Norse Gods 3
This story involves consensual (if not necessarily desired) sex between two adult brothers. If that isn't sufficiently vanilla, perhaps find something else to read.
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Bitch was expelled from his university course last week. Poor attendance and even poorer exam results, apparently. Unsurprisingly, because for the past 6 months his world has revolved around three things: penetration by my huge dick, his chastity cage and the butt plug that he has worn about 23 hours a day.
The timing of his expulsion is fortuitous, really, because it means that no one will miss him after today's events.
I walk into his room – without knocking, of course – and watch as he gets onto his knees and presents his arse for a rough fuck. He's completely naked already – he's pretty much always naked when he is in his room. I am sure he lubed up as well the moment he came home and undressed.
Mind you, these are not things I trained him to do!
I didn't instruct him to present when I walk in. I didn't tell him to be naked and lubed at all times. Those are spontaneous actions, indications of the dirty little cock-whore he became the day that I first fucked him senseless. He's addicted to the feeling of my manhood up his backside, and always needs to be ready and waiting for the moment when I come to him for a bit of todger-relief.
I should feel sorry for him, I suppose, the way he has been degraded by my manliness. It is hard to imagine that Bitch was once my brother – my twin, even! It seems impossible that we have the same DNA, because we are nothing like each other! He's a pathetic slut who cannot wait to feel my horse cock get rammed into his belly hard and often – I am the stud who fucks him to within an inch of his life every day.
"Don't bother offering me your hole, Bitch. Get up, your new room is ready for you!"
His disappointment is palpable. The whore lives for my cock.
"If you are a good little Bitch, I will let you feel the length of my manhood later!" I promise him and get rewarded with a pathetically grateful smile.
I drag him down the stairs by the collar around his neck – the latest of my presents. Heavy solid steel, he's worn it for a couple of weeks now. I imagine people wondered why he was wearing a slave collar, assumed that it was a fashion statement, perhaps. When I put it on him, the two halves of the thing snapped together almost seamlessly, leaving no way to remove it without heavy-duty cutting gear – like his chastity cage.
I must admit, I love affecting people's lives permanently: the feeling of doing things to others that they know they'll have to endure forever. I have always been fascinated by the idea of unpleasant acts that have lasting consequences, unkind events that can never be undone. No injuries or real harm, but things that are nasty mostly because the victim knows that the feeling will never disappear. Unless Bitch gets his hands on an angle grinder, his cock will never be free, so he cannot have a hardon for the rest of his life. His collar will mark him out as a slave for eternity.
The biggest permanent mark I left on Bitch's life though, was the moment I entered him, the moment when he changed from a straight alpha-male demigod to a desperate cock-hound begging to be fucked at every opportunity.
The cellar has been reinforced like a prison cell, the steel door opening heavily, a tiny window high up in the wall the only source of natural light.
"This is your new home, Bitch ... I hope you enjoy it." His face suggests he doesn't ... tough, because it will be easier for me to keep him in here without awkward questions being raised.
"Sir?" comes a pathetic little whine.
I lead him into the cellar and open the pen where he will sleep – or rather where he will spend all his time when I am not there to get my carnal needs seen to. The pen where he'll be stuck between 20 and 23 hours a day, in other words.
"Can't I sleep in the bed, Sir?"
"Don't piss me off, Bitch. You know what happens when you piss me off. I bought you a beautiful new kennel and you are being disrespectful when you dislike sleeping in it."
The punishments that I inflict are on a sliding scale from no food' via the hood' to – the worst punishment – `no sex'. If I do not fuck him for a day, he hasn't lived that day, so the idea of me withholding sex is the greatest threat imaginable. I rarely need to act on it, fortunately, because I don't enjoy having to forego our daily fuck either.
"Please? Just tonight?"
With a sigh, I take the hood from the shelf behind me. It is thick leather and lacks any holes except a small one over the mouth and two over the ears.
"You just had to push it, didn't you? You sad ungrateful Bitch ... On your knees!"
I feed the hood over his head and lock it into place. It is probably a size too small and very stiff, and it leaves him totally blind, and almost mute ... and Bitch hates it, understandably. But it wouldn't be a punishment if he didn't hate it.
His main problem is that I do like him wearing it. I like that it is too tight for comfort and I like that it leaves him so helpless. But more than anything I like that it hides his face. I like that I don't need to see how handsome and manly he still looks. I like that I don't get reminded that this pathetic creature is my twin brother.
