𝐌i𝐫a’s S𝐭r𝐞e𝐭 𝐅a𝐢r F𝐮c𝐤: A R𝐚w R𝐢d𝐞

The late afternoon sun dipped low over the city, casting a golden haze across the street fair on 12th, where the air was thick with the greasy scent of fried dough, the tang of grilled sausage, and the pulsing beat of reggae music from a stage at the far end. I leaned against the passenger door of Kemar’s ‘67 DeVille, parked crookedly on a side street, my pale ivory skin already slick with the humid grip of this city where every corner smelled of ambition and desperation. My white crop top clung to my perky A-cup tits, the hem teasing my flat stomach, my frayed denim mini skirt barely covering my plump ass, and my knee-high brown boots wrapped my long, toned legs, accentuating my shapely thighs. My dark wavy hair fell loose past my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face, my brown eyes glinting through long lashes, my full, pouty lips curled into a tired smirk as I adjusted my purse. At 18, a 5’6”, 125-pound trans woman, I’d been living as myself for two years, my tiny 2-inch cock and tight balls tucked snug in my thong, a secret that had both saved and damned me in this unforgiving city.

Kemar stepped out of the driver’s seat, his 6’4” frame towering, a mid-30s Jamaican with a presence that commanded the street. His dreadlocks spilled from a rasta cap, brushing his broad shoulders, his dark eyes warm but sharp, set in a face carved with quiet strength, a gold chain glinting against his deep brown skin. He wore a loose tank top, his inked arms flexing, cargo shorts hanging low on his hips, his smile wide as he took me in. “Yuh lookin’ like a whole vibe, mi gyal,” he said, his patois thick, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my pale skin, my high cheekbones flushing as I smirked back, my long legs crossing, my shapely thighs catching the fading light.

The street fair was a chaotic beast—vendors shouting over each other, hawking funnel cakes and knockoff sunglasses, kids screaming on a rickety Ferris wheel that looked one bolt shy of collapse, a steel drum band clanging near a taco truck, the air buzzing with laughter and the occasional curse as a drunk stumbled through the crowd. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed above, their glow just starting to fight the dusk, while the reggae band’s bassline vibrated through the pavement, making my boots hum. Kemar led the way, his massive hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd, my wavy hair bouncing, my perky tits jiggling under my crop top, my brown eyes scanning the chaos with a mix of wariness and thrill. This city had chewed me up plenty—between the mafia gigs and shootouts, I was always one wrong move from a ditch—but moments like this, with Kemar’s warmth beside me, made the fight worth it.

We stopped at a cotton candy stall, the vendor—a wiry Latino guy in his 40s with a faded tattoo on his neck—handing Kemar a pink fluff on a stick, his eyes lingering on my shapely thighs a little too long. Kemar passed it to me, his dark eyes glinting, and I took a bite, the sugar melting on my pouty lips, my pale skin prickling as I leaned against a graffiti-covered bench, the wood splintered and tagged with gang signs. “Shit’s been fucked, Kemar,” I said, my voice low, my long lashes fluttering as I looked up at him, my brown eyes heavy with the weight of the past few weeks. “Quit Jack’s after that Mustang-Corvette drama—fucker couldn’t handle me flippin’ cars on TikTok, said I was stealin’ his clout. Then that mall shootout with Zion’s Blade… bastards ambushed me in the parking lot, tried to kill me. Got caught in the crossfire with some Italians—Vito, Tony, and a kid named Luca. Tony got capped, and now Salerno’s got me on a leash, makin’ me his errand girl to pay off Tony’s family. I’m in deep, man, and I don’t know how to get out.”

Kemar’s dark eyes darkened, his massive frame leaning closer, his dreadlocks brushing my shoulder as he listened, his gold chain catching the fairy lights. He rested a hand on my shapely thigh, his palm warm through my mini skirt, the heat making my tiny cock twitch in my thong, my tight balls aching with the weight of my confession. “Yuh been through hell, Mira, mi see dat,” he said, his patois smooth, his voice steady, grounding me. “But yuh a lioness, yuh hear? Yuh stronger than dem chains—nuh let dem hold yuh down. Yuh break free, mi love, yuh always do.” His words hit like a shot of adrenaline, my brown eyes shining, my pouty lips parting as a lump formed in my throat, his faith in me reigniting a fire I’d thought was snuffed out by Salerno’s grip.

