My Older Brother's Hung Friend Caught Me Looking 03: Sex in the Dark (Patreon)

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Chapter 3: Sex in the Dark

I was flat on my back with my phone on my chest and my ass still burning under me when it buzzed again.

Charlie: You still up

Me: Yeah

Charlie: Bedroom. Lights off. Naked. On all fours on the bed, ass facing the door.

I read it three times. My dick stiffened against the front of my boxers before I even sat up.

Charlie: No talking. I'm coming over.

Me: But Dylan is home

He didn't respond. I typed out "Does he already know?" and looked at it sitting there in the box, white letters, ready to go. Then I held the backspace down until it was gone.

Charlie: So be quiet.

Me: Okay.

The screen went dark in my hand. Dylan's TV played through the wall behind my headboard, something streaming. I could always hear his TV on when he was home. He slept with it on. It was a comfort to know he was back home, but I didn't know what would happen if he ever found out I was letting his friend fuck me, using my body like a rough little rag doll. Our parents' door was shut down the hall.

I put the phone on the nightstand and got up.

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I looked at the hole in the wood where a knob with a lock in it would go if my dad had ever bought one, and the door hangs low enough that you have to lift it half an inch to seat it in the frame quietly. I lifted it. I set it in. I stood with my hand on it, just thinking.

Down the hall I saw the lights off under my parents' door. There was just the flickering of TV lights under Dylan's.

I pulled my boxers off and stood naked in the middle of my own bedroom with my dick pointing up at my navel. I have stood naked in that room ten thousand times and it had never felt like standing at attention before. I had never been waiting for someone. I hadn't even had a real hookup.

My backpack was on the desk chair where I'd dropped it. I unzipped the front pocket and got out the baby oil, that ancient bottle from under the basement sink that I'd carried upstairs and hidden like a shoplifter, the label worn white at the fold, and I set it on the nightstand next to the lamp where a hand could reach it without looking. I moved it an inch closer to the edge. Then I climbed onto my bed.

The lights were off. My knees were apart on the comforter, forearms down, forehead on my crossed arms, ass pointed straight at the door.

I waited in the dark. The comforter smelled like my own laundry detergent and my dick hung heavy under me, hard, brushing the fabric every time I breathed in. I could hear myself breathing, which I hated. I counted the different voices I could make out from Dylan's show he was watching, and lost count after four, and my thighs started shaking from holding the position, so I widened my knees even more to make it stop.

The house made its normal noises. I stayed exactly how Charlie had told me.

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My bedroom door came open behind me. No light came with it, so he'd hit the hall switch on the way, and I kept my face down in my arms, feeling my heart thumping in my throat.

A few steps toward me, then nothing for a second.

Fabric came over my eyes from behind, quickly, pulled snug and knotted at the back of my head, and the fingers doing it worked fast and didn't fumble once. It wasn't a towel. It was narrow, and soft, about two fingers wide, slick and cool against my eyelids, and there was a seam running down the middle of it that sat right under my eyebrow when he cinched it.

I turned my head an inch, on instinct.

A hand came down on the back of my neck and pushed my face straight back into my arms and held it there.

Two hands took the backs of my thighs and shoved my knees wider on the comforter, spreading me out on my own bed until my hips ached at the joint.

The bottle came off my nightstand. The cap clicked open above and behind me, and the oil hit me cold, way colder than the room, running down over my hole and my taint, dripping onto the comforter.

His hand smeared it into me with two fingers and then he was pushing in, and I was still raw from the basement bathroom the night before, and I bit into my forearm to keep the sound in.

He came down over me, chest to my back, and I immediately noted that his body language was completely different than the night before. He seemed more intimate, like he suddenly cared about how I felt. A hand ran up my front and rubbed my stomach and my chest, briefly pinching a nipple.

His chest was against my spine and I could feel his ribs, individual ribs, laid on me like a stack of dowels, and there was no chest hair on my back at all, none of that coarse brush I'd had between my shoulder blades in the basement. He had gone home and shaved his chest. 

As he pressed into me, I noticed that in the position I was in, even though I was sore from the night before, it went in easier. It wasn't as rough of a stuffing as I had braced for. I guess the second time is easier than the first. Makes sense, I thought to myself.

What matched the night before was that he fucked me hard from the first stroke, no easing in, no breathing me into it, his hips clapping into my ass with his whole weight behind it. My headboard knocked the wall. It knocked on a rhythm, tap tap tap, and Dylan's show ran through that same wall right underneath it as he slept ten feet away from where his friend was pummeling my poor ass.

A hand spread wide on the back of my neck and pushed my cheek sideways into my own pillow and pinned it there, putting his body weight onto his palm against my face. I breathed against my pillowcase. He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in, and he didn't reach as deep as he had the night before, the ache stopping short of that place behind my belly button, but he went faster than before, and the burn from last night turned hot, and went numb at some point.

And he didn't say one word.

