𝐌i𝐫a's S𝐢l𝐯e𝐫 𝐒c𝐨r𝐞: A G𝐫e𝐚s𝐲 𝐓r𝐢u𝐦p𝐡

The phone buzzed this morning with Pete’s gruff voice on the line—my silver BMW E21’s ready, all patched up and purring like a dream. Two weeks since I handed over that junkyard heap, and I’m itching to see it. I’m Mira, 18 and fucking fierce, a trans girl who’s been rocking this body for two years—5’6”, 56 kg of pure, slutty perfection. My small, perky tits strain a tight red halter top, no bra, nipples teasing the fabric. A white miniskirt hugs my plump, juicy ass, barely covering my long, toned legs, pale ivory skin glowing in the afternoon sun. Black strappy sandals click with every step, and my dark, wavy hair bounces below my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips begging for trouble. My big brown eyes, lashed up like a doll’s, glint with mischief as I head to Pete’s garage.

It’s a grimy little shop off the highway, oil stains and metal clanging, but there she is—my E21, silver paint gleaming like a goddamn jewel, body smooth, no dents, no scratches. I strut over, hips swaying, letting my skirt ride up to flash my toned thighs, and run a hand along the hood, my pale fingers tracing the curves. Pete’s there, wiping his hands on a rag—early 40s, white, bald as fuck, with a beer gut stretching his stained gray jumpsuit. He’s maybe 5’10”, broad and rough, with a square jaw and hazel eyes that lock onto me, roaming over my perky tits, my juicy ass, those legs he can’t ignore.

“Holy shit, Pete,” I say, tossing my wavy hair, full lips parting in a grin. “She’s fuckin’ gorgeous. You’re a miracle worker.”

He grunts, a half-smile cracking his weathered face, but his eyes keep eating me up. “Yeah, turned out nice. Engine’s rebuilt, interior’s fresh, paint’s slick. Take her for a spin—see how she feels.”

I slide into the driver’s seat, skirt hiking up to show off my pale thighs, and fire her up. The M20 six-cylinder roars to life, smooth and strong, and I peel out, testing the handling—tight corners, no wobble, brakes biting hard. The engine’s got guts, purring like a beast, and I’m grinning ear to ear, my wavy hair whipping in the wind. Ten minutes later, I roll back into the garage, stepping out with a sway, my plump ass jiggling as I lean against the car, crossing my arms to push my tits up.

“Pete, you fuckin’ legend,” I purr, brushing my wavy hair back, my pale skin glowing as I pull out my checkbook and write him a check for $5,500, sliding it across the hood with a smirk. “Worth every penny, you bald bastard. She’s a beauty.”

Pete sighs, a deep, rumbling sound, and tucks the check into his jumpsuit. “Glad you like it,” he says, but there’s a shadow in his hazel eyes, something heavy.

I tilt my head, brown eyes narrowing. “What’s up, Pete? You look like someone pissed in your beer.”

He rubs his bald head, glancing at the E21, then back at me. “Parts cost me a fuckin’ fortune. Labor was damn near free on this one. Barely broke even.”

I raise an eyebrow, full lips curling. “Shit, man, that’s rough. I’d love to tip you more, but I’m tapped out after this.”

He shrugs, eyes lingering on my perky tits, then my ass. “Ain’t about the money, darlin’. What I want, I can’t take—not from Mark’s girl.”

I laugh, low and throaty, stepping closer, letting him smell the jasmine on my pale skin. “Mark’s just a friend, Pete. I’m nobody’s girl—free as fuck and up for anything. How can I make it up to you?”

His hazel eyes spark, raking over my heart-shaped face, my toned legs, my juicy curves. "You’re a wild one, Mira. Let’s take this to my office—got some ideas there," he growls. I smirk, brushing my wavy hair back—fuck his sob story, this crapfest mechanic’s still gonna fuck me silly, and I’m here for it.

Pete’s hazel eyes are blazing with a hunger that could burn this whole fuckin’ garage down as he jerks his bald head toward the back, growling, “Office, now, you sexy little bitch.” My strappy black sandals click sharp on the oil-stained concrete as I strut after him, my red halter top clinging like a second skin to my small, perky tits—nipples stiff and poking through the thin fabric, begging for a pinch. My white miniskirt’s glued to my plump, juicy ass, riding so high it’s barely legal, showing off my long, toned legs—pale ivory skin shimmering with a sheen of sweat in this greasy hellhole. My dark, wavy hair bounces below my shoulders, sticking to my neck and brushing my collarbone, and my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones, straight nose, full, pouty lips—tilts with a cocky smirk as I catch him sizing me up. His gaze is a goddamn laser, raking over every inch of my 5’6”, 56 kg frame, like he’s already stripping me bare in his head.

