𝐌i𝐫a's T𝐢k𝐓o𝐤 𝐓r𝐢u𝐦p𝐡: A S𝐚l𝐞 𝐚n𝐝 𝐚 𝐒c𝐫e𝐰

The clock’s a fuckin’ asshole today, ticking down three days till I’ve gotta cough up three grand or kiss my silver E21 goodbye—stuck in that trap house deal with Jamal’s crew. I’m Mira, 18 and a goddamn sparkplug, a trans girl who’s owned this body for two years—5’6”, 125 lbs of pure, slutty heat. I’m at Jack’s Used Cars, sprawled in a rickety chair by the lot, my long, toned legs crossed, pale ivory skin catching the afternoon sun through my fishnet stockings. A black halter top clings to my small, perky tits, nipples teasing the fabric, no bra to tame them. A denim miniskirt hugs my plump, juicy ass, riding high to flash my shapely thighs, and black ankle boots—scuffed but sexy—tap the pavement as I scroll TikTok on my shitty phone, cracked screen glaring back at me. My dark, wavy hair spills below my shoulders, brushing my collarbone, and my heart-shaped face tilts—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose flaring, full pouty lips pursed as my big brown eyes, fringed with long lashes, hunt for cash.

I’m swiping through influencers hawking their crap—clothes, makeup, bullshit—when it hits me. I could do that. I check my reach—decent followers for barely posting, probably ‘cause my ass and legs look fuckin’ killer in the few clips I’ve tossed up. I scan the lot, eyes locking on a 1967 DeVille Convertible—cherry red, chrome gleaming, top down like it’s begging for attention. Perfect. I need Mark’s help, though—he’s another salesman here, unofficial manager of the lot, second-in-command to Jack, mid-20s, white, tall and lanky at 6’1”, shaggy blond hair falling into his blue eyes, lean muscle flexing under a faded blue tee and ripped jeans. “Yo, Mark,” I call, strutting over, my boots clicking, my wavy hair bouncing. “Help me shoot a vid for this DeVille. Gotta move it fast.”

He wipes his hands on his jeans, grinning that goofy grin, his blue eyes sliding over my perky tits, my juicy ass. “Fuck, Mira, you finally jumped the bandwagon—hawking shit online like every thirsty bitch out there? Gimme the phone.” I hand him my cracked piece of shit—note to self, upgrade that fucker—and strike a pose by the car, one pale hand on the hood, hips cocked. “Roll it,” I say, and he starts filming as I launch into it—voice low and flirty, hyping the DeVille’s history, its V8 growl, the smooth leather seats, the rust-free body. I grind against the door, my denim skirt riding up to flash my shapely thighs, twerking my plump ass slow, letting my wavy hair whip as I spin, my brown eyes glinting at the lens through long lashes. “Buy this beauty, and who knows—might just impress me enough for a date,” I purr, winking, my full pouty lips curling. Desperate times, right?

Back in the office, I edit the clips—piecing together the best angles of my ass jiggling, my tits bouncing, the car shining—slap on some thumping hip-hop track, and post it. Boom. Within hours, it’s blowing up—thousands of likes, comments drooling over me and the DeVille, but no bites. I’m pacing the lot, my pale skin prickling under the fading sun, when around 5 p.m., this massive Jamaican dude rolls up. He’s gotta be 6’4”, mid-30s, Black as night, built like a fuckin’ linebacker—broad shoulders, thick arms bulging under a white tank top, dreads spilling past his shoulders, dark eyes sharp behind a blunt hanging from his lips. His cargo shorts sag low, sneakers scuffed, and a silver chain glints at his neck. “Ey, likkle gyal,” he says, voice deep and thick with a Jamaican accent, stepping closer, towering over my 5’6” frame. “Mi see yuh video pon TikTok. Dat DeVille—mi want it, yuh zeet?”

I blink, my full pouty lips parting as I process his words—accent’s a fuckin’ puzzle, but damn, it’s hot. “Hey, yeah, that’s the one,” I say, tossing my wavy hair, my brown eyes locking on his, lashes fluttering. “Name’s Mira. You’re here for the car?”

