Author's Note: Thanks for reading! And as always, thanks for all the great feedback. I'm glad so many of you appreciate how the story continues to build. Feel free to share your latest thoughts.
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Please enjoy the next installment: "Glory Days"
Glory Days
© 2025 Matt Harding
MATT
August 2025
"Fuck! That's the spot!" I yelled.
My husband Steven shoved our fleshy dildo up my ass, ramming my prostate. I lay flat on top of him, my knees on either side of his head, our cocks pressed onto each other's chest. My cockshaft tilted downward, pointing straight at his face.
"You take it better each time, babe," Steven murmured behind me.
His fist clenched my asscheek and pulled it to the side, exposing my hole. Streams of lube trickled down my ballsack as he shoved the dildo in a second time. All the way to the base.
"Fuck!"
"You're leaking pre," he said with a chuckle, swiping the droplet on my cockhead.
Now he picked up a rhythm, pumping the silicone cock for its full eight inches. In and out. I felt the ridges and veins massaging my hole.
Steven's nails dug into my flesh as he massaged my left glute. I grabbed his ankles to steady myself and rested my face on his hairy calf.
"Let's see if you can still gape it," he said, yanking the dildo out of my chute.
A loud suction sound, and my asshole felt numb and exposed to the cool air. I could tell it was raw and wide open -- about an inch-and-a-half.
"Ha, nice," he said.
He hawked up a wad of spit and shot it up my sphincter. My head jolted up like a reflex, surprised by the spray.
Meanwhile, up on the wall, a 77-inch TV was playing our "highlight reel" -- a collection of some of favorite porn clips we've spliced together for repeat enjoyment. It's a fun background for our raunchiest fuck sessions.
There's an orgy in there of a dozen hunks across a sun-dappled terrace on Mykonos. Then a clip of a college boy learning to suck cock for the first time in his life.
And there's some homemade stuff too. Playing right now was a sex tape of Steven and me spitroasting a twink in Japan.
I already knew the next one coming up. It's a crowd favorite.
Patrick's Fun, where my Uncle Patrick and my dad fucked a blonde chick back in their college days. At first, Steven was reluctant as hell to add that one to our playlist. Now, it was just another classic.
"Go harder, dude, I wanna ram her between us..." my college-aged uncle now said on the screen.
I'd been needling Steven to find some old content of his own dad: Congressman Phillip Danforth. Maybe something at the beach, I suggested. He still needs convincing.
Steven impaled me again with the dildo, now massaging my nuts. With the lube smearing smoothly over my ballsack, I was glad I shaved it the night before.
I lifted myself onto my forearms, arching my back. I knew Steven liked that shit. It flexes my ass and tightens my hole. My ass grabbed harder onto the plastic cock.
"Yeah, fuck, Matt. That's it," he said. "You gonna cum for me?" He twisted his hand around my cockhead faster.
"Oh fuck, bay-beee," I growled, stretching those vowels long.
"Can you believe this shit was playing on the TV when your dad was watching us?"
That's right.
If Dad only knew.
Uncle Patrick continued on-screen: "--Dude, are you cumming yet? Are you cumming?--"
"You know, you do look a lot like Patrick," Steven chimed with a smirk in his voice. "Shame we don't see his ass in that video."
"Fuck off," I said, laughing between my moans.
"Does his ass look like yours?" he said, slapping my glutes.
"No, it's fucking fatter," I snarled. "A fucking dump truck."
Steven shoved the dildo up to the hilt, edging me closer.
"Take a photo next time."
Now, the montage switched to the next scene. Taken on my phone, it was from an annual family football pick-up game during a Thanksgiving visit back home.
A close-up of my older brother Justin, the football star, 33 at the time and still in his prime. He was wearing extra-short shorts -- the slutty pants were an inside joke with the cousins on his team. Dark green mesh hugged his sizable ass tight, with slits on the side. When he jumped to catch the pigskin, his cock jostled in his shorts a few times, daring to spill out. Another zoom-in there.
He ran to the goal line, flanked by our Uncle Patrick. You could hear Justin's oldest son Lucas in the background cheering him on. Just then, our stepdad Enrique tackled him with a smack, laying him flat on his face.
