Thanks to everyone who emailed me about the first three parts! We ended chapter three with Anton giving Brandon's twink hole a good, deep breeding. What'll happen when the post-cum guilt sets in?
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-Alex
My Sister's Boyfriend Needed A Ride (Ch. 4)
Collapsing down, my sweaty chest pressed against his back, probably wasn't especially comfortable for him. Even if I'd been worried about crushing Brandon, though, it wasn't like I had much choice in the matter. The third orgasm of the day had definitely been the most intense, leaving me feeling like every bone in my body had liquified.
He'd flattened, under my weight. Sandwiched between me and the mattress, his pajamas tugged down to his thighs and my arm wrapped around his neck. I could feel each breath squeezed from his lungs; the rise and fall of his body, fighting against the pressure.
I tilted my hips, churning my cock inside him. Despite everything, despite how fucked up the whole situation was, I was still hard.
"Your hole is so squishy and wet," I murmured, my lips buried in the sweaty tangle of Brandon's hair. "But that's what you wanted, isn't it, you little cheat."
A grunt, as he levered himself back against me.
I laughed. "You're insatiable. Does my sister know you're such a little pervert?" Then frowned. "Actually, don't answer that."
I regretted bringing her up, even thinking about her. Brandon was the cheating boyfriend, after all, the truly guilty one here. Only I couldn't really accuse him of bad behavior when I'd been instrumental in it, too. Maybe if I'd stopped him, the first time he'd tried to kiss me. But now, my dick swimming in the load I'd freshly deposited deep into his twink ass? He wasn't the only one who should feel bad, I knew that.
Guilt usually made me angry, of course. I knew that, too.
Pushing myself up, I yanked my cock out of him. Ignoring Brandon's gasp, and indeed his surprised squeak - muffled, thankfully, by the cumrag underwear I'd stuffed into his mouth to keep him quiet - as I slapped his ass.
I reached down, to yank the briefs from between his lips. They'd already been soaked with still-wet cum from my morning jerk-off session; now, they were even heavier thanks to his drooling as I pounded him.
He pushed himself up, on his elbows, eyeing me balefully.
"Don't give me that 'I can't believe you did that' look, asshole," I sneered, as I stood up and stripped the boxer-briefs down my legs. "You knew exactly what your endgame was, when you knocked on my bedroom door."
Brandon was still glowering, but there was no way to miss how his eyes kept flitting down to where my cum-smeared cock dangled, heavily. Or, for that matter, the way he was pushing his hand under his body as he stared at me.
"Don't even think about jerking off on my bed, either, you little shit," I warned him.
He rolled over, onto his back, with an annoyed sigh. Threw one arm across his eyes, as though obeying me and seeing me were simply incompatible. "I need to get off, dude."
The sleeveless shirt had pulled up, exposing a flat, smooth expanse of belly, while his red and black checked pajama pants were doing nothing to hide his erection. That was practically sticking up like a flagpole, visibly throbbing in its eagerness for some friction.
"Cheaters don't get to cum," I informed him, deadpan.
He pulled a face, eyes still covered. "You did."
I leaned down, hand flat on his chest. Quietly satisfied by the way he yanked his arm away, suddenly staring up at me in apprehension. "I'm not the skeeze who's cheating on his girlfriend, remember?"
His expression was still nervous, but that didn't stop him running his fingertips up my forearm, until his hands were stretching around my bicep.
"Did you like fucking me?"
I frowned "What sort of dumb fuckin' question is that?"
Brandon squeezed the muscle I couldn't remember tensing.
"How do I compare to other guys you've been with?"
I rolled my eyes. "How did you like sucking on my cummy briefs?"
He licked his lips. "It was hot. Like, there was no way not to taste and smell you." A glance down, then back up to meet my eyes again. "You wanna fuck my throat some more?"
I shook my arm loose of his grip, scowling as I stepped back. "You're messed up, you know that?" I gestured, in the general direction of the door. "Go back to bed, asshole."
He shook his hips, setting his erection wagging. "Aren't you gonna help me get off?"
I'd watched him cum already once that day, on his knees in the basement while my family waited for us upstairs. Had made him catch his load across his outstretched hand, then lick it clean.
I blinked, to try to dislodge the memory of it. "I'm tired, get lost."
Brandon looked frustrated. "You ate my ass, in the park."
"A mistake." I waved the reminder away.
"You don't have to touch me," he suggested. "Just let me touch you, while I do it."
My glare was cold, voice dripping sarcasm. "What a compelling offer."
He twitched his hips again, hard dick flopping like a metronome. So much leaner than me, even when I'd been his age.
"Don't you find me attractive?"
Something there, in his question, or the tone of it. Something needy, beyond Brandon's usual, cocky presumption.
