M𝐢r𝐚’𝐬 𝐁e𝐚c𝐡s𝐢d𝐞 𝐁u𝐥l𝐞t: 𝐌o𝐛 𝐊i𝐝 𝐂h𝐚o𝐬

The city’s pulse thrummed through my cracked window, a gritty symphony of horns and shouts, as I lounged in my fifth-floor walk-up, my pale ivory skin slick with summer sweat. My dark, wavy hair clung to my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face, where full pouty lips curled into a smirk. At 18, a 5’6”, 125-pound trans woman, I was all curves and hustle—perky A-cup tits, a plump ass that turned heads, and a tiny 2-inch cock tucked in my thong, tight balls aching for trouble. My brown eyes, framed by long lashes, gleamed with defiance. Mr. Salerno’s call jolted me upright, his Italian-American accent thick as he barked through the phone.

“Mira, you listen good, eh? My boy Luca’s got this beach house party he’s dyin’ to go to. Kid’s only 11, wiry little shit, but he’s a fuckin’ target for every scumbag out there. I don’t trust nobody, but Luca says Frankie sticks out like a sore thumb. Wants you to chaperone, blend in with them rich kids. You keep my boy safe, capisce? Don’t fuck this up, or I’ll have your ass.”

Luca, that 5’2”, 110-pound firecracker with messy brown hair and hazel eyes, had a 9-inch cock from some medical condition—macrogenitosomia, whatever—and we’d fucked before, his eager thrusts leaving me sore and grinning. I knew why he picked me, his smitten ass craving another round, but I kept that shit to myself. “I got you, Mr. Salerno,” I purred, my voice smooth as sin. “Luca’s safe with me.”

At 4 p.m., I slid into a red bikini top, the fabric straining against my perky tits, and denim shorts that hugged my juicy ass like a second skin. Red lace hipsters teased beneath, and flat sandals showed off my long, toned legs, shapely thighs flexing as I strutted to my silver BMW E21. The engine purred, a beast I’d hustled from Rusty’s junkyard in Steel Borough, and I peeled out to pick up Luca from the Salerno compound, a fortress of steel and suspicion in the heart of Liberty Heights.

Luca hopped in, his wiry frame buzzing with energy, hazel eyes raking over my curves. “Fuck, Mira, you look hot,” he grinned, his Italian accent light but unmistakable. “Thanks for this. Dad’s paranoid, but I need to live, y’know?”

I smirked, my pouty lips parting. “Keep your dick in your pants, kid, and we’ll have fun.” The radio crackled, a news anchor droning: “Empire City police report 21 bodies found at Grafton Steel Works, an abandoned factory near Millcreek. Authorities suspect a fallout between Zion’s Blade and the Iron Cross during a weapons deal gone wrong…” My brown eyes glinted. That was my handiwork—me, Marco, Kemar, and Blaze, mowing down those fuckers in a hail of bullets. Luca didn’t know, his head bobbing to the music, but I savored the secret, my heart pounding with pride.

The beach house, a sprawling glass-and-wood monstrosity in Salt Beach, Kings Harbor, oozed wealth, its wide windows reflecting the sunset. Luca introduced me as his cousin, his hand brushing my lower back, sending a faint spark up my spine. My pale ivory skin prickled under my red bikini top and denim shorts, the fabric hugging my plump ass, my long legs catching glances from curious parents. The children’s party was a whirlwind—kids shrieking as they chased balloons, pop music blaring, tables piled with pizza slices and cupcakes. My wavy hair swayed as I navigated the chaos, my perky A-cup tits barely contained, drawing a few raised eyebrows from chaperones.

Luca, his 5’2”, 110-pound wiry frame buzzing, stuck close, his hazel eyes gleaming with excitement. We joined a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, my shapely thighs flexing as I knelt to cheer the kids, my brown eyes twinkling. Luca handed me a blindfold, his fingers grazing my arm, an infatuated grin on his messy brown-haired face. “Yo, Mira, you’re stealin’ the show,” he laughed, his Italian accent light, voice low so the kids wouldn’t hear. I smirked, my pouty lips curling, high cheekbones catching the light. “Keep up, kid,” I teased, nudging him, feeling his energy shift, his gaze lingering a bit too long.