The fall made Justin get pantsed.
A big fat booty with a tan line. His perky asscheeks rippled when he bounced on impact. Everyone laughed -- Justin included -- and he picked himself off and kept going with a confident grin on his lips.
I planted my face on the bedspread between Steven's calves and reached both hands toward his cock, pulsating against my chest.
"C'mon get me off," I begged him. "They're gonna be here any second."
Justin and Lucas were flying into D.C. this evening. We'd promised to pick them up at the airport.
"Oh noo," Steven feigned. "What ever will we do if we're late."
He bit my asscheek.
"Fucking do it, Steven."
"Then pump my cock harder, pig," Steven said.
Now I knew he was about to bust. He gets filthy when he's horniest. Pinning him down, I held Steven's cock tight against my pecs with one hand and stroked his head with the other. His breath quickened underneath me.
"I'm close," he said.
With the dildo plunged firmly up my hole, Steven milked my cock with a two-hander, both of his hands slick with my precum, jerking it toward his lips.
My face flat on the bed, I heard my dad holler off-screen.
"Yeah, buddy!" he bellowed. "That's what I'm fuckin' talkin' about. That's my boy!!" Justin made the touchdown.
"Mmfff, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I roared, stifled into the mattress. I clenched Steven's cock tight. Right then, my taint throbbed as I shot gush after gush of semen. On Steven's chest. His face. The headboard. Who knew.
Steven moaned to the ceiling. His hot load spurted out in ropes, coating my chest and our sheets.
We lay there catching our breath, as the clip show moved onto the next piece of filth.
"All right, pack it up" I said, rolling onto my side. "Let's head out."
We spotted them before they spotted us. Justin’s height was the first thing I saw, even in the airport crowd. Some things never change: broad shoulders, baseball cap, and the loping walk I’d grown up trailing behind. Lucas pulled a carry-on beside him, lanky and unsure.
Justin was shepherding Lucas around the country to visit colleges this month. Next on their circuit was Georgetown, which Steven and I attended. We still lived nearby, since our careers kept us in the D.C. beltway. Months ago, we offered to take Lucas on a custom college tour, and now the day was here.
Justin’s face lit up when he saw us. He lifted one arm in a big wave. Lucas’s smile was softer.
“Matty!” Justin boomed as they reached us, dropping his duffel. He pulled me into a hug that lifted my feet off the floor.
“Hey, stranger,” I said into his shoulder. “You made it.”
He thumped me twice on the back before letting go. Then he turned to Steven with a grin.
“Mr. Fancy Lawyer,” he said, extending a hand to him.
“Please don’t call me that in public,” Steven said, smiling and shaking his hand, firm and proper.
“Hey, Uncle Matt,” Lucas said, a little bashful.
“Hey, Lu,” I said, pulling him in.
He was taller than I remembered. When did that happen? All limbs and softness underneath a hoodie. His hair curled a little at the ends, like Justin’s used to when he let it grow out.
“Thanks for having us,” he mumbled.
We grabbed their bags and headed toward the parking garage. It was now dusk. As we pulled out of the airport traffic, Steven twisted around to ask Lucas what he was thinking of studying. Steven's accent, a soft boarding-school polish that he’d never fully lost, smoothed every word.
Lucas gave the kind of answer that was really a question. “Maybe… history?” he said. “Or, like, international relations? It'd be cool to travel. I don’t know.”
“Overthinking it? You're such a Virgo,” I said under my breath.
Lucas glanced up in the rearview mirror, caught my eye, and shrugged: “Guilty."
Traffic thickened as we approached the city, the sky darkening overhead. Our townhouse street narrowed as we turned in.
“Damn,” Justin said as we stepped out into the crisp air, taking in the block. “This is… fancy.”
“It’s drafty in winter,” I said. “Don’t let the brick fool you.”
Steven unlocked the front door and stepped aside with a little flourish. “Welcome, welcome. Please pretend the art is less pretentious than it looks.”
Justin entered slowly, scanning the space.
“Dang, Matty,” he said, setting his duffel down. “You really live here.”
“That’s the idea,” I said.
Lucas drifted from the bookshelves to the record player. He ran a finger along the edge of a small sculpture Steven’s mother had given us.
