13 comments/ 82579 views/ 42 favorites Addiction By: fieryjen The knowing smirk that appears on his face when he passes me in the hallway is almost too much. The way he makes me feel completely transparent, too easy to read in the split second my eyes meet his. I turn away, every time, barely supressing a shudder. I smile at my friends and pretend to be just as upbeat and cheerful as I was a moment ago, while at the same time, I feel as if he's reached out with a cold finger and touched my very soul. It chills me, reminding me of everything he stands for, of those dirty secrets that I have. We swore that we would never have any secrets from each other, my friends and I. I've told them about every crush I had, all those little indescretions a high school girl finds worthy of confessing. We still giggled at the mention of sex until our sophomore year, at which point it turned to expectant hushing and silence, and breathless waiting for an arousing or at least scandalous tale. Even now, none of us will admit to masturbating, and I can only take a guess at which of them actually do it. We turn and face the wall when we change after gym class, trying not to look at each other, or at least not to get caught doing it. If I brought up this secret, all the things I've done, that he has done to me, I don't dare imagine how they would react. ***** He is good at fueling the alienation, the growing doubts I have at fitting in with my friends. "Imagine if they saw you now," he teases me, massaging my clit with one hand, which almost makes my sore arms buckle. He's just laying there, amusing himself by watching me. I'm bent over backwards and on all fours, directly above him. His lubricated cock slowly slides further into my ass as I just don't find the strength anymore to hold myself up. "I love that slutty ass of yours," he tells me. "Imagine what they'd think of you if they knew how much you love a cock up your ass." Imagine is one of his favorite words. He has me imagine a lot of things, all to humiliate me. Asks me repeatedly what my parents, my grandparents or my friends would think of me if they saw me during all of the things he makes me do. With a groan, my body sinks down all the way, and I fully impale myself on his cock. It doesn't go down without repeated whimpering, because it's so damn painful. The friction, the feeling of almost being split in half, and most of all, that of weakness. The thought that my stretched out ass is mostly my own doing, that I could have prevented it by holding myself up for a longer time, cuts deep. He gives me a moment to compose myself, to breathe deeply and prepare for what's to come. When he thinks I'm ready, he grasps my hips and lifts my body up, deliberately slow. I close my eyes as I feel myself being pulled back, as he slams me down with all the force he can muster, and I scream, scream so hard as the pain hits me. First the pain, and then a wave of pleasure, drowning out most of the severe throbbing in my ass. My screams turn into sharp gasps, then pleading protests as I feel myself being lifted again. He doesn't care about my feelings, and he likes to do me roughly, so my pleas fall onto deaf ears and the second time he slams me down is even worse than the first. Searing pain shoots through me once more before it recedes, leaving me with tears in my eyes. But he just goes on. My body is his plaything, something to be used for his pleasure and not mine. His cock slides up and into me over and over again, leaving me with my eyes squeezed shut and my face flushed. "Tighter," he orders me with a gasp, and despite the discomfort, I obey. I squeeze and tighten my ass, making the pins-and-needles-feeling so much worse. He loves it. I can feel every single vein of his cock now, as he roughly uses me for his pleasure, as I am slammed down many more times. Just when I can see the lust in his face and I know he is really close, he raises his hips. The next thrust goes so damn deep inside me, hitting something quite wrongly, and I scream again as my face contorts in pain. He loves hurting me, loves when my eyes fill with tears and I beg him to stop. Two more deep thrusts that leave me choking and whimpering and begging, and I can feel his release fill me. He arches against me, pulling me down tightly so that not a single drop will miss. I know that he won't allow me to clean myself up, that he will send me home in a few minutes with my ass leaking and sore. It won't be the first time. ***** We all gasped whe we heard about anal sex for the first time. Of course, it was a rumor about the designated "school slut", who probably hasn't even done half the things I have. Allegedly, she had let a guy put his dick into the wrong hole, and we were scandalized when we heard about it, debating the issue in the girls' bathroom. We came to a concensus quickly – it was gross, and it was wrong, and the girl who had done it deserved her horrible reputation. We smeared her name onto the bathroom wall, adding a few colorful derogatory terms we deemed fitting. We giggled and smirked while we did it, all secure in the knowledge that we would never, ever sink to such a level. ***** He is sitting there in his usual position, leaning back comfortably, relaxed, arms crossed before him. He has this slightly bemused expression on his face as he looks at me expectantly. Because to him, this is amusing. The little slut on the other side of the room is one of his favorite entertainments, a welcome diversion, and so easy to use. I know that that is what he thinks of me, but it's much too late for me to care. I'm addicted to this, to what he makes me do and how he makes me feel. To the humiliation, to the orgasms and to the feeling of doing something dirty, socially unacceptable. There are a lot of things that I ordinarily would never do, or at least not in front of anyone else. Things that are dirty, nasty and slutty, and of course, he makes me do all of them. Sometimes I resist or protest for good measure, to pretend that those aren't wild turn-ons for me, but I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince. He knows exactly what I'm doing, of course, and I'm past the point of simply lying to myself. There was a time when I was able to do it. I told myself that I had no choice but to follow his orders, that he was an immoral bastard who was trying to corrupt me. The only problem with this idea, I realized at some point, was that I had always had the option of simply walking out the door. But I never did. And now he's sitting there again, in the position that has become so familiar to me. His merciless eyes are fixed on my body, and he watches as I take a few deep breaths to finish my task and force the 20 ounce pepsi bottle as far into my tight cunt as it will go. It is quite difficult, mostly because I shudder every time another part of my sensitive skin comes into contact