“Fuck me, you’ve got to be kidding,” I
mutter under my breath, jabbing at the elevator buttons like they owe me money.
Nothing. Dead. My heart’s racing too fast for this late-night bullshit, the
office silent as a goddamn graveyard. It’s after hours, and I’m stuck here with
some sweaty dude who looks like he’s about to drown in his own shirt. He’s
mid-40s, I’d guess—overweight, soft around the middle, with a receding hairline
and a beard more salt than pepper. His white button-up’s crumpled to hell, half-untucked
from khaki pants that scream “divorcee on a budget,” and his tie’s already
sliding down his thick neck, like he gave up hours ago.
“Looks like we’re stuck,” he says, voice
pitching high, nervous as fuck.
“Yeah, no shit,” I reply, trying to keep the
edge out of my tone. I’m Mira, 18, trans woman—been living as me for two years
now, and fuck if I don’t love it. My body’s a mix of soft and sharp—5’6”, 56
kg, small perky tits that strain my white blouse just enough to tease, a plump
ass that fills out my black miniskirt like a wet dream, and long, toned legs
stretched even longer by matching pumps. My tiny cock and balls are tucked
tight in my lacy black thong, a little secret under all this femme. My dark,
wavy hair falls past my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face—high
cheekbones, straight nose, full lips painted red, and brown eyes with lashes so
long they catch the dim emergency light.
We trade awkward glances, the kind you give
when you’re trapped in a metal box with a stranger. He sticks out a hand, rough
and clammy. “Mark,” he says, forcing a smile.
I take it, feeling his grip linger. “Mira.
Nice to meet you, I guess.”
“You new here?” he asks, eyes flicking over
me—my tits, my legs, my ass—like he’s sizing up a meal.
“Just visiting,” I say, voice steady despite
the nerves buzzing under my fair skin. “Checking out the internship program.
You?”
“Been here too long,” he chuckles, wiping
his palms on his pants. “Facilities guy. Usually fix shit, not get stuck in
it.”
I nod, leaning against the cold metal wall,
my miniskirt riding up a bit, flashing a peek of thigh. “So, what now? We just…
stand here?”
He shrugs, fidgeting with his tie. “Guess we
wait. Maintenance’ll figure it out eventually.”
The air’s thick—his cheap cologne mixing
with my sweet perfume, nerves making me sweat under my blouse. Waiting sounds
like torture, and I’m antsy, reckless. “Fuck that,” I say, smirking a little.
“How about we kill time? Ever played truth or dare?”
His eyes light up, a spark cutting through
the middle-aged slump. “What, like kids?” he laughs, but it’s eager. “Alright,
I’m in. I’ll start—dare you to show me your tits.”
The words hit like a slap, but instead of
pissed, I feel a hot flush crawl up my cheeks, my tiny cock twitching in my
thong. It’s bold as fuck, and something wild in me says go for it. “Fine,” I
purr, fingers slow on my blouse buttons, popping them one by one. The fabric
parts, revealing my lacy black bra, cupping my small, perky tits just
right—nipples poking through the thin lace. His jaw drops, eyes wide as dinner
plates, glued to my chest.
“Jesus,” he breathes, licking his lips.
“Those are… damn.”
“Your turn,” I say, voice steady now,
confidence surging as I lean back, my long legs crossing, skirt teasing higher.
“Truth or dare?”
He blinks, dragging his gaze up to my
face—brown eyes, long lashes, full red lips—and stammers, “Uh, truth.”
I tilt my head, dark hair spilling over one
shoulder, fair skin glowing under the shitty light. “Alright. When’s the last
time you got laid?”
His face flushes, eyes darting to the floor,
then back to me. “Been a while,” he admits, rubbing his neck. “Wife and I…
things ain’t great. Maybe a year?”
I nod, a flicker of pity hitting me, but
it’s drowned out by the heat building in this tight space. My thong’s sticking
to me now, my tiny cock half-hard from the tension. “Rough,” I say, keeping it
light. “Your go.”
He shifts, bolder now, eyes locked on my
tits again. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I shoot back, feeling the thrill
coil in my gut.
His grin’s shaky but hungry. “Take off that
skirt. Let me see what’s under there.”
