The sun’s a relentless fucker today, blazing
down on the cracked pavement outside my shitty apartment, the kind of heat that
makes you sweat just standing still. I’m Mira, 18, a trans girl who’s been
carving out this life for two years—5’6”, 125 pounds of trouble, with small,
perky tits, a plump ass, a tiny cock and balls, and long, toned legs that makes
men drool and cocks twitch. My dark, wavy hair spills past my shoulders,
framing my heart-shaped face—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose proud, full pouty
lips begging for trouble, and brown eyes with long lashes that glint with
mischief. My pale ivory skin glows in the sunlight as I step out, keys to my
silver BMW E21 dangling in my hand, ready to hustle.
I’m dressed for a day out—baseball cap
pulled straight over my hair, an orange puffer jacket fully unzipped to flaunt
my curves, a red flannel shirt hanging open with sleeves rolled to my elbows,
and a white cropped tee hugging my perky tits, nipples teasing the thin fabric
since I ditched the bra. Tight jeans cling to my juicy ass and shapely thighs,
tracing every inch of my long legs, while brown work boots—scuffed but
solid—land with a heavy thud. I’ve got ten grand saved up, a mix of cash from
deals and the occasional fuck-for-pay, but I’m done with that label. I’m not a
prostitute—I love sex, love looking sexy, love the way men desire me, and I’m
not above using my body to get an edge. But I want more. I want adventure, new
faces, new friends, and yeah, new fucks, all while making an honest(ish)
living.
Flipping cars could be my ticket. After
buying my E21 from Rusty’s junkyard, getting it rebuilt by Pete, and jumping
through hoops to register it, I’ve learned the game. Now I’m getting offers as
high as fifteen grand for it, and I’m hooked. It’s a way to make real money
without spreading my legs for every dollar—though I’m not above a little side
action to seal a deal. I could open an OnlyFans and rake in millions without
leaving my apartment, but that’s not me. I crave the rush of the road, the
thrill of the hustle, the heat of a stranger’s gaze. So I’m off to an auction
twenty miles out of the city, hoping to snag some beaters to fix up and flip
for a profit.
I slide into the E21, the engine roaring to
life, and peel out to grab Mark from Jack’s Used Cars. He’s my go-to guy for
car shit, and I’ve asked him to keep this side hustle quiet from Jack—I don’t
need the boss sniffing around my plans. Mark’s leaning against a rusted Civic
when I pull up, mid-20s, white, tall and lanky—6’1” of lean muscle in a faded
gray tee and ripped jeans. His shaggy blond hair falls into his blue eyes, and
he flashes a goofy grin as he hops in. “Ready to make some cash, Mira?” he asks,
his gaze raking over me—my perky tits, my plump ass hugged by denim, my long
legs stretched out as I grip the wheel.
“Fuck yeah,” I say, tossing my wavy hair, my
brown eyes glinting under the cap’s brim. “Let’s do this, babe.”
The highway’s a playground, and I gun it,
the E21’s M20 six-cylinder purring like a beast as we tear through the miles,
wind blasting through the open windows, my hair whipping wild. Mark cranks the
radio—some punk rock shit that gets my blood pumping—and we’re yelling over it,
trading jabs and laughing like idiots. “That rusted-out Beetle at Jack’s,” he
shouts, grinning wide. “Looked like it’d been fucked by a tank!”
I laugh, my full lips parting, high
cheekbones catching the sunlight. “Yeah, and Jack called it ‘vintage charm.’
Fucking con artist.”
He snorts, shaking his head, his blue eyes
bright. “You’re gonna clean up at this auction, Mira. You’ve got the knack for
this shit.”
I smirk, my pale fingers gripping the wheel
tighter. “Damn right. I’m done scraping by. I want a better life—real money,
real freedom. No more selling ass for cash, you know? I mean, I’ll fuck to
sweeten a deal, but I’m not a goddamn whore. I want to build something.”
Mark nods, his gaze softening, but there’s a
flicker of heat there too. “You’re a fucking force, Mira. You’ll get there. And
hell, if you’re flipping cars like you flipped that DeVille, you’re already
halfway to a fortune.”
His words hit deep, and I feel a spark of
pride, my tiny cock twitching in my black thong under the jeans. I’ve always
been a hustler, but this feels different—bigger, cleaner, like I’m finally
carving out a path that’s mine. The road stretches out like freedom, the city
fading in the rearview, replaced by dusty fields and the occasional billboard
for shitty diners. We’re buzzing, the E21 handling like a dream, and I’m high
on the thrill of what’s ahead.
