A gay story: Nana Ch. 03 Editor’s Note: Once again, this story contains elements of incest (sort of), non-consensual sex, blackmail, coercion, etc. You get it. All characters are 18 and up!
—
Waking on Sunday morning was a strange, incomparable experience.
I woke in my own bed as I would any average morning. There was nothing immediately amiss with my surroundings. My bed was clean and rumpled from where I’d tossed throughout the night, and I was also clean. I smelled my shampoo, soap–factory-engineered sage, lavender. I must’ve tried to repress my memories of the night before, because it didn’t crop up in my mind right away. I might’ve gotten away with that temporary bout of amnesia, if not for the need to move. As soon as I went to sit up, it was like trying to peel my body off the side of the highway after having been mowed down by a semi-truck. I audibly yelped, because the noise couldn’t be contained through my shock.
“Holy…holy shit…”
Everything fucking hurts, no stone unturned. My ass bore the worst of it, it still felt…vaguely loose, to my mounting horror. Last night’s nightmare was now a stark reality, the unmistakable evidence left behind for me to brandish in bruises shaped like big fingerprints and dents mapped after Taeha’s teeth. I’ve never been more grateful to have an adjoining bathroom, keeping me from the humiliation of hobbling down the hallway for anyone to see. There’s no way I could reasonably explain away a limp when I’d been home all night. Instead, I got to enjoy my humiliation privately–as soon as I went to stand, my legs gave out. Fire licked up my spine and all through my bowels just from attempting to fucking stand, I literally couldn’t believe it.
I blinked dazedly at the floor, as the realization hit me: I was going to have to crawl to the goddamn bathroom. Instantly, the shock and disbelief burnt up in the conflagration of my rage. That psychotic, motherfucking son of a bitch. I crawled into the bathroom, careful not to exacerbate my battered muscles, before heaving myself up against the counter. Panting from the exertion, I looked myself over in the mirror.
“What the fuck…”
I looked…completely brutalized.
The only part of me left mostly untouched was my face and upper throat. It seems he had enough sense in the moment not to leave behind evidence I couldn’t easily cover. My shoulders, arms from bicep to wrist, upper chest [especially my nipples, fuck], stomach, thighs, and–Christ, even my calves…
Was he a fucking werewolf or something, because what the actual fuck?
I hunched over the tub and started the water, then stopped the drain to let it fill. A piping hot bath was the only thing I could think of the ease the aches and pains to cripple me. I crawled in and settled into the back of the tub, and with the water climbing above my shins, I struggled to come to terms with what happened. For the life of me, I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Why? Why the fuck…did he do it? Was it some sort of twisted revenge? I didn’t always hate Taeha. I used to try and be indifferent towards him, as I had no desire for a new brother. But, he was such a pushy, pain-in-the-ass kid. He was always up my ass, pandering for attention and affection I couldn’t make myself conjure up for him.
When he wouldn’t get his way with me, he’d break my shit, lie, get me in trouble with our parents. My own fucking mom would take his side over mine. I well and truly started to hate him as he grew into a cruel, manipulative teenager. Finally, once he hit about fifteen, he seemed to settle down. He would no longer pester me, and he would only speak to me in passing if the situation absolutely demanded communication. I was still cruel to him, probably unnecessarily so, but I was able to settle back into a state of indifference. In my mind, that was the end of that. We’d grow up, leave the house, and go our separate ways.
If it was revenge, then surely he’d gotten it out of his system. If he was trying to humiliate me, completely shatter my pride, it worked. Maybe I can breathe easy now that he’s gotten what he wanted from me. However, as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I remembered something he said:
“You’re right, I’m not. That ship has long sailed, and I have absolutely no desire to play brothers with you anymore. Now, I want you to behave and be my little cocksleeve. You can do that, right? You can barely fucking control yourself as it is, isn’t this a good solution? You don’t even have to leave the house for cock anymore, I’ll feed you as much as you want.”
I tense up at the memory. Does he intend to…fuck me more than once? No, no, there’s no way–I’ll break. My body won’t be able to hold up against sex that prolonged and brutal. But, he knew about Parker, and he said he had proof. He’s got blackmail material on me. When did he get it? How did he get it? How long does he plan to hold me over a barrel with it?
