M𝐢r𝐚’𝐬 𝐅l𝐞s𝐡 𝐅i𝐱: A J𝐮n𝐤i𝐞 𝐅r𝐞e𝐝

The weekend’s finally mine to kick back, and I’m sprawled on my shitty couch, legs up, soaking in the calm after the storm. Jamal’s off my ass, Aiden’s debt is settled, and my BMW E21 320i—my fuckin’ baby in Polaris silver—is parked outside, gleaming like I didn’t just wrestle it back from hell. I’m in a cropped white tee that barely covers my small, perky tits, nipples poking through the thin fabric, and a tight red thong that digs into my plump, juicy ass, leaving my long, toned legs bare. My pale ivory skin catches the dim light, dark wavy hair spilling past my shoulders, brushing my collarbone as I scroll my new iPhone—a slick little treat I snagged after that mall run with Darius. My scuffed black ankle boots are tossed by the door, waiting for the next grind.

I’m Mira, 18 and a goddamn wildfire, a trans girl who’s owned this body for two years—5’6”, 125 lbs of slutty chaos, with a tiny cock and balls tucked in my thong, shapely thighs begging for attention, and a heart-shaped face that cuts deep—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose proud, full pouty lips painted red today, brown eyes with long lashes that’ll slice you if you stare too long. I’m half-dozing, swiping through TikTok garbage, when my phone buzzes hard, jolting me upright, my perky tits jiggling under the cropped tee. It’s Kemar—that Jamaican beast I fucked a couple nights back—his name bold on the screen.

I swipe it open, and his voice rolls through, thick with that accent I can barely decode but damn sure gets me hot. “Yuh likkle gyal, mi haffi talk quick,” he rumbles, all gravel and edge. “Mi breddas dem ketch a junkie tiefin’ some ganja stash. Was gonna lick him up bad an’ fling him out, but mi spot him from one a yuh TikTok vid. Yuh know dis bwoy?”

My stomach drops, my full pouty lips parting as I sit up, brown eyes narrowing under long lashes. “Fuck, Kemar—you mean Aiden? Skinny white kid, black hair, green eyes?”

“Yuh damn right,” he says, a faint thud in the background, like someone’s getting pushed. “Dem beat him up good, but him still breathin’. What yuh want mi do wid him, princess?”

“Don’t fucking hurt him more,” I snap, my wavy hair bouncing as I stand, pale hands gripping the phone tight, high cheekbones sharp in the screen’s glow. “I’m coming to get him. Where you at?”

“Rasta Roadhouse, downtown,” he growls, steady but firm. “Move quick, yuh hear? Mi breddas dem vex bad.”

I’m moving before he hangs up, yanking on ripped denim shorts that hug my plump ass, the frayed hem riding high to flash my shapely thighs. The red thong stays underneath, my tiny cock tucked tight, and I tug the cropped tee down, my perky tits straining the fabric. I lace up my ankle boots fast, my long legs flexing as I grab my keys, my wavy hair swinging wild as I bolt out the door. The E21 roars to life, engine purring smooth, and I peel out, hitting the highway hard, my juicy ass sinking into the leather, my pale skin prickling in the night air as I weave through traffic, boots working the pedals like a pro.

Twenty minutes later, I roll into the Rasta Roadhouse lot, neon buzzing over the gravel, reggae thumping through the walls, weed stench thick as I step out, boots crunching loud. My long legs carry me inside, my plump ass swaying in the shorts, my brown eyes scanning through long lashes as the haze hits me—smoke, sweat, and bass rattling my bones. Kemar’s there, leaning on the bar, a fuckin’ giant at 6’4”, mid-30s, Black as night, dreads spilling past his shoulders, white tank top stretched tight over his thick chest, cargo shorts sagging low on his hips. His dark eyes spark when he sees me, a blunt hanging from his lips, silver chain glinting at his neck as he straightens, towering over my 5’6” frame.

