Making of Kingpin - Copied

[hirarandi]

I felt so different that Monday as I strode through the college corridors.

Everything around me was much the same. The chicks were still drooling, batting their eyelids and hitching up their skirts in an attempt to catch my attention. The jocks were still gazing across at me, mouths slightly ajar in a combination of ill disguised awe and jealousy. The nerds were still cowering, eyes averted in fear. The college itself was still dilapidated and crumbling from lack of care and attention. The teachers were still as submissive as ever, unwilling to challenge the transgressions taking place all around them. And the corridors were still littered with discarded needles and condoms from the students' illicit excesses.

But I was different. The eyes through which I saw my surroundings had changed following my sexual destruction of Roxy over that tumultuous weekend.

Just the thought of her name, her new name, made me tingle with excitement. I had turned a self-respecting, strong, professional, independent woman into a slut who would sell her own grandma to get the chance to bounce on my pole again.

I owned this college. Nothing went on within its walls which I did not control. I was at the sexual apex and everyone else was forced to dance to my tune, either because they wanted me, they were scared of me or they knew that I could give them what they wanted. Some might call that arrogant and cocky. And they would be right, but I had a lot to be cocky and arrogant about.

Before this fateful weekend I would have been proud of my achievement. Proud to have either battered or fucked every rival to my status of top dog into submission. Proud to have made myself untouchable by splitting the principal in two on the end of my cock. Proud to be making myself rich through extortion and drug dealing which had turned half the students into smackheads desperate for their next fix and willing to do anything for it.

But this weekend had changed me. It had made me realise how small fry I still was. How much further I had to go.

Everything about this college felt smaller and less significant. Was this to be the limit of my power and achievement in life? The ability to control a shithole of a college and fuck a load of dumb sluts into submission?

This weekend had made me realise that would never be enough for me. I wanted more. And I was going to get it. And god help anyone who dared stand in my way.

As I walked into my first class of the day I sat down in the back row. The teacher – unfortunately a fat, old man providing no eye candy whatsoever – was warbling on. But I couldn't concentrate. My mind was racing, pushed onto fast forward by the amazing weekend I had just experienced.

It had been incredible and exhilarating. On another level from anything I'd ever experienced before. Sexually Roxy had been able to stay with me longer than any woman I had ever fucked. Most of the cheerleader sluts started spasming once I got halfway inside them, unable to cope with my girth. I had to take it slow and easy with them, unable to unleash my inner beast.

But not with Roxy. She was a woman in her sexual prime, fit and athletic, able to take the hammering I had given her and still beg for more. For the first time that I could remember I had woken up and not been as horny as hell. The weekend of almost constant sex seemed to have sated my seemingly unlimited sexual appetite, at least for now. Of course it helped that she was blond with a rack to die for. I had always been a sucker for a cute blond. I could still see her huge, perky tits and wished I could fondle them right now.

I felt a stirring in my loins. It seemed my horniness was returning and with a vengeance, and I felt my dick harden, pushing against my tight fitting jeans.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the cheerleading squad eyeing my groin. She started to push her hand down underneath her short skirt and pleasure herself as she looked at me with longing desire.

I couldn't remember her name. She was called something like Casey. Or was it Tracey? Or Macy? And to be honest I didn't really care. I needed some help now and she would be more than willing to provide it. She was quite small in stature, had shoulder length black hair with a pair of perky B-cups. She wasn't ugly by any means but she was just plain to look at.

She wasn't really in my league. But right now all that mattered was that she had a mouth and she knew what to do with it. The fact that she was getting lucky would only make it better, she would be desperate to please.

Pretending I hadn't seen her I pulled down my zipper and fished out my now granite-like dick and started to slowly wank it with my big hands. I could see the slut, whatever her name was, staring at me now open mouthed.

Glancing across at her our eyes connected and I quickly communicated through my facial expressions what I wanted from her.