with the chilled plastic. The bastard had the bottle in the freezer for a few minutes, I know that, and I have to pause occasionally to steady myself before pushing further. Very slowly, my pink lips close around the neck of the bottle, and I lean back and let out a relieved sigh at having done the feat. Through half closed eyes I can see him pumping his cock to a quick climax, his semen spurting out before him. I know what he expects of me now, and I get onto my knees, the liquid sloshing around the bottle inside me as I move. I crawl slowly, since movement hurts when I am accomodating something big, until I am in front of him. He grabs my hair and pushes my face down, making me lick his cum off the dark blue carpet until I have swallowed it all. I feel fuzz and hairs on my tongue, but I don't dare spit. Then he stands up and reaches behind me, grasping the neck of the bottle and pulling and pushing it, fucking my cunt with the cold thing. I'm wet, as always when he has his fun with me, so friction is not a problem, but the size of the bottle is just too much for me. He brings me to a very painful, quick climax this way, snickering dryly as I beg him to take the bottle out of me. My cunt is clenching it painfully, and I feel way too filled, unable to bear the object inside me any longer. He grabs my hands then, and ties them closely together and onto one leg of the couch. "You need to train your cunt muscles anyway," he tells me and then leaves me alone, slamming the door behind him, to deal with the plastic bottle that is painfully buried inside me. ***** I already know he doesn't care how much he hurts me. He has reached my limits, and crossed them. There is no "too much" for him. He didn't back down that one time, when he had me screaming my lungs out and crying hysterically for minutes at a time, struggling, biting and clawing to get away from him. He only adjusted his grip on my hair and continued to hold my body down, making it impossible for me to get away. All I could see through my blurred, teary eyes was the ceiling as he bent my head back and shoved his hand deeper into my cunt, burying it and rotating his wrist for more stimulation. His fist was pressing harder against the walls of my cunt than I could ever stand it, and I could feel every single one of his wristmuscles as he flexed them. He never stopped, not once listening to my begging, until my body went limp altogether. I was simply beyond pain, and I didn't have the will, nor the strength left to struggle. That's when he pulled his hand out of me, tossed me aside like a lifeless fucktoy, and wiped his hand on my hair. And then he gave me the sweetest kiss I had ever received. ***** He twirls the dildo in his hands, walking towards me slowly, taking in my red face, my cheeks burning in shame. I'm sitting on the hood of his car, naked, trying to cover myself as best as I can with my hands. But that isn't what he wants, of course. He wants me to be a slut for his friends, both of which are leaning against a tree, to spread my legs for them in the middle of this godforsaken part of the forest to which he has brought me. He slaps my thigh with the dildo, and his friends snicker as my legs part slowly. I shake, and I have to will myself to calm down. I wish he had blindfolded me, but of course that would be counterproductive. He wants me to suffer through whatever he has planned, knowing I am being watched by complete strangers. "You know what to do with this," he tells me as he presses the dildo into my hands. I just nod, and, looking down, place the tip of the toy against my red, puffed up pussy lips. He grabs my knees and pushes them apart further, until it hurts and then just a bit more, so his friends will be able to see every little thing. I feel weird when I see them grin, then I realize that my ass is leaking cum all over the place, onto the hood of his car, and a tiny stream starts to flow downwards, away from me. He is smirking as well as he steps away, telling me to get on with it because he doesn't have all day. I lower the dildo and bring it to the puddle between my legs, dipping the end into the cum. I need some lubrication. My pussy parts more easily when I push the dildo back against it, and the first inch slides right in. I use slight pressure to fit the next inch, trying to get comfortable with the toy inside me, but then he gets impatient and clears his throat. "Ram it up there, bitch, or I'll do it for you." I lower my eyes, feeling slightly panicked. My hand starts to shake as I grasp the end of the dildo tighter and grit my teeth, then relax my pussy and push the dildo all the way up inside me. It hurts and I have to close my eyes for a moment, but the pain passes quickly and I look up again. All three guys now have their cock in their hand, staring at me while stroking themselves. He stops for a moment and comes closer again, and my eyes go wide when I see another dildo in his hand. Oh, shit. "Three guesses where this one goes," he smiles and hands it to me. I stare at his face, wide-eyed, hoping for a sign that he isn't being serious, but of course he is. My hands shake as I lower the dildo, and I shiver when the tip touches my already sore rosebud. I press inward, and I groan in pain as the dildo starts to penetrate me, but it doesn't go very far at all. It can't, it's just too big. My lips quiver as I look up at him, certain that he already knows what I am about to tell him. "I... I c-can't." "Why not?" "It's too big." "Well, maybe you're just too small." He looks at me for a few seconds, waits until I realize the meaning behind his words. When I flinch, he walks closer again. His large hands grasp my thighs, then they slide lower until he is cupping my ass. He lifts me off the car slightly, pulls me towards him, and then I feel the mushroom-shaped head of his cock brushing against my thigh. I close my eyes as he starts to slide it inside me, but I can feel his warm breath on my face. I whince, although he goes in relatively easy, since this isn't the first time today. His lower abdomen makes contact with the dildo in my pussy, pushing it slightly further in as he starts to fuck my ass, fast. I lean my head back and moan quietly as the friction turns into pleasure, which in turn makes my clit pulse. I bring a hand down to stroke it, and he lets it happen, still intent on widening my ass as much as he can manage with his cock. Although my ass is burning and tingling with soreness, there's pleasure too, and I try to focus on it. With him, there's mostly just pain, and I need to take away pleasure whenever he lets me. It's not long before he erupts inside me. His orgasm is strangely anticlimatic, it's not the purpose of this exercise, and I feel soothed as his cum hits my insides. He makes sure that both of his friends get a good look at my stretched out ass before stepping away, and I know that