M๐ขr๐š’๐ฌ ๐€l๐ฅe๐ฒ ๐…u๐œk: ๐€ ๐i๐คe๐ซ’๐ฌ ๐„s๐œa๐ฉe a๐งd M๐ขr๐š’๐ฌ ๐…i๐ฅt๐กy R๐ฎs๐ก


The neon sign above the dive bar flickers like a dying star, casting a sickly green glow over the cracked pavement, the words “Rusty Nail” buzzing loud enough to make my teeth ache. It’s Friday night, and the place is a fuckin’ zoo—drunk bastards shouting over the jukebox blasting some old Metallica track, the air thick with cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and the faint whiff of vomit from the alley out back. I’m Mira, 18, 5’6”, 125 pounds of pure, slutty chaos—a trans girl who’s been owning this body for two years, with pale ivory skin, brown eyes that glint under long lashes, a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full, pouty lips that could suck a golf ball through a straw. My dark, wavy hair spills past my shoulders, brushing my collarbone, and I’m dressed to kill: a cropped black tee that hugs my small, perky tits, no bra so my nipples tease the fabric, and tight leggings that cling to my plump ass and long, toned legs, outlining every curve of my shapely thighs. My scuffed black ankle boots tap the sticky floor as I lean against the bar, sipping a warm beer, my pale fingers wrapped around the bottle, my brown eyes scanning the crowd for some fun.

The bar’s a shithole, but I love it—dim lights flickering, graffiti scrawled on the walls (dicks, hearts, some gang tags), a bartender with a missing tooth who doesn’t give a fuck as long as you pay up. The crowd’s a mix of rough types—bikers, hustlers, a few working girls laughing too loud at the pool table. I’m here to blow off steam after a shitty week at Jack’s Used Cars, dealing with broke-ass customers who think they can haggle a ‘98 Civic down to a hundred bucks. I’m halfway through my beer when I spot him—a grizzled biker in his 40s, white, with a scruffy beard and brown eyes that keep darting around like he’s expecting trouble. He’s sitting at a table in the corner, nursing a whiskey, his leather vest patched with skulls and a faded “Iron Reapers” logo, his stained white tee clinging to a barrel chest, jeans faded to hell, scuffed boots tapping nervously. His arms are covered in faded tattoos—snakes, a pinup girl, some barbed wire bullshit.

He catches my eye, and I flash him a smirk, my full lips curling, my pale hand brushing my wavy hair back, letting my cropped tee ride up to show my flat stomach. He takes the bait, standing and weaving through the crowd toward me, his brown eyes locked on my perky tits, my juicy ass, my long legs. “Hey, darlin’,” he says, his voice rough, smelling of whiskey and motor oil as he leans against the bar beside me, his tattooed arm brushing my pale one. “You look like you know how to have a good time. Name’s Crank.”

I tilt my head, my brown eyes glinting under long lashes, my pale fingers twirling a strand of wavy hair. “Mira,” I reply, my voice low and flirty, letting my shapely thighs shift, my leggings outlining every curve. “And yeah, I know how to have fun, Crank. What about you? You look… tense.”

He chuckles, low and gritty, his brown eyes roaming my body, but I can see the sweat on his forehead, the way his hands twitch. “Tense is one way to put it, sweetheart,” he says, taking a sip of his whiskey, his gaze flicking over my shoulder, scanning the bar. “I might’ve gotten myself into some shit. You ever do favors for a guy in need?”

I raise an eyebrow, my full lips pursing, my pale hand resting on the bar, letting my cropped tee ride up higher, teasing him with more skin. “Depends on the favor, papi,” I say, my voice dripping with mischief. “What kind of shit you in?”

He leans closer, his voice dropping low, his brown eyes serious now. “I ripped off some gangbangers on a deal—bad fuckin’ idea, I know. They’re here, lookin’ for me, and I need to get the hell outta dodge. You help me out, I’ll make it worth your while.”

I follow his gaze to a table near the back—two tatted-up Latinos in their 30s, both rocking gold chains that glint under the dim lights. The first one’s stocky, 5’10”, with a shaved head, dark brown eyes, and a scar running down his cheek, his muscular arms covered in ink—rosaries, skulls, the Virgin Mary, all done in sharp black lines. He’s wearing a black tank top and jeans, a gold cross dangling against his hairy chest, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he laughs, loud and rough. The second guy’s leaner, 6’ tall, with short black hair, a goatee, and sharp green eyes that cut through the haze, his tattoos snaking up his neck—dragons, flames, some gang symbols I don’t recognize. He’s in a red flannel open over a white tee, jeans sagging low, a gold chain swinging as he slams a shot of tequila, his laugh sharp and dangerous.