It made me want to tell him no. To snap at him; to remind him that he was a stupid little shit, and an asshole, and a cheat who was only going to hurt my sister. To puncture some of that cocky, eighteen-year-old arrogance, the ego which had fueled our flirtatious banter that - perhaps I'd been ignorant to assume - had always seemed merely playful. A kid, trying to impress his girl's older sibling.
I wanted to slap him down, only I couldn't. Not truthfully. Because, frankly, I did find Brandon attractive; gallingly so, indeed.
I had a weakness for cute, brash twinks, and even if he hadn't known that - then, or now - it didn't mean I was finding it any easier to resist him, physically.
"I'm not here to pump up your self-esteem," I told him, bluntly.
Brandon gave me a wide-eyed look. "What about if I promised to do anything, if you help me cum?"
I snorted. "Considering you've got my load swimming halfway to your stomach right now, why do I need the promise?"
It was a petulant sound, to go with his fists clenched in frustration.
"Fine. I guess I'll just have to break up with your sister, then."
I glared at him. "What the fuck?"
"You heard me."
It was my turn to clench my fists, as I took a half-step closer to the edge of the bed. "You'd hurt her, just because I turned you down?"
His expression was sly. "So you want her dating a cheat, then?"
I didn't like being called out, but I hated the idea of my little sister being upset even more. I might know Brandon was a lying little shit, but she seemed to genuinely have feelings for him.
"Are you seriously trying to blackmail me right now?"
Brandon shrugged, sitting up. His pants, stretched between his thighs, meant he couldn't spread his legs much, but I could still imagine my load drooling out of his well-slammed hole onto my comforter.
"Just trying to get you to see sense, dude. Isn't it better if you can keep an eye on me, make sure I'm not getting into trouble?"
If I hadn't been so pissed, I'd have laughed. The "trouble" he was talking about was cheating on his girlfriend with her own brother. It was the sort of storyline even TV soap operas would decide was too far-fetched.
I wasn't in the mood to laugh, though.
The slap rang out, louder than I'd intended. Brandon's hand flying to his cheek, eyes comically wide as he gaped at me in surprise. Not that I gave him time to say anything, my fingers closing around his neck and shoving him back.
A thud, as his skull hit the wall. Thankfully not the one dividing my parents room with my own, though I was very nearly past the point of caring. I jabbed my other hand between his legs, pushing under his body. Three fingers digging into his gooey hole, feeling Brandon's gasp through the flexing of his throat, as much as I heard it.
I shoved my hand a little deeper, watching him wince. His tender insides hot and slick, muscles trembling around me.
"Listen to me, you little fuckboy," I growled, my face inches from his shocked expression. "I don't know what part of what's happened left you thinking you were in charge, here, but you're mistaken. Sorely mistaken."
I jabbed my fingers in further, punctuating my words as Brandon whimpered and twisted on my hand. He was drooling, I realized, spit dripping down his chin and onto my wrist; panting, too, as his cock oozed fat bubbles of precum and he clung to my arms.
"Don't fucking tell me you're getting off on this," I demanded, eyes narrowing as I watched him squirm. For a moment he'd looked scared, but now I couldn't help but think that a better description was wanton.
Pushing him sideways, practically scraping him across the wall and onto the bed, I held him pinned by the neck while I jerked my other hand a half-dozen times. Brandon's legs kicking out haphazardly, as I roughly finger-fucked his sloppy hole.
His grin was lopsided, eyes struggling to focus. Still, no mistaking that it was some sort of pleasure twisting his face.
"Keep going..."
I remembered how he'd reacted in the park, how quickly he'd taken orders. Stripping off, looking up at me with a sort of hunted eagerness. At the time I'd thought it was all grounded in fear, what my reaction might be to him hitting on me for real, instead of the mock-flirting I was used to. Looking at something close to that same expression now, I couldn't help but think that it was the threat-provoked obedience itself which was driving him.
"What the fuck is going on?" I demanded.
He grunted, in frustration and need. Trying to wriggle against my stilled hand, grind his ass onto my fingers. Pawing at my bicep, as though if he found just the right spot he could make my hand clamp down harder on his throat.
Eventually, he hissed in annoyance. "You... you'll only do stuff with me when you're angry." Brandon stared at me, as though daring me to argue with his diagnosis.
"That's ridiculous."
I still had his head pinned, but that didn't stop him from pointedly looking down, to where I was gripping him. There was fresh challenge in his eyes when he met mine again.
"Are you thinking about killing me right now, or fucking me again?"
He'd not been looking at my arm, at my hand circling his throat, I realized, in a flash of self-awareness. Brandon had been looking further down, to where my cock was now as rigid as his own.
