Straight Hung Gooner Stepbro

Everyone is 18.

**Chapter 1: Moving In**

I clocked his big dick the day he moved in. I was a horny teen that was turned on by a slight breeze and Brock was an athletic hunk two years my senior. His wavy, light brown hair covered his ears, and it was messy that day with some sweat. I was helpless to avoid staring when he sauntered past my room in his sweatpants carrying a big box in his muscular arms.

"Oh, hey," he said in his masculine voice when he stopped at my doorway. "Move-in day!"

I was just waking up, my skinny teen body naked under my sheets, my messy, black hair pressed into bed-head shape around my face. Our parents had decided to get married, and step one was them moving into our house since we had more space. I literally forgot it was going to be today. I sat up to be polite, my blanket falling down to my waist, and the first thing I saw from my bed was his hefty package in his pants. I was still waking up, so I didn't notice I was staring until he tilted his head, snapping me out of it.

"Hey," I said, "Cool. I'll come help in a minute."

He nodded, and just before he turned to go he glanced down to my crotch. "Be careful with that thing, you'll poke someone's eye out."

He was gone in a flash, and I thought about what he meant until I looked down and noticed I had an obscene erection tenting my blanket. I was red with embarrassment, but also had to chuckle at myself. What the fuck was I going to do with that stud living in the room next door?

I awoke that night from a sexy dream, and noticed I could hear something through the wall. His bed would've been immediately on the other side, and the thought occurred to me that he might be beating off. I wasn't sure if I was imagining things until the rhythmic shifting of his bed began to escalate, I rubbed my cock as I listened to him stroke, pause, resume stroking faster, pause again (to change the video on his phone?) and stroke again, until I heard the telltale quick and sporadic strokes of an impending orgasm. I finished into my standard cum rag and tossed it beside my bed, spent and ready to go back to sleep, when my phone buzzed.

It was a Snapchat notification from Brock.

Brock: What's up I'm bored

Me: Sleeping

Brock: Let's watch a movie

Me: Just have another wank

Brock: Shit how did you know

Me: I'm psychic

# --[]--

It became a regular thing for me to hear him jerking off. After school, again once or twice before bed. I don't know how his dick didn't fall off with how much he beat that thing.

It turned out he's a porn addict.

It had started small. Innocent, even. Brock had been living with us for a few weeks, and I'd already learned to expect the sounds of him jerking off at any time of day. It wasn't like he was subtle. The rhythmic creak of his bed, the occasional groan, the way he'd always turn his TV up a little louder when he was close--it was impossible to ignore. At first, it was just a distracting regularity that I had to avoid or else I too would end up jerking off all day. I'd put on headphones, turn up my own music, anything to drown out the sound. But then, one night, my teen hormones got the better of me.

I'd waited until I heard the telltale creak of his bed before creeping to the wall we shared. My ear pressed against the cool surface, I listened, my breath shallow, my heart racing. The sounds were muffled, but clear enough--the slick slide of skin on skin, the occasional hitch in his breathing, the soft, almost imperceptible moans. I'd never felt so turned on in my life. My hand drifted to my own cock, stroking in time with the rhythm I imagined on the other side of the wall. When I came, it was with a silent gasp, my entire body trembling.

After that, it became a routine. Every night, I'd wait for the sound of his bed creaking, then I'd press my ear to the wall and let my hand do the rest. I had become as addicted as he was.

# --[]--

The next chapter unfolded like a fever dream I couldn't wake up from. Soon, Brock's porn addiction escalated until it was no longer something he tried to hide. It was his entire personality. He'd sit at his desk with his laptop propped open, scrolling through endless videos, his big headphones on his ears and his boxers around his ankles, bare ass on his desk chair, stroking himself with a lazy, almost absentminded rhythm. I'd watch through the small window next to his door, and sometimes he even left the door ajar. He was like a hung, horny zombie. From the way he faced away from the door, I wasn't even sure if he would register that I was standing there.

At first, I'd just watch from the doorway, too nervous to step inside. It went on like that for a while, until one day--he invited me to join him.

He finally turned and looked at me. His eyes locked onto mine, and instead of shame, he smirked. I had just watched him release a squirt onto his abs, and he took one of his rare breaks from stroking himself.

"Hey, perv," he said jocularly. "You wanna wank too or just keep standing there like a creep?"

My face burned, but I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I sat on the edge of his bed, my eyes darting between the screen and the way his hand moved over his cock. It was massive--thick and veiny, with a head so swollen it looked like it could split me in two. I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He was built like a god, and I was just... me.

"Hand me the lotion," he said, nodding toward the nightstand. He always started wanking dry, and added lotion for the later wanks of the day.

I fumbled for the bottle, my hands shaking as I passed it to him. He poured a generous amount into his palm, then resumed stroking, his cock glistening under the harsh light of his desk lamp. His mouth hung open while he watched cumshot compilations autoplaying. He really liked large breasts, and girls getting rocked by giant cocks, matching his own large pink salami.

I was more intrigued by him than the porn. I pulled out my dick and he didn't acknowledge it, continuing his assault on his own. The only recognition I got was his comments on the girls in the video, until at one point, he needed something.

"Can you pick the next video?" he suddenly asked.

"Sure," I said, nervous. I clicked the next one that appeared to be his taste.

When it finished, he asked again. And then again. Eventually I realized my role in his addiction, and I started lining up videos for him without him asking. My cock ached from how weird and taboo this was, but I was happy with it.

After watching him cum twice more, I decided to go for it, and quickly massaged myself to orgasm. I left him to continue his goon sesh solo.

After that day, it became a regular thing. Brock would beckon me into his room, and I'd sit beside him, scrolling through porn videos on his laptop while he jerked himself for hours. There were two types of wank sessions I observed from him. Sometimes he would edge all day and blast himself with two loads in the evening, and other times he would produce multiple loads all day, starting with big loads, getting smaller in volume until just a few dribbles came out on his last nut. He'd pause occasionally, his breathing ragged, his cock twitching in his hand, before starting again. I was his enabler, feeding his addiction, and I didn't mind. There was something intoxicating about watching him lose himself in pleasure, knowing I was the one keeping it going.

One day, a few weeks into our newly shared habit, I flinched as I felt his hand grab my cheek while I was focused on the computer. I looked at him, but his eyes were still focused on the screen, tugging his thick hog. I waited to see what he wanted, when he suddenly pushed a thumb into my mouth. I didn't stop him, letting my mouth open slightly as he started rubbing my tongue. The taste was boy sweat and cum. My horny instincts took over, and I close my lips around his thumb and sucked it. He never looked at me, but started pushing his thumb in and out of my mouth, feeling my wet lips suck tightly on it. I watched a drop of pre-cum appear on his cock.

Suddenly, he moved his hand to the back of my head, and gently pulled my head down to his crotch. The aroma of his sweaty jock gooner balls and cock punched my brain. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching a girl give expert head to a monster cock, while I opened my mouth and accepted his own large member.

He kept his hand on the back of my head, his rhythm the same as when he jerked off. He started to groan like he was in pain, but I recognized it as his zombie noises when he's completely lost in his gooning sesh. I let him use me, breathing as best I could through my nose until he deposited his thick load into my mouth.

When I came off of it, he still didn't look at me, I wiped the tears from my red face, and clicked on the next video for him.

"Thanks, I owe you one," he said casually, while he returned to stroking himself, staying hard as usual.

Our new routine was shaping up in an interesting way.

"My brother is visiting from college next week by the way," he said, eyes still on the screen, one hand on his cock, the other reaching again for the back of my head.