I have no time to lose. My fingers close around the dildo once more and the only sound I make is a relieved sigh as it slides into my ass almost by itself. I lean back, trying not to look too glad this part of the torture is over, wondering what he has in store for me next. But he only stands there and looks at me, and I really wish I could read his face as easily as he can read mine. He reminds me of the way my father sometimes looks at me when I've done something to make him proud, but I know that I must be mistaken. ***** He's haunting me. He flashes through my mind every time my friends break out into silly giggles, every time someone praises me. I'm the good girl in school, the straight A student that sets an example. The one that always has her homework done, is never late for class. I know that this is half the reason why he enjoys making me his slut, because of my untarnished reputation, because of my neat, conservative appearance, because of the shy, innocent smile I greet people with as I walk along the hallways, books in hand. But the smile always fades before the last hour of the day, and my legs feel like lead as I take the last few steps towards English class. And then I enter the brightly lit classroom, eyes towards the floor, and he greets me with his usual, knowing smirk as he wishes me a good afternoon and collects my homework. "Good afternoon, Mr Grant," I mumble, and slink away to my seat, hoping that no one will notice how much my knees tremble. And I know that this day will be like any other, that I will listen to him lecture, watch the girl to the right at me stare at him with a starry-eyed look, listen to his jokes and the class's laughter. It is only I who knows of his dark side. And as much as it pains me to admit my addiction to him, I can't deny it, because that single look he gives me at the end of class tells me that he expects me to show up at his doorstep today like I do every day. And I know that I will. Addiction "Addiction" The second installment of The Brothercest Series by Justin Tyler. * "... and I want you to promise me you'll stay away from the goddamn Viper Room," Trey droned on. "You know what happened the last two times you went there without me to look after you. I can't bail your pretty ass out of trouble when I'm on the opposite coast, Harley." A long silence followed Trey's admonishment. "Harley?" "Yes, Trey?" Harley replied curtly. "Promise me?" Harley sighed. "If it makes you feel better." "That's my baby," Trey responded, his killer smile obvious in the tone of his voice. "I'll see you Monday night. Love you." "Love you too, Trey." Harley snapped the clamshell phone closed. Looking down at the sidewalk, he shook his head in disgust. He peered up, squinting at the bright, garish neon lights above the door of the West Hollywood establishment. Harley took a deep breath to shake off the unpleasant feeling that the conversation with his brother had left him with. He nodded politely at the doorman, stomped out his cigarette, and entered Johnny Depp's Viper Room. --- They were going at it - again. Fast, furious, and frantic, as always with Harley on his knees, his slim fingers clutching white-knuckled at the Ralph Lauren sheets. Trey's warm hand rested gently on his younger brother's sweaty spine, just above the pretty small of his back: not to still the boy or to hold him down, but simply to let him know that there was a person attached to the huge, hard thing sawing repeatedly in and out of his body. Trey's breath hitched in his throat as he watched Harley's back arch, a thing of beauty in itself. Harley added insult to the visual injury by tossing his head back in genuine ecstasy, a motion that had become his trademark when he fucked, a movement usually seen only in porn videos, forced and fake. There was nothing forced or fake when it came to Harley and sex, at least not where his older brother was concerned. Trey came violently as he always did, loud and nasty and altogether fabulous, as much from the illicit thought that it was his own brother he was fucking as from any physical sensation associated with the act. With just enough neurons left firing in his lust-melted brain to remember that Harley might need a little assistance, Trey leaned over his brother, pressing his sweat-drenched chest against Harley's glistening back. He fumbled beneath Harley, grasping the boy's impossibly hard cock to give him the few strokes necessary to finish him off. A strangled, primal sound deep in Harley's throat announced his orgasm, and the thick, hot, wonderful white stuff spurted out of his cock to coat his brother's hand and stain the designer sheets beneath him. Harley's legs twitched and his knees buckled, collapsing him weak and breathless onto the mattress. Trey tumbled down with him, heavy on Harley's back but the younger man not minding terribly because his brother's dick was still buried deep inside of him. Trey raised his hand, wet and sticky with his brother's semen, and lifted it to his own mouth... Trey awoke with a start in his Manhattan hotel suite, his heart pounding and sweat covering his body, lungs screaming for air. He was sporting an erection so stiff that it was actually painful; he wrapped his fingers tightly around his cock and began to stroke, slowly at first to relieve the pressure gradually, his eyes fluttering closed. He thought about the dream that had awakened him in this state, fisting himself with increasing speed and friction. Trey thought about how pretty his movie star brother always is when he's fucking, how tight and hot and so fucking perfect, knowing that he'd get to do what he'd dreamt for real tonight when he returned home to Los Angeles. A hundred different scenarios flashed through Trey's mind like a carnal PowerPoint presentation, all of them featuring his younger brother's pretty ass being fucked into the next time zone. Trey spread his thighs apart, reaching down to squeeze his tightening balls as he mercilessly jacked himself off. With a moan that sounded suspiciously like his brother's name, Trey came, his orgasm spraying weeks' worth of pent up come over his chest and belly. Just like he'd been doing for months now, Trey cried after he came - always in private - his body spent, and his mind searing with guilt. This obsession with his baby brother had gotten well out of control. --- Things had not gone spectacularly well for Harley since Trey's return from New York a week earlier. His first problem was sheer exhaustion. The actor had recently wrapped his latest film and had been hitting the party circuit pretty damn hard since, made easier and perhaps even necessary by virtue of Trey's long absence. Harley had gotten hammered more times than he could count during Trey's six-week stay back east. His massive consumption of alcohol over that month and a half had served an important purpose: it had dulled the pain of missing Trey so desperately. Harley's other problem was Trey himself. Since their relationship had evolved six months earlier from that of being merely brothers into something considerably more complicated, Harley had become increasingly sensitive to Trey's over-protectiveness and sheltering. He didn't want to hurt his brother by bluntly telling him to back the fuck off, but Harley was feeling fairly smothered by Trey's doting and obvious condescension. He was twenty-four years old, and his older brother was suddenly treating him like a child incapable of tying his own shoelaces. Harley was rapidly becoming resentful of Trey, and he liked that feeling even less than the incest-spawned guilt that had been his constant companion at the start of this. Harley sat at the table on the deck, patiently waiting for Trey to join him for breakfast. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs of runaway thoughts weaving through his mind. They had rented the large house in the Hollywood Hills less than three weeks after they'd first slept together. There was simply no question about them living apart after that first night, but it had taken them that long to find just the right place. With them behaving like all new lovers do, unable to keep their hands and other body parts off of each other, they needed a place that was private, where you didn't mind being at home for long stretches. This house had fit the bill perfectly. Harley had decided that he would talk to Trey today over breakfast; he couldn't go on like this, feeling constantly coddled and criticized. He'd gotten out of bed early, well before the sun had risen over the California coast. He was on his fourth cup of coffee and ninth cigarette when he finally heard Trey padding through the kitchen. Harley stood and pushed in his chair, taking a deep breath to ready himself. As he walked across the expansive deck to the French doors, he ran through the speech he'd been endlessly rehearsing for the past week. He didn't want to appear angry or upset to Trey, so he'd carefully scripted what he wanted - needed - to say to his brother. Trey was standing at the kitchen's L-shaped island when Harley entered the room, and the younger man sucked in his breath at the sight of his sibling. His heart suddenly threatened to punch a hole through his chest. My God, he's so fucking beautiful first thing in the morning, Harley thought. Trey was wearing a pair of old, soft, grey sweat shorts - and that was it. His hair was all askew, Trey not having bothered to run a comb through it yet, which Harley found utterly charming. The younger man adored Trey's body, tall and athletically slim with just the perfect degree of taut, rippling muscle beneath smooth, tanned skin. Harley exhaled slowly, blinking and swallowing hard, remembering that he needed to talk to his brother about something important. All he really wanted to do at the moment was to throw Trey to the ceramic tile floor and fuck the shit out of him. "'Morning, pretty baby," Trey smiled. Harley grimaced - the 'pretty' thing was a part of all this and had been nagging at him, mainly because it had the effect of making him feel even more girly than he already did on the inside. It would have been so easy for Harley to become a flaming effeminate, but he couldn't let the fact that he was gay become public knowledge, much less the fact that he was actually quite the princess. He knew that Trey wasn't trying to hurt him intentionally; there was no way for his older brother to know how belittling his attitude and actions were being perceived. Harley had to tell him, regardless of how it might hurt. "Hey, baby brother," Trey said softly, noticing the look clouding his brother's face, "what's the matter?" Trey reached over to cup Harley's cheek, but the younger man backed quickly away. "I... I need to talk to you, Trey. There's something that's been bugging me lately, and I need to get it off my chest and out in the open." "Fair enough," Trey acknowledged, "but hold that thought. I brought you a present, and I can't wait another second to give it to you. It'll make you feel better, I promise." Harley sighed, slapping his arms dejectedly down at his sides. Trey was famous for using stall tactics when it came to discussing his feelings, and Harley assumed that this was yet another demonstration. He smiled wanly and nodded for his older brother to proceed. Trey grinned happily at Harley, then bounded out of the kitchen. He returned moments later with a package, gift wrapped in blue paper and white bows and ribbons, and tucked securely under his arm. Stopping in front of Harley and smiling brightly, Trey offered him the gift. Harley wearily accepted the present and began the task of unwrapping it. Trey spoke excitedly while he watched Harley remove the ribbons. "I've been looking for this for months," Trey gushed. "I know the original will always be your favorite, but it's gotten so damn ratty looking. I want you to always look your best when you're out in public. Just don't wear it all the time, okay?" Harley rolled his eyes at the comment as he lifted the lid off the box. Inside, hidden under layers of tissue paper, was a brand new, exact duplicate of his favorite article of clothing: the dark purple, oversized polo shirt that the press ridiculed because he wore it so often. So that's what I've been reduced to, Harley seethed inwardly, he doesn't even think I'm fucking capable of dressing myself. Harley angrily threw the box to the floor, shirt and all. His face flushed crimson and his blue eyes blazed. "You treat me like a fucking child, Trey! I can't take this anymore!" Harley fumed. He kicked at the box, sending it skittering across the tile floor, storming out of the kitchen to leave a stunned Trey in his wake. The older man hesitated before following, shocked at his brother's angry, emotional outburst. "Harley!" Trey shouted, finally moving and breaking into a jog. He called up from the foot of the spiral staircase. "Please, talk to me! Whatever you think I've done, I'm sorry!" Trey took the twisted staircase three steps at a time, finally catching up to Harley at the doorway to the master bedroom, the room that they secretly shared. As Harley bolted into the suite, Trey grabbed him by the wrist, pulling on his arm to spin him around. "Get the fuck off me!" Harley shrieked. He yanked his arm back roughly to dislodge Trey's grip on his wrist. "Just leave me the fuck alone!" Harley's face was blood red and his breathing came in short, panting bursts. Trey had witnessed his brother's temper before but he'd never seen him like this, in a full blown fit of rage. "Harley, please listen..." Trey began. "No, you listen!" Harley interrupted. "I am so fucking tired of this I can't even see straight! 'Harley, do this'," the younger brother said mockingly, "'Harley, don't do that'... 