After an hour, I pull off at a rundown
fast-food joint—Burger Bonanza, the sign flickering, the parking lot a ghost
town except for a couple of junkers and a dumpster overflowing with trash.
“Let’s grab some garbage,” I say, parking under the neon glow, the smell of
grease and burnt fries hitting me as I step out. I stretch slow, my cropped tee
riding up to flash my flat, pale stomach, my ivory skin shimmering in the sun,
my plump ass popping in those tight jeans.
Mark’s eyes are on me, dark and hungry, as
he steps out, his blond hair falling into his face. “You’re staring, perv,” I
tease, stepping close, letting him catch the faint jasmine on my skin, my brown
eyes locking on his through long lashes.
“Can’t help it,” he says, his voice dropping
low, his hand grazing my arm, sending a shiver down my pale spine. “You’re
fucking edible, Mira.”
I grin, grabbing his wrist, dragging him to
the back of the lot where the shadows stretch long and the air’s thick with
grease and heat. “Then eat me, dumbass,” I purr, shoving him against the brick
wall of the joint, my pale hands sliding under his tee, feeling his abs tense
under my touch. His breath catches, and I drop to my knees, my long legs
folding under me, boots scraping the pavement, my wavy hair falling around my
heart-shaped face as I unzip his jeans, yanking them down to his thighs. His
cock springs out—seven inches, slim, pale, with a pink head already weeping
pre-cum, the shaft twitching in the dim light.
I wrap my pouty lips around it, sucking him
deep, my tongue swirling the veiny shaft as he groans loud, his hands knotting
in my wavy hair, yanking me forward. “Fuck, Mira, that mouth,” he gasps, hips
jerking, shoving his cock down my throat. I gag hard, drool spilling over my
chin, soaking his balls, dripping onto my pale chest, but I keep going, bobbing
fast, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet as I take him deeper, my throat
clenching around him. My tiny cock’s straining in my jeans, leaking into the denim,
a wet spot spreading as I moan around him, the vibration making him curse
louder. “Goddamn, choke on it, you little slut,” he snarls, thrusting harder,
my full lips stretched obscene, spit stringing thick from my mouth to his tip
as he fucks my face, his balls slapping my chin, heavy and sweaty.
He yanks me off after a long minute, panting
hard, his blue eyes wild. “Bend over, you filthy bitch,” he growls, spinning me
around, shoving me against the hood of a rusted pickup parked nearby. My pale
hands brace on the warm metal, my plump ass thrust out, jeans stretched tight
over my juicy cheeks. He yanks my jeans down to my knees, the denim snagging on
my boots, and rips my thong aside, the lace tearing slightly, baring my tight
hole and tiny cock dangling free, hard and leaking onto the pavement. “Fuck,
look at this ass,” he mutters, dropping to his knees behind me, his hands
spreading my cheeks wide, exposing my pink hole to the humid air.
His tongue dives in, hot and wet, licking a
slow, filthy stripe up my crack before plunging into my hole, fucking me with
it, sloppy and deep, his spit running down my pale thighs, soaking my jeans. I
moan loud, shameless, pushing back hard, my shapely thighs trembling, my wavy
hair sticking to my sweaty neck as I grind against his face. “Eat that ass,
Mark—fuckin’ eat it,” I gasp, my voice raw, my perky tits straining the cropped
tee, nipples scraping the fabric as I arch deeper. His nose brushes my tiny balls,
his tongue relentless, lapping deep, making my head spin, my long legs quaking
in my boots. “Goddamn, you’re good at that,” I pant, feeling his hands grip my
thighs, bruising my pale skin, his tongue fucking me harder, spit dripping
everywhere, pooling on the ground.
He stands, wiping his mouth on the back of
his hand, his blond hair a mess, blue eyes blazing with lust. “Gonna fuck you
senseless,” he growls, spitting on his hand, slicking his cock, and lining up
the pink tip to my slick, gaping hole. He slams in—hard, deep, his slim seven
inches filling me to the hilt, the stretch burning hot, my plump ass bouncing
with every brutal thrust, his balls slapping my tiny cock loud and wet. I
scream, the pain melting into pleasure, my pale hands clawing the hood, nails scratching
the rusted paint. “Fuck, yes!” I moan, my voice echoing in the empty lot, my
wavy hair falling over my face, sticking to my full lips as he pounds me, his
hips smacking my ass, the pickup creaking under the force.
