I never planned to fuck my brother. It just happened one humid summer night when we were both home from college, the house empty except for us and the old air conditioner rattling in the window. I was twenty-three, he was twenty-five, and we’d spent the day drinking cheap beer on the back porch, talking shit like we always did. But something shifted when the sun went down. The way he looked at me after the third round—hungry, like he was seeing me for the first time as a man instead of his little brother.
We ended up in his old bedroom, the one with the posters still on the walls. He shut the door even though no one else was there. “You ever think about it?” he asked, voice low and rough. I knew what he meant. My cock twitched in my shorts before I could answer.
“Yeah,” I said. That was all it took.
He grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me in. His mouth was hot and demanding, tongue pushing past my lips like he’d been waiting years. I tasted beer and salt and something that was just him. My hands went straight to his waist, yanking his shirt up so I could feel the hard muscle underneath. We were both breathing hard already.
“Strip,” he ordered, and I did, kicking off my shorts and boxers in one motion. My dick stood straight out, already leaking. He stared for a second, then wrapped his fist around it and stroked once, slow and tight. “Fuck, you’re thick like me.”
He dropped his own clothes. His cock was longer, curved a little to the left, heavy balls hanging underneath. I dropped to my knees without thinking and took him in my mouth. The taste was musky and clean at the same time. I sucked him deep, gagging when he hit the back of my throat, but I didn’t stop. He groaned and held my head, fucking my face in short thrusts.
“Been wanting this since you turned eighteen,” he muttered. “Jerking off thinking about my little brother on his knees.”
I moaned around his cock, the words making me even harder. He pulled me up, spun me around, and bent me over the bed. His fingers found my hole, spit-slick and insistent. He worked one in, then two, stretching me open while his other hand reached around to stroke my cock.
“Gonna fuck you raw,” he said. “You want that?”
“Yeah. Do it.”
He lined up and pushed in slow, letting me feel every inch. The burn was sharp at first, then melted into a deep, filthy pleasure as he bottomed out. He started thrusting, long and steady, balls slapping against me. The room filled with the wet sound of skin on skin and our grunts.
“Harder,” I begged. He gave it to me, pounding deep, one hand on my hip and the other fisting my hair. I came first, shooting across the sheets without touching myself. My ass clenched around him and he followed right after, flooding me with hot pulses.
We didn’t stop there. He pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and sucked my cock clean while fingering his own load back into me. Then he climbed over me in a sixty-nine, feeding me his softening dick while he ate my hole. We stayed like that until we were both hard again.
Round two was slower. He lay on his back and I rode him, controlling the angle until his cock rubbed exactly where I needed it. Sweat ran down my chest. He reached up and pinched my nipples, rolling them between his fingers until I was whimpering. When I leaned down to kiss him, he bit my lower lip and thrust up hard.
We came together that time, my load painting his stomach while he pumped another one deep inside me.
Afterward we lay tangled on the messy sheets, breathing hard. “This stays between us,” he said, but his hand was still stroking my thigh like he already wanted more.
It didn’t stay just that night. Every time we were alone after that, it happened again—quick and rough in the shower, slow and deep on the living room couch, once even in the backyard at midnight with the crickets loud around us. He’d bend me over whatever surface was closest and take what he wanted, and I gave it every time.
That summer taught me exactly how good forbidden could feel. My brother’s cock became the thing I craved most, and he never let me go long without it.