'Harley, don't drive so fast'...'Harley, don't go to that club'... "Harley, you need to dress better'... 'Harley, don't smoke so much'... Harley, Harley, Harley! You've been treating me like a fucking infant, Trey, and I've had it! Enough already!" Trey hung his head, resting his chin on his chest. With his hands on his hips, he shifted his gaze from his irate brother down to the more forgiving carpet. Without raising his eyes, he nodded slowly, acknowledging his brother's accusations. "You're right," Trey whispered, "you're absolutely right. I'm truly sorry, Harley." He looked up at last, locking his gaze on Harley's Bombay Sapphire gin-colored eyes. "It's only because I love you so fucking much." Trey didn't wear his heart on his sleeve like his brother, so it surprised Harley when he noticed the single, fat tear creating a glistening trail down Trey's cheek. Harley's expression softened slightly, his emotions toning down from thoroughly enraged to merely pissed off. "You don't have any idea what it does to me when you treat me like that, Trey. I've got enough fucking self-esteem issues as it is. I don't need you making me feel incompetent on top of everything else. It hurts." "Aw, baby," Trey sighed, taking a step closer to Harley and resting a hand on the boy's hip. "I didn't realize I was upsetting you. I had no idea, honestly. You know I'd never do anything to intentionally hurt you. I love you." Trey massaged the sharp hip beneath his fingertips. Harley reacted to the touch by closing his eyes and audibly sighing, leaning forward slightly to rest his chin on Trey's shoulder. "I know, Trey. And I love you. Please, can you just try to remember that I'm a grown-up too, alright?" Trey's other hand brushed up Harley's flat stomach, skirting the smooth chest, sliding up his shoulder to lightly grip the back of the boy's neck, tickled by honey-gold curls. "I'm so sorry, baby," Trey soothed, "I'll try to do better, I promise. Still love me?" Harley exhaled and smiled. "Completely." --- It wasn't so fast, furious, or frantic this time, more like actually making love than just fucking for sport. Harley lay on his back, basking in Trey's presence as the man kissed his way down his chest. Trey stopped briefly, lightly biting at a nipple and grinning as he felt the boy shiver from it. He licked at the indentations between Harley's ribs, kissing his way further down to his brother's navel, dipping his tongue inside of the crevice and smiling again as a soft moan greeted his ears in response. Trey washed his tongue over Harley's flat, muscled tummy, enjoying the feel and the taste of the smooth, hairless skin of the boy wriggling sensually beneath him. Harley was hard, harder than Trey had ever felt him before. Trey took the swollen head of Harley's cock into his warm, wet mouth, swabbing at the slit with his tongue as he began to slowly suck. Harley whimpered, his hips rolling gently, reaching down to run his hands through his brother's bed-tousled, light brown hair. Trey teased at Harley's cock for long, languorous minutes, licking up the underside of the shaft, taking him fully into his mouth for only a second now and again, sucking and stroking. He kissed his way back up Harley's lithe body, wrapping his arms around the boy and pulling him in ever closer. Harley nuzzled his head into Trey's shoulder and they just lay there, quietly enjoying their lovers' embrace. They were both erect, their hard cocks poking each other uncomfortably in their stomachs as they fiercely held onto each other. "Want you..." Harley moaned into Trey's ear, "want you so damn bad..." "Umm, baby," Trey whispered breathily, "want you too... need you... want to fuck you..." "Uh uh," Harley grunted, "I want to fuck you this time." He took Trey's earlobe into his mouth and nipped at it for emphasis. This was new. Trey wasn't sure he was too thrilled about it, either. He looked at Harley's face and thought about everything his brother had said and, oh hell, Trey admitted to himself that he could deny the boy nothing. Harley pushed at Trey's hip, urging his brother to crawl off of him. He did, and as Harley sat up Trey turned, placing his hands and knees dutifully on the mattress. Harley took his brother by the shoulders, pushing him down and then gently guiding him onto his back. Trey looked puzzled as his younger brother knelt between his legs, soft hands petting delicately up the insides of his thighs. Harley looked at his brother with smoldering eyes. "I want to be able to see your face," he explained quietly. "I want to look into your eyes while I'm fucking you. You never look at me." Trey rested his hands on Harley's pale, slender forearms, shaking his head. "I can't do it, Harley. This is so wrong on so many levels, and I'm having a difficult time processing it. If I look into your eyes while we're fucking, I'm so afraid I'll get scared and run away. And as much as this is so very, very wrong, I don't want it to stop. Not now, not ever. I simply couldn't bear it. I'm addicted to you, baby brother." "This isn't just fucking, Trey, at least it's not for me. I love you. I love you as my brother, as my best friend, and so much more, so much deeper than that. Like lovers do - people in love. Jesus, Trey, maybe it's my feminine side showing through again, but I really do love you like that - so much so that the thought crossed my mind once that... ah shit... I want to have fucking babies with this guy!" Trey grinned and laughed heartily. "Now that would be wrong. Suspending biological impossibility for a moment, I wouldn't want to risk having two-headed, three-eyed babies with tails and webbed feet." "Was that an incest joke I just heard?" Harley teased with a cocked eyebrow and a warm smile. "Maybe you're loosening up just a bit after all." Trey wrinkled up his nose and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe." Harley kissed Trey on the cheek, leaning over him and reaching for the blue plastic bottle of lube perched on the night table. He rocked back on his knees, twisting the cap on the bottle and then squirting a liberal amount of the slippery fluid into his other hand. Putting the bottle down, he rubbed his hands together quickly, distributing the lube and warming it up at the same time. Stroking one lubed hand over his own cock, Harley slipped his other slicked hand between Trey's legs, urging them apart with gentle prods. "Bend your knees," Harley instructed in a low, raspy voice. Trey complied. Harley slid his hand into the cleft of Trey's ass, his index finger quickly finding the entrance. Trey's entire body tensed up; he'd never bottomed before, and he was scared to death. Harley leaned his head closer to Trey's as his finger breached the firm ring of muscle, slipping in past the first knuckle. "God, you're so smooth... so tight," he gasped. "It's okay... I promise, I won't hurt you, Trey... want to