M𝐢r𝐚'𝐬 𝐓r𝐚p H𝐨u𝐬e T𝐫a𝐝e: 𝐀 𝐃e𝐛t i𝐧 𝐅l𝐞s𝐡

The sun’s a merciless bastard today, scorching Jack’s Used Cars into a shimmering pit of heat and metal. I’m Mira, 18 and a walking fuckin’ storm, a trans girl who’s owned this body for two years—5’6”, 125 lbs of raw, slutty chaos packed into every curve and edge. My outfit’s a tease—loose white T-shirt hanging off my small, perky tits, no bra, so my nipples poke through the thin fabric like little beacons, brushing against it with every step. Short denim shorts cling to my plump, juicy ass, frayed hems riding high to flash my long, toned legs, wrapped tight in black fishnet pantyhose that scream trouble. No panties either—just my tiny cock and balls shifting loose under the denim, a secret tucked away. My pale ivory skin’s slick with sweat, catching the light, and my dark, wavy hair spills below my shoulders, sticking to my neck in this goddamn furnace. Black ankle boots—scuffed to hell—click sharp on the asphalt as I strut across the lot, my heart-shaped face tilting up—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose flaring, full lips parted, big brown eyes with lashes long enough to kill, scanning for my next mark.

I’m mid-game, leaning into some greasy fuck drooling over a pickup, letting my wavy hair brush his arm, when my phone buzzes hard against my thigh. I yank it out—cracked screen flashing Aiden’s name. My junkie best friend, the only bastard who’s stuck with me through the shit—coming out, ditching my prick family, clawing my way up. “Mira, fuck, I’m screwed,” he rasps, voice trembling, faint thumps echoing behind him. “Trap house on 14th—dealers got me. I snorted three grand of their coke instead of moving it. They’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“Aiden, you absolute dipshit,” I hiss, stepping away from the customer, my full lips curling into a scowl as my pale hand grips the phone. “Three grand? How the hell—”

“They’ve got me tied up,” he cuts in, panic splintering his words. “Beat the shit outta me. Mira, please—I’m begging.”

My gut twists. Aiden’s a wreck—19, skinny white kid with greasy black hair and hollow green eyes, always twitching for a fix—but he’s my wreck. He held my hand when I started hormones, laughed with me over my first skirt, fucked around with me when I was drowning. I can’t let him die. “Hold on, you stupid fuck,” I growl, my brown eyes narrowing, lashes casting shadows on my high cheekbones. “I’m on my way.”

I ditch the lot, Jack’s glare burning holes in my back from his office window, and slide into my silver BMW E21—my baby, fresh from Pete’s garage, a gleaming trophy I fucked my way into owning. The engine snarls as I peel out, fishnets rubbing my toned thighs, my perky tits jiggling under the loose T-shirt with every sharp turn. The trap house on 14th is a rotting dump—peeling paint, boarded windows, a porch sagging under piles of trash. I park, boots crunching gravel as I step out, my plump ass swaying in those tight shorts, pale skin shining under the brutal sun. My heart’s thudding, but I toss my wavy hair back, square my shoulders, and march up to the door, my long legs flexing in the fishnets.

Before I can knock, it swings open, and I’m face-to-face with a fuckin’ wall—Jamal, mid-30s, Black, 6’3” of solid muscle, dark skin slick with sweat, bald head catching the light, thick beard framing a hard jaw. His sharp brown eyes slice through me, tank top clinging to his ripped chest, sagging jeans low on his hips, a gold chain glinting at his neck. “Who the fuck are you?” he rumbles, voice deep and edged, stepping onto the porch, his bulk filling the frame.

“Mira,” I say, my full lips tight, meeting his stare with my big brown eyes, lashes fluttering just enough to keep my edge. “Aiden’s friend. Where’s he at?”

Jamal leans against the doorframe, smirking, his gaze sliding slow over my body—my perky tits under the loose T-shirt, nipples teasing the fabric, my juicy ass hugged by denim, my long legs in those slutty fishnets. “That junkie’s inside. You here to settle his shit?”

I swallow, my wavy hair brushing my pale cheeks as I shift my weight, boots scuffing the porch. “I need to see him first. Let me in.”

