Hey friends!
Thanks to everyone who emailed me about parts 1 and 2! You'll be pleased to hear that in part 3, Brandon is still a sneaky little fuckboy cheat, and Anton still makes terrible decisions.
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Happy reading!
-Alex
"My Sister's Boyfriend Needed A Ride (Ch. 3)"
My parents said Brandon could stay the night, and I couldn't shake the thought that it was a terrible idea.
Not in my little sister's room, of course: they were pretty easy-going, generally, but they weren't total idiots. Two eighteen-year-olds who didn't seem to be able to stop kissing regardless of where they were, or who was around them? No matter how much my sister protested that they were being ridiculous, our parents didn't budge.
That, I could agree with. I wouldn't trust the horny little bastard either.
Not that you'd know Brandon was a nasty little fuckboy just from glancing at him. Perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, smiling innocently, with that glossy hair boyband-singer-perfect. The drool had dried on his shirt - everyone had bought the spilled-water story, in fact they'd thought it was hilarious and Brandon had laughed along with them - and so you'd never guess he'd just been skull-fucked in the basement. Gurgling desperately to be used rougher, harder, and then jerking off into his own palm before lapping up his twink load.
Right now, he looked like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Problem was, having had my dick in there, I knew that wasn't true.
So, my sister went to her bedroom, and Brandon was banished to the guest room at the opposite end of the hall. With the squeaky floorboards and my parents sleeping in-between, I figured it would take more than just some oversexed teen ninja to cross that gauntlet undiscovered.
Not that I really had a problem with my sister having fun. Like, as long as it was safe, and consensual, and all that shit. It'd be pretty fucking hypocritical of me to judge her for having sex at her age, when I'd been hooking up with guys for three or four years before I even turned eighteen.
Not boyfriends, of course. Impulsive, desperate, urgent stuff instead; casual, with guys my own age, or older men who believed my promises that I was "very nearly twenty," or who just didn't care either way.
He'd avoided my eye all through dinner, not that I was particularly trying to catch his. Annoyed, though, at what felt like forced attentiveness to my sister: performative, like he wasn't aware of the "ain't they cute" looks getting traded between my mom and my aunt. Brandon dutifully serving up mashed potato onto his girlfriend's plate; thoughtfully topping up her water glass before it was even empty.
I'd watched him kiss her - a fairly chaste kiss, not the tongue-delving, spit-swapping makeouts they usually went for - not long after we'd hauled the ice coolers up. Soon enough that I was certain Brandon would still be able to taste my load.
There was a bud of fury, growing in my chest. Coiled around the memory of his crooked smile, lips still glazed with spit and cum, as he'd coughed and spluttered on the basement floor. The way he'd reminded me that, for all I blamed him for hitting on me, it wasn't like he'd been the only person involved. No mistaking the threat there, and of course I'd overreacted.
Brandon knew the truth as well as I did, though. If I told my sister that her boyfriend had been cheating, and she believed me, all he had to do for revenge was reveal just who that cheating had been with. And since I'd done a pretty fucking poor job at telling him no and sticking to that, it was a revelation that wasn't going to work in my favor.
He'd looked up, at the very end of the meal. After I'd announced I was going to my room, said goodnight to my aunt and uncle. A sort of intense focus in his expression, like he wanted his face to be seared into my brain when I was on my own.
I made scrupulously sure not to react, not even to smile or nod, as my gaze swept over him. Then only let out the breath I'd been holding when I was out of the room. Cursed him, for his cockiness, his presumptuousness, as I stomped up the stairs.
Honestly, I probably should've expected the knock. The guest room was safely down the hallway from my sister's bedroom, after all, but it was right next door to mine.
I considered putting on a t-shirt, or even just some sweatpants. Was still second-guessing my decision not to, right up until the point I opened the door and Brandon's eyes practically fell out of his head.
"What?" I tried to keep my voice down, mindful of my parents in the next room, yet still inject an appropriate degree of venom.
Not that I got the feeling he'd even registered the question, never mind my tone in asking it. Too busy staring at me in my boxer-briefs.
