My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan | S2 E6: "You’re Not Going Anywhere"

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.

Becca caught Dylan and me earlier this morning, right before he could fuck me on her living room couch. She interrupted everything. But Dylan’s not the type to let something go unfinished. Now I’m standing at his door, already aching, already wet, already thinking about his cock and how obsessed I am with the way he looks at me like I’m his. Because maybe I am.

His door opened like he’d been standing right behind it, waiting.

Dylan was still in his underwear, the same ones that barely contained his cock this morning. Still shirtless, too, muscles tense, jaw tight, the line of his abs dipping down into that waistband like a carved invitation. His cock was hard again..... leaking and straining against the fabric like it remembered exactly where we’d left off.

“Bedroom. Now,” he growled. “You’re not going anywhere until I fuck you.”

He stepped aside. I walked in. My legs felt like they were moving on instinct.

The second the door clicked behind me, his hand was on my lower back, guiding me forward. My breath hitched. I didn’t speak. Neither did he. The apartment was dim and warm. The curtains were half-open, the late morning sun spilling over the floor in soft streaks of gold.

He walked me straight to his bedroom.

When I turned, his eyes dropped to my shorts.

"You know," he muttered, voice low, "I watched that French guy drop you off earlier today. That little wave you gave him. The smile. Thought I’d throw up."

My heart thudded.

He stepped in closer, crowding me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. "You think he's gonna take care of you?"

I wanted to say something back.....anything.....but my mind was blank, already spiraling with what might happen next. Dylan leaned in, fingers grazing the edge of my waistband, slow and deliberate. “You know your hole twitches the second I walk in,” he whispered, voice low and smug. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t need to. He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew how badly I wanted him.... how desperate I was.



My shorts were tugged down in one swift motion. My legs parted. I was still wearing Elliot's hoodie and he shoved it up my back as he pushed me down to my knees on the bed.

“Face down. Ass up.”, he commanded.

I obeyed before I could even think. My knees sank into the pillow-soft mattress, my arms stretched forward, my hips lifted.

A hand landed on my ass...firm, claiming, hot. “You wanna give that pretty hole away?” he asked. “To some Parisian prick who probably eats salad with his hands? Or you wanna give it to me; the guy who’s about to fuck the noise outta you?”

I groaned into the sheets.

Dylan’s hands spread me apart slowly. My breath caught.

“You’re already wet,” he muttered. “You’re such a little cockslut for me, huh?”

I bit the pillow.

Then I felt it....his tongue. A slow, firm lick right down the middle. I gasped. My whole body shuddered. I wasn’t expecting that. I was certain, as usual, my hole would be met with Dylan’s cock. But feeling his tongue, the scratch of his stubble grazing my ass.... it made me feel things I hadn’t braced for. This was the first time my best friend’s not-so-straight brother had his face buried between my cheeks, and it didn’t feel like some casual power move. It felt like he didn’t want me going back to Elliot. Like he needed to prove that underneath all that alpha male bravado, there was a guy who wanted to please me just as badly as he wanted to ruin me.

“I should’ve claimed this hole the second I saw you again,” he muttered between licks. “Should’ve bent you over the couch and made you mine.”

His tongue flattened against me. One slow, obscene lick from base to rim, his hands spreading me wide like he was inspecting his property. I gasped...my whole body tensed, thighs trembling, face burning. He groaned, low and greedy, burying his face deeper.

It wasn’t just the way he licked. It was the way it felt. His mouth was hot, wet, sure. His tongue worked with heavy, deliberate pressure...up, around, into me, making the whole world melt into the space between my legs. His spit dripped down my crack. My hole twitched and clenched with every glide of his tongue, every flick and swirl and press.

And it was him.

Dylan.

My best friend’s older brother. The guy I used to see around Jake’s house every time I visited; Dylan, always shirtless, always ignoring me like I didn’t exist. The same Dylan I’d secretly fantasized about since high school, even when we barely spoke. And now, here he was, face-deep in my ass, eating me out like it was the only thing he’d ever needed.

“You feel that?” he growled, voice hoarse. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”

I whimpered, nearly collapsed onto my elbows. My cock hung between my legs, dripping. His spit made everything feel slick, messy, obscene. I could hear the sounds...wet, hungry, rhythmic and it only made me leak more.

His fingers dug into my cheeks. “Did that French dude eat you out like this?” he asked, voice smug, cocky, as his tongue circled and pushed. “No, he didn’t. ‘Cause he doesn’t know how to take care of you. Not like I do.”

“D-Dylan…”

He pulled back for a second. I could feel the cool air rush over my wet, swollen rim. Then his hands tightened. His mouth came back with more force this time....messy, desperate. He moaned into it like he was drunk on my taste. His tongue pushed in deeper, flicked faster, and I jolted forward, letting out a noise I didn’t even recognize as mine.

“Fuck, your hole tastes so good,” he groaned, breath shaky. "I literally flew to Paris to this hole of yours."

He pulled back again. I heard him spit and then felt it drip down onto me, hot and thick. His tongue followed immediately after, lapping it up, spreading it in circles, deeper and deeper. Then came up for air, spit glistening on his lips, a smug half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Tell me,” he said, voice low and dirty. “You want me to stop?”

“No, Dylan,” I gasped. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

His hand smacked my ass once, light but firm. “Say it again.”

“Please, Dylan. I want your mouth on my hole so fucking bad.”

He grinned. “That’s what I thought. You should know you belong to me. You’re mine and only mine. ”

And then he dove back in. This time it was rougher...wilder. He made noise now. Slurping, licking, moaning into me like I was dessert. His nose brushed my crack, his tongue stabbing in tight, fast, overwhelming circles. I couldn’t even moan properly; I was shaking too hard, hands clutching the sheets, body caught in this overstimulated, breathless state.

He buried his face between my cheeks and held me there...firm, anchored, like he could live there. My thighs trembled. My cock leaked onto the sheet. His spit was everywhere. My ass was wet, throbbing, fluttering open like it knew who it belonged to.

And he knew it, too.

I could feel him smiling against my skin.

He pulled back, finally, licking his lips, voice husky. “Yeah. That’s right. No one eats you like I do.”

I was panting, wrecked, arched into the pillows, my whole body loose and weak. I wanted him so badly I could barely see straight.

Then...
He kissed the inside of my thigh...slow, wet, warm and whispered, “Spaghetti Noodle…” His voice was darker now. Calmer. Hungrier. “If you want this cock,” he murmured, lips brushing my skin, “you gotta beg for it.”

My hands curled into the sheets. My face burned.
“Please,” I gasped, breath hitching. “Please fuck me.”

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