Sniffing My Brother’s Friend’s Underwear 03: Good Boy (Patreon)

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Chapter 3: Good Boy

He stood there dripping in my family's kitchen, arms a little out from his sides like he was airing himself out, and I did not wait for a second invitation. I got off the chair and went down onto the tile in front of him, and I put my mouth on his chest, right in the middle where the sweat ran heaviest, and I dragged my tongue up through it.

The taste hit me all at once. Salt, cooked into his skin by the run. It was even stronger than the balls-sweaty underwear I had perved on. This was live, off the source, still warm, and I made a little animal noise into his chest.

"Jesus," he said above me, but he didn't move.

I worked my way across, licking his pecs and his nipples, following the shine of his skin while he held his hands at his side, letting me perv out. I licked the flat part of his pec, holding his sides, and the nub hardening in the center of his areola. I felt him flinch a little, almost giggling, but his dick got hard.

I lifted his arm out by the wrist putting my face into his pit and licking the moisture there, and that was the strongest of all, so strong it about made my eyes cross, and I stayed there while I rubbed his balls with my fingers, feeling the smooth, squishy skin. He let me do it all. He held his arm up out of the way and let me clean the sweat out of it while he watched the top of my head.

"You are actually insane," he said.

I moved to the other pit and did the same thing, and he lifted that arm too, guiding me under it, and I got the whole hollow skin cave of it, the wet hair, all of it. I found myself judging each spot by how it tasted, but they were all good. The chest was clean and sharp. The pits were dense and dark. The stomach, when I dropped down to it, was somewhere in the middle, the sweat pooling in the little groove down the center of his abs where I could run my tongue in a straight line and collect it.

I traced that line down. I got to his navel and licked into it while his hard dick poked at my neck, and he sucked a breath in through his teeth. His hand came down to the back of my head.

He steered me, like the night before. That was the whole thing. His hand on my skull tilted me left when he wanted his side licked, amused at me doing whatever he directed, licking whatever he put in front of my mouth. 

He pushed me lower and I licked the crease where his thigh met his balls, which still tasted the strongest, and I lingered there and cleaned it out and heard the change in his breathing above me. My knees ached against the tile and I did not care. I would have knelt there on that hard tile until my legs went numb, and past it.

His cock was right there the whole time, mostly hard and swinging when he moved, brushing my cheek, my jaw, and I kept my mouth off it because he hadn't put me there yet. I got his balls, his inner thighs, and even parts of his butt. I was drooling and licking and breathing him in like I'd never get another chance at it, and my own dick was so hard in my sweats it hurt to be bent over like this.

"Okay," he said. His hand pulled my head back by the hair, gentle but firm, tipping my face up so I had to look at him. "Okay. That's enough."

I didn't want it to be over. My mouth was still open.

"I'm getting in the shower," he said. "You cleaned me off good enough, little freak."

He let go of my head and stepped back, and the loss of his skin in front of my face left me feeling like something got yanked out of me. I was on my knees on the kitchen tile with my heart pounding and my dick straining, and nowhere for any of that energy to go.

When he turned toward the bathroom, I reached up and got my hand around his cock before he could go, and I gripped it, and I heard my own voice come out thin.

"Can I finish you too?" I said. "Please."

He looked down at me. My hand was on him. For one second I thought he'd let me.

Then his fingers closed around my wrist and lifted my hand off of him, gently but firmly, like taking a toy away from a kid.

"Nope," he said.

"Come on…"

"You haven't earned it." He dropped my hand and I let it fall to my side. I watched his naked body walk away, his big, manly cock smacking his thigh, and then hairless cheeks swaying after he turned.

I heard the water turn on, and I stayed kneeling on the kitchen floor where he'd left me, harder than I'd been in my life, weirdly enjoying the denial. It was the first time he'd told me no, and I had to sit with it. I didn't understand why I liked any of it, but I knew that it was already the best two days of my life.

When he came out of the shower, he had clothes on. I almost forgot what he looked like wearing a shirt. He walked past me, back to sitting at the table with my cold cereal, and he clapped me on the shoulder like a coach, and it felt nothing like his hand on my head an hour prior.

"You're not just gonna sit around all day, right?" he said.

I looked up at him. I'd sort of assumed the day would be more of the night, that we'd loop around to it again  eventually, but it seemed like he had something else in mind. He wasn't being horny about it. I had a whole afternoon planned in my head of perving on him from the couch.

He didn't grant me that. He opened his phone to the chores list my brother had sent him, and he copied it into a text to me.

"Your brother gave me this," he said. "We're doing it together today. You're not sitting on the couch staring at me all day like a lump that touches himself."

I squinted my eyes at him, confused. "That's literally what I was planning to do though."

"I know it was." He grinned, but it was a daytime grin, no heat in it, just a guy running the house, for some reason. "We've got an attic to clean, gardening to do, and the shed needs work too."

