My Best Friend's Stepbrother's First Swallow and Creampie

The afternoon heat sat heavy on Cody's street when I pulled up, twenty-five years old and already thinking about the boy inside the house. I was Reid. My best friend had texted that he would be gone for hours running errands and that I should let myself in if nobody answered. Somebody did. Hayes, Cody's nineteen-year-old stepbrother, opened the door in a thin white t-shirt and gray sweatpants that sat low enough on his hips to show the sharp cut of muscle above the waistband. Monica, his twenty-two-year-old stepsister, wasn't in the living room. The house felt empty in the best way.

Hayes didn't step back when I came in. He shut the door with his heel and stayed close enough that I could smell his soap. We had been circling this for months, ever since he had turned nineteen and started sending me messages that stopped pretending to be jokes. He had told me he jerked off thinking about my hands. I had told him I thought about his mouth. Standing there with Cody gone, there was nothing left to hide behind.

"He's out until dinner," Hayes said. His voice was already rough. "Monica's upstairs getting dressed to leave later. It's just us down here."

I looked at him. Nineteen, eager, pupils blown wide in the striped sunlight coming through the blinds. "You sure about that?"

"I've wanted this since last fall," he said. "I want your cock. I want you to use my mouth. I'm not confused and I'm not kidding. I consent. I've thought about getting on my knees for you every night."

The air in the living room went tight. I could hear the refrigerator hum in the kitchen. Hayes's fingers hooked my belt loops and tugged. I put my palm on the back of his neck and felt him shiver under it, all that restless energy finally pointed at me. His other hand palmed the thickening shape of me through my jeans, squeezing like he already knew the size of what he was asking for.

"On your knees then," I said.

He dropped like he had been waiting his whole adult life for the order. Carpet under his knees, spine straight, looking up at me with his lips already parted. Eager consent was all over his face. He reached for my belt with both hands, undoing it, popping the button, dragging the zipper down. The tension between us was electric, months of looking and not touching compressed into the space of a few feet of living-room rug.

I helped him shove my jeans and boxers down just far enough. My cock sprang out heavy and already half-hard, thickening fast in the cool air of the house. Hayes's eyes went wide. He made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a moan.

"Fuck," he whispered. "It's huge."

It was. Thick enough that my fingers didn't meet when I wrapped a hand around the base and stroked once, showing him. The head was already dark and wet. Hayes leaned in without being told, breathing on it, then looking up at me again for permission he already had.

"Open," I said.

He opened. I fed the head between his lips and the stretch was immediate and obscene. His mouth went wide around the girth, lips thinning, jaw working. Spit welled at the corners. He made a wet, hungry noise and tried to take more, eyes watering, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. I held the back of his head gently, not shoving, just guiding, letting him work himself onto it. Every inch he managed made the strain more visible—the way his lips stretched pale, the way his throat clicked when he tried to swallow around me. It turned us both on more. His own cock tented those sweatpants, a dark spot spreading where he leaked.

He moaned around me, the vibration running up my shaft. I let him find a rhythm, slow at first, then greedier, saliva dripping down my balls as he bobbed. His tongue worked the underside. He pulled off to gasp, a string of spit connecting his bottom lip to my cock, then dove back on, taking me deeper until his nose brushed my stomach and he gagged, eyes rolling. I eased him back an inch and he chased it, hungry, sucking with a wet, filthy enthusiasm that had my thighs shaking.

"That's it," I muttered. "Use that mouth. You've wanted this."

He hummed agreement and kept going, one hand braced on my thigh, the other wrapping what he couldn't fit, stroking in time. The living room filled with the slick sound of it. My balls drew up tight. Heat coiled low and mean. I warned him because I was not going to last and I wanted him to know.

"I'm close," I said, voice wrecked. "I'm going to flood that throat. Swallow it. Don't you dare waste it."

Hayes only sucked harder, looking up at me, mouth obscenely stretched around the thickest part of my cock, spit shining on his chin. I buried my fingers in his hair and let go.

I erupted. Heavy ropes of cum blasted over his tongue, so much it filled his mouth in the first two pulses. He tried to keep sucking and then had no choice but to swallow. The gulps were loud, wet, unmistakable—each one an audible gulp that echoed in the quiet house as gallons of it went down his throat. I kept coming, hips twitching, pumping more into him while he stayed on his knees and took it, throat working, some of it leaking from the stretched corners of his lips only for him to chase it back in and swallow again. You could hear every gulp. He didn't stop until I was wrung out, still throbbing on his tongue, his mouth a mess of spit and white.