We moved to a craft table, gluing glitter onto paper masks with a gaggle of giggling kids. Luca’s hand brushed mine as we reached for the same glue stick, his touch deliberate, hazel eyes flickering with that hungry edge I knew too well. “Mira, this is fun, but… let’s take a walk later, yeah?” he murmured, his voice soft but loaded. I nodded, my brown eyes sharp, knowing where his head was at, my heart picking up pace as I sensed the trouble brewing beyond the party’s sugar-fueled chaos.

At 6 p.m., Luca leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “Let’s walk the beach, Mira. Just you and me.” His tone dripped with need, and I nodded, my heart racing. We slipped out, the ocean’s roar drowning the party’s noise, my sandals kicking sand as we wandered. My high cheekbones caught the sunset’s glow, pale skin shimmering. Luca’s hand found mine, his hazel eyes burning. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” he murmured, pulling me under the pier, its shadow cloaking us.

The pier’s damp wood creaked above, salt air thick as Luca pinned me against a pylon, his wiry frame pressing into my hourglass curves. “Mira, you drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he growled, his Italian accent rough with lust, hazel eyes devouring my pouty lips. Before I could sass back, his mouth crashed onto mine, lips hungry, tongue plunging deep. I moaned into the kiss, my full lips parting, tasting beer and his raw need. My long lashes fluttered, brown eyes half-lidded as I kissed back, hard and sloppy, our tongues wrestling like we were fighting for dominance.

His hands roamed, greedy, sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my perky A-cup tits through the red bikini top. “Fuck, these tits,” he muttered, breaking the kiss, his breath ragged. He yanked the fabric aside, exposing my small, firm breasts, nipples hard as pebbles. His calloused fingers pinched them, twisting just enough to make me gasp, my pale skin flushing pink. “Luca, you little shit,” I hissed, but my voice dripped with heat, my tiny 2-inch cock twitching in my lace hipsters, tight balls aching.

I shoved my hands under his shirt, clawing at his lean chest, feeling sparse hair and taut muscle. “You’re so fuckin’ obsessed, kid,” I taunted, my pouty lips curling as I dragged my nails down to his board shorts. His 9-inch cock strained against the fabric, a thick, veiny beast I remembered too well. I gripped it through the shorts, stroking slow, feeling it pulse. “Shit, Mira,” he groaned, head tipping back, messy brown hair falling into his hazel eyes. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Our mouths collided again, teeth clashing, my wavy hair tangling as he grabbed a fistful, pulling just right. I stroked harder, my slender fingers teasing his length, thumb circling the tip through the fabric, smearing precum. His other hand slid to my plump ass, squeezing my cheeks through the denim shorts, fingers digging into the meat. “This fuckin’ ass,” he rasped, spanking me sharp, the crack echoing under the pier. I yelped, my shapely thighs tensing, but I ground against him, loving the sting.

I popped his shorts’ button, yanking them down, his 9-incher springing free, thick and curved, veins bulging, head glistening. My brown eyes widened, not with shock but hunger, as I wrapped my hand around it, skin hot and silky. I pumped slow, twisting my wrist, making him buck. “You’re so fuckin’ hard for me,” I purred, my voice a sultry knife. He groaned, groping my tits harder, rolling my nipples until I whimpered, my tiny cock leaking into my panties.

Luca’s hands slid to my shorts, fumbling with the zipper, his urgency making me laugh. “Slow down, loverboy,” I teased, but I helped, wiggling my hips as he tugged them halfway down my thighs, exposing my red lace hipsters. His fingers traced my tiny cock through the lace, a bold move that made me moan. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, horny as hell, kissing me deeper, his tongue claiming my mouth as he groped my ass and cock, our bodies grinding in the pier’s shadows, sand sticking to my long legs.

Luca’s hazel eyes burned with obsession as he spun me around, shoving me face-first against the pylon, my perky tits scraping the rough wood through my bikini top. “Mira, this ass is fuckin’ unreal,” he growled, his Italian accent thick, hands already yanking my denim shorts and red lace hipsters down to my ankles. My plump, round cheeks jiggled free, pale ivory skin glowing in the dim light, sand dusting my shapely thighs. I braced my hands on the pylon, my wavy hair spilling over my shoulders, brown eyes glancing back with a smirk. “You gonna stare or do somethin’, kid?” I taunted, wiggling my ass.

He dropped to his knees, hands gripping my cheeks, kneading the soft flesh like dough. “Holy shit,” he muttered, spreading them wide, exposing my tight, pink hole. His thumbs dug in, pulling my ass apart, and I moaned, my tiny 2-inch cock twitching, tight balls throbbing. “Fuck, Luca, don’t tease,” I hissed, but he was gone, lost in worship. He spanked me hard, the slap ringing out, my ass quivering, a red handprint blooming on my pale skin. “You like that, huh?” he grinned, spanking the other cheek, making me yelp, my long legs trembling.