“Take it, you little whore,” he grunts,
grabbing my wavy hair, yanking my head back hard, my perky tits lifting off the
hood, my cropped tee riding up to bare my flat stomach. He thrusts harder, his
cock hitting my prostate, making my tiny cock leak steady, pre-cum dripping
onto the hood, smearing across the metal. “Goddamn, your ass is tight,” he
snarls, spanking my plump cheek—crack—the sound sharp, my pale skin
flaring red, my ass jiggling under his hand. “Fuckin’ love this juicy ass,” he
growls, spanking again—crack—left, then right, then left again, my
cheeks quaking, red marks blooming fast, the sting making my hole clench
tighter around him.
“Harder, fuck me harder, you bastard,” I
beg, my voice hoarse, brown eyes rolling back under long lashes, my pale body
trembling as he hammers me, the heat and sweat mixing with the smell of grease
and burnt fries. He speeds up, pounding relentless, his slim cock tearing into
me, my plump ass rippling with every thrust, my tiny cock bouncing, leaking
more, pre-cum stringing down to the hood. Then he pulls out sudden, his cock
slick and throbbing, and flips me onto my back on the hood, my long legs spread
wide, boots dangling off the edges, jeans tangled at my knees, thong skewed to
one side. My pale thighs tremble, my cropped tee bunched up to bare my perky
tits, nipples pink and hard, my wavy hair splayed across the rusted metal like
a dark halo.
He grabs my ankles, lifting them high,
spreading me wider, and shoves back in, his cock sliding deep, hitting every
fucking spot, making me scream again. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” he
groans, leaning over me, his hands pinning my pale wrists above my head, his
blond hair falling into his blue eyes as he thrusts hard, the pickup creaking
louder, my perky tits bouncing with every slam, my tiny cock smearing pre-cum
across my pale stomach. “Look at you, you filthy slut—taking this cock like a
champ,” he growls, his voice rough, his hips slapping my ass, the sound wet and
loud—slap, slap, slap—echoing in the empty lot.
“Fuck me, Mark—wreck me,” I moan, my voice
breaking, my brown eyes locked on his, lashes fluttering as he pounds me, my
pale body rocking on the hood, my shapely thighs quaking in his grip. He
reaches down, his rough hand wrapping around my tiny cock, stroking fast, his
fingers tight, making me gasp louder, my hole clenching around his cock. “Cum
for me, you nasty bitch,” he snarls, and I do—hard, my tiny cock spurting weak,
watery jets across my cropped tee, staining it white, dripping down my pale stomach,
my ass clamping down on his cock, milking him.
He roars, pulling out fast, his slim cock
pulsing as he strokes himself, blasting his load over my plump ass cheeks, hot,
thick ropes of cum streaking my pale skin, dripping down my thighs, pooling on
the hood in a sticky mess. I’m a fucking wreck—cropped tee soaked with cum,
jeans tangled at my knees, thong torn and skewed, boots scuffed, my wavy hair
plastered to my sweaty face, brown eyes dazed but smirking, my full lips parted
as I pant, my pale body trembling with the aftershocks.
Mark helps me up, grinning wide, his blond
hair a mess, blue eyes bright with satisfaction. “Goddamn, Mira, you’re a
fucking wildcat,” he says, handing me a napkin from his pocket, wiping the
sweat off his brow. I clean up quick, tugging my jeans back up, adjusting my
thong, my plump ass throbbing, cum still dripping down my pale thighs as I pull
my cropped tee down, the fabric sticking to my sweaty skin.
“Thanks for the pit stop, babe,” I say,
winking, my pouty lips curling as I adjust my cap, my pale skin still flushed,
my long legs shaky but steady in my boots. “You’re a good sport for coming
along.”
“Anytime, Mira,” he laughs, zipping up, his
blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Now let’s hit that auction and make some
fucking money.”
I nod, sliding back into the E21, the engine
roaring as we peel out, the taste of Mark’s cock still on my lips, the ache in
my ass a sweet reminder of the road trip’s first win. We’ve got cars to flip,
cash to make, and I’m ready to hustle—my way.