"Hey." I flicked him in the forehead, making him flinch. "What the fuck?"
He looked antsy, nervous. Almost bouncing from foot to foot, a slim streak of pent-up energy.
"Can I come in, dude?" It seemed like it was taking him genuine effort to drag his eyes up to meet mine. Gaze always returning to my chest, or my legs, or my crotch, skittering across me as if he was trying to memorize every detail.
"Why?"
He shook his head slightly, sending that glossy mop of hair flowing for a moment before it settled back almost perfectly. "Dude, come on, please?"
Quite literally anybody - even someone who didn't know that I'd reamed Brandon's throat earlier in the day - would've told me that letting him in was a terrible, no good, dire idea. Problem was, I've always been shitty at following good advice.
I stepped to the side, which was clearly sufficient invitation.
He looked like the twink model from a J.Crew catalog or something. Red and black check pajama pants and a white sleeveless shirt. Honestly, it left me feeling little underdressed, but covering up seemed like a sort of defeat.
Anyway, the way Brandon couldn't help but cast hungry glances at me was hilarious.
"If you think I'm gonna read you a bedtime story, asshole, think again," I warned him.
He chuckled, but it was a strange, distracted sound. Barely believable.
"If you're here because you feel guilty," I started.
"Do you?" Brandon interrupted, fixing me with a stare.
I scowled at him, suddenly angry. "You've got some fuckin' nerve, after you cheat on my little sister."
"Cheat with you," he reminded me.
He wasn't stood all that far away; it only took a step to leave me looming over him. I'm a pretty tall guy, and I'm used to having to dial back my body language if I don't want to accidentally seem intimidating. Brandon, though, got the unfiltered brunt of it.
"What did I fucking tell you, about threatening me?"
The way he licked his lips seemed nervous. Even so, he didn't look away.
"It's true, though, isn't it."
I stopped trying to hold any of my annoyance from my expression. Turned from him, as though he was no longer even worthy of consideration. "Go back to bed, asshole."
He reached out; caught my arm. Fingers squeezing my bicep.
"Anton..."
Something in me snapped.
Twisting around, I wrenched his hand away and then caught him by the wrist. Kept turning, spinning him as I yanked his arm high up on his back. Distantly gratified by the hiss of surprise and pain that burst from him.
I shoved him onto the bed, face down, ignoring his kicking legs as he squirmed in my grip. Pushed his arm even higher, as I brought my lips close to his ear.
"Shut up, you're gonna wake my parents."
Brandon opened his mouth, as if to reply, then yelped again as I shook him.
Clamping my hand over his mouth seemed, quite frankly, the wisest thing to do. Not that I was working on the basis of what was sensible now, anyway; focused only on avoiding any member of my family knocking on the door, and asking difficult questions about why I was very-nearly-naked with my little sister's boyfriend pinned and whimpering.
"You just don't know when to stop talking, do you," I snarled at him, trying to temper my own volume.
Brandon twisted his eyes, struggling to meet my angry stare. His breath hot against my hand, breathing fast through his nostrils. He'd stopped wriggling, at least.
"You're a fucking mess," I told him, the frustration still simmering. "My sister could do so much better."
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought he was angry. Would've argued, protested my assessment, were my palm not stoppering any words from escaping.
And then I saw how he was pushing his ass up - tilting his hips, his back arching - and realized it was lust I was seeing in that half-hidden expression, not resentment.
"Are you serious right now?" No way to hide the incredulity from my voice.
Brandon tilted his ass from side to side. Left, right, then left again. Thighs spreading slightly as he did it, making it easier to hike himself up more conspicuously.
I couldn't help myself. Released my grip on his twisted arm; Brandon making no move to reposition it, though, or to shift away as I pushed my knee into his back. A hand free, then, to reach between his legs and grope at the crotch of his pajamas.
He was hard; urgently, throbbingly so. Balls a tight clench as I squeezed and fondled him, feeling how he pushed back to better lever himself into my exploring hand.
No underwear, as far as I could feel. I knew, if I flipped him over, Brandon's PJs would be obscenely tented with his rigid dick.
