The hum of a
busted AC unit rattles through Jack’s Used Cars, a dusty lot on the edge of
town where I’ve been slinging overpriced “classics” all day. It’s a mild
afternoon, the kind that makes you wanna ditch the grind and soak in the
breeze, but I’m stuck here until closing. I’m Mira, 18, a trans girl who’s been
hustling hard to make a name for myself—5’6”, 125 pounds of fierce,
unapologetic heat. My white blouse clings to my small, perky tits, no bra to
hold them back, so my nipples poke at the thin fabric, teasing with every move.
A plaid mini skirt hugs my plump, juicy ass, riding high to flash my long,
toned legs, and black thongs keep my tiny cock and balls snug underneath. My
slingbacks click on the cracked pavement as I lean against a rusted Civic, my
dark, wavy hair bouncing past my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face—high
cheekbones sharp, straight nose proud, full pouty lips glossy with a hint of
pink, and brown eyes glinting with mischief under long lashes. My pale ivory
skin glows with a light sheen of sweat as I check my phone, ready to get the
hell out of here.
I’ve been working at Jack’s for a few months now, learning the car game while saving up to flip my own rides. It’s a grind, but it beats fucking for cash—though I’m not above using my body to seal a deal when it suits me. I turned my junkyard BMW E21 into a sleek beast with Pete’s help, and now I’m getting offers for it, which lit a fire under my ass to start flipping cars for real. My first projects—a black Mustang and a red Corvette I snagged at an auction for a steal, thanks to a quick, dirty fuck with the auctioneer—are waiting at Pete’s garage, and I’m itching to see them. Mark and I are clocking out soon, and we’re heading straight there to check on my babies.
Jack’s lot is a patchwork of beaters and overpriced “vintage treasures” that Jack swears are gold, but I know better. Mark’s finishing up with a customer near a dented pickup, his blond hair falling into his blue eyes, a goofy grin splitting his face as he hands over some paperwork. He’s mid-20s, white, tall and lanky—6’1” of lean muscle in a faded black tank top and cargo shorts, his pale skin smudged with grease from a long day under hoods. “Ready to see your babies, Mira?” he calls out, strutting over, his gaze raking over me—my perky tits straining the blouse, my juicy ass hugged by the skirt, my shapely thighs flexing as I push off the Civic.
“Fuck yeah, let’s roll,” I say, tossing my wavy hair, my brown eyes glinting with anticipation as I grab my keys from my purse. “Pete better have those cars ready to fucking shine.
The drive to Pete’s garage is quick, the E21 handling like a dream as we weave through traffic, the radio blasting some punk rock shit that gets my blood pumping. Pete’s place is a grimy shithole off the highway—oil stains on the concrete, the air thick with the tang of gasoline and burnt rubber, a rusted sign reading “Pete’s Auto” swinging crookedly above the open bay. Inside, my Mustang and Corvette are parked side by side, gleaming like goddamn royalty. The Mustang’s black paint is so slick I can see my reflection—my pale skin glowing, my full lips parted, my long legs stretching out as I step closer. The Corvette’s red finish pops under the fluorescent lights, its chipped frame now smooth and solid, the interior smelling of fresh leather instead of mildew.
I run a pale hand along the Mustang’s hood, my fingers tracing its curves, my slingbacks clicking on the concrete as I circle the car, my skirt riding up to tease my thighs. “Holy fuck, Pete,” I breathe, my voice low and impressed, my brown eyes wide under long lashes. “You’ve outdone yourself, you bald bastard.”
Pete lumbers over, wiping his hands on a rag, his bald head shining like a beacon under the lights. He’s early 40s, white, broad and rough—5’10” with a beer gut stretching his stained gray jumpsuit, his hazel eyes locking onto me, roaming over my perky tits, my plump ass, my long legs. “Told ya I’d make ‘em pretty,” he grunts, voice rough as gravel, a smirk tugging at his grizzled stubble. “Engines rebuilt, interiors scrubbed to hell, fresh paint—both of ‘em ready to roll. Cost you damn near seven grand, though.”
I wince, my full lips pursing, but Mark jumps in, crouching to inspect the Mustang’s undercarriage, his blue eyes narrowing as he runs a hand along the frame. “Worth every penny,” he says, standing up, dusting his hands on his jeans. “These are ready to flip, Mira. We’ll make bank.”
