my ass faced him. He unzipped it, yanking it down, leaving me in my lacy black thong, my shapely thighs flexing. His hands grabbed my plump ass, kneading hard, a low groan escaping him. I glanced back, my high cheekbones flushed, my wavy hair swinging. “Like what you see?” I teased, bending slightly, my thong riding up to show my tight balls.

“Fuck, Mira, your ass is insane,” he said, voice thick, smacking my cheek. The sting made me moan, my pale skin reddening, my tiny cock leaking. I turned, stepping out of the thong, my 2-inch cock springing free, hard and glistening, my tight balls tucked beneath. Luca froze, his hazel eyes wide, staring at my cock and balls. “Holy shit,” he muttered, not disgust—pure fucking awe. “You’re… you’re trans?”

I smirked, my heart-shaped face tilted, my long legs straddling him again. “Yeah, kid. Got a problem with that?” My brown eyes dared him, my pouty lips curling.

He shook his head, grinning, his hands grabbing my hips. “Fuck no. That’s hot as hell.” His fingers brushed my tiny cock, curious, making me shiver, my pale skin prickling. “Never seen one like this,” he said, stroking it gently, his thumb circling the tip. I moaned, my shapely thighs trembling, my plump ass swaying.

“Good answer,” I purred, leaning down to kiss him again, rougher this time, my tongue claiming his. His hands roamed, groping my tits, my ass, my tiny cock, like he couldn’t get enough. I pulled back, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty neck, my high cheekbones flushed. “Bend me over, Luca. I want that tongue in my ass.”

He didn’t need telling twice. I climbed off, turning to the ottoman at the foot of the bed, bending over it, my long legs spread wide, my plump ass high. My pale skin gleamed under the lamplight, my tight balls and tiny cock dangling, my wavy hair spilling down my back. Luca knelt behind me, his hands spreading my cheeks, exposing my pink hole. “Fuck, this is perfect,” he muttered, his breath hot against my skin.

He dove in, his tongue lapping at my hole, slow and teasing at first, circling the rim. I moaned, my pouty lips parting, my brown eyes half-closed as pleasure shot through me. “Shit, Luca, eat that ass,” I gasped, pushing back, my shapely thighs quivering. His tongue pressed deeper, probing, wet and relentless, making my tiny cock throb, precum dripping onto the ottoman. My perky tits swayed as I rocked, my pale skin flushed, my high cheekbones burning.

He spanked my ass, hard, the crack echoing, my plump cheek jiggling. “Fuck!” I yelped, the sting mixing with the heat of his tongue, my long legs trembling. He kneaded my cheeks, spreading them wider, his tongue fucking my hole now, in and out, sloppy and deep. My wavy hair swung as I arched, my heart-shaped face twisting with pleasure. “Harder, you little shit,” I growled, and he obeyed, smacking both cheeks, leaving red handprints on my pale skin.

His fingers joined in, one circling my hole as his tongue worked, then slipping inside, stretching me. I moaned louder, my tight balls tightening, my tiny cock twitching. “Fuck, yes, finger that ass,” I panted, my long lashes fluttering, my pouty lips slick with spit. He added a second finger, curling them, hitting that spot that made my whole body shake. My plump ass pushed back, greedy, my pale skin slick with sweat, my wavy hair clinging to my neck.

Luca pulled back, panting, his hazel eyes wild. “Your ass tastes fucking amazing,” he said, smacking my cheek again, the sting making me hiss. He leaned in, sucking my hole, his tongue swirling, his fingers pumping. I was a mess, my perky tits pressed against the ottoman, my shapely thighs spread wide, my tiny cock leaking like a faucet. “Don’t stop,” I begged, my voice raw, my brown eyes rolling back. He didn’t, eating me out like a starving man, his hands groping my ass, spanking me until my pale skin was a patchwork of red.

I came close, my tight balls drawing up, but I held off, wanting more. “Enough,” I gasped, turning to face him, my heart-shaped face flushed, my pouty lips trembling. “You’re gonna fuck me with that monster, Luca. But first, I want you to earn it.”

He stood, his 9-inch cock rock-hard, glistening with my spit. His hoodie was off now, showing a lean, smooth chest, his jeans kicked away. His hazel eyes burned, his boyish face flushed with lust. “Earn it how?” he asked, voice thick, stroking his cock.

I grinned, my long legs stepping closer, my perky tits bouncing. “You’ll see, kid. For now, get ready to wreck my ass.”