“Likkle gyal, yuh reach fast,” he grins, stepping close, his big hand brushing my pale arm, his accent thick as molasses. “Yuh lookin’ sweet, eh—dat ass fat in dem shorts.”

“Where’s Aiden?” I ask, my full pouty lips tight, tossing my wavy hair back, my perky tits rising under the cropped tee as I meet his stare, heart pounding but steady.

He jerks his dreads toward a back corner, and there’s Aiden—19, white, skinny as a rail, 5’9” and barely 130 lbs even soaked in sweat. His greasy black hair hangs over a fucked-up face—black eye swollen shut, lip busted and bleeding, hollow green eyes twitching as he slumps against the wall in a torn gray hoodie and ripped jeans, arms limp at his sides. He’s a mess, but alive, and my chest tightens, my pale hands clenching.

“Fucking hell, Aiden,” I mutter, strutting over, my boots clicking sharp, my plump ass jiggling with every step, my shapely thighs flexing in the shorts. “You’re a real dumbass, you know that?”

“Mira,” he croaks, voice weak, green eyes pleading up at me, “I fucked up—didn’t mean to—”

“Save it,” I cut him off, my high cheekbones sharp as I turn to Kemar, my wavy hair brushing my pale shoulders. “Thanks, Kemar—I owe you for not smashing him worse. He good to go?”

Kemar steps in, his bulk swallowing the space, grabbing my pale chin with rough fingers, tilting my heart-shaped face up. “Mi tek a kiss fi now, yuh hear, likkle princess?” he murmurs, crashing his lips into mine, hard and deep, his thick tongue shoving in, tasting weed and heat, his dreads brushing my cheek. I kiss back fierce, my full pouty lips battling his, my tiny cock twitching in my thong as his big hand squeezes my juicy ass through the denim, denting the fabric. He pulls back, grinning wide, teeth flashing. “We haffi link up soon, yuh zeet? Mi call yuh.”

“You better,” I smirk, my brown eyes glinting through long lashes, hauling Aiden up, his bony arm slung over my shoulder, my long legs steadying us as he stumbles. “I’m taking him now—thanks again, big man.”

“Walk good, likkle gyal,” Kemar calls, his dark eyes glued to my plump ass as I drag Aiden out, the bar’s haze fading behind us. Outside, I shove him into the E21’s passenger seat, his skinny frame slumping, my wavy hair sticking to my neck as I climb in, firing up the engine. Mark—my lanky work buddy from Jack’s, 6’1”, mid-20s, white, shaggy blond hair, blue eyes—texted me about this rehab joint last week, saying it’s solid. It’s twenty minutes out, and I gun it, my shapely thighs working the pedals, my perky tits jiggling under the cropped tee with every bump.

Aiden’s whining, his busted lip trembling, green eyes darting. “Mira, I don’t wanna go rehab—fuck that place, please.”

I grip the wheel, my pale hands tight, my high cheekbones cutting the dashboard light. “Listen, you junkie fuck,” I snap, my voice sharp, “you get your shit together, or I’m done with you. I’m not hauling your ass outta trap houses forever.” He shrinks, nodding slow, and I ease up, my full pouty lips softening. “I’ve got your back, Aiden, but you’ve gotta fix this.”

We pull up to the rehab center—a squat brick building, lights low, sign flickering. I park, climb out, my boots crunching gravel, and haul him to the door, my long legs steady, his weight dragging on my pale shoulder. Inside, it’s sterile—white walls, a worn-out nurse at the desk, mid-40s, white, graying hair, glasses low on her nose. “He needs to check in,” I say, my wavy hair bouncing as I push Aiden forward. “Name’s Aiden, 19—junkie mess, beat up bad.”

She nods, scribbling, and I stick around, my brown eyes watching through long lashes as she processes him, calls an orderly—a big Black guy, 30s, shaved head, scrubs tight on his arms—to take him back. Aiden glances at me, green eyes scared but grateful, and I nod, my full pouty lips firm. “You’re good, man—I’ll check on you soon.” He shuffles off, and I strut out, my plump ass swaying, my perky tits rising with a deep breath. He’s in—safe, for now.