All I heard from him was air coming fast through his teeth over the top of my head and occasional non-vocal grunts, and the frame knocking, and my own noises muffled into the pillow. I stayed on all fours in my own bed and got worked without looking at him, and my dick swung rigid and untouched underneath me the entire time, dragging its own wet line across the comforter every time he shoved me forward.

The hand on my neck slid up into my hair and closed on it, and he pulled my head back an inch and held it there for a moment before he reached an arm around, putting me into basically a choke hold. My breath was cut short, which was a trip while blindfolded and being stuffed by a big cock.

Before I realized it, I was starting to feel a new pressure edge up my guts. It was pleasurable, and building, and suddenly my whole gut clamped and I squirted into my own comforter with nothing on me at all, no hand, just the fabric brushing under the head, and my ass locked down on him hard enough to break his rhythm. He shoved deep and stayed there and I felt him throb inside me, three or four pulses, his fingers digging into the meat of my hip.

He held the position as he breathed out over my back, slowly releasing my neck and letting me suck in a breath. Then he pulled out slowly and the mattress lifted on one side.

I still didn't move.

Knees apart. Forearms down. Blindfolded, face in my own pillow, ass in the air toward the door, Dylan's TV still playing, and cum running warm out of me and down the inside of my thigh.

The bedroom door opened and clicked shut.

I stayed like that for a long minute anyway, because nobody had told me I could move. My arms shook. Finally I got a hand up behind my head and dug at the knot, and it took me three tries because he'd pulled it tight, and I sat back on my heels with the fabric in my fist and my eyes adjusting to my own dark room.

I wiped my thigh with the corner of the comforter.

Then I rolled onto my hip and held the blindfold up in front of my face.

It was a necktie.

Navy, with a thin silver stripe running diagonally through it about every two inches. I know that tie. Dylan wore it under his gown at his graduation in May, and again in June to our aunt's thing at the restaurant with the fish tank, and my mom fixed the knot for him in the front hall both times while he stood there with his chin up letting her. It has hung on the back of his bedroom door on a plastic hook ever since he moved home, along with a lanyard and a belt he never wears.

I ran my thumb down the silver stripe in the dark and I knew the width of it before I could see it.

Charlie was at the graduation. Charlie was at the restaurant. Charlie has been in and out of Dylan's room since we were kids, borrowing chargers, borrowing shirts, going in there to get his shoes.

So I sat naked on a wet comforter with my brother's tie in my fist and cum leaking down the inside of my thigh, and all my head would hold onto was that somebody had walked down my hallway past my brother's door, three feet from where Dylan was sleeping, taken that tie off the hook, and brought it into my room to put over my eyes.

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As I sat there, my door quietly opened again, and Charlie's recognizable form stood there in shadow. I just looked at him, wondering if he needed yet another round, and trying to decide if my body could take it.

"I told you to be on all fours," he said, sternly but quietly.

He pushed the door shut with his heel without taking his hands out of his pockets.

He was fully dressed. Shirt on, shorts on, shoes still on his feet in my house.

Somebody else had fucked me. I had questions, but Charlie didn't look ready to give answers. All I knew was that he wanted me on all fours... again.

I put the tie down on the mattress next to my knee. Then I got back onto my knees and forearms with my ass toward the door, because that's what I was told to do the first time.

He didn't get behind me. He came around the side of the bed instead, to the head of it, and his shorts went down his legs and hit the floor, and then his hand took a fistful of my hair at the crown and turned my face up toward him in the dark.

The head of him pressed at my mouth and I opened for it. He fed it in and I gagged on the girth about a third of the way, and he held me down on it and didn't let up until my eyes ran. This felt more like the night before, not just rough, but also notably unforgiving.

He'd showered. No sour taste. No hint of ass on him.

"There he is," he said.

He pulled back an inch and pushed in again, and I stayed on all fours with my ass still pointed at my own bedroom door, my knees apart on the comforter I'd just finished on, taking him from the side with my neck cranked up.

"You know what I've been thinking about all day?" His fist tightened in my hair. "The laundry room. You on that concrete with your shorts around your legs, waiting for it, and your mom four feet over my head."

I moaned around him. He pushed deeper on it.

He pulled out and gave me one breath and put it back in.

My jaw ached. I knelt there and let Charlie use my throat and I stared up at the underside of his chin in the dark, and my thoughts were still on the mystery dick.

"That's it," he said. "Take it."

His free hand left my hair and went down my back.

He kept his hips working into my face, one long push and drag through my mouth, and his palm slid down my spine and over the small of my back and got a wide grip on my ass, and he spread me open with his thumb to look at what he was taking next.

His hand stopped.

His fingers slid, and slid again, catching in the oil and cum still running out of me, way too much of it, wet all the way down the back of my thigh.

"What the fuck is this?"

His hand went still on my hip.

I stayed down there on all fours in my own bed with my brother's tie lying next to my knee, and his cock was still in my mouth, so I couldn't have answered even if I'd wanted to.