“Those two?” I say, nodding toward them, my brown eyes narrowing, my pale fingers tightening around my beer. “They look like trouble, Crank. What’s in it for me?”

“Three hundred bucks, cash, right now,” he says, his voice urgent, digging into his pocket to pull out a wad of bills, his brown eyes pleading. “Just keep ‘em busy for ten minutes, darlin’. I’ll slip out the front on my Harley, and you’ll be laughin’ all the way to the bank.”

I smirk, my full lips curling, my pale hand taking the cash, tucking it into my leggings, my plump ass jiggling as I adjust them. “You got a deal, biker boy,” I say, my voice low and teasing, my brown eyes glinting with excitement. “Watch me work.”

I finish my beer, slamming the bottle on the bar, and strut toward their table, my ankle boots clicking on the floor, my wavy hair bouncing with every step, my long legs flexing, my shapely thighs outlined by the tight fabric, my perky tits teasing the cropped tee. The stocky guy notices me first, his dark brown eyes narrowing as I approach, his cigarette dangling as he leans back in his chair, his gold chain glinting. “Ey, quiรฉn eres, mami?” he says, his voice thick with a Mexican accent, smooth and dangerous, his gaze roaming my pale skin, my juicy ass, my full lips.

“Name’s Mira,” I reply, flashing a flirty smile, my brown eyes locking on his, lashes fluttering as I lean against their table, letting my cropped tee ride up to show my flat stomach, my pale hand resting on my hip. “Couldn’t help but notice you two over here, lookin’ all sexy and dangerous. Thought I’d come say hi.”

The leaner guy with the green eyes chuckles, his goatee twitching as he sets his shot glass down, his accent just as thick but with a sharper edge. “Mira, huh? You a bold one, chica,” he says, his green eyes raking over my perky tits, my plump ass, my long legs. “I’m Diego. This is Carlos. You wanna party with us, eh?”

I laugh, low and throaty, my wavy hair bouncing as I shift my weight, my shapely thighs flexing, my pale skin glowing under the neon lights. “I love a good party, papi,” I purr, my voice dripping with heat. “You boys know how to show a girl a good time?”

Carlos grins, his scarred cheek twitching, his dark eyes glinting with hunger as he stubs out his cigarette, standing to tower over me, his muscular frame casting a shadow. “Oh, we know how to have fun, mami,” he says, his voice low and rough, his hand brushing my pale arm, sending a shiver down my spine. “Why don’t we take this outside, huh? Get to know you better.”

Diego stands too, his lean frame moving with a predator’s grace, his green eyes locked on my plump ass, his gold chain swinging as he steps closer, his hand grazing my wavy hair. “Yeah, chica, let’s go out back,” he says, his voice smooth but edged with danger. “We got somethin’ special for you.”

I smirk, my full lips curling, my brown eyes glinting with anticipation, my pale body buzzing with the thrill of it all. “Lead the way, papis,” I say, my voice flirty and teasing, as I follow them to the back door, my long legs strutting, my plump ass swaying, the bar’s bass thumping through the walls, the crowd oblivious to the chaos about to unfold.

We step into the alley, the air cool and damp, the stench of garbage and piss hitting hard. A rusted dumpster sits against the brick wall, graffiti scrawled across it—dicks, gang tags, some faded “fuck you” in red spray paint. The neon glow from the bar’s sign barely reaches here, casting long shadows, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the thump of the music through the walls. I glance back, catching a glimpse of Crank slipping out the front, his Harley roaring to life as he peels out, safe for now. I smirk, my brown eyes glinting. Time to earn that $300.

The alley’s a fuckin’ hellhole—dark, damp, the stench of garbage and piss so thick I can taste it on my tongue, the rusted dumpster against the brick wall looking like it’s seen more cum than a porn set. The neon glow from the bar’s sign barely reaches here, casting long shadows, the graffiti on the dumpster—dicks, gang tags, a faded “fuck you” in red spray paint—glowing faintly in the dim light. The only sounds are the distant hum of traffic, the thump of the bar’s bass through the walls, and my ankle boots scuffing the pavement as I stand between Carlos and Diego, the two tatted-up Latinos who’ve lured me out here. I’m Mira, 18, 5’6”, 125 pounds of pure, slutty chaos—a trans girl with pale ivory skin, small, perky tits, a plump ass, a tiny cock and balls, and long, toned legs with shapely thighs that make men drool. My dark, wavy hair sticks to my sweaty neck, my brown eyes glint under long lashes, my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose flaring, full pouty lips parted—ready for whatever these papis throw at me.