“Fuck!” I bury my face in wet hands as anxiety and dread crawl up my throat like ants. I’m confused. I’m…scared. I can deny it until I’m blue in the face to Taeha, but I can’t lie to myself. That was literally the best sex I’ve ever had. I’ve dreamed of being fucked like that, and for as long as it went on, he never lost momentum. He didn’t lose an ounce of strength, speed, or rhythm throughout the entire ordeal, and his cock never softened for more than a few minutes after he’d busted inside me. His cock, too, holy shit–it kills me to admit how perfect it is. He’s hung like a horse. When I didn’t feel like I was ripping in two, I was coming apart at the seams under earth-shattering, white-out orgasms that I’ve never experienced before. He fucked the pure sense out of me, and after awhile, I couldn’t comprehend anything beyond the feeling of his cock slicing through me over and over. My balls still ache.
The terrible, filthy things he’d say, the things he’d make me say, and the demoralizing treatment–I get off on it, I always have. I couldn’t say what went wrong in my brain’s wiring to have me so ready and willing to play the part of a fleshlight, but to be used and abused in that way puts a fizzy, bubbling heat in my lower belly that I struggle to quench. The way he fucked my face until I almost blacked out, the way he choked me until I actually did pass out, only to wake again to the feeling of my body’s continued use…
I loved it so much, it terrifies me, because I shouldn’t love any kind of sex with my step brother. Clearly, the kid’s a psychopath.
I try to quiet my mind as I soak in the bath, and I only climb out of it when the heat has leached completely from the water. For the remainder of the day, I curl up in bed and drift in and out of sleep. I needed a game plan, because ethically, this couldn’t go on. For one, I can’t stand Taeha, and now he’s given me a fully fleshed-out reason to despise him. He’s also my step brother, and even if he was just some random guy, it’s practically a death-sentence to have same-sex relations under the same roof as our parents. I’ll be disowned in a heartbeat.
Thankfully, our mornings don’t often overlap. During the week, Taeha leaves at five for the gym, and I leave at seven to arrive at my first class by eight. I hole up in my room until he’s gone, keeping the door firmly locked. I decide to stay out late [‘to study at the university’s library’ is what I tell my mom] or simply not come home at all, opting to sleep at a friend’s. I know very well this is a short-term strategy, but it pans out perfectly for the first half of the week. I’ve always been on the straight and narrow [so to speak] with excellent grades, so my mom didn’t bat an eye at this shift in my schedule.
I don’t see Taeha at all, as he’s made no moves to come into my room or contact me. Like a fool, I start to feel like I can breathe a bit easier. Maybe, my first guess was right. He had his fill of revenge and he’ll leave me be from now on.
I’ve been staying with one of my best friends, Joel. We were close all throughout highschool and ended up testing into the same university. We’re in different departments, but we still cleave out time between our busy schedules to meet for meals and cheap swill in his modest studio. Joel is what they’d call ‘All-American’ or a ‘good ol’ boy’, or at least that’s how I’ve always registered him. He wears a painful amount of denim and plaid, and as he comes and goes from a part-time construction gig, he’s often clad in dirtied boots that earn him nasty looks from his professors. He almost sticks out more than I do in the liberal Golden State.
His vibe, one of stereotypical southern charm, doesn’t detract from his looks. He’s a handsome dude, and while not the breed most uppity valley girls pursue, he earns his fair share of attention. He’s considerably taller than me, though not as tall as Taeha [I refuse to question myself on why that’s the metric I’m using], burly, and broad-shouldered. He’s got a working man’s practical musculature, and he eats like a teenager–gas station corndogs, Big Gulps, Funyuns, and Twizzlers. He’s not cut up like a bodybuilder, but he’s solid through and through.
He’s square-faced with bright eyes, green like a well-nourished lawn in the summer, and a mop of shaggy, blonde hair. I used to be attracted to him once upon a time, but the more I got to know him, I pegged him as chronically straight. While I maintain the belief that sexuality is a spectrum and everyone has a tiny bit of gay in them, that idea doesn’t adhere to Joel. I genuinely believe he’d be willingly celibate for the rest of his life if he didn’t have a natural, Christian-born pussy to fuck. I got over that attraction in the span of one semester, and we’ve been close ever since.
While he’s never said anything blatantly homophobic, I never intended to out myself to him. It was my business, as far as I was concerned. Unfortunately, he caught me throating the soul out of Jack Casey in our senior year, in one of the empty classrooms. We had a stilted, uncomfortable conversation not long after that, but we endured the awkwardness and were better off for it. It’s also not a taboo subject between us, as we regularly swap goofy stories about our vastly different sex lives.
In the two nights I’ve stayed with him, he’s not pushed for details as to why. He’s also not questioning my nun-like state of dress, as I’m usually one for shorts and T-shirts. He’s a reserved, respectful guy like that. However, neither of us have morning classes tomorrow, so the liquor is flowing like water tonight. We’re cramming our faces with pizza [extra cheese, jalapenos, and pineapple] and playing Beermaid with a deck of cards. It’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in three days, and I can finally sit and walk without wincing or having to carefully adjust myself.