His face dove in, nose brushing my crack as his tongue flicked my hole, hot and wet. “Fuck!” I gasped, my pouty lips parting, high cheekbones flushing. He licked slow, circling my rim, then plunged deep, tongue-fucking my ass with greedy slurps. My shapely thighs tensed, sand grating under my sandals as I pushed back, grinding against his face. “Eat that fuckin’ hole, Luca,” I moaned, my voice raw, brown eyes rolling back. He groaned, vibrations buzzing my ass, his hands kneading my cheeks, spanking me again, each crack making my tiny cock leak.

Luca’s tongue worked magic, lapping and probing, loosening my hole as he worshipped every inch. “So fuckin’ tight,” he mumbled, pulling back to spit on my pucker, watching it clench. He dove back in, sucking my rim, his teeth grazing just enough to make me shudder. My perky tits heaved, bikini top askew, nipples scraping the pylon. He spanked me harder, alternating cheeks, my ass glowing red, the pain mixing with pleasure. “You’re such a fuckin’ slut for this,” he growled, his voice muffled as he buried his face deeper, tongue spearing me open.

I clawed the pylon, my wavy hair swinging, pale skin slick with sweat and sand. “Keep goin’, you little fuck,” I panted, my hole quivering under his assault. He spread my cheeks wider, thumbs teasing my rim as he licked, then bit my left cheek, making me curse. “Shit, Luca!” I laughed, the sting fueling my heat. His hands roamed my thighs, squeezing their shapely curves, before returning to my ass, spanking and kneading, his tongue relentless. My tiny cock dripped, tight balls aching, as he worshipped my ass like it was his goddamn religion, the ocean’s roar masking our filthy symphony.

Luca’s tongue left my ass quivering, my plump cheeks red and stinging from his spanks, sand clinging to my shapely thighs. I was pressed against the pylon, my perky A-cup tits scraping through my red bikini top, wavy hair a sweaty mess over my shoulders. My brown eyes burned with heat, pouty lips parted as I panted, my tiny 2-inch cock leaking into the red lace hipsters tangled at my ankles. Luca stood, his 5’2”, 110-pound wiry frame buzzing, hazel eyes wild with lust, messy brown hair falling into his face. His 9-inch cock, thick and veiny from that macrogenitosomia shit, bobbed free, glistening with precum. “Mira, I need to fuck you,” he growled, his Italian accent raw, horny as hell.

I smirked, my high cheekbones catching the pier’s dim light, pale ivory skin flushed. “Then fuckin’ do it, kid,” I taunted, spreading my long legs wider, sandals grinding sand. Luca gripped my hips, his calloused hands digging into my curves, and shoved me harder against the pylon, the rough wood biting my tits. My denim shorts and lace hipsters stayed bunched at my ankles, my plump ass bare and ready. He spat on his 9-incher, stroking it slick, then pressed the thick head against my spit-soaked hole. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, pushing in slow, stretching me wide.

I gasped, my full lips trembling, brown eyes squeezing shut as his cock split me open, inch by fucking inch. “Shit, Luca, that’s big,” I hissed, my hole clenching, the burn mixing with pleasure. He didn’t stop, thrusting deeper, his veiny shaft filling me until his hips slapped my red, spanked cheeks. My shapely thighs quaked, sand dusting my pale skin as I clawed the pylon, wavy hair swinging. “Take it, Mira,” he snarled, infatuated but feral, pulling back and slamming in, setting a brutal pace. Each thrust rocked me forward, my perky tits bouncing, nipples hard against the bikini top.

He fucked me raw, no mercy, his 9-incher pounding my ass, balls slapping my tight sack. I moaned, loud and filthy, the ocean’s roar swallowing my cries. “Harder, you little fuck!” I demanded, pushing back, my juicy ass meeting his thrusts. He spanked me sharp, the crack echoing, my cheeks jiggling, red handprints layering over his earlier marks. “You love this cock, don’t you?” he growled, grabbing my wavy hair, yanking my head back. My brown eyes rolled, pouty lips gasping as he railed me, the pylon scraping my tits raw.