Carlos, the stocky one, steps closer, his dark brown eyes blazing with hunger, his gold chain glinting as he grabs my pale arm, his scarred cheek twitching as he pulls me toward the dumpster. “You ready to play, mami?” he says, his Mexican accent thick and rough, his muscular frame casting a shadow over me, his black tank top straining over his hairy chest, his tattoos flexing as he moves. Diego, the leaner one with green eyes, circles around to my other side, his gold chain swinging, his red flannel open as he smirks, his accent smoother but just as dangerous. “We gonna make you scream, chica,” he says, his hands brushing my wavy hair, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Bring it on, papis,” I purr, my voice low and flirty, the Spanish word dripping with heat as I lean against the dumpster, my pale hands resting on the cold, gritty metal, my plump ass jutting out, leggings stretched tight, my long legs spread just enough to tease, my shapely thighs flexing. Carlos moves behind me, his rough hands grabbing my hips, yanking my leggings down slow, the fabric dragging over my pale skin, snagging on my boots before he tugs them off completely, leaving me in my cropped tee and a black thong, my plump ass bare, glowing in the dim light. He pulls the thong aside, exposing my tight hole, and freezes, his dark eyes narrowing as he spots my tiny cock and balls dangling between my legs. “Quรฉ mierda?” he snaps, stepping back, his accent thick with shock, his hand hovering over his belt. “You a fuckin’ hombre, puta?”

Diego leans over, his green eyes widening, his goatee twitching as he sees it too. “Pinche maricรณn!” he spits, his voice a mix of rage and disbelief, but his gaze flicks back to my plump ass, my shapely thighs, and I see his cock twitch in his jeans, his anger morphing into something darker, hornier. “Fuckin’ freak,” he mutters, but he’s already unbuckling his belt, his hands shaking with a mix of fury and lust.

“Call me what you want, assholes,” I snap, my voice dripping with defiance, my pale body trembling with anticipation, my perky tits heaving under the cropped tee as I turn my head, my brown eyes locking on theirs through long lashes, my full lips curling into a smirk. “You’re still hard as fuck, so stop whining and take me, papis.”

Carlos growls, his dark eyes blazing with conflicted heat, but he’s too horny to back off, his hands yanking his jeans down, his thick eight-inch cock springing free—dark, veiny, the head fat and leaking, balls heavy and swinging low. “Gonna wreck dis freak ass,” he snarls, spitting a thick gob onto my hole—hot, slick—and lining up his cock, pressing the fat head against my rim, teasing slow before 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 balls slapping my tiny cock loud and wet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yell, my voice echoing in the alley, feeling every inch of that thick eight-incher stretch me obscene, my plump ass bouncing with every thrust, the dumpster rattling under my pale hands as I grip the edge, my long legs trembling, boots planted firm on the pavement.

“Goddamn, dis ass tight, puta,” Carlos grunts, his hands gripping my hips, bruising my pale skin, his hips crashing into my plump cheeks—slap, slap, slap—my pale body rocking forward, my perky tits bouncing under the cropped tee, nipples scraping the fabric as he pounds me, his cock hitting my prostate, making my tiny cock twitch and leak onto the pavement. Diego steps in front of me, his jeans down, his veiny seven-inch cock bobbing, the head purple and dripping, his balls tight against his shaft. “Choke on dis, maricรณn,” he growls, grabbing my wavy hair, yanking my head up, and ramming his cock down my throat, choking me instantly, my full pouty lips stretched wide, drool flooding my chin, soaking my perky tits as he skull-fucks me, his balls smashing my face with every brutal thrust. “Take it, freak,” he snarls, his green eyes wild, his hips snapping, my throat spasming around him, tears streaming down my pale cheeks, but I suck him deeper, my tongue lapping the underside, making him curse louder, his gold chain swinging with every thrust.