“Hey, hey, Na’–” He’s not drunk yet, but his slurring indicates he’s but a drink or two away. “–you okay, man?”
His jaw is resting on his balled-up fist, elbow propped on the corner of the low coffee table.
I glance at him through the pyramid of playing cards, unsure how to answer. He seems to sense my hesitation and breathes a soft sigh through his nose. “I’m jus’ askin’ now because you finally seem a little more mellow. You’ve been real fuckin’ uptight this week. You know you can talk to me, man.”
I’m not so sure, despite his encouragement. While I do think Joel would believe me about Taeha, I can’t help but feel doubtful. There’s still a strong curling of guilt in my chest about how much I…enjoyed it, and I’m terrified that I’ll seem complicit in the act if I try to bring it up to anyone. Because I’m gay, there’s this preconceived notion that I’ll give it up for any cock, no matter who it’s attached to. That’s generally a straight person’s belief–the gays are promiscuous. Who’s to say Taeha won’t spin it to say I came onto him? He’s got the proof, after all.
I offer him a weak, see-through smile. “Yeah, man, I’m fine, honestly. Thanks for giving a shit though, and thanks for putting me up like this. I know it’s out of nowhere.”
“Did your parents find out you like dick or somethin’? Did they kick your fairy ass out?” He blurts.
I laugh. Tactless bastard. “No, no, nothing like that, you prick.”
We continue to drink, play, and rib each other thoughtlessly. It’s easy to forget about my predicament once again, and Joel seems to have forgotten he asked about it at all. The night wears on seamlessly, until my phone vibrates in my pants pocket. Halfway to sloshed, I think nothing of it when I pluck it out to check the screen. The sender’s name lights on the lockscreen, and my heart drops out of my ass. Nothing could’ve sobered me up faster, not a cold shower or a pot of espresso. I must’ve made a sound, startled or distressed, as Joel is squinting at me with concern.
Taeha messaged me.
I hold my breath. I’m fucking terrified to open it. My hands are clammy, shaking, and my face feels hot.
“Nanaka, hey. Wha’s goin’ on?” Joel tries hard to sound sober, and any other time, it would’ve been endearing. At the very least, his voice jars me from my panic. I blink up at him, struggling to clear the spots from my vision. Clearing my throat, I try to assure him, “‘s nothing, man.”
I look back down at my phone, and a million possibilities shoot like stars through my mind. Did he out me to our parents because I’m avoiding him? No, no, I would’ve heard from one of them first. Chewing my lip to a chap, I quickly unlock the device [feels like a lead brick in my hand] and open the thread. It simply reads:
[Be home by Friday or I’ll come get you myself.]
My gut lurches with dread, and I quickly stumble to my feet. I excuse myself to the bathroom. Joel calls after me, but I ignore him. Crashing to my knees in front of the toilet, I unload the contents of my stomach with a violent retch. I know I can’t avoid him forever, not without literally running away, but–
I’m not ready. I’m too scared. I’m scared of Taeha and scared of myself.
—
Friday evening arrives all too soon.
I’ve never been more petrified to return to my own home than I am now.
I open the front door as stealthily as possible. Our parents are out for their weekly date, but light shines through the living room’s curtains. I know he’s home. My breath comes fast and hard as I push into the foyer, and I can feel my heart pounding everywhere I shouldn’t: my face, my back, my stomach. I feel like I could vomit again, despite skipping both breakfast and lunch due to the incurable nerves. Through the fear, there’s an undercurrent of anticipation–that’s the worst part of it all. The feeling of heat brewing in my lower stomach, my dick trying to stiffen in my pants, makes me physically ill.
I pad into the foyer and swing my eyes around wildly, like Taeha’s the goddamn boogeyman. There’s no sign of him yet, and I start to wonder if he’s in his own room. Maybe he hadn’t actually heard me come in. I start to convince myself I can make it to my room and lock the door behind me without being detected or caught. It’ll be fine, I can do it. I can make it. I repeat this mantra to myself as I practically run past the kitchen. I shoot a quick, frantic glance at the living room–empty. My confidence begins to firm up under my skin. He has to be in his own room, then.
Or…
I stall in front of my bedroom door.
Or he’s in my room, fuck.
I drop my hand from where it’d been reaching for the knob, damn near hyperventilating. I’m completely lost on how to handle this situation. I have no idea what I should do or say around him now. It used to be easy and thoughtless to brush him off, even if I was rude about it. I never spared a second thought to the way I’ve treated him, because he’s tolerated it all this time. Things are so, so different now. I have to shut this down, somehow. I can’t–
“Welcome back.”