make it so good for you..." Trey whimpered, both the feeling of Harley's slicked up finger in his ass and the boy's words getting to him. "Umm," Harley moaned, sensing and feeling that his brother was beginning to relax, "just enjoy it, Trey. I'll make it good for you, baby, so good... just relax..." He introduced another finger, gently stretching Trey's virgin hole before adding a third. When he was satisfied with his progress Harley removed his fingers; Trey mewled at the sudden emptiness. Harley grabbed the lube and squirted it directly on his own stiff cock, somewhat enjoying the shock of cold wetness against his feverishly hot skin. After a few strokes to shore up his erection, Harley grasped Trey's legs just below the knees, parting his legs a bit further to gain access. With one hand guiding his cock he pressed the velvety head of it against Trey's opening, pushing just enough to slip past the barrier muscle. Trey groaned, a bit from pain but mostly from pleasure now, closing his eyes. Addiction I stare at the door in front of me, hand clenched into a fist at my side as I debate turning around and leaving. I could pretend I'd never caved like this, pretend I'd never stood staring at the wooden grains and brass knocker. Who am I kidding? I couldn't do that. Not again. I knock, ignoring the hoop of metal affixed to the door, and step back. Lip caught between my teeth I hold my hands together in front of me, trying to keep them from shaking. Maybe he's not home, I hope. That would be a blessing. A sign that there is indeed some benevolent spirit watching out for me. No such luck, the door opens and he's there, looking at me with some mix of shock and amusement registering in his face. That charming smile and he steps aside, no questions asked "Come on in." and I do. I walk past him, eyes on the ground as I pull my shoes off in his front hall and leave them neatly next to his. It takes a moment but I muster up the courage to look at him and open my mouth to speak -- then close it, open it again. The words aren't coming, I had expected them to be there but they're not. He covers for me though "Tea?" he asks, walking around me and towards the kitchen. I follow "Coffee, if you have..." I almost stutter, but manage to keep some form of composure. A grand accomplishment in my eyes. I catch the ghost like reflection of myself in the dark windows of his kitchen and just stare for a moment. I'm pale, I can practically see myself shaking, my hair's a mess and my eyes... darting nervously about now, taking in familiar surroundings and picking up on subtle changes. "Sugar and cream still?" his voice snaps me out of my daze and I look at him, taking a second to register the question. "Yes, less sugar though." I murmur, trying in vain to make my hair look presentable. I take the soon offered mug in hand and hold it tightly, staring into the steaming liquid. "I- I don't know what I'm doing here." Yes I do. "I just..." my eyes raise to meet his "I don't know." He knows too. He doesn't have to say anything and I know it. I watch him standing across from me, on the other side of the kitchen. When was the last time we gave each other so much space while in the same room? Never. Not even when we met. This was a mistake. "This was a mistake. I'm sorry. I should go." I put the mug down on the counter and turn to leave. I only get two steps before his hand's on my shoulder and I know I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight. The touch of his palm on my bare shoulder transports me back, when's the last time I'd felt his touch? Not that last time when we'd realized what we'd become to one another. What he did to me was my drug, what I let him do to me was his. And I was the junkie who had just broken down first. Shown up at his doorstep looking for a fix; the doorstep of the only dealer who knew exactly what I needed and wanted. "Stay." One word. One word and I know I'm stuck here. One word and I'm calm again. One word and I'm his again, at least for tonight. "We both know why you're here," he whispers in my ear, still standing behind me with that paralyzing hand on my shoulder "and it's ok. This time" Sometimes change is palpable, the change that took place when he moved away from me for example. The change of mood within the room was as tangible as the chair on my left. I know the rules as well as if I were taught them yesterday. I'll always know these rules. He leaves the room and I stay standing there, staring at the cream coloured tiles of his kitchen floor and waiting. I lose track of how long I'm standing there before he returns to his position behind me. Leather and metal wrap around my throat and with a click they rest. It's heavier than I remember it being but it still feels right. Another clip and there's a tug at the collar. "Come." Do I have any other choice? I follow him down the stairs to his basement and when he tells me to stop, I stop. When he tells me to strip, I strip down to nothing, until I'm standing there with only the collar around my neck, the leash hanging between my breasts and the glint of silver through my nipples. Gaze ever on the ground by my feet I see his hand reach over to flick at one of the hoops "These are new." Am I to answer? "When did you get them?" Yes. "Three months ago, Master." is the reply. I can practically hear the smirk in his voice in his next word. "Kneel." And I do. Because tonight, just for tonight, I'm his again. The floor beneath my knees is cold, smooth, hard and comforting. The chain hanging heavily from my collar is the same. Hands together behind my back, shoulders high and straight, head bowed, eyes on the ground and ears open, trying to catch some hint of what's in store for me. A shadow falls over me and I know it's almost time, my heart had been pounding in anticipation and now I'm shocked to find it can beat even faster. "Look at me." So I do, looking up at the masked face of a giant; a man who towers head and shoulders above me when I'm standing my tallest. "Do you trust me?" Could I be here if I didn't? "Yes, Master." And I know that those will be the last words that I'll speak for sometime and I know that this view will be the last I see for some time because now he's bending down, a blindfold in one hand and a ball gag in the other. And I'm excited, and I'm a little scared, and I'm ready. Blind and mute I stumble as he pulls me to my feet with the leash. I nearly fall as he moves me across the room. I don't know what's in store for me and I won't have any hints until it starts. It starts. He removes the chain and then binds my wrists together in front of me and I know the look on his face even without being able to see it. Concentration will be creasing his forehead and pressing his lips tight, anticipation will have his eyes gleaming and cheeks rosy and when the binding is finished and my arms are being held out in