Kansas Corncob(s) – Part 1 (Patreon)

Hope you all like my new story!

Everyone in this story is 18+

The Cannonball train rattled east out of Penn Station, carrying me straight into what I hoped would be the sluttiest weekend of the summer. First real weekend after school let out and I was already deep in my most unhinged party-slut era, black hair freshly undercut, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, tiny cropped tank that barely covered my navel piercing, and shorts so short the hem kept riding up my thighs every time I shifted.

I had my earbuds in, scrolling through messages from Lola while the scenery started turning greener. My parents had finally backed off after I swore I’d go to summer school and fix my grades before the NYU decisions came through. They still weren’t thrilled about how much trouble I kept finding, but for now, they bought the story.

I was supposed to be heading out of the city for summer school with my bestie, Lola. That was the deal. If I went to summer school and maybe got myself bumped up on the NYU waitlist, I wouldn’t have to attend that crazy program for troubled 18–20-year-olds in the fucking Midwest.

I was planning to go through with it, I swear. Then I got a call from a certain guy. So instead, I was on this train, buzzing with that familiar trouble-making itch.

I was going to see Dil. He was dumb as a brick, rich as hell, and always down for a party and a quick hookup if he was in the mood, with plenty of hot bro friends I loved to corrupt. Perfect way to kick off

Across the aisle a gym rat kept staring. Tight compression shirt stretched across his chest, basketball shorts riding low, thick neck and arms that screamed he lived in the weight room. He had that blank, hungry look guys get when they think they’re slick. Our eyes locked. I raised one pierced eyebrow and gave him the smallest smirk. He didn’t look away, I knew very well what he wanted.

Two stops later he stood up and jerked his head toward the back of the car. I waited thirty seconds, then followed. The bathroom cabin was tiny, barely enough room for both of us. The second the door clicked shut he crowded me against the sink, big hands grabbing my waist.

“You want it?” he asked, voice low and rough, already shoving his shorts down. “You want the huge cock?”

I dropped to my knees on the dirty floor, the vibration of the train rumbling through my legs. His dick sprang out, small, already hard, the head flushed dark. It slipped between my lips easy, like a cocktail sausage. I took him in anyway, tongue working the underside while I sucked with steady pressure, hollowing my cheeks and bobbing my head in tight little motions that made his hips jerk.

“Omg! You suck my hog so well, fuck! Shit!” he groaned, one hand tangling in my hair, trying to push deeper. “That’s it, take it just like that.”

He kept going, breath hitching. “I’m gonna blow my wad, shit, nut’s gonna fill your mouth so good, you’re gonna choke on it.”

Less than a minute in, his thighs started shaking. His small dick twitched hard in my mouth and he spilled across my tongue in a weak, watery spurt—barely enough to taste. I swallowed it down anyway, pulled off with a wet pop, and wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.

These juiced-up meat-heads, I thought, eyes watering a little as the train rocked us. Always talking like they’re big-shit.

He stood there breathing hard, looking dazed and proud of himself. I stood up, washed my hands at the tiny sink, fixed my eyeliner in the scratched mirror, and slipped out first without another word.

Back in my seat the fields blurred past the window. The train finally hissed to a stop in the Hamptons, sun dipping lower and the air turning saltier. I grabbed my fake-ass LV duffel, slung it over my shoulder, and stepped onto the platform with a bounce in my step.

Dil was picking me up in his stupid-ass cybertruck, unless he had run over some elderly heiress on the way. I was ready for free champagne, weed, coke, and hopefully plenty of dick.

◆◆◆

Dil was already waiting in the pickup lane, honking obnoxiously in his cybertruck like it made him important. His blonde hair was slicked back, gold chains catching the late sun, that stupid veneered grin flashing the second he spotted me. He leaned out the window, one arm draped over the steering wheel like he owned the road.

“Get in, Russo. You’re late as fuck.”

I tossed my duffel in the back and climbed into the passenger seat. The inside smelled like expensive cologne mixed with weed and whatever body spray he’d drowned himself in. Dil looked every bit the rich-boy trying too hard—white polo stretched across his chest, sleeves rolled up to show off gym arms that weren’t half bad, and those ridiculous chains resting against tanned skin. He was tall, broad in that effortless way some guys got from money and trainers, but the arrogant tilt to his jaw made him instantly punchable.

“Miss me?” I asked, buckling in as he peeled out of the lot way too fast.

He snorted. “You wish. Here—catch up.” He dug into the center console with one hand, steering with the other, and dropped a small baggie into my palm. A fat line of coke already laid out on the back of his hand, right in that little dent between thumb and wrist—the tequila salt dent, as I called it in my head. “Don’t spill any on the leather, princess. That shit costs more than your whole fake bag.”

I rolled my eyes but leaned down anyway, pressing one nostril shut and snorting the line hard. The burn hit fast, sharp, lighting up my veins with that bright, buzzy edge. Dil watched me out of the corner of his eye, smirking like he’d just done me a massive favor.

“Fuck, you look like a desperate little slut when you do that,” he said, voice dripping with that fake-hood arrogance he loved. His free hand dropped to his lap, palming his bulge through his shorts. “Since you’re already on your knees in spirit… get over here and take care of this.”

He was already half-hard, average length but a little thick, the kind of dick that sat heavy in his hand like he thought it was God’s personal gift to humanity. I reached over without arguing, sliding my fingers under the waistband of his shorts and wrapping them around the warm, hardening shaft. He twitched in my grip the second I started stroking—slow, firm pulls from base to tip, thumb circling the head on every upstroke, spreading the bead of precum that leaked out.

Dil groaned, hips shifting in the seat as he tried to keep the cybertruck on the road. The wheel jerked left, then right. “Yeah, just like that—work that shit. Fuck, your hand feels good. Most girls can’t even grip it right.”

These rich boys, I thought, keeping the rhythm steady while the scenery whipped by in a blur of hedges and mansions.

He kept talking through it, voice getting rougher. “Shit—squeeze tighter at the head. Yeah. Goddamn, I’m gonna have you choking on this later if you’re lucky.” The truck swerved again as he accelerated through a yellow light, one hand white-knuckling the wheel while the other stayed on my wrist, guiding me faster. His fully hard erection pulsed in my palm, veins standing out under my fingers, nuts drawing up tight against the base. The whole car smelled like him now—sweat, cologne, and his dick scent.

I kept stroking through every twitch and leak, feeling the way his cock fattened further, the skin sliding smooth and warm over the rigid core. Dil’s breathing turned ragged, stupid grin fading into something slack and focused. He nearly clipped a mailbox before he finally hissed through his teeth and yanked my hand away, shoving it back toward my own lap.

“We’re here,” he said, voice thick. The massive summer mansion loomed ahead—glass walls, infinity pool glowing in the twilight, music already thumping from somewhere inside. Dil killed the engine and shot me a lazy look, still half-hard in his shorts. “You might get to finish me off later if I’m in the mood.”

He climbed out without waiting, leaving me sitting there with the buzz still crackling under my skin and the taste of summer trouble already thick in the air.