Luca shifted, hooking my left leg over his arm, spreading me wider, my sandal dangling. He thrust deeper, hitting spots that made my tiny cock spurt precum, tight balls aching. “Fuck, you’re wreckin’ me,” I panted, my hourglass figure trembling, pale skin slick with sweat and sand. He leaned in, kissing my neck, teeth grazing my high cheekbones, his free hand squeezing my ass. “You’re mine, Mira,” he whispered, his cock relentless, stretching my hole loose. I came hard, my tiny cock spurting ropes onto the sand, my ass clenching around him. He groaned, still fucking me through it, his pace savage, the pylon creaking as he owned my ass, the sunset fading behind us.

My legs buckled, but Luca held me up, his 9-incher still buried in my wrecked ass. “On your knees, Mira,” he ordered, pulling out with a wet pop, my hole gaping, sand gritty on my pale thighs. I dropped to the sand, my red bikini top askew, perky tits half-exposed, wavy hair a tangled mess. My brown eyes locked on his cock, thick and slick with my ass juices, veins pulsing, head swollen. “Fuck, that’s a pretty dick,” I purred, my pouty lips curling, high cheekbones flushed as I knelt, sandals digging into my soles.

I gripped his shaft with both hands, slender fingers barely circling its girth, stroking slow, feeling it pulse. “You love this, don’t you, kid?” I teased, my voice sultry, brown eyes glinting up at his hazel stare. He groaned, messy brown hair falling into his face, wiry frame tense. I licked the tip, tasting salt and musk, my full lips wrapping around the head, sucking hard. “Shit, Mira,” he gasped, hands fisting my wavy hair, guiding me deeper. I took him inch by inch, my throat stretching, gagging as his 9-incher hit the back, spit drooling down my chin.

I bobbed, lips tight, tongue swirling his veins, hands pumping the base. My perky tits jiggled, bikini top slipping, nipples hard in the salty air. I pulled off, gasping, stroking his slick cock, smearing spit across my pouty lips. “Fuck my throat, Luca,” I demanded, diving back, taking him deep, my nose brushing his pubes. He thrust, hard and fast, skull-fucking me, his balls slapping my chin. I gagged, eyes watering, but I loved it, my tiny cock twitching, tight balls aching. “You’re so fuckin’ good,” he moaned, his Italian accent thick as he used my mouth.

I cupped his balls, heavy and tight, rolling them as I sucked, my fingers teasing his taint. He shuddered, thrusts erratic, and I felt his cock swell. “Mira, I’m gonna cum,” he warned, but I didn’t pull off, my lips locked around him, throat working. He roared, unloading thick, hot ropes down my throat, the taste salty and bitter. I swallowed every drop, my brown eyes never leaving his, pouty lips milking him dry. I pulled off, licking my lips, sand sticking to my long legs, my pale skin gleaming with sweat. “Fuckin’ delicious,” I grinned, wiping my chin, his gaze making my heart skip.

Voices cut through the haze—Eastern European accents, sharp and pissed, from above the pier. “The bitch and the kid left the house, but I lost ‘em!” a thug barked. My brown eyes snapped wide, adrenaline spiking. I signaled Luca to shut the fuck up, yanking my shorts and hipsters up, sand grating my plump ass. I grabbed my purse, fishing out the Smith & Wesson 642 Kemar gave me, its weight cold in my hand. “Stay low,” I whispered, my pouty lips set, high cheekbones tense. I texted Frankie: Trouble. ZB. Pier. Bring guys. His reply buzzed: 30 mins. “Fuck!” I hissed, heart pounding. Salerno’d skin me if Luca got hurt, his wiry ass trembling beside me, hazel eyes scared but trusting.

We crept under the pier, my long legs crouching, sandals slipping in sand, wavy hair catching on pylons. My E21 was probably watched, those Blade fuckers circling like vultures. We needed another way out. Emerging near the road, we froze—a Blade goon, stocky, mid-30s, white, buzzcut, cold blue eyes, loomed, a Glock at his hip. “There!” he yelled, alerting his crew, hand reaching for his gun. I didn’t think—my 642 barked, a chest shot dropping him dead, blood pooling in the sand. Luca gasped, but I grabbed his wrist, dragging him, my shapely thighs pumping, perky tits bouncing under the bikini top.