"Can you imagine what my sister would say, if she saw you right now? What sort of nasty little pervert she'd think you were?"
I was a hypocrite, I knew that. It wasn't like I'd stopped toying with his junk, after all.
He gurgled into my palm, hips twitching.
Dragging my hand back, just slightly, I ran my thumb down the splay of his ass. Feeling the dimple of his tight hole through the soft cotton, as Brandon tried desperately to push back at that touch, as though I could finger him through his pants.
It wasn't like I needed to glance away, at myself, to see I was rigid too.
I was angry at myself, and angry at him, and the sting of the former only made the latter more intense. Frustrated, at how easily I'd been dragged into some fucked-up game by a kid who wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. Embarrassed that, despite being the older one, ostensibly the wiser and more experienced guy, I'd allowed my sister's boyfriend to coax me into something I knew could hurt her feelings.
"I should've told her how you'd tried to kiss me, you little shit," I spat at him. Feeling him wriggle under my knee, as I leaned in with more of my weight. "On day fucking one, I should've told her what a nasty little fuckboy she was dating."
He couldn't reply, but that didn't matter. It was a scolding meant for my own ears, really. My own guilt roiling.
Digging my fingers under the waistband of his pajamas, I tugged them down. Exposing the smooth curve of Brandon's ass, pants pulled taut across his upper thighs. It'd been dark, that first night; the sodium lights in the park barely enough to see how his wide-eyed hunger blended with fear and anticipation. Neither time nor opportunity to see how perfect those eighteen-year-old cheeks were.
He'd frozen, as I bared him. Statue-still, as if to make it easier for my eyes to feast upon him. No mistaking the muffled groan against my hand, though, as I dragged my fingertip down that taut stretch of skin.
I'd spat on him once already, that day. Already set a precedent.
The slightest of flinches, as it hit him just below the tailbone. Still no protest, though, as I slid my thumb through that dripping goo, and then used it to push against his hole.
He was so hot, and tight, inside. I had to grit my teeth, to keep from feeling dizzy.
"This is why you knocked on my door, isn't it." I pushed deeper, until my knuckle was jammed against his ass. Feeling how he wriggled, still pinned under me. "What you were hoping for, right?"
A squeak of compliance, from behind my palm. Unnecessary, though, given how he was leaning back into the probing digit.
I didn't know how many guys he'd been with. Whether that night in the park was the first time he'd been fucked; if he'd given me his cherry, along with the guilt. And sure, I could uncover his mouth and ask him, but I wasn't sure I could believe a single thing Brandon might tell me.
It was more fun, anyway, to push a second finger into him, and feel him writhe underneath my weight as I stretched him open.
"Shut the fuck up," I snapped, leaning down to hiss against his ear. Even past my palm, he'd been getting noisier. "Are you tapping out?"
It didn't look comfortable, how much he had to turn his eyes to try to meet mine, but there was no mistaking how he shook his head.
I tugged up, feeling his ass muscles fighting me. Brandon's legs pushing him a split-second later, frantically trying to alleviate the pull on his tender entrance. Back arching all the more obscenely, fighting against the press of my leg.
"Such a dumb fucking hole," I sneered, only to yank my hand away from his mouth in surprise as his teeth sank into me.
Brandon gasped like he'd been starved of air for hours, though I didn't exactly feel guilty. Not like he hadn't been able to breathe through his nose; plus, I was too busy examining the pale crescents of teeth-marks across my palm.
"You little shit!"
He grunted as I pressed his face into the mattress, peering up at me as I slammed my fingers into his ass. Hair messy, silky tangles knotted with fresh sweat. I could smell him, that animal musk that had filled me that first night in the park. Something about it, its spice, only making me want to treat him more roughly. Force him to admit he had to concede defeat in whatever this thing between us had become.
So focused on that, on my bubbling rage and the increasingly soft, squishy feeling of his overwhelmed hole, that I only realized he was dragging down my boxer-briefs when my dick flopped free.
Suddenly, I could feel him fighting against my hold on him more intently.
"You're so fucking predictable." I laughed, watching him try to capture the tip of my bobbing cock between his lips.