The auction field’s a dusty, chaotic sprawl
twenty miles outside the city, a patchwork of gravel and dead grass baking
under the late morning sun. Rows of cars—some gleaming, some rusted
wrecks—stretch out like a graveyard of forgotten dreams, surrounded by a crowd
of sweaty, loudmouth buyers, their voices a constant buzz over the hum of
engines and the occasional blare of a horn. I park my silver E21 near the edge,
the engine ticking as it cools, and step out, my brown work boots kicking up
dirt, my orange puffer jacket flapping open to show off my red flannel and
cum-stained cropped tee, the white fabric clinging to my small, perky tits,
nipples still hard from the road trip fuck with Mark. My tight jeans hug my
plump ass and shapely thighs, the denim streaked with sweat and pre-cum, and my
baseball cap sits atop my head, my dark, wavy hair spilling out, sticking to my
sweaty neck. My pale ivory skin glows in the harsh light, my heart-shaped
face—high cheekbones sharp, straight nose proud, full pouty lips curled in a
smirk—drawing stares from every horny bastard in sight as I stretch, my long
legs flexing, my tiny cock twitching in my black thong at the thought of the
hustle ahead.
Mark hops out beside me, his blond hair a
mess, blue eyes scanning the lot as he rubs his hands together. “Damn, Mira,
it’s a fucking zoo,” he mutters, his lanky 6’1” frame towering over me as he
adjusts his faded gray tee, his ripped jeans still a little skewed from our
earlier fun. “Let’s see what’s worth grabbing.”
We weave through the crowd, the air thick
with cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and the tang of gasoline, the ground
littered with crushed beer cans and cigarette butts. I catch a few guys
staring—some grizzled old fucker in a trucker hat, a younger dude with a mullet
and a beer gut—their eyes raking over my perky tits, my juicy ass, my long legs
in those tight jeans, and I flash them a wink, my brown eyes glinting under
long lashes, loving the way they squirm. Mark and I check out the cars, weaving
between rows of beaters and classics, some with hoods popped, others tagged
with neon stickers screaming “AS IS” or “NON-OPERATIONAL.” Two catch my eye: a
black Mustang, late ‘80s, with a sleek body but a busted engine, and a red
Corvette, early ‘90s, its paint chipped but the frame solid. I lean close to
Mark, my wavy hair brushing his arm, my jasmine scent mixing with the lot’s
stench. “These two?” I ask, my voice low, my full lips curling as I run a pale
hand along the Mustang’s hood.
He crouches, peering under the chassis, his
blue eyes narrowing as he inspects the undercarriage. “Yeah, they’re good
picks,” he says, standing, dusting his hands on his jeans. “Bodies are solid,
just need engine work. Pete could fix ‘em up for under six grand, easy. Flip
‘em for ten each, maybe more if we clean ‘em up nice.”
I smirk, my pouty lips stretching wide, high
cheekbones catching the sunlight. “Sweet. But we need ‘em cheap—can’t let a
bidding war fuck our margin. I’m not here to break even.”
“Damn right,” he says, nodding, his blond
hair falling into his eyes. “Auctions like this, though—you never know. Some
asshole with deep pockets could drive the price up, leave us with shit for
profit.”
I nod, my brown eyes scanning the field,
calculating. “Let’s poke around, see if there’s anything else before it kicks
off. I’ve got a plan to make sure we get these cheap.”
Mark raises an eyebrow, his goofy grin
returning. “A plan, huh? Why do I get the feeling you’re about to cause
trouble?”
I laugh, tossing my wavy hair, my pale skin
shimmering with sweat. “Because you know me, babe. Keep looking—I’ll be back.”
I peel away from him, strutting through the
crowd, my plump ass swaying in those tight jeans, drawing more stares as I head
for a rusty trailer office in the distance—the auctioneer’s hole. The trailer’s
a dump, its metal siding dented and peeling, the door ajar, a faded sign
reading “AUCTION HQ” taped crookedly above it. I knock once, stepping in
without waiting, the air inside stale with the smell of old coffee, cigarette
smoke, and cheap aftershave. The auctioneer’s hunched over a desk drowning in
papers, a white guy in his late 40s, with a thick mustache, graying brown hair
swept back, and sharp green eyes that snap up to me, widening as they rake over
my body—my perky tits straining the cropped tee, my juicy ass hugged by denim,
my long legs flexing in my boots. He’s 5’10”, stocky, with a slight gut pushing
against his plaid shirt, khakis wrinkled, a gold watch flashing on his wrist as
he stands, his square jaw tightening, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Well,
hello there,” he drawls, his voice smooth but dripping with want, his gaze
lingering on my full lips, my pale skin, my shapely thighs. “What can I do for
a pretty thing like you?”
