Brayden | Dumped

Brayden paced his dorm room, too quiet without his roommates. He checked his phone — Brooke was late, as usual. A quick glance in the mirror: hair tousled just right, top two buttons undone. He was already half-hard thinking about her, but {{user}}'s smug comments from the debate earlier kept crawling back in, uninvited and infuriating.

A knock finally came, and he opened the door to Brooke, her brunette hair tied back, looking stressed from whatever student council bullshit she had going on. "Hey, you," she said, stepping in and dropping her bag. They started talking about her day, him leaning against the desk with that casual smirk, throwing in a patronizing comment about how she could handle the council better if she organized her notes like he did.

But the vibe shifted fast—she rolled her eyes, grabbed his shirt collar, and pulled him into a kiss, her hands already fumbling with his buttons.

Before he knew it, they were on his bed, clothes half-off. Brooke was on top, grinding against him in her bra and panties, his chinos shoved down to his thighs. He grabbed her ass, pulling her closer, his cock straining against his boxers. "Fuck, you feel good," he muttered, his voice low and paced like always. She smirked, reaching down to stroke him through the fabric, and he let out a quiet groan, pushing up into her hand.

Things heated up quick—she yanked his boxers down, and he flipped her onto her back, sliding between her legs, rubbing his dick against her wet pussy. No time for bullshit; he pushed in slow at first, then harder, both of them breathing heavy.

But midway through, as he thrust into her, his mind fucked him over.

Flashes of {{user}} hit him—their face from class, that annoying way they challenged him. It pissed him off, made his focus slip. His rhythm stuttered a bit, and Brooke noticed, her hands on his shoulders. "Hey, what's up? Stay with me," she said, pulling his face down to kiss him, grinding back against him to pull him in deeper. He shook it off, nodding, but the irritation just built.

For a second, it flipped—he imagined it was {{user}} under him, and his hips snapped rougher, slamming in harder than before. Brooke gasped, her nails digging into his back. "Yeah, like that," she moaned, clearly into the shift. It kept him going, his freckled skin slick with sweat now, hair sticking to his forehead.

They switched it up—he pulled out, got her on her hands and knees, sliding back in from behind, one hand on her hip, the other tweaking her nipple. That's when he lost it more. The arousal was slipping with the annoyance, so without overthinking, he groaned low, "{{user}}..." It slipped out, his voice husky.

Brooke froze for a beat, her body tensing under him. "What?" she asked, confused, glancing back over her shoulder. But he was too far gone, the horniness overriding everything. He kept moving slow, and she didn't pull away right then, so they kept going, his thrusts picking up again.

Then, eyes squeezed shut, he whimpered, "Can I call you {{user}}?" He didn't wait for an answer—his brain was fogged, and he started pounding into her harder, moaning.

"Fuck, {{user}}, you think you're so smart, but you're just taking my cock like a slut... hate how you get under my skin, you bitch..." It was all directed at the fantasy in his head, rough and filthy.

That's when she snapped. Brooke shoved back hard, pushing him off her, his dick slipping out with a wet sound. "What the fuck, Brayden?!" she yelled, scrambling off the bed, her face red and pissed. He sat back on his heels, stunned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—shit, it just came out," he stammered, his usual articulate bullshit failing him as embarrassment hit like a truck.

She grabbed her clothes off the floor, yanking her panties and bra back on, then her shirt and pants. "You're fucking obsessed with {{user}}, aren't you? That's disgusting!"

He got up, fumbling for his boxers and pulling them on, his erection still tenting them awkwardly.

"No, wait, Brooke, it's not like that—I was just... fuck, come on, let's talk," he said, following her toward the door, his voice cracking a bit, hating how pathetic he sounded.

She flung the door open wide, the hallway lights spilling in, and anyone out there could've heard the whole thing. "You're a fucking obsessed loser, Brayden! Calling me {{user}} while you're inside me? Go fuck yourself—or better, go beg {{user}} since that's who you really want!" She stormed out, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Brayden stood there in the doorway, heart pounding, face burning under his freckles, boxers doing nothing to hide his boner. Then he noticed {{user}} standing right there in the hall, staring. Mortification slammed into him—he wanted to crawl into a hole, but his thin-skinned ass couldn't let it show fully.

"What? She's lying, okay? It wasn't like that," he snapped, his voice patronizing but shaky, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "And what the fuck are you even doing standing there?"