"Please!"
Teasing him was fun, but the problem was I wanted it too. Wanted that feeling of his throat reshaping itself around my thick inches; the sense of being so deeply buried in him, the lines between our bodies blurred. Lifting off him, I shuffled around on my knees until I was facing Brandon's eager face. Leaning down, across the narrow taper of his back, to continue toying with his squeezing hole.
No gloating, no preamble: just the velvet warmth of his mouth on me, and the steady push into his gullet. Feeling more than hearing the rumbling sigh of satisfaction from his chest, as he gripped my thighs.
Reaching underneath him, I shoved my hand into his pants. The precum-slicked fabric clinging to my skin, as I twisted my fingers around the drooling head of Brandon's erection, relishing the way he squirmed at the flood of sensations. Only for a moment, though: I had better things planned for his makeshift boy-lube.
He wriggled again, as I pushed the third finger into him. Both hands pulling and stretching at him, now, digging deeper into Brandon's sensitive insides as my cock did its best to reach his stomach.
It was wrong, to be doing this under my parents' roof. With them sleeping in the room next door, even; with my little sister, Brandon's fucking girlfriend, just down the hall. To have her precious boyfriend on his knees, his fingertips digging into my legs as I reamed his throat, while I ground a fourth finger into his hole and worked on gaping his ass wide open.
Somehow, the knowledge of that wrongness only got me harder.
He'd sat across the dinner table from me, just hours earlier. Shirt still wet from where he'd drooled down his chin, probably still tasting the load I'd fed him in the basement. Making jokes with my parents, answering the stupid questions my uncle asked about career goals, and college prospects. Doing the perfect impression of a little gentleman, filling my sister's plate lest she face the indignity of having to serve herself.
I'd rolled my eyes at his bullshit before, teased him about it even, but never with him flashing knowing glances my way. Daring me to maintain eye-contact as he licked his lips, a parody of sexiness that I'd have laughed at, were I not also boned up like crazy from it. A fact Brandon was all too aware of, his socked foot between my legs, toes clumsily stroking at the erection he'd provoked there.
The memory of his smug, "I did this" expression only made me more ruthless with him prone beneath me now.
With a final, sharp tug, I yanked my fingers out of his twitching hole. Laced them through his hair instead, jerking Brandon's head back until my spit-slicked cock was resting - fat and dripping his throat slime - across his face.
"She's gonna find out," I warned him. It was a message for both of us, I knew.
"Are you gonna tell her?" His voice was cracked, rough-edged. Then again, it wasn't like I'd been taking it easy on him, as the dark, wet patch of drool and worse on the comforter beneath him made clear.
There was no answer to that, and I figured we both knew it.
"You talk too much." I didn't bother watching his face for the smirk I assumed that accusation would prompt. Reached, instead, under the mattress, for what I knew would at least serve as a short-term fix for that problem.
His eyes widened, as he stared at the balled-up briefs in my fist. They were still gooey from the last load I'd blown in them, only that morning. I'd been jerking off a lot more this week, in fact, and since - much as it galled me to admit it - Brandon was the primary cause of that, it seemed only appropriate that he benefit from the results.
I twisted my hand in his hair, and when he opened his mouth to yelp in pain, I shoved the wadded-up cumrag inside.
There was something deeply delicious about the sight of him glowering up at me, black Calvin Kleins liberally streaked, half-hanging from his lips. Knowing he'd be able to smell me as well as taste me.
"I wore those to the gym, oh..." - I did the mental math - "three, maybe four days ago?" I grinned at him, watching his nostrils flare. Not like he was trying to spit the underwear out, though. "I figured you wouldn't object, right, fuckboy?"
The way his eyes locked onto my armpit, as I flexed my bicep, gave him away.
I chuckled, then slapped his face with my cock again. "It's her birthday, in two weeks. Have you got her anything yet?"
Brandon shook his head.
I rolled my eyes. "But you're planning to, right?"
A nod.
His sweaty hair knotted around my fingers, I used my hold on him to jerk his head around. "It better be fucking good, asshole. Understand?"
