Out of all the notorious sluts in this town, Kenny McCormick is the worst.
I'm not talking about the number of partners. I'm not even talking about the partners' gender. It's how he treats them. For all I know, he's never rejected or been cruel to any of them. He strings them along, gives them his charming grin, and loves every bit of them equally, indiscriminately. He has no favorites. He comes when they call, does everything in his power to make them feel good, and will even cuddle after all is done. He makes them believe he loves them, and maybe he does— but he will never give any of them the exclusive treatment they want. They will always just be another hot casual fuck. Usually, that's exactly where they want to be. It makes them feel special.
What they don't know is that there is one person McCormick hates. There is only one person he insults with his talented tongue, bruises with his coarse hands, and glares at with his sharp blue eyes.
None of those stupid fuckers are special at all.
My phone buzzed obnoxiously in my pocket. I fucking hate text messages; they're usually from some dumb bitches desperate for attention. There's only one reason why I even bother to pay for the service.
Get the fuck over here.
I couldn't help smiling to myself. So, he wants me. It's always a pleasant ego boost when he demands me rather than the countless other hook ups he has. This was the first time in awhile; he didn't try to contact me after the night I caught him sucking face with Bebe. I was pretty shitfaced that night, but I remember it well enough to know that he practically demanded we fucking go steady or something. He was so jealous, it was kind of cute. I figured he was embarrassed after all that and gave him time to think it over, but I guess he was ready to see me again. He probably missed my fat cock in his ass.
It took me thirty minutes to get to the shitty McCormick house. I would have bolted into my pickup the second I got that message— his ass is that tight and awesome— but I didn't want to seem desperate. At the door, I just let myself in. They rarely lock anything in that house since no one wants to steal any of their crappy shit. I don't even have to worry about his family; his parents are close to passing out in the nearest bar at this hour and his siblings avoid coming home as much as possible.
I walked into his room without hesitation, dodging the cat in the hallway. I began to wonder if he'd been hitting the cheese again, but my thoughts were interrupted quickly by a familiar asshole's voice.
"Took you long enough, dickhead."
McCormick was sitting on his bed, wearing a tattered pair of jeans and nothing else. His usual orange parka was tossed lazily on the floor. I grinned smugly at the sight of him. His body is the main reason he's so well-fucked. He's a skinny son of a bitch, but not scrawny, and his ass is just phenomenal. He even has a great face. His blond hair was getting a little long and out of control, but seriously, I have absolutely no complaints when it comes to that body. I sometimes wonder how a dude can drive me so crazy, but then I walk in his house and see his sweet ass in a pair of jeans begging to be ripped off and it all makes sense again. He probably tried jacking off earlier, hoping for some relief, but couldn't get it without me. I bet he pulled on those pants at the last second when he heard my truck pull up in the driveway. I bet he's too poor to even afford underwear or the water to wash them.
"Want some of this?" I nearly yelled FUCK YEAH— but then I realized he was talking about the joint in his mouth, not himself. "This is the dank medical shit."
"Nah, I'm good."
With one hand stuffed in a side pocket, McCormick stared at me silently. He did that a lot. It kind of weirded me out, especially since I know that when he does that, he's thinking about me, but not in a sexual way. When Kenny McCormick is watchful and contemplative, it means he's trying to judge or determine something, like a fucking scientist looking under a microscope— especially since his raw, completely unhidden stare can make big guys feel small. Not me, but other, lesser guys.
Finally, he slowly climbed off the bed and sauntered over to the doorway where I was standing. His blue eyes never left my face. I stayed expressionless, but I could already feel the anticipation. We both knew why I came over.
Without a word, he took a big hit from the joint, smiled, and pulled my head down to meet his lips. I invaded his mouth immediately out of habit, greedy for his taste. What I got was enough smoke to set off a fucking alarm. I shoved him away, coughing and pissed off.
"What the fuck, McCormick?"
"It's good. I'm just sharing."
I coughed once more before responding. "You fucking dick, I didn't want any!"
"Well, someone has to finish this thing. I was going to suck your cock once the joint was done," he said casually, like it was an everyday thing. God, I wish it was. "But I guess you can let me smoke it myself and wait a good twenty minutes, maybe more. I don't care either way."
Who the hell takes that long to smoke one joint? Whatever. "Give me that fucking thing."
I don't really like smoking. It makes me sluggish and slows my body down while leaving my mind irritatingly sharp. I just feel fucking tired and lazy. But my options were wait twenty minutes for the master of blowjobs or hurry things the fuck up, and I don't like waiting. With my help, the joint was gone in no time.
