The Family Christmas

III.

No one was in the rec room as I dashed through it to my bedroom. I could see some of them out there around the barbeque arguing and hear laughing in the living room. Happy to have escaped immediate questioning, I made it to my room in record time. When I got there, I found Gwen had struck again, laying out my clothes for me like I was five or something. But she must have really been moved by my telling her I loved her since these were almost normal looking. The jeans were black inside of blue, a lot tighter and lower than I was used to. The underwear was a pair of bikinis that were equally low cut since boxers would have looked ridiculous underneath those jeans. The t-shirt was great—brown, faded, and the cotton thin and soft. For a second I thought it was used, but then I realized it was one of those designer things that you pay more for to look like they were old. The best thing was that the jeans were tight and stiff enough to keep my dick from doing the hula in front of everyone, and the t shirt was long enough to hang over my crotch a bit and provide added coverage. I wasn’t hard now, but then again, my brother wasn’t here in my bedroom.

A vision of my little brother’s face as he came with my cum still in his mouth flashed into my mind, and well, hello, Mr. Bunny! Great—just what I needed, to be sporting wood at the big reunion family dinner.

But at that point, Karen came in whining about how mom was getting Biblical because I was home, slaughtering the fatted calf, and insisting on the good china that couldn’t be washed in the dishwasher. And it was all my fault, Mr. Prodigal Son, and so I better fucking get my ass out of my room and help.

But Mom swooped down and dragged me back over to go through her scrapbooks, and I was treated to the pleasure of watching Karen setting the table and glaring at me every time I looked up from Mom’s book. By the time dinner was ready, however, I was a little sick of staring at mediocre snapshots surrounded by stickers, glitter, bows, and all sorts of things that I would never had thought to do anything but chuck in the trash—theater tickets, restaurant receipts, even a price tag or two. I was glad when dinner was ready, but Mom wasn’t really ready to stop fussing over me. She insisted on having me next to her at the foot of the table. I had Gwen on the other side of me and Karen across from me. The one member of the family I wanted to sit near, to look at, to talk to--ok, honestly, to throw down on a table and fuck--was on the other side of the table wedged between the twins.

It was probably a good thing, however, since in the few minutes when it was just Mom and me at the table, I had already fantasized about touching him under the table. When he walked in to the dining room in a shockingly tight sleeveless t-shirt the exact color of his eyes, he just killed me—I literally stared with my mouth open, oblivious to everything else. Fortunately, Jennie and Karen were fighting with Gwen over whether or not their boyfriends were going to be in the family portrait that Gwen had arranged a photographer to come shoot tomorrow. Mom noticed, of course, but she simply thought I was surprised at how my brother had grown since I’d last seen him. Not that I had a clue of that initially. Then the vision I was gaping at said, “Come on, big brother, answer Mom’s question.”

I gulped, shut my mouth, and came back to reality from a world in which nothing existed but me and my personal sex fantasy come to life wearing a slutty t-shirt that let me see his little nipples were erect. I tore my eyes away from my way too sexy little brother and looked at Mom. She smiled at me and repeated, “He’s really grown up since the last time you saw him, hasn’t he? He looks good, doesn’t he?”

I looked back over at my little brother, who had slid into his seat. He put one hand up to his hair in a mock model’s pose, arched his back, rolled his eyes while fluttering his eyelashes, and tilted his head up to stare up at the ceiling. The pose showed off his long neck, freshly shaved, the muscle in the raised arm, and his sexy chest with those nipples that were begging to be pinched.

“Yeah,” I said in the understatement of the year.

“Now, you look good too, dear. I can’t get over how Gwennie picked out such perfect clothes for you. That t-shirt is perfect.”

“It’s a t-shirt, Mom. Just because the Great Gwen bought it doesn’t mean it looks any different from any of the other t-shirts I’ve ever worn.”

The chorus of objections started me. My three sisters had settled their differences and were now serving the shrimp salads and settling into their seats.

“It’s a brown t-shirt, faded,” I said, annoyed.