My breath catches, but I don’t flinch. I
uncross my legs, standing slow, my pumps clicking on the floor. My fingers hook
the hem of my miniskirt, sliding it down inch by inch—past my plump ass, down
my long, toned legs—until it pools at my feet. I step out, leaving me in my
open blouse, bra, and that lacy black thong barely covering my tiny cock and
balls. His eyes are fucking glued, tracing every curve, the bulge in his khakis
swelling fast.
“Fuck me,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “You’re…
goddamn gorgeous.”
The praise hits like a drug, my fair skin
flushing hotter, my full lips curling into a smirk. “Thanks,” I purr, leaning
back against the wall, one leg bent, showing off my shapely thighs and lean
calves. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in
his thick neck. “Dare,” he says, voice steadying, challenging me now.
I bite my lip, brown eyes locked on his
through those long lashes. “Show me your cock,” I say, slow and deliberate, my
heart pounding.
His smirk flickers, surprise flashing, then
he nods. “You asked for it.” His belt clanks loud as he unbuckles, the zipper
dragging down with a slow, teasing hiss. He shoves his khakis and boxers to his
thighs, and out pops his cock—6 inches, maybe 6.5, thick enough, veiny, curving
left with a fat, pink head already leaking a bead of pre-cum. It’s no porn star
dick, but it’s hard as hell, and my mouth waters a little, my tiny cock
twitching under my thong.
“Your move,” he says, voice rougher,
stroking himself once, eyes on me.
“Truth,” I reply, my gaze still on his dick,
my plump ass shifting against the wall.
He steps closer, cock bobbing, the air thick
with his sweat and my perfume. “What do you think about me knowing you’re
trans?”
I meet his eyes—dark, curious, a little
unsure—and shrug, my dark hair swaying. “Doesn’t bug me. It’s just who I
am—tits, ass, cock, all of it. You cool with that?”
He nods slow, licking his lips again. “Yeah…
yeah, I’m cool. Never done this before, but fuck, you’re hot as hell.”
The tension shifts, lust swallowing the
awkwardness, my fair skin prickling as my thong gets tighter. “Good to know,” I
murmur, voice soft, teasing. “Your turn.”
He steps even closer, his cock inches from
me now, voice dropping low. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I say, my chest heaving under my
open blouse, small tits rising and falling.
His eyes glint, dark and needy. “Suck my
cock, Mira. Right fucking now.”
I bite my lip, heat pooling in my gut, and
nod slow. “Alright, Mark.” I drop to my knees smooth as silk, my pumps scooting
back, skirt still on the floor, blouse hanging open, bra and thong all I’ve got
left. The elevator floor’s cold and grimy, but I don’t care—his cock’s right
there, thick and leaking, and I wrap my hand around it, stroking slow, feeling
it pulse. “Fuck, it’s warm,” I mutter, leaning in, kissing the tip soft and
wet, tasting salt and musk.
He gasps, hips jerking forward, a shaky
“Shit” slipping out. I open my full lips wider, taking him in—slow at first,
tongue swirling the head, lapping up that pre-cum like it’s candy. He’s thick,
stretching my mouth, veins pulsing against my tongue as I slide deeper, my fair
cheeks hollowing out. “Goddamn, Mira,” he groans, fingers tangling in my dark,
wavy hair, tugging just enough to sting.
I moan around him, the vibration making him
twitch, and start sucking harder, bobbing my head slow and deliberate. My small
tits bounce under my open blouse, nipples brushing the bra’s lace, and my tiny
cock strains in my thong, leaking against the fabric. Spit drips down my chin,
slicking his shaft, and I cup his heavy balls—soft, hairy, warm—rolling them in
my hand as I take him deeper, gagging a little when he hits my throat.
“Fuck, you’re good,” he pants, eyes squeezed
shut, hips rocking now, fucking my face shallow and needy. My long legs shift
under me, knees aching on the floor, my plump ass swaying as I work him. I pull
back slow, a wet pop as I release him, spit trailing from my lips to his cock,
and grin up at him, my brown eyes watering, lashes heavy. “Your turn,” I rasp,
wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, voice hoarse from the effort.
