Cody
Can you feel the humidity in the air? I’m just standing here in the middle of the dance floor, but the air around me seems like something out of a fucking rainforest. These girls are surrounding me like savages, rubbing their bodies against mine, and they’re so fucking wet you can barely breathe around me.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Comes the voice of a girl from just behind. I turn around, nursing the 15-year-old whisky in my hands, and face her. Oh, what do we have here? She’s a petite brunette, a dress too tight for her own good, and lips that are just fucking begging for my cock.
“Cody, right?” she asks me, coming up to me and pressing her voluptuous tits against my body. They feel like plastic fake tits and, judging by their size, they probably are. What’s with women these days? I don’t fucking mind it most of the time, but it seems like most women nowadays are all silicone and no flesh.
Where are the fucking natural wonders? I mean, just look at me, twelve-inch cock dangling from between my legs, and I can fucking assure you it’s all natural.
“That’s me, yeah,” I say, running my hand down her back and resting it over her ass.
“What do you say we go back to your place?” she mewls, swaying her body at the rhythm of the music and rubbing her tits against my chest.
“What do you say we don’t go back to my place and you buy me a drink?” I ask her, waving my now empty glass of whisky in front of her face. Her eyes widen, and then she frowns; not the answer she was expecting. Well, babe, we can’t always get what we want, right? Besides, this is like the fourth girl tonight coming up to me like that. This shit gets tiresome. That’s why I just shot her down. I didn’t want or need her to buy me a fucking drink, and, to be honest, I doubt she could even afford what I’m drinking.
“Bon voyage,” I tell her as she steps back from me and ambles down the dance floor like a predator in heels, looking for some fresh meat to dig her claws into. You’re probably wondering why I’m not fucking the living daylights out of anyone by now, but the truth is that I just can’t be fucking bothered tonight. That doesn’t sound like Cody Brooks at all, right? But that’s me.
What, never heard of me? I’m a fucking rock star here in Manhattan, babe. That’s why these girls are all dancing around me as if I were some kind of God. My nights out are legendary, and I’ve lost count of how many girls I’ve fucked. It’s not my fault, really; women can’t get enough of my twelve-inch cock, 8-pack washboard abs, and ripped frame.
You know what pisses me off, though? Most of them care more about the money than they care about my cock. Yeah, that’s right, I’m fucking rich. Since it somehow seems like you’ve never heard of me, let me explain: I’m Joseph Brook’s son. Yeah, that one, the hedge fund manager.
Don’t get me wrong; I’ve made a fortune all by myself. I invested the $100k my father handed me down and turned it into a few millions. And that just a year after I got stateside from Iraq, where I was handing out justice to terrorists by way of a M4 rifle that earned me two Silver Stars; you can swing by my bedroom to check them out any time.
Let me recap it for you: army hero, wealthy, twelve inch-cock. And I’m only 27. So, really, I can’t blame women for fucking loving me.
“Settle down,” my father’s always telling me, but that’s easier said than done. When women throw their pussies at me 24/7, settling down isn’t the easiest thing to do, especially when all these women are gold diggers or as dumb as a rock. It’s easy for my dad to say; he was always lucky enough to find the diamonds in the rough. First, my mother and then, after she died, Kellyane.
Yeah, I have a stepmother, but don’t worry; I’m not a fucking animal. Kellyane’s a beautiful woman, but that’s it. Her daughter, Kim, is a whole different matter… Cute face, a bright smile framed by smart eyes, and a headful of bright blonde hair. And these long legs of hers, leading up to an ass perfect enough to make me salivate. And real fucking tits, round and perky.
When I saw her at my father’s wedding, I could barely think of anything else but fucking her.
Then my dad introduced her to me. “Your new sister, Kim,” he said, and my heart and cock both sank at the same time. That was it; there are some lines even I won’t cross, and fucking my stepsister is one of these lines.
“Hey, you’re Cody Brooks, aren’t you?” Some other girl sashays up to me, her eyes brightening up as she sees me.
“No,” I simply tell her, turning my back to her and heading down to the bar. I ask the bartender for another whisky, but when I turn around there she is again, an eager smile on her lips, full tits almost jumping out of her tight fitting red dress. At least these look like the real thing, not fake plastic rip offs.
“You are Cody Brooks,” she purrs, taking one hand to my chest and closing in on me. Jesus fuck, can’t a guy get a drink without being fucking harassed all the time? This shit is tiresome.
“Yeah, okay, I’m Cody,” I admit, downing half of my whisky in one single gulp. She flashes me a victorious smile and then takes her hand to my crotch, probably just wanting to check if the rumors are true.
If you’re wondering, yeah, it’s all true—twelve-inch cock and enough stamina to kick ass at the Olympics. But tonight I’m not feeling it, and that’s the reason my cock isn’t hard when she presses her hand against my crotch.
“Sophia,” she whispers, leaning into me and brushing her lips against my ear. She squeezes my cock then, and looks me straight in the eyes. This one seems even hornier than all the others put together.
“Yeah, look,” I start, leaning against the counter and trying to get her to back off. “I’m just here with my friends and --”
“You could be with me… in the bathroom,” she points with her head to the back of the dance floor, and I almost cave. At least she didn’t want me to take her back to my place.
“I can’t,” I lie, and I can already tell she won’t take no for an answer. What the fuck happened to that No Means No thing? I’m a human being too, not a walking twelve-inch cock made of gold. “I’ve made a promise.”
“A promise?” She seems taken aback, so I just decide to have some fun at her expense.
“For each hour I go without sex, I’m donating $5000 to Africa,” I say, finishing my whisky and slamming my empty glass down on the counter.
“Oh, seriously?” she squeals, her hand still on my cock. Just let me fucking go, Samantha, or whoever you are.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Are people actually this fucking stupid? Seriously, this is the reason I’m not feeling it today. I’m just tired of all this constant bullshit. Women coming up to me because I’m wealthy, and how overall dumb they are. Where’s the fucking substance? I love tits and a nice piece of ass as much as the next guy, but once you’ve gone through as many women as I have, you start wanting more.
“Look, Samantha--”
“Sophia.”
“Yeah, that. Look, I actually have to leave,” I start, trying to think of something that will get her to leave me alone. “I’m going to be at the Hamptons, and I’ve to leave in a few hours. Tell you what, I’ll give you my number and you can call me if you’re ever in Southampton.”
She finally takes her hand off of my cock, disappointment washing over her face, and I can tell she won’t call. The moment I’m out of sight she’ll just forget about me and jump back into the cock carousel. Girls these days have the attention span of a goldfish.
“Okay,” she says with a resigned smile. She hands me her cell phone and I type my number into it. In a flash, she plucks the phone out of my hands, stuffs it into her purse and then bolts. Nice manners, Samantha, or whatever her name is.
I have to thank her for one thing though, she actually gave me an idea. Why don’t I go to the Hamptons? I’m tired of the scene around here, and some time off seems perfect. I’ve never spent more than a weekend in the house my father bought there, but the Hamptons seem like someplace fun to take a break from New York.
Maybe the women there are more interesting. And perhaps they have real tits too. Yeah, I really love real tits; I mean, they’re proof God’s real, so what’s there not to love?
Yeah, fuck it; let’s do this. I’m getting out of Manhattan tonight. Hamptons, here I come.
Time to pack my bags.