I flash a smile, tossing my wavy hair, my
pale skin glowing in the dim light of the trailer, my brown eyes locking on his
through long lashes. “Hey, handsome. Name’s Mira. I’m here for the auction, but
I’m hoping to cut a deal first.”
He leans back against the desk, arms
crossed, his green eyes glued to my perky tits, the cum stains on my cropped
tee catching his attention. “A deal, huh? What kind?” he asks, his voice
dropping lower, his mustache twitching as he smirks.
I step closer, letting him catch the faint
jasmine on my skin, my voice low and teasing as I trail a finger down his
chest, feeling his heart thud under the plaid. “That black Mustang and red
Corvette out there—lot numbers 17 and 18. I want ‘em, but I don’t wanna fight a
bidding war with these deep-pocketed assholes. Sell ‘em to me direct, skip the
bullshit.”
He chuckles, shaking his head, but his eyes
don’t leave my body, roaming over my plump ass, my long legs, the curve of my
pale neck. “Can’t do that, sweetheart. Against the rules. I’d lose my license
if anyone found out.”
I pout, my full lips trembling just enough
to hook him, my brown eyes glinting with promise. “C’mon, there’s gotta be a
way. I’m flexible—maybe I can sweeten it for you, make it worth the risk.”
His green eyes darken, a slow, dangerous
grin spreading across his face as he stands up and steps closer, his breath hot
with coffee and tobacco, his stocky frame looming over me. “Sweeten it, huh?
You’re a bold little slut, aren’t you? What’re you offering, Mira?”
I smirk, pressing my pale body closer, my
perky tits grazing his chest, my voice a husky whisper. “How about a trade?
Those cars—and a taste of me after the auction. I’ll make it so fucking good
you won’t care about the rules.”
He swallows hard, his gaze flicking to my
perky tits, then back to my face, his green eyes blazing with lust. “Those cars
are marked non-operational, but I can’t sell ‘em for nothing, darlin’. They
could be worth $2500 each. But… a thousand each, and you let me have you right
now, right here in this office. I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
I smirk, my brown eyes locking on his, my
pale fingers trailing down to his belt, feeling the bulge already swelling. “A
thousand each? Make it five hundred each, and you can be as rough as you
fucking want—I can take it.”
He’s hooked, his grin widening, his green
eyes sparking with raw hunger. “You drive a hard bargain, you little whore.
Let’s split the difference—fourteen hundred for both, and I’ll fuck you
senseless.”
I laugh, low and dirty, my pouty lips
curling, my pale skin tingling with anticipation. “Fourteen hundred for both,
huh? Deal, you horny bastard—let’s see what you’ve got.”
He grins, teeth sharp, and locks the trailer
door with a loud click, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the cramped
space. “Oh, I’ll bring it, you filthy bitch. Strip—now,” he snarls, his voice
thick with want, his hands already unbuttoning his plaid shirt, revealing a
hairy chest and a slight gut, his khakis tented with his hard-on.
I pull off my puffer jacket, tossing it onto
a chair, then peel off my flannel, letting it hit the floor, my cropped tee
hugging my perky tits tight, the cum stains from my spent load still visible,
making his green eyes spark with curiosity. I shimmy my jeans down my long
legs, the denim snagging on my boots before I kick them off, leaving me in my
black thong, the lace skewed from earlier, and my cum-stained cropped tee. He’s
on me fast, his rough hands yanking my tee up and over my head, baring my small
tits, nipples hard as fucking diamonds, pink against my pale ivory skin. He
grabs me by the back of my head, pushing me down to my knees on the grimy
linoleum floor, my long legs folding under me, my wavy hair falling around my
heart-shaped face, brushing my full lips as I look up at him, smirking.
