Kansas Corncob(s) – Part 2 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

Music already pounded from the backyard, bass vibrating through the warm night air. Lights glowed around the massive infinity pool where bodies moved under strings of fairy lights and tiki torches. The whole party spilled across the stone patio and manicured lawn.

Dil grabbed my wrist and pulled me straight into the thick of it. The air smelled like chlorine, expensive perfume, fresh-cut grass, and weed smoke drifting in lazy clouds. Girls in barely-there bikinis or mini dresses danced near the pool edge while guys in open designer shirts passed around joints and bottles. Lines of coke were being cut openly on glass tables by the cabana, credit cards scraping loud enough to hear over the music.

Dil slung his heavy arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the first group of bros clustered near the bar. “Yo, check this out,” he announced loud, voice cutting through the noise. “Brought a random truck stop hooker I picked up on the way here for entertainment tonight.”

One of the guys, a tall dude with his shirt half-unbuttoned, laughed and pointed straight at me. “For real? You look like you’d suck dick for an Uber ride home.”

I leaned into Dil’s side, flashed a sweet smile, and answered without missing a beat. “At least I’d get the job done fast. Unlike your girlfriend who probably needs a map and a flashlight just to find your dick.”

The whole circle cracked up. The tall dude’s face went red but he was grinning wide. “Damn, bro! He got you good with that one,” another guy shouted, slapping his friend hard on the shoulder.

Dil just smirked wider and dragged me to the next cluster a few feet away. “This is some gay junkie from the Bronx I picked up as a waiter,” he told them, same arrogant tone dripping off every word.

I flashed a sweet smile and clapped right back. “You’re the one to talk, your veneers look like you got them at a discount dentist from Mexico. And hon, I’m from Brooklyn, bitch.”

The guys around us burst out laughing. One tall dude in a backwards cap slapped Dil on the back. “Bro. Burn. He’s so right!”

Dil just grinned wider, already moving on, introducing me to yet another group near the pool. “Some slut from the Bronx, fresh off the Cannonball. Enjoy.”

This time a shorter bro with gold chains of his own grinned at me. “Bronx, huh? You got that city mouth on you?”

I raised one pierced eyebrow. “City mouth, city attitude. Keep talking and I’ll show you how loud Brooklyn can get when it’s annoyed.”

The group howled. Someone clapped me on the back. “This kid’s funny as hell.”

A couple faces I recognized from parties Lola had dragged me to in Manhattan last semester, NYU bros and finance types I’d blown or fucked on the DL in backseats and dark bathrooms. They nodded at me with knowing smirks, one even offering a fresh joint like we shared old secrets.

People kept pulling me into conversations, laughing at every comeback, handing me hits from joints and sips from bottles. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was the night’s main attraction, some fun little sideshow they could poke and laugh at. Still, the champagne was free and the coke was flowing, so I kept moving with the energy.

Dil eventually got bored of showing me off. He muttered something about finding a bitch to bone and wandered off into the crowd, leaving me by the pool. I drifted through the bodies, the water glowing turquoise under the lights. A few people were already skinny-dipping, splashing and screaming as they chased each other in the shallow end.

I wandered inside for a minute, drawn by the lower red lighting coming from one side hallway. The room looked straight out of Eyes Wide Shut, velvet couches, masked girls grinding slow on guys’ laps, hands sliding under clothes, low moans mixing with the distant bass from outside. Total Straight energy thick in the air though, so I didn’t stay long. The real chaos was still out by the pool.

Back outside I found a bigger group of rich bros hyping each other up near the cabana bar, passing around a fresh bottle of Dom Pérignon like it was water. I slid right in, grabbing an empty flute from the table.

“Room for one more?” I asked, voice cutting through their noise.

They turned, eyes lighting up when they saw me in my tiny shorts and cropped tank. “Femboy in the house!” one shouted, already grinning wide. “Shit, your waist is snatched as fuck.”

Another leaned in closer. “Is it true femboys give head better than girls?”

I downed the full flute in one smooth tilt, bubbles burning down my throat, then smirked. “Better than whatever sad blowies your escorts give you, probably.”

They howled with laughter and honestly, I loved the wild stupid energy.

We turned it into a champagne drink-off right there on the patio. I grabbed a full bottle, tipped it back, gargling the cold Dom Pérignon down in heavy swallows while they cheered and counted out loud. When the bottle emptied I let out a loud, deep burp that echoed louder than any of the dudes there. The whole group lost their minds, clapping and shouting.

Right then a delivery guy showed up with warm boxes of fresh doughnuts. The bros quickly went feral, joking around until someone yelled, “Who can stack the most doughnuts on their cock?”

Pants came down fast around the cabana. Limp to half-hard dicks came out into the night air while they balanced sugary rings on them, counting stacks and laughing.

One tall, cocky guy with a admittedly long log, even limp won, four doughnuts stacked steady on his piece. He grinned at me, still out, doughnuts wobbling slightly. “Come on, eat the doughnuts off it. I won after all.”

The rest started chanting loud. “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

I was unhinged enough tonight. I took the stacked doughnuts, poured the rest of someone’s champagne bottle all over them until the sugar soaked and glaze dripped sticky down the sides, then sprinkled a generous dusting of coke straight from a baggie onto the wet mess.

The group went dead quiet for half a second. I started eating slow and slutty, tongue sliding around each ring, licking champagne and coke off my fingers, lips wrapping around the sugary dough while crumbs and sticky glaze clung to my mouth and chin. My eyes stayed half-lidded, making every bite hot and messy.

The winner’s dick twitched hard right in front of me, fattening up fast. He yanked his trousers up quick, face flushed dark. The other guys exploded in laughter so hard they snorted champagne out their noses, spraying it all over the patio stones.

That’s when Dil pushed back through the crowd, still smirking. “Told you guys Russo’s insane. You should see him twerk. Looks ridic.”

The music was perfect, the buzz still crackling under my skin. I didn’t hesitate. I turned, hips rolling smooth to the heavy beat, bubble butt popping in my tiny shorts while the fairy lights caught on my skin. The dudes went crazy-chanting my name, throwing crumpled dollar bills that fluttered down around my feet. “Jett! Jett! Jett!”

Dil finally grabbed my wrist tight and whisked me away from the cabana, cutting through the thinning crowd toward the house. On the way he shouted to random partygoers still lingering near the pool, voice loud and cocky. “Gonna buy an 8-ball from my dealer, think he’ll let me pay with my cock?”

We headed down a long hallway inside the mansion, the noise of the party fading slightly behind us. His hand stayed firm on my arm as we approached his bedroom door at the end of the hall.