I thought about protesting, but I didn't.

"You're mine today," he said with a wink, and I finally saw the heat in his face. 

I stood up, taking off my shirt and throwing it on the couch, showing that I was ready to get started.

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We were out in the garden, him yanking weeds out of the flower bed and me holding the yard bag open behind him, and kneeling that close to him in the dirt, his shoulder brushing mine every time he tossed a handful, got the ache going again, the one that never fully left from the kitchen earlier. He'd said no. He'd said I hadn't earned it.

But when he stood to stretch his back, I pressed up behind him, put my chest against him, and got my hand down toward the front of his shorts.He caught my wrist without even turning around.

"Do your chores, good boy," he said.

I didn't like hearing it, but also, I did.

····[]····

The chores list was long, for some reason. I didn't even realize how much my brother actually did around the house when he was home. Derek and I got into a rhythm with it. Derek would read the next line off his phone in a bad impression of my brother's serious voice, and I'd groan, and we'd do it. And he was relentless about my pace. When I sat down on the arm of the couch to rest for a second between the trash and the recycling he flicked the back of my head.

"Up. You're the laziest kid I've ever met."

"He works all day just to get away from me."

"Smart man." He tossed me a rag. "Baseboards. You're small, you're closer to them."

I got down on my hands and knees with the rag and started working along the wall, and I heard him get quiet behind me, and I knew exactly why, and it was a good thing. I could feel my sweats pulling tight across my ass while I was bent over like that. I went slowly, giving him time for a full look, and I heard him let out a low breath, and I grinned at the baseboard where he couldn't see my face. It was nice to have a small break from the numerous chores.

"You're doing that on purpose," he said after a minute.

"Doing what," I said. "Chores? You told me to."

He came over while I was down there and put his foot lightly on my lower back, resting the weight of it on me, planting me there, reminding me that he owned me.

"Keep going," he said. "You missed a spot."

I hadn't missed a spot. He just wanted to stand over me while I scrubbed. I kept going anyway, with his foot warm on my back.

We ended up at the sink for the second time, folding a dish towel, he came up behind me the way I'd come up behind him earlier and put a hand flat on my ass, teasing me, squeezing once through my sweats while I stood at the counter with a wet towel in my hands.

"You're such a girl about this stuff," he said into the back of my neck. "Look how into it you are."

"I'm just... folding a towel," I said.

"You're loving it." He squeezed again and let go and stepped back to the sink. "Don't forget to rinse those."

I rinsed them. And by late afternoon we'd cleared the whole list, every dumb box checked, including some dangerous rain gutter work that I didn't even know existed. I'd been half-hard through most of it, due to the proximity to him, and he knew it, and he'd stoked it the whole time with a hand here and a pointed remark there.I had gotten used to belonging to him.

But then the evening was strangely quiet. I expected the debauchery to unfurl again at some point, but he seemed disinterested. He gently pulled my hand away when I reached for his bulge. Maybe it was actually over.

We ordered food and ate it in front of the TV like the night before, but he didn't put on anything nasty this time. Just a regular show, Rick and Morty I think. He stayed quiet after dinner, scrolling his phone, and he didn't look over at me the way he had all day, and I couldn't read him at all. Nothing got said about doing it again. He didn't tease me, didn't run his mouth, didn't tell me to come get what I had earned from a hard day of work. All day he'd owned me out loud, by hand and voice, and even his feet. And now he'd stopped the game, just when I thought it was about to get to the payoff.

Around eleven he stretched and said he was crashing, no "good night" or anything.

"Okay," I said as I got up to go to my room, accepting my fate as the relegated gay boy whose fun was over. I lay down in the dark on top of my blankets and I stared at the ceiling for a bit. The TV was quiet downstairs, but I knew he slept with it on, just turned down. 

I heard the ice maker drop a load. I figured maybe the chores-related playfulness was just the dying ember of a brief and powerful experiment. All the energy was used up, and I was going to spend the last two days of our home-alone stretch, actually alone. I lay there hard and not touching myself. Even if he was done with it, part of me didn't want to wank off again until he said I could.

I don't know how long I was out. It wasn't a full sleep. It was a thin, summer-specific type of sleep, mixed with the animated horniness of not getting off before bed.

I was lying on my side, facing my window, when I heard my door creak open. And then, careful, bare-footed steps were audible on my carpet. I opened my eyes into my pillow, waiting.

He didn't say anything. He just crossed the room and I felt the mattress dip as he got a knee onto it, and then his hand found my hip and turned me slowly, down onto my stomach, and I let him do it, my heart slamming against the bed.

I felt him work my sweats down off my ass carefully with both hands, easing them down my thighs to expose me to him. I got rock hard, and didn't move at all to help him. If he wanted me in my sleep, I was going to play along. I heard a small plastic sound, a cap, and then something cold trickled between my cheeks, and I recognized the smell, olive oil. 