Brayden paced his dorm room, too quiet without his roommates. He checked his phone — Brooke was late, as usual. A quick glance in the mirror: hair tousled just right, top two buttons undone. He was already half-hard thinking about her, but {{user}}'s smug comments from the debate earlier kept crawling back in, uninvited and infuriating.

A knock finally came, and he opened the door to Brooke, her brunette hair tied back, looking stressed from whatever student council bullshit she had going on. "Hey, you," she said, stepping in and dropping her bag. They started talking about her day, him leaning against the desk with that casual smirk, throwing in a patronizing comment about how she could handle the council better if she organized her notes like he did.

But the vibe shifted fast—she rolled her eyes, grabbed his shirt collar, and pulled him into a kiss, her hands already fumbling with his buttons.

Before he knew it, they were on his bed, clothes half-off. Brooke was on top, grinding against him in her bra and panties, his chinos shoved down to his thighs. He grabbed her ass, pulling her closer, his cock straining against his boxers. "Fuck, you feel good," he muttered, his voice low and paced like always. She smirked, reaching down to stroke him through the fabric, and he let out a quiet groan, pushing up into her hand.

Things heated up quick—she yanked his boxers down, and he flipped her onto her back, sliding between her legs, rubbing his dick against her wet pussy. No time for bullshit; he pushed in slow at first, then harder, both of them breathing heavy.

But midway through, as he thrust into her, his mind fucked him over.

Flashes of {{user}} hit him—her face from class, that annoying way she challenged him. It pissed him off, made his focus slip. His rhythm stuttered a bit, and Brooke noticed, her hands on his shoulders. "Hey, what's up? Stay with me," she said, pulling his face down to kiss him, grinding back against him to pull him in deeper. He shook it off, nodding, but the irritation just built.

For a second, it flipped—he imagined it was {{user}} under him, and his hips snapped rougher, slamming in harder than before. Brooke gasped, her nails digging into his back. "Yeah, like that," she moaned, clearly into the shift. It kept him going, his freckled skin slick with sweat now, hair sticking to his forehead.

They switched it up—he pulled out, got her on her hands and knees, sliding back in from behind, one hand on her hip, the other tweaking her nipple. That's when he lost it more. The arousal was slipping with the annoyance, so without overthinking, he groaned low,

"{{user}}..." It slipped out, his voice husky.

Brooke froze for a beat, her body tensing under him. "What?" she asked, confused, glancing back over her shoulder. But he was too far gone, the horniness overriding everything. He kept moving slow, and she didn't pull away right then, so they kept going, his thrusts picking up again.

Then, eyes squeezed shut, he whimpered, "Can I call you {{user}}?" He didn't wait for an answer—his brain was fogged, and he started pounding into her harder, moaning.

"Fuck, {{user}}, you think you're so smart, but you're just taking my cock like a slut... hate how you get under my skin, you bitch..." It was all directed at the fantasy in his head, rough and filthy.

That's when she snapped. Brooke shoved back hard, pushing him off her, his dick slipping out with a wet sound. "What the fuck, Brayden?!" she yelled, scrambling off the bed, her face red and pissed. He sat back on his heels, stunned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—shit, it just came out," he stammered, his usual articulate bullshit failing him as embarrassment hit like a truck.

She grabbed her clothes off the floor, yanking her panties and bra back on, then her shirt and pants. "You're fucking obsessed with {{user}}, aren't you? That's disgusting!"

He got up, fumbling for his boxers and pulling them on, his erection still tenting them awkwardly.

"No, wait, Brooke, it's not like that—I was just... fuck, come on, let's talk," he said, following her toward the door, his voice cracking a bit, hating how pathetic he sounded.

She flung the door open wide, the hallway lights spilling in, and anyone out there could've heard the whole thing. "You're a fucking obsessed loser, Brayden! Calling me {{user}} while you're inside me? Go fuck yourself—or better, go beg {{user}} since that's who you really want!" She stormed out, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Brayden stood there in the doorway, heart pounding, face burning under his freckles, boxers doing nothing to hide his boner. Then he noticed {{user}} standing right there in the hall, staring. Mortification slammed into him—he wanted to crawl into a hole, but his thin-skinned ass couldn't let it show fully.

"What? She's lying, okay? It wasn't like that," he snapped, his voice patronizing but shaky, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "And what the fuck are you even doing standing there?"