“It fits you,” snapped Karen.

“The color is perfect,” said Jennie.

“Yes,” said Mom, Karen, and Gwen together.

I looked over at the only person there whose opinion mattered, and he said, “That shirt’s super soft and the color of your eyes. I want to—“

He was throwing back my own words in the garage to me, and in that pause, I filled in “want to fuck you in it,” and my cock, already hard again, struggled to move in my tight jeans.

“—see you wear that color more often.”

“For the photo tomorrow, I got you a silk shirt that color,” said Gwen. “Now, mom, have you decided on what you are going to wear?”

“Mom, Jonathan and Richard should be in one of the photos, don’t you think? I mean Karen and I have been dating them for almost two years!” whined Jennie.

I tuned out the conversation around me and just looked at my little brother. He had picked up a shrimp from his salad and was rubbing it across his lips. Then he slowly sucked it into his mouth—fuck! I looked down at my own salad and thought about how and where I could get my little brother alone.

The whole damn dinner was torture. I was jealous of the food that my little brother ate and in agony. I thought about excusing myself and jacking off in the bathroom, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. At some point in the dinner I realized why Gwen had put out jeans and a t-shirt for me—we were all going to the Christmas Tree farm to pick out a live tree after the dishes were washed. Stupid me—evidently the realistic fake tree in the front window of the living room was inadequate. After all the rec room was where the tv was and the more comfortable furniture, and it would be easier to open our gifts in there. And a real tree smelled, and, no, the fake pine spray didn’t really smell the same.

The discussion flowed around me, and I didn’t even try to keep up with it. But I woke up when over a dessert of Christmas cookies and coffee, Karen said that the boys should have to do the dishes since their little swimming stunt had let them get out of helping with dinner. Jennie agreed since neither of us could pick out a good-looking tree to save our lives, and what was the point of being gay if we didn’t have any taste?

Gwen pointed out that unless the two of them wanted to deal with lugging the chosen tree around and fastening it to the car roof, the boys were needed. Jeff got insulted at his wife’s assumption he wasn’t enough to deal with one tree and actually dared contradict Gwen. It looked like we might end up spending the night arguing, but dad intervened.

“The boys do the dishes. Jeff and I can handle the tree if by some miracle it’s been chosen before they get over to the farm. Now, ladies, you have ten minutes to primp before the caravan leaves.” And then, miracle of miracles, the dining room emptied out, leaving my brother sitting and I sitting there with our empty coffee cups and a plate with three cookies on it.

We didn’t say a word, just stared at each other. It took fifteen minutes for the house to empty out, and we slowly nibbled on those cookies, claiming we would start the dishes the minute we had finished them all. When the last good-bye had been shouted and the front door shut, we stood up. I doubt the cars were even out of the driveway by the time I had my brother pinned against the refrigerator, my mouth biting and sucking on one of his nipples while my hands fumbled with the zipper of his jeans. He hadn’t put on any underwear, and when I got his jeans down far enough to reach around to his ass, I discovered he had a butt plug inside him. That was too fucking much for me, and in a sort of haze of lust, I spun him around, undid my new jeans, managed to pull out my cock, and jerked out the plug. The sight of his asshole stretching around that plug as it slid out, made me moan, and I almost just thrust right in him, bareback, before I remembered I needed a condom.

I cursed, saying, “Goddamn condom, I don’t have any goddamn condoms!” I didn’t dammit—Gwen had packed my stuff, and I doubted my sister packed lube or condoms.

“I’m clean and lubed, so just do it,” moaned my brother, “fucking put it in now!”

I didn’t even hesitate. I just lined up and shoved my cock right into his little asshole right there in the kitchen. When my cock slammed into him, he cried out my name and shoved his hips back at me, taking me in even deeper. If I hadn’t come twice recently, that would have been it. Somebody once told me that sex is all mental, and I thought they were as loony as they come. Whoever it was that told me that was wrong, but not that wrong. Mental isn’t really the right term—emotional is more accurate.