“Hand-blown,” Steven said, returning from the hall. “From Venice.”
Lucas lifted his eyebrows, impressed.
We gave them the quick tour: kitchen, sunroom, the guest room upstairs where Justin would sleep, the pull-out sofa in the basement for Lucas. Steven and I had debated putting Justin in the guest room and Lucas in the basement. But he pointed out that giving the Lucas his own floor might be a small mercy for him.
“You guys up for dinner here?” I asked from the kitchen doorway. “We can order in.”
“I’m starving,” Lucas said.
The pizza arrived, and we gathered around our table by the bay window. Dinner was a messy, overlapping conversation. We talked about logistics for next month's family camping trip. Then Justin shared some highlights from his college football career; Steven countered with stories about his prep school debate trips.
Justin shook his head. “You’re such a nerd,” he said teasingly, with some admiration for Steven in his expression.
Throughout the meal, Justin's eyes seemed to drift. Unfocused. Distracted.
After dinner, Lucas yawned theatrically. “You guys mind if I crash?”
“Sure thing,” I said. “You know where your room is. There are extra blankets in the closet.”
He nodded and disappeared down the stairs in the basement, his socks whispering on the hardwood.
"I think I'll go upstairs and unpack," Justin said, ambling up the other direction.
Steven and I cleared the table together, loading plates and empty bottles into the dishwasher. It roared to life when we turned it on, its noise joining the steady hum of the range fan.
Steven wiped his hands on a dish towel and leaned in to kiss my temple. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Yes, Dad,” I said, rolling my eyes.
He smirked and disappeared down the hall toward his study for some late-night work, the door clicking shut behind him.
I headed upstairs.
The shower was running when I reached the landing. The sound echoed faintly through the hallway.
Justin must be taking a shower.
I imagined my stud of a brother behind the glass partition, steam filling the room. I remember how tightly he hugged me at the airport.
Those bulging pecs under the torrent of water.
Water splashing down the meaty ass that I just rewatched earlier tonight, right before I busted a heavy load on Steven's face.
I crept closer to the bathroom door, the rush of water growing louder. It was still quiet downstairs.
When was the last time I saw Justin full-frontal? I couldn't remember.
Maybe it looks like Dad's, I wondered.
I recalled another memory instantly: Justin visiting home on a college break. He had entered my room post-shower, holding nothing but his hand over his crotch -- the sides of his thighs fully bare.
"It's laundry day," he had said sheepishly. "Throw me some boxers, man?"
And now he was in my domain.
My hand stretched over the doorknob.
I'll just say I need to grab something quickly. Yeah, that'll work.
I grasped the doorknob and rotated it. Slowly.
Score. It was unlocked.
Then my hand shook with nerves. A sense of cold panic shot down my torso.
No, no. What am I doing? I can't--
I stepped away from the door, frozen and conflicted. I began to turn away.
And just then, the bathroom door flew open.
It was Lucas, fully dressed and fully dry.
“Oh -- Lucas!” I said, startled. “I thought you were in the basement.”
“Nah,” he said easily and unwary, brushing past me. “Came up to shower. But I forgot my soap and stuff.”
“Right, right,” I said, watching him head toward the stairs.
I stood there for another second, brain slow to catch up. Then I turned and ambled back toward my room, thankful as hell that I stopped myself when I did.
A moment later, the guest room door opened. Justin stepped out in pajama pants and a faded tee.
“Hey, Matt,” he murmured. “I think I’m gonna hang in the living room for a bit. Can’t sleep.”
“Sure,” I said, already heading downstairs with him. “Company always welcome.”
* * *
Downstairs, I turned off the overhead light, leaving on the lamp by the sofa, warm and low. We settled onto the couch in the darkened room.
Justin planted his phone on the cushion between us and stretched out -- one leg tucked under him, the other propped on the coffee table. I sat next to him, knees close, silence growing between us like steam on a mirror.
Whatever had unsettled him at dinner -- whatever made his eyes drift and unfocus -- it was still there.
“So,” Justin said, sprawling back against the cushions, one arm thrown along the back of the couch. “You really did it, huh.”
“Did what?” I asked.
