Fucking girlfriend’s brother (1)

A few years ago, I spent Christmas with the family of my then-girlfriend, Kaz. She and I had only been dating for a few months, so I was a little nervous at the prospect of being holed up with her folks at what can be quite a tense time, but I must say that her parents went out of their way to be welcoming and seemed genuinely pleased to have me stay. I guess I was, though, in their eyes, the perfect boyfriend for their darling daughter: a traditional boy-next-door type; conventional, inoffensive and respectable. Or that’s how I seemed.
It’s a good thing they didn’t find out about what happened between Michael and I. They might not have been quite so eager to have me sharing their Christmas pudding if they’d known what I’d been getting up to with their son after lights out.
Knowing (while, of course, pretending not to know) that the guy staying in your house is screwing your daughter at Uni is one thing. Turning a blind eye to the fact he’s also buggering your son when the opportunity arises is quite another.
But maybe I’m presenting myself in too dim a light here. Michael was, after all, a more than willing conspirator.
It started one evening a couple of days before Christmas Eve, after I’d been out for a meal with Kaz, her parents and Michael, along with her uncle and aunt.
It had been quite a pleasant evening, though perhaps a little too formal for my tastes, and we’d eaten in a very salubrious restaurant. I’d been warned beforehand by Kaz to pack a decent suit with me, and it had turned out that this was what it was for.
The conversation had flowed steadily during the meal and Kaz’s uncle and aunt had been just as welcoming and apparently interested in me as Kaz’s parents had. Ironically, my only source of irritation was Kaz. Every time I looked at her she seemed to be nodding and grinning encouragingly at me. At first it was kind of comforting to know that she wanted things to go well, but after a while I started to feel uncomfortable. She’d whisper over at me, “You’re doing great, Seb,” and I’d feel like I was being monitored; as if I had a history of being disruptive in polite company or something. I’d mutter, “Yeah, alright Kaz…” and feel my face flushing slightly while the others glanced over at us.
But I suppose Kaz was feeling nervous about the evening and wanting everything to go well. Her aunt had, she said, a strong influence over her dad, and so if opinions went the wrong way during the meal it would almost certainly make things more difficult between us afterward.
Everything did go well, though, as it happened.
Especially afterward.
I’d been sharing a room with Kaz’s brother Michael for a couple of nights before the evening of the meal. He was a year or so younger than her, eighteen or nineteen, and had just finished his first term at Sheffield University. The two of us didn’t have a lot in common – he was a very quiet and insular guy, as though he hadn’t quite fully emerged from a moody adolescence – but we made pleasant small-talk and got along fine at a superficial level.
Kaz’s mum had originally offered me the spare room for a couple of nights until her parents arrived on Christmas Eve, but I’d suggested that it would be a lot easier if I slept in Michael’s room throughout my stay to make it less of a nuisance changing sheets and moving my stuff. Kaz’s mum had smiled appreciatively.
I felt a little odd at first to be crowding in on Michael’s space – his room was almost over-flowing with his stuff and the walls were plastered with posters of bands like Radiohead and Placebo from his sixth-form days – but Michael didn’t seem to mind, so the matter was quickly settled.
A fold-out camp-bed was moved from the garage up to his room.
I noticed within those first couple of days that Michael had a few annoying habits, like the fact the floor in his room was always covered with his discarded socks and underwear and the way he masturbated in his bed while I was trying to get to sleep, but otherwise sharing with him wasn’t a big deal.
The main advantage in staying with him was that his room was next door to Kaz’s. Michael clearly realised this as soon as I put my bags in his room – he’d muttered something about his room being positioned “convenient distance from the local attractions” and thrown me a sideways smirk – but Kaz, typically, wasn’t so astute.
She’d said, that first evening, “You should have taken the spare room… why d’you want to share with that little tosser?”
I’d smiled. “Why d’you think?”
Then she’d surprised me. “I dunno… maybe you want to get a closer look at Michael…?”
My smile shrivelled and died. “What?”
“I dunno how guys’ minds work. Maybe you want to compare us or something…”
I was speechless.
She went on, “You once said that if I was a guy I’d have bigger balls than you…”
“That was a joke,” I stated coldly.
“Well why would you be so eager to sleep in his room… you tell me…”
I must say I felt really angry with her right then; I was almost regretting having come to stay with her.