I smirk, my pouty lips curling, my pale hands planting on my hips, letting my blouse ride up to flash my flat stomach. “Then let’s make ‘em irresistible,” I say, voice dripping with mischief. “Grab your phone, Mark—we’re shooting some TikToks.”
For the next hour, I’m a fucking whirlwind, grinding against the Mustang’s hood, my plump ass bouncing in the skirt as I twerk, my perky tits jiggling under the blouse, nipples scraping the fabric with every move. I straddle the Corvette’s bumper, arching my back to highlight my shapely thighs, my wavy hair flying wild as I toss my head, hyping the cars with a sultry purr. “This Mustang’s a fucking beast—late ‘80s muscle, perfect for a collector with taste,” I say into the camera, licking my full lips, my brown eyes glinting with heat. “And this Corvette? Early ‘90s beauty, ready to roar—yours for the right price.” Mark films it all, his eyes hungry as I work, sweat beading on my pale skin, my blouse sticking to me, my tiny cock twitching in my thongs with the thrill of the hustle.
We edit the videos on my phone, tweaking every angle to highlight my curves and the cars’ shine—my juicy ass grinding, my long legs flexing, the cars gleaming like prizes. I post them on TikTok and Instagram, setting the prices high: 20 grand for the Mustang, 15 for the Corvette, hoping to snag at least 15 and 12. “These’ll sell fast,” Mark says, pocketing his phone, his blue eyes glinting with confidence. “You’re a fucking genius, Mira.”
“Damn right,” I reply, adjusting my skirt, my plump ass jiggling as I strut to the Mustang. “Let’s drive ‘em back to my place—park ‘em in the lot and wait for the cash to roll in.”
The drive to my apartment is a thrill, the Mustang’s engine growling under me, the Corvette purring behind as Mark follows. My building’s lot is a cracked expanse of asphalt, surrounded by chain-link fencing and a flickering streetlamp, but the cars look like fucking kings parked side by side. I step out, my slingbacks scuffing the pavement, my pale skin glowing in the fading light, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty neck as I admire my prizes, already dreaming of the profit.
A couple of days drag by—some checkers, no takers. A few guys show up, circling the cars, asking questions, but they balk at the price. Then a middle-aged dude rolls in for the Corvette—white, late 40s, receding hairline, a paunch pushing at his khakis and polo, brown eyes flicking nervously as he inspects the car. “Ten grand,” he grumbles, and I take it, grinning as I pocket the cash, happy to claw back my investment. “Enjoy the ride, old man,” I say, winking, my full lips curling as he drives off, the Corvette’s taillights fading into the dusk.
But the Mustang? I’m holding out for more. And then he shows up—an early 20s IT nerd, Asian, maybe 5’8”, with short black hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a shy smile that screams virgin. He’s slim, dressed in a button-down and jeans, his brown eyes widening as he sees me leaning against the Mustang, my blouse unbuttoned just enough to tease my perky tits, my skirt riding high on my shapely thighs, my pale skin shimmering with a light sheen of sweat.
“Hey there,” I purr, tossing my wavy hair, the faint scent of jasmine wafting off me as I step closer, my pumps clicking. “Here for the Mustang?”
He nods, blushing hard, his gaze darting to my plump ass, then back to my face, his hands trembling as he touches the hood. “Y-yeah,” he stammers, voice soft, his brown eyes wide behind his glasses. “It’s… beautiful.”
I lean in, letting him feel the heat off my pale body, my voice low and teasing. “She’s a fucking beast—late ‘80s muscle, perfect for someone who wants to look cool, make a statement. You’d turn heads in this, babe.”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, his hands fidgeting as he walks around the car, trying to focus but clearly rattled by me. We haggle, but he’s shit at it—too shy, too unsettled by my fluttering lashes, my perky tits, my juicy ass, my long legs stretching out in front of him. I play him like a fiddle, and we settle on 17.5 grand—a steal for me, a splurge for him. He hands over the cash, his hands shaking, and I pocket it with a smirk, my brown eyes glinting with triumph.
After the deal, he hesitates, his brown eyes locked on mine, his face flushed. “Uh, Mira… would you, um, wanna go out sometime?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
I smile, soft but firm, my full lips curling gently. “You’re sweet, but I’m not looking right now, babe.”
His face falls, desperation creeping in, and he blurts, “What if I paid you? To, uh, pretend to be my girlfriend at a party tonight. Five hundred bucks.”
I raise an eyebrow, my pouty lips pursing, my pale hands planting on my hips. “Arm candy, huh? You wanna look good in front of your nerd friends?”
