The clock’s finally quit fuckin’ with
me—I’ve got three grand stuffed in my purse, hard-earned cash from shaking my
ass and more, ready to yank my silver BMW E21 out of Jamal’s trap house claws.
I’m Mira, 18 and a goddamn inferno, a trans girl who’s owned this body two
years—5’6”, 125 lbs of pure, slutty venom, small perky tits, a plump juicy ass,
tiny cock and balls tucked tight, long toned legs with shapely thighs begging
to be seen. My pale ivory skin’s a canvas, my dark wavy hair spills below my
shoulders, and my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones slicing sharp, straight
nose proud, full pouty lips painted red, brown eyes with long lashes that
cut—tilts as I strut out my shithole apartment, casual as fuck in a cropped
black hoodie flashing my flat stomach, ripped denim shorts hugging my juicy
ass, and scuffed white sneakers. No makeup today, just raw me, hunting Jamal
down.
Aiden’s with me, my junkie best friend, a
19-year-old walking fuckup who’s been my rock since I became Mira. He’s white,
skinny as hell—5’9”, maybe 130 lbs dripping wet—greasy black hair hanging over
hollow green eyes that twitch for a fix, all bones and bad decisions in a torn
gray hoodie and ripped jeans. Two years back, he held my hand through hormone
shots, laughed his ass off when I tripped in my first skirt, stuck by me when
my family bailed. We’ve fucked around, built something real through the dark shit,
but he’s a goddamn idiot—snorted three grand of coke he was supposed to move,
got himself tied to a chair in a trap house on 14th, beaten bloody by Jamal’s
crew. His panic call dragged me into that gangbang mess to save his sorry ass,
and now he’s trailing me, twitchy and quiet, as we hit the Black Ace club
downtown.
Inside, it’s a haze of weed and trap beats,
bass vibrating my sneakers. Jamal’s in a back booth—mid-30s, Black, 6’3” of
solid muscle, bald head gleaming under the dim light, thick beard framing a
hard jaw, gold chain swinging against a tight tank top that hugs his ripped
chest, sagging jeans low on his hips. His crew’s three other Black dudes—20s,
tees, chains—laughing over beers, but he shuts them up with a sharp glare when
I strut up, my long legs flashing pale under the shorts, my wavy hair bouncing wild.
“Yo, Mira,” he rumbles, voice deep and edged, dark brown eyes slicing through
me like a blade. “Got my money, huh?”
I smirk, my full pouty lips curling,
slapping the cash stack down, my pale hand brushing the table. “Three grand,
prick. Car’s mine now.”
He thumbs through it slow, then slides it
back. “Keep it, lil’ white slut. Car’s yours—debt’s done. But I need a favor.”
My brown eyes narrow, lashes fluttering as I
toss my hair. “Favor? The fuck, Jamal?”
He leans in, chain clinking. “My boss,
Darius—his white bitch split ‘cause his 11-inch cock’s too fuckin’ much, ripped
her up daily. Now he’s got no girl for the Slut Crown Showdown
tonight—exclusive Black gangster shit, white hoes and Latinas only, battling
for pimp cred. You’re the nastiest white slut I know, Mira. Compete for him,
and we’re square—car, cash, all of it.”
Aiden’s green eyes twitch, his bony hand
grabbing my arm. “Mira, fuck no—this is some gangster trap bullshit. You don’t
owe them shit after what they did.”
I yank free, my plump ass shifting, my voice
sharp. “Chill, Aiden—I wanna hear this. What’s the Showdown, Jamal?”
He grins, teeth flashing. “Five trials—lap
dances, teasing, dirty talk, wet wrestle, and a big fuck finale. All Black
pimps, all Black crowd, five white or Latina bitches like you fighting for the
crown. No cash prize—just bragging rights for Darius. His girls get pampered
after, though. You down?”
My gut flares—my inner slut’s drooling, and
keeping three grand sounds fuckin’ sweet. “What’s in it for me?” I ask, my pale
thighs flexing under the shorts.
“Car, cash, and Darius’s gratitude,” he
says. “Wear somethin’ hot. He’ll grab you at 7 p.m. Where?”
“No address for you fucks,” I snap, my pouty
lips tight. “Mall lot.” Aiden groans, but I’m already gone, heels spinning in
my head.
