My brother's keeper
The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the framed photo of their mum on the hallway wall.
Joey stood in the entryway of the flat, shoulders filling the corridor, his thick arms crossed over the barrel of his chest. His vest strained across the solid mass of his torso—that particular build of heavy muscle and dense padding that came from years of rugby and a healthy appetite for lager. Dark fur, striped with the broad white bands of his skunk heritage, covered arms thick as tree limbs. His tail, vast and bushy, flicked with irritation behind him.
"Max!" His voice rumbled through the flat. "Get your arse out here."
The muffled thump of bass-heavy music drifted from the bedroom down the hall. Some vapid pop track. Joey's jaw tightened.
Three hours. Three hours he'd been stuck waiting at their parents' house while they prattled on about their upcoming holiday to Majorca, all because someone couldn't be trusted to look after the flat on his own. Again. The little tart had probably been wanking to his reflection the whole time.
"MAX!"
The bedroom door swung open.
Max leaned against the doorframe, one slender hip cocked, looking for all the world like he'd just stepped out of a magazine. His fur was sleeker than Joey's, a softer black with those same white stripes, but groomed within an inch of its life. Glossy. He wore a cropped top that showed off the soft curve of his belly—that doughy pudge that came from sitting on his arse all day, the plush roundness of a boy who'd never worked a day in his life. Skinny jeans hugged slim legs and a pert little backside. A silver chain dangled from one ear.
"You bellowed?" Max's voice dripped with theatrical boredom. His eyes, bright and calculating, swept over Joey's frame. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "Christ, you look like someone pissed in your cornflakes."
"Three hours." Joey took a step forward. The floorboards creaked under his weight. "I was stuck there three hours covering for you. Again. What possible excuse have you got this time?"
Max examined his nails. "I had plans."
"Plans."
"That's what I said. Are you going deaf, or has all that muscle finally squeezed your brain out your ears?"
The little shit.
Joey felt something hot coil in his gut. It had been building for weeks now—ever since Sarah had walked out, ever since he'd been stuck back in this flat with his snot-nosed brat of a brother who seemed to exist solely to push every button he had. The frustration of no sex, no outlet, just this endless loop of Max's backchat and Max's mess and Max's slutty little outfits parading around like he was some sort of—
"There's beer in the fridge," Max said, turning away with a dismissive flick of his tail. "Try not to stroke out before you get to it."
Joey's hand shot out.
His fingers wrapped around Max's upper arm, the grip firm enough to halt the smaller skunk mid-turn. Max's eyes widened a fraction—just a flicker—before the mask of indifference slammed back down.
"Let go of me, you great brute."
"You don't get to walk away." Joey's voice had dropped. Gone was the shouting. What remained was something quieter. Darker. "Not this time."
Max's nostrils flared. That little pink nose twitched, taking in the scent of testosterone and anger rolling off his older brother in waves. "Oh, I'm terrified. Whatever shall I do?"
"You're going to learn some bloody respect."
"Am I?" Max's tongue darted out, wetting his lips. His voice dipped into that mocking register that made Joey want to put his fist through a wall. "And who's going to teach me? You? Don't make me laugh. You can barely keep a girlfriend, let alone—"
Joey moved.
The world tilted as Max found himself bent over the arm of the sofa, his cheek pressed into the worn fabric, his tail yanked up and to the side. The position exposed the tight denim stretched across his arse, the curve of his back arching instinctively.
"What the FUCK—"
"Language." Joey's free hand came down against the seat of Max's jeans. The slap cracked through the room like a gunshot. "You want to act like a brat, I'll treat you like one."
Max squirmed, his smaller frame twisting against the sofa's arm. His clitty—that pathetic two-inch nub he was always preening about—stirred traitorously in his pants. "You absolute bastard! Get off me!"
Another slap. Harder. The denim did nothing to soften the sting.
"Every time." Smack. "Every single time I have to clean up your mess." Smack. "Mum and Dad think you're too irresponsible to be left alone. And they're right." Smack. "You're a spoiled little brat who needs a firm hand."
Max's breath came in ragged gasps. His face burned hot against the sofa cushion. But his hips—those traitorous, slutty hips—pressed back into each blow. Seeking more. The sting bloomed into something warmer, something that pooled low in his belly and made his tiny cocklet strain against his jeans.
"Look at you." Joey's voice was thick with disgust. And something else. Something hungrier. "Arse up, not even fighting anymore. Is this what you've been angling for this whole time? Prancing around in your little tops, shaking your tail at every bloke who looks your way?"
"Fuck you."
"That's the idea."
The words hung in the air. Max's breath caught.