I got so excited, I felt like I would've passed out if I weren't lying down.

He spread the oil between my cheeks with two fingers in slow circles, quietly, even though he must have known I was awake that point. His hand got me ready in the dark, and his weight came down over my back, and I felt him pressing against me, his actual organ of love was lubing itself using my ass cheeks. I felt him line himself up, and he pressed in patiently, waiting me out when I tensed, going in a fraction and stopping and letting me open around it.

"Good boy," he said, so low it was almost only breath against my ear. "There you go. Good boy."

It went in slowly. It hurt and then it didn't, and he stayed low over me the whole time, chest to my back, his mouth near my ear, saying it over and over in that quiet voice. Good boy. Good boy. Take it. Good boy. 

He wasn't feeding me a line of humiliation anymore. He was just saying it in the moment, like he really thought I was a good boy, and he needed his release. 

I finally moved, adjusting my head over my arms, and sticking my ass out slightly to give him more access.

"Thank you, sir," I said. And I really meant it. This was everything I had wanted. 

He moved inside me slowly, but got deeper and deeper, and my throat went tight as I felt the thrill rush through me, mixed with the strange sensations of having a guy's meat stuffed up my ass. He was bigger than the cucumber, and I knew that because I held both in my hands the night before, but somehow his dick felt like a perfect fit. I reached back to touch his body, and he let me as he put a hand on my upper back, holding me down. I pushed my face into the pillow so he wouldn't hear the noises I was making.

My dick was pinned under me, trapped between my stomach and the mattress, and every time he increased the pace, clapping against my body, the whole length of my rod dragged against the sheet. 

I was getting off to the friction of it, and off his weight rocking me down into the bed on every stroke, my cock rubbing the sheet in time with him, and it built without me touching it. 

"Good boy," he kept saying. "Look at you. Good boy."

He got a rhythm going that rocked the whole bed a little, one arm hooked under my chest holding me up into him, and I rode the sheet on the downstroke every single time, and the feeling climbed in me steadily, this pressure starting in my stretched ass that came up through my body and made my insides tingle with a new kind of pleasure.

I started saying it back. It just came up out of me, like he was forcing it out with his dick.

"I'm a good boy," I said, turning my face away from the pillow. "I'm a good boy. I'm a good boy."

"Yeah you are."

"I'm a good boy," and I could hear it climbing in my own voice, going higher and faster the closer it got, "I'm a good boy, I'm a good boy, I'm a good boy," and he pushed into me harder to match it, and the bed took my cock on every drive, and I was babbling it now, "I'm a good boy I'm a good boy I'm a good boy," until my pleasure meter broke.

I felt myself pulsing, and wasn't even sure if I was cumming yet, but I knew he could feel it as my ass clamped down on him. He suddenly dropped his weight fully onto my back, and brought his face to mine, obliquely from the side. We made eye contact for a brief second, as he kept pumping into me, and he leaned down and shoved his tongue into my mouth. 

I came against the mattress with nothing but the sheet touching my dick, my whole body clenching down around him as our tongues danced. It was my first kiss, and I felt like the luckiest guy in the world to have him give me this. I felt his body tense up, and let go right after me, pushing in deep and holding there, his breath going ragged against my face as we finished together.

He stayed down on me after, breathing onto my face, my mess between my abs and the bed, his dick still inside me, as much as my body wanted to push it out. But I wanted it to stay inside, forever. I wanted his heavy and warm body to stay on me, holding me down like a paperweight, so I would be safe and never fly away. And then he turned his head and kissed the side of my face. No post-nut standoffishness this time. Just a quick lip smack on my cheek, near my ear, was enough to let me know that it was all good. I smiled.

I was still catching my breath, and wondering what it was going to feel like whenever he finally pulled out of me, when the light came on.

I looked at the doorway to find my brother standing there, the strap of his bag still on his shoulder.

"What the... FUCK!"

Derek came up off me so fast the whole bed shook, yanking the blanket up over both of us in one motion. I was so shocked I didn't even notice him pulling out of my ass, and the pain of that hit me after a delay. I reached for my ass while my brother stood there, mouth open, shocked.

"It's not what it looks like!" Derek shouted. "What're you doing home?"

But my brother didn't answer. 

I was face-up now, blinking into the light, red as a cherry from the orgasm and from the shock of everything, my heart racing like it wanted to pop out of my rib cage. Derek had the blanket bunched up high against his chest in both fists, like the fabric could put clothes back on either of us.

I waited for it to blow up. For yelling, or a fist, or the worst thing I could think of. I couldn't imagine what he would think, seeing his lifelong best friend plowing his brother.

"I, um..." I started to say, but I stopped when I saw my brother's expression shift.

He looked at the two of us. He looked at Derek holding the blanket. He looked at me huddled next to him, red as a cherry. And whatever I was braced for didn't seem to be coming.

He smirked.

And my heart started to pound even harder.