Back home, I ditch the casual shit—hoodie,
shorts, sneakers off—and slide into battle gear: a tight black mini dress
clinging to my juicy ass, squeezing my perky tits, no bra, nipples teasing the
fabric. A garter belt snaps around my shapely thighs, holding up silky black
stockings, a black thong digs into my pale skin, hiding my tiny cock, and
four-inch black heels sharpen my strut. My wavy hair’s fluffed, my brown eyes
glint under long lashes, and I’m at the mall lot by 6:50, the dress riding
high, my long legs shimmering, my heart pounding.
A black SUV rolls up at 7, and Darius steps
out—late 30s, Black, 6’5”, a fuckin’ tank in a white tank and cargos, bald head
shining, dark eyes raking me over, arms rippling, gold watch flashing.
“Goddamn, Mira,” he rumbles, voice deep as sin. “Jamal wasn’t lying—you’re a
fine-ass white girl. That plump ass, them legs—shit, you’re built to fuck.”
I smirk, tossing my hair, my full pouty lips
parting. “Thanks, big man. You’re Darius? Pimpin’ me tonight?”
He laughs, loud and rough, stepping close,
his bulk shadowing me. “Yeah, baby. True you a shemale? Jamal said—”
“Born a boy, been a slut two years,” I cut
in, my high cheekbones catching the light. “Tiny cock, big game—still the
hottest bitch you’ll see.”
“Fuckin’ gold,” he says, eyes sparking.
“White boy flipped to white hoe? They’ll eat that shit up. Get in, sexy.”
I slide into the SUV, my plump ass sinking
into leather, my shapely thighs brushing the seat, the dress riding up as he
drives, flirting hard—praising my perky tits, my pale skin, how my long legs’ll
shine. We pull up to a warehouse, bass shaking the walls, and inside it’s a
Black gangster paradise—pimps in chains, thugs in tees, all dark skin and hard
stares, no white faces but the five of us girls: me, three white bitches, and a
Latina, all dolled up. Darius shoves me forward, his hand squeezing my juicy ass.
“This my slut, Mira—baddest white girl here. Let’s take this fuckin’ crown.”
The Slut Crown Showdown kicks off slow—pimps
sipping liquor, eyeing us up, the air thick with weed and tension. Five girls:
me; Kelly, a white blonde, 20s, 5’5”, skinny with fake tits; Tara, white, 30s,
5’8”, curvy with red hair; Lisa, white, 20s, 5’7”, pale with a fat ass; and
Maria, Latina, 20s, 5’4”, thick with black hair. We’re introduced one by one,
me last, strutting out, my heels clicking, my wavy hair bouncing, the crowd
hooting as Darius roars, “That’s my bitch!”
First trial’s the Lap Dance Gauntlet—three
Black judges in a smoky side room, bass pounding dirty. They’re mid-20s to 30s:
Slim, 5’9”, gold grill, red tee; Tank, 6’0”, stocky, bald, goatee; Dreads,
5’11”, lean, dreads tied, eyes red from weed. Kelly goes first, grinding
stiffly—decent but basic, scores mid-range. Tara’s next, her curves working
overtime, but she stumbles, gets a solid cheer. Lisa’s ass shakes hard, nearly
topples Slim, high marks. Maria’s smooth, sultry, crowd loves her—top
contender.
My turn—I strut in, my mini dress tight,
heels clicking, my wavy hair swaying. “Ready, fuckers?” I purr, my full pouty
lips curling, and the beat drops—heavy, nasty, urging me on. I hit Slim first,
straddling his lap facing him, my long legs folding over his thighs, my pale
skin brushing his tee as I grind slow, my juicy ass rolling against his crotch.
My perky tits tease close, nipples poking through, my brown eyes locking his
through long lashes. “Feel that, huh?” I murmur, spinning off, bending low, my
plump ass hovering, twerking hard, garter straps peeking, my wavy hair brushing
him.
Tank’s next—I kick a leg over his shoulder,
my shapely thigh flexing in the stocking, grinding my juicy ass against his
chest, slow and filthy, my pale hands on his knees. I arch back, my perky tits
thrusting, dress slipping to flash a nipple, and he grunts, “Shit, girl,” as I
slide down, straddling sideways, hips rolling, my tiny cock twitching in my
thong.