I’m halfway home, cruising the highway, my juicy ass comfy in the leather, my long legs stretched out, when the E21 coughs—fucking coughs—and dies, rolling limp to the shoulder. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I groan, popping the hood, my boots hitting gravel as I step out, my pale skin glowing under the moon, my wavy hair whipping in the wind. I stare at the engine, clueless, my perky tits heaving under the cropped tee, when headlights flare—a semi rumbling up, tires grinding to a stop behind me. Three truckers pile out, all white, all in their 50s, rough as hell.

First is Hank—5’10”, stocky, gray buzz cut, weathered face with a crooked nose, brown eyes squinting, wearing a stained red flannel and jeans, gut spilling over his belt. Next is Roy—6’0”, lanky, balding with stringy gray hair, sharp blue eyes, a scruffy beard, in a faded green tee and cargo pants, toothpick dangling from his lips. Last is Dale—5’11”, broad, bald as fuck, hazel eyes glinting, thick arms under a black tank, jeans tight on his thighs, a silver chain around his neck. They lumber over, eyeing my long legs, my plump ass in the shorts, my perky tits under the cropped tee.

“Trouble, darlin’?” Hank grunts, his voice gravelly, stepping close, his brown eyes roaming my pale skin.

“Yeah, it just fuckin’ died,” I say, tossing my wavy hair, full pouty lips tight. “Any of you know cars?”

Roy spits his toothpick, blue eyes narrowing as he peers under the hood. “Fuel pump relay’s shot. Cheap fix—part’s maybe 20 bucks, 10 minutes for a mechanic. Ain’t nothin’ major.”

I exhale, my perky tits rising, brown eyes softening through long lashes. “Fuck, that’s a relief. Can you get me to a garage?”

Dale smirks, hazel eyes glinting, rubbing his bald head. “We can tow ya, sweetheart. Got a rig for it. But it’ll cost.”

“How much?” I ask, shifting my weight, my plump ass jiggling in the shorts, my shapely thighs catching the moonlight.

Hank steps closer, his flannel brushing my pale arm, breath hot with tobacco. “Ain’t about cash, girl. Look at them legs, that ass—shit, we want a piece of you. Right here, right now.”

My gut twists, but my full pouty lips curl, brown eyes sparking. “You wanna bang me roadside, that it guys? But you’ll have to help me afterwards.”

“Fuck yeah,” Roy says, lanky frame looming, blue eyes blazing. “Strip, slut—let’s see that body.”

I smirk, peeling the cropped tee off slow over my head, my perky tits bouncing free—small, pale, nipples pink and stiff—tossing it onto the hood, my wavy hair spilling over my shoulders. My pale hands unzip the shorts, sliding them down my long legs along with the thong, letting both pool at my boots, leaving me bare except for the ankle boots. “Like this?” I purr, my heart-shaped face tilting, high cheekbones sharp in the moonlight.

“Goddamn,” Dale mutters, hazel eyes wide, yanking his tank off, exposing a hairy chest and gut. “Bend over the hood, bitch—ass up.”

I strut to the car, my long legs flexing, boots crunching, and lean forward, pale hands gripping the warm metal, my plump ass thrust high, bare and exposed, my tiny cock and balls dangling free between my thighs. Hank’s behind me first, his rough hands spreading my juicy cheeks, grunting, “What the fuck? You got a little dick down there?”

“Yeah, I’m trans,” I snap, tossing my wavy hair, brown eyes glinting over my shoulder. “Problem?”

“Nah, just fuckin’ hot,” he growls, unzipping his jeans, pulling out a thick seven-incher—veiny, dark pink head, pulsing hard. He spits on my hole—hot, thick—and slams in, raw and deep, splitting my ass with a brutal thrust. “Take this cock, you nasty slut,” he snarls, his gut slapping my pale skin, my plump ass bouncing as he pounds me from behind against the hood, the metal creaking under my grip.