He stood, pulling me up with him, his 6’4” frame dwarfing my 5’6”, and led me through the crowd to a stage at the far end of the fair, where a reggae band was tearing it up—a trio of Rastafarians in their 40s, all dreads and beads, the lead singer’s voice a gravelly wail over the bassline that thumped through my boots. The crowd was a mix of locals—Jamaican guys in rasta caps, Latina girls in tight dresses, a few white hipsters trying too hard with their thrift-store dashikis—swaying and cheering, the air thick with weed smoke and sweat. Kemar flashed a grin at the band, his gold chain glinting, and grabbed the mic from the lead singer, who laughed and stepped back, giving him the stage. Kemar’s dark eyes locked on me, his rasta cap tilted, and he started singing, his patois raw and soulful, the crowd hooting as he crooned, “Yuh a lioness, Mira, nuh let dem chains hold yuh, yuh break free, mi love.” His voice was a balm, rough but tender, the reggae beat syncing with my heartbeat, my pale skin flushing, my high cheekbones glowing, my wavy hair swinging as I swayed, my shapely thighs moving, my perky tits bouncing under my crop top, my brown eyes locked on his, a tear slipping down my cheek as his words pulled me out of the darkness.

The crowd cheered as he finished, and he hopped off the stage, pulling me into a tight hug, his massive hands on my back, his dreadlocks tickling my neck, the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and weed—filling my lungs. “Yuh good, mi gyal?” he whispered, his patois soft, his dark eyes searching mine. I nodded, my pouty lips trembling, my brown eyes soft, my pale skin prickling with gratitude. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a black Smith & Wesson 642, the sleek metal catching the stage lights, and slipped it into my purse, his voice low in my ear. “Protect yuhself, mi gyal, always,” he said, his patois a promise, the weight of the gun making my tiny cock twitch, my tight balls aching with the weight of his care. I hugged him tighter, my perky tits pressing against his chest, my long legs steadying, my heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

We stayed in the crowd, dancing to the next song, his hands on my hips, my plump ass grinding against him, my long legs moving to the rhythm, my wavy hair bouncing, the fairy lights above casting a glow on my pale skin. “Yuh feelin’ better, mi gyal?” he asked, his dark eyes glinting, his rasta cap tilted as he spun me, my mini skirt flaring, my shapely thighs on display. I grinned, my high cheekbones glowing, my brown eyes daring. “Fuck yeah, Kemar,” I said, my voice playful, my long lashes fluttering. He laughed, his patois warm, and pulled me toward a ring-toss game near a stall selling jerk chicken, the scent of spice making my stomach growl. The booth was run by a chubby white guy in his 50s, his apron stained, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he eyed my perky tits, but Kemar’s massive frame leaning over the counter shut him up quick. Kemar tossed the rings with precision, his inked arms flexing, winning me a teddy bear with a cheesy red bow. “For mi queen,” he teased, handing it to me, my pale skin flushing, my shapely thighs flexing as I laughed, hugging the bear, my wavy hair catching the breeze, my heart-shaped face lit with a rare, genuine smile.

The fair’s noise started to fade as Kemar’s hand tightened on mine, his dark eyes burning with a heat that made my tiny cock twitch, my tight balls aching. He guided me away from the crowd, his 6’4” frame leading me toward a shadowed alley behind a row of food stalls, the brick wall scratched and tagged with gang signs—Zion’s Blade tags, a bitter reminder of the shootout that had fucked my life. The air was cooler here, the reggae beats a distant thump, the scent of fried dough mixing with the alley’s grit—piss, garbage, and the faint tang of spray paint. Kemar pushed me against the rough brick, my pale skin scraping, my mini skirt riding up, my crop top straining as he dropped to his knees, his massive hands gripping my hips, his dreadlocks brushing my long legs. “Fuck, mi love yuh ass,” he growled, his patois thick, his dark eyes locked on my plump ass as he flipped my skirt up, yanking my thong down to my knees, the fabric stretching, my tiny 2-inch cock and tight balls dangling free, my pale skin prickling with the exposure.

