Page 27 of The Trailer Park Twink
Without answering, I toggle my camera, and there it is. My cock, sheathed to the base in a Fleshlight he left his load in earlier. I don’t say anything, just watch his expression as I slowly lift the toy, revealing inch after inch. When I reach the tip, he whines as I fuck my cock back inside, all the way to the base.
I fuck into the toy over and over, loving the hazed look on his face. “See that? Do you see it all over me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I ever break out the toy, and there ain’t some of you left behind, I’ll drag your ass over my knee and wear you out. Do you understand me, boy?”
“I understand, sir,” he whispers, but he don’t seem scared or nothin’, he looks the same way he did the other night, when he came undone in my arms. “Every day. I swear. I’ll get it good and wet for you, Dad. I promise.”
Fuck. The way he keeps calling me Dad is doing shit to me.
“Come home,” I growl. “Get in your car, and get your ass over here. Be my good boy and come home, and I’ll let you see my party trick. We can film it for your fans and everything. I don’t give a shit anymore, just come home. Come back to me, baby.”
He bites his lip, looking torn. “I want to. Dallas—Daddy, you don’t know how much I want to. I have practice, though.”
He’s still staring at me stroking my cock, and I’ve had enough of this. I have the ultimate trump card, and I ain’t afraid to use it. I feel my release getting closer, and once the pleasure reaches a fever pitch, in one fluid motion, I yank the Fleshlight away, revealing my cock to Aussie, and it erupts untouched, shooting jet after jet of cum flying up my chest. It lands everywhere. My face. My shoulder. Somehow, I’m pretty sure I got a little behind my ear. Through it all, Aussie is staring at me like I’ve just turned water into wine.
“Oh my fucking God,” Austin whispers. He might as well be the heart-eye emoji right now, and it makes me so goddamn proud, I almost can’t stand it. My orgasm is intense, even without stimulation. It’s like I can feel every single spurt as ittravels the length of my cock. I usually only get that intense sensation when I haven’t jacked off in a few days, but I came last night. Twice, actually. This is all down to Aussie, and I know now what I should have known all along.
“If you can make it home before she gets back, we can leave without her knowing.”
He blinks at me, confused, but that’s to be expected. “Wait, where are we going? I mean, it hardly matters. I’d follow you into the flames of Hell if you asked, but still. I don’t want to be in the dark.”
I swallow, making a choice I won’t be able to unmake. “We can head to Minnesota. Me and you.”
“Without Mom?”
I nod, knowing we’ll never hear the end of it when we get back. But maybe we don’t have to listen anymore. Maybe we don’t ever have to listen to her again.
“Just me and you,” I finally say. “I want to relax. I want to be able to breathe, and I can’t fucking breathe without you, Austin.” His jaw trembles, and I can tell he wants to cry, but he’s holding those tears back. Being my big boy. My brave boy. I’m so fuckin’ proud of him. “Come on. Come home.”
Jesus actual Christ on the actual crucifix.
Dallas showed me his cock. No. More than that, he showed me his cock coated in my cum. He asked me to keep his sex toy lubed with my leftover load. Challenge motherfucking accepted, Daddy.
“I have to go,” I say, launching up from my seat on the sofa and grabbing my keys from the coffee table. My best friend Ezra has been trying to teach us the harmonies to some obscure Britney Spears demo he found online. The song sounds like shit, the words are stupid, and I’ll be good-goddamned if he thinks I’m stepping foot on stageto sing this garbage. And the costumes. Dear God, the costumes. I know Ezra fancies himself a fashionista, but these clothes are fucking atrocious.
The moment I got here, he shoved a see-through bodysuit with a hula skirt sewn onto the midsection, a gargantuan stuffed snake across the shoulders, and a green bikini top at me. I don’t know why he felt the need to sew any of this together when I could have simply worn the bikini top and hula skirt as-is, and held the snake with my hands the way Britney did on television, but no, because apparently, my alleged BFF has zero faith I would be able to sing and hold a plush snake stationary on my shoulders.
Ezra styled Brian in Britney’s iconic red catsuit from her “Oops!...I Did it Again” music video, and it’s fairly obvious which outfit he spent the most time on. He’s bedazzled the entire outfit, fixing hundreds of ruby-red rhinestones across the PVC fabric. Unfortunately, the outfit has done nothing to ease Brian’s swollen ego, because he’s been checking out his ass in the full-length mirror in Ezra’s foyer for the past half hour, nodding to himself and mouthing, “Nice,” every five seconds like a goddamn narcissist. The only reason he’s even in the band is because Ezra wants to mount him. He can’t even sing, he just mimes alongside us, looking cute. His real goal is to become an actor, but since we’re in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, it isn’t like he has a whole lot of options.
The outfit Ezra selected for Jamie, the shy, insecure gayby of our group, is even worse than mine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jamie wear shorts, much less a plaid miniskirt. The stupid scrunchies meant to hold his hair in ponytails are absolutely useless, considering Jamie has a buzzcut due to his unsightly bout with male-pattern baldness, but Ezra is apparently holding no punches, because he’s duct-taped them to Jamie’s scalp.
Last, but absolutely not least, is Deirdre. I’ve known her since we were little. She’s from the nicer part of town, but we forged a connection when I chose her during a rambunctious round of Duck, Duck, Goose. When it was my turn, one of the little shits in my class shouted out for me to “Pick a girlfriend,” and I idiotically pointed at him and said, “You.” He looked completely disgusted, so I shifted my arm to the left at a pretty little girl with her hair pulled up in a ponytail. There were these pink and blue balls attached to the elastic band, and I thought it looked a bit like cotton candy. Gently, I touched her head. We’ve been inseparable ever since.
Deirdre isn’t wearing a costume at all. She’s glaring daggers at an all-denim ensemble meant to match the one Britney wore to the American Music Awards. How do I know this? Because, through the years, Ezra has forced our friend group to watch every Britney Spears retrospective on YouTube.
Deirdre looks at the denim, then at Ezra, her usual cheerful smile having faded completely. I can count on one hand thenumber of times I’ve seen her seething with rage, and each time feels like a religious awakening. She made my momma cry once. It was pretty fucking awesome.
“Take it away. If you value your life, you will take it away, and we will never mention this again.”
Ezra swallows. “But it’s Britney, bi—”
Deirdre quickly shakes her head. “And if you value the lives of those you love . . .” She darts her eyes at Brian. “You’ll stop while you’re behind.”
“Sorry,” he whispers, staring at his feet. “It’s just—I made that one special. It’s always been my favorite.”
“Then let it be your favorite in the burn barrel. It is an abomination, Ezra. Who the hell wears double denim?” She wads it into a ball and throws it at him, and he stumbles back to catch it.