"Is it because you can only admit you want your sister's boyfriend when you're horny?" His voice sounded thick, the tone squeezed by my fingers. "Or are you this repressed with every guy?"
"Fuck you," I spat.
Brandon winked. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Anton."
I hissed annoyance, and then dropped my head into his lap.
His shaft already slick, barely any friction as I drew my lips around him and sucked him into my mouth. Tongue already swarming eagerly, the salt-sweet taste of his precum only making me hungrier while Brandon's ass spasmed around my probing fingers.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh..."
He was getting louder; I shifted my hand from his throat to his mouth. Palm clamped across his lips, relishing the muffled squeaks as I focused all my attentions on his swollen tip.
It was a blowjob, but a weaponized one. Unrelenting, heedless of the noises that barely escaped past my hand, or the way he tried in vain to writhe away from the over-stimulation.
Fucking was a battle, I would've told him, had my mouth been free and had Brandon been in any state to listen. You couldn't separate it from dominance, and submission, and control. That was the lesson, and if I couldn't teach it to my sister's boyfriend with words, I'd just have to deliver a practical lesson instead.
He was kicking, now. Heels catching on the sheets, movements constrained by my pounding hand between his cheeks. Back arching as he tried to buck me off his dick, if only for a moment's respite. A useless effort, though: I was bigger, stronger, angrier.
And anyway, one thing he'd said was still entirely true. Brandon wanted to cum, and for all I was torturing his nerve-endings, that stimulation was driving him to that tipping point nonetheless.
Ass clamping down on me, animal noises against my palm, and then the throb of his cock as I ground the leaky tip against the roof of my mouth. Letting its ridges drive him over the edge, until I felt the sudden splash of his load filling the space around his prick.
His hips had given up pumping, when I felt the full-body shudder as he realized I had no intention of stopping now.
More frantic, more desperate than he'd been in chasing the orgasm. Practically convulsing as I worked the slimy mess of cum, and spit, and precum around his hyper-sensitive dick, squealing into my hand as my fingers hooked up to rasp against the firm bulge of his prostate.
He tasted bright, sharp; not unpleasant, and yet it was Brandon's clear horror at discovering I would decide when this flood of pleasure-turned-torment might cease, that had my own cock bouncing between my legs. Aroused beyond measure, as he gurgled in mewling defeat.
Finally, I sat up. Fascinated by the flush that'd spread along his arms and across his bared belly. The smell of him stronger, sharper now: musk and sweat, rising from him like a heat haze.
Brandon stared at me, with teary eyes, over the gag of my hand. His chest heaving.
I winked, grinning with my lips clamped shut, then slipped my hand up to cover his eyes and pinch his nose. Leaned down, so that I could drool the foamy slop of his teen load directly into his gasping mouth.
He groaned, as he gulped and spluttered. Cum trickling from the corners of his lips; pulling my fingers from his ass, I used them to guide the leaking dregs back in. Rubbing our glistening, intermingled slime across his tongue, as Brandon panted and his eyelids fluttered against my palm.
I was hard, but I wasn't sure I had a fourth orgasm in me. Even if I could so easily imagine shuffling forward on my knees; jerking off directly between Brandon's gaping lips.
It was temping, but I didn't. Drew my hand away and settled back, on my heels, to watch him come down from his high.
He looked dazed, stunned. Like a bird that's collided with a window, twisted clumsily on the ground as it tries to comprehend how clear air could suddenly solidify. What the implications might be, when something taken for granted becomes inexplicably conditional.
"She never makes you feel like that, does she," I said, then felt the instinctive twist of guilt in my chest.
Brandon wisely opted not to answer.
"You suck dick like it's a punishment," he observed, instead. "For the dick, I mean."
I chuckled. The lesson it'd seemed so vital to impart to him, when I'd had him straining in my mouth and his body practically vibrating with the need to cum, seemed vague and distant now. Theory, a less tangible thing when divorced from demonstration.
"You're still hard."
His observation dragged me back from my thoughts. I glanced down, at the erection bobbing between my splayed thighs.
Brandon met my eye, though I could see his attention was divided. "Yeah, I guess," I agreed.
He stared at me, for a moment, then looked away. Up at the ceiling, grunting with frustration. "You could just admit that you're attracted to me. Would that be such a bad thing?"
"You're dating my sister," I reminded him.
"And that means you can't even find me attractive?" Brandon sounded genuinely curious.
I shrugged. The rules seemed tenuous, now, lines poorly drawn and difficult to understand. Hooking up was a physical thing, no matter how ill-advised it could be sometimes; a matter for the lizard brain, as primitive as hunger. Acknowledging attraction felt like an altogether more conscious decision, and thus an altogether more shameful betrayal.
"Is it really important?" I asked him, instead of even attempting to explain all that.