His massive hands lingered on my plump ass, his fingers digging into my pale skin, his dark eyes glinting with that familiar hunger, his rasta cap tilted as he glanced at my tiny cock and tight balls, already knowing every inch of me from our past nights together. “Mi love seein’ yuh like dis, mi gyal,” he growled, his patois low, a slow grin spreading across his face, his fingers brushing my tiny balls, making me shiver, my high cheekbones flushing with heat. I smirked, my brown eyes glinting, my pouty lips curling, my wavy hair swinging as I braced my hands on the brick, my perky tits pressing against my top, my shapely thighs spread wide. “You always know how to make me feel good, Kemar,” I teased, my voice low, my long lashes trembling, my pale skin tingling with anticipation.

His massive hands spread my cheeks, kneading my plump ass, his fingers digging into my pale skin, the heat of his touch making my brown eyes flutter, my long lashes trembling. “Shit, Kemar, you’re fuckin’ obsessed,” I gasped, my voice raw, my pouty lips parted, my high cheekbones flushing as the brick scraped my palms, my long legs steadying. He chuckled, his patois low, “Yuh ass a fuckin’ masterpiece, mi gyal,” before diving in, his tongue hot and wet against my hole, licking slow, teasing my rim, the wet heat making my tiny cock twitch, my tight balls aching, my pale skin prickling with pleasure.

I moaned, my wavy hair swinging, my pale skin slick with sweat, the brick rough against my hands as Kemar worshipped my ass, his tongue circling my hole, dipping inside, the slick pressure making my long legs tremble, my shapely thighs quivering. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum just from that,” I groaned, my voice breaking, my brown eyes half-closed, my high cheekbones burning with heat. He spanked my plump ass, the crack echoing in the alley, my cheeks jiggling, a red handprint blooming on my pale skin, the sting making my tiny cock leak, my tight balls tightening, my perky tits bouncing as I rocked back against his face. “Nuh cum yet, mi gyal,” he growled, his patois rough, spanking me again, harder, the pain shooting through me, my pale skin a canvas of red marks, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty neck.

His hands groped my ass, kneading hard, spreading me wider, his tongue fucking my hole now, deep and relentless, the wet slurp mixing with my moans, my brown eyes rolling back, my pouty lips trembling with each thrust of his tongue. “Shit, Kemar, you’re fuckin’ killing me,” I gasped, my voice raw, my long legs buckling, my shapely thighs trembling, my pale skin a mess of handprints and sweat. He pulled back, licking his lips, his dark eyes wild, his dreadlocks messy, his rasta cap tilted, his gold chain glinting. “Yuh taste so fuckin’ good, Mira,” he said, his patois thick, standing, his 6’4” frame towering over me, his hands still on my plump ass, groping, making me whimper, my tiny cock throbbing, my tight balls aching, ready for what came next.

Kemar’s massive hands lingered on my plump ass, his fingers digging into my pale skin, still slick from his tongue, the red handprints from his spanks burning against the cool alley air. My thong was stretched tight around my knees, my mini skirt flipped up, my tiny 2-inch cock and tight balls dangling, leaking precum onto the grimy pavement. My white crop top clung to my perky A-cup tits, my wavy hair a sweaty mess sticking to my neck, my brown eyes half-closed, long lashes trembling, my pouty lips parted with shallow breaths, my high cheekbones flushed with heat. The reggae beats from the street fair on 12th were a distant thump, the scent of fried dough and alley grit mixing in the air, the brick wall rough against my palms as I braced myself, my long legs trembling, my shapely thighs spread, my pale skin prickling with anticipation.

I turned to face him, my heart-shaped face tilted up, my brown eyes locking onto his dark ones, his 6’4” frame towering over me, his rasta cap tilted, his dreadlocks messy, his gold chain glinting in the dim light. “My fuckin’ turn,” I purred, my voice raw, my pouty lips curling into a wicked smirk, my long lashes fluttering as I dropped to my knees on the pavement, the concrete biting into my pale skin, my mini skirt bunching higher, my perky tits bouncing under my crop top. Kemar grinned, his dark eyes burning, his patois thick as he growled, “Yuh ready to taste mi, mi gyal?” He unbuttoned his cargo shorts, letting them fall to his ankles, his boxers following, revealing a 10-inch cock, thick as my wrist, veiny, the head dark and glistening, his heavy balls hanging low, the sight making my tiny cock twitch, my tight balls aching, my pale skin flushing with hunger.

