The New Guy In My House 03: Morning Boners (Patreon)

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Chapter 3: Morning Boners

I woke up the next morning hornier than I had ever been in my entire life. The "ruined orgasm" had been fun while it happened, funny even, but it felt like my balls never actually emptied. They hung heavy and full between my legs, aching with every heartbeat, and my morning wood strained up so hard it hurt. I lay there backed up and blue balled with the sheet tented over me. I tried to think about breakfast, about anything else, and my brain kept coming back to that pale boy ass spread open on my tongue the night before, flexing and pushing back for more.

I quit pretending I could wait it out and walked naked down the hall, quickly, my boner bouncing ahead of me with every step, past the bathroom, up to my old door. I eased it open without knocking. Knocking felt like something a guest would do, and I was done being the guest.

Bran lay half-asleep in my old bed, flat on his back with one arm thrown across his eyes, curls smashed up on one side, his narrow bare chest pale against my old sheets. On the nightstand, in plain sight next to his charger, sat my underwear from last night. They looked worse than when he had carried them out of my room, stiffer and crunchier, the gray cotton blotched lighter in patches that had not been there before, like he had added another load or two to them in the night.

I lifted the blanket and climbed in next to him, uninvited. My bed, technically. The whole break, that thought had made me quietly furious, and now, with my bare hip bumping his under the blanket, it just made me grin.

He jolted awake when my weight dipped the bed, his arm sliding off his eyes. He just looked at me, and his eyes dropped to the blanket tented over my lap and climbed back up.

"Morning," I said.

"You're naked," he whispered.

"You're observant." I nodded at the nightstand. "Those look crustier than when you stole them. Did you bust in them again last night?"

His ears turned red under the curls. "Two times."

"Nice." I stretched my arms over my head and watched his eyes flick straight to my armpit. "I woke up with the worst blue balls of my life."

He turned onto his side to face me, pressed warm all down my arm, already breathing fast.

I slid my hand under the blanket and pressed my palm flat against the front of those pajama pants, my old flannel ones, right where he strained up against them. He sucked in a breath against my shoulder.

"Can I?" I asked.

It was the same question he had asked in the garage, his hand floating an inch off my boner. He swallowed and his ears went even darker.

"If you want," he whispered, returning my own answer back to me.

I worked the flannel down off his hips and he kicked free of it under the blanket, and I had him in my hand for the first time, hot and rigid, twitching at the first touch, like he might finish from that alone. He had strangled me last night with that too-tight grip, bending me wrong, losing the rhythm every time my tongue moved on his pink little hole. I did him right. Full fist, loose at the base, snug up top, a small roll of the wrist over the head where he leaked for me.

"That feels so good," he whispered, and it cracked in the middle, high-pitched and boyish, and he pressed his forehead against my jaw.

He reached down and gripped me back, and we lay facing each other on our sides, forearms crossing, each of us working the other under the blanket, exploring the sensations. His grip had improved overnight. Still careful for the first few seconds, but he watched my hand on him and copied it on me, a quick study when the subject interested him.

He shoved the blanket off us and slid down the bed, and his mouth closed over the tip of me before I finished my next breath, warm and wet and tighter than his fist had been. He took me deeper than he had managed in the dark last night, his tongue pressing flat along the underside, and the heat of it made me grunt heavily out of my chest. 

He gagged after a few seconds, his back tensing up. He pulled up with his eyes watering, a string of spit still connecting us. I figured he needed a minute. He sank right back down instead, stubborn on himself about it, his wavy hair brushing my stomach on every bob. 

I decided I wanted the whole experience before I came too quickly. I pulled my knees up toward my chest and held them behind the thighs as my dick slipped out of his mouth, slapping me wet on the stomach. I spread myself open in front of his face. He stared.

"You got yours last night," I said. "Fair's fair."

He didn't hesitate even a second. His tongue pressed flat against my ass and dragged upward, my own opener used against me, and the heat of it shot up my spine and curled my toes against the sheets. I understood instantly why he had groaned on my mouth. Nobody had ever touched me there in my life, and now this skinny kid had his face buried between my cheeks, hungry for me, humming, pushing firmly against the tight center of me as I flexed my ass against his tongue.

I reached down and took a fistful of his curls and pulled him in harder, grinding against his face. He moaned into me and obeyed as I watched his round, perky little ass tense, humping into the mattress. He was shaking the whole bed with his cute, sporadic humping, both of us amped up and racing toward orgasm, and I steered his head exactly where I wanted it. 