Joey's grip shifted from Max's arm to the scruff of his neck. He hauled the smaller skunk upright, marched him down the hallway, past the bathroom, past the kitchen, to what had once been their parents' room before they'd retired to the coast. Joey had claimed it when he moved back in. It was the largest room in the flat, dominated by a king-sized bed and a heavy wooden wardrobe.
Something clinked in the drawer of the bedside table.
Max's eyes tracked the sound. "What are you—"
"Shut it."
The collar was black leather, thick, with silver studs and a matching D-ring. Joey had bought it months ago for Sarah, back when she'd been into that sort of thing. Before she'd decided she preferred her men with less "anger issues." It had never been used.
Until now.
Max's pupils dilated as the leather approached his throat. His breathing shallowed. "Joey. Joey, you can't just—"
"Can't what?" The collar wrapped around Max's slender neck with practised ease. Joey buckled it at the back, not too tight, but snug enough that Max would feel it with every breath. Every swallow. Every word. "Can't treat you like the bitch you've been acting?" He clipped the leash to the D-ring and gave it a short, sharp tug. "Seems to me you've been begging for this."
Max's mouth opened. Closed. His clitty throbbed so hard he thought he might spill right there in his jeans.
The leash yanked again, pulling him toward the bed. "On your knees."
"I—"
"On. Your. Knees."
Max's legs buckled. The carpet was thin against his shins, the position forcing him to look up at his brother's massive frame. Joey loomed over him like some ancient god of ruin—all heavy muscle and hard edges, his thick arms crossed over that powerful barrel chest and belly. The vest did nothing to hide the dark fur that covered him, the way his stomach pressed firm and round against the cotton. A muscle-gut. Built like a strongman who'd never bothered to cut.
Max felt impossibly small. His own body was a study in soft curves—the plush give of his belly, the slimness of his limbs, the pert little arse that had drawn stares at every club he'd ever visited. He'd always liked that contrast. Delicate. Feminine. Desired.
But kneeling here, with leather around his throat and his brother's scent filling his lungs, he felt something else entirely.
Owned.
"Better," Joey rumbled. His tail swished behind him. "Now, here's how this is going to work. You're going to be my little bitch for the evening. My personal slut. You do what I say, when I say it, and maybe—just maybe—I won't tell Mum and Dad about your little online shopping habit."
Max's blood ran cold. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I? Five hundred quid on lingerie last month alone. You think they'd keep funding your 'allowance' if they knew what you were really spending it on?"
The leash tugged. Max's back arched.
"So here's the deal." Joey crouched down, bringing his face level with Max's. His breath was hot, smelling faintly of the kebab he'd grabbed on the way home. "You behave. You take what I give you. And this stays our little secret." His free hand grabbed his crotch, adjusting the massive bulge that had begun to swell behind his joggers. "Or you can walk out now. Your choice."
Max should have walked.
Every rational thought screamed at him to stand up, to tear off this ridiculous collar, to retreat to his room and lock the door and pretend none of this had happened. That was what a sensible person would do.
But Max's clitty was leaking. A damp spot had formed on the front of his skinny jeans, darkening the denim. His hole—that tight, virgin pucker he'd fingered in secret for years—clenched around nothing. Empty. Aching.
His tongue darted out again. Wet his lips.
"Make me."
Joey's grin was slow and terrible. "There's my little slag."
The leash went taut. Joey straightened, pulling Max forward by the neck. Not enough to choke—just enough to remind. Max's hands came up instinctively, bracing against Joey's thighs. The muscle beneath the joggers was iron-hard. Unyielding.
"Hands," Joey said.
Max looked up, confused.
"On my cock. You've been staring at it since I grabbed you. Time to put that smart mouth to better use."
Max's fingers trembled as they hooked into the waistband of Joey's joggers. The fabric slid down, catching on the swell of his brother's erection. And then—
Christ.
Christ.
The thing was monstrous.
Even half-hard, Joey's cock was obscene. Twenty-four inches of thick, veined meat, already beginning to swell toward its full, terrifying girth. The shaft was darker than the rest of his fur, deep purple near the base where his knot would eventually form. His balls—his balls—hung heavy beneath, each one the size of a cantaloupe, packed so full of cum that the skin pulled taut and shiny.
Max's mouth watered.
"Go on." Joey's voice was strained. Those massive balls hadn't been emptied in weeks—not since Sarah had left. The pressure was unbearable. "Wrap those pretty lips around it."
Max leaned forward. His tongue—small and pink against such impossible scale—darted out to taste the tip.
Salty. Musky. Alive.