“Fuck, stretch me out,” I moan, my voice raw, feeling his thick shaft tear into me, my long legs trembling, boots digging into the dirt. My perky tits sway beneath me, nipples brushing the hood’s edge, my tiny cock flopping against my pale stomach, leaking a drop as he drills me, his rough hands bruising my hips.

Roy steps up in front, unzipping his cargo pants, a slim eight-incher springing out—curved, pale, tip glistening. “Open that fuckin’ mouth,” he grunts, grabbing my wavy hair, yanking my head up from the hood. My full pouty lips part, and he shoves in, ramming his curved cock down my throat, gagging me hard, drool spilling fast, dripping onto my perky tits below. “Choke on it, you filthy cunt,” he snarls, fucking my face relentless, his balls slapping my chin, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet as I claw the hood.

I’m pinned—Hank slamming my ass from behind, Roy choking my throat from the front—my pale skin flushing red, my plump ass quaking with every thrust, my long legs shaking in the boots. “Goddamn, this hole’s tight,” Hank grunts, spanking me—crack—his hand slamming my juicy cheek, a red handprint flaring, making me yelp around Roy’s cock, my tiny cock twitching harder, leaking onto the dirt beneath.

Dale’s turn—he shoves Hank aside, his bald head shining, unzipping to reveal a fat nine-incher—dark, blunt-headed, veiny as fuck. “Flip her over,” he growls, and they haul me up from the hood, my boots dragging briefly before they spin me onto my back on the car’s warm surface. My long legs shoot up, pale thighs trembling as Dale grabs my ankles, pulling them high over his broad shoulders, my plump ass hanging off the edge, my tiny cock flopping on my stomach. He spits on my wrecked hole—hot, slick—and plunges in, his fat cock stretching me wide, thrusting deep, his hairy gut pressing into me. “Take this big fucker,” he snarls, pounding me hard missionary-style, the car rocking, my perky tits bouncing wild, nipples scraping the air.

“Fuck, wreck me,” I sob, my brown eyes wide, lashes fluttering, feeling him hit deep, my shapely thighs quaking over his shoulders, boots dangling. Roy shifts to my head, kneeling on the hood beside me, grabbing my wavy hair, shoving his slim eight back into my mouth, fucking my throat slow and rough, drool soaking my pale chest, dripping between my tits. “Suck it clean, you greedy bitch,” he grunts, his curved tip ramming my gag reflex, my full pouty lips stretched obscene.

Hank steps to my side, stroking his thick seven, and grabs my pale hand, wrapping it around his shaft. “Jerk me, slut,” he orders, guiding my trembling fingers as I stroke him, his pre-cum slicking my palm, my long legs shaking under Dale’s brutal slams, my plump ass clenching around his fat cock. “Goddamn, she’s a fuckin’ dream,” Dale groans, slapping my tits—crack—left cheek, then right, my pale skin burning red, soft flesh jiggling as I scream around Roy’s cock, my tiny cock pulsing, smearing pre-cum across my stomach.

They switch—Roy pulls out of my throat, spit stringing thick, and moves to my lower half, lifting my legs off Dale’s shoulders. He hooks one leg over his lanky arm, bending the other tight against my chest, boots dangling as he slams his slim eight into my ass from a sideways angle on the hood, the curve hitting raw inside me. “Ride this, you nasty fuck,” he growls, pounding me hard, my plump ass quaking, my pale skin bruising under his grip, my perky tits swaying wild. Dale slides off the hood to my head, kneeling over my face on the ground, his fat nine dripping, and shoves it into my mouth, stretching my full pouty lips wide, gagging me hard. “Choke on this, cunt,” he snarls, fucking my throat deep, his balls slapping my chin, drool soaking my wavy hair, matting it to my neck.

Hank stays beside me, straddling my chest on the hood, his thick seven in hand, jerking fast. “Gonna paint them little tits,” he grunts, and I’m triple-fucked—Roy drilling my ass sideways on the hood, Dale choking my throat from below, Hank stroking over my perky tits, my pale body rocking, my long legs trembling, my tiny cock leaking steady. “Fuckin’ take it all,” Roy snarls, spanking my ass—crack—my juicy cheek jiggling, red marks layering as I moan, muffled and broken, my brown eyes half-lidded, lashes wet.