He nods, blushing deeper, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Yeah. I just… want to look cool. Please, Mira?”
Pity tugs at me, my brown eyes softening under long lashes. “Alright, nerd,” I say, voice low and teasing. “I’ll do it—for free. But you owe me one. Pick me up at 7.”
His eyes light up, relief flooding his face as he grins, a mix of gratitude and disbelief. “Thank you, Mira. You’re fucking amazing.”
At 7 p.m., the nerd—Kevin—rolls up to my apartment building in the Mustang, the engine growling low, its black paint gleaming under the flickering street lamp. I step out, a fucking vision in a strapless, pastel color-block mini dress that hugs every curve—light purple fading to pink, yellow, and blue—snug against my small, perky tits and plump, juicy ass, ending well above my knees. Matching peep-toe heels in soft purple click with every step, my long, toned legs flexing, my tiny cock and balls tucked tight in white thongs, no bra to hide my hard nipples poking through the stretchy fabric. My dark, wavy hair cascades loose, brushing my pale ivory shoulders, and light makeup makes my brown eyes pop under long lashes, my full, pouty lips glossy with a hint of shimmer. I’m Mira, 18, a trans girl who’s been owning this body for two years—5’6”, 125 pounds of slutty perfection, ready to make Kevin the king of his nerd crew.
He steps out of the Mustang, his slim frame awkward in a button-down and jeans, his black hair neat behind wire-rimmed glasses, brown eyes widening as he takes me in—my perky tits, my juicy ass, my shapely thighs glowing in the dim light. “M-Mira,” he stammers, blushing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You look… incredible.”
I smirk, my full lips curling, tossing my wavy hair as I saunter over, my heels clicking on the asphalt. “Thanks, nerd,” I purr, sliding into the passenger seat, my dress riding up to flash my pale thighs. “Let’s make your friends fucking jealous.”
The drive to the party is a half-hour trek to the suburbs, the Mustang purring beneath us, the city fading into tree-lined streets and cookie-cutter houses with manicured lawns. Kevin’s hands grip the wheel tight, his knuckles white, his brown eyes flicking to me every few seconds, like he can’t believe I’m real. “So, uh, this party,” he says, voice soft, “it’s at a coursie’s place. It’ll be… kinda wild. Lots of people.”
I lean back, crossing my long legs, letting my dress ride higher, my pale skin catching the streetlights. “Good,” I say, my voice low and teasing, my brown eyes glinting with mischief. “More people to see you roll in with a babe like me, right?”
He nods, a shy smile breaking through, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Yeah. Thanks again, Mira. This means a lot.”
The house is a sprawling two-story deal, white siding and big windows, the kind of place that screams “my parents are out of town.” The front lawn is already littered with red cups and cigarette butts, music blasting from inside—some thumping EDM shit that vibrates the air. Cars line the street, and the backyard glows with string lights, a swimming pool shimmering under the night sky. We pull into the driveway, the Mustang’s growl turning heads, and I step out, taking Kevin’s arm, my heels clicking on the pavement, my wavy hair bouncing as I press myself close, my perky tits grazing his side.
The party’s a fucking zoo—50+ people crammed inside and out, the air thick with the smell of beer, weed, and chlorine. College kids in swimsuits splash in the pool, others play beer pong on a folding table, shouting over the music, while couples grind on a makeshift dance floor in the living room. Heads turn as we walk in, jaws dropping—guys in frat shirts, girls in tight dresses, all staring at Kevin with a mix of shock and envy. “No fucking way,” I hear a guy mutter, his eyes raking over me—my plump ass hugged by the dress, my long legs stretching out, my pale skin glowing under the lights. “Kevin’s with her?”
I play it up, laughing at Kevin’s lame jokes, leaning into him, my wavy hair brushing his shoulder as I spin bullshit stories. “Oh, Kevin’s such a player,” I say to a group of his friends, my voice dripping with charm, my brown eyes sparkling. “We met at this underground car meet—he swept me off my feet with this Mustang.” They eat it up, their eyes wide, respect growing for Kevin as I cling to his arm, my perky tits pressing against him, my full lips curled in a flirty smile.