I sat against the cold metal bars of the bed, groggy. I really don't like smoking. I was getting a headache and my throat was dry.
"Where's that fucking ash tray?" The entire upper half of McCormick's body was out of view as he shuffled around the random shit under his bed, his legs sprawled over the sheets so he didn't tumble headfirst onto the filthy floor. I wanted to grab that ass so badly— I mean, it was right there, totally within reach— but my body was just so heavy that I simply stared at it, hoping it would make its way over. I heard papers rustling and metal clinking, and it seemed like it would never end. He needed to stop fucking around over there and use those hands more productively. For example, they could be down my pants.
The shuffling stopped. "Found it," McCormick mumbled to himself, sounding a little too excited about it.
"Great," I replied loudly, not bothering to hide my annoyance. I rubbed my eyes, knowing full well that they were probably red as fuck, and sighed. "Now take off your fucking pants."
The mattress creaked as McCormick shifted. I listened, but my eyes were still shut. They were really dry and bothering me; I knew I hated smoking, but seriously, how can anyone fucking enjoy this shit—
There was cold metal around my wrist. I heard a soft cranking sound one normally only hears in stupid crime dramas. Shocked and curious, I opened my eyes to see that McCormick was straddling my lap, which was awesome, and had handcuffed my limp arm to a bar on the head post. Not so awesome.
"What… the fuck is this."
"It's a handcuff."
"I know that, dumbass. Are you fucking serious?"
"You think I'm joking?" The look on his face was entertained, that's for sure, but he seemed pretty damn serious.
"I hope you are," I grinned, mockingly apologetic, "because I'm not into this shit."
"I don't give a flying fuck what you want." McCormick grabbed my jaw with one hand fiercely, forcing my head to be still. "You had your fun last time, and now it's my turn. And don't even try to break out of it. I know handcuffs better than you ever will. That shit is staying put."
I glared, furious. The little piece of shit knew I was too uncoordinated after the joint to be effective in any struggle. He had had this planned out from the beginning. "Unlock it, or I will ruin that fucking smirk on your face with my free hand."
McCormick laughed. "I could easily take care of that free hand, you know, but I thought I would be nice." Still straddling me, he grasped my free wrist and brought my hand up to the perfectly shaped masterpiece that is his ass. I couldn't help myself. I had to grab it.
As I gave his ass a good squeeze, McCormick kissed me. I may have been raging mad, but I loved the feel of those lightly chapped lips. His tongue tasted overwhelmingly like smoke and vaguely of beer. I could hardly remember my anger until I tried to feel up his body with my hands—the clink of the metal handcuffs kept my reach under control, which pissed me the fuck off.
Despite what I wanted, our make out didn't last long. He grinned as he pulled away slowly, leaving me restless and unsatisfied. I wanted to grab that mess of blond hair and keep those lips right where I wanted them—first on mine, then on my dick. But I had a feeling that any disobedience would leave me handcuffed to a bed alone for a night.
"Don't worry," McCormick said softly as he made his way down the bed. "I make good on my promises."
Fuck yes— he's going down on me.
The anticipation of a blowjob is enough to get me excited. I don't think anyone can say they've truly experienced a good blowjob until they've been lucky enough to have Kenny fucking McCormick do it. The shit he can do with his tongue is incredible.
McCormick licked his lips as he undid my belt. He unbuttoned and unzipped my pants at an unbearably slow pace, like he was trying to drive me crazy. I wanted to rip my pants off with one hand somehow, but I was worried of crossing some kind of line and getting the ultimate punishment. So I just watched. I watched McCormick pull my pants down on either side of my hips and wrench my boxers down with his teeth. I watched him take the head of my cock in slowly, his lips wet with saliva and his tongue warm. I watched him lick down my shaft, his lips following every movement until my dick was as far into his throat as it could go.
At that point, I stopped watching and just started feeling.
I swear, the slut has no fucking gag reflex.
Even though I was concerned that the slightest mistake on my part would end everything, my mind went a little blank. My free hand made its way into McCormick's messy blond hair. I didn't need to guide his head movements— he somehow knows exactly what pace to go at— but I wanted every thrust stronger, more intense. My hips began bucking up subconsciously, thrusting into McCormick's hot mouth. With every head bob back, I tugged McCormick's hair; it turns him on like nothing else. I'm not oblivious. I've figured out that the hornier he gets, the better he performs.
It had only been a few minutes, but I was already starting to feel that awesome rushing sensation in my lower body. I was so close to coming, I hardly had any strength. My grip in McCormick's hair was pathetic. I allowed my senses to escalate, riding the wave of pleasure submissively— but right as I was about to come, my cock felt bare and cold. It sure as hell did not encourage any release.