He nods, exhaling smoke, his dark eyes raking over me—my perky tits straining the halter, my juicy ass hugged by denim, my long legs in fishnets. “Mi name Kemar, likkle princess. Yeah, mi like de car, but yuh a pretty ting too, yuh know. Tell mi ‘bout it—de ride an’ yuhself.” His grin’s slow, teeth flashing, and I smirk, leaning against the DeVille, my pale hand tracing the chrome, hips swaying.

“Alright, Kemar,” I purr, my voice dripping as I bat my lashes, my heart-shaped face tilting. “This baby’s a ’67 classic—convertible, purrs like a beast, all original. And me? Just a girl trying to make a buck—5’6” of trouble, love a good ride, and maybe a good time.” I twirl my wavy hair, letting it brush my pale shoulders, my shapely thighs flexing as I shift. “What’s your story?”

He chuckles, low and rumbling, stepping closer, his bulk casting a shadow. “Mi a hustla, yuh zeet? Sell de ganja, do some work fi de big man dem sometimes. But mi gentle, yuh nah haffi worry.” His accent rolls over me, and fuck, I’m hooked—hard to catch every word, but the vibe’s pure sex. “How much fi de car, likkle gyal?”

I bite my full pouty lip, calculating—base price is 30k, anything over nets me 30% commission. I want max cash. “Forty-five grand,” I say, leaning forward, my perky tits pressing against the halter, my brown eyes glinting. “Worth every penny, trust me.”

Kemar whistles, rubbing his chin, blunt dangling. “Dat steep, yuh know, princess. Mi say 40k—an’ a date wid yuh. Yuh too fine fi mi nah try.” His dark eyes spark, and I laugh, throaty and low, my wavy hair bouncing as I step closer, my pale skin brushing his tank top.

“Tell you what,” I say, my full pouty lips close to his ear, my shapely thighs grazing his shorts. “I’m off in an hour. Finalize the deal at the office, and you can take me out in your new car. Deal?” He grins wide, nodding, and we head inside—me strutting, heels clicking, him lumbering behind, his eyes glued to my juicy ass.

Paperwork’s quick—40k locked in, my commission’s a fat 3 grand, more than enough to snag my BMW back. Kemar’s got the keys, and I slide into the DeVille’s passenger seat, my long legs stretching out, fishnets catching the dashboard light, my plump ass sinking into the leather. He fires it up, engine roaring, and we peel out, my wavy hair whipping in the wind as he drives me to a Jamaican bar downtown—neon sign buzzing “Rasta Roadhouse,” reggae thumping through the walls, air thick with weed and spice. We grab beers—cold, bitter, perfect—and a joint he rolls quick, passing it to me with a wink. “Smoke up, likkle gyal,” he says, and I take a hit, the buzz softening my edges, my brown eyes half-lidded as we chat over the music, his accent wrapping around me like a warm fuckin’ blanket.

“Mi like yuh vibe, Mira,” he says, leaning on the pool table, cue in hand, his tank top stretching over his thick chest. “Yuh a wild one, eh?” I smirk, bending over to line up a shot, my denim skirt riding up, my plump ass teasing the air, my perky tits swaying under the halter. “You’ve got no idea, Kemar,” I reply, my full pouty lips curling, sinking the eight-ball with a crack. We play a few rounds, laughing, drinking, his dark eyes locked on my shapely thighs, my pale skin glowing under the bar’s dim lights.

He takes me to a diner next—greasy spoon joint, smells like jerk chicken and fry oil, food so good I moan around a bite of plantain. “Fuck, this is amazing,” I say, my wavy hair brushing my shoulders as I lean across the table, my brown eyes glinting at him. “Yuh like it, eh?” he grins, and we talk more—his weed gigs, mob side hustles, how he’s chill despite it all. I like him—gentle giant vibe, no clingy bullshit, just easy. “Mi tek yuh home now, princess,” he says after we eat, and I nod, my pale hand brushing his arm, ready for whatever’s next.

