I decided to give Logan his own voice as his is the true star of "He Fucked Me While His Brother Watched and Did Nothing” and “I Let My Ex’s Younger Brother Bang at the Gym"
This is the story about Logan, who fucked his brothers ex. Logan, dominant ex-wrestler in his early 20s. 6’2”, always half-hard, always in control. Doesn’t ask—just takes. Silent stare, heavy words. Lives with his brother Josh and a gay roommate, Miles. Breeds without mercy, leaves holes leaking. No labels, no attachments. Just power, shame, and cock. Once he’s had you, you don’t forget.
Everyone is 18+ and everything is fully consensual.
⸻
I’d been hearing it for nights. Moaning through the wall. Not Miles — he barely made a sound when he came. It was the boyfriend. Vitor. That tiny thing Miles brought home last month with the huge ass and soft voice, always blushing and glancing down when anyone talked to him. But not at night. At night, he got loud. High-pitched. Whimpering through the drywall. Every time Miles fucked him, I could hear the moment he started leaking.
Tonight, I didn’t jerk off. I just listened. Let the sound work through me. Bedsprings creaking in rhythm. Soft cries cutting through it. And I could tell — Miles didn’t know what he was doing. No control. No rhythm. Too fast, too shallow. He was pounding into that ass with no idea what it needed.
I knew.
Around 1 a.m., I went downstairs. Wanted water. Maybe more. The kitchen light was on. I stepped in.
Vitor was there.
Just a T-shirt and loose shorts. Skin glowing. Legs bare. One hand gripping the fridge door, the other braced on the counter. Chest rising slow. He froze when he saw me.
Didn’t speak.
His thighs were trembling. His mouth opened slightly, then shut. My eyes dropped. The front of his shorts was dry. The back was not.
I stepped closer. “You sore?”
He looked down. “No— I mean… I was just getting water.”
I didn’t stop moving. “I heard you earlier.”
He swallowed. “Sorry—”
I stood behind him. Close enough to smell him. Sweat. Lube. Something deeper.
“You always moan that much when someone’s doing it right?” I murmured.
His shoulders twitched. “Miles is—”
“Miles doesn’t know how to fuck. He pumps until he finishes and leaves you dripping.”
Vitor said nothing.
I touched the waistband of his shorts. He didn’t stop me. I slid my fingers down the crack of his ass, slow, firm. Found the heat. The slick. His hole clenched.
Still open.
Still leaking.
He gasped.
“You think that was fucking?” I pressed two fingers against him, pushed inside. He whimpered — high, choked, grateful. “Let me show you something real.”
His legs gave out when I bent him over the counter. I yanked the shorts down. That ass — full, high, twitching. Raw pink between the cheeks, still wet. I spat into my hand, spread it across the head of my cock, stepped in close, and drove forward.
He sobbed into the counter.
I clamped my hand over his mouth. “Quiet.”
He nodded under my palm, back arching. His hole sucked me in. Hot, stretched, begging for it. I gave him the first few strokes slow. Just enough to feel him adjust. Then I grabbed his hips and slammed into him hard enough to rattle the drawer handles.
His cry broke through my fingers.
I didn’t stop.
He tried to stay quiet. Tried to keep his face buried in his arm, but every thrust pushed another broken sound out of him. The kind of moan that came from too much. Nerves fried. Hole stretched past what it was used to.
I pulled out halfway and slapped the head against his hole. Wet sounds filled the kitchen. He was leaking around me already.
I pressed in slow this time, then slammed all the way to the base. His legs buckled.
“Don’t drop,” I said. “You want this? Stay up.”
He reached for the edge of the counter. Knuckles white. Sweat beading on his back. That little T-shirt rode up to his ribs. His ass bounced with every thrust, pink and glossy. My cock was coated.
I leaned over him. Fist tight in his hair. “He ever make you leak this much?”
He shook his head. Couldn’t speak. Just breathed through it, ass clenching around me like it was trying to hold me in.
I moved harder. No rhythm now — just force. Kept him pinned while I drove in again and again. His body stopped fighting it. Started sucking it in. Hole fluttering, open and raw.
“Look at you,” I growled. “This what you needed? A real fuck?”
His mouth opened. No words. Just a sob that turned into a gasp when I grabbed his cheeks and spread him wider. Hole pulsing. Lube and precum running down his thighs.
He came without touching himself.
Didn’t even notice at first. Just froze under me. Whole body shivering. Then a splash hit the cabinet door. Another hit the floor. His cock throbbed untouched between his legs.
I held him there. Still buried. Let him ride the waves while I watched his hole try to close around the stretch.
Then I pulled out and stroked once. Twice. Shot thick across his hole, let it drip between his cheeks. He whined.
I rubbed it in with two fingers. Slid them back inside. He jerked. Couldn’t take it anymore. The tears came then. Slow, wet, silent.
I kissed the back of his neck.
“You’re gonna walk back into his bed leaking me.”
His breath hitched. “Please… don’t tell him.”
I smiled. “Not if you come back for more.”