I nearly jump out of my socks. “Motherfuck!” I hiss, whipping around.
Taeha wasn’t in my room, and because I stupidly loitered outside the door, I’d given him the chance to corner me in front of it. He was leaning against the hallway’s threshold with less than two feet between us. His countenance was…relaxed, almost bored. While it didn’t seem forced, it didn’t make him appear any less intimidating. I have to look up to meet his eyes, and I’m again reminded [since our…tryst] of just how fucking massive he is for an eighteen-year-old. He stands well over six feet, a whole head above myself. I’d barely taken notice of his ludicrous growth spurt over the years, because Taeha wasn’t a person I took notice of at all.
Now, his stature can’t be ignored. I have a vague idea of which athletic pastimes he’s competed in, as well as his regular visits to the gym, but surely his bulk can’t be natural. He’s…cut the fuck up, muscles that might as well have been painstakingly chiseled from a slab of marble. Despite myself, despite what he’s done, I can’t help but marvel at it. It’s unfair, actually. He’s got his Dad’s genes for sure, because my step-father is also a massive, intimidating bastard.
“How was Joel’s?” He asks casually, but there’s a hint of something dangerous in it.
I think my face must’ve blanked out as I process the question, because how in the wholesale fuck did he know where I was? I didn’t specify to my mom which friend I was staying with. He scoffs at my stupefied look, approaching in a surefooted manner that I’m not accustomed to from him.
“You think I wouldn’t know where you were?” He huffs an abrasive, scornful laugh. “So, how was it?”
I’m not oblivious to what he’s implying, and surprisingly, these insinuations are what helps me rediscover my backbone. I scowl up at him. “It was fucking great, not that it’s any of your goddamn business.”
His brows lift at the sudden fight from me. His expression grows thunderous, or he’s just no longer bothering to hide his ire. My backbone lasted all of five seconds, and I shrink back at the harsh change in his aura.
“Is that right?” He murmurs, bearing down on me.
Before a half-baked attempt at reply can come together in my jumbled head, he’s shoving me through my bedroom door. I stumble through the threshold, and my overnight bag spills from the knob of my shoulder. He kicks the door shut behind us, and it’s–dark. It’s so dark in my room, with the loss of the living room’s light, and it feels like I’m trapped in a void with something inhuman. I’m beginning to well and truly panic again, and in the back of my mind, I almost find it funny how much I’m personifying a teenager. His hand snaps out like a viper and he catches my nape in a bruising grip. Taeha smashes my cheek against the door. His massive, unyielding body sandwiches me to its surface. My natural instinct is to struggle.
As soon as I start to squirm for freedom, he digs the tips of his fingers into the sides of my throat. I choke, terrified out of my mind to feel that distinct loss of blood flow to my brain. Taeha, for reasons unknown, is very, very good at making me pass out in simplistic ways like this one. I go limp to avoid forced unconsciousness, and the pressure against my veins and arteries lessens. “You said it’s none of my goddamn business?” He grits into my ear, and I’m even more horrified to feel that cruel, domineering tone shoot straight to my dick. I flinch against the door, humiliated by my own reaction to a few words.
He pulls his body back slightly, just enough so he can rip my sweats down over my bare ass with his free hand. “Nngh, wait! Taeha, I didn’t mean it, fuck–!”
“Shut the fuck up, Nana. Stick your ass out.”
There’s no fucking way. I can’t, I’ve only barely recovered from Sunday’s nightmarish fucking. I was finally able to sit without discomfort this morning. My eyes sting with tears, and I debase myself with renewed begging. I beg like I’m begging for my life. “Taeha, I’m sorry, please! I swear to fucking God, we didn’t–I didn’t do anything! Please, please, hah, fuck–!” My string of pleas is cut short, as Taeha brings his hand down like a clap of thunder against my ass. I shriek into the door, because holy fuck, his hand felt like a wooden paddle. I’m not totally sure it was his hand, but I couldn’t imagine what else he would’ve struck me with. It hurts, it hurts so bad, it–my erection digs painfully into the door, mocking me.
He brings his hand down again, harder than before. I spasm against the door as heat and sizzling pain bloom in my left cheek. I can’t bite it back, and a heaving sob escapes my chest. “Stop, stop, please, Taeha–ah! Shit!”
He doesn’t stop. It takes five more powerful, open-handed strikes to the same place on my ass before I realize what he’s waiting for. He’s waiting for me to be quiet and stick my ass out, like he’d asked me to do earlier. By the time I’ve realized it, I’m a shaking, sweating, sobbing mess. It’s wet and slippery between my thighs where my cock seeps an honest message. If he keeps hitting me, I might actually cum–just from that, from being spanked. I sob through my teeth as his palm comes down again, and that tender flesh has started to grow numb. My lower body feels electrified, and my belly burns with need.