His place is a cramped apartment—weed stench, reggae posters, a sagging couch. He locks the door, turning to me, his dark eyes blazing. “Yuh ready fi mi, likkle gyal?” he growls, and I smirk, tossing my wavy hair, my heart pounding but my full pouty lips steady. “Fuck yeah, Kemar—show me what you’ve got.”

Kemar’s on me in a heartbeat, his massive hands—rough, calloused—grabbing my pale arms, pulling me against his 6’4” frame, his white tank top straining over his thick chest, dreads swinging as he crashes his lips into mine. I’m Mira, 18 and a fuckin’ livewire, 5’6”, 125 lbs of slutty perfection—my small, perky tits press against him through my halter top, my plump, juicy ass quivering in my denim skirt, my long, toned legs trembling in fishnets as his tongue shoves deep, tasting weed and beer, rough and hungry. My full pouty lips fight back, kissing him hard, my pale ivory skin prickling as his hands roam, one clamping my juicy ass, squeezing till I gasp, the other yanking my wavy hair, tilting my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose flaring—so he can devour me deeper, my brown eyes fluttering under long lashes.

“Fuck, yuh a sexy likkle ting,” he growls, accent thick, breaking off, his dark eyes wild as he shoves me back toward his bedroom—dingy, mattress on the floor, sheets rumpled, reggae thumping faint from the living room. My ankle boots scuff the hardwood, my shapely thighs flexing as I stumble, smirking, my tiny cock twitching in my thong against my will. He kicks the door shut, towering over me, and rips his tank off, exposing a wall of muscle—dark skin glistening, abs rippling, dreads spilling over his shoulders. “Get dem clothes off, princess,” he orders, voice a low rumble, and I peel my halter top up slow, my perky tits bouncing free—small, pale, nipples pink and hard as fuckin’ pebbles—tossing it aside, my wavy hair sticking to my neck.

“Like what you see?” I purr, my full pouty lips curling, shimmying my denim skirt down my long legs, fishnets clinging to my shapely thighs, leaving me in my black thong and boots. My plump ass jiggles as I step out, pale skin glowing in the dim light, and Kemar’s cargo shorts hit the floor, his cock springing out—10 fuckin’ inches, thick as a beer can, dark and veiny, the head fat and glistening, balls heavy and swinging low. “Holy fuck,” I mutter, my brown eyes wide, lashes fluttering, but he’s already on me, shoving me down onto the mattress, my back hitting the sheets, my long legs splaying wide, boots dangling.

“Mi gonna eat dat ass, yuh zeet?” he growls, kneeling between my thighs, his big hands grabbing my pale legs, pushing them up till my knees are by my ears, my plump ass lifted, thong stretched tight. He yanks it aside, exposing my tight hole and tiny cock, and freezes—“Yuh a likkle man down dere, eh?”—his dark eyes sparking, a grin splitting his face. “Mi like dat—nasty surprise, princess.” Before I can snap back, his thick tongue dives in, hot and wet, lapping at my rim, circling slow then fast, making me moan loud, my pale skin prickling, my perky tits heaving as I claw the sheets, my wavy hair splaying out.

“Fuck, Kemar—eat me out,” I gasp, my voice shaking, feeling his tongue shove inside, stretching my hole, sloppy and rough, spit dripping down my pale ass as he licks me deep, his dreads brushing my shapely thighs. My tiny cock twitches hard, leaking a drop onto my stomach, my full pouty lips parted as I pant, my brown eyes half-lidded. He pulls back, spitting a thick gob onto my rim—hot, slick—and shoves two thick fingers in, twisting slow, stretching me wide, the burn raw and needy. “Goddamn, finger that ass,” I moan, pushing back, my plump ass quivering, my long legs trembling in his grip as he pumps them deeper, curling against my insides, making me buck.