My body was a live wire, buzzing from Luca’s tongue and fingers wrecking my ass. I stood in the guest room, naked, my pale ivory skin slick with sweat, my perky A-cup tits heaving, pink nipples hard as bullets. My plump ass stung from his spanks, red handprints blooming across my cheeks, my tiny 2-inch cock throbbing, leaking precum onto my tight balls. My long, toned legs trembled, shapely thighs flexing, my dark wavy hair clinging to my sweaty neck. My brown eyes, framed by long lashes, burned into Luca’s hazel gaze, my full, pouty lips curling into a smirk. The air smelled of sex and whiskey, the TV’s drone a faint hum against the thud of my heart.

Luca stood before me, his wiry 5’2” frame stripped bare, his messy brown hair falling over his flushed face. His 9-inch cock, thick as my wrist, curved slightly, glistening with my spit, his heavy balls swaying. His lean chest rose and fell, hazel eyes wild with lust, his boyish features hardened by desire. “You’re fuckin’ unreal, Mira,” he said, voice rough, stroking his monster cock. “Ready for this?”

I laughed, my high cheekbones flushed, stepping closer, my heart-shaped face tilted. “Kid, I was born ready. Now bend me over and fuck my ass raw.” My voice was a growl, my long legs striding to the ottoman at the bed’s foot. I bent over, spreading my shapely thighs wide, my plump ass high, my tight balls and tiny cock dangling. My wavy hair spilled over my shoulders, my pale skin gleaming under the lamplight, my hole still slick from his tongue.

Luca stepped up, smacking my ass hard, the crack echoing, my cheek jiggling. “Fuck!” I yelped, the sting shooting through me, my tiny cock twitching. He kneaded my plump cheeks, spreading them, his thick cockhead nudging my hole. “This ass is mine,” he growled, spitting on my hole, the wet heat making me moan. My pouty lips parted, my brown eyes half-closed, my perky tits pressed against the ottoman’s velvet. He pushed in, slow, the fat head stretching me, a burn that made my long legs quake.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he grunted, gripping my hips, his fingers digging into my pale skin. I pushed back, greedy, my hole swallowing his 9 inches inch by inch, the fullness overwhelming. My tight balls tightened, my tiny cock leaking, my wavy hair swinging as I rocked. “Fuck me, Luca,” I gasped, my voice raw, my high cheekbones burning. He thrust, deep, his cock hitting that spot that made my whole body spark. I moaned, loud, my shapely thighs trembling, my plump ass taking every brutal inch.

He pounded me, relentless, his hips slapping my cheeks, the wet smack filling the room. My perky tits bounced, my pale skin reddening where his hands gripped. “Fuck, your ass is perfect,” he groaned, spanking me again, the sting mixing with the pleasure of his cock. My long lashes fluttered, my pouty lips trembling, my brown eyes rolling back. I clawed the ottoman, my heart-shaped face twisted, my tiny cock spurting precum onto the fabric. He leaned over, biting my shoulder, his breath hot, fucking me harder, his balls slapping my tight balls.

“Harder, you little shit!” I snarled, pushing back, my plump ass meeting his thrusts. He obliged, slamming into me, his 9-inch cock stretching my hole wide, the burn so good I saw stars. My wavy hair stuck to my sweaty neck, my long legs buckling, but I held on, my shapely thighs flexing. He reached around, stroking my tiny cock, his fingers rough, making me gasp. “Fuck, Luca, don’t stop,” I panted, my pale skin slick, my high cheekbones flushed. I was close, but I held off, wanting him to wreck me more.

He pulled out, leaving me gasping, my hole gaping. “On your back,” he ordered, voice thick, his hazel eyes blazing. I obeyed, scrambling onto the bed, lying back on the silk sheets, my long legs spread wide, my shapely thighs framing my tiny cock and tight balls. My perky tits jiggled, my wavy hair fanning out, my pale skin glistening, my brown eyes locked on his. My plump ass hung off the edge, my hole slick and ready. Luca knelt between my legs, lifting them over his shoulders, his 9-inch cock nudging my entrance.

“Fuck me, kid,” I purred, my pouty lips glistening, my high cheekbones flushed. He pushed in, one hard thrust, burying his cock deep, making me scream. “Shit!” My long lashes fluttered, my heart-shaped face twisting, my tiny cock twitching against my stomach. He leaned forward, his hands pinning my wrists above my head, his lean chest brushing my perky tits. He fucked me, slow at first, then faster, his cock dragging against my walls, hitting that spot with every thrust.

