⚠️ DISCLAIR — READ BEFORE PROCEEDING ⚠️
This chapter features a character who is loud, proud, and unapologetically hypersexual. He has zero sha, very little filter, and a mouth that runs faster than common decency.
If blunt sexual humor, explicit confidence, or unfiltered self-expression isn't your cup of tea, this chapter may not be for you—and that's totally okay. Please proceed with caution, personal boundaries intact, and pearls securely fastened.
You have been warned.No refunds. No apologies.
****
After the brief interval, it was finally ti for the next contestant.
"Alright, welco back everybody!" Cat bead at the cara. "We just t the powerful brothers, Yen and Zen. Now—let's see what the next trainee brings to the table." She paused for effect. "Everyone, please welco to the stage… our next trainee!"
The stage lights exploded back to life as dramatic music thundered through the theater. The massive LED screen parted slowly, revealing the silhouette of the next contestant.
The cheers hit first.
Then he stepped forward.
Dripping confidence. Oozing swagger.
A handso young man strutted onto the stage like he owned the damn building—bejeweled fishnet tank top clinging to a jacked torso, oversized jeans hanging dangerously low on his hips, black combat boots stomping with intention.
Attention-stealer? Absolutely.
But then the audience noticed sothing else.
Sothing that made them gasp.
As he turned dramatically, the low-slung jeans revealed exactly what kind of underwear he was rocking—because subtlety had clearly taken the day off.
Yep.
A jockstrap.
Gasps. Screams. Gays clutching pearls they absolutely did not own.
When he reached center stage, he lifted his mic with a grin that said I know exactly what I'm doing.
"Was poppin', everybody?" he drawled. "Na's Jeremiah—but y'all can call CreamBun."
The theater lost its collective mind.
"Wow," Luca said, brow raised but smiling. "Confident. So might even say arrogant—or cocky."
Jeremiah didn't miss a beat.
"Before I answer—wassup, beautiful evaluators," he said smoothly. "Y'all look fly as fuck."
The audience gasped again.
Cussing had happened on the show before—but this? This felt natural. Casual. Like punctuation.
Jeremiah shrugged. "Honestly and respectfully, sir, I don't give a flying fuck what people think of . Been there, done that. That shit almost ended ." His tone stayed calm, grounded. "So if you fuck with , I fuck with you. If not?" He smiled sweetly. "Good riddance."
Foca nodded thoughtfully. "Jeremiah, I'll be honest. You're not going to be everyone's cup of tea. I respect how loud and clear your individuality is—but my concern is how well you'd blend with others if placed in a group."
"Oh, I blend just fine," Jeremiah replied instantly. "Put anywhere—I'll adapt without losing myself." He tilted his head. "Respectfully? If I had to compare myself to anyone… I'm kinda like Bobby."
The audience collectively went 👀👀👀.
"Not saying I am him," Jeremiah added quickly. "I know my place—I'm not even touching Bobby's pinky toe." He grinned. "But conceptually? He's great solo and in groups. Sa for . Except—" he shrugged, unapologetic—"I co with a sluttier vibe."
The crowd SCREAD.
"I bring the sex and horny into groups—just a little kick, a little spice. Enough to wake you up. Solo though?" He smirked. "That's the unhinged, no-holds-barred experience. I'm very good at adjusting my spice levels."
"…Uh-huh," Foca said, clearly amused. "That's certainly one way to explain it. Bobby?"
Bobby clapped enthusiastically.
Jeremiah tapped his fist to his chest, kissed it, then pointed at Bobby in thanks.
Tuesday leaned forward. "Before I say anything—let just say… the fit? The body? Tea. Absolute tea."
"Appreciate it, queen," Jeremiah replied, blowing her a kiss.
"Now," Tuesday continued, eyes sparkling, "why the stage na CreamBun?"
Jeremiah nodded. "It's manifestation, honestly. Bread Music's whole thing is bread-thed nas, so I thought—why not claim mine?" He shrugged. "It's for . Not whatever bullshit narrative the internet wants to spin."
He paused, then smirked.
"And to answer the real question—out of all the breads?" Tuesday prompted.
Jeremiah took a breath. "As an artist, I like writing songs about what I love. People rap about wet ass pussy and ass all day long." He spread his hands. "I'm just singing about dick. Fair's fair."
The gays gagged. Scread. Ascended.
"I'm a proud bottom bitch—"
Absolute chaos.
"To spare y'all the graphic details," he continued casually, "yeah, I like being filled. So when I was picking a na, Cream Pie felt a little too on-the-nose. Bit cringe." He smiled. "CreamBun just made sense. Cute. Round."
He paused.
"Filled with creamy goodness."
The theater?
Gone.
User Comments
0 comments from readers