I gripped his 10-inch cock with both hands, my pale fingers barely wrapping around its girth, the heat of him making my brown eyes widen, my pouty lips parting with a hungry moan. “Fuck, Kemar, you’re fuckin’ massive,” I groaned, my voice low, my high cheekbones glowing as I stroked him slow, my hands sliding along his veiny length, my thumbs teasing the slick head, smearing precum over my fingers. I leaned in, my wavy hair falling over my shoulders, and licked the tip, the salty tang of him making my long legs quiver, my shapely thighs pressing together on the pavement, my tiny cock leaking more, my tight balls tightening. “Yuh like dat, eh?” Kemar growled, his patois rough, his massive hand tangling in my wavy hair, guiding my pouty lips closer, his dark eyes locked on mine.

I opened wide, my full lips stretching around his thick head, taking him into my mouth, the weight of his 10 inches heavy on my tongue, my brown eyes watering, my long lashes fluttering as I sucked, my pale skin prickling with the effort. “Fuck, mi gyal, yuh mouth feel so good,” he groaned, his patois thick, his hips rocking slow, pushing deeper, the head hitting the back of my throat, making me gag, spit dripping down my chin, soaking my crop top, my perky tits heaving. I moaned around him, the vibration making him growl, my hands stroking the base of his cock, my fingers slick with spit and precum, my wavy hair swinging as I bobbed my head, taking him deeper, my throat stretching, my high cheekbones burning, my pale skin slick with sweat.

I pulled back, gasping, a string of spit connecting my pouty lips to his tip, my brown eyes locked on his, my long lashes wet, my pale skin a mess of spit and sweat. “Fuck, I need you deeper,” I rasped, my voice raw, my shapely thighs trembling as I adjusted on my knees, my plump ass high, my mini skirt bunched, my thong still stretched around my knees. I took him back into my mouth, deeper this time, my throat opening, his 10 inches sliding down, my nose brushing his coarse pubes, the musky scent of him filling my lungs, my tiny cock throbbing, my tight balls aching. “Shit, Mira, yuh takin’ all a mi,” Kemar grunted, his patois rough, his hand tightening in my wavy hair, holding me there, my brown eyes watering, my long lashes trembling, my high cheekbones flushed as I gagged, spit dripping onto the pavement, my perky tits bouncing with each gag.

I worked him hard, my hands stroking his heavy balls, rolling them in my pale fingers, my lips and throat working his cock, the wet slurp echoing in the alley, my wavy hair a tangled mess, my pale skin slick with sweat and spit, my brown eyes half-closed, my pouty lips stretched wide, my long legs quivering on the pavement. Kemar’s hips thrust faster, fucking my throat, his 10 inches relentless, my high cheekbones burning, my pale skin a mess as I moaned around him, the vibration making him growl, his patois low, “Yuh a fuckin’ goddess, mi gyal.” I pulled back again, gasping, my pouty lips swollen, my brown eyes wild, my long lashes wet, my pale skin glistening, my tiny cock leaking onto the pavement, ready for more of him.

Kemar yanked me to my feet by my arm, my boots scraping the pavement, my long legs unsteady, my mini skirt bunched around my waist, my thong still tangled at my knees, my pale skin prickling with the alley’s chill. He spun me around, pushing me against the brick wall again, the rough surface scraping my palms, my perky tits pressing against my crop top, my plump ass high, my shapely thighs spread wide, my tiny cock and tight balls dangling, leaking precum down my pale thighs. “Mi need to fuck yuh now, mi gyal,” he growled, his patois thick, his 6’4” frame pressing against me, his dreadlocks brushing my back, his rasta cap bumping my shoulder, his gold chain cool against my sweaty neck.

