Steam curls off my freshly shaved body as I step out of the shower, the warm water leaving my fair skin flushed and glistening. I grab a towel, brushing my small, perky tits—still tender from the hormones—and fuck, they feel real now, mine in a way that makes my heart skip. At 5’6” and 56 kg, I’m all curves and edges—long, toned legs, a plump, rounded ass that jiggles when I move, and a tiny cock and balls tucked tight in my skin. My dark, wavy hair’s damp, spilling just past my shoulders, and I pull it into a loose ponytail, letting the curls frame my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips begging for gloss, and brown eyes with lashes so long they catch the light.
I swipe on some makeup—mascara to pop those eyes, blush to glow up my cheeks—and slip into my armor: a tight, sleeveless white blouse hugging my tits, nipples poking through if you stare hard enough, and a black miniskirt so short it’s a fucking tease, barely covering my plump ass. My new lace panties peek out when I bend, and I finish with black high heels that make my legs look endless. I’ve been living as a girl for two years now—born a boy, sure, but every inch of me screams woman, and I love it. One last look in the mirror, a deep breath—“You’ve got this, Mira”—and I look for my phone.
My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, and I snatch it up, still damp from the shower. It’s Mr. Castellanos, the landlord: “Apartment 503, 2 PM sharp.” The clock reads 1:45. “Shit,” I mutter, heart kicking into overdrive. I’ve got to move fast—this is my shot to finally get out from under my parents’ roof. They’ve been on my ass since I turned 18 two months ago, their disapproval a constant fucking weight. Mom’s voice still echoes in my head: “You’re not our son anymore, living like this—move out if you want to play dress-up.” Dad’s worse, sneering at my tight skirts and heels, calling me a freak every chance he gets. They’ve been shoving me toward the door, and I’m done—done with their bullshit, done with pretending I’m someone I’m not.
I hustle out of the bathroom, my black high heels clicking loud on the hardwood, making my long, toned legs look endless. My tiny cock twitches in my lace panties, nerves and adrenaline mixing, pressing against the thin fabric under my black miniskirt.
The taxi ride's a goddamn blur, my head spinning with every mile. Will this Castellanos guy see me as me—Mira, the woman I’ve been building for two years since I started living my truth—or just some fucked-up experiment like my dad does? My legs burn as I hit the apartment building and skip the elevator—fuck that trap—taking the stairs instead. Five floors up, my heels echo in the stairwell, my plump ass jiggling with each step, my tiny cock and balls shifting in my panties from the rush. I’m too jittery to feel the strain, too wired to care, my fair skin prickling with sweat as I climb.
Apartment 503’s door is cracked open, jazz drifting out soft and low. I knock, heart slamming. “It’s open, come in,” a deep voice calls. I step inside, and the place glows with afternoon light—old hardwood, fresh paint, a vibe that screams home. Mr. Castellanos strides out of the kitchen, and fuck, he’s a specimen—early 40s, tall, maybe 6’1”, broad-shouldered with a solid frame, tanned skin like he lives outside, short dark hair, and a trimmed beard framing a strong jaw. He’s in a crisp button-down and tailored pants hugging thick thighs, and his dark eyes rake over me—my tits, my ass, my legs—like I’m meat on display.
“You’re Mira, right?” he says, flashing perfect teeth in a smile that’s half charm, half predator. “Welcome.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say, voice shaky, extending a hand. He takes it, grip firm, thumb stroking my palm too long, sending a jolt up my spine. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” he replies, eyes dipping to my cleavage, then back up. “Let’s check out the place.”
He guides me through, hand resting on my lower back—gentle but possessive—showing off the modern kitchen, the big bedroom with light pouring in, a bathroom with a beat-up claw-foot tub. My heels click on the floor, my skirt swaying, flashing my lace panties if he’s looking—and I know he fucking is. My small tits bounce lightly under my blouse, and my plump ass sways with every step.
Tour’s done, and he leans against the living room counter, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyeing me like I’m the main course. “So, Mira,” he drawls, voice smooth as sin, “what do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” I say, my full lips trembling a bit. “Exactly what I need.”
“Glad you like it,” he says, stepping closer, his cologne—woodsy, sharp—hitting me hard. “About that security deposit, though… it’s steep, huh?”
I nod fast, cheeks flushing. “Yeah, I know it’s a lot. I’ll scrape it together, I swear.”
He tilts his head, eyes on my mouth, then my tits. “No rush. We could… work something out, you know?” His hand brushes my hip, lingering, and my tiny cock twitches under my skirt.
I bite my lip, playing it coy. “Like what?”
He closes the gap, bodies almost touching, breath hot on my neck. “How about you show me how bad you want this place?” His hand slides down my side, firm on my hip, and fuck, I’m scared but hot for it too.
I look up, brown eyes meeting his dark ones, and nod slow. “Okay. Show me what you mean.”