front of me by something I cannot see anticipation will be replaced by excitement and concentration by determination. A breath of air brushes past my naked form as he moves away from me, I can feel the goose bumps rise on the skin of my arms and over my stomach and then... Then my arms begin to rise and a shiver runs down my spine. I know what's going on now! I can hear the whirring of machinery as my arms are stretched high above my head, lifting my heels off of the ground. And then it stops. Everything stops. There's no sound in the room, no hint of movement. More waiting. Waiting is even more torturous then what I'm sure he has planned for me but waiting is part of the fun. So I remain there, unmoving, half hanging from my arms and half supporting myself on the balls of my feet until he's ready. I don't know how long I've been waiting there, I have no idea what he's doing during this time. For all I know, he's sitting comfortably, doing a crossword puzzle and waiting for any sign of weakness. I wouldn't be surprised. My legs are shaking from the effort, my shoulders ache from the strain and it's all I can do to keep myself from drooling -- so far I've been doing well. I have the time to mentally assess what it is I've done tonight and what else I'll do tonight. Time to contemplate the months I've just undone with one stupid knock. Time to wonder what's coming tonight, tomorrow, next month, if I'll have the resolve to stay away; to quit for good. I hear him approaching me, quiet footsteps that sound so loud after the silence. Each hushed sound makes my stomach flip and sink in a way that's more pleasant than uncomfortable until I think I'll be sick from this fervent feeling he's building within me. He's circling me as if I'm his prey, planning his course of action and how to attack most efficiently. He's toying with me, mocking me, studying me. I can picture his gaze studying my stretched out curves and twitching muscles. Closer and closer and then he's beside me, no longer pacing. I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck, each gentle draft sending shivers over my entire body. And another warmth, a different warmth right above my breast. Familiar but I can't place it, I know I should be able to but it's eluding me like a word stuck on the tip of my tongue. I gasp around the bright red ball between my lips as something drops onto my chest, it's hot, burning, liquid, and then it's cooling down, I can feel it grow harder. Wax. Falling from a shorter distance then I would've chosen, but he's making my decisions for me tonight. I hear his grunt of disapproval at the muffled gasp but he lets it slide... This time. Drip after drip of molten wax caresses my breasts, some splattering as they land, others sliding down my cleavage to my stomach or grazing over my sensitive nipples. I have a mental image of my pale skin marred red from the heat with white wax cooling into a shell as each drop attaches to the one next to it. For every jump, gasp and squeal that I repress as the wax hits my bared skin, a jolt rushes through my nervous system. My cheeks are no doubt red, my nipples like pebbles, my breathing is growing heavier as I grow more excited -- I can feel the hard wax crack with every rise and fall of my chest. Each shock is felt right between my legs, I'm sure I must be soaked by now... This pain rocks through my body like pleasure until I can barely remember my own name and then he takes it away, I continue to await the next drop of wax but it doesn't come. He's walking away. I want to cry out for more but I can't, it's not the gag that stops me but the fact that I'm back in my old role. His little slut for pain, and I know there will be more if I'm a good girl. If I behave and play by his rules I'll be rewarded. He's not gone for long enough for me to recover, not long enough for my legs to stop shaking or my mind to stop reeling. Just long enough for me to work myself up even more, mind scrolling through the endless possibilities of what's to come because I have a sneaking suspicion that we're not nearly done here. I'm picturing the hours I've spent in this room in the past in rapid succession -- one experience to the next so fast that they're a blur of potential activities. A list so long that we could spend days getting through it and there's still more... There's always more. His hands are on me for the first time since I stepped through his front door and I feel each brush of his fingertips more intensely then I've ever felt anything. It's nothing, but the butterfly light touches send electricity shooting through me and raise every hair on my body. It take all the self control I have too keep myself from pressing my breasts into his hands as he slowly peels the wax from my chest. Piece by piece it falls around my feet, striking my stomach, knees and toes on the way down but all I'm aware of is how it pulls at my skin and how he's being so careful to barely touch me. Extremely frustrating, but I think that's the point. No, I know that's the point. Within minutes I'm free of my wax armor, painfully short minutes. I'm torn. I want him to touch me with the tenderness he was just using; I want him to hurt me as much as he can. I want it all. It doesn't matter what I think I want; I'll want whatever he gives me. A brief touch of cool metal to my shoulder is all the warning I get before the point of a knife scratches down by spine. It's light enough that I know I'm not being cut, but hard enough that I'm arching my back in reaction: Half moving away from the blade, half into the tip -- my body as conflicted as my mind as to what I want from him. "Stay still" he growls and I struggle to obey, trying not to flinch as the utensil digs past my skin and I can feel it slicing a hot trail across the top of my shoulders. Behind the blindfold my eyes are squeezed shut and if it were possible, my jaw would be clenched. I can feel blood run down my back and realize just how deep he cut me. I relish in the feeling, concentrating on the warmth trickling downwards and then on the warmth moving upwards along the same path... His tongue. If it was what he wanted, I could've cum right then. I'm expecting more. I'm hoping for more. But I don't get it, in fact, I can hear him place knife down so clearly that I know he wanted me to hear it. A steady stream of drool has been falling onto my chest for a while now, warm and sticky until it dries to cool. It's embarrassing how I can't control it, how my chin is slick and dripping. And then I'm given back the control, the gag undone and it falls to the ground, rolling into my aching feet. I work my jaw, trying to ease the discomfort that throbs in every muscle of my face. The thing about blindfolds is that you can't see what's coming, even if it's coming straight for you. I didn't see the kiss coming until is lips were on mine, his tongue in my