The first inch stretched his jaw. The second made his eyes water. By the third, Max was gagging, drool spilling down his chin as Joey's cock forced its way deeper into his throat. The scent of his brother's musk filled his nostrils completely—that thick, heady aroma of male arousal, sharp and raw.
"That's it." Joey's hand fisted in Max's hair, guiding the pace. Not gentle. Never gentle. "Take it. Take my fucking cock, you worthless little cocksucker."
Max's throat convulsed around the intrusion. His clitty strained against his jeans, leaking a steady stream of pre that darkened the denim to near-black. His hole clenched. Clenched again. Each gag sent a pulse of pleasure straight to his prostate, that neglected gland throbbing with need.
Joey pulled him off by the hair.
Max gasped, a thick rope of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening cockhead. His face was a mess—tears streaking his cheek fur, drool soaking his chin, eyes glassy and unfocused.
"Look at you." Joey's voice was thick with contempt and something rawer. Darker. "Absolutely fucking ruined already, and I haven't even started on your arse yet."
"Please." The word slipped out before Max could stop it. His voice was wrecked, hoarse. "Please, Joey, I need—"
"You need what?" The leash yanked. Max's back arched further, presenting his chest. Joey's free hand found one of Max's nipples through the crop top and twisted. Hard.
"A-ah! Fuck!"
"Tell me what you need, slut."
"Your cock. Please, please, I need your cock in my—in my—"
"In your what?"
Max's face burned. The word caught in his throat, tangled with shame and desperate, aching need. His voice dropped to a whisper. "In my boy-pussy."
Joey's laugh was cruel. "Your what?"
"My pussy." Louder now, the shame transmuting into something molten. Max's hips rolled against nothing. "My tight little boy-pussy. Please, Joey, please fuck my pussy. I've been so good, I took your cock down my throat, please—"
The leash released.
Max collapsed forward, catching himself on his hands. He heard the rustle of fabric, the clink of Joey's belt, the heavy thud of his brother's clothes hitting the floor. Then those massive hands were on him—flipping him, positioning him, bending him over the edge of the bed with his arse in the air and his face pressed into the duvet.
His jeans were ripped down. The cool air hit his exposed pucker, and Max whimpered.
Joey's thumb pressed against the tight ring of muscle. Testing. "Fucking hell. You really are a virgin, aren't you? This arse is tighter than a vice."
"Told you." Max's voice was muffled by the duvet. "Never—never done this before."
"Good." Joey spat. The glob of saliva landed directly on Max's hole, and that thick thumb worked it in slow circles, spreading the slickness. "Means I get to ruin you properly. Break you in like a new pair of boots."
"Please be gentle—"
"No."
The thumb pressed inward. Max's back bowed off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. It was too much—too thick, too dry, too fucking much—but his body was betraying him, muscle by muscle yielding to the intrusion as Joey worked him open with ruthless patience.
"That's one finger." Joey's voice was conversational now. Almost bored. "Barely a finger. And you're already falling apart."
"You're—hnngh—you're so fucking big—"
"You've no idea."
The thumb retreated. Returned with more spit. Pressed deeper. Max could feel the calluses on Joey's hand, the rough texture dragging against his sensitive inner walls. His prostate—that walnut-sized gland he'd only ever managed to brush with his own fingertips—was suddenly, impossibly close to that probing digit.
Joey found it.
Max screamed.
Not a whimper. Not a moan. A full-throated, broken scream as pleasure detonated behind his eyes. His hips bucked backward, impaling himself further on that thick thumb, and his clitty—his useless, pathetic, two-inch clitty—erupted.
Not cum. Not proper cum. But a gush of clear, sticky pre that soaked the front of his discarded jeans and dripped onto the carpet. His hole spasmed around Joey's thumb, milking it with desperate, involuntary contractions.
"Did you just—" Joey stared down at the mess. A slow grin spread across his face. "You did. You just came from my thumb in your arse. You dirty little slag."
"I—I didn't—it wasn't—"
"It was." Joey withdrew his thumb. Max whined at the sudden emptiness. "That was a sissygasm, wasn't it? Your first one. Your little clitty leaking all over yourself while your pussy milked my thumb." He grabbed Max's hip, his grip bruising. "And that was just the warm-up."
"Joey, I can't—I can't take any more—"
"You will."
Something thicker pressed against Max's hole. Not spit-slicked fingers this time. Something hot and blunt and terrifyingly large. Joey had positioned himself behind, his enormous cockhead nudging against that impossibly tight pucker.