She stood up from her desk immediately and started walking towards me. She pushed the desk in front of me out of the way and got on her knees before wrapping her lips around the helmet to the monstrous piece of meat between my legs.

A few heads had turned at the sound of movement. But most looked unsurprised when they saw the source of the disruption. The teacher at the front of the room stuttered for a moment, looking for a split second into my eyes before quickly turning away and continuing his monotonous drone.

Everyone knew, teachers and students alike, that it was pretty rare for me to get through a day without busting my nut at least half a dozen times. And teachers now knew better than try to challenge me. That was a sure fire way to make sure they were either bent over their desk and gangbanged by the entire football team, leaving their limp bodies unconscious in a pool of cum, or so battered and bruised that they would be in hospital for weeks. So instead they had to put up with my outrageous behaviour.

I had been right about this slut. She was desperate to please and was trying her best to fit my throbbing meat down her throat, but was failing miserably. Her ineptitude only reminded me of Roxy and her exquisite mouth. The way she had woken me with a blowjob after being so completely fucked the night before had been incredible.

Before this weekend I would have revelled in the power of getting sucked off at the back of a class with nobody daring to even whisper a complaint. Now it seemed beneath me. But my cock needed release so I used my hands to push the back of the eager sluts head, impaling her further on my jutting spur. She was gagging and spluttering as she struggled to please me and yet still the teacher ignored the lewd display, even as it began to drown out his weak, pathetic voice and more heads turned to watch the show.

As I looked round the room, at the eager, excited eyes it reminded me why my control of the college made me so proud. Because it had been so hard-fought. Nothing had ever been given to me, I had to take it myself.

And that forced my mind back to a place it had not been for a long time. I remembered sitting at a small, cramped kitchen table watching my mother crying with anguish after being told of the death of my father on the orders of the local mafia boss.

I couldn't have been much older than 6 or 7 when it happened but I could remember it like yesterday. The tears rolling down my distraught mothers face would be etched in my memory until the day I died. It might have been invisible to the outside world but it would be a permanent scar on my psyche.

But while my mother bawled and my older brother tried to comfort her I did not shed a tear. I remember even at that tender age feeling little compassion for my father.

He had been a fool. He had been weak. He had got in over his head and failed in his duty to provide for and protect us. He had spent his whole life on his knees, begging others for scraps off the table, wheeling and dealing in a constant struggle to make ends meet.

He had picked the wrong side in the battle that had been fought and won by the man who ran this godforsaken town, Nacho Gonzales. A Mexican drug lord who had swept in and disposed of the old Italian crime bosses who were too weak to oppose him.

I could still remember the Mexican brute that had knocked on our door and brazenly dumped his rigid corpse over the threshold, laughing and telling us that us Guido Wop scum should know our place. I could still remember my mother shrieking, pounding her fist as Scott pulled her back to stop her getting killed as well.

I had made a vow to myself that day. I had vowed that I would avenge my father. I had vowed that I wouldn't be weak. I had vowed that I would bow to nobody. I had vowed that I would wreck my revenge.

From that day forward I had been gripped by an incredible competitive spirit which coursed through my veins. I had to be stronger, fitter and faster than everyone else. So I dedicated myself to training, treating my body like a temple to be worshiped. But it wasn't just physical. I became eager to understand how power was exercised so that I could take that power for myself.

And what I saw was that those that were strong had power. Those who could inspire fear in others, those who could inspire loyalty in others, those who had a presence and an aura were the ones who had the power in the world around me.

I soon fast forwarded in my mind to a few years later and a similar scene was before me. This time it was Scott crying. This time it was Scott howling. For a cop had just turned up to tell us our mother was dead. She hadn't done anything wrong. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the crossfire of a gang dispute.

Again I did not shed one tear. The pain that coursed through my body was like nothing I had ever known. My mother had been the kindest, most gentle person I had ever met and had shown nothing but love and attention to my brother and I.