We drink—cheap beer that tastes like piss, but it gets us buzzing—dance to the thumping beat, my juicy ass grinding against Kevin’s hips, his hands hesitant but growing bolder as I guide them to my waist. We play beer pong, and I cheer him on, my voice loud and teasing—“That’s my man!”—as he sinks a shot, his friends clapping him on the back, their doubts fading. Kevin’s grinning like a kid, his brown eyes shining with gratitude, his shy demeanor melting away with every passing hour. “Mira, you’re fucking amazing,” he whispers during a slow song, his hands on my hips, my pale body swaying against his.
By 10 p.m., I’m ready to bounce, my heels pinching my feet, my buzz fading, but I decide to do one last solid for Kevin. The pool area’s mostly empty now, the party shifting inside, the string lights casting long shadows over the water. I pull him to a lounge chair on the far side—private enough but still visible through the big windows to anyone who looks. I lean in, my breath hot against his ear, my voice a husky whisper. “Hey, nerd,” I murmur, my full lips brushing his earlobe. “I’m trans. But if you’re up for it, we can fuck right here, shut your doubters up for good. I’ll keep my cock and balls hidden in my thongs, so you don’t lose face.”
He pulls back, eyes wide behind his glasses, but there’s no shock—just heat, his brown eyes locking on mine. “Mira,” he says, voice low, “you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I don’t care if you’re trans. Let’s do it.”
I smirk, my pouty lips curling, and straddle his lap, my dress riding up to flash my pale thighs, my hands gripping his shoulders as I crash my lips into his—hot, hungry, my tongue shoving deep, tasting the beer and nervousness on him. His hands roam my back, hesitant at first, then bolder, sliding down to grip my plump ass through the dress, squeezing hard as I grind against him, feeling his cock stiffen through his jeans. “Fuck, Kevin,” I moan into his mouth, my voice raw, my perky tits pressing against his chest, nipples scraping the fabric as I rock my hips, my tiny cock twitching in my thongs.
I slide down between his legs, my knees hitting the cushioned chair, my wavy hair spilling around my face as I unzip his jeans, yanking them down to his thighs along with his boxers. His cock springs free—six inches, slim, with a pink head already leaking pre-cum, the shaft twitching in the cool night air, his balls tight and smooth. I wrap my full, pouty lips around it, sucking slow and deep, my tongue swirling the veiny shaft, tasting the salt and musk as he groans loud, hands gripping the armrests, his hips twitching. “Fuck, Mira, that mouth,” he gasps, voice shaking, and I take my time, drawing it out, my brown eyes locked on his through long lashes, my pale hands stroking his thighs, nails scraping his skin. I tease the tip, licking the slit, lapping up the pre-cum, then swallow him whole, my throat clenching around him, spit dripping down his balls, soaking the chair. I bob my head slow, lips stretched tight, tongue lapping the underside, gagging just enough to make it sloppy, drool spilling over my chin, dripping onto my perky tits, the pastel dress clinging to my sweat-slicked skin. “Goddamn, hard fuckin’ cock, you nerd,” I murmur, voice muffled, pulling off to stroke him, my pale fingers slick with spit, before diving back in, sucking harder, deeper, my wavy hair a curtain around my face, my long legs folded under me, heels dangling off the chair.
After a long, wet blowjob—minutes of slow, filthy sucking, his groans echoing across the pool—I stand, yanking my dress up to my waist, the pastel fabric bunching tight, my white thongs stretched over my tiny cock and balls, keeping them hidden as promised. I turn, bending over the chair, my pale hands gripping the armrests, my plump ass thrust out, long legs spread wide, heels planted firm on the ground. Kevin drops to his knees behind me, his hands spreading my juicy cheeks, his breath hot against my skin as he yanks the thong strip aside and buries his face in my ass, his tongue licking a slow, wet stripe up my crack before plunging into my tight hole. “Fuck, eat that pussy, Kevin,” I moan loud, voice carrying, knowing eyes are on us from inside, my shapely thighs trembling as his tongue fucks me deep, sloppy and hot, spit running down my pale thighs, soaking my thongs. He adds his fingers—two, then three—curling hard against my spot, stretching me open, my hole clenching around him, the burn raw and intense, my perky tits heaving under the dress, nipples aching as I arch deeper, pushing back against his face, his glasses fogging up, his tongue relentless, lapping deep, making my head spin, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty neck.
“Goddamn, finger me harder, you little shit,” I pant, voice raw, my pale body trembling, my long legs quaking in my heels as he pumps his fingers faster, scissoring me open, his tongue still lapping my rim, spit dripping everywhere, pooling on the chair. My tiny cock throbs in my thongs, leaking pre-cum, but the fabric keeps it tucked, my focus on the show we’re putting on—Kevin’s friends watching through the windows, their jaws dropping as I moan louder, shameless, my voice echoing across the pool.