We step into his office—a total shithole, cluttered desk piled with greasy papers, faded car posters peeling off the walls, a grimy old couch shoved in the corner. Pete’s early 40s, white, broad and rough as hell—5’10” of bald, beer-gutted bastard stuffed into a stained gray jumpsuit that’s seen better days. His square jaw’s clenched tight, a grizzled stubble shadowing it, and he slams the door shut with a heavy thud that echoes like a jail cell locking. “Fuck, Mira,” he growls, stepping in close, his breath a hot blast of tobacco and motor oil hitting me square in the face, “you’re too goddamn hot to be real—look at that tight little body.”

“Then fuckin’ take me, you horny bastard,” I purr, my brown eyes glinting under long lashes, pressing my pale, sweat-slicked body against him, my perky tits grazing his chest through that nasty jumpsuit. His rough, calloused hands grab me hard—one clamping my juicy ass, the other yanking my halter top up and over my head in one swift, brutal tug. The fabric catches on my wavy hair for a second before he rips it free, tossing it to the floor like trash, leaving my tits bare—small, perky, nipples pink and hard as fucking diamonds, standing out sharp against my ivory skin. His mouth crashes into mine, sloppy and greedy as hell, his thick tongue shoving deep, tasting the heat and salt of my full lips. I moan loud, kissing him back just as hard, my nails clawing at his jumpsuit, scraping the coarse fabric as I grind my hips into him, my tiny cock twitching in my thong, already leaking a wet spot.

He breaks off, panting like a goddamn dog, hazel eyes wild and bloodshot, sweat beading on his bald scalp. “On your knees, slut—suck this dick,” he snarls, voice thick with want, shoving me down by the shoulders. I drop fast, my toned legs folding under me, sandals scuffing the filthy floor as I hit my knees, my wavy hair spilling around my face, brushing my full lips. My pale fingers fumble with his jumpsuit zipper, yanking it down with a rasp, peeling the sweaty fabric to his thighs. His cock springs out—eight inches of thick, veiny meat, a fat, purple head glistening with pre-cum, the shaft pulsing hot in the dim light, balls heavy and hairy, dangling low like a fuckin’ prize. I wrap my delicate, pale hands around it, stroking slow, feeling the heat and weight, the veins throbbing under my grip as I smirk up at him, my brown eyes locked on his. “Fuckin’ loaded, Pete—you’re packin’ some serious shit,” I tease, my voice a husky taunt, then I dive in, my full lips stretching wide as I swallow him down, taking him deep and wet, the salty taste flooding my mouth.

“Shit, choke on it, you dirty cunt,” he snarls, his rough hands grabbing fistfuls of my wavy hair, yanking me forward hard as he rams his cock down my throat. I gag loud, my throat spasming around his thick shaft, drool spilling from my stretched lips, dripping down my chin in thick, messy strings, soaking his hairy balls. But I suck him like a goddamn pro—tongue swirling around the fat, leaking head, lapping up the pre-cum, lips sliding tight along the veiny length, my throat clenching every time he thrusts in deep. My tiny cock’s twitching hard in my black thong, leaking through the lace, a damp spot spreading as he fucks my face, hips bucking like a jackhammer. “Fuck, that mouth’s a goddamn dream,” he groans, his voice raw, fingers tightening in my hair, pulling so hard my scalp stings, my perky tits bouncing slightly with every brutal shove. Spit strings thick from my lips to his dripping tip as he yanks me off, leaving me gasping, my pale face flushed, brown eyes watering but still glinting with defiance.

He hauls me up by the arms, his grip bruising my ivory skin, and his hands rip at my miniskirt, tearing it down my long legs in one savage yank, the fabric snagging on my sandals before he kicks it aside. I’m left in just my black thong and strappy sandals, my plump, juicy ass spilling out, pale and round, begging for a smack, my tiny cock and balls straining against the lace. “Bend over the desk, bitch,” he growls, shoving me forward with a rough push between my shoulder blades. I stumble, catching myself on the cluttered desk, papers and tools scattering as my hands slap the wood, my perky tits swaying free, nipples brushing the edge, my long legs trembling as I spread them wide. He yanks my thong aside, the lace tearing slightly, exposing my tight, pink hole and my tiny cock dangling free, already dripping onto the desk. His palm cracks against my ass—hard—a loud smack that echoes, making my plump cheek jiggle, a red handprint blooming fast on my pale skin. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, his voice a low rumble, spitting a thick gob onto his fingers—wet and hot—and shoving two in, rough and thick, stretching my hole with a slow, burning twist that makes me gasp.