Dreads gets me kneeling between his legs, my
long legs folded, leaning in so my perky tits press his lap through the dress,
grinding up, my wavy hair spilling over his thighs. I flip, ass up, twerking
over him, then straddle reverse, my juicy ass bouncing, feeling him harden.
“Fuckin’ freak,” he groans, and I laugh, tossing my hair, heels clicking as I
strut out, my brown eyes glinting. Judges score me top—heat, skill, vibe—and
I’m first, Lisa and Maria trailing close.
Between trials, I catch my breath
backstage—girls adjusting thongs, pimps barking orders, the air electric.
Kelly’s whining about her scores, Tara’s sipping gin, Lisa’s smirking, Maria’s
stretching. Darius looms over me, his big hand on my pale shoulder. “You’re
killin’ it, white girl—keep that ass movin’.”
Next’s the Dirty Talk Dash—five Black
“clients” in a neon-lit room, music low and sleazy, eight minutes to wreck
them. They’re all gangsters: Jay, 30s, 5’10”, buzzed hair, tank; Bone, 40s,
6’1”, bald, scars; Rico, 20s, 5’8”, dreads, hoodie; T, 30s, 5’11”, lean, gold
chain; Bear, 50s, 5’9”, stocky, beard. Kelly’s soft, vanilla shit flops—low
scores. Tara’s dirtier, gets a laugh, mid-range. Lisa’s loud but basic, decent.
Maria’s husky, filthy, nearly tops it.
I saunter in, my mini dress hugging my plump
ass, stockings shimmering, my wavy hair bouncing, my full pouty lips ready to
fuck them up. “Let’s play, assholes,” I say, voice husky, hitting Jay first,
leaning close, my pale skin brushing his tank, my brown eyes piercing. “I’d
choke on your fat cock till my throat’s raw, ride you till your balls are dry,
let you slam this tight ass till I’m screaming—bet you’d bust so hard you’d owe
me rent.”
Bone’s next—I hover by his ear, my juicy ass
swaying, my perky tits teasing the dress. “You’d rip me open, big fucker—I’d
take every inch, beg for it, let you pound my hole till it’s dripping your cum,
then lick it clean while you watch.”
Rico gets me straddling his lap just enough,
my shapely thighs brushing his hoodie, my pouty lips close. “I’d suck you till
you’re fuckin’ dizzy, papi—ride you raw, bend over so you can spank this ass
red while you drill me, leave you panting for my nasty little cunt.”
T’s fourth—I lean in, my long legs flexing,
my pale hands on his shoulders. “I’d let you wreck me—flip me over, slam that
dick so deep I’m choking on my own moans, fuck me till I’m a sloppy mess
leaking your load, begging for more.”
Bear last—I kneel beside him, my plump ass
hovering, my wavy hair brushing his arm. “I’d worship your thick cock, old
man—deepthroat it till I’m gagging, ride it till my thighs shake, let you spank
me raw and fuck my ass till I’m screaming your name, dripping everywhere.” He
growls, “Fuckin’ hell,” and I strut out, heels clicking, my brown eyes
sparking. Judges rate me highest—nastiest mouth, wildest imagination—and I’m
two for five, Maria and Lisa still in it.
Backstage, the vibe’s tense—Kelly’s out,
sulking; Tara’s cursing her luck; Lisa and Maria eye me hard. Darius grins,
slapping my juicy ass. “That mouth, girl—fuckin’ gold. One more to seal it.”
Third’s the Tease-Off—a stage under a
spotlight, Black pimps and thugs circled, tossing bills. Tara’s up first,
peeling slow, decent sway, mid-scores. Lisa’s fat ass shakes hard, crowd roars,
high marks. Maria’s next, sultry as fuck, thong flung, nearly tops it.
I step up, heels clicking, my wavy hair
bouncing, the beat slow and filthy. “Watch this, fuckers,” I growl, my full
pouty lips curling, swaying my long legs, my pale skin glowing. I grip my mini
dress, sliding it up slow, teasing my garter straps, flashing my juicy ass
before dropping it, crowd screaming. I turn, bending low, my plump ass thrust
out, swaying, the dress riding to show my thong. Spinning back, I peel it
higher, my perky tits popping free as I yank it off, tossing it to a thug who
howls. In thong, garters, stockings, and heels, I strut, thumbs in my thong,
sliding it down my shapely thighs, kicking it off, my tiny cock bouncing, my
juicy ass jiggling as I twirl, cupping my perky tits, squeezing, “Want this,
huh?” I shout, arching back, my wavy hair brushing my pale ass. The crowd’s
insane, but Lisa’s haul edges me—second place, two wins still.
