Siblings with Benefits Lex Talionis

"Oh that's it Mark, you pound that pussy, you give it to me! Fuck me like I'm one of those little pigs from the bar!"

All that came out one word at a time in between her yelps and it was driving me crazy! Despite how much sex I had last night I could start to feel myself getting close. Watching Robin's sweat soaked, tightly muscled back and the full length of my glistening cock driving in and out of that pretty red bush wasn't helping me hold back so I turned my head to the left.

I found myself looking at our reflection in the mirror over Robin's bureau. I felt myself gasp as I stared first at Robin on her hands and knees, mouth open wide, face dripping sweat and crying out in pleasure as I fucked her. My gaze shifted to my own reflection and had to say I looked damn good fucking her. My tanned skin was a hot contrast to Robin's ivory complexion and of course I could see my cock driving in and out of her well rounded ass.

The huge tattoo of Pan that covered my entire right arm from shoulder to elbow did little to conceal the bulging in my arm and shoulder, my chest and stomach were covered in sweat and every muscle was clearly defined as I continued to tear into her. Reaching out I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head up. Last night I would have gotten punished for this but Robin was crazed with desire right now, crying out;

"Oh that's right, you show me how you take your women, you ohhhhh!"

Robin let out a long howl and I felt her pussy contract around my cock as she came again, just from me fucking her that hard. I glanced in the mirror one more time and the look of absolute lust on Robin's face brought me right to the edge. Oh when I had money I was so going to get wall-to-wall mirrors, maybe even one on the ceiling! I tore my gaze from the mirror and after giving Robin's ass one hard slap that made her cry out, I reared back and put everything I had into the last few pumps, once again thinking of the kind of woman I was fucking.

I was twenty-one years old, a foster kid, who tended bar and I was fucking one of the hottest women I had ever seen, and she was my third this week. My entire life would be like this; I would have it all, success, money, power and women like this. I would take what I wanted. My thoughts were cut short as I felt myself ready to cum, I let out a loud gasp and after another pump Robin cried out;

"Oh inside! I want to feel every fucking drop!!"

I let myself go and groaned as I felt my cock begin spurting inside of her already sopping pussy. I continued pumping each thrust ending with me spraying more of my hot cum deep into Robin's pussy. I let out an embarrassing little whimper as Robin once again contracted her muscles around my still spurting cock. As I finished I couldn't believe how much I had cum, or that she had let me go off inside of her. I would assume Robin was on the pill, but it's not like it really mattered.

A year ago, at the age of twenty, after meeting my real father, I had gone to a doctor and gotten a vasectomy. Because Megan had been sexually assaulted at a young age, my sister also couldn't have children, so our father's name would end with me. Shaking my head I wondered what the fuck was wrong with me, that I could even think like that after having just finished fucking. I sat back on my knees panting as Robin stretched her long legs out on the bed and moaned into her pillow;

"Oh my god you're amazing."

"How can I not want to fuck the shit out of a pussy like that?" I asked in between deep breaths.

Robin laughed;

"And a smooth talker as well!"

Robin rolled over onto her back then got up from the bed. Looking over at me she said;

"Let's shower."

"I'll shower at the gym." I told her. I'd only just get sweaty there again anyways.

Robin cocked her head at me;

"I wasn't asking Mark," She began as she walked towards the bathroom. "Get in here and shower me."

"Yes ma'am." I sighed.

There were worse things I suppose as I spent the next twenty minutes in the hot steamy shower, soaping and rinsing very inch of Robin's incredible body. Robin sighed and cooed happily the entire time, especially when I had her lean back into me as I took my time shampooing her long hair. As I started rinsing it I had another one of those unwanted visions; I saw myself in my shower at home shampooing Megan's hair, enjoying her supple body with those incredible legs, and perfect tits, that long black hair gathered in my hands and those amazing crystal blue eyes looking into mine, she'd flash me that sweet crooked smile and say;

"Oh look at you, taking good care of your big sister."

"Shit!" Robin exclaimed mercifully snapping me out of my daydream.

"What?" I asked wondering what I missed.

"It's almost ten! I have to get my ass to the office."

Robin shut the water off and hopping out of the shower quickly toweled off and all but ran into her bedroom. I took my time drying off and as I went back into her room Robin was already dressed in a long black skirt and red blouse. I smiled at how professional she looked; a half hour ago she'd been on her knees getting the shit fucked out of her. As she started putting on her make up, I dressed in a pair of black jeans and a gray tank top and leaning over her shoulder quickly finger combed my thick black hair. Turning my head I kissed her on the cheek;

"I'll let myself out, give me a call when you want to get together."