I spoke slowly, my voice betraying my anger, “I suggested I stay with your brother because his room is next to yours… the spare room is down the corridor next to the door of your parents’ room… you do the math…”
She went a little pink. “Oh.”
Then, grabbed my hand. “Look, sorry, Seb. I just… well, that’s the kind of stuff Tom used to say… just to wind me up…”
I muttered, “I don’t want to discuss your ex-boyfriends, Kaz. Not now.”
“I’m not discussing him. It’s just that he’d say stuff like that. Say I had a guys’ arse…”
“You haven’t”
“I know. But he knew it pissed me off… and… sorry… I just still expect it…”
We agreed to forget about it but what she’d said got me thinking.
In the middle of the night, after I’d returned to Michael’s room from having a little fun in Kaz’s, I took a couple of minutes to look at him while he slept. He was facing away from me with the duvet pushed to the front of him. In the dim light from the window I could see the sweeping curve of his back, his arse cheeks looking full and round inside his briefs and the hairless backs of his thighs.
Kas had been right: the two of them did have very similar bodies, at least from behind.
Maybe she did have a guys’ arse.
I found the similarities intriguing but not erotically so. Perhaps I would have been a lot more interested in studying Michael’s body if my cock had not just spent itself in the body of his sister, but right then I felt exhausted and wanted to try and get a bit of sleep before the alarm went off.
The next morning served to heighten my curiosity.
By the time I awoke, Michael had already showered and was drying himself in the middle of the bedroom.
I sat up in bed and watched him as he roughly towelled his hair dry. His body was remarkably similar to Kaz’s, although his muscles were more pronounced and his joints were more angular. His complexion was identical – his skin pale and smooth and hairless except for around his crotch – and his limbs were similarly proportioned.
He finished drying himself and threw the towel onto his bed.
Standing unashamedly naked in front of me, he put his hands on his hips and said, “Morning, Seb.”
I smiled. “Hi Michael.”
He grinned. “Busy night?”
I guessed I must look like hell.
I shrugged. “Kind of. I didn’t disturb you, did I?”
He shook his head. “No – I didn’t hear a thing. I… er… didn’t disturb you, did I?”
I must have looked puzzled because he threw a quick glance down to his crotch.
I realised he was referring to the activities of his right hand after we’d turned the light off.
I chuckled, concealing my surprise that such a quiet and apparently shy guy would be so comfortable about mentioning masturbation. I said, “No worries, mate. If your sister wasn’t keeping me so occupied, I’d be joining in…”
He laughed and walked over to take a pair of briefs out from his drawers.
He muttered, “Feel free…” which struck me as slightly odd, but not too far from the ordinary.
While he pulled his briefs up – a light grey pair – I got a better look at his crotch. Just taking a polite interest, you know.
His cock was pretty average, maybe three or four inches long, but his balls were quite amazing. They were like two billiard balls straining as though ripe and swollen inside his tight scrotum. His cock looked insignificant in comparison, as it lay over the top of his sack with one, large pink ball on either side of it.
It looked like my joke to Kaz, the one she’d reminded me of, had been far more astute than I’d realised.
Michael tucked himself into his briefs and his balls made two large bulges in the front of them.
I figured it was time to get up.
I heaved myself up from the camp-bed and pulled off my own briefs, a tight-fitting white pair. They tore a little at the tip of my cock, where semen from my visit to Kaz the previous night had dribbled out during the night and dried.
“Time to hit the shower, I guess…” I muttered to Michael.
I glanced at him and saw that he was checking out my cock, just as I had his. I wasn’t surprised or embarrassed: in my experience of being naked around other guys, it’s a pretty normal for them to compare each others’ kits.
And, in any case, he was probably wanting to see what his big sister was getting served up.
I bent to pick up my towel and noticed him check out my backside too. Not quite so normal, but still in no way odd.
I turned back to face him. He glanced at my crotch again and was no doubt mentally comparing his hefty balls with my own. Although I’ve always thought of my balls as being quite a comfortable size – about as big as a pair of walnuts – they looked pitifully unsubstantial up against his.
I looked down at myself and then back at the front of his briefs. It was pretty clear that, even if my balls weren’t any competition for his, I was the out-and-out winner in terms of cock size. Mine was five or six inches long, even though it was limp, and as thick as a carrot. His looked like an earthworm in comparison.
He said, “The shower’s pretty straightforward. The outer dial controls pressure and the inner dial controls temperature.”