My pale skin burned where his hips slapped my thighs, my plump ass clenching around him. “Fuck, your cock’s so big,” I moaned, my voice raw, my brown eyes rolling back. He grinned, cocky, his hazel eyes glinting, and spanked my thigh, the sting making me hiss. My wavy hair tangled on the sheets, my long legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. My tight balls ached, my tiny cock leaking, smearing precum across my stomach. He reached down, stroking my tiny cock, his thumb circling the tip, making me buck.

“Goddamn, Mira, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he growled, his thrusts brutal, the bed creaking. My perky tits bounced, my pale skin slick with sweat, my high cheekbones flushed. I clawed his back, my nails digging in, my shapely thighs trembling. “Fuck, Luca, I’m close,” I gasped, my pouty lips trembling, my brown eyes wide. He slowed, teasing, his cock dragging out, then slamming back in, making me writhe. My long legs tightened, my plump ass gripping him, my tiny cock spurting precum.

“Not yet,” he said, pulling out, leaving me panting, my hole pulsing. He climbed onto the bed and rolled me onto my left side, one long leg bent, the other stretched out, my plump ass curved, my pale skin glowing. My wavy hair spilled across the pillow, my perky tits pressed together, my tiny cock hard against my thigh. My brown eyes met his, my pouty lips parted, my heart-shaped face flushed. Luca lay behind me, spooning close, his 9-inch cock sliding between my cheeks.

“Fuck my ass, Luca,” I begged, my voice thick, my high cheekbones burning. He spit on his cock, slicking it, and pushed in, the stretch making me moan, my long lashes fluttering. He thrust, deep and slow, his arm wrapping around me, groping my perky tits, pinching my nipples. “Shit, that’s good,” I gasped, my shapely thighs trembling, my plump ass pushing back. His cock filled me, relentless, the angle hitting new spots, making my tight balls tighten.

He fucked me harder, his hips slapping my ass, his hand sliding down to stroke my tiny cock. “Fuck, Mira, your little cock’s so cute,” he muttered, his voice rough, his fingers teasing. I moaned, my pale skin prickling, my brown eyes rolling back. My wavy hair stuck to my sweaty neck, my long legs flexing, my plump ass clenching around his 9 inches. He spanked my cheek, the sting pushing me over the edge. “Fuck, I’m cumming!” I screamed, my tiny cock spurting, cum splattering my thigh and the silk sheets beneath, my hole pulsing around him.

Luca groaned, his thrusts erratic, his cock swelling. “Shit, Mira, here it comes,” he growled, slamming deep, his 9-inch cock unloading, hot cum flooding my ass. My long legs shook, my perky tits heaving, my pale skin slick with sweat and cum. My pouty lips trembled, my brown eyes half-closed, my high cheekbones flushed. He kept thrusting, milking every drop, his hand still stroking my tiny cock, making me whimper.

We collapsed, panting, his cock softening inside me, cum leaking from my hole. I turned to face him, my heart-shaped face glowing, my wavy hair a mess. “Fuck, Luca, how’re you so good with that thing at 11?” I asked, my voice hoarse, my long lashes fluttering.

He grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling, his boyish face flushed. “Lots of practice. Maids, mostly. They can’t resist this.” He gestured to his softening 9-inch cock, still impressive.

I laughed, my pouty lips curling, my pale skin cooling. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, kid.” I sat up, my plump ass sore, my shapely thighs sticky with cum. Luca pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, and slipped out, promising to check on me later. I cleaned up, slipping back into my thong and crop top, my mini skirt still crumpled on the floor. My body buzzed, wrecked but alive, my tiny cock twitching at the memory.

Thirty minutes later, a goon knocked, a burly Italian in his 30s with a scar across his nose. “Boss wants you,” he grunted, leading me back to Salerno’s office. My wedge sneakers thudded on the marble, my wavy hair bouncing, my perky tits straining my top. My plump ass swayed, still sore, cum leaking into my thong, but I walked tall, my brown eyes sharp, my high cheekbones high.

Salerno sat behind his desk, his silver hair gleaming, his gray eyes cold. Vito, patched up but pale, sat nearby, Luca standing by the wall, his hazel eyes flicking to me. “Mira,” Salerno said, voice low, “you fucked up. Got Tony killed, put my son in danger. Handing you to Zion’s Blade would make peace.”