He stands, his slim six-incher slick with my spit, and lines up behind me, his hands clamping my hips, bruising my pale skin as he nudges the pink head against my slick hole. “Gonna fuck you so good, Mira,” he growls, voice rougher now, confidence growing, and he slams 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 plump ass bouncing with the thrust, his balls slapping my thongs loud and wet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yell, voice echoing, every inch stretching me good, my long legs trembling, heels scraping the ground, my perky tits bouncing under the dress, nipples raw from the friction as I grip the chair harder, my wavy hair falling over my face, sticking to my full lips.
“Take it, you sexy fucking slut,” he grunts, his hips slamming into my juicy ass—slap, slap, slap—the sound carrying, my pale body jolting forward with every thrust, my tiny cock leaking in my thongs, pre-cum soaking the fabric, smearing against my stomach. He spanks my ass—crack—hard, the sting sharp, my pale cheek jiggling, a red handprint blooming fast, making my hole clench tighter around him. “Goddamn, this ass is perfect,” he snarls, spanking again—crack—left, then right, then left again, my plump cheeks quaking, red marks layering over each other, the pain mixing with pleasure as I moan louder, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet with sweat, knowing we’re being watched, the partygoers inside staring, their doubts about Kevin fucking obliterated.
“Harder, you little nerd—wreck me,” I beg, voice hoarse, pushing back against him, my shapely thighs trembling, my pale hands clawing the chair, nails digging into the cushion as he pounds me, his slim cock tearing into me, hitting my prostate with every brutal thrust. He yanks my wavy hair, pulling my head back hard, my pale neck arching, my perky tits lifting off the chair, the dress slipping down to bare them completely, nipples pink and hard, bouncing wild with every slam. “Fuckin’ love this tight hole,” he growls, his voice raw, his glasses slipping down his nose as he drills me, his balls slapping my thongs, the wet sound echoing, the night air thick with the stench of sex and chlorine.
He pulls out sudden, his cock slick and throbbing, and flips me onto my back on the chair, my long legs dangling, my plump ass perched on the edge, my pale body trembling, my perky tits heaving, my wavy hair plastered to my sweat-slicked face. He lifts my legs high, hooking them over his shoulders, my purple heels swaying, my shapely thighs quaking as he shoves back in—slow, deep, his brown eyes locked on mine, his hands gripping my pale ankles, his cock hitting deep, making me gasp, my tiny cock still hidden in my thongs, leaking steady. “Take it slow, you sexy bitch,” he rasps, his voice rough, easing in and out, the angle hitting every fucking spot, my pale body shaking under him, the chair creaking, the string lights casting shadows over my sweat-slicked skin.
“Goddamn, you’re fucking me good, Kevin,” I moan, voice hoarse, my brown eyes half-lidded, lashes fluttering as he fucks me slow, passionate, his cock filling me completely, his balls brushing my ass with every thrust. He picks up speed, thrusts turning rough, the chair rocking hard, my perky tits bouncing wild, my tiny cock straining in my thongs, the fabric soaked with pre-cum. “Fuck me harder, you little shit,” I growl, my voice raw, my pale thighs quaking in his grip, my long legs spread wide, heels dangling as he pounds me, his hips slapping my ass loud and wet—slap, slap, slap—the sound carrying across the pool, the partygoers inside staring, their eyes wide, Kevin’s cred soaring.
He pulls out again, his cock glistening, and I push him down onto the chair, straddling him reverse, my plump ass hovering over his dick as I lower myself, my hands braced on his knees, my dress hiked up to my waist, thongs still hiding my tiny cock. I sink down slow, his slim six-incher filling me again, the stretch making me moan loud, my pale body trembling, my wavy hair cascading down my back as I start to ride him, my juicy ass bouncing hard, the chair creaking under us. “Fuck, ride that cock, Mira,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips, bruising my pale skin, spanking my ass again—crack, crack, crack—my cheeks quaking, red and raw, the sting making my hole clench tighter, my long legs flexing, heels swaying as I grind down, his dick buried deep, hitting my prostate with every bounce.