The muffled sound of something close to "yes," or at least what that word might sound like if your mouth was full of cum-soaked briefs.
"Good boy," I said, mockingly, then released him.
Brandon made to sit up, until I slapped him between the shoulders.
"Stay."
He didn't look like a J.Crew model any more. At least, not the guys they put in the catalog, or on posters in the store. Cheek pressed into the wet patch he'd left on the bed; back arched and ass exposed. As I stepped around him, I could see how his balls were pulled tight against his crotch. Knew that, if I reached between those smooth, toned thighs, it'd be to find a rigid, eighteen-year-old prick just desperate to be stroked.
The strokes I had in mind were of a different sort, though.
Brandon's hole looked puffy and soft, well-plied from my four finger torment. Rubbing my drool-soaked cock left me with more than enough slickness to jab two digits into him again. Twisting and hooking them, feeling him twitching around me as he groaned into the makeshift gag.
Draping myself over him, I rubbed my nose in his hair. Closing my eyes, amid the scent of sweat, and musk, and the faint burr of shampoo, as I pushed his legs further apart and nudged the head of my cock where my fingers were still plying.
"Wake my parents up," I warned him, my voice low, "and I'll gag you properly. Get it?"
A nod, the movement jerky.
For an exquisite, impossible moment, my fingers and the fat tip of my dick were inside him at the same time. Brandon making a noise somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, though clearly trying to obey my instruction and stifle his reaction to the extra stretching.
I felt him gape to take me as I pushed my hips in, holding his waist as I let my bodyweight press upon him fully. Hearing the rush of air from his lungs as I squeezed him into the mattress, my own jaw clenched as I bottomed out inside him.
The first time had been fast, angry almost in its desperate urgency. Shock - at the situation, and at my own reaction to it - fueling my body's hunger; the need to get off inside him blended with an awareness that, even if it wasn't my sister who stumbled across us, getting caught by anybody while fucking in the park was a terrible idea.
Now, Brandon pinned beneath me and my cock buried inside his clenching, fluttering tightness, I could savor the heat of him. Shift my grip, wrapping my arms around his slender neck until every labored breath pressed against my forearms.
"I could do anything I wanted, to you," I murmured, into the damp tangle of his hair. "You know that, right?"
His shuddering groan reverberated through me. I wasn't sure if words were beyond him right now, or if Brandon had given up on even trying with his mouth stuffed.
It was a grinding, circular motion more than anything. Churning my cock inside him, feeling the way his body shifted, muscles softening, his ass becoming sloppier and more accommodating. Punctuated by his hips jerking, whenever I pressed or grazed against his prostate, a treat I tried my best to only deliver sparingly.
I squeezed my arms a little tighter, yanked back until I was almost out of him, and then slammed my dick in deep.
A squeal, barely stifled, and then another as I repeated it. Relishing his obedience, the sense of liberation to focus on my own pleasure first. Knowing that, even as Brandon strained in the cage of my arms, it was the certainty of their resolve not escape that he had in mind.
I fucked him with hard, relentless strokes. Urging him up, onto his knees with his ass raised high, so that I could saddle my legs around him. Make the most of every thrust, as I pressed him by the neck into the bedding, and reveled in the sound of our sweaty flesh colliding.
"I'm gonna breed you, you dumb little cheating piece of shit," I grunted, as loud as I dared. "And the cum is gonna come dripping out of your ruined fucking hole, and down your legs. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
A squeak, sounding like it'd been pounded out of him.
The image of him sat across the dining table, of his smug grin and his perfect hair, lurched into my mind's eye. Impossible, almost, to connect the dots between that youth and the sweating, mewling meat beneath me. With the knowledge that I could cum in him, just like I'd promised to, or I could pull out to shove my cock into his willing mouth. Flood his throat, if I preferred, or spray his flushed, needy face. Brandon's submission assured, not because I knew he was a cheat, but because I'd seen the way he craved it. Heard it in his voice, watched it in the feverish jerking of his hand after he'd begged me for permission to cum.
I buried myself in him, so deep my balls ached from being squeezed so tightly against his ass, and choked back the howl as I creamed Brandon's insides.
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