We never had much money but that didn't seem to matter. There was always laughter and joy in our house. And we had each other.

And yet in one mindless moment that had been destroyed. This time I felt weak. I felt responsible. I felt ashamed for allowing this to happen. It was a stupid reaction. What could I have done? What could anyone have done? But it didn't stop me feeling culpable.

The loss I felt at that moment was incomprehensible. It was too big to compute. One day my mother was there chiding us to do our homework, laughing at our silliness, shouting at our misbehaviour, comforting us about our insecurity, putting us to bed at night. And then she was gone.

Just like that. No warning. No chance to say goodbye. Gone. Leaving a huge empty void that would never be filled again. I would never again see her beautiful smile. I would never again feel her warm and comforting embrace. I would never again taste her amazing home cooking.

I had never really known my father. All I had felt towards him was resentment that he did not provide for us what fathers in our neighbourhood had for their children.

But my mother? She was my world. My everything. The moment I found out she was gone was like an eclipse. It was like the sun being extinguished. And for a time it seemed like the light would never return.

For weeks, months, years afterwards I would stupidly still expect to see her or hear her again, before realising that would never happen.

And so a darkness crept into my heart, into my very soul, poisoning and contaminating it, robbing me of any youthful innocence I still had. I felt like I was being taught a very cruel lesson by the world. And so the only thing I had left was Scott.

It was us against the world now – and I was determined to make sure nobody would ever hurt us ever again. And the only way we could be safe would be through strength.

I remembered clutching Scott in my arms, holding his blubbing face to my chest, and vowing to him that we would be avenged.

We both dealt differently with the tragedies that had befallen us. In the following years he buried himself in books while I played every sport I could seeking to dominate my peers. Those childhood tragedies had helped to shape and mould me in ways I still could not fully understand. 

Our neighbourhood was rough, really rough. And the only way you could survive was by proving yourself. By showing people that they couldn't mess with you.

That meant getting into fights, often with people older and bigger than me. But I always came out on top. I mean I still came home pretty bruised and bloodied sometimes. But the other guy always ended worse off.

I don't think in those days i was necessarily stronger or fitter or faster. But I was a scrapper, I was tenacious, I never knew when I was beaten and I didn't let pain affect me. I was vicious. I didn't play by the rules and I didn't show any mercy. The world had never shown me any so I wasn't about to show it any either.

More importantly I knew this was what would keep me and Scott safe. Once word had got round that I'd put a guy several years older with 50 kilos on me into hospital, or that another had been left with several teeth lying next to his bloodied body suddenly people hadn't wanted to fight me anymore.

Instead they had wanted me on their side. And so over time I built up a loyal group around me. It was mainly based around the football team, which had become my passion.

I loved being out on the field. I was so competitive, so desperate to win. And over time we moved from being a laughing stock to being feared and respected across the state.

That wasn't because we were the most talented, or the most skilful. But we treated every match as a battle. A battle that we would win, or die trying. We wouldn't give an inch to anyone, regardless of their reputation.

So when the state champions rolled in town and expected to dish out their using ass whooping we surprised them. We were ultra-aggressive. We hit them so hard and so fast that they couldn't cope. They started making stupid plays. And we nailed them.

They had been sent home with their tails between their legs. And we had sent a message out to everyone in the league that we were a force to be recognised. The atmosphere in the locker room after the match had been amazing. Everyone was buzzing. Everyone was on cloud 9. I felt happier than I had ever felt before in my life. And it was like I knew this was what I was meant to do. Lead.

After that it seemed like we'd won games sometimes before we even stepped out on the field. I could see it in the eyes of our opponents. Their body language screamed fear, and they submitted even though in many cases, most even, they were probably more talented and better trained.

But it hadn't been easy. The only way I had been able to inspire that loyalty was by showing that if they were there for me then I would be there for them.

So when any of us were disrespected, when any of us were insulted I made sure that we responded. And aggressively. So that people knew that you didn't only not mess with me, you didn't mess with my crew.