I pulled back slowly. A last string of cum connected my cockhead to his swollen lower lip. Hayes sat back on his heels, panting, throat working one more time, a dazed, filthy satisfaction on his face. Cum shone on his chin.

That was when the stairs creaked.

Monica walked in from the hallway, twenty-two, still in a tank top and shorts, phone in her hand. She stopped dead. She took in Hayes on his knees, my cock still wet and heavy in the open air, the evidence all over his mouth. For a second nobody spoke. Then Hayes looked at her, still breathless, and said, "Don't go. Stay. I want this. Help me."

Monica's eyes flicked from his face to mine. "You both want me here?"

"Yes," I said. Hayes nodded hard, still on the floor. "Please. I want him to fuck me. I've never—it's my first time. Help me take it."

She set the phone down. No hesitation after that, only eager agreement written on both of them. "Couch," she said. "On your knees on the cushions. Reid, don't you dare soften up."

Hayes scrambled up. I shoved the coffee table aside with my foot. He peeled his sweatpants and underwear down and kicked them away, then climbed onto the couch on all fours, ass in the air, looking back over his shoulder with that same hungry want. Monica went to the side table, came back with a bottle of lube she apparently kept for reasons I was not going to question, and knelt beside him. She put a hand on the small of his back.

"Breathe," she told him. "You asked for this. You're going to get it."

She spread his cheeks with both hands, exposing the tight, untouched hole. Hayes whimpered. Monica slicked her fingers generously and circled him, then pressed one in. He gasped, pushing back. She worked him open with patience that still felt filthy—one finger, then two, scissoring, adding more lube until it shone down his crack. She crooked her fingers and he moaned into the couch cushion, cock hanging hard between his thighs, dripping onto the fabric.

"He's ready enough," she said, looking at me. "He's been ready. Put it in him. I'll help."

I moved in behind Hayes, my cock still thick and wet from his mouth, already hardening again from the sight of his virgin hole glistening. Monica wrapped her slick hand around my shaft and lined me up, rubbing the fat head against his entrance. Hayes pushed back. I pressed. The resistance was fierce. Monica kept spreading him, murmuring for him to bear down, and then the head popped in and Hayes cried out, a raw, wrecked sound of stretch and want.

"Fuck, it's so thick," he gasped. "Don't stop. I want it. Fill me."

I gave him more, inch by fat inch, watching his hole stretch white around my girth. Monica's fingers stayed at the edges, holding him open, guiding me as I sank deeper. The heat of him was staggering. When I bottomed out, my hips flush to his ass, he was shaking, panting, clenching around me in helpless pulses. I stayed there a second, then started to move.

I topped him from behind on that couch, pulling almost out and driving back in, each stroke opening him further. The sound was wet and obscene. Hayes shoved back to meet me, begging for harder, for deeper. Monica stayed right there, one hand on his hip, the other occasionally reaching under to stroke his leaking cock, or spreading him wider so I could watch my thick shaft disappear into his hole over and over. I pounded him deep, the couch creaking, his moans turning into broken, grateful noise.

"Take it," I growled. "Your first ass and you're already greedy for it."

"Yes—yes, Reid, fuck, cream me, I want it inside—"

I lost the rhythm into something brutal and deep. My balls tightened again. I buried myself to the hilt and came, pumping load after load of hot cum into him, so much that it had nowhere to go. I kept my cock rammed fully inside as I spurted, feeling the excess already trying to leak out around the thick plug of me. Hayes came with a shout, spilling over Monica's fist onto the cushion, his hole clamping down in waves that milked even more out of me. I stayed buried, still pulsing, watching white cream squeeze out around my shaft every time his body clenched, flowing down his balls while my cock kept it from draining freely.

I remained buried to the hilt as the last spurts drained into him. Monica leaned in and kissed Hayes on the mouth while he panted and clenched around me, the three of us catching our breath in the wrecked living room. Every time his hole pulsed, more of my cum overflowed from his stretched ass, dripping in thick ropes down his thighs with my cock still plugging the mess I'd made.

His used hole kept winking around my shaft, squeezing out another filthy gush of my cream while I stayed buried and watched it leak.