He tilts his head, sizing me up, then jerks it toward the house. “Move, then.” I follow, ankle boots clicking on warped boards, the stench hitting me hard—weed, sweat, something rancid. In the living room, Aiden’s tied to a chair, gagged with a filthy rag, his skinny frame shaking under a torn hoodie. His face is fucked—black eye swollen shut, busted lip leaking blood, green eyes wide with terror. Three other guys circle him, all Black, all hard-edged, their presence filling the room like a storm.

Darius, late 20s, 6’0”, lean and wiry, short dreads spilling from a red cap tilted back, dark eyes glinting with a predator’s gleam. He’s in a gray wifebeater and cargo pants, a silver ring flashing on his finger. Tyrell, early 30s, 5’11”, stocky, buzz cut sharp, a scar slashing his left cheek, brown eyes cold and unyielding, arms crossed over a thick chest under a blue jersey, jeans tight on his legs. Leon, mid-20s, 6’2”, lanky but muscled, fade haircut clean, gold tooth winking when he grins, black hoodie and track pants loose, a joint hanging from his lips as he leans against the wall.

“Mira,” Aiden mumbles through the gag, his voice a broken plea, and my chest tightens, my pale hands clenching.

“Shut it,” Jamal snaps, ripping the rag from Aiden’s mouth, leaving him coughing. He turns to me, towering over my 5’6” frame, his brown eyes drilling into mine. “Three grand, girl. Where’s my fuckin’ money?”

I lift my chin, my wavy hair falling over one shoulder, fishnets stretching as I shift. “I don’t have three grand cash on me,” I say, voice steady even as my gut churns. “But I’ve got my car outside—BMW E21, silver, worth ten grand easy. Take it as collateral. Give us a week to get your money.”

Jamal steps closer, his bulk swallowing the space, his breath hot on my pale face, my heart-shaped features sharp in the dim light. “A car, huh?” He glances out the window at my E21, then back at me, his smirk growing as his eyes linger on my perky tits, my plump ass. “That’s somethin’, but it ain’t enough. You’re too damn fine to just stroll out. Me and my crew—we’re thinkin’ we want a taste of that sweet little body to lock this down.”

My stomach lurches, my full lips parting as I suck in air, my brown eyes flicking to Aiden—beaten, helpless, staring at me like I’m his last hope. “You’re shitting me,” I mutter, my pale hands balling into fists, my wavy hair brushing my shoulders as I tense.

“Nah, we ain’t playin’,” Darius says, stepping up, his dark eyes gleaming under that red cap, voice smooth but hard. “You wanna save your boy? We’re gonna need more than a car. How about you start by showin’ us what’s under that shirt?”

“Fuck, check that ass,” Tyrell adds, his scarred face twisting into a grin, his voice a low rumble as he uncrosses his arms, stepping closer. “Built like that, you’re askin’ for it.”

Leon exhales smoke, gold tooth flashing as he chuckles. “C’mon, girl, don’t act like you don’t know the game. You’re a fuckin’ snack—let’s see you work it.”

I glance at Aiden again, his busted lip trembling, his green eyes begging, and something in me cracks. My big brown eyes harden, my full lips pressing tight. “Fine,” I snap, voice sharp but quaking inside, tossing my wavy hair back. “You get the car, you get me—but you let him go after this. That’s the deal, right?”

Jamal nods slow, his smirk cutting deeper. “Yeah, bitch, that’s the deal. Boys, let’s get this party started.”

Aiden whimpers, still tied up, as Jamal grabs my arm, his thick fingers bruising my pale skin, dragging me to the center of the room. My heart’s racing, my perky tits rising fast under the T-shirt, my plump ass tense in the shorts. My long legs tremble in the fishnets, but I lift my chin, brown eyes defiant through my long lashes, even as dread coils tight in my gut. Here it fucking goes.

Jamal’s got my arm in a death grip, his thick fingers sinking into my pale ivory skin as he drags me dead-center in this festering trap house living room. My heart’s slamming like a jackhammer, my big brown eyes darting wild—5’6”, 125 lbs of me, all small, perky tits and plump, juicy ass, quaking under my loose white T-shirt and short denim shorts. My fishnet pantyhose cling tight to my long, toned legs, black ankle boots scuffing the grimy floor, my dark, wavy hair bouncing below my shoulders as I stumble into place. My tiny cock and balls shift loose under the denim, no panties to hold them, and my full lips part with a shaky breath, my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose flaring—flushed with a mix of dread and stubborn fuckin’ grit. Aiden’s still tied to that chair, his busted face a mess of blood and bruises, green eyes locked on me, and I’m doing this shit for him, even if it’s tearing me up inside.

