The rooftop’s my usual escape, but tonight I’m letting Laura drag me somewhere new. “Come on, you have to come with us!” she yells through the phone, her voice buzzing with that annoying cheerleader energy. “It’ll be like old times—all of us at the stadium, screaming our heads off!”
I pause, twirling a strand of my dark, wavy hair around my finger. It falls just below my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips glossed pink, and brown eyes with lashes so long they’d make a drag queen jealous. “I don’t know, Laura. I’ve never even seen a fucking soccer match.”
“That’s the point, dummy!” she laughs. “It’s the championship tonight. You can’t miss it. Stop being a buzzkill and say yes already.”
Her excitement’s contagious, and fuck, it’s been ages since I hung out with the crew. “Fine,” I groan, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see. “I’ll go.”
The stadium’s a chaotic mess when I get there—colors everywhere, fans in jerseys and scarves screaming like lunatics. My outfit’s simple but tight as hell: a black tank top clinging to my small, perky tits, nipples poking through if you squint, and skinny jeans hugging my plump, rounded ass and long, toned legs. At 5’6” and 56 kg, I’m light but curvy where it counts, and my fair skin glows under the harsh stadium lights. I’ve been living as a girl for two years now—born a boy, sure, but every inch of me screams woman now, from my tiny cock and balls tucked in my black thong to the sway of my hips as I weave through the crowd.
“Mira! Over here!” Laura’s voice cuts through the noise, and I spot her waving like a maniac. She’s saved me a seat between her and Mark, her boyfriend. Laura’s a petite blonde, all bouncy curls and big green eyes, while Mark’s a stocky white guy, mid-20s, with a buzzed head and a lazy grin. He nods at me, his gaze lingering on my tight tank and the way my jeans grip my ass. “Hey, Mira,” he says, casual but curious.
“Hey,” I mutter, sliding in next to him. The air smells like popcorn and cheap beer, and my stomach rumbles despite the nerves.
“You’re gonna love this,” Laura chirps, handing me a foam finger with the team’s logo. “Trust me.”
The match kicks off, and holy shit, the energy’s insane—feet stomping, voices roaring, some asshole spilling soda down my back when the crowd surges. I’m swept up in it, cheering with strangers like we’re old friends. My tiny tits bounce under my tank with every jump, and I catch Mark sneaking glances at my chest.
Half-time hits, and Laura bounces off to grab drinks, leaving me with Mark. He shifts closer, his knee brushing mine. “So, Mira,” he starts, voice low, “you’ve been looking damn good lately. What’s your secret?”
I blush, my fair skin turning pink, and my full lips twitch into a shy smile. “Uh, thanks. Just… living, I guess.”
He nods, eyes dipping to my tits again, then back up. “Laura’s always going on about how badass you are, you know.”
“For what?” I ask, tilting my head, my long lashes fluttering.
“For being you,” he says, leaning back with a smirk. “Takes guts to live your truth like that.”
I swallow, my throat tight. The stadium lights catch his shiny scalp—he’s like a fucking bald eagle—and I almost laugh. “Yeah, well, didn’t have much choice,” I murmur.
“Still,” he says, eyes locked on mine, “not everyone’s got the balls—or, uh, whatever—to pull it off.”
I snort, relaxing a bit. “Fair.”
Then someone slides into an empty seat beside me—a tall guy, maybe 30, with messy dark hair and piercing blue eyes that cut right through me. He’s white, lean but muscled, with a sharp jaw and a cocky grin. “This spot taken?” he asks, voice smooth, already settling in.
“Nah, go for it,” I say, heart kicking up a notch. Those eyes are trouble, and fuck if I don’t feel them sizing me up—my tight tank, my jeans stretched over my plump ass, my long legs crossed tight.
“Name’s Alex,” he says, offering a hand. His grip’s firm, warm, and lingers just long enough to make me squirm. “And you?”
