Three hours later the sun was already gone.
The sky had turned that deep blue-black that only happens on long highway stretches, and the headlights cut thin tunnels through the dark. Dad was still driving in perfect silence, both hands on the wheel, mustache neat, the Christian radio station still murmuring low.
Mom had fallen asleep against the window. In the back, Peter hadn’t said a word since the last rest stop, but I could feel him looking at me every few minutes.
My jaw still ached. Every time I swallowed I tasted my dad’s cock again, thick, bitter, unmistakable. My cock had gone soft and then hard again more times than I could count. I kept my forehead against the glass and tried not to think about the way Dad’s cock had pulsed on my tongue while he fought not to make a sound.
Peter’s voice cut through the quiet, low enough that only I could hear.
“Next exit. We’re getting out.”
I turned my head. He was already looking at me, eyes dark in the dim light from the dashboard.
“What?”
“You heard me. Tell Dad you need to take a leak. I’ll say I’m going with you.”
My stomach dropped. “Peter…”
“Don’t.” His tone left no room. “You opened that mouth for him. Now you’re gonna open it for me. Or I tell Mom exactly what her little angel was doing on his knees in that stall.”
I stared at him. He just raised one eyebrow and waited.
When the blue rest-stop sign appeared, Dad signaled and pulled in. The lot was almost empty this time, only two other cars and a single semi parked far at the edge. The building lights were half-dead, buzzing weakly.
“I need to piss,” I said, voice thin.
Peter stretched and opened his door. “Yeah, me too. Back in a minute.”
Dad only nodded without looking at either of us. Mom didn’t even wake up.
We walked toward the restrooms, but the second we were out of the cone of light from the building, Peter grabbed my wrist and pulled me the other way, past the edge of the lot, down a short slope, into a thin stand of trees that ran along the fence line. The ground was soft with old leaves and pine needles. It was dark enough that I could barely see his face.
He stopped, turned, and shoved me back against a tree hard enough that the bark scraped through my shirt.
“On your knees.”
“Peter, wait…” Of course I wanted it, my brother is hot as fuck but it was too much new information for one single day. First dad, now my big brother.
He didn’t wait. He shoved me down by the shoulders. My knees hit the dirt. In the low light I watched him unbuckle his belt, shove his jeans and boxers down just far enough, and pull his cock out.
It was nothing like Dad’s.
Peter’s cock was thicker at the base, visibly veiny, and had a distinct leftward curve. The head was darker, already shiny. Even from this close I could smell him, heavy, sharp, pure ball-sweat from sitting in the car for hours. The scent hit me like a slap. His pubes were dark and dense. He was already fully hard.
“Open.”
I opened for my brother’s cock.
Peter was built like a starting linebacker, broad through the chest and shoulders, thick arms from a years of college football, and a solid, heavy frame that made him look older than twenty one. His hair was a tight buzz cut that showed the hard shape of his skull, and he kept a permanent five-o’clock shadow along his jaw. Everything about him was rougher than our father: louder, more restless, always carrying that sharp, unwashed scent of sweat and locker rooms. Even his cock matched the rest of him, thick, heavily veined, with a clear leftward curve and a darker head, the kind of ugly, powerful dick that smelled strongly of ball-sweat after hours trapped in a car.
Peter didn’t ease in. He grabbed the back of my head with both hands and shoved his cock straight into my mouth until the curved head punched the back of my throat. I gagged hard. He only pushed deeper, holding me there while my eyes watered and spit flooded around the thick shaft.
“Fuck yeah,” he muttered, voice rough.
“That’s it. Take it like the little cocksucker you are. Spit on it.”
He started fucking my face with short, hard strokes, using my throat the way he’d use a hole. Every thrust forced the curved length deeper. His sweaty balls slapped against my chin. The smell of him filled my nose completely, stronger, muskier, filthier than anything that I had ever tasted. I choked and drooled and still he kept going, hips snapping, both hands locked in my hair so I couldn’t pull away.
“Look at you,” he growled. “First Dad’s cock, now mine. You’re just a fucking hole with legs, aren’t you? I bet mine’s bigger than dad’s”
I couldn’t answer. All I could do was gag and try to breathe through my nose while he used me. Spit ran down my chin and dripped onto the leaves. My own cock was painfully hard again inside my jeans, leaking against the fabric. I seriously need to cum.
Peter fucked my throat harder, the wet, filthy sounds loud in the quiet trees. He wasn’t careful the way Dad had been. He didn’t try to stay quiet. He grunted and muttered filth under his breath, calling me a slut, a faggot, a good little brother-hole, while he drove that thick, crooked cock in and out of my mouth.
“I’m gonna cum,” he warned, voice tight. “And you’re gonna swallow every fucking drop. Understand? Your big brother’s protein shake.”
I tried to nod with my mouth full of him.
He shoved in deep one last time and came with a low, guttural sound, flooding my throat with thick, hot cum. There was a lot of it, heavy pulses that forced me to swallow around him again and again. He kept my face pressed tight against his body until he was finished, then slowly pulled out, leaving a thick string of spit and cum connecting my lower lip to the head of his cock.
I stayed on my knees, gasping, chin wet, the strong taste of my older brother’s load thick on my tongue.
Peter tucked himself away, zipped up, and looked down at me for a long second. His expression was dark and satisfied and a little mean.
“Get up.” He gave me his strong and for support.
I stood on shaky legs. He reached out, wiped a streak of cum from my chin with his thumb, and pushed it between my lips. I sucked it clean without thinking.
He leaned in close, mouth right next to my ear.
“I bet Dad’s not gonna like knowing the family faggot isn’t his private property anymore.”
Then he turned and started walking back toward the lights of the rest stop like nothing had happened.
I stayed there for a few more seconds, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, the taste of both of them still mixed on my tongue, and the clear knowledge that this road trip had only just started to go wrong.
When I finally followed him back to the car, Dad was still sitting behind the wheel in perfect silence, eyes on the road ahead, mustache neat, the respectable deacon once again.
He never once looked at either of us.
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