We sprinted through the gritty streets of Dockside, my brown eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of Zion’s Blade goons, their Eastern European accents still echoing in my ears from the pier. My heart pounded, adrenaline surging as I dragged Luca behind me, his wiry frame stumbling to keep up, his hazel eyes wide with fear. My long legs burned, sandals slipping on the sandy pavement, my red bikini top barely holding my perky A-cup tits, denim shorts riding up my plump ass with every desperate step. We needed a hiding spot—fast—or those Blade bastards would gut us both.

A grizzled homeless man, 50s, white, with matted gray hair, a scruffy beard, and bloodshot brown eyes, waved us over from the mouth of a shuttered shop just off Salt Beach’s main drag. His ragged coat reeked of piss, the stench hitting me hard as his 5’8”, 160-pound frame hunched in the doorway, his gaze raking over my hourglass curves with a sick hunger. “I know them Blade bastards want you,” he rasped, his voice like gravel, a crooked smirk splitting his bearded face. “I seen ‘em circling, lookin’ for a hot piece like you and that scrawny kid. You wanna hide? This shop’s your only shot—but it ain’t free, girl.”

I froze, my full pouty lips curling into a snarl, my pale ivory skin prickling with dread as I clutched my Smith & Wesson 642, the cold metal heavy in my hand. “Back the fuck off, creep,” I spat, raising the revolver, my brown eyes burning with defiance, long lashes narrowing as I aimed at his chest. Luca pressed closer behind me, his 5’2” frame trembling, his messy brown hair damp with sweat, hazel eyes darting between me and the man.

The homeless fucker just laughed, a low, guttural sound that made my stomach churn, his bloodshot eyes glinting with amusement as he called my bluff. “Go ahead, shoot me, sweetheart. But them Blade boys’ll hear the shot from blocks away—they’ll swarm ya like flies on shit. You and the kid’ll be dead ‘fore you can blink.” He leaned closer, his stench overwhelming, his crooked teeth flashing in a leer. “You want a safe spot ‘til this shit blows over? I’ll keep you hidden, but I want that juicy ass of yours. A fair trade, yeah? Otherwise, I’ll holler for them Blade fuckers myself—tell ‘em exactly where you’re at.”

My heart sank, my shapely thighs tensing as his words hit like a punch. He was right—a gunshot would blow our cover, and we were out of options. Frankie was still 30 minutes out, and the Blade goons were closing in. I couldn’t risk Luca’s life, not with Salerno’s threat hanging over me—his Italian-American wrath would end me if I let his boy get hurt. My brown eyes flickered to Luca, his face pale, his grip on my arm tight, trusting me to get us out of this. I had no choice. My pale skin flushed with a mix of fury and shame as I lowered the revolver, my voice low and venomous. “Fine, you disgusting fuck. But you make it quick, and you keep your mouth shut. One wrong move, and I’ll blow your fucking head off, consequences be damned.”

The man’s smirk widened, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with triumph as he stepped aside, gesturing us into the shuttered shop with a mock bow. “Smart girl,” he rasped, his voice dripping with sick satisfaction. “Get in, both of ya. I’ll lock the door—keep them Blade boys out. But you’re mine ‘til I’m done.” I shoved Luca inside first, my high cheekbones set in a grimace, my wavy hair catching on the doorframe as I followed, the shop’s stench of rot and piss wrapping around us like a chokehold. My perky tits heaved under the bikini top, my plump ass clenching in dread as I braced myself for what I had to do to keep us alive, my brown eyes burning with a silent promise—I’d make this fucker pay, one way or another, once we were safe.

The shop was a shithole—rotting wood, broken glass, crates stacked like a junkie’s fortress. Luca’s hazel eyes widened, his wiry frame tense as the homeless fucker leered, his brown eyes raking my hourglass curves. “On your knees, slut,” he growled, unzipping his filthy jeans, pulling out a 6-inch cock, half-hard, unwashed, and thick with a blunt head. I grimaced, my full lips twisting, but I dropped to the floor, sand and grime biting my knees, red bikini top straining my perky tits. “You’re a sick fuck,” I snarled, my wavy hair falling over my high cheekbones, brown eyes glaring up.

“Shut up and suck,” he snapped, grabbing my hair, yanking me forward. I opened my pouty lips, taking his cock, the taste sour and rank, making me gag. My slender hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into his grimy skin as I sucked, lips tight, trying to block the stench. He groaned, hips bucking, forcing his 6-incher deeper, the head hitting my throat. “Fuck, that’s good,” he rasped, his beard twitching, brown eyes gleaming with sick glee. Luca watched, his gaze conflicted, but I didn’t look, my focus on surviving this shit.