I bristled, my pouty lips pursing, my long legs tensing. “That’s bullshit,” I snapped, my heart-shaped face hard. “I fought for your people, brought ‘em back.”

He raised a hand, silencing me. “But I don’t trust those fuckin’ Jews. And Luca begged me to keep you safe.” His gray eyes softened, just a fraction. “I’m blaming Zion’s Blade for Tony’s death. We’ll hit ‘em hard. You’re free—for now. But you owe me. Tony’s wife and kid need support for a decade. You’ll work it off, one way or another.”

I nodded slowly, my brown eyes steady, my pale skin prickling.

He waved me off. “Frankie’ll drive you to your car.” A goon, Frankie—late 20s, Italian, lean, with slick black hair and green eyes—stepped forward, gesturing to the door. I glanced at Luca, his boyish face unreadable, and strutted out, my shapely thighs flexing, my plump ass swaying, my heart pounding. The game wasn’t over, but I’d survived another round.

The mafia compound’s marble halls echoed with my wedge sneakers’ thud as Frankie, the lean Italian goon with slick black hair and sharp green eyes, led me out. My black crop top clung to my perky A-cup tits, still tender from Luca’s groping, and my denim mini skirt hugged my plump ass, sore and leaking cum into my lacy thong. My long, toned legs strode confidently, shapely thighs flexing, my dark wavy hair bouncing past my shoulders. My brown eyes, framed by long lashes, scanned the goons we passed—hardened men in suits, their gazes lingering on my heart-shaped face, my full, pouty lips, my pale ivory skin flushed from the night’s chaos. My tiny cock twitched, tight balls aching, but I kept my high cheekbones high, my hustle unbroken despite the shitstorm I’d just survived.

Frankie said little, his leather jacket creaking as he opened the door to a black Cadillac parked out front. “Mall’s fifteen minutes,” he grunted, sliding behind the wheel. I climbed into the passenger seat, my plump ass sinking into the leather, my long legs crossing, my skirt riding up to flash my thighs. The car smelled of cigarettes and cologne, the city’s neon lights streaking past as we pulled onto the highway. My wavy hair caught the breeze from the cracked window, my pouty lips pursing as I replayed the night—Zion’s Blade’s ambush, the shootout, Luca’s monster cock wrecking my ass, and Salerno’s deal. I was free, but tethered to his world now, owing a debt for Tony’s death.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” I said, glancing at Frankie, my brown eyes glinting. His green eyes flicked to my tits, then back to the road, a smirk tugging his lips.

“Don’t need to,” he said, voice low. “Boss says drive, I drive. You’re trouble, though. Stirred up a fuckin’ war.”

I laughed, my high cheekbones flushing. “Trouble’s my middle name, Frankie. Zion’s Blade started it—I just finished it.” My pale skin prickled, my shapely thighs shifting. “You think Salerno’s serious about hitting them?”

He shrugged, turning onto the mall’s exit. “Boss don’t bluff. Those Jews are fucked. You better watch your ass, though. They ain’t done with you.”

I nodded, my pouty lips tightening, my tiny cock pulsing at the thought of more fights. The mall’s parking lot came into view, my silver BMW E21 still parked where I’d left it, untouched despite the bullet-riddled chaos hours earlier. The lot was quieter now, sodium lights casting long shadows, the air cool against my pale skin as Frankie pulled up beside my car. “Stay outta trouble, Mira,” he said, his green eyes lingering on my long legs as I stepped out, my wedge sneakers hitting the asphalt.

“No promises,” I teased, my heart-shaped face tilting, my wavy hair swaying. He chuckled, peeling out, leaving me alone with my E21. I checked my bags—leather jacket, thongs, boots—still scattered from the shootout, miraculously intact. I tossed them in the trunk, my perky tits bouncing, my plump ass swaying, cum still seeping into my thong. Sliding behind the wheel, I inhaled the familiar scent of leather and oil, my shapely thighs spreading, my tiny cock settling against my tight balls. The engine roared to life, the M20’s purr calming my nerves.

Driving home, the city’s pulse thrummed around me—honking cabs, flickering neon, drunks stumbling from bars. My brown eyes scanned the rearview, half-expecting Zion’s Blade to tail me, but the streets were clear. My high cheekbones caught the dashboard’s glow, my pouty lips humming a tune. My body ached—Luca’s 9-inch cock had left my ass raw, my pale skin bruised, my perky tits tender—but I felt alive, electric. I’d faced guns, fucked a mafia prince, and walked out of Salerno’s den with my life and a new game to play.