Between this and the next, I sip water
backstage, bare but for garters, stockings, heels—girls glaring, pimps betting
loud. Darius growls, “You’re close, slut—one more win.”
Fourth’s the Wet Ride Rumble—a lube-filled
pool, crowd tight, bass nasty. Maria’s my rival—her thick Latina ass vs. me.
Tara flops early, Lisa’s decent but slips, Maria’s strong, pinning Tara.
We dive in, lube splashing over my long
legs, my pale skin slick as I grab her waist, slipping on her dark curves. She
shoves me, my plump ass hitting the edge, and I laugh, lunging back, wrapping
my arms around her, my perky tits mashing her back, grinding, teasing the
crowd. She bucks, straddling my chest, her ass over my face, humping the air,
crowd roaring. “Fuck you,” I snarl, flipping her onto her stomach, my pale body
sliding over, my juicy ass up as I pin her, grinding slow, my tiny cock brushing
her thigh. She twists, straddling my hips, squeezing my perky tits, but I hook
a leg, flip her, pinning her with my long legs, my plump ass bouncing,
smirking, “Who’s the slut?” She taps out, crowd explodes—judges score me tops,
but Maria’s earlier win keeps her ahead. Two wins, one to go.
Backstage, it’s chaos—Lisa’s out, Tara’s
done, Maria’s panting, glaring. Darius grabs my pale arm. “Finale’s it,
Mira—fuck me good, win this shit.”
Last up’s the Grand Fuck Finale—the fuckin’
crown jewel of the Slut Crown Showdown, and it’s going down on five open stages
scattered across the warehouse floor, each decked out with a plush red divan, a
low black ottoman, and a scratched-up wooden coffee table. Black pimps and
thugs pack the space tight, a sea of dark skin, gold chains, and hard stares,
circling each stage, judges perched front-row on folding chairs—three grizzled
Black gangsters with scars and cigars, scribbling scores. The bass hammers relentless,
a dirty trap beat vibrating my bones, lights strobing red and blue over the
chaos. All five of us girls are hitting it at once, 15 minutes to prove we’re
the nastiest slut alive, and I’m ready to fuckin’ own it.
The lineup’s stacked: Maria’s with her pimp,
a 6’2” dreadlocked thug, mid-30s, ripped, in a black tank, his 10-inch cock
thick and dark; Lisa’s paired with a 6’0” bald beast, late 30s, stocky, white
tee stretched tight, his 9-incher veiny; Tara’s got a 5’11” lean fucker, early
40s, wiry, gold chain glinting, his 8-inch dick curved; Kelly’s stuck with a
6’1” scarred brute, 50s, broad, in a leather vest, his 9-inch cock fat and
heavy. Then there’s me—Mira, 18, 5’6”, 125 lbs of pale, slutty fire—strutting out
to Darius, my 6’5” mountain of Black muscle, late 30s, bald head gleaming,
white tank and cargos off already, his 11-inch cock a fuckin’ monster—fat,
Black, veiny, dripping pre-cum, balls swinging low like a goddamn wrecking
ball.
I hit the stage, my tight black mini dress
clinging to my plump, juicy ass, four-inch heels clicking sharp, my dark wavy
hair bouncing wild below my shoulders. The crowd’s already howling, fists
pounding the air, and I smirk, my full pouty lips curling, my brown eyes
glinting through long lashes. “Ready, you filthy fuckers?” I shout, voice
throaty, grabbing the dress hem and peeling it up slow, teasing my garter belt
straps, flashing my pale thighs before yanking it over my head, tossing it into
the crowd—a thug snags it, roaring. My small, perky tits bounce free, nipples
pink and stiff, and I hook my thumbs in my black thong, sliding it down my
shapely thighs, kicking it off with a flick of my heel. I’m bare now but for
the garter belt, silky black stockings, and heels—my pale ivory skin glowing
under the strobes, my tiny cock dangling free, my juicy ass thrust out as I
strut the stage edge, hands on hips, twirling slow, letting them drink in every
curve. “This what you want, huh?” I growl, arching back, my wavy hair brushing
my pale ass, my perky tits thrust high, the crowd erupting—louder than the
cheers for Maria peeling her thong or Lisa shaking her fat ass.