When we went to have the hood fitted, I promised him that I would never leave it on him for more than 24 hours at a time ... but then again, promises are only really valid if the two parties are of equal standing.
I suspect that before too long, I might lose the key to the lock on Bitch's hood. It is a good lock, a sturdy one, not one that can be easily picked without a key. And it would be a waste to cut a good lock. Imagine that: living for years with a tight leather hood covering your entire face: blind and helpless. And it is not as if he can complain loudly, is it? Not with his mouth forced shut by the tight leather around every inch of his head.
Did I mention yet that I am fascinated by causing someone permanent discomfort?
"In!" I push him down towards the pen, his hands feeling their way around.
Bitch's kennel isn't large: 2 feet wide, 4 feet long and a foot-and-a-half high. Large enough to fit him, not large enough to sit upright or even stretch out when you are a 6-foot-3-inch male with the broad shoulders of a Viking warrior. He's on his side with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms slung around his legs.
He looks so pitiful, lying like that. I hate that that is my twin brother, that I am theoretically identical to that wretched creature. It is just as well that I put his hood on, so that I don't need to recognise the embarrassing similarity to the face I see in the mirror every day.
Why not lose that key now? Let's not take off that hood ever again, so that I can forget that that empty shell once was my twin brother Luke. That is Bitch now, and Bitch is a pathetic slutty fuck-toy who has nothing in common with me.
"On your knees, Bitch! ... Now shuffle back until your arse touches the metal."
I had the pen designed with a 6-inch hole that sits at arse height when Bitch is on all fours. It saves me having to free him from his kennel when I am in a hurry.
When he feels the plug get pulled from him, Bitch seems to realise what is about to happen, because he starts to grind against the solid metal bars trying to push closer to the cock which he expects will skewer him. I'll give him what he wants, mostly because I want the same.
Despite the thick leather of the tight hood, I can hear Bitch scream when I enter him, and it is just as well I am holding his hips through the bars of the pen to stop him pulling away. It is weird how he seems to be in agony when I fuck him, how he clearly doesn't enjoy the feeling, yet from the second I pull out he cannot wait for me to enter him again. I have learned to block out his shrieks and his pleas; I know he must love this, because he begs me to ravage him at every opportunity – the attempts to get away when I am inside him and the pained sobbing must be an act or at most a temporary reaction while he adjusts to my attentions.
"That is it, Bitch! Push back, harder!"
I cannot make out the mewing sounds that come from the hole in the leather hood, but I would guess it is a mixture of pleasure and despair, because those are the emotions that Bitch usually experiences at this stage of our `games'.
"Clasp that arse, Bitch! I want you to grip my shaft as if it is the last thing that stops you dropping off a cliff."
Oh, fuck this is good!
Weird as his love for punishment is, it is equally weird how much I enjoy this. I am not into having sex with guys, certainly not into sex with my twin brother. I've got girlfriends – Mandy is the last of a string of them, but she'll soon be `the previous one', probably – and I have never given any thought to fucking any guy ... except Bitch. With Bitch it isn't that I enjoy the sex, it is just that the feeling of his tight arse around my tool is the most exciting and glorious feeling imaginable.
Or rather ... I know it can be like that. It is the memory of that first time more than anything else. This fuck still feels good, but that first occasion was magical – the most intimate, passionate and violent sex I have ever had, and all attempts to recreate that since have been ... a little underwhelming.
That is it, I think. It is not that I want to have sex with Bitch, it is just that I want to experience the sensations of our first time again. I am addicted to the idea that if I try often enough, I might have sex like that again one day.
I ram into Bitch's arse with all my strength, strokes the length of my shaft. My mate groans with every thrust, but he is meeting my movements now, rather than trying to get away, so I imagine those sounds denote his pleasure – or probably mostly pleasure mixed with horrific pain. His hand goes to his cock, discovers the chastity device, tries to find a way to stimulate himself despite the thing. Fat chance of that! I've seen over the months how constricted his manhood is inside that cage when he is getting excited. I've seen the discomfort in his face when I teased and roused his cock on purpose to remind him that he cannot get hard, and never will again – remind him that his cumming days are behind him. I know that the agony of his backside getting pummelled is fighting with the pain of his cock crushed inside the tight metal cage.
Fucking him through the bars of the kennel is ... different. Something that emphasises his position as my toy, but not very comfortable and not something I will do often, probably.