“Suck it, you little whore,” he growls,
unzipping his khakis, yanking them down to his thighs along with his boxers,
his cock springing free—eight inches, thick as hell, veiny, with a fat red head
already slick with pre-cum, the shaft pulsing hot in the dim light, his balls
heavy and hairy, dangling low. I wrap my pouty lips around it, sucking him
deep, my tongue swirling the veiny shaft, tasting the salt and musk as he
groans loud, his hands fisting my wavy hair, yanking me forward hard. “Fuck,
choke on that cock,” he snarls, thrusting deep, his fat head hitting the back
of my throat, making me gag hard, drool spilling over my chin in thick, messy
strings, dripping down my pale chest, soaking his balls. My tiny cock’s
twitching in my thong, leaking a wet spot into the lace, my brown eyes
watering, lashes wet as I take him deeper, my throat clenching around him, spit
stringing thick from my stretched lips to his dripping tip.
“Goddamn, you’re a pro at this, you filthy
slut,” he grunts, his hips bucking, fucking my face relentless, his balls
slapping my chin, heavy and sweaty, the trailer filled with the wet, obscene
sounds of my gagging—gluck, gluck, gluck—as he uses my mouth like a toy.
My pale hands grip his thighs, nails digging into his hairy skin, my perky tits
bouncing slightly with every brutal thrust, my wavy hair a tangled mess in his
grip, my scalp stinging as he pulls harder. “Deeper, you nasty bitch—take it
all,” he roars, shoving his cock down my throat until my nose presses into his
wiry pubes, my throat spasming, tears streaming down my pale cheeks, but I keep
sucking, my tongue lapping the underside of his shaft, making him curse louder.
He yanks me off after a long minute, his cock popping free with a wet slurp,
spit stringing from my lips to his tip, smearing across my full lips as I gasp
for air, my brown eyes dazed but defiant.
“Bend over the desk, you little cunt,” he
orders, hauling me up by the arm, his grip bruising my pale skin as he spins me
around, shoving me forward. I stumble, catching myself on the cluttered desk,
papers and pens scattering to the floor, my pale hands gripping the edge, my
plump ass thrust out, thong still clinging to my hips, my long legs trembling
in my boots. He yanks my thong down to my ankles in one rough tug, the lace
tearing completely, leaving my tight hole and tiny cock exposed, dangling free,
hard and leaking onto the desk. He smacks my ass—crack—hard, the sound
echoing in the trailer, my pale cheek bouncing, red blooming fast, the sting
making my hole clench. “Fuckin’ look at this juicy ass,” he mutters, spitting a
thick gob onto my hole—hot, wet, dripping—then shoving two rough fingers in,
stretching me wide with a slow, burning twist that makes me gasp loud, my
shapely thighs quaking, my wavy hair falling over my face, sticking to my
sweaty neck.
“Finger that ass, you bastard,” I moan,
pushing back hard, my perky tits swaying under me, nipples brushing the desk’s
rough wood as I grind against his hand, my hole clenching around his digits,
sucking them in deeper. He adds a third finger, his knuckles grazing my
insides, stretching me wider, the burn turning to a raw, needy ache as I rock
my hips, my pale skin prickling with sweat, my brown eyes half-lidded under
long lashes. “Goddamn, you’re tight,” he growls, pumping his fingers deep,
scissoring me open, his other hand spanking my ass again—crack—left,
then right, then left again, my plump cheeks quaking, red marks layering over
each other, stinging hot and sharp, making my tiny cock leak more, pre-cum
dripping onto the desk in a sticky pool.
He pulls his fingers out with a wet pop,
leaving my hole gaping, throbbing, and lines up his thick cock, the fat red
head pressing insistent against my slick rim. “Gonna fuck you raw, you little
slut,” he snarls, and slams in—balls-fucking-deep, raw, no mercy, his eight
inches splitting me open with a force that rips a scream from my throat, my
pale skin flushing red, my perky tits bouncing against the desk, my long legs
buckling as I brace harder. “Fuck, yes!” I scream, the stretch burning hot, my
plump ass jiggling with every brutal thrust, his hairy balls slapping my tiny
cock loud and wet, the trailer creaking with the force of his hips smacking my
ass—slap, slap, slap—the sound echoing like a drumbeat.
“Take it, you filthy whore,” he grunts,
grabbing my wavy hair, yanking my head back hard, my pale neck arching, my
perky tits lifting off the desk, nipples scraping the wood as he pounds me, his
thick cock tearing into me, hitting my prostate with every savage thrust.