And over time those bonds grew stronger and stronger, building up a family around me to replace the one which had been so cruelly ripped away from me.

But I knew that I had to remain strong. Any show of weakness, any sign of vulnerability and I would be tossed aside. We may have become like brothers but like brothers we were rivals as well as family. And they were all like me in so many ways. They were messed up. They had never been taught how to behave. They had no respect for authority, unless it was backed up by strength.

I knew that each and every one of them, in their dreams, wanted to be in my position. The leader of the pack. I knew I had to always been on my guard.

But then a whole new world opened up to me. The power of sex to establish social hierarchy. I had been so focussed on turning myself into the biggest, strongest, hardest, toughest, meanest and most feared son of a bitch that I had neglected my biggest asset. The one hanging between my legs.

It took a challenge to wake me up to the opportunities that I had allowed to slip through my fingers. I couldn't believe it was only a few months ago now, just after I had turned 18. It seemed like it was a lifetime ago.

I can still remember the scene like it was yesterday though. I walked into the locker room for practice and for the first time I wasn't greeted by a parade of fist bumps and jocular back slapping.

Instead all the attention was focussed in the other corner of the room. And I could see who was the centre of that attention. It was Marc. Marc fucking Greco.

We'd grown up just a few streets away but I'd never liked him. Both his parents had decent jobs, which was unusual, and so he always had better clothes and shoes than everyone else. That wouldn't have been a problem but it was the way that he looked down on me that really wound me up.

We had been competitive for years. We were both sporty and athletic and spent hours in the gym. It had only been in the last couple of years that I had pulled ahead of him. I became captain of the football team, something he was desperate to have. And I was the undisputed leader of our crew. Suddenly he wasn't looking down on me anymore.

If I'd had my way he wouldn't have been on the team. But most of the guys liked him and he wasn't stupid enough to challenge me overtly. Plus he was a seriously talented ball player, even I had to give him that.

So I wasn't impressed to see that he was at the centre of a scrum of excited faces. He was holding up his phone and a few of the guys were crowded round looking at it, their eyes out like stalks.

As I got closer I heard fragments of their conversation.

"Fucking hot, dude."

"Incredible."

"Smoking."

"God look at those tits!"

And then I heard Marc's cocky voice cut in, "Yeah she is as filthy as she looks. Hammered her all night long. She just kept begging for more. What can I say, I'm good!"

As I approached a couple of guys stepped away and I finally what was on the phone. I had to exercise all my self control not to let my jaw drop.

There was a picture of our head cheerleader, Dixie. She was by far the hottest chick in the college. She had long sexy legs, a gorgeous face, firm large tits and a shapely toned ass. She kept herself in great shape but the best way to describe was curvaceous. And it wasn't even her looks that made her so hot. It was the way she moved, the way she pouted her lips, the way her jugs bounced as she cheered. It was like she was made for one thing. Fucking.

But this picture was Dixie as I had never seen her before. She was completely naked and on her knees. Her mouth was lolled open and she looked dazed and confused. Perhaps the white blotches covering her face and matting her hair had something to do with it. She was looking directly up at the camera and her eyes were filled with lustful satisfaction.

"I'll have to do a video for you guys next time. Might teach you a thing or two!" Marc continued arrogantly.

I played along and congratulated Marc for bagging such a stunner. I had to even if I didn't want to. But it was the training session that followed which really worried me.

Marc was strutting around like he was the one in charge. And I could see that sneering, smug face I'd hated for all those years staring back at me.

Even worse was the reaction of the other guys. Suddenly they were hesitating when I gave them instructions, their heads tilting towards Marc to see what he thought. And then Marc started to tell the team what they were doing wrong and I could see them nodding, agreeing. They sensed that he was the big man, that he was the alpha and their loyalty was drifting in response. I felt threatened and vulnerable. The power balance had shifted. And it was all over some girl.