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely around us. “The nice house, the fancy husband, whatever the hell it is you do for work now. And the Europe thing with Dad. Still can’t believe you pulled that off...”
I leaned back to buy a second.
“How’s everything with you?” I asked finally.
He looked down at his knee, scratching it with his thumb. “Vanessa and I…” he started, then stopped.
I waited.
“We’re kind of…” He exhaled. “I don’t know. Not great. It’s just -- she’s tired, I’m tired, money’s tight. Sometimes I feel like…” He hesitated. “Like the version of me that everybody knew? The football hero, the golden boy--"
"Your glory days."
"The glory days," he repeated. "I left him back in the stadium, and the guy who comes home now is just some… off-brand version.”
“Big-box, suburban generic,” I said softly.
He huffed. “Yeah. Wholesale Justin.”
“You’re allowed to miss him,” I said. “The old you.”
I thought of him then, under Friday night lights, his jersey clinging to sweat, the whole town chanting his name. My brother, illuminated, while I sat in the bleachers with a book in my lap and our dad-coach yelled out the plays.
"I'm going to grab another beer," Justin said, rising from the couch. While he was in the kitchen, his phone screen flashed on beside my knee, and I recognized the notification icon immediately.
It was a cruising app that Steven and I used on our trips abroad.
I picked up the phone quickly and read the alert:
"5 spots nearby."
What the fuck? I thought. A gay cruising app on his phone?
Then, "2 new replies."
I heard the fridge door close and the metallic clink of the bottle opener. Moments after I turned his phone screen off, Justin returned holding a frosty beer.
"I do miss how it used to be," Justin said guiltily, sitting back down. "I just... don't wanna end up like Uncle Patrick, you know?"
Our Uncle Patrick: recently divorced, living alone, once the life of the party, whose spark flickered not as bright anymore.
Having Justin mention our Uncle Patrick in front of me reminded me of something -- from that fateful night two years ago when I'd discovered the Patrick's Fun DVD. In a drunken haze, Uncle Patrick and I had abandoned discretion and stroked our cocks to some pornos. And he had said a few peculiar things about Justin that have since gone unanswered.
What was it he said? When I dropped my trunks and my rock-hard boner bounced out. "Bigger than Justin," wasn't it?
And that phrase I'll never forget:
"This is just guy shit... Justin knew that too."
Justin was looking down at his hands again. For a second, he looked younger, like the boy who used to sneak into my room to ask if I thought Dad was mad at him after a bad game.
"It'll be nice to see Patrick next month on the camping trip," I said, homing in on the subject.
"Yeah. I can't believe we've been camping there all this time. Lucas loves it. And I know Dad and Enrique are looking forward to it."
"You've always been so close to Uncle Patrick too," I added, steering the conversation back. "You really were always so close. Especially after you graduated."
We heard Lucas shuffle down the stairs to the basement, wishing a good night to Steven, who was climbing up to bed himself.
“You ever think about those nights?” I asked. “The ones when you’d disappear for hours with him. Summer after senior year.”
Justin stiffened, just a little. The kind of flinch you only notice if you’re watching for it.
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t pretend to not know what I meant.
“You’d come back home reeking,” I laughed. “Like gasoline, sweat, and grass, riding around town.”
Justin stayed quiet.
“You know, he called me a few weeks ago," I lied.
“Oh yeah?” he said too casually, not looking at me.
"He was going through some old photos, remembering the 'good ole days.'" I fabricated. "He said he bonded with you that summer. A lot. It was like 2004, wasn't it?"
I left the words hanging in the air.
“Listen,” he said. “It’s not what you think.”
“I haven’t said what I think.”
He looked at me then, something half-defensive, half-pleading in his eyes. “We didn't do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
There was a long pause. The room felt smaller suddenly. The air more fragile.
I whispered: "Just guy shit?"
Justin's eyes darted away. He ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “Fuck.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor.
“How many times?”
He didn’t answer.
“Justin.”
“I don’t know. A few?” he said.
The silence after that felt full of tiny cracks.
"We fooled around a couple years ago too," I finally admitted.
Justin looked at me, eyes wide open.
"Like Patrick said, it's just guy shit. Guys helping each other out. I guess he needed that."