He smirks, all dark eyes and quiet control, leading me to the couch with a steady grip on my arm. I sit, legs crossed tight, my black miniskirt riding up to flash my lace panties, heart slamming against my ribs. He kneels in front of me, strong hands prying my knees apart, and I shiver—fear and a sick thrill twisting in my gut. “Let’s see what you’re hiding under here,” he mutters, voice low and rough, unbuttoning my tight white blouse slow as fuck. The fabric parts, baring my small, perky tits, nipples stiffening under the cool air. His thumbs brush them, then press hard, and he groans, “Fuck, look at these perky little bitches—perfect handfuls.” He dives in, sucking one into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak until I gasp, my long lashes fluttering, fair skin prickling with heat.
His hand snakes under my skirt, fingers brushing the damp lace of my panties, and he chuckles, dark and mean. “Already soaking, huh, you little slut?” He yanks the crotch aside, rough, and my tiny cock and balls spill out, exposed and twitching. He grabs my shaft, stroking slow, deliberate, his grip firm. “Cute little fucking dick,” he says, smirking, then leans down, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on the tip. A shock rips through me, and I moan—loud, needy—my plump ass shifting on the couch, my long legs trembling in my black heels.
He looks up, eyes black with lust, beard scratching my thigh. “You’re eating this shit up, aren’t you?”
“Fuck yes,” I breathe, voice cracking, my full lips trembling.
“Good,” he growls, “’cause I’ve been dying to taste this pretty ass since you strutted in here with those long fucking legs.” He dives back in, mouth closing around my tiny cock, tongue swirling the head slow and filthy, lapping up the pre-cum leaking out. Then he slides down, sucking my balls into his hot, wet mouth—first one, then both—rolling them with his tongue, spit dripping everywhere. My hips buck, my long, toned legs shaking HARD, and he pins me down with one hand, sucking deeper, cheeks hollowing out. “Goddamn, you’re sweet as fuck,” he mutters, spit trailing down my crotch, and I’m panting like a bitch in heat, my dark, wavy hair sticking to my sweaty face, framing my high cheekbones and straight nose.
His fingers creep under my skirt, teasing my tight hole, circling slow with a slick digit. “Gonna fuck you so good, you’ll be begging for it every damn day,” he promises, and I whimper, desperate, my tiny cock throbbing in his grip. He pulls off, leaving me hard and glistening, spit-soaked, and stands up, towering over me like a goddamn giant. His belt clanks loud as he rips it open, pants dropping to his ankles, and out springs his cock—8 inches of thick, veiny meat, a fat, leaking head pulsing with need. My brown eyes widen, full lips parting in a shaky gasp, my fair skin flushing hotter.
“Want this fat cock splitting you open, Mira?” he whispers, breath minty and hot against my ear, his beard brushing my neck.
“Yes, fuck, please,” I beg, voice a raw, needy rasp, my heart-shaped face tilting up to him.
He smirks, pulling a lube bottle from his pocket, popping it open with a flick of his thumb. He slicks his cock up slow—glistening, obscene, the wet sound filling the room—and orders, “Spread those fucking legs wide, slut.” I obey fast, skirt hiking to my waist, panties yanked aside, heels still on, my long legs splayed open on the couch. He kneels again, lubing a finger and probing my hole—cold, wet, stretching me slow as I clench, then relax, moaning loud as he pushes in deep. “Tight little ass,” he grunts, adding a second finger, then a third, scissoring me open until I’m dripping, my plump ass quivering. My blouse hangs loose, tits fully out, nipples red from his mouth.
“Ready to take this cock, you filthy bitch?” he asks, lining up that monster at my hole. I nod, breathless, and he pushes in—slow at first, the stretch burning like a motherfucker, then HARD, slamming balls-deep in one brutal thrust. “Fuck!” I scream, pain spiking through me, but he doesn’t stop, hips grinding flush against my plump ass. My blouse is open wide, small tits bouncing free, skirt bunched at my waist, panties stretched to one side, heels dangling as my legs shake.
“So fucking tight, shit,” he groans, starting to thrust—deep, relentless, nailing my prostate with every goddamn hit. My tiny cock bounces uselessly, leaking pre-cum onto my flat stomach, and my long legs tremble in my heels, barely holding me up. I claw the couch cushions, moaning like a whore, the room echoing with wet slaps—his thick thighs against my fair skin—and his guttural grunts. “Take it, you dirty little cunt,” he snarls, hands gripping my hips so hard I’ll bruise, fingers sinking into my flesh.
He speeds up, pounding me raw, my small tits jiggling wildly with every brutal thrust. “Gonna cum already, huh?” I gasp, voice wrecked, and he grabs my tiny cock, jerking it fast and rough. “Fucking do it, cum for me, you slut,” he growls, and I scream, my tiny dick spurting watery ropes across my blouse, staining the white fabric with sticky streaks. My ass clenches tight around him, milking his cock, and he roars, pulling out mid-thrust to flip me over like a ragdoll.
“Face down, ass up, now,” he barks, shoving me onto my stomach, my skirt still hiked, panties half-off one leg, dangling around my ankle. He spanks my plump ass HARD—crack!—red welts blooming fast on my fair skin, the sting making my tiny cock twitch again. “Fucking love this fat, juicy ass,” he mutters, spreading my cheeks wide and slamming back in, deeper now, stretching me to my fucking limit. My thighs dangle off the couch edge, legs spread wide, and he fucks me brutal—hips slapping my ass loud and wet, his heavy balls smacking mine with every thrust, the couch creaking under us.
