Brother Cucker Part 1

When my brother moved out, he asked me if I wanted to cum with him?

What he didn’t tell mom, and dad was his girlfriend, Karla would be moving in with us. Now, it wasn’t much, pretty much just a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and a living room with a couch I could sleep on.

They got the bedroom, but I didn’t mind, it was better than staying at home, where we had to share a bathroom with our sisters. 1 girl was enough, but Karla. She wasn’t like my sisters, at all.

For one thing, she was Italian, so she had long black hair, and her figure, well. I’m a little afraid to ask her what her measurements were, but one thing they all 4 had in common was they’re bossy, and kinda feminist?

Nothing against that, mind you. I’m not about to call anyone that wants equal rights a Social Justice Warrior, but you know. She’s not one of those vegans, that manages to remind you every single conversation, and doesn’t never have anything else to talk about.

She’s a meat eater, and a real good cook, as long as you don’t get sick of everything having Bertolli tomato sauce and pasta in it. I mean, not every single meal, she could scramble eggs, and toast bread for breakfast, but pretty much every dinner, and most lunches were leftover Lasagne, stuffed shells, baked manicotti, or chicken parm.

Okay, it’s a pretty good pasta sauce, and she called it the best, said it reminded her of her grandma’s, “God rest her soul,” and crossed herself whenever she said it. I’m not one to complain, but I guess she never got tired of it, and at least we didn’t have to do the shopping ever, but still. Every single day?

Never mind, I’m sure you didn’t come here to read about our diet, but it didn’t occur to me how whipped he really was, until one day, I came home, and heard a muffled groan. Coming from the open bedroom door, so I went to check up on him, and I didn’t even know she was home. She hadn’t started dinner yet, so I couldn’t smell the familiar smell of another jar of Bertolli simmering on the stove. Sorry, last time, I swear.

So, what it was is, he was muffled, because he had a bandana tied around his head, with a knot in the middle as an improvised ball gag. I just stopped, and looked down at her. Leaned back on their bed, with one arm up, and the other one holding his boner, slowly stroking it.

I blinked, and just kinda stood there, frozen a while, but he squeezed a tear out of one eye, and sniffed, which snapped me out of it, somehow. I looked up from her tits, to his face, and the look of agony on it. At least, that’s what I thought it was, but I shook my head, and started turning, to walk away when Karla looked over.

“Oh, you’re home.” She said, as conversationally as if I had just walked into the kitchen, and asked her what’s for dinner. “You want to watch?” Then, her voice was low, husky with a dirty little grin when I looked back, but Colm turned away, so I couldn’t see the look on his face.

“Uh,” here’s the deal: It wasn’t exactly the first time I’d seen her naked, not by a long shot. I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call her an Exhibitionist, certainly not a Nudist, but in that tiny apartment. Well, for one thing, we’d only been living together a few weeks, and he said that it was “Definitely serious,” but I don’t guess he really wanted to tell me. His little brother, that that included being tied up, and gagged, so he could stand obediently by the bed while she slowly beat him off, teasing, and humiliating him.

“Uph, fghm!” His knees gave out, and he started shaking, but I didn’t agree to watch, or even answer. I just kinda stood there, frozen, and trying to decide. “Ngh, snh!” She wasn’t even touching him! She let go, just as soon as he started cumming, so before the first shot came out, it twitched, and jumped. Bouncing, and squirting in the air, covering her all over, and it was a lot.

“Ugh!” She made a face, and held up her hair. “Look at this mess, you dirty young man!” She slapped a cheek, turning to get up on her knees. “You got it in my hair!” She clawed at his cheek, but she didn’t scratch him. She stuck her nails under the bandana to pull it out.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, fix it.” She pulled his head down, and stuffed the hair in his mouth, to suck the cum off, and pulled them out almost immediately. “All of it, every last drop. What did I tell you about wetting your bed?”

“Ssorry.”

“Sorry what?”

