Call Girl (WIP)

For years now, I had been coming here. The same place, almost every single time: Token's house, or more appropiately, his basement.

It was the meeting place of the 'Freedom Pals,' the group I once called enemies. It had felt like my life had turned into one big game of 'Superheroes' that no one felt like finishing. Cartman never called it done or changed games, so I kept following The Coon's orders of whatever stupid shit he wanted to do. However, whenever I was sent off on some "super awesome mission" like buying Cartman a taco, I found myself sneaking down to the Freedom Pals' HQ. It was down here that I always partook in a super awesome mission of my own that I could never, ever tell the guys about.

I came here to fuck Call Girl.

It was simple; I'd send her a text, telling her where I was headed. She would almost always get here before me. Luckily for us, Token's parents didn't give a shit what their son's friends did in the basement--that, and the doors in the house were all sound-proof. In what seemed like less than a minute, I would have Call Girl (or sometimes her true identity, Wendy Testaburger,) bent over or laying on a table with her pink skirt and matching pink panties at her ankles. I always pulled her top up first; her tits bounced whenever I fucked her fast, and it was something I loved to see.

Unlike her friend Bebe, who seemed to stop developing her boobs almost as soon as she got them, Wendy was a late bloomer. If Toolshed (or Stan, whichever) ever found out I was fucking Call Girl until she was a sweaty, hard-breathing mess, he would probably shove a drill up my ass. Call Girl always insisted that they were "on a break" from their relationship; I don't know which one of us she was trying to convince, but I didn't care.

I kept up my usual silence as I looked down at her. Call Girl looked up and me, looking into my eyes from her place on a long, brown table. As I rammed my cock into her, I watched as her chest started to move from my forceful thrusts; she had to be at least a C-cup, maybe even approaching a D. I always thought that big tits wouldn't suit her when we first met, but as we got older my tastes were quick to change. I reached down and grabbed her right breast, giving it a squeeze as I pushed my hips forward and she wrapped her legs around my waist.

"Oh fuck, yes! Squeeze my tits and fuck me hard, New Kid! Fuck me!" Call Girl moaned and yelled at me to continue, just as always. She had continued to call me "New Kid" despite neither us being kids anymore; after I moved to South Park, no other family ever showed up after me. I had been 'new' for as long as I could remember. No one ever bothered calling me anything else--save for "ButtLord," "Douchebag," or whatever else The Coon thought up during conversation.