But I will for the first week or so: keep him locked up 24/7 for a while, make him realise that if he wants me to continue fucking him, he will be mine to use in any way I wish. It will force him to lie curled up in his kennel for days until his legs scream for the chance to stretch out.
My orgasm is approaching, making me speed up my thrusts. Ramming in hard and fast, gripping the bars of the pen provides me with all the leverage I need to really lay into Bitch. My hips hit the metal every time I bottom out, but I'll endure it for now and sort out some padding later.
"Fuck! ... Fuck! ... You like that, hey Bitch? ... There!"
Bitch can hear me, I am sure, because faint squeals escape the leather. And Bitch definitely likes it because he meets my drives with a swaying motion of his own, making sure that he takes every inch of my pole as deep as it will fit. Cock slut!
Here it comes!
With my manhood ground far into the arse underneath me, I feel my balls cramping hard, my cock distending as a river of my seed rushes through, shooting out deep inside Bitch's belly. Four, five, six full-blown shots and a couple of aftershocks before my balls contract desperately to expel the last drops of cum.
"Bloody Hell!"
I collapse onto the floor trying to catch my breath. That was good! Not as fabulous as our first fuck, but close. I think I was stimulated by the knowledge that I have Bitch locked away and hooded permanently – the hood is permanent, I mean, not the locking up ...
... although ...
In truth the kennel needn't be a temporary thing either. If he's going to be in this pen for a week, he'll be used to it by then, so it may be kinder to just let him live in it from now on.
How about that: an athletic young man living in a tiny pen for the rest of his life?
I'll have to look into hiring some welding gear to stop that door from opening ever again. Bitch, who'd sagged onto the floor of his pen when I pulled out of his arse, crawls back onto all fours, grinding his backside against the hole in the metal mesh, presenting already. The bloody whore is eager for cock again!
How the hell can something that desperate to get fucked be my twin brother?!
Pleased with my decision to weld the kennel shut with Bitch inside, I will reward him with his favourite toy, though. About four months ago I bought a large rubber dildo for him– although it is not as long and fat as my tool, which must always remain a special treat, of course. When Bitch is allowed to play with it, he cannot stop. Today, I mount it, so it sticks through the bars of the pen and gripping his hips, I steer him until the tip touches his ring. He recognises what it is, it seems, because he immediately pushes back and impales himself on it, a pleased hum coming from the hood as he rides it with long slow movements. This will go on for some time, I know.
I once secretly filmed Bitch after I allowed him his toy and he went through the night pumping it into his backside: sitting on his knees, or lying on his back with his ankles near his ears, hour after hour. After a while he managed to brace it between the planks of his headboard and rode it for ages like he's doing now, sometimes hard and fast, sometimes slow and sensual, always deep and long. All the while, he was talking to it, thanking Sir' for making love to him like that special first time' ... not just pain and violence, but love too and pleasure.
It seems that Bitch remembers that first time as a magical occasion too.
I have this notion that something happened that day that made us do it. There is something somewhere in the back of my mind. Something happened, and frustratingly, I cannot get a finger behind that piece of knowledge.
"You enjoy yourself, Bitch. I will be back tomorrow ..."
A grunt comes from the kennel, probably a confirmation that he will still be riding that dildo when I return.
There is something else weird about that first night: last month an obnoxiously camp guy approached me in the student union, telling me that he recognised me from an online sex video involving me and `a guy who must be your twin'. When he described it, it sounded like a video of the first time we had sex, although I have no idea how that is possible. The guy also asked whether I had been the Top or the Bottom that day. I wonder whether he approached me in an attempt to hook up, but he didn't get the chance to say much more, mainly because the doctors had to wire his mouth shut after I broke his jaw in three places.
How the hell can there be a movie of me fucking Luke?
I get into the shower to wash away the sweat and the arse juice of Bitch – one downside of keeping him hooded is the fact he cannot clean me with his tongue now that his mouth is covered. I'll have to suffer that inconvenience, I suppose. Don't tell me that I don't make sacrifices to keep our relationship exciting.
Movie ...
Something stirs in my mind.
I wash my manhood, long and sensuous strokes, feel it rouse, not a full erection, but just a pleasant firmness that translates to a nice gentle cramp in my belly. It is good to be properly hung ... imagine having your average thin 6-incher, let alone a tiny pencil stub ... Imagine having to search for your tool somewhere in the folds of your pants. No, a massive trousers-filling cock that attracts attention and provides you with opportunities is the way forward. I should look into becoming a porn-star, I think, with this thing.