“Alright, you fine-ass bitch,” Jamal growls, his voice a deep, rumbling threat as he looms over me, 6’3” of hard Black muscle, dark skin shining with sweat, bald head gleaming under the dim bulb, thick beard framing those sharp brown eyes that strip me bare. “Let’s see what you’re packin’. Strip—nice and slow, give us a show.”

I swallow hard, my pale hands trembling as I grab the hem of my T-shirt, peeling it up over my head slow-like, my wavy hair snagging for a split second before spilling free across my shoulders. My perky tits bounce out—small, firm, pink nipples stiffening fast in the stale, smoky air, pale skin glowing soft against the grime of this shithole. I let the shirt drop, fabric hitting the floor with a faint thud, and Darius lets out a low whistle, his late-20s frame stepping closer—6’0”, wiry, short dreads poking from under his red cap, dark eyes glinting hungry. “Damn, those little tits are fuckin’ cute,” he says, voice smooth and edged, his gray wifebeater showing off lean arms, cargo pants hanging low.

“Shorts next, slut,” Tyrell barks, early 30s, 5’11”, stocky as hell, buzz cut sharp, that scar on his left cheek twisting as he grins, blue jersey stretched tight over his thick chest. My full lips quiver, but Jamal’s glare cuts through me, and I fumble with the button, unzipping slow, sliding the denim down my long legs inch by inch. The shorts pool at my boots, leaving me in just fishnets and ankle boots, my plump ass jiggling free—pale, round, a fuckin’ feast—and my tiny cock and balls dangle out, soft and small, a little shock against my pale thighs.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Leon laughs, mid-20s, 6’2”, lanky but muscled, his fade haircut clean, gold tooth flashing as he stubs out his joint, black hoodie and track pants loose on his frame. “She’s got a little dick down there—what’s that about, girl?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, voice low, my brown eyes flicking up through long lashes, my wavy hair brushing my bare shoulders as I stand there, exposed. “I’m trans. That a fuckin’ issue?”

“Nah, shit’s just spicier now,” Jamal says, smirking wide, his big hand palming my plump ass, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp, my pale skin denting under his grip. “On your knees, bitch—time to put that pretty mouth to work.”

I drop slow, my toned legs folding under me, fishnets stretching tight as my knees hit the filthy floor, grit digging into my pale skin. Jamal unzips his jeans, and his cock flops out—nine fuckin’ inches, thick as my wrist, dark and veiny, the head fat and purple, glistening with pre-cum, balls heavy and swinging low like a goddamn pendulum. “Open up,” he orders, grabbing a fistful of my wavy hair, yanking my head back so my full lips split wide, my pale face tilted up, heart-shaped and defiant even as my gut churns.

“Fuck you,” I whisper, half-hearted, but I’m trapped, and he shoves in, stretching my lips tight around his girth, the salty, musky taste hitting my tongue hard. I gag quick, my throat clenching as he thrusts deep, that fat head slamming the back, drool spilling out fast, dripping down my chin onto my perky tits, soaking my pale chest. “Suck it good, you little slut,” he grunts, fucking my face slow and rough, hips rocking steady, his balls brushing my chin with every push, hairy and sweaty. My tiny cock twitches between my thighs, leaking a little, a wet spot forming on the floor, and I hate how my body’s reacting, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet as he uses me, my wavy hair tangled in his fist.

Darius steps up, unzipping his cargo pants, pulling out his piece—eight inches, slim and curved, dark shaft smooth, pink tip leaking a fat drop of pre-cum. “My turn, girl,” he says, grabbing my head from Jamal, who pulls out with a wet, sloppy pop, spit stringing thick from my swollen lips to his cock. Darius rams in, his curve hitting my throat at a fucked-up angle, making me choke louder, my pale hands clawing at his thighs through the fabric, nails digging in. “Fuck, her mouth’s tight,” he groans, thrusting fast, my full lips stretched wide, drool pouring down, soaking my perky tits more, nipples glistening as he fucks my throat relentless, my wavy hair swinging wild with every shove.