Brandon frowned. "I mean... yes? Is it wrong to want someone you like to find you sexy?"
I ignored the 'someone you like part'; doing so only seemed wise. "Are you bi, then?"
Shrugging while laying down wasn't especially graceful, or effective even, but he still tried it.
"Is it really important?"
I rolled my eyes, at him using my own words against me. "It might be to my sister."
A scowl. "Do we really need to talk about her right now?"
Turning, I sat on the edge of the bed. Imagining I could see through the wall, through my parents' bedroom. Right into my little sister's room, and she in turn look back into mine. Wondered what she'd think, how she'd react, seeing Brandon disheveled and sticky on my bed. How long before she'd guess the vague outline of what he and I had done together.
"You might not feel guilty," I started, then bristled as the bed shifted and his arms slipped around me. His chest pressed against my back; bare, now, his shirt a sweat-soaked tangle thrown down beside us.
"I think I prefer it when you're angry," Brandon mused, his chin on my shoulder.
Reaching up, I pushed my fingers through his messy hair. Tightened them into a fist. "Be careful what you wish for."
He hissed, but made no move to pull away.
After a reproachful tug, I released him.
"It was so hot when you fed me my load." His voice low, even for our proximity. As though Brandon wasn't even sure he wanted me to hear that truth. "Can I kiss you?"
My laugh was mirthless. "You ask first, now?"
I felt, more than heard, his sigh.
It wasn't like I was under any obligation to do it, a fact I reminded myself even as I reached up again to cup the side of his face in my hand. Turning it, as I turned my own. His lips were soft against mine, surprise seeming to freeze Brandon into a sort of trance.
"Again," he murmured, as I pulled away.
I chuckled, but I still kissed him again.
Hungrier, the second time, and more intent. Brandon's tongue pushing into my mouth, a challenge I met with my own; tasting the cum I'd returned to him, as he twisted around my body until he was sat in my lap. Pajama pants gone, stripped off along with the shirt, and so nothing between my fingertips and his soft, smooth skin as his legs squeezed around my waist.
"This is a terrible idea," I reminded him, in-between kisses. My forehead resting against his, and Brandon's hands cradling my chest. Somehow, my fingers had instinctively inched their way around his ass. Palms filled with his firm cheeks.
"You can blame me."
I pinched him, Brandon wriggling atop me in protest. "I was already blaming you, idiot."
"I'm a 'dumb fucking hole,' remember," he teased. "What did you expect? Can I sleep here tonight?"
The look I gave him was intended to be withering, though the fact it was interrupted by another kiss probably robbed it of its full intensity.
"Absolutely not, hole."
He grinned. "Because you don't think you'd be able to resist me, if I was in bed with you?"
His hands had slipped down, between our bodies. Fingers already stroking around the head of my cock. I pulled them back up, pointedly.
"Because," I corrected, "I don't particularly want to have to explain to people why the fuckboy my sister's dating is in my room."
Brandon flashed me a grumpy look. "We could be friends."
"No," I told him, "we couldn't."
That was part of the problem. Friends, I could just about handle, but I knew it would never end there.
I stood, lifting him with me - enjoying the brief flicker of surprise that crossed Brandon's face - before turning to drop him on the bed. "Be a good boy and put your PJs back on."
He reached for my dick. "I could just..."
I pushed his forehead, sending him sprawling back. "Weren't you listening to me? Did I fucking stutter?"
There was a part of me that wondered what it would feel like. To have him sleep next to me, in the same bed, under the same sheets. Wondered how it would be to wake up next to him; whether our legs would be entwined, one of Brandon's thrown atop mine, perhaps. Or the curve of his back pressed into my chest, as I spooned him from behind. Feeling my morning wood thick between his thighs.
That wondering meant I had to be harsh, instead.
"I don't..." he started, sullenly. Younger-seeming, suddenly; reminding me of my little sister, sulking when she'd been told things couldn't always go her way.
A little extra guilt to braid in there, amid the regret already twisting and knotting in my belly.
He flinched, as I threw his shirt at him. Catching it belatedly, as it slid down his bare chest.
"Get dressed," I snapped, coldly, "or I put you out in the hallway naked, and you take your chances out there."
For a moment, his resentful glare was hidden by the fabric as he pulled the shirt on. I still knew it was there, though, burning through the sweat-soaked cotton.
Brandon had only just tugged his pants back on, when I was propelling him toward the door. Carefully pulling the handle, as I gripped his narrow bicep.
He turned, as I pushed him out into the hallway. Mouth already opening, to whisper something, make fresh promises, or temptations, or demands.
"Go to bed, fuckboy," I hissed at him, thinking of my sleeping parents and my bubbling shame, and shut the door.
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