Darius steps up, his dark eyes blazing, his
11-incher throbbing as he grabs my pale arms, yanking me against his slab of
muscle, his rough hands clamping my juicy ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
“Let’s win this shit, white slut,” he growls, slamming his lips into mine, his
thick tongue shoving deep, rough and hungry, tasting weed and sweat. I kiss
back fierce, my full pouty lips fighting his, my tiny cock twitching against
his thigh, my pale hands clawing his broad back. “Fuck me up, big man,” I moan into
his mouth, loud enough for the judges, grinding my perky tits against his
chest, nipples scraping his tank, the crowd hooting as I play it up, tossing my
wavy hair for the front row.
He breaks off, grinning wicked, and shoves
me down to my knees on the stage floor, my long legs folding under, my plump
ass jiggling in the stockings as I hit the ground, heels scraping. “Suck this
fat fucker,” he orders, grabbing a fistful of my wavy hair, yanking my head
forward, his 11-inch beast hovering at my face, the musky scent hitting me
hard. I open wide, my full pouty lips stretching obscene around his girth, the
salty pre-cum flooding my tongue as I take him deep, my throat spasming as he
thrusts, his fat head ramming the back, drool spilling fast, dripping down my
chin to soak my perky tits, streaking my pale chest. “Fuckin’ choke on it, you
nasty bitch,” he snarls, hips bucking slow then fast, his heavy balls slapping
my chin loud and wet—slap, slap, slap—the sound echoing over the bass. I
suck hard, tongue swirling the veiny shaft, lapping at the slit, moaning loud,
“Mmmph, fuck yes, daddy, shove it deeper,” my brown eyes watering, lashes wet
as I claw his thick thighs, glancing sideways at the judges, winking as spit
strings from my lips to his tip. The crowd’s losing it—louder than the cheers
for Kelly gagging on her brute or Tara’s sloppy suck, my throat game clearly
topping theirs.
He yanks me off with a wet pop, spit
dangling thick, my pale face flushed, my pouty lips swollen, and hauls me up by
the arms, my long legs shaky in heels as he spins me toward the divan—a red
velvet beast center-stage. “Gonna eat this tight ass now,” he grunts, shoving
me forward so I’m bent over the edge, my pale hands gripping the fabric, my
plump ass thrust high, my shapely thighs spread wide in stockings, heels
digging into the floor. He drops to his knees behind me, his big hands
spreading my juicy cheeks wide, exposing my tight hole to the crowd, and dives
in, his thick tongue lapping at my rim, hot and sloppy, circling slow then
fast, making me moan loud, “Fuck, eat that ass, you dirty bastard,” my voice
raw, my perky tits swaying beneath me, nipples brushing the divan. He shoves
his tongue inside, stretching me, spit dripping down my pale thighs, pooling at
my stockings, and I arch back hard, my wavy hair tangling over my shoulders,
tossing my head for the judges, “Look at this shit, boys—eating me like a
fuckin’ king!” The crowd roars, fists up, drowning out Lisa’s muffled groans as
her bald beast tongues her, my show stealing the spotlight.
He pulls back, spitting a thick, hot gob
right on my rim, slicking it up, and jams three rough fingers in, twisting
slow, stretching me wide, the burn raw and fuckin’ electric. “Finger that
filthy hole, you big fuck,” I gasp, pushing my plump ass back, quivering
against his knuckles as he pumps them deep, curling hard, making my pale body
buck, my tiny cock twitching, leaking a drop onto the divan. “You love this,
huh, slut?” he growls, spanking me—crack—his hand slamming my pale
cheek, a red handprint flaring fast, my juicy ass jiggling wild for the crowd.
“Fuck yes, spank me harder,” I scream, loud for the judges, glancing over at
Maria—her dreadlocked thug’s got her bent over a table, fingering her rough,
but her moans are quieter, the audience less hyped than mine.