Confused, I opened my eyes, slightly panting. McCormick was on his knees again, a tiny bit of saliva on the side of his lips. He smiled.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
With the same cruel grin plastered on his face, McCormick unbuttoned his filthy jeans. He maneuvered himself just out of my reach. Wordlessly, he tugged his pants down to his thighs, one hand immediately moving in a rhythm on his cock and the other touching his lips. As he started touching himself, I said nothing, my brain struck stupid by the lewd sight of him. It was like his entire existence was created just for sex. He kept his eyes closed, but once in a while he would sneak one eye open to glance at me, and all I could think was that he was the most depraved, sex-starved, and dangerous person I had ever met. I couldn't get enough of it.
I sat dumbfounded, my entire body buzzing with arousal, frustration, and weed, and all I could do was watch. I noticed every single movement McCormick made, even the subtle twists of his tongue as he slowly let two fingertips slide between his lips, the same saliva that had slickened my dick coating his fingers. I knew exactly what he was doing that for. Sure enough, when he removed them, they were slippery with spit, tiny trails bridging the space between his middle and index finger. With just enough hesitation to drive me insane, he slipped his saliva-coated fingers between the cheeks of his tight ass, his right hand still jerking up and down in the front. As he shoved the fingers in, the lightest gasp left his mouth, and his eyes squeezed closed tightly, like he was imagining something completely different than wet fingers entering him. I was beginning to think McCormick was crueler than I could ever be.
He bit his lip to keep the moans quiet, but soon his expert fingers had wriggled right to the perfect spot. He didn't keep quiet for long.
"F-Fuck…" McCormick mumbled hoarsely as his hands quickened. Propped on his knees, he greedily sunk them farther apart on the mattress, spreading his legs and allowing his fingers easier movement in the back. "Feels… so fucking… amazing…"
Watching him brought on so many conflicting feelings, I wondered if I was going to last. On one hand, I enjoyed seeing him be the little slut he was; but on the other, the handcuff was chilling my wrist and sparking indescribable frustration in my head and dick. I needed him to touch me. I wouldn't forgive him if he didn't touch me after putting on such a show.
"McCormick, for God's sake…" I growled, trying to keep an aggressive tone so he wouldn't notice just how desperate I was getting.
"You can only watch," he whispered as he laughed breathlessly. "Look, don't touch, fuckface."
I was going to kill him. As soon as he was done being so damn sexy, I was going to murder him with my bare fucking hands. As soon as I had gotten the satisfaction of entering and wrecking his ridiculously fuckable body, he was a dead man.
For now, I settled for my hand. It was a big mistake.
Without so much as a word of warning, McCormick grabbed my wrist viciously and tore my hand away from my uncomfortably hard dick. "I fucking told you," he hissed harshly, his flushed face set in a glare. "I fucking told you, didn't I?"
I stared back, refusing to be apologetic. What did the asshole think, that I was his toy or something?
McCormick inched his knees forward just enough to settle well within my reach. I was reluctant to do anything just yet. I figured he would tell me what he wanted.
"Suck me off. Now."
I kept staring at him. It was hard to avoid glancing at his dick, since it was practically shoved in my face, but I kept my eyes fixed on his face out of pride. There was no way in hell I was going to be his bitch. It was just fucking wrong.
"Do it well, and I'll let you come."
I see nothing wrong with compromise.
With my free hand, I reached up and held the base of his dick. I'm not exactly well-practiced in giving blowjobs. I don't dole them out like McCormick does. However, I know what I think feels good, so at least I have some notions to go off of. With a quick mental shrug, I brought my mouth to the tip of McCormick's cock and took it in.
Okay, so saying I'm not well-practiced in blowjobs is an understatement. I don't give blowjobs. At all. Craig fucking Tucker doesn't get on his knees for anyone. It's fine for McCormick to do it, since he pretty much lives and breathes sex and has had so many partners I can't even imagine the shit he's done; I don't give a shit as long as I know he's clean and ready for fucking. But me? I'm the one who does the fucking. Everyone else just takes it. This was a special case, since McCormick was playing merciless mind games. Plus, if it's him, I don't really mind. He's given me so many blowjobs that I think one in return is not too much to expect.
That's not to say that this shit is ever going to be a regular occurrence.
"Watch the teeth, you fucking idiot," McCormick spit the words at me hurriedly, his hands grabbing my hair so tightly I almost winced. My usual winter chullo was stuffed away in my car, but my dark hair was still flattened from wearing the hat for so long. "Fuck… yeah, take it in more. Like that," he mumbled between moans.