"Wait—wait, you need lube—we need proper lube—"
"I've got enough pre-cum leaking to slick a fucking slip-and-slide." Joey's voice was strained now. His balls ached. God, they ached so badly, packed to bursting with weeks of unreleased seed. "You'll take it. You'll take every fucking inch, because you're my bitch now, and my bitch gets what I decide to give him."
The head pressed forward.
Max felt his body begin to yield. The ring of muscle—that tight, puckered, untouched entrance—stretched to accommodate the impossible girth. Joey's cock was nine inches thick. Nine. The size of a forearm. And it was forcing its way into a hole that had never taken anything larger than two of Max's own slender fingers.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck—oh FUCK—"
"Breathe." Joey's hand found the back of Max's neck, pressing him deeper into the mattress. The leash dangled against Max's cheek. "Breathe through it, princess. You wanted this. Begged for it. Now you're going to take it like a good little whore."
The head popped past the ring.
Max's vision whited out.
He'd never felt so full. So impossibly, devastatingly full. And that was just the tip—just the first few inches of a cock that seemed to go on forever, throbbing inside him with its own heartbeat. His inner walls fluttered and clenched, trying desperately to accommodate the invasion, and every flex of muscle only pulled Joey deeper.
"Greedy little pussy." Joey's words were gritted out through clenched teeth. Sweat dripped from his brow onto Max's back. "Sucking me in. Is this what you've wanted all along? Your big brother's cock splitting you open?"
"Yes—yes—fuck YES—"
Another inch. Another. Max could feel his insides rearranging to make room. The pressure was immense—a deep, burning stretch that bordered on pain but never quite tipped over. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming. His clitty, trapped against the edge of the mattress, leaked steadily onto the duvet.
Then Joey's hand found Max's belly.
Pressed down.
"What—what are you—"
"Can you feel that?" Joey's voice was reverent now. Awful and awed. "Feel what's inside you?"
Max looked down.
And saw it.
A bulge. A visible, unmistakable bulge in his lower belly, just below his navel. The outline of Joey's cockhead pressing against his abdominal wall from the inside, distorting the soft plush of his stomach into something obscene. Max watched, transfixed, as the bulge shifted—receded slightly, then pressed forward again as Joey thrust another inch deeper.
"That's me." Joey's hand splayed over the distortion, pressing down. Max cried out at the doubled sensation—the cock inside him and the hand outside him, sandwiching his body between two impossible pressures. "That's my cock inside your guts, princess. Right up in your belly. You're so fucking small, and I'm so fucking big, and you're taking every goddamn inch like you were made for it."
"I can see it." Max's voice was barely a whisper. His own hand crept down to join Joey's, fingers trembling against the stretched skin of his abdomen. "I can fucking see you inside me."
"Feel good?"
"So—hnnngh—so good—so full—"
Joey pulled back. Just enough to drag the ridge of his cockhead against Max's prostate. The effect was immediate—Max's body seized, his back arching off the bed, another gush of pre spilling from his clitty as his pussy clamped down hard.
"That's it. Milk my cock with that tight little arse. Fuck, you're gripping me so hard I can barely move."
"More—please, Joey, more—"
"You want all of it?" Joey's hips drew back further this time. Only the head remained inside, stretching Max's hole obscenely wide around its girth. "You want every last inch of my cock buried in your guts?"
"YES. Fuck, yes, give it to me—"
The thrust that followed stole the air from Max's lungs.
Joey buried himself to the hilt in one brutal, merciless stroke. Twenty-four inches of thick skunk cock slammed home, punching deeper than anything should be able to reach, and Max felt the bulge in his stomach distend further—felt his body reshape itself around the sheer impossibility of his brother's size. The head pressed against something firm. Something that made stars explode behind Max's eyes.
His cervix. Metaphorically speaking—there was no actual cervix in a male body—but the sensation was unmistakable. Some deep, secret place at the very core of him, now crushed beneath the weight of Joey's cockhead.
"I'm in your womb." Joey's voice was ragged. Savage. "I'm fucking in your womb, you little whore. Can you feel me in there? Breeding you from the inside?"
Max couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. His body was no longer his own—it belonged to the massive cock drilling into his deepest parts, rearranging his organs with every thrust. The bulge in his belly moved with Joey's rhythm, advancing and retreating, a visible testament to how thoroughly he was being taken.
"Gonna pump you full." Joey's rhythm increased. The slap of his heavy balls against Max's arse filled the room, a wet, obscene counterpoint to Max's broken moans. "Gonna fill this greedy little pussy with so much cum you'll be leaking for days. That sound good, princess? You want your big brother's seed sloshing around in your guts?"