Dale pulls out of my mouth, his fat cock glistening with my spit, and yanks me off the hood entirely, my boots hitting the dirt with a thud, my pale body shaky. “Ass up, slut,” he growls, shoving me to my knees, then flat on my stomach in the dirt, my plump ass thrust high, my perky tits pressed into the ground, nipples scraping the grit. He kneels behind me, spreading my juicy cheeks wide, spitting a thick gob onto my gaping hole, and slams his nine-incher back in, pounding me prone, my pale skin streaked with dirt, my long legs splaying wide in the boots. “Take this dick, you filthy whore,” he roars, his weight crushing me, his balls slapping my thighs, my tiny cock grinding into the dirt, leaking sticky.

“Fuck, pound me,” I wail, my voice hoarse, my wavy hair tangling in the dust, my full pouty lips drooling as he drills me, my plump ass bouncing, red from spanks. Roy kneels in front of my face, grabbing my head, shoving his slim eight back into my throat, fucking my face rough from the ground, drool spilling onto the dirt. “Choke, you greedy fuck,” he grunts, syncing with Dale, my pale body trapped, my perky tits heaving against the dirt, my shapely thighs quaking.

Hank steps up, stroking fast beside me, and they finish me—Dale slamming deep into my ass, his fat cock pulsing, flooding me with hot cum, dripping out as he grinds against me in the dirt. Roy yanks out of my throat, jerking his slim eight, blasting thick ropes across my high cheekbones, my full pouty lips, matting my wavy hair. Hank groans, his thick seven unloading over my back from above, cum streaking my pale skin, some pooling in the dirt beneath me. I’m a goddamn mess—cropped tee and shorts off in the dirt, thong gone, boots still on, my pale skin bruised, sweaty, cum-soaked, my plump ass throbbing, my tiny cock spent, my brown eyes dazed but sharp.

They zip up, smirking—Hank’s flannel stained, Roy’s tee sweaty, Dale’s tank back on. “Deal’s a deal,” Dale says, hooking my E21 to their rig. I stagger up, tugging the shorts back over my bruised ass sans thong, the cropped tee back over my cum-streaked tits, cum still dripping down my shapely thighs, boots scuffing as I climb into the cab, my wavy hair a sticky mess.

They tow me to a garage 10 miles out—a grimy joint, oil stains everywhere. The mechanic’s a greasy prick—Rusty, early 40s, white, 5’9”, lean, short red hair under a cap, oil-stained coveralls over a wiry frame, gray eyes squinting at my car. “Take a while,” he mutters, wiping his hands, glancing at my perky tits under the cum-streaked cropped tee. “Got a truck ahead of you.”

I smirk, stepping close, my pale hand brushing his crotch, feeling him stiffen. “Fix it quick, and I’ll make it worth your while,” I purr, my brown eyes glinting through long lashes, unzipping his coveralls slow, pulling out a six-inch cock—thin, pale, leaking fast. I stroke him firm, my delicate fingers tight around his shaft, pumping steady as he groans, my plump ass swaying in the shorts, my wavy hair brushing his arm.

“Shit, girl,” he gasps, nodding fast, and I keep jerking him, my pale skin slick with sweat, my tiny cock twitching as he cums quick—hot spurts hitting my hand, dripping onto the floor. He’s on my car in a flash, swapping the relay in ten minutes, the E21 purring again as I wipe my hand on his rag, smirking.

I’m back on the road, my plump ass sore in the seat, my perky tits aching under the cropped tee, my long legs stretched out, my wavy hair tangled but triumphant. Home’s a blurry relief as I crash on the couch, cum-streaked and fucked-out, my brown eyes half-lidded, my full pouty lips curling. Another fucking day as Mira—queen of this dirty game.