mouth. Just long enough for me to taste my own blood but not long enough to satiate my desire for more. I whimper in my disappointment and immediately know I've made a mistake. Rule 3 -- don't make a sound without permission. And I didn't have permission. I broke a rule and I'll be punished. When we started I once broke a rule on purpose, in the mood for pain... He gave me more than I could handle, just crossing that line that turned my pain from pleasure to actual pain. I never tried again but today I slipped and the whistle of the crop whipping through the air hits my ears at the same time as the crop itself hits my ass. It stings like a bitch. "Did." another strike, crossing over the first, but I've braced for it this time. "I." this one falls on my lower back. "Say." the back of my left thigh burns like he's using a branding iron. "You." the right thigh feels the same. "Could." upper back, just missing the cut made mere minutes ago. "Make. A. Fucking. Sound?" Four more in quick succession fall across my thighs and ass and the fabric of the blindfold soaks up a tear I can't hold back. And my jaw is clenched as tight as I can bear. "I asked you," my right nipple feels like it's been cut off -- except I'm so acutely aware of the pain there that I know it hasn't been. "a question." and the left now. "No, Sir, you didn't." I reply weakly, my voice trembling from the agony and the equally unbearable arousal. "That's right. I didn't." I can hear in his voice that my answer's enough. That my punishment has ended. The crop falls again and again over my chest, stomach, hips, back, ass and thighs at just the right speed and with just the right strength behind it that I can feel each blow resonate through every part of my body - the pain turning to ecstasy as is flows through me. Before he's done I can taste blood again, my teeth have gone into my lower lip in an effort not to make a sound. Sweat and blood trickle over the welts on my back, sweat and more run down my quivering legs. All I know now is that this is torture and I love it. My name, his, our location, any sense of time - all are drowned out by the lust I've found in the pain he's causing me. The crop hits me across my ass one last time before I hear it hit the floor. He's in front of me now, I can feel him there even though I can't see him and can't hear him. He's not touching me but I know. Know he's watching as my chest rises and falls rapidly, as my cheeks flush with the imagined feel of his eyes sweeping over my naked body. Know that he's watching as my pussy twitches in need, even if he can't see it. His tongue brushes over my torn lip before he claims my mouth. Only his lips and tongue touch me and even that is ecstasy like I've never felt before in my life. His hands brush against my hips and then press against my bruised ass, fingers digging into a welt he'd left behind. My self restraint escapes me and I scream into the room, listening to the sound echo around his dungeon. "You don't learn very well, do you?" he murmurs, sounding so amused that my heart pounds even harder in fear of what my punishment will be this time. Before I have time to respond to him, his lips are crushed against mine again and his fingers are exploring the welt. Next thing I know my feet are off the ground and the blindfold is soaking up the tears that escape my clenched eyelids. His touch on the wound was painful; with gravity helping... it's nearly unbearable. Without thinking of the consequences I wrap my legs around him only to be pulled close. I can feel how hard he is, his cock pressed against my cunt is such a tease. There are no consequences, I may be hanging from his ceiling by my wrists and I may be blindfolded but we're equals now. Equal in our hunger for the other's body: Equal in our need for release. Power games are behind us for the time being as he tries to restrain himself and enter me slowly. My restraint is only forced by metal and leather right now -- his restraint is out the metaphorical window. We both moan equal moans of carnal delight as he comes to rest deep within me. His mouth brushes against the skin where my shoulder meets my neck, teeth, tongue and lips traveling slowly upwards until it claims my own. One slow, sensual, kiss, lingering for a few seconds of eternity before he sucks my lower lip between his briefly. I return the favour, catching lip between teeth and basking in his moan as I bite down hard enough to make sure he's felt it. I remember that moan. I love that moan. I need more. I rock my hips towards him and he takes the cue, setting into a pace that has the chains above me swinging. At first it's all I can do to keep from throwing my head back and screaming into the room and then, I stop trying. I cry out and listen to the echoes of my pleasure echoed by his ringing throughout his dungeon. As he thrusts in and out of me, I forget why I stayed away so long and remember why we were together in the first place. I'm still so worked up that it only takes seconds for me to cum, grabbing at the cool metal above me as I shake, the teeth digging into my shoulder only making it that much more powerful. His lips find mine once again and we're overcome. This is nothing more than animalistic fucking, getting one another off and drinking all the gratification we can out of the other. It's intense and there's no other word for it. There's no pace anymore, just the a-rhythmic dance of two bodies straining towards release, he tears his mouth from mine to breathe heavily past my ear. Each grunt, each moan, each whimper, feels like it's pushing me closer and closer to the edge of a second orgasm. I recognize the sounds he's making and the desperation with which he's pulling me towards him and I know he's close as well. Somehow, that's the proverbial last straw -- either that or the way his fingers are curling into my fresh welts. I bury my scream in his shoulder and it's lost in his own shout as he climaxes, holding me as close to him as he can. We remain there - my legs wrapped around him, his arms around me - while he recovers and a moment later he places me down on my feet. Despite being suspended from the ceiling, I feel like I may fall and in the darkness behind the blindfold, it takes me a moment to grasp why I suddenly have to balance myself. Then I am falling, my knees not strong enough to support me as he slowly lowers the chains from which I hang. Within a minute I'm on the floor, knees and elbows digging into the cold ground as I try to keep off of the fresh welts and cuts. My hands are out in front of me, still cuffed but close enough that I could take off the blindfold if I weren't feeling so weak and besides, I can hear him coming over to me. Metal jingles against metal as he undoes the shackles binding my wrists together and fingertips brush my hair as he removes the blindfold. "This, is why you're here."