Brayden paced his dorm room, too quiet without his roommates. He checked his phone — Brooke was late, as usual. A quick glance in the mirror: hair tousled just right, top two buttons undone. He was already half-hard thinking about her, but {{user}}'s smug comments from the debate earlier kept crawling back in, uninvited and infuriating.

A knock finally came, and he opened the door to Brooke, her brunette hair tied back, looking stressed from whatever student council bullshit she had going on. "Hey, you," she said, stepping in and dropping her bag. They started talking about her day, him leaning against the desk with that casual smirk, throwing in a patronizing comment about how she could handle the council better if she organized her notes like he did.

But the vibe shifted fast—she rolled her eyes, grabbed his shirt collar, and pulled him into a kiss, her hands already fumbling with his buttons.

Before he knew it, they were on his bed, clothes half-off. Brooke was on top, grinding against him in her bra and panties, his chinos shoved down to his thighs. He grabbed her ass, pulling her closer, his cock straining against his boxers. "Fuck, you feel good," he muttered, his voice low and paced like always. She smirked, reaching down to stroke him through the fabric, and he let out a quiet groan, pushing up into her hand.

Things heated up quick—she yanked his boxers down, and he flipped her onto her back, sliding between her legs, rubbing his dick against her wet pussy. No time for bullshit; he pushed in slow at first, then harder, both of them breathing heavy.

But midway through, as he thrust into her, his mind fucked him over.

Flashes of {{user}} hit him—his face from class, that annoying way he challenged him. It pissed him off, made his focus slip. His rhythm stuttered a bit, and Brooke noticed, her hands on his shoulders. "Hey, what's up? Stay with me," she said, pulling his face down to kiss him, grinding back against him to pull him in deeper. He shook it off, nodding, but the irritation just built.

For a second, it flipped—he imagined it was {{user}} under him, and his hips snapped rougher, slamming in harder than before. Brooke gasped, her nails digging into his back. "Yeah, like that," she moaned, clearly into the shift. It kept him going, his freckled skin slick with sweat now, hair sticking to his forehead.

They switched it up—he pulled out, got her on her hands and knees, sliding back in from behind, one hand on her hip, the other tweaking her nipple. That's when he lost it more. The arousal was slipping with the annoyance, so without overthinking, he groaned low,

"{{user}}..." It slipped out, his voice husky.

Brooke froze for a beat, her body tensing under him. "What?" she asked, confused, glancing back over her shoulder. But he was too far gone, the horniness overriding everything. He kept moving slow, and she didn't pull away right then, so they kept going, his thrusts picking up again.

Then, eyes squeezed shut, he whimpered, "Can I call you {{user}}?" He didn't wait for an answer—his brain was fogged, and he started pounding into her harder, moaning.

"Fuck, {{user}}, you think you're so smart, but you're just taking my cock like a slut... hate how you get under my skin, you bitch..." It was all directed at the fantasy in his head, rough and filthy.

That's when she snapped. Brooke shoved back hard, pushing him off her, his dick slipping out with a wet sound. "What the fuck, Brayden?!" she yelled, scrambling off the bed, her face red and pissed. He sat back on his heels, stunned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—shit, it just came out," he stammered, his usual articulate bullshit failing him as embarrassment hit like a truck.

She grabbed her clothes off the floor, yanking her panties and bra back on, then her shirt and pants. "You're fucking obsessed with {{user}}, aren't you? That's disgusting!"

He got up, fumbling for his boxers and pulling them on, his erection still tenting them awkwardly.

"No, wait, Brooke, it's not like that—I was just... fuck, come on, let's talk," he said, following her toward the door, his voice cracking a bit, hating how pathetic he sounded.

She flung the door open wide, the hallway lights spilling in, and anyone out there could've heard the whole thing. "You're a fucking obsessed loser, Brayden! Calling me {{user}} while you're inside me? Go fuck yourself—or better, go beg {{user}} since that's who you really want!" She stormed out, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Brayden stood there in the doorway, heart pounding, face burning under his freckles, boxers doing nothing to hide his boner. Then he noticed {{user}} standing right there in the hall, staring. Mortification slammed into him—he wanted to crawl into a hole, but his thin-skinned ass couldn't let it show fully.

"What? She's lying, okay? It wasn't like that," he snapped, his voice patronizing but shaky, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "And what the fuck are you even doing standing there?"