“Time to take this dick,” Darius snarls,
yanking his fingers out with a wet squelch, my hole gaping needy as he stands,
grabbing my pale hips, flipping me onto the divan on my back, my long legs
flailing, heels dangling high. He hauls my pale ankles up over his broad
shoulders, my shapely thighs trembling in stockings, my plump ass lifted off
the edge, my tiny cock flopping on my pale stomach, leaking steady. “Look at
me, you tight lil’ cunt,” he grunts, lining up his 11-incher, the fat head
pressing against my slick rim, and slides in slow, stretching me inch by
fuckin’ inch, my pale body arching as he fills me, his balls brushing my ass.
“Fuck me raw, you goddamn beast,” I sob, my brown eyes locked on his through
long lashes, my perky tits bouncing with every slow thrust, nipples stiff as
hell, tossing my wavy hair side to side for the crowd, “See this, fuckers?
Taking it like a queen!” The judges nod, cigars puffing, while Tara’s lean
fucker slams her on an ottoman, her cries sharp but less theatrical, the crowd
split between us.
He picks up speed, pounding deep, his balls
slapping my ass—slap, slap, slap—the divan creaking under me, my plump
ass quaking, my pale skin flushing red. “Take it all, you filthy hoe,” he
roars, spanking me again—crack—left cheek, then right, my juicy ass
rippling, red marks layering as I scream, “Harder, you fuckin’ animal, wreck
this ass!” my voice breaking, my tiny cock pulsing, smearing pre-cum across my
stomach. I glance out—Kelly’s brute has her on her knees on a table, slamming
her doggy-style, crowd cheering decently, but my louder wails and wilder
bucking pull more eyes, the front row banging the stage edge.
He shifts, pulling out slow, his cock slick
with my heat, glistening under the lights, and hooks one of my legs over his
arm, bending the other tight to my chest, my heels dangling as he spins me
sideways on the divan, my plump ass hanging off, my pale body twisted. “Gonna
tear you up,” he growls, slamming back in, the angle brutal, hitting deep, my
shapely thighs trembling in stockings, my perky tits swaying wild, nipples
scraping the air. “Use me, sir, fuck me stupid,” I wail, my full pouty lips
parted, drooling, tossing my head back for the judges, my wavy hair splaying
over the divan, “Look at this big dick owning me, you fucks!” The crowd’s
deafening now, drowning out Lisa’s bald beast flipping her missionary on a
table, her moans steady but tame—my show’s got the edge, thugs yelling my name.
“Back to that nasty mouth,” he snarls,
pulling out with a wet pop, his 11-incher throbbing, dripping with my juices,
and hauls me off the divan, shoving me to my knees on the stage floor, my juicy
ass jiggling in heels, my long legs folding. “Suck it clean, you dirty bitch,”
he orders, grabbing my wavy hair, yanking me forward, shoving his cock back in,
my pouty lips stretching wide again, gagging hard as he fucks my throat rough,
his fat head ramming deep, drool spilling thick, soaking my perky tits, dripping
down my pale chest to the floor. “Fuckin’ take it all, you greedy slut,” he
groans, hips bucking, balls slapping my chin—slap, slap, slap—and I moan
loud, “Yes, daddy, choke me with that big fucker,” my brown eyes watering,
lashes wet, glancing at the crowd, sticking my tongue out mid-thrust to flash
the judges, spit stringing obscene. Maria’s thug has her sucking too, bent over
an ottoman, but her gags are quieter, the crowd less frenzied—my throat’s the
star.
He pulls me off, spit dangling, my pale face
flushed, and drags me to the coffee table, shoving me flat on my stomach across
it, my shapely thighs in stockings straddled by his knees, my plump ass up
high, my perky tits mashed into the wood, nipples raw from the friction. “Gonna
flatten this juicy ass,” he grunts, spreading my cheeks wide, spitting a hot
gob onto my gaping hole, and slams his 11-incher back in, deep and relentless,
my pale body rocking, the table scraping the stage, his balls slapping loud—slap,
slap, slap. “Pound me, you fuckin’ beast,” I wail, my wavy hair tangling
around my full pouty lips. Darius started spanking me—crack—left, right,
then both, my pale cheeks burning red, jiggling wild as I scream, “Spank that
ass raw, make me your slut!” tossing my head back, arching for the crowd, “Look
at this shit, boys—he’s wrecking me!” Tara’s lean fucker’s got her prone too,
but her cries are weaker, the audience half-tuned to me, my louder show pulling
focus.
