Still a Slut for Bennett - Part 1

Everyone in this story is 18+

Hey everyone! Back by popular demand—here’s the continuation of Dressed Up Like My Best Friend's Slut for Halloween. Hope you enjoy it!

Hi, I’m Elijah—but for those who know me well, I’m just Eli. I’m 19 now, a sophomore in college, and what happened last Halloween still plays in my mind more often than I’d admit. Last year, I was just 18, and I’d spent weeks planning the perfect costume. It was bold, daring, even a little risky—a chance to step outside myself for one night. I decided to cross-dress, to go all out, and really surprise everyone.

But nothing could’ve prepared me for how that night would go. I didn’t just turn heads—I ended up crossing a line I never thought I’d cross. I lost my virginity… to my best friend, Bennett. That night was electric, confusing, and in a way, it changed everything between us. And now? Now we’re both left wondering where we stand, especially after waking up tangled in each other all over again. It’s not just a story about Halloween anymore—it’s about what’s been simmering beneath it all.

I wake up to the slow press of Bennett’s body against mine, his arm draped over my waist, his breath warm and steady at the back of my neck. For a second, I stay perfectly still, not daring to move, just letting myself feel him, savoring the weight of his body around me, the lazy roll of his hips against my back. Each slow nudge, each soft breath, sends a thrill through me that I can barely contain. What happened yesterday wasn’t a dream—it was real. So real.

I replay every moment, feeling his touch in every muscle, his heat wrapped around me as if it never left. But now, it’s different—quieter, slower, more… solid. There’s no loud music or laughter from upstairs, just the two of us, tangled in each other, his warm breath on my skin, his body flush against mine. I try to remind myself this is my best friend, Bennett, but my thoughts spiral, hazy with the memory of him taking control last night, gripping me tight, his voice rough as he growled my name—Eli. And I remember myself whispering back, calling him Daddy, just the way he liked it.

But it’s morning now, and my wig’s somewhere on the floor, makeup smeared across the pillow. I’m not Eli, the bold, dolled-up version of myself he was so into last night. It’s just me here—just Elijah. Yet, even in the morning light, I can feel the evidence of last night between us. My ass feels crusty, sticky from Bennett’s dried-up manjuices that escaped me during the night, a reminder of everything we did, every moment he took me, made me his.

He stirs more behind me, his hips shifting instinctively, the press of his morning erection nudging against my ass, sending a fresh wave of desire through me. We’re still naked, his body pressed right up against mine, as close as he can get. He grips me a little tighter, his body moving slowly against mine, gentle and unthinking, like he’s still caught in some dream. His erection probes against me, so close that if he pushed just a little harder, he’d slip right inside. My heart pounds, my skin electric under his touch. I let myself imagine him taking me again, as if he’d wake up and just fuck me senseless, no questions asked.

But then, suddenly, he jolts awake, taking a sharp breath. His movements stop. His breath catches as he realizes what he’s doing, and I feel him tense up, his arm slipping away as he slowly sits up.

“Oh…” His voice is barely a whisper, rough from sleep and something else—something I can’t quite name. When I glance over my shoulder, his eyes are on me, staring like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Elijah,” he says.

In the dim morning light, his gaze flicks over me—no wig, barely any lipstick, just me. For a second, I think he’s going to reach for me, to pull me back in, to let himself fall back into last night, back into us. But instead, he looks away, fumbling for his clothes. His hands shake as he grabs his boxers, his cock still hard, smacking up against his stomach as he tries to pull them on. A glint of precum catches the light, slick against his skin, as he tucks himself back in, desperate to hide.

“I, uh… I should get going,” he mumbles, voice thick with something he won’t name. He won’t meet my eyes as he pulls his shirt over his head, yanking on his jeans, nearly tripping as he stumbles to the door. And just like that, the moment shatters, my heart sinking as I watch him leave, barely a glance back.

I’m left alone, staring at the empty space where he’d just been, his scent still clinging to the sheets, the ghost of his warmth lingering against my skin.

I put my hands to my face, cupping it as if I can somehow hold all the confusion and regret inside. Should I have said something? The question loops in my mind, each time twisting deeper, making me wonder if I missed my chance to make things right.

After a few moments, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, pausing over Leah’s name. It’s already noon, and thankfully, my sister is rarely hungover. My thumb hovers for a second before I hit call, pressing the phone to my ear. I take a deep breath as it rings, bracing myself to spill everything—the morning after, the way he left, the way he said my name.

“Hey, Eli,” she answers, her voice bright and unbothered.

I take a shaky breath, forcing out a small laugh. “Hey, Leah… Could you pick me up?”