I bobbed, my tongue working his shaft, spit slicking the way, my full lips stretched around him. He thrust harder, skull-fucking me, his balls smacking my chin, reeking of sweat. “Take it, whore,” he grunted, his hand fisting my wavy hair, pulling until my scalp burned. My brown eyes watered, long lashes wet, but I sucked harder, hollowing my cheeks, making him moan. My tiny cock twitched in my hipsters, tight balls aching despite the disgust, my body betraying me. I jerked his base, fingers slick, trying to speed this up, my perky tits heaving, bikini top slipping to bare a nipple.

He groaned louder, fucking my throat raw, spit drooling down my pale chin, pooling on the filthy floor. “Look at your boy watchin’,” he taunted, glancing at Luca, who stood frozen, hazel eyes dark. I growled around his cock, sucking fiercer, my lips a vice, tongue teasing his slit. My shapely thighs tensed, knees grinding into the grime, long legs folded under me. “Hurry the fuck up,” I mumbled, voice muffled, my brown eyes flashing defiance. He laughed, thrusting deeper, gagging me, but I took it, my throat working, determined to end this before those Blade fuckers found us, my heart pounding in my chest.

The homeless fucker pulled his cock from my mouth, a string of spit snapping, my pouty lips glossy, brown eyes blazing with fury. “Get up, slut,” he ordered, yanking me to my feet, my long legs unsteady, sandals slipping on the grimy floor. He shoved me toward a splintered crate, my wavy hair swinging, high cheekbones flushed. “Strip those shorts,” he growled, his bloodshot brown eyes locked on my plump ass. I unzipped my denim shorts, letting them fall, revealing my red lace hipsters, my tiny 2-inch cock and tight balls outlined. He froze, jaw dropping, his grizzled face twisting. “What the fuck? You’re a goddamn tranny?”

“Yeah, and?” I snapped, my voice sharp, pale ivory skin prickling as I peeled off the hipsters, my tiny cock springing free, balls tight. Luca’s hazel eyes flickered, but he remained silent, as the man’s shock turned to a sick grin. “Fuckin’ loose tranny hole, huh?” he rasped, pushing me onto the crate, my back hitting the wood, perky tits bouncing under the bikini top. He knelt between my shapely thighs, spreading them wide, sand dusting my pale skin. “Let’s see this freak show,” he muttered, his beard scratching my inner thighs as he dove in, lips closing around my tiny cock.

I gasped, my full lips parting, brown eyes widening as he sucked, his tongue rough but eager, swirling my head. “Fuck, you nasty bastard,” I moaned, my hourglass figure tensing, long legs splayed. He wasn’t gentle, teeth grazing my shaft, but the heat built, my tight balls throbbing. He pulled off, spitting on my cock, then moved lower, his tongue lapping my loose hole, still slick from Luca’s cock. “This hole’s been fucked good,” he grunted, his voice muffled, licking deep, tasting Luca’s spit and my ass juices. My wavy hair spilled over the crate, high cheekbones burning as I gripped the Edges, trying not to scream.

His hands kneaded my plump ass, spreading my cheeks, fingers digging into the red, spanked flesh. “So fuckin’ loose,” he taunted, sucking my rim, tongue plunging in, making my tiny cock leak. I cursed, my perky tits heaving, bikini top riding up, nipples peeking out. Luca’s gaze burned into me, his wiry frame rigid, but I couldn’t focus, the man’s mouth relentless, eating my ass like a starved dog. He slurped, spit dripping, his beard scraping my pale thighs, leaving red marks. “You like this, tranny slut?” he growled, pulling back to spit on my hole, watching it clench.

I moaned, my brown eyes rolling, long lashes fluttering as he dove back, tongue-fucking my ass, his hands squeezing my shapely thighs. My tiny cock spurted precum, pooling on my flat stomach, tight balls aching. “Just fuckin’ finish,” I hissed, my voice raw, pale skin slick with sweat and grime. He laughed, sucking harder, his fingers teasing my rim, stretching me wider. The shop’s stench—piss and rot—mixed with my moans, Luca’s silent stare, and the distant ocean, my heart racing as I braced for what came next, knowing Frankie was still too far to save us.