“You like this shit, don’t you, you little whore?” he growls, spanking me again—left cheek, then right—the pain blending into a sick, hot pleasure that makes me moan louder, muffled into the cushion. “Yes, fuck yes,” I sob, pushing my plump ass back to meet him, desperate for more.
He leans over, sweaty chest pressing into my back, his beard scratching my neck as he whispers, “Gonna wreck this slutty hole ‘til you can’t fucking walk.” One hand snakes around, squeezing my small tits, twisting my nipples until I yelp, sharp sparks shooting through me. The other grabs my tiny cock again, jerking it slow and cruel, keeping me hard even after cumming. “Cum again, bitch, I know you’ve got more,” he snarls, and I’m shaking, pressure building fast as he pounds my prostate raw. My ass grips him tight, and I explode—weak jets splattering the couch, my body trembling, my long hair a sweaty mess over my face.
He’s not done. He pulls out fast, flipping me onto my back, my legs dangling limp over the couch edge. “Table, fucking now,” he orders, voice rough and commanding. I stumble up, heels clicking loud, blouse hanging open, skirt a crumpled mess around my waist, panties tangled around one ankle. I crawl onto the coffee table, getting on all fours, ass high and swaying, fair skin slick with sweat, my small tits dangling under me. He steps behind, spitting a fat glob onto my gaping hole, then rams back in—full force, sudden, making me scream so loud my throat burns. “Fuck, you’re loose as shit now,” he groans, gripping my hips, fingers digging into my flesh as he fucks me hard—the table rocking, wet slaps and creaks filling the room.
“Beg for more, you greedy little cunt,” he growls, smacking my ass again, the crack echoing, my plump cheeks bouncing with the hit.
“Please, fuck me harder, ruin me,” I sob, voice raw and broken, my long hair sticking to my flushed cheeks, my brown eyes watering.
He laughs, dark and filthy, slamming in deeper, his cock throbbing hot inside me. “Such a good fucking slut,” he mutters, one hand tweaking my nipples—pinching, pulling—sending jolts straight to my tiny cock, the other jerking me off fast and sloppy. I’m a moaning, shaking wreck, my third orgasm clawing its way up, my whole body on fire. He thrusts once, twice, deep as fuck, then roars—hot cum flooding my ass, thick spurts spilling out around his cock as he keeps pumping, dragging it out. It tips me over, my tiny dick spurting one last pathetic load onto the table, splattering the wood as I collapse, trembling.
But he’s still going. “Not done with you yet, bitch,” he snarls, pulling out slow, cum dripping from my wrecked hole, streaking down my long legs. He grabs my hair, yanking me off the table and onto my knees on the floor—my blouse open, tits out, skirt up, panties gone, heels still on. “Suck this messy cock clean,” he orders, shoving it in my face. His dick’s slick with lube, cum, and my ass, and I open my full lips, taking him in—salty, bitter, fucking nasty. My tongue swirls the head, sucking hard, spit dripping down my chin as he groans, “That’s it, you dirty little cocksucker.”
He fucks my mouth slow at first, hands tangled in my dark waves, then harder, hitting my throat until I gag, tears streaming down my high cheekbones. “Swallow every fucking drop,” he grunts, and I do, choking as he unloads again—hot ropes blasting my throat, spilling out the corners of my mouth, dripping onto my small tits. I gulp it down, gasping, my fair skin a mess of sweat, cum, and spit.
He pulls out, smirking, wiping his cock with a tissue. “Fuck, you’re a goddamn mess,” he says, voice thick with satisfaction. I’m sprawled on the floor now, blouse open and stained, skirt hiked, panties lost somewhere, heels still on—cum leaking from my ass, down my legs, my tiny cock limp and dripping. “About that deposit,” he adds, “we’ve got a deal now. You’re a fucking perfect tenant, Mira.”
I nod, panting hard, too wrecked to speak, my long lashes heavy with tears. He grabs the lease, scribbles something, and tosses it at me with a pen. “Sign it. No deposit needed.” I scrawl my name, hands shaking like hell, and he steadies me, thumb brushing my skin, all casual charm again. “We’ll get along just fine,” he says, smirking like he owns me.
He leaves after showing me the basics—grocery store, Wi-Fi code—and the apartment’s quiet, still buzzing with the filth we made. I call Aiden later, spilling every dirty detail. He’s floored but supportive, promising to help me move in. Saturday, he’s there with his truck, and we haul boxes, laughing, my ass still throbbing under my jeans from Castellanos’ cock.
When it’s done, Aiden grins, wiping sweat off his brow. “Worth it?”
I blush, the memory of that thick dick wrecking me flashing hard. “Fuck yeah,” I say, voice steady now. He claps my back and splits, leaving me in my new place—golden light on the floorboards, pride swelling in my chest. Mine, earned the nastiest, hottest way possible.
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