“Spread that fat ass,” Tyrell growls, kneeling behind me, his thick hands—scarred and rough as hell—grabbing my plump cheeks, pulling them apart hard. His cock’s out now—seven inches, stocky like him, dark and blunt, the wide head dripping wet. He spits on my hole, a hot, thick gob that trickles down my pale skin, and shoves two fat fingers in—rough, no warmup—stretching my tight rim with a slow, burning twist that makes me moan around Darius’s cock, my tiny cock leaking more, my long legs trembling in the fishnets. “Goddamn, this little hole’s snug,” he mutters, pumping them deep, scissoring me open, my fishnets rubbing my thighs raw as I rock back, reluctant but caught in it, my perky tits swaying under me.

Jamal yanks me off Darius, spit dripping thick from my swollen lips as he hauls me up by the arm, my boots scuffing the floor. “Couch, now,” he snaps, dragging me to an old, sagging piece of shit—stained, springs jabbing through, shoved against the wall. He throws me down on my back, my long legs flailing, fishnets snagging on the fabric, my perky tits bouncing as I hit the cushions, wavy hair splaying out around my head. “Legs up, bitch,” he orders, grabbing my ankles in his big hands, lifting them high over his broad shoulders, my plump ass hanging off the edge, pale and quivering, my tiny cock dangling useless against my pale stomach.

He lines up, his nine-inch beast pressing against my spit-slick hole, and slams in—raw, deep, splitting me open with one brutal thrust. “Fuck!” I scream, my brown eyes popping wide, lashes fluttering, my pale body jerking hard as he fills me, his heavy balls slapping my ass loud and wet. “Take this dick, you filthy little cunt,” he snarls, pounding me hard, the couch creaking under his weight, my plump ass bouncing with every slam, fishnets tearing at the thighs as my long legs shake over his shoulders. My tiny cock flops against my stomach, leaking pre-cum, my perky tits jiggling wild, nipples hard and pink against my pale skin.

Tyrell climbs on, straddling my chest, his stocky seven-incher in his scarred hand. “Open that mouth,” he grunts, shoving it in mid-scream, my full lips stretching again as he fucks my throat, that blunt head ramming deep, gagging me hard. I’m pinned—Jamal drilling my ass, Tyrell choking me with cock—my pale skin flushing red, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty face, drool and pre-cum dripping onto my tits, coating my nipples. “Fuckin’ choke on it, slut,” Tyrell growls, gripping my head with both hands, his scarred cheek twitching as he thrusts, my throat spasming, my long legs quaking over Jamal’s shoulders, boots dangling.

Leon steps in, gold tooth flashing, his eight-inch cock—long, thin, dark, with a tapered head—jutting out from his track pants. He kneels beside the couch, grabbing my pale hand and wrapping it around his shaft. “Stroke me, you nasty bitch,” he says, guiding my trembling fingers as I jerk him, his pre-cum slicking my palm, warm and sticky. Jamal pulls out slow, his cock glistening with my heat, and flips me onto my stomach, ass up high, face smashed into the couch cushions. “Spread those fuckin’ cheeks,” he orders, and I reach back slow, reluctant, pulling my plump ass apart with shaky hands, fishnets fraying more as he spits on my gaping hole—hot and thick—then rams back in, pounding me doggy-style, the couch rocking hard under his power.

“Goddamn, this ass is tight,” Jamal grunts, spanking me—crack—his big hand slamming down on my pale cheek, making it jiggle like a fuckin’ wave, a red handprint blooming fast. I’m on my hands and knees now, my plump ass thrust up, fishnets torn at the seams, my long legs spread, ankle boots scuffing the couch. My perky tits sway beneath me, nipples scraping the rough fabric, my pale skin slick with sweat as he pounds me raw, his heavy balls slapping my thighs—loud, wet, relentless. My tiny cock dangles between my legs, leaking pre-cum onto the cushions, a sticky mess marking my trembling frame, my wavy hair plastered to my full lips, sticking to my neck as I moan, muffled and broken.

“Time to stretch her good,” Darius says, voice low and mean, stepping up with his slim eight-incher—curved, smooth, pink-tipped, dripping from my spit. He slides onto the couch, flat on his back, gray wifebeater rucked up over his lean chest, cargo pants shoved to his knees, that curved cock jutting up stiff. “Get under, man,” Jamal snaps, pulling out slow, his thick nine slick with my juices, leaving my hole gaping, spit dripping down my pale thighs. Darius grins, dark eyes glinting under his red cap as I crawl over him, my long legs straddling his hips, fishnets shredding more, my pale thighs quaking.