He flips me up slow, lifting me off the
table, my pale body dangling in his grip, my long legs wrapping his waist,
heels still on, my shapely thighs trembling in stockings. “Ride this dick, you
nasty fuck,” he growls, holding me upright, slamming back in, fucking me
mid-air, my perky tits bouncing wild, nipples scraping his chest, my tiny cock
smearing pre-cum across his abs with every brutal thrust. “Wreck me, Darius,
fuck me senseless,” I moan, voice hoarse, clinging to his shoulders, nails
digging into his dark skin, my brown eyes half-lidded, tossing my wavy hair
wild for the judges, “See this big cock owning my ass, you fucks?” The crowd’s
insane—louder than Kelly’s brute filling her, her gasps sharp but less showy,
my upright grind stealing the room.
“Gonna fill this tight cunt,” he roars,
lowering me back to the divan, dropping me on my back, shoving my knees up to
my chest, my plump ass lifted high, my long legs shooting up, heels dangling,
my shapely thighs spread wide in stockings. He kneels between, plunging in
fast, deep, the angle raw, hitting something wild inside, my pale body bucking
hard, my perky tits heaving, nipples stiff, my tiny cock pulsing between us.
“Give it to me, you fuckin’ animal, flood my ass,” I wail, my full pouty lips
drooling, my wavy hair plastered to my sweat-slicked face, arching my back
high, thrusting my perky tits up for the crowd, “Watch him nut in me, you dirty
bastards!” The pressure coils tight, and I explode—my tiny cock spurting hot
ropes onto my pale stomach, soaking my skin, my plump ass clenching hard around
him, milking him. He bellows, slamming in one last time, his thick load
flooding me—hot, pulsing, spilling deep, dripping out messy as he grinds
against me, panting heavy over my neck, the crowd erupting louder than any
other stage, fists pounding, “Mira! Mira!” drowning out Maria’s thug growling,
Lisa’s beast grunting, Tara and Kelly fading.
He pulls out slow, a filthy squelch as his
11-incher slips free, cum and spit dripping down my shapely thighs, pooling on
the divan, streaking my stockings. I’m a goddamn wreck—mini dress and thong
long gone, garters, stockings, heels still on, my pale skin bruised, sweaty,
cum-streaked, my wavy hair a tangled mess, my perky tits heaving, my plump ass
throbbing raw. I roll onto my side, smirking at the crowd, my brown eyes
glinting through the haze, my full pouty lips smeared with spit, tossing my
hair back, “Who’s the fuckin’ queen now, huh?” The judges scribble fast—Maria’s
thug finishes loud, Lisa’s beast grunts hard, Tara and Kelly trail—but my
scores hit max: Skills (blowjob, throat fuck, analingus, fingering,
anal, every position nailed), Submissiveness (begging, taking every
spank and thrust), Verbal Engagement (filthy screams, taunts, crowd
hooks), Crowd Show (divan, table, upright, every move a spectacle). I
win the Finale—loudest finish, wildest show—and with Lap Dance and Dirty Talk
already mine, three out of five seals it: Slut Crown’s mine, a spiked choker
slapped around my neck as the crowd chants my name.
Darius hauls me up, his big hand squeezing
my juicy ass, grinning wide. “Fuck, Mira—you took my 11 inches like a goddamn
champ. That ass, them tits, that mouth—let’s hit the mall now, late-night
spree, you earned it.” I smirk, my brown eyes sparking, grabbing my dress from
the crowd, slipping it back on over my bruised pale skin, heels clicking, my
wavy hair tangled but triumphant.
We roll out, and we hit the mall—me
strutting in a fresh mini skirt and crop top, my long legs flexing, my plump
ass swaying. I snag the latest iPhone Pro, some slutty outfits—thongs, heels, a
leather dress—and he’s dropping cash, praising me the whole time. “That 11
inches didn’t scare you, huh? You wanna roll steady with me, white girl?” he
asks, his dark eyes sparking.
I laugh, tossing my wavy hair, my full pouty
lips curling. “No relationships, big man—I’m free. But call me anytime you
wanna fuck a hot tranny. That cock’s too good to pass up.” He grins, dropping
me at the mall lot, and I strut off, my heels clicking, three grand still mine,
my BMW safe, and a “crown” proving I’m the baddest slut around.
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