“Mira,” I reply, my voice shakier than I’d like. My tiny cock twitches in my thong, and I shift, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“Nice to meet you, Mira,” he says, glancing at the field. “So, you a big fan or what?”
I shrug, feeling the heat of his thigh against mine. “First time here. I’m just cheering for whoever’s winning.”
He laughs, low and easy, his blue eyes glinting. “That’s a rookie move, but I’ll let it slide. You’ll figure out who to root for by the end.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, my cheeks burning as his hand brushes my thigh—light, accidental, but enough to make my skin tingle. The second half starts, and we’re yelling with the crowd, his hand staying put, thumb grazing my jeans in slow, lazy strokes. It’s distracting as fuck, and I’m half-hard under my tight denim, my tiny balls aching.
The home team scores, and the place explodes. Alex’s grip tightens, pulling me closer, and our eyes lock—his are dark, hungry. “Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” he says, voice rough. “You feel that rush?”
“Uh-huh,” I nod, breathless, my full lips parting.
He leans in, breath hot against my ear. “How about we ditch this noise and celebrate somewhere quieter?”
My heart’s pounding, but I’m already nodding, hooked on that voice, that look. “Let’s go.”
We weave through the stands, the crowd’s energy pulsing around us like a goddamn heartbeat. He leads me down a dim corridor, the neon restroom sign flickering ahead. It’s not empty—guys are milling around, pissing and shouting—but Alex doesn’t care. He shoves me against the tiled wall, the cold biting my back through my tank, and crashes his mouth into mine.
His kiss is hard, messy, tongue shoving in deep. I moan, fisting his shirt, tasting beer and raw want. His hands roam—up my sides, grabbing my small tits through my top, squeezing until my nipples throb, then down to my plump ass, digging in hard. “Fuck, you’re hot,” he growls, breaking off, his erection jabbing my stomach through his jeans. My tiny cock’s straining in my thong, leaking against the denim.
“Stall,” I gasp, my voice a needy whisper. “Now.”
He smirks, dragging me into the nearest stall and locking it. The space is tight, stinking of piss and bleach, but it’s perfect for this. He spins me around, shoving me chest-first against the metal partition. My tank rides up, exposing my flat stomach, and he yanks my jeans down to my thighs, my black thong following. My plump ass jiggles free, fair skin glowing under the shitty fluorescent light.
“Goddamn, look at that fat ass,” he mutters, slapping it hard. The crack echoes, and I yelp, the sting making my tiny cock twitch. “You like that, huh, you little slut?”
“Fuck yes,” I stammer, legs trembling, my long hair sticking to my sweaty face.
He smacks the other cheek, harder, leaving red handprints on my fair skin. “Thought so. Dirty fucking girl.” His hands spread me open, fingers brushing my tight hole, and I push back, desperate. “You want it bad, don’t you?”
“Please,” I whine, my full lips trembling. “Fuck me already.”
“Beg louder,” he snaps, teasing my hole with a spit-slick finger, circling slow.
“Please, Alex, shove that cock in me,” I beg, voice breaking, my tiny balls aching.
He laughs, dark and mean, spitting into his hand and smearing it over my hole. His jeans hit the floor, and I glance back—his cock’s a solid 7 inches, thick, veiny, with a fat pink head dripping pre-cum. “Gonna wreck this pretty little ass,” he says, lining up and slamming in.
“Fuck!” I scream, the stretch brutal, my hole burning as he fills me balls-deep. My jeans are bunched around my thighs, thong tangled at my knees, and my tank’s pushed up over my tits. He doesn’t wait, just starts pounding—hard, fast, skin slapping skin, his balls smacking mine with every thrust.
“Take it, you tight little bitch,” he grunts, one hand wrapping around my throat—not choking, just owning me. My long legs shake, barely holding me up, and my tiny cock bounces, leaking onto the filthy floor. His other hand grabs my hip, yanking me back to meet every brutal thrust.
“Harder,” I moan, loving the way he’s splitting me open, my plump ass jiggling with each hit.