⸻
Thank you for reading. Please leave feedback if you like
If you want to read more of my filthy stories, go check out my profile page.
Read more stories about Logan here
This is the story about Logan, who fucked his brothers ex. Logan, dominant ex-wrestler in his early 20s. 6’2”, always half-hard, always in control. Doesn’t ask—just takes. Silent stare, heavy words. Lives with his brother Josh and a gay roommate, Miles. Breeds without mercy, leaves holes leaking. No labels, no attachments. Just power, shame, and cock. Once he’s had you, you don’t forget.
Everyone is 18+ and everything is fully consensual.
⸻
I’d been hearing it for nights. Moaning through the wall. Not Miles — he barely made a sound when he came. It was the boyfriend. Vitor. That tiny thing Miles brought home last month with the huge ass and soft voice, always blushing and glancing down when anyone talked to him. But not at night. At night, he got loud. High-pitched. Whimpering through the drywall. Every time Miles fucked him, I could hear the moment he started leaking.
Tonight, I didn’t jerk off. I just listened. Let the sound work through me. Bedsprings creaking in rhythm. Soft cries cutting through it. And I could tell — Miles didn’t know what he was doing. No control. No rhythm. Too fast, too shallow. He was pounding into that ass with no idea what it needed.
I knew.
Around 1 a.m., I went downstairs. Wanted water. Maybe more. The kitchen light was on. I stepped in.
Vitor was there.
Just a T-shirt and loose shorts. Skin glowing. Legs bare. One hand gripping the fridge door, the other braced on the counter. Chest rising slow. He froze when he saw me.
Didn’t speak.
His thighs were trembling. His mouth opened slightly, then shut. My eyes dropped. The front of his shorts was dry. The back was not.
I stepped closer. “You sore?”
He looked down. “No— I mean… I was just getting water.”
I didn’t stop moving. “I heard you earlier.”
He swallowed. “Sorry—”
I stood behind him. Close enough to smell him. Sweat. Lube. Something deeper.
“You always moan that much when someone’s doing it right?” I murmured.
His shoulders twitched. “Miles is—”
“Miles doesn’t know how to fuck. He pumps until he finishes and leaves you dripping.”
Vitor said nothing.
I touched the waistband of his shorts. He didn’t stop me. I slid my fingers down the crack of his ass, slow, firm. Found the heat. The slick. His hole clenched.
Still open.
Still leaking.
He gasped.
“You think that was fucking?” I pressed two fingers against him, pushed inside. He whimpered — high, choked, grateful. “Let me show you something real.”
His legs gave out when I bent him over the counter. I yanked the shorts down. That ass — full, high, twitching. Raw pink between the cheeks, still wet. I spat into my hand, spread it across the head of my cock, stepped in close, and drove forward.
He sobbed into the counter.
I clamped my hand over his mouth. “Quiet.”
He nodded under my palm, back arching. His hole sucked me in. Hot, stretched, begging for it. I gave him the first few strokes slow. Just enough to feel him adjust. Then I grabbed his hips and slammed into him hard enough to rattle the drawer handles.
His cry broke through my fingers.
I didn’t stop.
He tried to stay quiet. Tried to keep his face buried in his arm, but every thrust pushed another broken sound out of him. The kind of moan that came from too much. Nerves fried. Hole stretched past what it was used to.
I pulled out halfway and slapped the head against his hole. Wet sounds filled the kitchen. He was leaking around me already.
I pressed in slow this time, then slammed all the way to the base. His legs buckled.
“Don’t drop,” I said. “You want this? Stay up.”
He reached for the edge of the counter. Knuckles white. Sweat beading on his back. That little T-shirt rode up to his ribs. His ass bounced with every thrust, pink and glossy. My cock was coated.
I leaned over him. Fist tight in his hair. “He ever make you leak this much?”
He shook his head. Couldn’t speak. Just breathed through it, ass clenching around me like it was trying to hold me in.
I moved harder. No rhythm now — just force. Kept him pinned while I drove in again and again. His body stopped fighting it. Started sucking it in. Hole fluttering, open and raw.
“Look at you,” I growled. “This what you needed? A real fuck?”
His mouth opened. No words. Just a sob that turned into a gasp when I grabbed his cheeks and spread him wider. Hole pulsing. Lube and precum running down his thighs.
He came without touching himself.
Didn’t even notice at first. Just froze under me. Whole body shivering. Then a splash hit the cabinet door. Another hit the floor. His cock throbbed untouched between his legs.
I held him there. Still buried. Let him ride the waves while I watched his hole try to close around the stretch.
Then I pulled out and stroked once. Twice. Shot thick across his hole, let it drip between his cheeks. He whined.
I rubbed it in with two fingers. Slid them back inside. He jerked. Couldn’t take it anymore. The tears came then. Slow, wet, silent.
I kissed the back of his neck.
“You’re gonna walk back into his bed leaking me.”
His breath hitched. “Please… don’t tell him.”
I smiled. “Not if you come back for more.”
⸻
Thank you for reading. Please leave feedback if you like
If you want to read more of my filthy stories, go check out my profile page.
Read more stories about Logan here