“Goddamn, you’re wrecking me, nerd,” I pant, voice breaking, my perky tits bouncing free, nipples hard and pink, my pale body slick with sweat as I ride him harder, faster, my plump ass slapping his thighs, the sound echoing, the partygoers inside watching, their jaws on the floor. He grabs my wavy hair, yanking me back, my pale neck arching, my tits thrusting out as he thrusts up to meet me, his cock slamming deep, making me scream, my voice raw, my brown eyes rolling back, lashes wet with sweat.
He flips me one last time, pushing me face-down on the chair, my plump ass up high, my pale hands gripping the cushion, my long legs splayed wide, heels scuffing the ground, my dress bunched at my waist, thongs skewed but still hiding my tiny cock. He kneels behind me, spreading my juicy cheeks with both hands, his thumbs digging into my flesh, exposing my gaping hole, dripping with spit and pre-cum. “Fuckin’ look at this wrecked hole,” he growls, spitting a thick wad right onto my rim—hot, wet, dripping—then ramming his cock back in, deep and relentless, splitting me open raw, my plump ass bouncing with every thrust, the sound wet and filthy—slap, slap, slap—echoing across the pool.
“Pound that ass, you little fucker,” I sob, my voice muffled against the cushion, my pale body trembling under him, my perky tits pressed into the chair, nipples scraping the fabric as he drills me, his slim cock stretching me out, my long legs quaking, heels slipping. He spanks my ass again—crack—left, then right, then both, my pale skin burning red, stinging hot as my juicy ass ripples under his hands, the pain making my hole clench tighter, my tiny cock leaking in my thongs, soaking the fabric, smearing my stomach. “Fuckin’ love this tight little cunt,” he roars, his voice raw, his balls slapping my thongs, my wavy hair a tangled mess, my brown eyes watering as he pounds me into the chair, my pale body rocking with every brutal thrust.
“Cum in me, you nerd—fucking fill me,” I moan, voice breaking, my pale thighs quaking in his grip, my long legs spread wide, heels dangling as he slams in one last time, his slim cock pulsing as he unloads—hot, thick ropes of cum flooding my ass, spilling deep inside me, mixing with my heat, dripping out as he grinds against me, his sweaty body pressing into my back, panting heavy over my neck. I clench around him, milking every drop, my body trembling, ass throbbing, sweat slicking my pale skin, my perky tits heaving, my wavy hair plastered to my face, my brown eyes dazed but triumphant.
We catch our breath, his softening cock slipping out with a wet squelch, cum dripping down my pale thighs, pooling on the chair in a sticky mess. I fix my thongs, keeping my tiny cock hidden, and smooth my dress down, the pastel fabric clinging to my sweat-slicked skin, my perky tits still bare, nipples hard in the cool air. Kevin zips up, his glasses fogged, his black hair a mess, his brown eyes wide with awe as he helps me up, my long legs shaky in my heels, my wavy hair tangled and sweaty, my full lips curled in a satisfied smirk.
We find the host—a tall, white guy, early 20s, buzzcut, holding a beer, his green eyes flicking to Kevin with new respect. “Leaving already?” he asks, voice slurred, his gaze lingering on my plump ass, my pale skin streaked with sweat, the cum stains on my dress.
“Yeah, gotta get my girl home,” Kevin says, his arm around my waist, his voice steady now, confidence radiating off him. I lean into him, my wavy hair brushing his shoulder, my brown eyes glinting as I smile, playing the part one last time.
The drive back is quiet, the Mustang’s engine a low rumble, the suburbs fading into the city’s glow. Kevin’s hands are steady on the wheel now, his brown eyes flicking to me, gratitude and something deeper—admiration, maybe—shining in them. “Mira,” he says as we pull up to my building, his voice soft but firm, “I can’t thank you enough. Tonight… it changed everything for me.”
I step out, my heels clicking on the asphalt, my dress still clinging to my sweaty skin, cum trickling down my pale thighs, my ass throbbing with every step. I lean into the open window, my perky tits pressing against the door, my full lips curling into a smirk. “You’re welcome, nerd,” I purr, tossing my wavy hair, my brown eyes locking on his. “You’re a fucking king now—don’t forget it.”
He grins, a real, genuine smile, and pulls away, the Mustang’s taillights fading into the night. I strut inside, my heels echoing in the empty hallway, my pale body a mess—dress stained, hair tangled, ass sore, but my spirit soaring. I collapse onto my bed, the city humming outside, my tiny cock still tucked in my thongs, my brown eyes glinting with the thrill of the hustle, the fuck, the win. I’m Mira, and I’m fucking unstoppable.
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