“Ssorry, M.” He bit his lip, stuttering, but he wouldn’t look at me the whole time. Until he did, glance to check out of the corner of his eye before she slapped him.

“I asked you a question!”

“Sorry, mom.”

“Oh,” she hugged him. “Good boy.” Petting, and patting his hair, holding his face on her tits, which somehow got missed completely, but he didn’t cry.

He took a deep breath, and let out a satisfied sigh. “Huh!”

“Now,” she let him go. “Please, clean up your room. Sweet heart.” Picking at the knotted rope, around his wrists. So, he could get down, on his hands and knees. Pull at the sheets, and suck them in his mouth, to eat the cum out of them.

“Come on.” She pushed my shoulder, and pulled the door.

“What are you going to do to my brother.”

“SH!” She shook her finger at him. “Shut the fuck up, I don’t want to hear another word out of you until this mess is cleaned up.” She slammed the door, which shook her tits even better than her arm, slowly stroking his dick, or slapping his ass. “Huh!” She rolled her eyes, “I guess I better explain.”

“You’re a dominatrix?”

“No, not exactly. Well, I’m learning the ropes.” She looked at her fingernails, then stuck one in her mouth, and bit it. Then, she looked at it again, and buffed it on her bare breast. “So to speak. Come on, sit down.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Huh!” She looked up, and thought for a little while. Standing, naked over me, when the only times I’d seen her naked before were coming out of their room, to take a shower. After I assumed they made love, but the way we were raised, we never really talked about it. Still, it was hard to pay attention to what she was saying like that, in more ways than one. “Your brother.” She turned away, “Has, issues.” Started pacing, so I could shift my pants while she was turned away.

“Uh huh?” Nod when she turned off.

“Your mom ever walk in on you?” She shook her fist, and her tits, “Whackin’ off?”

“Oh, no. We don’t do that.”

“Uh, I know, neither did he until the first time I gave him a hand job, but it wasn’t until he started crying that I asked him why.”

“He started, crying?”

“Yeah, because this was back at your house, and you know the picture over the fireplace, in the study?” I nodded, it’s actually called the drawing room, but she didn’t even look back. It was a rhetorical question. “Well, that’s what triggered it, he was so ashamed of himself, and he felt so bad about your grandmother, looking down from the painting.”

My late grandmother, I never really got to know her, because she went to a home before I got old enough, but then she started getting senile, and forgetting things. “Then, he told me no.” She stopped, turned back, with that dirty little grin, and looked down from my face to my crotch. “Don’t stop, and then he had the biggest orgasm he ever had.”

“Uh.” Speak of the devil, Colm came out with a pillowcase, the sheets stuffed into it, and he sighed with relief when he saw me there. On the couch, with my pants still on, not fucking his girlfriend before he got the chance.

“You know where the laundromat is.” She stopped, and just stuck her hand over her shoulder, pointing, so he nodded, and headed for the door. Grabbed a handful of change from the valet table, but left his keys and his wallet, because it was just downstairs, by the office. He slipped out, holding the door just open enough to fit through sideways, so nobody could just walk by, and see her pacing, naked.

“Where was I?”

“Uh,” I shook my head, and remembered, “When he started crying,” getting a hand job, “In the drawing room?”

“Oh yeah, so then we had a good cry together, and he told me, the 1 time your mom caught him, with a dirty magazine. She didn’t even let him pull his pants up, she spanked him, bare bottomed with the Barely Legal.”

“Oh, uh.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“From dad’s stash?”

“Probably, he didn’t dare masturbate again, for years, but by the time I came along, I guess he held onto it. Buried it, deep inside. So, it festered into a full blown fetish.”

I nodded, “Sounds about right. So, that’s why he called you mommy?”

“Well,” she stopped, turned away to hide her dirty grin, but not before I saw it. “Huh, I kinda like it, too.”