“Fucking greedy,” he snarls, picking up the pace, ramming my prostate until I’m seeing stars. My small tits bounce free under my shoved-up tank, nipples hard as rocks. “Gonna make this slutty hole gape.”
He pulls out suddenly, spinning me around and shoving me down onto the toilet seat. My jeans and thong slide to my ankles, and he lifts my legs over his shoulders, spreading me wide. “Ass up, cunt,” he orders, and I arch, my plump cheeks splayed for him.
He spits on my hole again, then plunges back in, his thick cock stretching me raw. “Fuck, you’re so loose now,” he groans, short, sharp thrusts nailing my sweet spot. My tiny cock’s rock-hard, dribbling pre-cum onto my stomach, and he grabs it, jerking me rough in time with his pounding.
“Shit, I’m close,” I gasp, my voice wrecked, my fair skin slick with sweat.
“Not yet, you little whore,” he growls, tightening his grip on my throat. My long lashes flutter, brown eyes watering as he fucks me senseless, the stall rattling with every slam. “You cum when I say.”
“Please, Alex,” I sob, my toes curling in my sneakers, legs dangling helplessly.
“Cum, you filthy slut,” he finally snarls, and I explode—my tiny cock spurting weak, watery jets across my tank, staining the black fabric. My ass clenches hard around him, milking his cock, and he roars, unloading deep inside me, hot cum flooding my guts.
He keeps thrusting through it, dragging out my orgasm until I’m shaking, then pulls out, his last spurts splattering my plump ass and thighs. I slump against the toilet, panting, my jeans and thong around my ankles, tank bunched over my tits, cum dripping everywhere.
“You good?” he asks, voice softer now, rubbing my back.
“Fuck yeah,” I pant, still dazed.
He grins. “Good, ‘cause I ain’t done.” He pulls me up, grabs my face, and kisses me deep. My legs wobble, but I melt into it, my tiny cock twitching again. He steps back, pants still down, his slick cock half-hard. “On your knees, bitch.”
I drop fast, knees hitting the grimy floor, my jeans and thong still tangled at my feet. He guides my head, and I take him in—salty, musky, coated in my ass and his load. My full lips stretch around him, spit dripping as I suck, my long hair falling in my face. “Fucking look at you,” he mutters, hands tangling in my waves, shoving himself deeper. “Pretty little cocksucker.”
I gag, throat tightening, but keep going, my brown eyes locked on his blue ones. He hardens fast, thickening in my mouth, and I moan around him, drool pooling on the floor. “Swallow it all,” he grunts, and I nod, taking him to the hilt as he cums again—hot, sticky ropes hitting my throat. I choke, swallowing hard, the taste lingering as he shudders.
He pulls me up, kissing me sloppy, sharing the mess. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, helping me yank my thong and jeans back up, cum still leaking down my legs. My tank’s a wreck, stained and stretched, but I don’t care.
We step out, the restroom now packed with drunk fans pissing and yelling. Laura’s back at the seats, smirking as we slide in, my face flushed, hair a mess. “Where’d you two sneak off to?” she teases, eyes flicking between us.
“Bathroom break,” I mumble, voice hoarse, Alex’s hand creeping back to my thigh.
The match ends—home team wins—and the crowd loses it. Laura’s screaming, but all I feel is Alex’s thumb brushing my skin, my ass still throbbing. “We should do this again,” he whispers. “Somewhere I can really fuck you up.”
“Maybe,” I say, smirking, already hooked.
We spill out into the night, Laura chattering, but my head’s on Alex—his cock, his hands, the way he owned me. At the exit, he grabs my phone, typing in his number. “See you soon, Mira,” he says, kissing me hard before vanishing into the crowd.
Laura drives me home, grinning like she knows. “You good?” she asks.
“Fucking great,” I admit, legs still shaky as I climb out. In my apartment, I collapse on my bed, phone buzzing—Alex, checking in. I smile, typing back, already hard for round two.
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