“Goddamn, this tight little cunt,” he snarls, spanking my ass again—crack—my
pale cheek quaking, red and raw, the sting making my hole clench tighter around
him, my tiny cock leaking steady, smearing pre-cum across the desk. “Fuckin’
love this juicy ass,” he growls, spanking harder—crack, crack, crack—left,
then right, then both, my ass rippling like a goddamn wave, the pain mixing
with pleasure as I moan loud, shameless, my brown eyes watering, lashes wet
with sweat.
“Harder, fuck me harder, you piece of shit,”
I beg, my voice hoarse, my pale body trembling under him, my wavy hair a sweaty
curtain over my face, sticking to my full lips as he drills me into the desk,
the wood rattling, papers sliding to the floor. He speeds up, pounding
relentless, his thick cock stretching me obscene, my plump ass bouncing with
every thrust, my tiny cock slapping my stomach, leaking more, pre-cum stringing
down to the desk. Then he pulls out sudden, his cock slick and throbbing, and
grabs a pair of handcuffs from a drawer, the metal glinting in the dim light.
“Let’s see how you take it like this,” he growls, yanking my pale wrists behind
my back, snapping the cuffs on tight, the cold steel biting into my skin,
locking my hands together as I whimper, my long legs trembling, my plump ass
still thrust out, begging for more.
He spins me around, lifting me onto the
desk, my cuffed hands digging into my lower back, my long legs spread wide,
boots dangling off the edges, my pale thighs trembling, my tight hole gaping
and wet. He shoves back in, his thick cock slamming deep, the angle brutal,
hitting something raw inside me, making me scream again, my brown eyes wide,
lashes fluttering, my wavy hair splayed across the desk like a dark halo.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I chant, my voice breaking, my perky tits bouncing free,
nipples hard and pink, my pale body rocking on the desk, my shapely thighs
quaking with every thrust, his hips slapping my ass loud and wet—slap, slap,
slap—the trailer stinking of sweat, sex, and tobacco. “Wreck me, you
bastard—fuckin’ do it,” I moan, my voice raw, my pale skin slick with sweat, my
tiny cock smearing pre-cum across my stomach, bouncing with every brutal slam.
He reaches down, his rough hand wrapping
around my tiny cock, stroking fast, his fingers tight, his green eyes widening,
his face contorting with a mix of shock and raw desire. “You didn’t fucking
tell me you’re a tranny, you little bitch,” he growls, his voice thick with
anger and hunger, his thick cock still buried deep in my ass, throbbing hot
against my walls.
I smirk, my full lips curling, my brown eyes
glinting with defiance. “Surprise, asshole. Now fuck me like you mean it—don’t
fucking stop.”
His face contorts—anger, confusion, but he’s
too far gone to pull out, his lust taking over, his green eyes blazing with a
new, feral heat. “You little freak,” he growls, slamming into me harder, his
thick cock pounding my ass with renewed fury, his hand jerking my tiny cock
rough, nails scraping my skin. “I’ll wreck you, you filthy fucking cunt,” he
roars, his hips slamming my ass, the desk rattling hard, my perky tits bouncing
wild, my pale body trembling under him, my cuffed hands digging into my back, the
steel biting deeper as he fucks me senseless.
“Fuck yes, wreck me—give it to me,” I moan,
my voice breaking, my pale thighs quaking in his grip, my long legs spread
wide, boots dangling, my wavy hair sticking to my sweaty face, my brown eyes
half-lidded as he pounds me, his thick cock tearing into me, hitting my
prostate with every brutal thrust. He spanks my thigh—crack—the sting
sharp, making my pale skin flare red, then grabs my ankles, lifting them high,
hooking them over his shoulders, spreading me wider, his cock hitting deeper,
making me scream louder, my voice echoing in the trailer. “Goddamn, you’re a
tight little freak,” he grunts, his voice raw, his hairy gut pressing into me,
hot and sweaty, his balls slapping my ass, my tiny cock leaking hot between us,
smearing his plaid shirt with every slam.
He pulls out sudden, his cock slick and
throbbing, and drags me off the desk, my cuffed hands making me stumble, my
long legs shaky in my boots, my pale body slick with sweat, my perky tits
swaying as I catch my balance. “On your knees, you nasty bitch,” he snarls,
shoving me down hard, my knees hitting the grimy linoleum, the impact jarring,
my wavy hair falling over my face, sticking to my full lips. He kneels behind
me, spreading my plump cheeks with both hands, his rough 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 in the trailer.
