I walked out of the shower dripping and sore, still dazed from what just happened. My stepbrother Caleb had fucked me hard against the tiles. My hole was wrecked, my thighs a little shaky, my whole body tingling from being used like that. I didn’t bother grabbing a towel. Just padded out bare, water still running down my back, and collapsed face-first onto the bed like the fucked-out little slut I was.
I spread my legs slightly, ass bare, leaking, still throbbing from how deep he’d gone. I didn’t even try to cover up. I wanted him to see it. Wanted to stay spread and messy in case my brother walked in and got hard all over again.
Back in the bathroom, he was still rinsing off. I could hear him talking to himself, bitching about the time. “Bro, you made me late for this wedding,” he called out, voice echoing. I smiled into the sheets, not saying a word. The shower shut off. Then the hair dryer kicked on. I could hear him rushing, drying off, brushing his teeth, trying to pull himself together like he hadn’t just pounded me into the wall.
A few minutes later, he came out in nothing but a towel around his waist, hair damp, still toweling it dry. He was scanning the room for the clothes he’d laid out before he went to shower: a crisp black shirt, slim tailored slacks, a green tie. All of it neatly folded right beside me, where I was lying facedown, ass out, thighs glistening, still open like I was begging for round two.
He stopped mid-step. I didn’t look back at first. Just stayed there, pretending not to notice. But I felt it. The shift in the air. The way his breath hitched. The silence.
“Jesus Christ. Why the fuck are you laying there like that?” he muttered, voice low.
I smiled into the pillow and shifted slightly. Arched my lower back just a little, enough to tilt my hips up, stretch my legs. A slow, lazy, post-fuck sprawl. “Like what?” I mumbled.
He stepped closer. I could hear the towel drop. His voice dipped.
“You’re such a slut, little bro.”
I turned my head, met his eyes. “Can’t resist, can you?” I said, grinning. “Who’s the one staring now?”
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there for a second. His eyes dropped back to my ass. His tongue flicked out over his lip. He looked like a man losing a fight with himself.
“Argh, fuck,” he groaned. “I wanna eat you.”
“You sure?” I teased, shifting just enough that my cheeks parted slightly. “You’ve got somewhere to be, remember?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, kneeling down. “I remember. I just don’t give a fuck right now.”
He just gripped my ass and spread me open, hard. His thumbs dug into the meat of my cheeks, pulling me wide until my hole was fully exposed. He leaned in, breath hot, and licked a fat stripe right up the center. I gasped. His tongue was already wet and sloppy, and when he spit, it was loud and filthy; landing right on my hole before he smeared it in with two fingers.
“God, you taste like my fucking cum,” he groaned. “You’re still dripping from the shower.”
“Then clean your mess up,” I said. “Eat it.”
That was all he needed.
He dove in.
Face buried between my cheeks, tongue fucking me like he hadn’t eaten in days. No build-up. No teasing. Just filthy, desperate licking. He spit again, slathering it across my hole, then shoved his tongue inside with a deep grunt. His beard scratched my skin, and the roughness only made me push back harder.
“Fuck,” I moaned. “Yes, just like that.”
He didn’t let up. His hands held my ass open, firm and possessive. His tongue worked in tight circles, then slid in deep. Again and again. I was squirming now, whining into the pillow, grinding my ass back like a fucking animal in heat. The sheets were damp under me. My cock was hard and untouched, drooling pre all over the bed.
I felt his breath catch. He spit again. Got even rougher.
“Such a fucking hole,” he growled. “You were made for this.”
I whined. “Then use me.”
He flipped me onto my back like I weighed nothing. Lifted my legs and went straight back in. I could barely see his face which was deep buried in my hole, his mouth open, lips slick, spit shining on his chin. His tongue was relentless. He looked drunk on it. Like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of me.
“Say it,” he murmured, tongue flicking my hole.
“Say what?”
“That you fucking love this.”
I didn’t hesitate. “I fucking love this. I love your mouth. I love being open for my brother.”
He smiled against me, and then shoved his face back in. I cried out. My legs twitched. My hands were gripping the sheets, the bed frame, anything I could hold onto.
“You’re such a good boy,” he muttered.
He stayed there, eating and licking and worshipping like it was the only thing he needed. My body shook. My eyes rolled back. I was already leaking everywhere and hadn’t even touched myself. I didn’t need to. He was doing everything.
Eventually, he slowed down. Pulled back. Stared at me with that same look from last night. The one that said this wasn’t just a one-time thing.
He stood up slowly. His cock was rock hard again, leaking at the tip. He looked down at himself, then back at me.
“Dude,” he said, laughing breathlessly. “I’m gonna miss this wedding.”
Note to Readers: If you have been liking the story so far, consider supporting on my Patreon for early access to future parts.
Part 4 is already posted early on my page.
