Categories > Cartoons > South Park > Through the Cracks
"Can I get you anything else, Poopsie-kins?" Ms. Cartman placed a bag of bacon-coated pork rinds next to a chocolate KFC-chicken pot pie on top of a plate of powdered doughnut pancake surprise. "Maybe a nice glass of chocolate milk?"
Cartman had expected a mountain of his favorite foods to help his mood, but how could it when Kyle was at home not getting a piledriver from his uncle, no thanks to Butters? Then, he thought back to Mrs. Garrison's response to the meeting. Thong underwear. Boys will do anything. "Maaaaahm," pleaded Cartman, putting on his most adorable pout. "What are thongs?"
The warmth in her smile remained unchanged, delighted by her son's apparently innocent curiosity. "Well, Eric, they're underwear that show your bottom. Showing some bottom makes men pay more attention to you, and a thong gives them a place to tuck your money. Why do you ask?"
"No reason, Mahmmy. I love you." When his mother left the room, the plotting continued. I will make those guys pay. I will make them listen to me.
Across the train tracks, Kenny could hear his parents in their bedroom. Smash! "You no-good son-of-a-bitch! You blew your whole cheque on whiskey and beer!"
Kenny's father hollered something unintelligible, and there were several thuds. Mrs. McCormick screamed. With his parents distracted, Kenny took the opportunity to root through the pantry for something more to eat. Half a bowl of lukewarm beef stock just didn't do the job. (Hmmm. Bread?) He opened the bag to find the insides of the slices coated green and slimy. (Nope. Cereal?) He opened a box. Just mice inside. Kenny stuffed the box back in the cupboard. (At least you bastards are full. What's in the fridge? Great, black bananas.) Kenny saw a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. (Why not?)
He took two cans back to his room and tried to read comic books, but the noise down the hall prevented him from enjoying the story, at least until the alcohol kicked in. He was used to his parents' fights, but he began to wonder, What if Cartman was right about Butters? Butters' parents are batshit insane. Who knows what the rest of his family is like. On top of Kenny's growing guilt for joining in with Cartman's mockery, the idea of a lecherous man preying on Butters made Kenny's blood boil. (Something has to be done.)
"Something has to be done." Cartman pounded his fist on the desk. With his mother busy in the kitchen, he crept into her bedroom and began opening all the dresser drawers containing his mother's copious lingerie stash. "Mrs. Garrison said that boys will do anything if they see someone wearing thong underwear. Let's see Kyle and Butters resist these." He grabbed a fistful of thongs and ran back to his bedroom.
Once inside with the door closed, Cartman slid off his pants and briefs. He selected a black, ruffled little number and turned it over and over in his hands. "How do you tell the front from the back?" Finally, he sorted it out as best he could and stepped into it. Now, he looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He adjusted himself so that his private parts were cradled by a triangle of lace. A lace strap travelled up his backside. The waistband was stretchy enough to accommodate his frame, but dug into the fat on his hips. He turned around slowly, then slid out of his coat to get a better look. The tee shirt had to come off, too. Now, as Cartman stood wearing nothing but a shred of black lace, he could see himself clearly at all angles.
Even though he was used to the look of his nude body, and the thong left little to the imagination, it inspired Cartman to nod and breathe the words, "So fine." He slipped a finger into the waistband, pulled it outwards, then released it. The elastic snapped back into Cartman's hip, sending flesh rippling in all directions. "So damn fine." He stood with his legs apart and traced his sides with his fingers. "You will do what I want, Butters. You will tell everyone about your uncle-fucking." He pointed into the mirror, imagining he speaking to the other boy and was exerting control even more powerful than usual over him. Soon, I will have my very own thong-zombie. A thongbie, if you will. As he let his hand drop, it grazed his thigh.
A chill shot up Cartman's spine. He was suddenly acutely aware of the rub of the lace on his skin, most of all in the sensitive spots between his legs. There was a slinkiness to the material that made it completely irresistible. His hand hovered over his groin, but he stopped himself. "I shouldn't have looked in the mirror. I can't run the risk of becoming a thongbie myself." He seemed to accept this affirmation, but a moment later, his hand was heading south again.