“Time fi mi cock, likkle gyal,” he snarls, pulling his fingers out with a wet pop, my hole gaping, needy as fuck. He grabs my pale hips, flipping me onto my stomach, my plump ass up high, face pressed into the mattress, my wavy hair tangling around my full pouty lips as I brace my hands, my perky tits flattening against the sheets. He kneels behind me, spreading my juicy cheeks with his rough thumbs, spitting again—hot and thick—right on my rim, then lines up that 10-inch monster, the fat head pressing insistent against me. “Take dis, yuh filthy slut,” he grunts, slamming in balls-deep, raw and brutal, splitting me open with a force that rips a scream from my throat, my pale skin flushing red, my shapely thighs quaking as he fills me, his heavy balls slapping my ass loud and wet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yell, my voice raw, feeling every inch of that beer-can-thick cock stretch me obscene, my plump ass bouncing with every thrust, the mattress creaking under his weight. “Yuh love dis big dick, eh?” he growls, spanking me—crack—his big hand slamming my pale cheek, making it jiggle like a fuckin’ wave, a red handprint blooming fast. I moan loud, reluctant heat mixing with the sting, my tiny cock grinding into the sheets, leaking sticky as he pounds me doggy-style, his dreads swinging, his thick arms flexing as he grips my hips, bruising my pale skin. “Harder, you fuckin’ beast,” I pant, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet, pushing back to meet him, my perky tits swaying beneath me.

He pulls out slow, his cock slick with my heat, glistening, and flips me onto my back, my long legs flailing, boots still on, fishnets stretched tight. “Mi wan’ see dat pretty face,” he says, grabbing my pale ankles, pulling them high over his broad shoulders, my shapely thighs trembling as he leans in, pressing that fat head back against my wrecked hole. He slides in deep, slow this time, letting me feel every fuckin’ inch stretch me again, my plump ass lifted off the mattress, my tiny cock flopping on my pale stomach, leaking a steady stream. “Take it, yuh tight likkle cunt,” he grunts, thrusting hard, my perky tits bouncing wild, nipples scraping the air as I claw his arms, my full pouty lips parted, moaning loud, my wavy hair sticking to my sweat-slicked face.

“Goddamn, fuck me silly,” I sob, my voice breaking, feeling him hit deep, raw and relentless, his balls slapping my ass with every slam, the room stinking of sweat and weed. He shifts, dropping my legs, hooking one over his arm, the other bent tight against my chest, boots dangling as he pounds me sideways, the angle brutal, tearing into me, my plump ass quaking, my pale skin bruising under his grip. “Yuh a nasty gyal, eh,” he mutters, spanking me again—crack—left cheek, then right, my juicy ass rippling, red marks layering as I scream, my tiny cock pulsing, smearing pre-cum across my stomach.

“Gimme dat mouth now,” he growls, pulling out with a wet squelch, his cock throbbing, dripping with my juices. He hauls me up by the arms, my long legs shaky as I kneel on the mattress, my plump ass jiggling, my pale skin slick with sweat, wavy hair a sweaty curtain over my brown eyes. “Suck dis big ting,” he orders, grabbing my head, guiding that 10-inch beast to my full pouty lips. I open wide, stretching my mouth around his girth, the salty taste flooding me as I take him deep, gagging hard, my throat spasming as he thrusts, his fat head hitting the back, drool spilling fast, dripping down my chin onto my perky tits, soaking my pale chest.

“Fuckin’ choke on it, yuh dirty bitch,” he snarls, his thick hands tangling in my wavy hair, yanking me forward as he fucks my throat rough, hips bucking, his balls slapping my chin loud and wet. I suck him hard, tongue swirling the veiny shaft, lapping the pre-cum, my lips stretched obscene, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet as I claw his thighs, my tiny cock twitching hard in my thong, leaking onto the sheets. “Good likkle cocksucka,” he groans, pulling me off with a wet pop, spit stringing thick from my swollen lips to his dripping tip, leaving me gasping, my pale face flushed, my perky tits heaving.