I nodded. “Sounds okay…”
“I just thought I’d tell you because the writing’s worn off the dials.”
“Cheers.”
Then he turned and bent over to get a pair of socks out from the drawers beneath his bed.
I’m sure it was unintentional, but the way he stuck his arse out towards me really took my breath away. His legs were wide and his knees were slightly bent; his back was bowed and his arse was thrust towards me with the cheeks splayed open inside his briefs.
I think I might have gasped.
You see, that’s the pose that his sister is very adept at assuming when I fuck her from behind. The exact same pose being expressed by her brother.
I was unable to stop myself from mentally picturing myself fucking him. Walking up behind him, pulling down his grey briefs just like I did with his sister’s white panties, and driving my cock into him. Pushing myself into his arsehole just as I would penetrate his sister’s pussy. Relishing the pungent odour of his anus as I entered him just as I would the sharp scent from Kaz’s vagina.
I wondered if he would whimper and cry out like Kaz did when I fucked her. Whether he would want me to reach round his chest and play with his nipples like his sister did.
Before I knew it my cock was rising to life, almost poking into the back of his briefs as it lengthened and thickened in front of me.
Michael stood up and turned back toward me. I quickly came to my senses.
He glanced at my cock, now almost fully hard, as I struggled to wrap a towel around it and my waist.
He smiled and I felt myself turn scarlet.
I grabbed my shampoo and hurried out from the room.
I couldn’t make my erection subside while I showered. No matter how I tried to redirect my thoughts, the image of Michael bending over and thrusting his arse towards me kept returning to my mind. My erection would pulse upward with even greater vigour.
In the end, I gave in to its insistence and roughly wanked myself beneath the spray of the water.
I was trying to visualise myself fucking Kaz from behind, but my imagination would keep overtaking me. Without warning she would metamorphose into him. I’d find my cock sliding in and out of his tight, pink arsehole. My balls thumping against his larger, rounder ones. My fingers on his flat chest, teasing his erect nipples. His voice, not hers, urging me to continue.
I fought to reject the mental picture of him for a while and then gave in; accepted that it was him that I wanted to fantasize about and put it down to “healthy sexual intrigue about a girlfriend’s sibling”. I was sure I’d read about something like this in a textbook. It was perfectly normal; not an authentic gay desire at all.
I quickly finished masturbating with the thought of him reaching his orgasm while my cock drove in and out of his splayed buttocks bringing me to completion.
I was careful to wash the splashes of my semen from the wall of the shower cubicle.
Nothing else of any significance happened between Michael and I until after the meal with the uncle and aunt. There were a couple of knowing glances across the breakfast table after I’d finished showering and dressing, and a repeat of the fairly obvious crotch comparisons over the following couple of mornings, but nothing major.
The main event – and, as it happened, the start of a stimulating friendship between Michael and I – began when we’d got back from the restaurant.
I’d noticed that Michael had been drinking far more than a guy of eighteen ought to, even one who has just experienced his first term’s drunken revelry at University.
The fault could mainly be lain at the door of his uncle: he’d been going on about how he hadn’t had a “legal drink” with his nephew yet and that this is what he’d been waiting for since Michael’s christening. So he kept getting extra drinks for Michael despite Michael’s mum’s disapproving glares, plying the lad with pints of lager followed, as often as he could get away with, by whiskey chasers.
I suppose the uncle probably just wanted to loosen Michael up a bit: Michael was clearly uncomfortable about socialising like this and spent a lot of the time in contemplative silence.
I could see what the uncle was trying to do, but it didn’t seem to work.
The alcohol just made Michael sullen. He’d glance over at me and seem to resent the fact that I was having a reasonable time, enjoying the company and chatting freely. Or maybe he was annoyed that no-one was talking to him.
It only became clear that Michael had had way, way too much to drink when we got up to leave the restaurant. The poor guy could hardlywalk; he veered around the restaurant, almost colliding with other diners, and had to use the backs of peoples’ chairs as support.
Kaz’s father and I helped him back to the car, while Michael insisted loudly that nothing was wrong.
We had to pull into a layby on the A65 for Michael to be stumble out and be sick. I went with him; the rest of the family pointed out that I was a trainee medic and so it would be “good practice”.
While he threw up, I put my hand on his back to let him know I was there. His skin felt hot through the material of his shirt and jacket.

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