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Through the Cracks	By : Aspergirl Category: +S through Z > South Park Views: 7479 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or its characters. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Leaning up against the pillows, Cartman let Bud kneel over him. This guy's not wasting any time, the boy realized, making sure to keep his face neutral. He was waiting for the right moment to initiate his final – and favorite – stage of the plan.
Bud pulled off his own boxers and reached for the waistband of Cartman's thong. The strip of material shifted, but was much too tight to be removed with one quick swish. Pulling harder, Bud grew impatient when the panties still did not budge. "Just… come… off!"
Cartman struggled. "Ay!" The pulling and pinching was leaving his skin raw.
"But I thought you wanted to play Lord of the Rings." Even in his rush, Bud wanted to take the time to play with his quarry. "I want your one ring." Having already lost his first choice for the evening, Bud would not tolerate another escape. In frustration, he took hold of the gusset, intending to yank it to one side of Cartman's crotch, or tear it to pieces if it came to that.
However, having already suffered one hit to his balls that day, Cartman would not tolerate a rough hand getting too close for comfort. "Maybe you can take it off with your mouth." Cartman suggested. Especially since you like licking little boys' asses so much.
The anger faded from Bud's face. "Maybe I can." Trying to capture the glittering strap between his teeth, Bud dipped his head like he was bobbing for apples. He pressed his nose into the pink fabric trapped by Cartman's paunch, taking in the sense of proximity to untouched boy parts, taking it in deeply. "Mmmm. You smell so good." Bud felt a pair of hands pushing on the back of his head, and that was the last that he remembered.
When Bud opened his eyes again, he was still naked, lying on his back. The room was completely dark except for the candles. His little Eric was nowhere to be seen. He tried to sit up, but found that he could not; his limbs were attached to the four-poster bed with plastic zip ties. "Huh?" He tugged against the bonds, but they held fast. Bud turned his head the other way and recoiled with a shout upon seeing Cartman, standing startlingly close to the edge of the bed, smirking to himself.
"Comfy?" Cartman purred.
"What is this?" Bud fought violently against the ties. "Where's Butters?"
"I don't know where he is. But I know this is what happens when you suck chloroform out of a kid's underwear." Cartman stroked the fabric.
The grown man never thought he'd see the day when a child would fight back, and fight dirty. "You drugged me?"
"Don't sound so surprised. I can't believe you didn't try to have your way with me when me and Butters went to your house." Out of the corner of his eye, Cartman saw himself reflected in the dark window and his dark smile broadened.
Bud remembered that visit from Butters and his friend, remembered getting his hands on Butters for the first time. "Wait. That's how I know you. You're the boy with the robot costume!" He also remembered receiving an invitation from Butters to see a video of a boy dressed as Britney Spears. "And you were in that video dancing with a Justin Timberlake cutout."
"At least I wasn't licking little boys' buttholes." Cartman was in a hurry to address the issue and to take the focus off his private activities. "You seem to like doing that."
Bud made a show of looking appalled. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Come on. We both know you didn't come here to make nice. You wanted something."
Indignant, Bud argued, "No, I came to visit my nephew. That's it. I didn't want anything."
Not satisfied with the answer, Cartman picked up one of the candles. The top of the candle had begun to melt into liquid. He looked at the candle, then over his shoulder at Bud. Walking back to the bed, Cartman held the candle over Bud's body and tipped it, drizzling the scalding wax onto the hairy belly. Bud roared. When the screams subsided, Cartman went on. "You know of what I speak. A great eye, lidless, wreathed in brown." Even under the circumstances, that image was enough to allow a burst of giggling to break through Cartman's serious demeanor. He regained his composure.
"You came onto me. I think you're looking for an older guy."
"Hell no. Been there, done that." Cartman snapped. This asshole would fit right in with those NAMBLA fucks. He didn't want to spend any more time around men in wool sweaters and hush puppies who whispered sick nothings to him. But he would have been lying if he said he did not get off on the attention. The confusion read on his face.
Seeing Cartman's reaction, he pushed. "You really are a little faggot. Did you wear those panties when you were grinding on 'Justin'?" Even as the hot wax congealed on his skin, Bud expected to see the boy crumble and release him. He had no idea what he was up against. In an instant, Cartman reached behind his back, where the strap of his thong held his stun gun like a holster. With a crackle, Cartman pressed the device against Bud's nipple. Bud erupted into screams again.
Having the power, the authority, to hand down punishment gave a wicked rush. He had always wanted a chance to see what effect the weapon would have on different parts of the body. It was Bud's turn to be explored. Cartman straddled Bud and attacked the man's neck, watching him shudder. The crackle of the stun gun and the boy's laughter filled Bud's ears. Finally, Cartman climbed down. He began to tuck the weapon back inside the strap of his thong, but something stopped him. There was something he hadn't tried. He knelt at the end of the bed, between Bud's spread legs. "Still think I'm a little faggot?" Before Bud could give any response, Cartman held the crackling weapon to Bud's balls. The man convulsed until the shock let up; he then lay still and silent.
When Bud's eyes sprang open, Cartman placed the stun gun on the nightstand, just in case Bud forgot who was in charge. He reached into his coat pocket, careful not to disturb the camera lens taking in everything from between the folds of the red material. Out came a roll of industrial strength duct tape. He tore off several pieces of tape and strategically placed them on Bud's body. One on Bud's groin, one on his chest. Alarmed, Bud demanded, "What are you doing now?" The last piece of tape Cartman placed over Bud's mouth.
In a suspiciously kind voice, Cartman soothed, "Uncle Bud, I know you have a problem." He ripped off the tape above Bud's junk. "Your problem is ass-raping boys." Ripped the piece off Bud's chest. "I'll help you to make sure it never happens again." Off came the piece covering Bud's mouth. With each of these pieces of tape came clumps of hair and muffled yells.
Already, Cartman had something else on his mind. On the floor was a kit with words on the side. From a distance, it looked to Bud like a toy medical bag for playing doctor. That carried frightening implications, as Bud did not want to see his young captor holding forceps or a scalpel. Cartman withdrew a small bottle. "You look like you could use a drink. You do drink alcohol?"
By now, nothing surprised Bud. "Yeah, I drink."
"Open up." Cartman poured some of the liquid into Bud's tentative mouth, but it was promptly spat back out.
"Is that nail polish remover or something?"
"It clearly says 'Rubbing Alcohol'. You like rubbing, and you like alcohol."
Bud continued spitting. "You're insane!"
"You don't like it? Then what am I going to do with the rest?" He looked at the bottle and splashed it across Bud's raw and broken skin. When Cartman placed the kit on the bed, Bud could read the calligraphy on the side: "MYami Ink". A snake coiled around the K.
Bud shook his head. "No. Please, Eric! You don't want to do that."
"Keep still. This will only hurt all the time." Tattoo gun in hand, Cartman set to work, creating his vision, to the sound of raw agony. Painstakingly, he scrawled across Bud's chest, poking, digging. The work seemed to take forever; to Cartman because he wanted to see the final result, and Bud because of the searing torture. At long last, the boy sat up and exhaled deeply, admiring his masterpiece. The letters were formed by the unsteady hand of a child, but the words were perfectly legible:
I am a sick
buttfucker
- 17
- 18
- 19
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Through the Cracks