“Goddamn, finger that ass, you fucker,” I moan, pushing back hard, my wavy hair falling over my face, sticking to my full lips as he pumps those digits deep, curling them, grazing my insides with his knuckles. My hole clenches tight around him, sucking him in, and he adds a third finger, stretching me wider, the burn turning to a raw, needy ache as I rock my hips, my perky tits swaying, nipples aching for touch. He pulls out slow, leaving me gaping, and grabs a greasy wrench off the desk—cold, metal, maybe twelve inches long, the handle thick and ridged, slick with oil stains. “Gonna fuck you with this, you nasty little slut,” he says, spitting on it—a thick, wet glob that drips slow—then pressing the handle to my rim. I brace myself, my long legs quaking, and he slides it in—slow, deliberate, the hard steel stretching me obscene, cold and unyielding against my hot, trembling flesh. I moan loud, my plump ass quivering as he twists it, pumping it deep, the ridges scraping my walls, sending jolts through me, my tiny cock dripping a steady stream onto the desk below, pooling sticky and wet.

“Shit, Pete, that’s fuckin’ wild—stretch me out,” I pant, my voice shaking, feeling the metal sink deeper, the cold biting into my heat, my pale skin prickling with sweat as he works it in and out, slow then fast, twisting it hard, making my hole gape wider with every thrust. My perky tits bounce against the desk, nipples scraping the rough wood, and my wavy hair’s a sweaty curtain, sticking to my neck and cheeks as I grind back, craving more. He yanks the wrench out with a wet pop, tossing it aside with a loud clatter, the steel hitting the floor as my ass clenches empty, needy as fuck. He spits again—right on my hole, hot and slick—and lines up his thick cock, the fat, purple head pressing insistent against me. Then he slams in—balls-fucking-deep, raw and brutal, no mercy, splitting me open with a force that rips a scream from my throat, my pale skin flushing red, my tits bouncing wild as he pounds me against the desk, the wood creaking under the assault.

“Take it, you greedy fuckin’ whore,” he spits, his voice a guttural snarl, gripping my hips so hard his fingers bruise my ivory flesh, digging in deep as his balls slap my thighs—loud, wet, relentless. My tiny cock slaps my stomach with every thrust, smearing pre-cum across my pale skin, and he spanks me again—crack—left cheek, then right, then left again, my juicy ass rippling like a goddamn wave, red marks layering over each other, stinging hot and sharp. “Fuckin’ love this tight little cunt,” he grunts, pulling out slow—his cock slick with my heat, glistening—then slamming back in, harder, deeper, the desk rattling, my long legs buckling as I claw at the wood, nails scraping splinters. My wavy hair’s a tangled mess, falling over my brown eyes, and I’m panting, drooling, begging, “Harder, you piece of shit—wreck me!”

He laughs, dark and nasty, and pulls out again, his cock throbbing, dripping with my juices. “Flip over, slut,” he orders, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me onto my back on the desk. My legs shoot up high—one hooked over his shoulder, the other bent tight against my chest, my sandals dangling, thong now tangled around one ankle. My perky tits jiggle as I land, nipples hard and pink, my pale thighs trembling wide open, my tight hole gaping and wet. He plunges back in, the angle fucking deep, hitting something raw inside me, and I scream again, my brown eyes wide, lashes fluttering, my wavy hair splayed out across the desk like a dark halo. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I chant, my voice hoarse, nails clawing at the wood, digging into the grain as his hips slam my ass, the sound wet and loud—slap, slap, slap—the room stinking of sweat, oil, and raw sex. He leans down, kissing me hard, his grizzled stubble scraping my full lips, his thick tongue shoving in deep, bruising my mouth as he fucks me senseless, my pale body rocking under him, my tiny cock pulsing between us.

His hands roam, rough and greedy—one squeezing my perky tit, pinching the nipple until I yelp into his mouth, the other gripping my thigh, bruising the pale flesh as he thrusts harder, his beer gut pressing into me, hot and sweaty. “Goddamn, you’re tight,” he mutters against my lips, breaking the kiss, spit stringing between us as he straightens up, slamming in deeper, watching my tits bounce with every brutal thrust. My long legs shake in his grip, my sandals slipping off one foot, clattering to the floor, and I’m moaning, sobbing, my wavy hair sticking to my sweat-drenched face, my full lips parted, drooling onto the desk as he pounds me raw, my plump ass sliding on the wood with every slam.