Anyway, what I’m try to say is that yeah, my little brother’s ass was tight around my cock, and yeah it felt awesome, and yes, he looked hot, but that wasn’t why it was the best sex of my life. It was because this was HIM, the one I’d wanted, dreamed about, and thought I’d never had. The one I might never ever have again—hell, the one I might just be killed for having. Seriously, Karen and Jennie would think nothing of killing me for “hurting” their precious angel. They wouldn’t even stop to find out that he wasn’t moaning and screaming out of pain, but because evidently for him, too, sex was more emotional than physical. I know that I really didn’t do anything different or special on the physically level--it was your basic fuck from behind while standing up. But Jesus Fucking Christ, let me tell you, it was my personal Christmas miracle.

I think part of the reason I’m hiding out in my room and writing this right now as I wait for my little brother to sneak downstairs and join me is because my brain is having trouble processing it all. My gorgeous, tall, not-so-little little brother came all over the refrigerator screaming my name. He got cum on some of the stupid crap mom has stuck up with magnets, too, but forget that. He screamed my name—no one has ever done that. I mean, really, even when that happens in porn it seems fake, and well, it’s not the sort of thing fuck buddies do. All I can say know is, well, if your lover hasn’t ever done that, well, you haven’t had your best sex yet.

And as for me—I actually shed some tears and found myself unable to shut up. I’m not usually a big talker, and certainly not during sex, but as I fucked my little brother, I couldn’t help but tell him how I dreamed of doing this, how it was better than my dreams, and all the things I wanted to do to him and his fucking perfect body. And the kinker the things I said to him, the more he cried out and quivered around me, tossing that gorgeous hair of his.

I don’t remember everything I said—god, his ass was hot and tight around me, hotter than other fucks because I wasn’t wearing a condom and tighter because the only lube was what had been on the butt plug in his ass all during dinner. I know I said I wanted to fuck him in my bed, his bed, the shower, the hot tub, the kitchen table, my desk, the stairs, over the sink, the washing machine, and the hood of his car. I told him I wanted to do him doggie style with a collar and leash on his neck, to tie him to my bed spread-eagled, and to spank him. I talked about shoving things up that ass of his, making him jerk off for me, suck me, rim me, strip for me. The food in the kitchen inspired me as well, and I spewed out a list of the foods I’d smear on him, push in him, lick off him. I know I mentioned my fantasy of jerking off with his hair wrapped around my cock, spraying my cum into that beautiful long blonde hair, because I tugged that hair of his as I told him about it and thought about pulling out and spraying my spunk into it—for about a half a second.

Hell, no, I wasn’t going to pull out. I was going to shoot into this tight little ass of my brother’s and shove that plug right back in there. God, the thought of him sitting there with my cum plugged up in his ass while our family argued over the Christmas tree—that was torture I was ready for. I told him that too as I fucked him hard against the family refrigerator, and he bucked his ass back at me even more eagerly, moaning, “Yes, oh, yes, please.”

We didn’t come together, and, shit, of course I came before him. But as I panted and gasped behind him, glad he couldn’t look at my face, I didn’t care. And once I’d come, I was able to lean over and reach around while asking him how it felt to have his brother’s spunk up his ass, to feel that hot wetness deep inside him. And when he said he loved it, I told him he was a naughty slut, and I was definitely going to spank his ass with that plug and my cream inside him. And that was when he blew.

When his legs started to give out, I pulled out and sat down, jerking him over and putting him over my lap. I’d put his butt plug on the table, and I told him he’d have to give that table a serious cleaning as a result. I was going to slide it in, but first I couldn’t help but play with his asshole. It was amazing to see some of my cum welling out, so just have that perfect ass over my lap, to be able to shove a finger in, to squeeze, to pinch . . . but then I couldn’t help but want to spank those sweet cheeks of his. I thrust the plug back in and let my hand fly. At the sound of the first spank, I was hard again—and he knew it. He squirmed on my lap, just enough to make it fun, and said it wasn’t fair to punish him for being excited at being fucked by his big brother, when I was equally involved and so fucking kinky spanking him had me rock hard. I pointed out that I hadn’t come to a family dinner with my ass lubed up and plugged.

