Step-Brother's Greedy Cock

Rhys’s smirk deepened as he pinned me harder against the sofa cushions, his full weight settling over me like he owned every inch of my body. Those tight black boxer briefs were practically obscene, stretched obscenely over his thick, heavy cock. I could feel every vein, every pulse, every filthy inch of him grinding right against my own rapidly hardening length.

“This is the last time,” I breathed, the words already sounding pathetic even to my own ears.

Rhys didn’t answer with words. Instead, he rolled his hips in one long, deliberate drag, letting his clothed cock slide slowly up the entire length of mine. The friction was maddening — too much and not nearly enough.

“Fuck…” I hissed.

He chuckled darkly against my neck. “Already? I’ve barely started, Eli.”

He braced one hand beside my head, the other sliding under my thigh to spread me wider beneath him. Then he started moving — slow, filthy grinds that dragged his thick erection up and down against me in lazy strokes. Every time the fat head of his cock rubbed over mine, my hips twitched involuntarily.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Already leaking like a desperate whore. I can feel how wet you’re getting through your sweatpants.”

I bit my lip hard, trying to stay quiet, but a broken whimper still escaped when he circled his hips, rubbing his heavy balls right against mine in a slow, obscene roll.

Rhys leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “Grind back. Don’t make me do all the work like a lazy little slut.”

My face burned with shame, but my body obeyed before my brain could catch up. I rolled my hips up to meet his, matching his filthy rhythm. The wet spot on my sweatpants grew bigger, the fabric clinging obscenely to my cock as we rubbed together.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Fuck yourself against me. Show me how bad you need this cock even when you swear it’s the last time.”

He kept the pace torturously slow for a while, dragging it out, making sure I felt every single inch of him. Every time I started getting close, he’d either slow down or lift his hips just enough to leave me humping the air like a pathetic animal before pressing back down harder.

“Rhys...fuck...please...”

“Please what?” He grinned against my throat, nipping at the skin. “Use your words, baby. Tell me how much you love being my grinding toy.”

I shook my head, refusing, but my hips kept chasing him desperately.

Rhys suddenly snapped his hips down harder, grinding in tight, dirty circles that made our cocks slide and catch against each other. The slick sounds of fabric rubbing together filled the room, mixed with the wet squelch of all the precum soaking through our clothes.

“Feel that?” he growled. “You’re making such a fucking mess. Your sweatpants are ruined. My boxers are soaked with your precum and mine. Such a dirty boy.”

He shifted slightly, trapping both our cocks side by side and dragging his length along mine in long, firm strokes. The pressure was insane. I could feel his cock throbbing, the heat of it burning through the thin layers between us.

I was panting, moaning openly now, my hands clawing at his back. “I’m so close...”

Rhys immediately slowed down again, torturing me with feather-light grinds that kept me right on the edge without letting me tip over.

“Not yet,” he whispered, voice cruel and teasing. “I want you shaking. I want you fucking begging before I let you cum in your pants like a desperate slut.”

He kept me there for what felt like forever — speeding up until I was right there, then slowing down, grinding harder, then softer. Every time I got close, he’d press down and hold still, letting me feel his cock twitching against mine while I whimpered and squirmed.

By the time he finally took mercy on me, I was a wreck.

“Please, Rhys...fuck, I need it. I’m losing my mind…”

“That’s better,” he purred.

He started grinding hard and fast, hips snapping down with purpose. The wet, sticky friction became frantic. Our cocks slid together relentlessly, the soaked fabric making everything obscenely slick.

“I’m gonna cum…” I gasped, voice cracking.

“Cum then,” he growled right in my ear. “Make a mess in your pants while I grind on you like the horny little bitch you are.”

The words hit me like a strike. I came with a choked cry, hips jerking up violently as my cock pulsed again and again, pumping thick ropes of cum into my already ruined sweatpants. The orgasm felt endless, wave after wave of humiliating pleasure.

Rhys groaned deeply and followed right after, pressing down hard as he came. I felt the hot flood of his release soaking through his boxer briefs, mixing with mine between our bodies in a filthy, sticky mess.

We stayed locked together, panting, covered in sweat and cum.

Rhys lifted his head, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Still think this was the last time?” he asked, voice husky.

I couldn’t even look at him. We both already knew the answer.

A few minutes later, the low rumble of a car pulling into the driveway shattered the heavy silence.

My stomach dropped.

It hadn't even been three hours since they left.

Why were they back already?

Rhys and I separated so fast it was almost comical. Within seconds, we were scrambling upstairs. We didn’t even look at each other as we scrambled upstairs.

I barely made it to my room before I heard the front door open.

Heart still racing, I quickly cleaned up, changed into loose shorts, and forced myself downstairs, trying to look casual.

“Mom?” I called out, injecting what I hoped sounded like innocent surprise. “You’re back already?”

David stood in the entryway, keys still in hand. “Your mother forgot her phone. Again.”

“Found it!” Mom’s voice rang out from the kitchen. She appeared a second later, waving the device with a bright, slightly sheepish smile. “I swear, I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

Her gaze flicked between us, playful but sharp. “It’s a good thing you boys are still alive. Try to keep it that way while we’re gone this time, yeah?”

She laughed at her own joke, completely unaware of the thick tension still hanging in the air. David gave a polite nod, and just like that, they were heading back out the door.

The house fell quiet again.

Rhys didn’t come downstairs. I didn’t go looking for him.

Instead, I slipped back into my room, closed the door, and leaned heavily against it. A long, exhausted groan escaped me as I dragged both hands down my face.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Less than an hour ago I’d sworn it was the last time. I’d meant it. And yet the second Rhys had pinned me to that couch, I’d folded like wet paper. Worse—I’d begged for it. Ground against him like a desperate slut while he whispered filthy things in my ear.

I sank onto the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.

The worst part wasn’t even the shame burning in my chest.

It was the sick, undeniable truth that if Rhys knocked on my door right now—if he pushed me down onto this bed and told me to spread my legs—I wouldn’t say no. I wasn’t sure I’d even hesitate.

I glanced at the closed door, half-dreading, half-hoping he’d appear. but nothing happened.

Just the heavy silence and the lingering ache between my legs.

Pathetic.

I flopped back onto the mattress, arm thrown over my eyes.

I knew it wasn't over.

And the scariest part? Deep down, I didn’t want it to be.