Justin's face finally broke out in a smile.
"That's insane, bro."
"It is what it is."
Justin threw his head back on the cushion and emitted a small sigh of relief.
"I thought you were going to rail me about it," he said.
"A guy has needs. And sometimes he's just gotta get them met." I turned my body to face him more head-on.
Justin's eyes clouded, as another memory seemed to overtake him.
"Yeah," he mumbled.
After a minute of reflection, he stood up. “Well, look -- I should get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” I said, walking him to the stairs. “Big day tomorrow.”
“Listen. I -- I'm glad to see you're happy, Matty." He paused on the first step. "Thanks for having us over.”
His hand squeezed my left shoulder.
“Anytime,” I said, following him up the stairs.
The next morning, Justin and I crossed paths in the upstairs hallway after his shower. He walked out of our steamy bathroom, clad in nothing but a navy towel, tight around his hips.
"Morning, Matty," he said with a grin, casually rubbing the back of his head. His bushy-ass armpit greeted me too, and the scent of Irish Spring wafted through my nose.
His bulge was unmistakable, a massive dong from his bush down over his balls.
And his pecs were stunning -- tanned, hairy mounds of muscle jutting out from his chest, light-brown nipples and dirty-blond chest hair all the way across. He rivaled Dad in the pec area. Being a dad of three kids had taken a toll on Justin, but he still looked fit as hell.
We all converged again in the kitchen for breakfast. Justin’s hair was still damp, and Lucas looked brighter and more alert. Steven stood at the stove whisking eggs.
“Coffee’s ready,” I said, sliding a mug toward Justin. There were faint dark circles under his eyes, a tension in his jaw that hadn’t eased overnight.
While we ate, Steven went over the college visit schedule with Lucas: a tour, a private lunch with a professor, maybe a walk by the river if they had time.
Justin, meanwhile, wasn't joining. He had planned on staying back to let Lucas enjoy a little independence for a change.
"Besides," he had said, "your uncles are the ones that know the place!"
Yeah, sure. Now Justin sat quietly, scrolling quickly through his phone between bites of toast. Every time the screen lit up, he turned it slightly away.
I kept thinking about the gay cruising app on his phone -- the notifications yesterday directing him to where he could get a quick circle jerk or stroke session. I checked the app myself in bed last night and scanned the map, noticing an anonymous profile floating right over our home. There were only a few cruising spots around, some of which I'd heard of. Some of which were more private.
“Hey, pass the jam?” Justin said naturally and oblivious.
I slid the jar toward him with fingers that suddenly felt stupidly numb.
His phone buzzed again, but the screen dimmed before my eyes could catch more. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.
Justin picked up the phone, thumbed the screen, locked it again.
“Matt?” Steven’s voice cut through the fog. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said automatically. “Fine. Just… thinking about the day.”
“So,” Steven said, “you ready to see how much the campus has changed?”
I swallowed. I had to get to the bottom of what was going on with Justin, and I was not prepared to leave him in our home alone.
“Actually…" I hesitated. "I might need to skip today.”
Three faces turned to me.
“What?”
“An emergency came up at work,” I lied, surprised at how steady my voice sounded. “I should stay back and handle it.”
“Oh,” Lucas said, disappointment flickering across his face before he masked it.
"Are you sure?" Justin said.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “Work’s been... unpredictable.”
“All right... Well, we’ll send lots of pictures,” Steven said gently.
After breakfast, Steven and Lucas filed out the front door, two eager beavers. Justin and I wished them a good time, and I watched from the kitchen window as they walked down the brick steps.
"I think I might go for a walk," Justin told me later that day. “Clear my head a little.”
“Cool,” I said, trying to sound offhand. “Supposed to be a nice day.”
He emerged in a jacket, phone in hand.
“Be back in a bit,” Justin called out, not quite looking at me.
When the door clicked shut again, I waited five seconds, grabbed my coat, and slipped out.
* * *
Justin walked east along M Street, hands jammed in his pockets. He moved like someone on a mission. I stayed a half-block behind him.
He passed by the boutiques and brunch spots without a glance. I expected him to duck into a bar, but he didn’t.