The homeless fucker’s tongue left my ass slick and loose, his sour breath hot on my pale thighs, my tiny 2-inch cock leaking precum across my flat stomach. I lay sprawled on the splintered crate, red bikini top shoved up, perky A-cup tits bared, nipples hard in the shop’s stale air. My wavy hair fanned out, high cheekbones flushed, brown eyes blazing with defiance despite the grime coating my hourglass figure. Luca stood frozen, his 5’2”, 110-pound wiry frame tense, hazel eyes dark with a mix of awe and horror, messy brown hair falling into his face. The homeless man, a grizzled, 50s white bastard, 5’8”, 160 pounds, with matted gray hair and bloodshot brown eyes, grinned, his 6-inch cock hard and blunt, reeking of unwashed filth. “Time to fuck that tranny hole,” he rasped, straightening up, his ragged coat flapping.

I glared, my pouty lips curling, pale ivory skin prickling as he grabbed my shapely thighs, yanking me to the crate’s edge. “You’re a sick fuck,” I spat, my voice sharp, brown eyes locked on his leering face. He laughed, spitting on his 6-incher, stroking it slick, and pressed the blunt head against my loose hole. “Gonna wreck this slut ass,” he growled, thrusting in hard, no warning, filling me with a rough jolt. I gasped, my full lips trembling, long lashes fluttering as his cock stretched me, the burn sharp but familiar, my hole still slick from Luca’s spit.

He pounded me raw, hips slamming, his 6-inch dick hitting deep, balls slapping my plump ass. My perky tits bounced, bikini top bunched above them, and he reached up, grabbing my small breasts, squeezing hard. “Fuckin’ tiny tits,” he grunted, pinching my nipples, twisting until I yelped, my pale skin flushing red. I clawed the crate, splinters biting my fingers, wavy hair swinging as I took his thrusts, my long legs draped over his shoulders, sandals dangling. “Harder, you piece of shit!” I hissed, defiance fueling me, my tiny cock twitching, tight balls aching.

He shifted, hooking my legs higher, spreading me wide, my shapely thighs quaking, sand and grime dusting my pale skin. His cock drove deeper, relentless, each thrust rocking the crate, wood creaking. “This hole’s been fucked good,” he taunted, his beard twitching, brown eyes gleaming with sick lust. He groped my tits again, rolling my nipples, making me moan, the pain mixing with heat. My brown eyes rolled, pouty lips gasping as he railed me, his fingers bruising my breasts, my hourglass figure trembling under his assault.

I pushed back, meeting his thrusts, my plump ass jiggling, red from Luca’s spanks and now his rough grip. “You like that, tranny slut?” he snarled, spanking my thigh, the crack echoing in the shop’s rot. I cursed, my tiny cock leaking, precum pooling on my stomach. He leaned in, his stench—piss and sweat—choking me, but I took it, my hole clenching his cock, milking him. “Fuck you,” I panted, my voice raw, high cheekbones burning as he pounded me, the crate scraping my back, my perky tits heaving, nipples raw from his pinching. Luca’s gaze burned into me, his heart breaking, but I focused on surviving, my brown eyes fierce, ready for this fucker to finish.

The bastard pulled out, my hole gaping, slick with spit and sweat, my pale skin slick on the crate. “Flip over, slut,” he ordered, grabbing my hips, yanking me off the wood. I stumbled, my long legs shaky, sandals slipping, but he shoved me down, bending me over the crate, my perky tits pressed into the splintered surface, bikini top still bunched above them. My wavy hair spilled forward, high cheekbones pressed to the wood, brown eyes glaring back as he kicked my shapely thighs apart, my plump ass high, sand gritty on my pale skin. “Gonna fuck this ass proper,” he growled, his 6-incher hard, blunt head nudging my hole.

He thrust in, rough and deep, filling me with a single stroke, making me moan, my pouty lips parting. “Fuck, you’re tight for a loose tranny,” he grunted, his hands gripping my cheeks, kneading the soft flesh, spreading them wide. He spanked me hard, the crack ringing, my ass quivering, red handprints blooming. “Take it, bitch!” he snarled, pounding me raw, his cock slamming my hole, balls slapping my tight sack. I gripped the crate, nails digging in, my tiny cock rubbing the wood, leaking precum, tight balls throbbing.

His hands roamed, spanking my cheeks again, each slap making me yelp, my plump ass glowing red, stinging like hell. “This fuckin’ ass,” he rasped, kneading my cheeks, fingers digging into the meat, spreading me wider as he fucked me. My shapely thighs tensed, long legs braced, sandals grinding grime. My wavy hair swung, high cheekbones scraping the crate, brown eyes watering from the rough pace. “Hurry the fuck up,” I hissed, my voice raw, pale skin slick with sweat and filth, perky tits scraping the wood, nipples raw.