This was far from his first time dressing up in something frilly and skimpy. But this was the first time he could drink in the sight of himself so exposed. "You want me, don't you?" he whispered coyly to his reflection. One hand cupped his groin, stroking the organs through the lace. The whole area tingled, forcing him to his knees before he could lose his balance. His eyes squeezed shut at the unfamiliar sensation, the only way he could take his eyes off the mirror. When he opened his eyes again, he looked down to see what was making him feel so good, but was unable to see past his belly. Even the mirror seemed to tease him now; only a hint of the black thong was visible amidst his flesh. "Aw, dammit," he whined, needy. He lay on his back, allowing him easier access and a better view.
His erection was small but unrelenting, not unlike himself. It threatened to peek out the side of the thong. With thumb and finger, he kneaded the head, gasping as his foreskin pulled back, before tucking himself back inside the panties. Focusing again on his reflection, his recumbent pose evoked images of magazine ads, or better yet, a giant billboard over Interstate 70. His ill-fated past adventures in dress up could not have been farther from his mind; in this fantasy, gruesome car accidents piled up from drivers wanting to admire him. "Everyone will be mesmerized by my sweet ass. Especially…" His excitement reaching a crescendo, something prompted him to squeak, "Wow, Eric. I'd sure like to take off your clothes and lu lu lu…"
In his alarm from the words that escaped his mouth, he bucked his hips into his hand and gripped himself tightly. The tingling feeling was swallowed by something overwhelming. "Shhh…shit!" He flopped flat on his back and lay silent, save his heavy panting. Finally, he wiped his forehead with his hand. Both were wet. But his hand was sticky.
"Eric, honey!"
"What?" Cartman sat up quickly, his panting growing heavy again in surprise. "I mean, yes, Mahm?"
"Time to take a bath and get ready for night-nights."
Cartman wobbled to his feet and headed for the door, nearly forgetting his robe. As he hurried down the hall to the bathroom, he heard his mother's footsteps in her room. He quickly opened the door to the closet, kicked off the thong, and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Sinking into the warm bath felt wonderful, and the feeling of contentment hung around like the steam in the air. But he couldn't erase the nagging memory of the words: Take off your clothes and lu lu lu. They played over and over in his mind from bath to brush to bed.
Later that evening, with her son long since trundled off, Ms. Cartman looked in the closet for an extra blanket. She retrieved it, but then the door wouldn't close. Puzzled, she looked down to see a black thing stuck in the door. Picking it up, she recognized it instantly. "So that's where this got to. I don't know how it missed the laundry on orgy night."
Cartman had expected a mountain of his favorite foods to help his mood, but how could it when Kyle was at home not getting a piledriver from his uncle, no thanks to Butters? Then, he thought back to Mrs. Garrison's response to the meeting. Thong underwear. Boys will do anything. "Maaaaahm," pleaded Cartman, putting on his most adorable pout. "What are thongs?"
The warmth in her smile remained unchanged, delighted by her son's apparently innocent curiosity. "Well, Eric, they're underwear that show your bottom. Showing some bottom makes men pay more attention to you, and a thong gives them a place to tuck your money. Why do you ask?"
"No reason, Mahmmy. I love you." When his mother left the room, the plotting continued. I will make those guys pay. I will make them listen to me.
Across the train tracks, Kenny could hear his parents in their bedroom. Smash! "You no-good son-of-a-bitch! You blew your whole cheque on whiskey and beer!"
Kenny's father hollered something unintelligible, and there were several thuds. Mrs. McCormick screamed. With his parents distracted, Kenny took the opportunity to root through the pantry for something more to eat. Half a bowl of lukewarm beef stock just didn't do the job. (Hmmm. Bread?) He opened the bag to find the insides of the slices coated green and slimy. (Nope. Cereal?) He opened a box. Just mice inside. Kenny stuffed the box back in the cupboard. (At least you bastards are full. What's in the fridge? Great, black bananas.) Kenny saw a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. (Why not?)
He took two cans back to his room and tried to read comic books, but the noise down the hall prevented him from enjoying the story, at least until the alcohol kicked in. He was used to his parents' fights, but he began to wonder, What if Cartman was right about Butters? Butters' parents are batshit insane. Who knows what the rest of his family is like. On top of Kenny's growing guilt for joining in with Cartman's mockery, the idea of a lecherous man preying on Butters made Kenny's blood boil. (Something has to be done.)