“Ride it, slut,” Jamal orders, grabbing my wavy hair, yanking my head back so my brown eyes—wide, lashes wet—meet his hard stare. My heart-shaped face flushes red as I lower myself slow, guiding Darius’s slim cock to my wrecked hole, the curved tip nudging in, stretching me with a sharp sting as I sink down, my plump ass settling onto his lap, my tiny cock brushing his stomach, leaking a wet spot on his skin. “Fuck,” I hiss, my full lips parting, my perky tits bouncing free as I brace my pale hands on his chest, feeling him pulse inside me, my fishnets tearing wider at the thighs.

“Ride that dick, you greedy little whore,” Darius snarls, his hands clamping my hips, digging into my pale flesh, forcing me to grind down hard, his eight inches sliding deep, that curve hitting my insides raw. My plump ass jiggles with every roll, my long legs flexing, boots digging into the couch. Jamal kneels behind me, his 6’3” frame towering, bald head shining, his nine-incher back in hand. He spits on my hole—hot, thick, dripping over Darius’s shaft—then presses that fat head against my stuffed rim. “Gonna double this tight ass,” he growls, pushing in slow, forcing his thick meat alongside Darius’s, the stretch ripping through me like a goddamn blade.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I scream, my voice cracking, my pale body bucking as Jamal slides in, splitting my hole wide, the burn unbearable, wet squelches loud as both cocks fill me—Darius’s slim eight curving up, Jamal’s thick nine stretching me sideways. My plump ass quivers, stretched to its limit, my tiny cock pulsing hard, leaking onto Darius’s stomach, my perky tits heaving with every ragged gasp, nipples pink and raw against my ivory skin. “Take it, you filthy cunt,” Jamal snarls, syncing with Darius, thrusting slow then hard, their cocks sliding in and out, my hole gaping sloppy around them, my long legs shaking, boots slipping on the cushions.

Tyrell steps up, kneeling in front of me, his stocky frame hunched, buzz-cut head tilted, brown eyes cold as he grips his seven-incher—dark, blunt-headed, dripping from my throat earlier. “Open that fuckin’ mouth,” he grunts, grabbing my wavy hair with a scarred hand, yanking my head forward. My full lips part, trembling, and he shoves in, ramming his blunt cock deep, hitting my throat hard, making me gag loud, drool spilling fast, soaking my chin and dripping onto my perky tits. “Choke on it, bitch,” he growls, fucking my face relentless, his balls slapping my chin, my pale face flushed red, my brown eyes watering as spit strings thick from my lips.

I’m fucked three ways now—Darius beneath me, his slim eight pumping up into my ass as I ride him, Jamal behind, his thick nine tearing me open, Tyrell in front, his stocky seven choking my throat. My plump ass bounces between them, fishnets shredded to shit, my long legs quaking, my tiny cock trapped and leaking, smearing Darius’s stomach. My perky tits sway wild, nipples scraping the air, my wavy hair tangled in Tyrell’s fist, my pale skin slick with sweat and spit. “Fuckin’ take it all,” Darius groans, his hands bruising my hips, thrusting up harder, syncing with Jamal’s brutal slams, my hole stretched wide, wet and messy, the couch creaking loud under us.

“Goddamn, she’s made for this,” Jamal grunts, spanking me again—crack—left cheek, then right, red handprints stacking on my pale skin, my plump ass rippling with every hit. My scream’s muffled by Tyrell’s cock, my throat spasming as he fucks my face, his blunt head swelling, pre-cum coating my tongue. My brown eyes—lashes soaked—dart to Aiden, still tied, watching this fucked-up mess, his beaten face pale, and my tiny cock keeps pulsing, a sick thrill mixing with the dread clawing my gut.

Leon grabs my arm, yanking me off the couch, my boots dragging as he pulls me to a stained mattress in the corner, fishnets in tatters, one boot slipping off mid-stumble. “On your back, slut,” he says, shoving me down hard, my long legs splaying wide, pale thighs slick with sweat and spit. He lifts my hips with his lanky arms, his eight-inch cock—long, thin, tapered—plunging into my wrecked hole, thrusting deep, the mattress creaking as he fucks me missionary, my perky tits bouncing, nipples raw and pink against my pale chest. “Fuck, this pussy’s loose now,” he laughs, slapping my tits—crack—left, then right, my meager breasts stinging red, my wavy hair splaying across the mattress.