“Dare,” Mark says, voice rough and eager,
his cock still glistening with my spit, bobbing in front of my face. His khakis
and boxers are bunched around his thighs, that salt-and-pepper beard twitching
as he grins down at me.
I’m still on my knees, pumps digging into
the grimy elevator floor, my black miniskirt crumpled in a heap nearby, blouse
hanging open, lacy black bra cupping my small, perky tits, and thong stretched
tight over my tiny cock and balls, soaked with pre-cum. My fair skin’s flushed
hot, dark wavy hair a sweaty mess past my shoulders, sticking to my high
cheekbones. I look up at him through long lashes, brown eyes glinting, full
lips slick with spit and his taste. “Alright,” I purr, voice husky from sucking
him off, “I dare you to eat my ass—get that tongue in deep.”
His eyes widen, a flicker of shock, then
darken with hunger. “Fuck, you’re serious?” he mutters, but he’s already
nodding, licking his lips. “Turn around, then.”
I stand slow, my long, toned legs unfolding,
heels clicking as I pivot to face the elevator doors. My plump ass sways under
the emergency light, fair skin glowing, and I bend over, bracing my hands on
the cold metal wall. My thong’s still on, so I hook my fingers in the lace,
sliding it down slow—past my plump cheeks, down my legs—until it drops to my
ankles. I kick it aside, leaving me in just my open blouse, bra, and pumps, ass
bare and high, tiny cock dangling between my thighs. “Like this?” I tease, glancing
back, my heart-shaped face flushed, full lips smirking.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, stepping
closer, his breath hot on my skin. His rough hands grab my hips, thumbs
spreading my cheeks wide, exposing my tight, pink hole. “Look at this fat
ass—fucking perfect.” He kneels behind me, beard prickling my thighs, and I
shiver as his tongue flicks out—tentative at first, brushing my rim, then
bolder, licking a slow, wet stripe right over it.
“Fuck,” I whimper, pushing back, my long
legs trembling in my heels. He growls low, diving in deeper—tongue circling my
hole, then pressing in, hot and slick, fucking me with it. My tiny cock
twitches hard, leaking onto the floor, and my small tits bounce under my blouse
as I arch, moaning loud. “Yeah, eat that ass, Mark,” I gasp, voice breaking,
fair skin prickling with sweat.
He’s relentless—hands gripping my plump ass,
spreading me wider, his tongue thrusting in and out, sloppy and hungry. His
beard scrapes my inner thighs, rough against my smooth skin, and I can’t stop
the sounds spilling out—high, desperate, echoing in the tight space. “Goddamn,
you taste good,” he mutters, pulling back to spit on my hole, then diving back
in, sucking at my rim like he’s starving. My knees shake, my long lashes
fluttering, brown eyes watering as I stroke my tiny cock in time with his tongue—fast,
needy, pre-cum slicking my fingers.
“Fuck, I’m close,” I pant, my plump ass
grinding back against his face, his nose buried in my crack. He doesn’t
stop—tongue fucking me deeper, wet and nasty, until I’m shaking, my third
orgasm building fast. “Don’t stop, you dirty bastard,” I sob, and he groans
into me, the vibration tipping me over. My tiny cock spurts—weak, watery ropes
hitting the elevator wall—my ass clenching around his tongue as I cum, legs
buckling, fair skin slick with sweat.
He pulls back, wiping his mouth with the
back of his hand, beard glistening with spit. I’m still bent over, panting, my
thong at my ankles, blouse open, small tits heaving under my bra. “Your turn,”
I rasp, voice raw, turning to face him, my long hair sticking to my flushed
cheeks.
He stands, cock rock-hard again, eyes wild.
“Truth or dare?” he asks, voice low and thick, stepping closer.
“Dare,” I say, chest heaving, my fair skin
glowing under the harsh light, ready for more.
“Bend over and let me fuck you,” he growls,
all command now, his hands already on me. “I’m gonna pound that tight little
ass.”
I nod, heat flooding my gut, and lean back
against the wall, bending at the hips, my plump ass high and swaying, long legs
spread in my pumps. My blouse hangs loose, tits out, bra shoved up now from all
the movement, and my thong’s gone—lost somewhere on the floor with my skirt. He
steps up, rough hands grabbing my hips, and I feel his fingers—thick,
calloused—probe my spit-slick hole, testing it. “Fucking soaked already,” he
mutters, spitting into his hand, slicking his cock up fast—6.5 inches, thick, curved,
veins pulsing.