"Breed me—fuck—breed me, Joey—knock me up—"
The words fell from Max's lips without thought. Some deep, primitive part of his brain had taken over—the part that didn't care about shame or sense or the impossibility of what he was begging for. All he knew was the stretch. The fullness. The relentless pounding of his prostate that had his clitty leaking a constant, pathetic stream.
And then a new sensation joined the chorus.
Pressure. Bladder pressure.
Max's eyes flew open. "Joey—Joey, wait—"
Joey didn't wait. His thrusts continued, each one jostling Max's full bladder. The smaller skunk had been downing fizzy drinks all afternoon, too lazy to get up for the loo, and now—
"I need to—I have to—I have to go to the bathroom—"
"What's that?" Joey's rhythm didn't falter. If anything, he sped up, driving deeper. His hand pressed down harder on the bulge in Max's belly. "Can't hear you over the sound of this greedy pussy sucking me in."
"I need to pee!" Max's voice cracked. Desperation clawed at his throat. "Joey, please, I really need to—I can't—"
"You want to stop?" Joey's hips slammed home. The head of his cock crushed against Max's prostate, against that deep internal wall, against everything. "You want me to pull out and let you toddle off to the loo like a good little boy?"
"YES—no—I don't know—I just—"
"Cause I'm close." Joey's voice dropped to a growl. His balls drew up tight against his body, that massive, cantaloupe-sized sack pulsing with the load it was about to deliver. "So fucking close. Weeks of cum saved up in these balls, princess. Gallons of it. And it's all for you."
Max's bladder screamed. The pressure was unbearable—that hot, urgent need to release, amplified by every brutal thrust into his guts. His muscles clenched, trying to hold back the flood, but Joey's cock was relentless. Stretching him. Filling him. Making room for something else.
"Please—"
"Please what?"
The world narrowed to a single, impossible choice. Max's body was a battleground of competing needs—the desperate urge to empty his bladder, the overwhelming pleasure of Joey's cock rearranging his insides, the shame and the heat and the terrible, wonderful fullness.
"Please don't stop."
Joey's grin pressed against the back of Max's neck. "Good girl."
His rhythm became punishing. The bedframe slammed against the wall—thud-thud-thud-thud—and Max's world dissolved into a blur of sensation. The bulge in his belly. The ache in his bladder. The steady, relentless assault on his prostate that had his clitty jerking and leaking with every thrust.
"I'm gonna cum." Joey's voice was barely human now. A roar building in his chest. "Gonna fill this pussy so fucking full—"
"Do it—DO IT—"
The first pulse was seismic.
Joey's cock swelled—impossibly, terrifyingly—and then the flood began. Hot. So unbelievably hot. Rope after rope of thick skunk cum blasted directly into Max's deepest parts, flooding his insides with liquid heat. Joey's balls contracted with each spurt, pumping gallons of seed into the smaller skunk's stretched hole, and Max could feel himself filling—feel the warm pressure building in his belly, feel his abdomen beginning to distend with the sheer volume of his brother's release.
It was too much.
It was perfect.
And then Max's bladder gave way.
The piss came in a gush—hot and clear, soaking the duvet beneath him, spraying against the side of the bed. It was humiliation and relief and ecstasy all tangled together, his body surrendering completely to Joey's dominance. The stream seemed endless, pooling beneath his knees, the sharp scent of urine mixing with the musk of sex and cum.
"Fuck." Joey's hips kept pumping, wringing out the last pulses of his orgasm into Max's flooded hole. "Fuck, you're pissing. You're pissing all over yourself while I fill your guts with cum. You dirty, filthy little—"
Max's orgasm hit like a freight train.
Not a proper ejaculation—his clitty was too small, too useless for that. But his prostate convulsed around Joey's still-hard cock, and his limp little dicklet spurted clear fluid in pathetic, jerking pulses. His pussy milked his brother's knot—the swelling at the base of Joey's cock that had begun to inflate, locking them together.
Locking the cum inside.
Locking the piss inside.
Everything. Inside.
Joey collapsed against Max's back, his weight pinning the smaller skunk to the piss-soaked mattress. Their bodies heaved together, panting, trembling. The room stank of sex and urine and sweat.
And then Joey's hand found the leash again.
Tugged.
"That's just round one, princess." His voice was wrecked but satisfied. Dark. Promising. "We've got all night. And I've still got balls full of cum with your name on them."
The knot throbbed inside Max's ruined hole.
Keeping everything trapped.
The pressure in his belly shifted—cum and piss sloshing together—and Max felt something fundamental crack inside him. Something that had been resisting. Something that would never be the same again.
Joey's lips brushed his ear. "Ready for round two?"
Max's answer was a whimper.