As his ass got pinker under my palm, I told him to bring his toys downstairs with him tonight, and if I went and searched his room tomorrow, I better not find any he’d left behind. By the eight or ninth slap, he was as erect as I was. I pulled out the plug and jerking on that thick hair hanging down on the floor, pulled his head up. I mean to have him sit on me facing away, but he spun around, having kicked off his jeans while over my lap, and straddling me. I looked up into his face, flushed with desire, and my mind just went blank. He thrust his hands into my hair and kissed me. Suddenly the fact he was taller, stronger, sexier made me feel that tongue-tied feeling that had kept me from coming home. I put my hands on his butt, feeling the heat from my spanks, not really believing I had just fucked this gorgeous creature bare and spanked him. And then he reached behind himself, spread his asscheeks and sank down on me.

I don’t know if I said anything or even if I touched him—I honestly can’t remember anything, but that face, those amazing eyes, and his hair falling down around me. I probably didn’t since he didn’t come when I did, but I didn’t even really realize that until he had pulled off me and bent over my lap again, saying in a husky voice, “Put it in me again, please.” At that point I was ready to do anything he asked, but I was confused for a moment until I realized he meant the butt plug, not my spent cock. I shoved it in and just stared the absolute sexiness of that twenty-two year old ass.

But then he stood back up and sat on the table in front of me, legs spread, showing me that big cock of his, still hard, and I didn’t hesitate. I swallowed it down to his pubic hair and went to work showing him that he wasn’t the only one in the family that knew how to give good head.

He cried out my name again, and I couldn’t get enough of that sound or of his cock. I deep-throated him with each bob of my head, sucking harder and pushing myself to take more. I could have done that for hours—his voice, his taste, his smell overwhelming me. I’d always loved the way he smelled—and a sudden embarrassing, long-suppressed memory surfaced in my mind as I blew him. A couple of times when it had been my turn to do the laundry back in high school, I had jacked off into one of his socks, pressing one of his dirty t-shirt over my mouth to hide the sounds I’d make. His scent would fill my nose, the scent now filling it again—the smell of my brother, a smell like no other man’s, the sexiest smell I’d ever inhaled. Sucking him had me stiff again, and I thought about pushing him back, fuck the crap on the kitchen table, and pulling out that damn plug and filling him again. But he tasted too good, and hell, his hands were pulling at my hair and not likely to let go until he finished.

“That’s it big brother, oh god, oh god, my brother’s blowing me, shit, BROTHER!” he screamed as he sprayed cum into my mouth.

And, god help me, that was even hotter than him calling my name. I came on kitchen floor as I drunk down my little brother’s cum.

Yeah, I shot a load down my little brother’s throat, spanked his naked ass, blew him, and fucked him bare twice.

And tonight, tonight, I’m going gag his mouth with the underwear I’ve had on since that shower and screw him again and again until my dick is raw and his ass is overflowing. I can’t wait to see what sort of toys he’s going to bring down. Those little nipples of his that taunted me all during dinner are going to pay—if he doesn’t have a pair of clamps, no problem—I already snagged a bunch of clothespins from the laundry room. Yeah, that how I want to take him—on all fours on my bed, gagged, his nipples clamped, his hands bound behind his back, his ass red from a spanking, his hole sloppy and wet from our fucking after dinner. I have a cord I can use as a cock ring if he doesn’t have one. Not for me, for him. It’s embarrassing to cum before him, but if he’s ringed, there’s no shame in it. I’ll make him beg for his orgasm. After all, I’m the big brother, and he needs to learn his place.

Merry Christmas to me.

But from the way the little slut acted in the kitchen today, I think he’ll be plenty happy with my holiday plans.

Yeah, I fucked my little brother today.

And I intend to keep doing it for the rest of my life.