Porn ...
Movie!
We were invited to do a movie!
Memories start to flood back in. The advert: `Director seeks straight identical-twin brothers to star in a porn movie', the audition where we had been asked to pose naked, cocks swinging heavily as we strode onto the stage and flexed our muscles. There had been an absolutely gorgeous girl there, whom we assumed would be the female lead. Then came the joy when we were told that our audition had been successful ...
I am towelling myself off automatically, my mind fully focussed on unravelling the thread of memories without breaking the tender string that holds them together.
When we learned we were going to be in a porn movie together, Luke and I had fantasised about what we might be asked to do: almost certainly tag-teaming the pretty girl ... Spit roasting her perhaps? One in her mouth the other in her cunt ... Luke had hoped for a setup where one of us would be balls-deep up her cunt and the other would simultaneously be up her backside. Neither of us had been lucky enough to meet a girl willing to let us fuck her in the arse ... there are downsides to being hung like a horse too. Luke was very eager to try it and we considered that the pretty girl was a professional, so she might be more willing to let us do it – and be able to take a cock of this size.
It's ironic that Luke, so hot on fucking someone up the bum before that day, would end up addicted to being on the receiving end of my monster.
I seem to have dressed myself already – tastefully even – without a single conscious thought.
How had we got to the stage where I pushed my cock into my twin brother, though? I have a vague notion of the director talking to me, explaining that I was going to fuck someone who was desperate for my cock. At some point during the chat he clarified that it would be a guy ... and finally it turned out to be Luke ...
But Luke was indeed desperate for me, and I did want to fuck him more than anything in the world ... There were cameras in the room, men with cameras! That is how there is a movie online ... Why did I not remember the cameramen until now? I just remembered lying on top of Luke in that bed ... and my cock ramming into him as if my life depended on it. And I remembered Luke screaming and begging for more!
We must have been hypnotised! We were hypnotised into enjoying sex between us.
I didn't freely choose to fuck Luke ... and he didn't truly want me to take him hard.
I find myself in the cellar, watching him. Luke still is such a handsome man ... But he is locked in a kennel, hooded and chastity caged ... and he is fucking himself silly on the dildo I provided him with. Leaning forward as far as the tight pen allows, he takes a `run-up' and drives himself violently onto the thing – the squeal that escapes from his hood must be of delight, because he does it again and again, before he starts long-dicking himself with a slow intensity.
The Luke I know won't be enjoying this life. He's like a junkie right now, who may like the moments when he gets his daily fix, but who hates the long hours in between. I should tell him about the movie, the hypnosis, remind him who he really is and that will probably break the spell.
And yet ...
Fucking him just feels so good! Even better now that I know that my memories of the first time are tainted. Knowing that that one occasion will never be repeated, means that I can evaluate our daily sex more objectively ... and to be honest: I want more of it.
Fucking Bitch is so much more satisfying than anything I have ever done with a girl. I don't love him or feel attracted to him, but his arse is so tight, and his belly is so hot ... And when I give it to him, I can be as forceful as I want – brutal even – and he will not just accept it, but he will thrust back to add to the violence with which my cock enters him – and beg for more as he does it.
I no longer need to fuck Bitch every day, like it did an hour ago ... but I still want to.
I also like how I've managed to restrict his life to what happens inside a small pen and just sound from beyond the steel bars – with his permission! Not necessarily his own wish, but he allowed me to hood him and lock him up. He would have known that his imprisonment might be permanent and he still let me go ahead.
"Enjoying yourself, Bitch?"
Realising that I am in the cellar with him, the whore pulls himself off the dildo and grinds against the hole to invite me to take him again. My manhood begins to stir at the sight of that eminently fuckable arse eagerly wishing I abuse it violently. I run a finger along his crack which makes him push against the metal bars even harder. I think I might treat myself to a second bite of that cherry today, now that I am rock-hard already.
Right now, Bitch is a cock-whore who desperately wishes me to fuck him 24/7. I could change him back to his real self with a few words ... but I want him to stay like that for the rest of our lives.
Let's find that welding gear tomorrow. Bitch is going nowhere.
I am glad that I remembered the hypnosis. I know for certain again that I am not gay, that I didn't choose to have sex with men. Now I can just enjoy fucking Bitch's arse without worrying about my sexuality.
Life is great!
Unless you are Bitch ...
THE END (REALLY THIS TIME)