“Pound that ass, you piece of shit,” I sob,
my voice muffled against the floor, my pale body trembling under him, my perky
tits pressed into the linoleum, nipples scraping the grime as he drills me, his
thick cock stretching me obscene, my long legs splayed wide, boots scuffing the
floor. 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 grinding into the floor,
leaking hot and sticky, smearing the filth. “Fuckin’ love this tight little
cunt,” he roars, his voice raw, his balls slapping my thighs, my wavy hair a
tangled mess, my brown eyes watering as he pounds me into the floor, my pale
body rocking with every brutal thrust.
“Cum for me, you filthy freak—scream it,” he
snarls, his hand snaking around, jerking my tiny cock rough, his fingers tight,
nails scraping my skin. The pressure builds, hot and tight, and I explode—my
tiny cock spurting thick, hot ropes onto the floor, soaking the grime, my plump
ass clenching hard around his cock, milking him. He bellows, a guttural roar,
slamming in one last time, then pulling out fast, stroking his thick cock as he
unloads—hot, thick ropes of cum blasting over my plump ass cheeks, streaking my
pale skin, dripping down my thighs, pooling on the floor in a sticky mess,
mixing with my own cum, the trailer reeking of sex and sweat.
I’m a fucking disaster—cropped tee long
gone, jeans and boots scattered, thong torn to shreds, handcuffs biting my
wrists, my pale skin bruised, sweaty, streaked with cum and dirt, my wavy hair
a tangled, sweaty mess plastered to my face and neck, my brown eyes dazed but
glinting with defiance, my full lips smeared with spit and drool. He uncuffs
me, rubbing my wrists gently, his green eyes still hungry as he zips up, his
softening cock tucked away, still glistening with my juices. “Fourteen hundred
for both cars,” he says, his voice calm now, tossing me a rag from the desk.
“Deal’s a deal, Mira. You’re a hell of a fuck.”
I clean up quick, wiping the cum off my
plump ass, my pale thighs, tugging my jeans back on, the denim sticking to my
sweaty skin, my boots scuffing the floor as I pull them on, my flannel and
puffer jacket thrown over my shoulder, my cropped tee a lost cause. “Pleasure
doing business,” I purr, winking, my pouty lips curling, my ass throbbing, cum
still trickling down my pale legs as I adjust my cap, my wavy hair a mess but
my brown eyes sharp, ready to hustle.
---
Back outside, the auction’s in full swing,
the crowd buzzing as cars sell left and right, the auctioneer’s voice booming
over a megaphone now, his green eyes flicking to me as I slip into the crowd,
finding Mark near the front. “Where the hell’d you disappear to?” he asks, his
blue eyes curious, his blond hair falling into his face.
I wink, tossing my wavy hair, my pale skin
still flushed, my perky tits bouncing under the flannel as I lean close. “Just
making deals, babe. Watch and learn.”
The auction rolls on, cars fetching high
prices—some rusted piece of shit goes for four grand, a shiny Camaro for
twelve—and Mark’s jaw drops when the Mustang and Corvette never hit the block.
“What the fuck?” he mutters, turning to me, his blue eyes wide. “Mira, what did
you do?”
I smirk, my brown eyes glinting, my full
lips curling as I adjust my cap. “Got us a steal, that’s what. Fourteen hundred
for both—already done.”
He laughs, shaking his head, his goofy grin
returning. “You’re fucking unreal, you know that?”
After the auction wraps, we head back to the
trailer, the auctioneer handing over the paperwork with a smirk, his green eyes
raking over me one last time, lingering on my plump ass, my long legs, the
bruises on my pale wrists. “Enjoy your cars, Mira,” he says, his voice low, a
hint of hunger still there. “Hope to see you at the next one.”
“Oh, you will,” I purr, strutting out, my
juicy ass swaying, Mark trailing behind, the paperwork tucked under my arm.
We hire a tow truck, watching the Mustang
and Corvette get loaded up, the driver—a gruff old guy with a beard—grumbling
about the distance to Pete’s garage. I lean against my E21, boots crossed, cap
tilted, my pale skin still tingling with the day’s chaos, my wavy hair a mess
but my brown eyes sharp, my full lips curled in a satisfied smirk. Two cars for
$1400, a fuck that’ll linger, and a hustle that’s just getting started—I’m
Mira, and I’m fucking unstoppable.
No comments:
Post a Comment