"Hey hold on Mark." Robin said standing up.

As I watched she reached into her purse and after digging into her wallet handed me a hundred dollar bill.

"Here you go hon,"

"I told you that I don't..." I began but she waved me silent.

"Hey books are expensive right?" She asked smiling.

"It's summer."

"So save up."

She then rubbed her hand along my left arm where last week I had gotten a full sleeve tattoo depicting the four horsemen of the apocalypse, like Pan it covered every inch of skin form shoulder to elbow.

"I'm sure I paid for some of this beauty." Robin said grinning.

"Well yeah, but..."

"Mark take it." She said pressing the money into my hand.

"Trust me, you're worth every penny. You give me just what I need and not an ounce of drama."

"Okay if you insist." I said smiling. Paid to fuck a woman like this. Yeah, it wasn't so bad being me.

"Besides I need you to take next Friday off of work."

"Friday?"

"I have some girlfriends from college coming up. We're going to dinner and their bringing their rich successful hubbies." Robin smiled and rubbed my arm pausing to squeeze my bicep.

"And I am going to bring you my hot little bad boy, and by the end of the night all three of them are going to go home thinking of you and how hot you are and how hard you'll be fucking me while they go home with their middle age yuppy husbands."

"Okay next Friday." I could get Cynthia to cover, she'd do anything for me.

"Anything!"

I frowned as that last part echoed in my head. I had not said that. Now I knew why all those thoughts had come to me.

"Mark?"

"Sorry." I said smiling at her. "That sounds like fun."

Robin nodded then touching the scruff on my cheek said;

"And lose this; I want you pretty next week."

"Yes ma'am."

"And here," Robin handed me another hundred. "By something nice to wear, were going five star."

"Thank you. " I said taking the money.

Robin paused to look at me and shook her head.

"You are something Mark, those really are the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, I swear they're three colors at once."

I shrugged and Robin continued;

"Mark." She said then smirked; "A very appropriate name for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Because that is exactly what you're going to leave in life; your mark." She smiled. "You're as intelligent as you are pretty and as driven as you are both. You're going to have it all Mark and you know it." Her smile broadened, "I look forward to the day I see you in that courthouse, in your expensive suit, all the women looking at you and winning every case you take."

"Sounds good to me." I said nodding in agreement.

"Just hope you don't run into me dear, because I'd hate to have to teach you as much in the courtroom as I have in the bedroom, no?"

"Yes ma'am." I answered.

"Don't flatter yourself bitch!"

I winced as that last part flowed through my head.

"Mark you okay?" Robin asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "Just tired, someone wore my ass out."

Robin smirked;

"Ahhh youth, it's wasted on the young. Well, you need to go Mark it's not like people around here don't know what I do but I really don't need you walking out with me at ten in the morning. I'll call you next week. Okay?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You Pussy!"

I left Robin's condo and quickly walked towards the visitors parking lot, ignoring the smirks I got from a couple of guys who were sitting out in front of the next unit and I'm sure had heard us. On my way to my car I saw a couple of young girls lying in lawn chairs, already sunbathing. They both turned as I walked by and one of them called something out to me. I glanced over and saw they were barely eighteen if that. Spoiled little rich girls who thought they wanted to fuck with someone like me. If I had been in a better frame I would have stopped and taught them to be careful of what they wished for, but I needed to clear my head, or more appropriately silence it.

As I reached my car; the black 1976 Buick Lesabre that Doug and Denise had bought me for my high school graduation; two years and a couple of thousand later it was perfectly restored. I leaned against the door and rubbed my throbbing temples. The left always hurt more than the right, probably due to the steel plate just under it; a lasting souvenir of my time with Max.

Taking a few deep breaths I got into the car and as I started it couldn't help but smile at the roar of the 455 engine that I had put in six months ago. Unfortunately the sudden sound of Iron Maiden's Number of The Beast coming through the Bose stereo speakers wiped the smile off my face as the noise crashed through my throbbing head. Quickly turning the radio down I tried to think when the last time I had heard the voice was, and for that matter when the last time I'd had a headache this bad. The headache was probably because of...

"That's not me. That's called a hangover." An all too familiar dry raspy voice said from somewhere inside of my mind.