He shoves me back down, flat on my stomach, my long legs splaying wide, boots scuffing the mattress as he straddles my shapely thighs, pinning me. “Mi gonna pound dis ass flat,” he grunts, spreading my plump cheeks again, spitting a hot gob onto my gaping hole, then slamming his 10-incher back in, deep and relentless, my pale body rocking under him, my perky tits pressed into the sheets, nipples raw from the friction. “Take it, yuh greedy fuck,” he snarls, his weight crushing me, his thick cock drilling me into the mattress, my plump ass bouncing with every thrust, the sound wet and filthy—slap, slap, slap. He spanks me—crack—left, then right, then both, my pale skin burning red, my juicy ass quivering as I sob into the sheets, my wavy hair tangling around my full pouty lips.

“Flip ova, princess,” he orders, pulling out slow, his cock slick and throbbing, and I roll onto my back, my long legs shaking, fishnets torn at the thighs, thong tangled around one ankle now. He lifts me by the hips, my pale body dangling, my shapely thighs wrapping around his waist as he stands, holding me up, my plump ass pressed against his gut. “Hold mi, yuh nasty gyal,” he growls, slamming back in, fucking me upright, rough as hell, my perky tits bouncing wild, nipples scraping his chest, my tiny cock smearing pre-cum across his abs with every brutal thrust. “Fuck, wreck me, Kemar,” I moan, my voice hoarse, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his dark skin, my brown eyes half-lidded, lashes fluttering as my wavy hair swings, my pale thighs trembling around him.

“Mi gonna fill yuh up,” he roars, dropping me back to the mattress, my long legs shooting up high, boots dangling as he kneels, shoving my knees to my chest, my plump ass lifted high. He plunges in again, deep and fast, the angle fuckin’ raw, hitting something wild inside me, my pale body bucking, my perky tits heaving, my tiny cock pulsing between us. “Goddamn, give it to me,” I wail, my full pouty lips drooling, my wavy hair plastered to my face as he pounds me relentless, his balls slapping my ass, the mattress groaning. The pressure builds, hot and tight, and I explode—my tiny cock spurting hot ropes onto my pale stomach, soaking my skin, my plump ass clenching hard around him. He bellows, slamming in one last time, his thick load flooding my ass—hot, pulsing, spilling deep, dripping out as he grinds against me, panting heavy over my neck.

He pulls out slow, a filthy squelch as his cock slips free, cum and spit dripping down my shapely thighs, pooling on the sheets. I’m a fuckin’ wreck—halter top and skirt long gone, thong shredded at my ankles, fishnets torn to shit, boots scuffed, my pale skin bruised, sweaty, streaked with cum, my wavy hair a tangled mess, my perky tits heaving, my plump ass throbbing. Kemar collapses beside me, his softening 10-incher glistening with my juices, his dreads splayed out, smirking. “Yuh a wild fuck, Mira,” he mutters, voice rough, and I grin, my brown eyes glinting through the haze, my full pouty lips smeared with spit.

“Fuckin’ hell, Kemar—you’re a goddamn animal,” I rasp, rolling onto my side, my pale body aching but satisfied. We pass out tangled, his arm over my shapely thighs, my wavy hair fanned across his chest.

Morning hits, sun slicing through cracked blinds, and I wake sprawled on his mattress, my long legs tangled in the sheets, my plump ass sore as fuck. Kemar’s snoring, his thick frame sprawled out, and I lean over, kissing his cheek quick—soft, no strings, just a vibe. “See ya around, big man,” I whisper, my full pouty lips brushing his skin, then slip out, grabbing my skirt and halter, tugging them on over my bruised pale skin, fishnets shredded but clinging. My boots click as I strut out, my wavy hair a mess, my brown eyes sharp—no relationship bullshit, but Kemar’s cool. Friends, maybe, if he’s down. I hail a cab, $3k commission in my pocket, my BMW in reach, and head to work, my plump ass sinking into the seat, smirking like the queen I fuckin’ am.