Ten minutes later, he cut into a department store I barely remembered existed -- three floors, overpriced merchandise, and a bathroom I’d only used once when I was desperate. It had to be in there.
I gave it another thirty seconds, then followed inside.
Inside, the air was cool and humming. A slow morning. The speaker overhead was softly playing "Seven Nation Army" by The White Stripes, the beat thumping low and steady, echoing my footsteps. Pulsing through me as I stepped closer and closer.
I bypassed the perfume counters and found the men’s room tucked beside the tailoring department.
The door creaked as I eased it open. Cold tile. Overhead lights flickering slightly. No voices. My chest tightened.
I crouched down briefly -- awkward, but necessary. Just one pair of shoes in the stalls: white sneakers. Justin’s.
He was alone.
I crept to the open stall next to his, shut the door, and caught my breath.
I just came to catch him in the act, I tried to convince myself. I can't actually do this. Right?
How do people actually cruise in places like this, I wondered. Under the stall? In the same stall?
After I stood hesitating long enough, there was a small, slight tap on the other side of the steel partition. Tap, tap. Right by the cubic toilet paper dispenser that jutted out from the side. The sound was so casual and unremarkable that it could have just been someone's knuckle brushing against it.
But then it happened again, firmer. Tap. Tap. When I nudged the toilet paper dispenser with my knee, it slid easily to the side as if on rails. Hidden behind it was a circular hole in the partition, about six inches in diameter, at hip-height.
The tips of Justin's fingers appeared and patted the edge of the circle twice. I stood still, my heart in my throat. This is crazy.
So this is really what Justin is up to now? This is how he keeps it fresh?
Without warning, I received my answer.
His pink, swollen cockhead -- a large mushroom with a prominent ridge -- slowly snaked through the gloryhole.
Fuck.
It's thicker than I expected. It wasn't the flaccid dick I had been used to seeing around at home, that's for sure.
I started to reach out to grab his helmet and then thought twice. I covered my mouth and spit on my hand.
Then I wrapped my wet fist around the tip of my big brother's penis.
I heard a deep inhale on the other side, and the full length of his penis slid through. Slowly being unsheathed. I thought back to how I first saw Dad's eight-inch cock slide right out of my friend's pussy last spring -- similarly revealing itself bit by bit.
Inch by inch, my big bro's fuckpiece greeted me. Count 'em... I'd give it seven.
Justin now laid himself flush against the gloryhole, his hands curling up over the top of the cool, steel partition. I looked up. I recognized his wedding band.
Sorry, Vanessa. We go back longer.
I squeezed the head of his cock more firmly and rotated my hand around his knob a few times. Then I stroked down the length of his shaft. Slow and steady. Tighter when I pulled away from the base.
Under my touch, his skin radiated heat through my fingers. His cock must have been at full-girth because it was hard as stone. No give or bend, just a solid pole of man-meat. Must be full of cum.
My cock was tenting my pants, and I rubbed my crotch at the same time.
Justin's voice then whispered falteringly on the other side, caught on his nerves.
"Suck it," he muttered.
My ribcage pounded with adrenaline. After a moment's hesitation, I threw caution to the wind. Fuck it.
You want your little bro to show you how a man really sucks cock, Justin? I thought. All right then.
I knelt down and brought my lips in front of his throbbing cockhead, now light-purple and leaking a single strand of precum.
I started with my tongue. I let the silky strand dangle right onto the tip.
Sweet as candy.
Then my tongue traced the strand back to his frenulum, and I began sucking.
Holy shit.
I focused on his head for the first minute. Then, mercifully, I undid my belt and pulled my own cock out and pumped up its full length.
I had another crazy thought. I stood up, continuing to stroke his slick cock with my left hand, and placed my monster cock right next to his.
Fuck yeah. Contact.
I squeezed our cocks together with firm grip, barely fitting both in my grasp. I heard another moan escape his lips, as I frotted us lightly.
Then I compared -- Justin's cock pointing at my crotch on the left, mine on the right, sliding along his. I was bigger. Justin may have matched or surpassed me in girth, but my cock was clearly an inch or so longer.
So Uncle Patrick was right, I thought with a thrill. My cock does outsize Justin's, just like Dad's. Who's the big boy now, bro?