He spit on his 10-inch cock, slicking it with his hand, the wet sound making my brown eyes flutter, my long lashes trembling, my pouty lips parted with a moan as he pressed the thick head against my hole, the stretch immediate, the burn making my high cheekbones flush, my pale skin prickling. “Fuck, Kemar, you’re so fuckin’ big,” I gasped, my voice raw, my wavy hair swinging as I braced against the brick, my long legs trembling, my shapely thighs quivering. He pushed in slow, his 10 inches stretching my hole, the pain mixing with pleasure, my tiny cock twitching, my tight balls aching, my pale skin slick with sweat. “Yuh can take it, mi gyal,” he growled, his patois rough, his hands gripping my hips, his fingers bruising my pale skin, his hips rocking, inching deeper, my hole clenching around him, the fullness making my brown eyes roll back, my perky tits scraping the brick through my crop top.

He started thrusting, slow at first, his 10 inches filling me, hitting my spot with each push, the wet smack of his hips against my plump ass echoing in the alley, my pale skin burning where he gripped me, my wavy hair swinging, my long legs buckling, my shapely thighs trembling. “Fuck, you’re wreckin’ me,” I moaned, my voice breaking, my pouty lips trembling, my high cheekbones flushed, my brown eyes half-closed as he picked up the pace, his thrusts harder, deeper, his 10 inches stretching my hole, the pain and pleasure blurring, my tiny cock leaking, my tight balls tightening. He spanked my plump ass, the crack loud, my cheeks jiggling, a fresh red handprint blooming on my pale skin, the sting making me scream, “Shit, Kemar, harder, you fuck!” He laughed, his patois low, “Yuh love it rough, eh?” spanking me again, my pale skin a patchwork of red marks, my perky tits bouncing, my wavy hair a sweaty mess.

He pulled my hips back, bending me lower, my hands sliding down the brick, my long legs spreading wider, my shapely thighs trembling, my plump ass higher, his 10 inches slamming into me, the angle deeper, hitting my spot relentlessly, making my tiny cock spurt hands-free, cum splattering the pavement, my hole pulsing around his cock, my pale skin slick with sweat, my brown eyes rolling back, my pouty lips parted with a scream. “Fuck, mi gyal, yuh cumming already,” Kemar grunted, his patois thick, his thrusts relentless, his hands groping my plump ass, kneading the red cheeks, his 10 inches stretching me, my tight balls aching, my pale skin bruised and marked. He leaned over me, his dreadlocks brushing my back, his lips on my neck, biting softly, the mix of roughness and tenderness making my heart race, my high cheekbones glowing, my wavy hair tangled, my long legs trembling as he fucked me through my orgasm, the fair’s noise fading, the world narrowing to just us.

Kemar slowed, pulling out, leaving my hole gaping, cum leaking down my pale thighs, my tiny cock soft, my tight balls relaxed, my long legs shaky as I straightened, my boots steadying me, my mini skirt falling back down, my thong still tangled at my knees. I turned to him, my wavy hair a mess, my pale skin slick with sweat and cum, my perky tits heaving, my brown eyes soft, my pouty lips curling into a tired smile, my high cheekbones glowing. “Fuck, Kemar, that was… fuckin’ amazing,” I rasped, my voice hoarse, my long lashes fluttering, my pale skin marked with his hands and bites. He grinned, his dark eyes warm, his rasta cap tilted, his dreadlocks messy, his 10-inch cock softening, his cargo shorts back up. “Yuh a queen, Mira,” he said, his patois soft, pulling me into a hug, his massive hands gentle now, his gold chain cool against my neck, his warmth grounding me.

We slipped back into the fair, the reggae beats louder now, the crowd thicker, the fairy lights glowing against the night sky. I adjusted my crop top, my perky tits settling, my mini skirt hiding the cum on my thighs, my thong pulled back up, my tiny cock and tight balls tucked away, my pale skin still flushed, my wavy hair a tangled mess, my brown eyes glinting with a new fire. Kemar held my hand, his 6’4” frame protective, my teddy bear tucked under my arm, the Smith & Wesson 642 heavy in my purse. The fair buzzed around us—kids laughing, vendors shouting, the scent of jerk chicken calling—but I felt untouchable, my long legs steady, my shapely thighs flexing, my plump ass sore but satisfied, my hustle sharper than ever, ready for whatever this city threw at me next.