Jamal kneels beside me, grabbing my wavy hair, shoving his nine-incher back into my mouth. “Suck it clean, bitch,” he growls, fucking my throat slow and deep, my lips stretched wide, drool soaking my pale chest, dripping between my tits. Tyrell steps up, his thick fingers—three of them—shoving into my ass alongside Leon’s cock, stretching me wider, the burn turning raw as I moan around Jamal, my tiny cock twitching hard, leaking onto my stomach. “Fuckin’ take it,” Tyrell grunts, twisting his fingers, my hole clenching, my long legs shaking in Leon’s grip, one boot gone, the other scuffed and dangling.

Darius moves in, kneeling over my face, his curved eight-incher dangling wet. “Open wide, cunt,” he says, and I do, slow and reluctant, my full lips parting as he shoves in beside Jamal—two cocks in my mouth, stretching my jaw to its limit, gagging me hard, spit and pre-cum dripping down my chin, soaking my perky tits more. Leon pulls out, his cock slick, and Tyrell takes over, slamming his seven-incher into my ass, lifting my legs high over his stocky shoulders, pounding me into the mattress, my plump ass bouncing, fishnets shredded, my pale skin bruised and sweaty under his scarred hands.

“Gonna fist this slut,” Jamal says, pulling out of my mouth, his big hand slick with spit as he kneels between my thighs. Tyrell shifts aside, keeping my legs up, and Jamal shoves four fingers in—thick, rough—stretching my hole wide, then tucks his thumb, pushing his whole fuckin’ hand in slow, the stretch tearing me apart, my scream echoing as my pale body bucks, my tiny cock pulsing, my perky tits heaving wild. “Fuckin’ take it, you nasty bitch,” he snarls, twisting his fist, pumping slow, my ass grasping around his wrist, wet and sloppy, my long legs trembling in Tyrell’s grip, my wavy hair a tangled mess across the mattress.

“Shit, she’s takin’ it deep,” Leon mutters, stroking his eight-incher, stepping back as Darius pulls out of my mouth, my lips swollen and raw, spit dripping everywhere. Jamal fists me hard, my hole sucking him in, my brown eyes wide, lashes wet with tears, my pale skin prickling as he pumps, stretching me beyond reason. Tyrell lets my legs drop, and Jamal yanks his fist out with a wet, filthy pop, my ass gaping obscene, dripping spit and cum, my long legs collapsing to the mattress.

“Finish her off,” Jamal says, standing, stroking his nine-incher fast, his bald head shining with sweat. They circle me—Jamal’s thick nine, Darius’s curved eight, Tyrell’s stocky seven, Leon’s thin eight—all four cocks in hand, jerking hard as I lie there, wrecked as fuck. My fishnets are torn to ribbons, one boot missing, T-shirt and shorts long gone, my pale skin streaked with sweat, dirt, and cum, my perky tits heaving, my plump ass throbbing, my tiny cock limp against my thigh, my wavy hair plastered to my face, my brown eyes dazed but sharp. “Open that fuckin’ mouth,” Jamal growls, and I do, my full lips parting slow as they unload—hot, thick ropes of cum blasting my face, splattering my high cheekbones, my straight nose, dripping into my mouth, coating my tongue, hitting my perky tits, matting my wavy hair, marking my pale skin in a messy, filthy bukkake. Their groans fill the room as I choke on it, swallowing what I can, the rest pooling around me on the stained mattress.

They step back, panting, cocks softening, jeans zipping up slow—Jamal’s tank top clinging to his ripped chest, Darius’s red cap tilted, Tyrell’s jersey stretched, Leon’s hoodie loose. I’m a goddamn disaster—fishnets shredded, one boot off, my pale body bruised and cum-soaked, my plump ass gaping, my tiny cock spent, my wavy hair a sticky mess, my full lips smeared with their load. Aiden’s untied now, staggering over, his skinny frame shaking, his beaten face pale as he grabs my arm. “Mira, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, voice cracking, helping me up, my long legs wobbly as I stand, cum dripping down my pale thighs, my perky tits swaying free.

“Get me the fuck outta here,” I rasp, voice hoarse, leaning on him as we stumble to the door, my bare foot dragging, one boot clacking. Outside, my E21 sits in the dusk, silver and gleaming, theirs for now. Jamal’s voice cuts through, “One week, bitch—three grand, or that car’s ours for good.” I don’t look back, my full lips tight, my pale skin prickling in the cooling air, my brown eyes hardening with a resolve that’s all mine. I’ll get my baby back—I’ll fuckin’ make it happen, no matter what.