“Ready for this, slut?” he asks, lining up,
the fat head nudging my rim.
“Yes, fucking do it,” I moan, voice
trembling, my fair skin prickling as I brace myself.
He doesn’t tease—pushes in hard, stretching
me wide, the burn ripping a scream from my throat. “Fuck, Mark!” I cry, my tiny
cock twitching as he buries himself balls-deep, hips slamming against my plump
ass. My long legs shake in my heels, barely holding me up, and my small tits
jiggle under my open blouse with every brutal thrust. “So goddamn tight,” he
grunts, hands gripping my hips, fingers digging into my fair skin, leaving red
marks.
He starts pounding—deep, fast,
relentless—his thick cock splitting me open, hitting my prostate with every
slam. The wet slap of his thighs against my ass fills the elevator, mixing with
my loud moans and his ragged groans. “Take it, you filthy little whore,” he
snarls, spanking my plump cheek—crack!—the sting making my tiny cock leak more,
dripping onto the floor. My long hair swings, sticking to my sweaty face, my
brown eyes watering, full lips parted in a constant stream of “Fuck, yes,
harder!”
“Harder, huh?” he growls, picking up the
pace, fucking me raw—his balls smacking mine, the elevator wall rattling as I
brace against it. My small tits bounce free, nipples hard and red, and my long
legs tremble, heels slipping a little. “Gonna wreck this slutty hole,” he
mutters, one hand sliding up to squeeze my tit, twisting the nipple until I
yelp, the other grabbing my tiny cock, jerking it rough in time with his
thrusts.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum again,” I gasp, voice
wrecked, my plump ass clenching around him. “Do it, cum for me, you tight
little bitch,” he snarls, slamming in deep, and I lose it—my tiny cock spurting
weak jets across the wall, my ass milking his dick as I shake, fair skin slick
with sweat and cum. He keeps going, dragging it out, then pulls out fast,
spinning me around.
“On your knees, now,” he orders, and I
drop—pumps still on, blouse open, bra up, skirt and thong long gone—my long
legs folding under me, plump ass hitting the floor. He grabs my hair, yanking
my head back, and shoves his cock in my face—slick with my ass and his pre-cum.
“Suck it clean, slut,” he growls, and I open my full lips, taking him in
deep—salty, musky, fucking nasty. My tongue swirls, sucking hard, spit and cum
dripping down my chin, staining my small tits as he fucks my mouth slow and
mean.
“Swallow it, you dirty cunt,” he grunts,
thrusting deep, and I gag, choking as he unloads—hot, thick ropes blasting my
throat, spilling out the corners of my mouth. I swallow what I can, gasping, my
fair skin a mess of sweat, spit, and cum, my long lashes heavy with tears.
Then the elevator lurches—lights flicker on,
a low hum kicking in. His cock’s still in my mouth, mid-thrust, and we freeze,
eyes wide. “What the fuck?” he rasps, pulling out fast, a string of spit and
cum dangling from my lips. The doors start to slide open, and we scramble—me
grabbing my skirt and thong, yanking them up over my cum-slick thighs, blouse
flapping as I button it sloppy over my bra; him shoving his cock back in his
khakis, belt clanking.
We stumble out into the empty hallway, harsh
fluorescents washing us out, my long legs wobbly in my pumps, plump ass
throbbing from the pounding. “Guess we should… head back?” he says, voice
hoarse, clearing his throat.
“Yeah,” I murmur, feeling the ache deep in
my ass, the sticky mess on my thighs under my skirt. “See you around?”
He nods, dazed, and we split—silence loud as
fuck between us. My legs are jelly, my tiny cock still tingling, fair skin
flushed as I limp to the lobby. The cool night air hits me outside, a mix of
relief and regret sinking in. Mark’s no prize—paunchy, balding, salt-and-pepper
scruff—but in that elevator, with his tongue in my ass and his cock wrecking
me, he was everything. Wild, reckless, fucking hot. I smirk, the thrill
lingering, already craving more.
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