I thought I was doing a pretty good job for my first time. My optimism was crushed early on. "This is your first time doing this, isn't it?" McCormick asked with a laugh. It was a piercing, judging, shrill laugh that knocked the confidence right out of me. Strangely enough, it didn't shrink my boner one bit. "I'm right, aren't I? It's the first time you've had a cock in your mouth. But I told you, you have to do it well, didn't I? That's what I said," he chided softly, chuckling in between words.
He was cruel. He was the biggest asshole I had ever met in my life. I have no idea why so many people adore him and treat him like their own personal god. Past the body dripping with sex appeal, the sly grin, and the slick words, he was nothing but a huge dick with no redeeming qualities. He never even tries to treat me like a friend or a lover. Everyone else he fucks gets the full, wonderful treatment. I get the vicious asshole with a light kink for humiliation, submission, and pain. I get the real, uncensored shit. For some reason beyond me, I wouldn't have it any other way.
McCormick's fist wrenched my hair up suddenly, snapping my attention from his dick to his face. I looked up at him, still tasting him inside my mouth, and waited patiently for him to speak. I hoped for his approval like a trained puppy. "Don't worry, Tucker," McCormick grinned sweetly. "I'll teach you."
His fingers curled in my hair harshly. Keeping my head firmly in place, he leaned down slowly so I could hear his brief but very important instructions: "Just breathe through your nose."
McCormick dragged my head back quickly and drew almost completely out of my mouth before slamming back in. A light moan shook my throat in surprise. I shut my eyes as my gag reflex threatened to react, but before I could shut down the horrible, looming feeling of being sick, McCormick slammed deep into my throat again. Desperately, I took a deep breath through my nostrils. He was right; it was the only thing that made it bearable. My voice escaped in soft moans as I felt his other hand weave into my hair. With two hands at the base of my scalp, McCormick fucked my face harder and faster each time, putting more strength into each thrust until I felt his fingers curl. He tore a few threads of my dark hair right off me as he came, exploding straight down my throat. The sensation was warm, strange, and a little salty. I didn't like it, but I was happy he was done.
"Drink it," McCormick instructed strictly, holding my head in a firm two-handed grip. I complied without protest, looking straight at him as I swallowed. He grinned. "Good boy…" he murmured happily. His hands immediately became soft and gentle. His left drifted to the back of my neck, where he began to lay little nibbles and kisses, and his right went straight for my dick. "You did well…"
I was so happy he was touching me that I kept silent. I felt him leave hickeys on my neck, collarbone, and shoulder, and I didn't care. I loved how his hand felt moving up and down my dick. I loved the attention he was giving me, and the little phrases of encouragement and praise I got for being so good and obedient. When I came, I came hard, and I was more than happy to sink into the mattress and drift as McCormick took care of unlocking my wrist and cleaning up the mess. The weed, excitement, and final climax had taken everything out of me.
It was only when I woke up a few hours later, with McCormick asleep and clinging to my arm like I was a fucking pet, that I realized that he had turned me into that. I had been his fucking pet. Or even worse, his fucking toy. I had let him talk me in to smoking his weed, chain me up, tease me mercilessly, fuck me in the mouth, and drink his fucking cum. At that point, I had every right to beat the shit out of him, or at the very least wake his ass up for some groggy fucking.
But I didn't. I probably should have, and now that I'm in my right mind, I would have—the weed was probably still screwing up my senses— but I didn't. I just watched him sleep for a few seconds in his same filthy jeans. I wondered why he had let me sleep over in his bed. I wondered how many people had fucked him, like me. I wondered how I was different from the rest of them, or if I really was at all. Finally, I wondered how I could make him want me so badly that no one else would do.
After that, I simply closed my eyes again and went to sleep.
HOLY CRAP I FINALLY FINISHED THIS.
It's been rotting in my documents for the longest time. Holyfuckingshit... ugh.
First time, it was whiskey. This time, it's weed. These guys can't seem to stay sober. (I love it =P)
Most likely, this is the last installment. If I think of another idea to stretch into 4,000 words or so, then I'll do it, but I don't think I could. I have a tiny idea, but I don't think I'll go through with it. That's why this story is marked as complete. If I decide to add more, obviously I'll change it, but I don't want to mislead anyone.
I hope you enjoyed this and take a look at my stuff every once in awhile. I have other projects in the works... thoughI'mextremelylazyshhhhh
review if you want; I'll appreciate it!