"Something has to be done." Cartman pounded his fist on the desk. With his mother busy in the kitchen, he crept into her bedroom and began opening all the dresser drawers containing his mother's copious lingerie stash. "Mrs. Garrison said that boys will do anything if they see someone wearing thong underwear. Let's see Kyle and Butters resist these." He grabbed a fistful of thongs and ran back to his bedroom.
Once inside with the door closed, Cartman slid off his pants and briefs. He selected a black, ruffled little number and turned it over and over in his hands. "How do you tell the front from the back?" Finally, he sorted it out as best he could and stepped into it. Now, he looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He adjusted himself so that his private parts were cradled by a triangle of lace. A lace strap travelled up his backside. The waistband was stretchy enough to accommodate his frame, but dug into the fat on his hips. He turned around slowly, then slid out of his coat to get a better look. The tee shirt had to come off, too. Now, as Cartman stood wearing nothing but a shred of black lace, he could see himself clearly at all angles.
Even though he was used to the look of his nude body, and the thong left little to the imagination, it inspired Cartman to nod and breathe the words, "So fine." He slipped a finger into the waistband, pulled it outwards, then released it. The elastic snapped back into Cartman's hip, sending flesh rippling in all directions. "So damn fine." He stood with his legs apart and traced his sides with his fingers. "You will do what I want, Butters. You will tell everyone about your uncle-fucking." He pointed into the mirror, imagining he speaking to the other boy and was exerting control even more powerful than usual over him. Soon, I will have my very own thong-zombie. A thongbie, if you will. As he let his hand drop, it grazed his thigh.
A chill shot up Cartman's spine. He was suddenly acutely aware of the rub of the lace on his skin, most of all in the sensitive spots between his legs. There was a slinkiness to the material that made it completely irresistible. His hand hovered over his groin, but he stopped himself. "I shouldn't have looked in the mirror. I can't run the risk of becoming a thongbie myself." He seemed to accept this affirmation, but a moment later, his hand was heading south again.
This was far from his first time dressing up in something frilly and skimpy. But this was the first time he could drink in the sight of himself so exposed. "You want me, don't you?" he whispered coyly to his reflection. One hand cupped his groin, stroking the organs through the lace. The whole area tingled, forcing him to his knees before he could lose his balance. His eyes squeezed shut at the unfamiliar sensation, the only way he could take his eyes off the mirror. When he opened his eyes again, he looked down to see what was making him feel so good, but was unable to see past his belly. Even the mirror seemed to tease him now; only a hint of the black thong was visible amidst his flesh. "Aw, dammit," he whined, needy. He lay on his back, allowing him easier access and a better view.
His erection was small but unrelenting, not unlike himself. It threatened to peek out the side of the thong. With thumb and finger, he kneaded the head, gasping as his foreskin pulled back, before tucking himself back inside the panties. Focusing again on his reflection, his recumbent pose evoked images of magazine ads, or better yet, a giant billboard over Interstate 70. His ill-fated past adventures in dress up could not have been farther from his mind; in this fantasy, gruesome car accidents piled up from drivers wanting to admire him. "Everyone will be mesmerized by my sweet ass. Especially…" His excitement reaching a crescendo, something prompted him to squeak, "Wow, Eric. I'd sure like to take off your clothes and lu lu lu…"
In his alarm from the words that escaped his mouth, he bucked his hips into his hand and gripped himself tightly. The tingling feeling was swallowed by something overwhelming. "Shhh…shit!" He flopped flat on his back and lay silent, save his heavy panting. Finally, he wiped his forehead with his hand. Both were wet. But his hand was sticky.
"Eric, honey!"
"What?" Cartman sat up quickly, his panting growing heavy again in surprise. "I mean, yes, Mahm?"
"Time to take a bath and get ready for night-nights."
Cartman wobbled to his feet and headed for the door, nearly forgetting his robe. As he hurried down the hall to the bathroom, he heard his mother's footsteps in her room. He quickly opened the door to the closet, kicked off the thong, and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Sinking into the warm bath felt wonderful, and the feeling of contentment hung around like the steam in the air. But he couldn't erase the nagging memory of the words: Take off your clothes and lu lu lu. They played over and over in his mind from bath to brush to bed.
Later that evening, with her son long since trundled off, Ms. Cartman looked in the closet for an extra blanket. She retrieved it, but then the door wouldn't close. Puzzled, she looked down to see a black thing stuck in the door. Picking it up, she recognized it instantly. "So that's where this got to. I don't know how it missed the laundry on orgy night."
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