My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan | S2 E7: Beg For It

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

The images accompanying this work are artificially generated and do not depict real people in any form. They are original creations intended to visually support fictional storytelling only.

Earlier today, Becca almost caught us red-handed. Dylan’s cock was seconds from sliding into me when she knocked on the door, forcing me to yank up my shorts and pretend nothing was happening. But now, minutes later, I was back in his apartment, bent over his bed, my hole still wet from his mouth, and my entire body trembling with how badly I needed him.

“Please Dylan,” I whispered, still on my knees. “Please fuck me.”

Dylan didn’t say anything at first. Just stared down at me from behind. I could feel his gaze, feel the weight of it, the heat. My hole twitched, still slick and needy. I turned slightly, desperate to see him.

He was gripping his cock now, stroking it slowly teasing me. “You think I’m just gonna fuck you because you asked, Spaghetti Noodle?” he murmured. “Nah. Not until you say it properly.”

I whimpered. “Dylan...”

“I wanna hear you say it like you mean it.”

“I do,” I gasped. “I mean it. Please. I want your cock. I want you inside me.”

My voice cracked as I said it. There was no playing now. No teasing. I was trembling under him, soaked with his spit, my body open and aching and ready. I needed him so badly I could taste it, feel it in every pulse of my skin, every twitch of my hole. I looked back, eyes wide, lips parted, and he was already lining himself up behind me, cock heavy, flushed, thick and wet with precum.

He didn’t move yet. Just stayed there, rubbing the swollen head of his cock over my rim in lazy, taunting circles. His hands gripped my hips like he owned them. Like I was already his.

“Tell me how much you want me,” he said, voice low and dark.

“I have been waiting a month to feel your cock inside me,” I said, every word rushed and breathless. “Dylan, please. Please fuck me.”

"Good Boy. You have to know who is in charge, Troy", he said.

His body shifted forward, and I felt him press his cock harder against me. A single inch of pressure, enough to make my breath stutter and my back arch. He stayed there, not pushing in yet, just letting me feel the threat of it. The promise. His fingers dug into my waist.

“Get comfortable,” he said. “Spread your ass wider. Open up that hole for me.”

I whimpered, shifting slightly, pulling my thighs apart, arching deeper into the mattress. My arms braced, fingers curling into the pillow. My heart was racing. My cock was leaking onto the fabric. He leaned down slowly until his chest pressed against my back, skin warm and tight with muscle, his whole body blanketing me in heat.

Then he brought his left hand around and slid two fingers into my mouth. His right hand snaked under me, dragging slowly across my stomach until it found my belly. He held me there, pinned and breathless.

“Moan for me,” he whispered. “Mon amour. That’s what that French dude calls you, right?”

His voice turned sharper, darker, hungry. “He can’t fuck you like I do.”

And then he pushed inside.

One long, slow, unrelenting stroke. My mouth fell open around his fingers. I made a choked, helpless sound, tears pricking my eyes as my whole body tensed and then melted around him. He didn’t stop. He didn’t pause. He just slid in deeper, inch by inch, stretching me, claiming me. His fingers in my mouth muffled my moans.

“You want this,” he growled. “My fucking spaghetti noodle. This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

I nodded frantically, unable to speak around his fingers. I sucked on them, lips wrapped tight, moaning as he bottomed out. My hole pulsed around him, clenching, fluttering, stretching wide.

He pulled back halfway, then thrust forward again. Harder. Then again. Each stroke was a declaration. A reminder. I was his. He knew my body. Knew what made me shake, what made me cry out, what made my back arch and my toes curl.

"I've been waiting to feel that hole wrap around my cock for so long and you are going on dates with a french guy?.. I didn't think of you as a romantic".

Then he pulled his fingers from my mouth, slick with spit, and reached up to turn my face toward him. I could barely see him through the blur of lust and sweat, but his eyes locked on mine.

“You like romantic?” he said, voice tight, breath ragged. “I’ll give you romantic.”

He kissed me. Hard. Open-mouthed. Devouring. His tongue pushed into my mouth like his cock pushed into my ass, and I whimpered into him, kissing him back as best I could while he fucked me harder. Our teeth clashed. Our lips smeared. His hand slid down again, grabbed my cock, and started stroking it.

“Yeah,” he whispered, mouth brushing mine. “You like that, don’t you? You like when I stroke you while I fuck you.”

I couldn’t answer. I was too far gone. Every stroke of his hand, every thrust of his cock, every filthy word he breathed against my skin was undoing me.

And then it happened.

I came.

It hit me like a wave...unexpected, overwhelming, raw. My whole body seized, and I cried out his name, my voice cracking as I spilled over his hand, onto the couch, onto myself. I was panting, shaking, trembling all over.

He laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. It was cocky. Proud.

“See what I do to you?” he murmured.
"Making you cum just by touching you", he smiled.

But he didn’t stop. His hand stayed on my stomach, his chest on my back, his cock still fucking me, harder now, faster. My orgasm had only made him rougher. Hungrier. He drove into me with long, deep strokes that made my whole body rock forward with every thrust.

“Ahh,” I moaned. “Fuck, Dylan...fuck.”

"aaah.. aahh"

"fuckk.."

“You take me so fucking well,” he said through gritted teeth. “You were made for me.”

His hands grabbed my chest, pulling me back against him as he drove in even deeper. I could feel every inch, every vein, every beat of his cock inside me. I could feel him losing control. His breath caught. His hips stuttered.

Then one final thrust.

Hard.

Deep.

He grabbed me tighter, both arms around me, and groaned into my neck.

“Ahh fuck—ahh—”

And he came.

I could feel it. Hot. Pulsing. Filling me.

He stayed there for a long second, cock buried deep, chest rising and falling against my back. I could feel the sweat between us. The heat. The weight of everything that had just happened.

Then he let out one more breath and whispered, softer now.

“Mine.”


My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan | S2 E8: He Texted Me The Next Morning