He spanked me harder, alternating cheeks, my ass bouncing with each thrust, his cock relentless, stretching me loose. “Gonna cum on this fat ass,” he groaned, his pace erratic, hands gripping my hips, bruising my pale skin. I moaned, my tiny cock spurting against the crate, the friction pushing me over, my hole clenching his dick. He pulled out, stroking his 6-incher fast, and sprayed hot, thick ropes across my cheeks, the cum dripping down my red, spanked ass, pooling on my shapely thighs. “Fuckin’ whore,” he panted, stepping back, his brown eyes smug, beard twitching.

I collapsed against the crate, cum-slicked and bruised, my brown eyes burning, pouty lips set. My phone buzzed—Frankie. “We’re here. Where you at?” I gave him the shop’s location, yanking my red lace hipsters and denim shorts up, the fabric sticking to my cum-soaked ass. My red bikini top hung loose, perky tits barely covered, wavy hair a mess. “Luca, move!” I snapped, grabbing his wrist, his hazel eyes wide, utterly shaken. The homeless fucker smirked, zipping up, but I didn’t look back, my long legs ready to bolt, sandals slipping on the grimy floor.

Frankie’s black sedan screeched up, its door flung open. I sprinted, dragging Luca, my shapely thighs pumping, pale skin gleaming with sweat, sand, and cum. We dove into the backseat, landing hard beside Vinny, a stocky, late-20s Italian, 5’8”, 200 pounds, with a buzzcut and dark eyes, and Sal, a wiry, early-30s Italian, 5’10”, 170 pounds, with a scarred cheek and hazel eyes. “Go, Frankie!” I yelled, my voice hoarse, brown eyes scanning for Blades. Frankie, lean, late-20s, with slick black hair and green eyes, floored it, tires squealing.

Gunshots cracked—Zion’s Blade fuckers, three of them, lean and pale with buzzcuts, firing Glocks from the shadows. I grabbed my Smith & Wesson 642, leaning out the window, my wavy hair whipping, perky tits bouncing as I fired back, the recoil jarring my slender arms. Vinny and Sal unloaded, their Berettas barking, dropping two goons, blood spraying the pavement. “Fuck yeah!” Vinny roared, his buzzcut gleaming with sweat. Sal’s scarred cheek twitched, his hazel eyes cold as he nailed the third, the bastard crumpling. Frankie swerved, the sedan roaring through Salt Beach’s streets, leaving the beach house chaos behind.

I slumped back, Luca’s wiry frame pressed against me, his hazel eyes wide. “You okay, kid?” I asked, my pouty lips soft, high cheekbones flushed. He nodded, his hand squeezing mine, messy brown hair damp. My pale skin was a mess—cum, sand, sweat, and grime coating my plump ass, shapely thighs, and long legs. My red bikini top hung crooked, perky tits half-out, denim shorts barely zipped, red lace hipsters sticky. My brown eyes scanned the crew—Frankie’s green eyes focused on the road, Vinny and Sal reloading, their Italian banter sharp.

We hit Liberty Heights, Empire City’s neon pulse swallowing us. Frankie pulled into an alley near the Salerno compound, a fortress of steel and shadow in Midcity. “You did good, Mira,” he said, his Italian accent clipped, green eyes flicking to me in the rearview. “Boss’ll hear about this.” I smirked, my full lips curling, knowing Salerno’s debt tightened, his trust in me ironclad but his leash shorter. Luca’s hand lingered on my thigh, his puppy gaze heavy, but I nudged him out, my long legs swinging, sandals hitting pavement.

I took a taxi home, the engine humming, my hourglass figure sore and wrecked. My fifth-floor walk-up in Midcity, Liberty Heights welcomed me, Empire City’s noise a distant hum. I stripped, cum and sand flaking off my pale skin, wavy hair tangling as I collapsed on my bed, perky tits heaving, plump ass bruised, tiny cock and tight balls spent. My brown eyes stared at the ceiling, high cheekbones still flushed, pouty lips parted in a defiant grin. Zion’s Blade was still out there, their vendetta hotter after tonight’s blood. But I’d saved Luca, kept my hustle alive, and fucked my way through hell. This city was mine, and no Blade fucker, homeless creep, or mafia debt would break me. I was Mira, and I was fucking unstoppable.