“Fuck, choke me, papi,” I gasp, my voice muffled, spit bubbling around Diego’s shaft as Carlos pounds my ass relentless, his thick cock tearing into me, my pale body a bridge between their rage and lust. Carlos reaches down, grabbing my tiny cock and balls in his rough hand, squeezing hard, the pain sharp and searing, making me scream around Diego’s cock, my voice a garbled mess of spit and agony. “Yuh like dat, freak?” he snarls, twisting my balls, the pain mixing with the pleasure of his cock in my ass, my pale thighs trembling, my long legs barely holding me up as he squeezes tighter, my tiny cock throbbing in his grip, pre-cum dripping steady. “Goddamn, hurt me, you fucker,” I moan, my voice hoarse, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet with sweat as he keeps twisting, the pain making my ass clench around his cock, driving him deeper.

Diego yanks out of my throat, his seven-incher slick and throbbing, and strokes himself fast, his green eyes locked on mine. “Gonna mark dis freak face,” he growls, unloading—hot, thick ropes of cum blasting across my high cheekbones, streaking my pale skin, dripping down my chin, splattering my perky tits as I gasp, my brown eyes wide, lashes wet with tears and cum. Carlos pulls out of my ass, his thick eight-incher glistening, my long legs shaky, my pale body trembling as he shoves me down against the dumpster, my perky tits pressing into the cold metal, my pale hands gripping the edge, my plump ass out, legs spread wide, boots scuffing the pavement.

“Time to stretch dis hole, puta,” Carlos snarls, spitting on his hand, slicking his fingers, and shoving three into my ass, twisting deep, stretching me wider, the burn raw and intense, my pale body bucking, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet as I scream, my full pouty lips drooling, spit dripping onto my pale chest. “Fuck, fist me, papi,” I moan, pushing back, my plump ass quivering, my hole gaping around his fingers as he adds a fourth, then his whole fuckin’ hand, fisting me deep, his knuckles scraping my insides, the stretch obscene, my pale thighs trembling, my tiny cock leaking onto the pavement. Diego kneels beside me, grabbing my tiny cock and balls, squeezing hard, twisting them in rhythm with Carlos’s fisting, the pain making me scream louder, my pale body trembling, my long legs buckling, but Carlos’s other hand holds my hip, keeping me upright.

“Take it, yuh filthy maricรณn,” Diego growls, his fingers tight, my balls aching, the pain searing as Carlos fists me harder, his hand pumping deep, my ass clenching around him, the pain and pleasure blurring as I moan, my voice raw, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty face. Diego lets go of my balls, standing to stroke his seven-incher, his green eyes glinting as he aims at my face, unloading again—cum streaking my pale skin, dripping into my hair, splattering my full lips as I gasp, my brown eyes dazed. Carlos pulls his fist out with a wet pop, my hole gaping, throbbing, and he strokes his thick eight-incher, blasting his load over my plump ass, hot streaks dripping down my pale thighs, pooling on the pavement.

I collapse forward, my pale hands catching me, my long legs shaky, my perky tits heaving, my wavy hair a cum-soaked mess, my pale body bruised and trembling, my tiny cock leaking onto the ground, my brown eyes dazed but triumphant. “Pinche freak,” Carlos mutters, zipping up, his dark eyes still angry but sated, his gold chain glinting as he adjusts his tank top, spitting on the ground before turning to head back inside. Diego glares at me, his green eyes cold, but his cock’s still hard in his jeans, his flannel hanging open as he adjusts himself. “Yuh lucky yuh a good fuck, maricรณn,” he says, following Carlos, their boots crunching on the gravel, leaving me wrecked in the alley.

I sit back on my heels, my pale body trembling, cum dripping from my face, my ass, my thighs, my wavy hair tangled and sticky, my perky tits bruised, my plump ass throbbing, my long legs shaky as I pull my leggings back on, the fabric sticking to my cum-slicked skin, my cropped tee barely covering my tits. I smirk, my full lips curling, my brown eyes glinting with the rush of it all—Crank’s long gone, his Harley a distant memory, and I’m $300 richer, my body fucked raw but my spirit soaring. I love this shit, the chaos, the danger, the way I can fuck my way into someone else’s escape. I stand, my ankle boots scuffing the pavement, my pale hands brushing my wavy hair back, and strut back into the bar, ready for whatever the night throws at me next.

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๐Œi๐ซa’s L๐ขf๐ž ๐ขn T๐ซa๐งs H๐ža๐ญ: A F๐ขl๐ญh๐ฒ, F๐ža๐ซl๐žs๐ฌ ๐’a๐ a

Fuck tame stories. Crave raw, unfiltered chaos?  ๐Œi๐ซa’s L๐ขf๐ž ๐ขn T๐ซa๐งs H๐ža๐ญ  is your fix. My series hurls you into a neon-soaked cit...