I arch my back low, sticking my ass out like he’d asked for.
He clicks his tongue, as if he can’t believe it took me so long to comply. Instead of raining another hard blow, he strokes an apology into my flushed, battered cheek. The contrast of sensation nearly pushes me over the edge, and I swallow a heady moan.
“Was that so hard, Nana?” He asks, chastising me as if I were a misbehaving toddler.
My silence earns me another strike in the same spot, and it’s the most devastating blow of all, as I wasn’t expecting it. A raw scream is ripped from my throat.
“Answer. Was that so hard, to do as I asked the first time?”
“N-No.”
“Then you’ll fucking do as I ask the first time, right?”
“Yes.” I reply quickly.
He continues massaging my ass where he’d brutalized it, but leans forward to drag his mouth across the outurned line of my jaw. “Did you think I was gonna fuck you?” He asks.
“Yes.” He’s struck the fear of God into my heart as well, as I make sure to answer his question within half a second after he’s asked it.
“Were you scared?” His laugh tickles goosebumps into the base of my throat, below where he still grips me tightly.
“Yes.” I admit.
With that same hand, he squeezes the balloon of my ass in a tight, painful grip and spreads it apart. My breath starts to quicken again, and while I realize I’m making myself dizzy with it, I can’t slow it down. I might actually tear if he tries to fuck me now. My insides are still a little swollen. Like, the kind of tear that requires stitches. He wouldn’t, right? I tell myself he won’t do it, because he’d leave himself open to getting caught. It brings me little to no comfort as I both hear and feel him drip a healthy dollop of spit between my sore cheeks. He smears the pseudo lubrication over my smarting hole, and my breath hitches with unadulterated fear.
“You can relax.” He laughs outright, seeming to take some sort of pity on me. “I’m not going to fuck you, I’m just checking to see if you’ve been honest with me.”
My eyes blow open. If I had to guess, Taeha knows I didn’t get up to anything with Joel. He’s only doing this to further humiliate me. He’s ‘checking me’ like I’m some sort of child-bride or a cattle at auction. He rubs the calloused pads of his fingers against that sensitive place, and I almost attempt to pull away. The only thing keeping me arched out is the absolute blistering of my left cheek. There are no doubts in my mind that he’ll hit me again if I move away. Sensing my resolve, he praises me:
“Good, such a good job. Stay still for me, just like that.”
He sinks two of his big fingers into me at the same time, and it’s fucking–painful and good at the same time, my head spins with it. His palm settles flush against my ass. As if to test me, he finally releases the clamp on my neck. If I drop the arch in my back or attempt to get away, I’ll be hit again, that much I know. He drags his hand down the curvature of my back, settling at my hip. Gently, teasingly, he stretches me out with his fingers. He grinds them against my inner walls and drags against my prostate. He plunges them in deeply, then retracts slowly.
He continues this soft, fluid rhythm until my thighs are trembling and my dick is jumping like a trained terrier. I can barely breathe through what feels like a lead-ton weight sitting on my chest, and my ears buzz with adrenaline. Keeping still under this methodical treatment as he’s asked me to do is complete and utter torture. I’m not sure what kind of sounds I’m making, but I know they’re breathless and pathetic. I’m so turned on, I feel like I could die.
“If you cum without permission, I promise you’ll regret it, Nana.” He warns in a low, dangerous voice that sets my fine hairs to lifting.
Which means, I’ll have to beg for it again.
“Please let me cum, please, I can’t–I’m…” I can’t even finish a thought, as he grinds the tips of his fingers against my prostate mercilessly. “Please, please, please–!” I’m crying, I can feel it in my voice, thick with tears. I’m crying like a fucking baby because this psychotic teenager is edging me to the brink of insanity.
He’s staunchly silent behind me, and I realize with a dawning horror–he’s not going to give me permission. He’s going to force me to cum without it, and then punish me for it. I wonder which would earn me a worse punishment: pulling away to keep from cumming without permission, or being forced to cum without it anyway. “Taeha, you motherfu–nngh! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He jabs his fingers against that little bundle viciously, deliberately, and I’m seeing supernovas before I can grasp what’s happening with my body. I shudder violently against the door, repainting it with that prohibited orgasm. Satisfied with his latest mindfuck, Taeha slides his fingers out of my ass. I drop to a graceless heap on the floor, as there isn’t an ounce of strength left in my legs.
All I can do now is pray to God that his threat of punishment was an empty one.