He pulls back, yanking his cock out—slick, throbbing, dripping—and grabs me by the arms. “Hold me, you filthy bitch,” he growls, hauling me off the desk. I stumble, thong tangled around one ankle, one sandal still clinging, my pale body slick with sweat, my perky tits swaying as I catch my balance. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my long legs wrapping around his waist, my pale skin pressed tight against his sweaty jumpsuit, my tiny cock smearing pre-cum across his gut. He slams me against the wall—hard—the plaster cracking slightly, and drives his thick cock back in, fucking me upright, rough as hell, my plump ass bouncing against the cold surface with every thrust. “Take this dick, you nasty little whore,” he snarls, pounding me relentless, his balls slapping my ass, my tits swaying wild, nipples scraping the coarse fabric of his jumpsuit, sending jolts through me.

“Fuck, wreck me, Pete—fuckin’ do it,” I moan, my voice breaking, my wavy hair plastered to my face, my brown eyes half-lidded as I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders through the jumpsuit. He spanks my ass mid-thrust—crack—the sting sharp, making my plump cheek jiggle, a fresh red mark layering over the others, and I yelp, clenching around his cock, my tiny cock leaking hot between us, smearing his gut with every slam. The wall rattles, posters shaking, and he’s grunting, sweating, his bald head shining as he fucks me standing, my long legs trembling around his waist, my pale thighs quaking with every brutal shove.

He drops me to the floor—rough, sudden—my knees hitting the grimy rug, my thong slipping off completely, leaving me bare except for one sandal dangling from my foot. “Ass up, slut,” he orders, flipping me onto my stomach, one thick arm hooking under my hips, lifting my plump ass high while my face presses into the filthy carpet, the stench of oil and dust filling my nose. My perky tits flatten against the rug, nipples scraping the rough fibers, and my long legs splay wide, pale skin streaked with dirt as he kneels behind me, spreading my juicy cheeks with both hands, his rough thumbs digging into my flesh. “Fuckin’ look at this tight hole,” he grunts, spitting a thick wad right onto my rim—hot, wet, dripping—then ramming his cock back in, deep and relentless, splitting me open raw.

“Goddamn, pound that ass,” I sob, my voice muffled against the rug, my wavy hair tangled and sweaty, sticking to my full lips as he drills me into the floor, my plump ass bouncing with every thrust, the sound wet and filthy—slap, slap, slap. He spanks me again—crack—left cheek, then right, then both, my pale skin burning red, stinging hot as my juicy ass ripples under his hands. His fingers slide in alongside his cock—one, then two—stretching me wider, the burn intense, my hole gaping around the double intrusion as he pounds me, grunting like a fuckin’ animal. “Fuckin’ love this tight little cunt,” he snarls, his voice raw, his balls slapping my thighs, my tiny cock grinding into the rug, leaking hot and sticky, smearing the filth.

“Pete, oh fuck, Pete—give it to me,” I wail, my voice breaking, my pale body trembling under him, my perky tits heaving against the floor, nipples raw from the friction. The pressure builds, hot and tight, and I explode—my tiny cock spurting thick, hot ropes onto the rug, soaking the grime, my plump ass clenching hard around his cock and fingers. He roars, a guttural bellow, slamming in one last time, his thick load flooding my ass—hot, pulsing, spilling deep inside me, mixing with my heat, dripping out as he grinds against me, his sweaty gut pressing into my back, panting heavy over my neck.

He pulls out slow, a wet, filthy squelch as his cock slips free, cum and spit dripping down my thighs, pooling on the rug in a sticky mess. His fingers slide out too, leaving my hole gaping, throbbing, wrecked. I’m a fuckin’ disaster—halter top long gone, miniskirt and thong shredded at my ankles, one sandal off, the other scuffed and dangling, my pale skin bruised, sweaty, streaked with dirt, my wavy hair a tangled, sweaty mess plastered to my face and neck. He zips up his jumpsuit, smirking down at me, his softening cock tucked away, still glistening with my juices. “Worth every fuckin’ hour, Mira. Car’s paid—enjoy that sweet ride.”

I push up onto my knees, smirking back, my full lips smeared with spit, my brown eyes glinting through the haze, defiant and satisfied. “Fuckin’ hell, Pete—you’re a goddamn beast. Thanks for the ride—both of ‘em, you bald bastard.” I grab my miniskirt, tugging it up over my bruised, plump ass, the fabric sticking to my sweaty thighs, my thong a lost cause. My perky tits bounce free as I stand, one sandal clicking, the other barefoot, my long legs shaky but steady. I strut out, ass throbbing, cum still trickling down my shapely thighs, my E21 waiting outside—silver, shiny, a prize I’ve fucked my way to owning. I’m Mira, and I’m still the queen of this filthy game.