Then, she went to take a shower, while I whipped it out, and spanked it like a redheadded stepchild. Okay, I lied, because she asked me, standing over me, pretty much like my mom, so I told her that I don’t play with myself. I had to hide it, just like my brother, and even my own father.

Either she didn’t know about his stash, or she didn’t want to, but he didn’t just get Barely Legal. He also liked other titles, by other publishers, but none of them were rough sex, let alone bondage.

“HUH!?”

My brother walked in, and slammed the door, before anybody saw me. With my pants down around my ankles, my knees crossed, and trying desperately to cover it with both hands. Will it to go soft, which only ever seems to make it even harder, even the shame and humiliation.

“At it again?” He grinned, and winked, which was honestly the best thing he could do. “It’s okay, nothing to be ashamed of. We all do it.”

“Huh!” I finally sighed with relief, and the boner went away, but even though I didn’t finish, it almost felt as good as an orgasm, only without the mess.

“So,” I got my pants up, “You really, uh. Like that, kinda. Stuff?” Not used to talking about it, I couldn’t find the words.

“No, not really. Are you kidding me?”

“Hahah, yeah.” I shook my head. “So uh, why do you do it, then?”

“Huh! I don’t know, man. That’s not the point?” He rubbed his wrists, where he still had rope burn, to remind himself of the sensation, and sat down. Closed his eyes, and got that weird smile again, I never saw before that day. “Huh, it’s like. I can’t wait for it to end, so when it finally does, it’s just, amazing.”

“So, it’s not because of how mom always watched us like a hawk, so we had to go out, and find a place to jack off, where she couldn’t catch us?”

“Oh, no I.” He blinked, and looked over at the bathroom door, where Karla was coming out. In 2 towels, one tucked down between her tits, and the other one twisted up around her hair like a beehive.

“You two cool?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty hungry, so you better hurry up and start dinner.”

“Huh!” She rolled her eyes, “Inaminute,” and closed the door to the bedroom. It’s not a woman’s place, or get me a sandwich thing, it’s a 3 of us live here, and only one of us knows how to cook thing.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what caused it in the first place. She made sex feel so dirty, any kinda sex, even beating off was something to be ashamed of, so now that I’m. Well.” He grinned, just like Karla’s dirty little grin. “It’s not technically sex, you know.”

“You’re not having sex?”

“No, she’s Catholic?”

“So are we.”

“Yeah, but Roman Catholic, it ain’t like Irish Catholic, especially when it comes to pre-marital sex, so she’s a virgin, and her dad hates me because I’m dating his daughter.”

She came out, “And your dad hates me because he’s fucking racist.”

“Oh, no. He’s not.” I shook my head, then I had to admit. “That racist.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him that the next time he calls me a spic when no one else can hear him.”

Okay, so semi-closeted racist. He doesn’t want to sound racist, but when nobody else can hear him, he’ll tell his son’s girlfriend that “No son of mine is marrying a wetback for an anchor baby,” to her face.

“Oh yeah!” I just realized, “You ever noticed all the girls in his spank mags are arayan?”

“He’s not a Nazi!”

“Uph!” SPOQ! Karla pitched a jar lid in the trash can. “Besides, that word you keep using, it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“Nazi?”

“No, Arayan. It doesn’t mean blond, and blue eyes, it’s Sanskrit for noble, from Persia.” Geography, and History, and Political Science majors.

“Oh,” we kinda have to take her word for it.

;

Author

I had to establish the characters first, to hint at their motivations. The answer to the FAQ “Why do you like it?” is “I don’t know.” Honestly, things like having an overbearing mother spank you with your father’s ephebophilic porn when she catches you jacking off, and not even letting you pull your pants up first don’t make you.

Anything, predictably. We all experience trauma, throughout our lives, but they don’t make you anything you weren’t already. At most, they may give us ideas how to experience, explore, and express our sexualities, but there’s more that we don’t know about how the subconscious works than we ever will.

The mind seems completely incapable of understanding itself. That’s what’s great about examining these things: It never ends…

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