Mira thought she was in control of the entire universe; you couldn't name anything that did not, in some way, seem to be hers.
She was arrogant, selfish and maybe even sociopathic: what Mira wanted, Mira got.
Mira was just too beautiful for most men to turn down; tan and Italian, her luscious hair was the shade of black pearls and fell to her slim waist; her hips were full, her ass was round and her breasts were fleshy, mouthwatering mounds that swelled out of her bra whenever her back was too straight-- which was just about any time she wanted a man to slave around for a chance at her pussy.
Problem was, Mira was a virgin. No One got Mira's pussy: period.
That is, until Mira crossed paths with the Gypsy.
"Peter, baby; my feet are burning, they're so fucking tired." Mira pouted as she watched hand-in-hand through annunal carnival with her newest boy toy, Peter, a tall, gawky college sophmore with major cash to spare. He was perfect: rich and desperate for Mira's attention.
"I could...."
"Take me to the food court, Peter."
"Yeah, sure..."
"Now, Peter." She said, breaking from his grasp to march off alone. She didn't look back; she knew damn well Peter would be back there, looking sullen, catching up. The asshole.
"Come come, Peter." She called back playfully, giving him a soft, tantalizing smile over her shoulder; his face lit up at the very idea of touching her. The asshole.
She's have him buying her dinner, a necklace and a new dress by the end of the night; he was totally perfect for her....
The food court was basically a tend filled with benches-- unfortunately, the benches were full too. Old people everywhere, and children, and woman, and too few men-- what men there were looked married: Mira could sniff out a married man a mile away. They gave great gifts.
Folding her arms and pressing her breasts higher as she pouted, Mira let her dark eyes survey the tent for a man who'd give up his seat for a pretty girl--- and found one a moment later. He was young, but going bald, and had already glued his eyes to her cleavage by the time she'd found him. With a switch in her hip designed to make that little skirt climb her creamy thighs, she made her way over and leaned down, letting him take in the view of those fleshy D cups; she was close enough her perfume wafted around him, intoxicating his senses; she expected him to smile stupidly, but instead he grinned like an old wolf who found a sheep sleeping in his den.
"Excuse me." she said, tiltiing her head, letting her hair pour over shoulder. "I can't seem to find a seat."
"Oh really? Hmmm... well...."
"mmmm?" she hummed a moan innocently.
"Well... I'm saving this for my wife."
And like that, Mira was gone, searching out the next one. After a while, she got tired. Peter was hounding after her, looking for seats, annoying the hell out of her with his every breath.
"Fuck it!" she cursed and looked for the nearest seat-- which was between an old couple. Without a word, she squeezed herself between them, elbowing the old woman sharp to the ribs in the process. The old lady looked up in alarm, but Mira paid her no mind at all. The old man? He was happy to be so close to a young lady; he was practically drooling to have such a good view of her tits, so close her could have gummed up her jugs with slick saliva.
"You're a very rude woman."
Mira ignored her. "Peter, get me a drink."
"Yeah, uhh, what--"