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my phone. Silently, I started taking pictures. I started with several from high-up by my face.
A couple close-ups, with Justin's untrimmed bush framed by the gloryhole.
Then a few more from down below, where my balls hung just over the lens and I smirked at the camera.
I knelt back down and sucked some more. The phone still in my left hand, I now began taking a video of my face sucking this anonymous cock.
With my other hand, I reached through the gloryhole and pulled firmly at the top of Justin's nutsack, plopping his big balls through the hole -- one following the other. The size of two large eggs, they hung low in his sack.
I had to give him credit -- Dad and I might beat him in the cock department, but Justin's balls were massive.
Full of some creamy dadcum, I imagined.
I gave his scrotum a few extra licks, feeling the curly hairs alone my tastebuds.
I knelt parallel to the partition between us, so that the gloryhole was to my right. Justin's cockhead lay gently over the right corner of my lip and rested on my tongue -- just like a dog with a bone. Mouth wide open, I kept stroking him at the base with my right hand, while my tongue fluttered under his cockhead.
I heard Justin's breath quicken. I looked up, and his fingertips around the top of the partition were clenched white.
Then a small, desperate moan, high in his register.
First, a sweet, clear, runny stream of his semen dribbled down onto my tongue. He couldn't hold it back.
Suddenly -- Splat. A powerful white jet of dadcum. It flew over my open mouth, thwacking the partition on the opposite side.
Once I knew my brother was getting his nut, I wrapped my lips around his sensitive glans and suckled.
He shuddered against the wall between us, shooting load after load of his thick dadmilk down my throat.
"Oh-- oh-- oh yeah," he whispered to himself.
I came up for air. Letting my big brother's semi-hard dick plop out of my lips, I sat back onto the toilet, turned off the camera, and waited.
After a few heavy exhales, I heard Justin zip up and leave, the door slamming behind him. I let him get a head-start so the coast would be clear, and then I looked to my left.
Splattered on the cool steel: Justin's patchwork of jizz that I helped him bust out.
I stood up slowly and inspected his handiwork. Thick, white, and potent.
I licked it.
I lapped up the snail trail of cum sliding down the wall, bottom-to-top.
Yeah. Sweet and bitter at the same time, with a slight scent of chlorine. Bro-tein.
I wiped my lips. Tongue still tingling, I followed out into the empty store.
When I arrived back at our townhouse, Steven and Lucas were already home.
I greeted Steven in the foyer with a big kiss, pecking his lips a few more times for good measure.
"Well, hey there," he chuckled.
"How was the visit?" I asked.
"Good! Lucas said he hit it off with everyone."
"Yeah," Lucas chimed in from the kitchen. "I could actually see myself going there."
"That's awesome. And where's Justin?" I asked Steven innocently.
"I think he's out for a walk. Haven't seen him since."
"All right. Well, I'll be upstairs if you need me," I said, with my hand on the banister.
I kissed Steven once more.
"Hey Lu!" I called out, as I climbed the steps. "Pick out some good board games for later. Each game you win, I might buy you one for your birthday."
"A'ight."
Back in my bedroom, I rewatched the video of me sucking Justin's cock with my hand on his pole and my eyes shut tight.
I remembered what had flashed through my mind in that moment -- years upon years of seeing my stud brother working up his gains and building out his muscle. Growing hair on his chest and all over. The star of the field. The twinkle of his eyes as he'd turn to the stands -- to the cheerleaders, to Dad, to me. The crowds roared, wild.
I planted myself on the bed and pumped up my cock, which had been on the edge this whole time. I let the video replay.
Within minutes, I heard the front door tinkle at Justin's return. He caught up with Steven and Lucas about their days, his voice cheery but measured.
On the fourth rewatch, I busted my nut right on the screen, timing it perfectly to when Justin's biggest rope of dadmilk shot across the frame.
This'll be great in our clip show, I thought. Won't tell Steven who it is though -- not just yet. It's just a random stud from a work trip.
I pictured my husband's face, usually playful and sweet, turning lustful when we share that moment.
But those pictures of Justin's cock sliding next to mine?
Those are just for me.
--To be continued --
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