He pulled his face out of me and rose up on his knees, and I dropped my legs on either side of his as his mouth dropped back onto my thick shaft, warm and surer of itself now, taking me deeper than before. His free hand worked himself roughly, no technique at all, just desperate need, and with my knees still hauled up against my chest his knuckles knocked against my ass on every stroke, right where his tongue had just been, a little drumbeat that sent sparks up my spine. I felt him moaning around me more than I heard it, the hum of it traveling all down my legs.

His rhythm collapsed fast. His breath tore in and out through his nose, his fist blurred, and he pulled off me with a gasp like a swimmer resurfacing.

"I'm…"

That was all the warning I got. He squirted hard, hunched over me with his forehead dropping against my thigh, and the first shot hit warmly across my ass where I still held myself spread open, shocking heat on the skin, on a part of me that nobody had ever touched before him. The next pulses fell short and spattered the sheet between my legs, and the last of it dribbled over his knuckles while his skinny hips kept twitching.

He stayed hunched there, panting against my thigh, and when he finally lifted his head he couldn't look at me. He stared at the mess instead, the wet stripes on me and the darkening spots on the sheet, and his whole face flushed pink.

"That was a lot," I said.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"No, I like it." I let go of one thigh and dragged a finger slowly through the warm stripe of juices he had left on me, just to watch him watch me do it. He gulped so hard I heard it.

I dropped my legs, hooked him by the shoulder and hip, and flipped him onto his back. He flopped over easily, his hair bouncing, his skinny chest still heaving. I knelt up over him and brought my big dick to his face, still rigid, my balls still heavy and aching under it.

"You want some more of this?"

"Yeah," he whispered, watching it cross-eyed as I tapped it gently against his cheek, leaving a faint sticky print on the pink skin.

We both heard it at the same time, my mom and Ken shuffling around in the hall. 

"Fuck," I whispered. I rolled off the bed and yanked open my old dresser, but all it held was the clothes I had abandoned in high school. I fished the flannel pajama pants out from under the blanket instead, still warm from Bran, and dragged them up my legs. They cut into my thighs and left my ankles sticking out bare. Bran hauled the blanket up to his chin just as knuckles rapped on the door and Ken's voice pushed through it. "Wake up!"

"I'm up!" Bran called, his voice cracking on it, again.

Their footsteps moved past us down the hall, and knuckles rapped on the guest room door. That was my room now, and my bed in it sat cold and empty.

"Wake up!" my mom called through the door.

I stood frozen by the dresser with the flannel cutting into my thighs and my boner bent sideways against the fabric, refusing to go down. Bran had the blanket clutched up to his chin, his eyes huge over the hem of it. Neither of us breathed. What he had sprayed on me had started to dry tight on my skin under the flannel, pulling faintly with every small shift of my weight, and I stood there feeling it while my mom waited down the hall for my answer.

I pictured her hand closing on the knob. I pictured the door swinging in on sheets nobody had slept in, and her standing there in the quiet, working out where exactly her son had gone to. I was already preparing a likely story for when they discovered us in here.

"Let him sleep," Ken said in the hall, his deep voice carrying through. "He's on break."

She answered him with something I couldn't make out, and their feet thumped down the stairs together, and their voices sank away, into the kitchen.

I finally exhaled. Bran sagged flat into the pillow and dragged his arm over his eyes, and a giggle leaked out from under it.

"That was so close," I whispered. "She was one doorknob away from both of us."

"I know," he whispered into his arm. "I know."

I was hiding from my own mother in my own childhood bedroom, hard as a rock, and I grinned like an idiot. My balls throbbed heavily with every heartbeat. Two days of this skinny kid and I had not properly emptied them once.

"We gotta get down there for family breakfast or they'll hound us again," I said. "She'll plant herself at the bottom of the stairs and yell our names until we show. Trust me."

"I'm aware," he said. "I live here."

He lowered his arm and nodded, flushed pink from his chest up to his ears, his curls especially messed up on one side, the sheets spotted between his legs, my crusty underwear still sitting on his nightstand, a little trophy of his conquest, maybe.

On my way to the door I spotted his underwear on the floor by my old hamper, a white pair with dark blue trim, dropped there with yesterday's clothes. I hooked them up off the carpet with one finger and held them where he could see.

"Since I'm getting blue balled yet again," I said. "Fair's fair."

"I owe you one," he said. "A good one."

"Keep that ass warm for me," I said reflexively.

His mouth opened and closed without any words. He nodded from under the blanket, still breathing fast. I tucked his underwear into the waistband of the flannel, checked the hall through a crack in the door, and left him there in my old bed, walking away with even bluer balls than when I started, but an excitement growing inside me about what might happen with this kid during the rest of break.

Part 4 up on my OnlyLit (it's in Patreon jail currently) 😉