The voice. It was the only thing I had ever called it. Years ago when I had first heard it I had asked it if it had a name and it said its name was Mark as well, so "the voice" it was. What it really should be called is the curse. My father, Matthew, was a schizophrenic who snapped and murdered someone in a bar fight, he was still institutionalized in upstate New York. His father William had also had it, the way the story goes, he was pretty much the town loon walking around all day talking to himself.

"I'm not a curse, I'm a gift and you know it!"

I turned the radio up refusing to acknowledge it. If I didn't respond to the remark's it would usually stay quite, if I spoke to it the voice would go on and on.

"You used to like to talk to me when you were a kid."

That's because I needed you.

"You still do."

"Shit!" I said out loud. It was impossible not to speak in your own head. A loud laugh rang through my head as the voice mocked my efforts to ignore it.

"Gotcha!"

"Shut up." I told it.

I shook my head. I was arguing with myself. The voice acting up bothered me for more than just the obvious reason of it being there at all. Over the years the voice was usually only prevalent when I was in trouble, extremely upset or if I was in the midst of a bout of insomnia and wasn't mentally right to begin with. Sighing I asked;

"Why are you out of your room?"

"You tell me. I only come out when you want me to."

"Well get your ass back in there then, I'm doing just fine."

"Oh come on Mark! Don't be an asshole, it's not like I bother you. Hell you're better when I'm around and you know it."

I paused and shook my head. Arguing was useless, if the voice was out then it was going to be around until it felt like going away. Sometimes that could be a day or two, other times it would be around for weeks. The voice had a point however; when it was in my head I did feel different. I felt faster and stronger and also seemed to pick up on things faster as well. In school if I couldn't remember the answer The Voice would "show" it to me; an image of the correct page of the text book flashing into my mind's eye. Over the years there were also many times I had the disturbing feeling that The Voice was more experienced that I was, as if it were older than me.

Unfortunately what the voice really represented were my baser instincts. It was me stripped down to the core; concerned with only two things; survival and violence, voice fueling my already destructive temper. When it wasn't around I had ways to maintain control, when it was here things tended to get real nasty real quick. It was the voice that, two years ago, had urged me to break Jack's jaw after I already had him beaten. Screaming in my head about Lex Talionis and how we needed to set the example so that no one else would ever fuck with Megan again.

Of course I had never told anyone about the voice, not even my sister. When I was in the group home it would have gotten me locked up, and if Doug and Denise had ever found out they would have sent me away. As it was there were times that people noticed I wasn't always there all the time. The doctors would sit there and say it was from being traumatized; that it was part of all those years I was forbidden to talk. They believed that I "talked" to myself in my head and that it sometimes led to "spells" or as Megan had always called it "Going Away."

The doctors were right of course, I was conversing in my head they just didn't know it was a two-way conversation. The closest anyone had ever come to figuring out that there could be something more was Doug. I had once over heard him telling Denise that he didn't trust me, that there was something wrong with me. When Denise had asked why Doug had told her that it was in my eyes, that sometimes when he looked into them he swore there was something moving behind them as if there was something dark inside of me and it was just waiting for its chance.

Doug also had found out quite a bit about my real father, and seemed convinced I was going to be just like him. Well the joke was on Doug, I may have inherited my father's mental condition, but I was far from a psycho who was going to piss his life away. Oh no I had a great life ahead of me. A life full of success, even Robin had said it; I was going to have it all.

I arrived at the All-Star gym and, after grabbing the gym bag out of the trunk, went inside. At ten thirty on a hot sunny Friday morning the gym was pretty much deserted, there were two young couples over near the boxing ring, the guys staggering around with the gloves, and the girls egging them on. I walked past them and one of the guys called my name. I might have known him from school, but ignored him anyways. He repeated my name and I kept walking, a minute later I heard him call me an asshole.

"Are you going to take that?"

No I'm going to go kick his ass and get arrested over an insult from some kid I don't care about. See why I lock you up?

The voice didn't reply to that. I went into the locker room and changed into just a pair of black loose fitting karate pants. Seeing there was no one else in there with me, I sat on the floor cross legged in front of one of the mirrors and closing my eyes softly chanted my daily Ave satanna. The voice chanted along with me. I had started in Latin as did the voice, in the middle I switched to English, the voice however stayed in Latin.

Finishing, I closed my eyes and began taking slow deep breaths and let my mind drift, letting go of everything including the voice. No worries, no fear, no pain just peace. As my breathing slowed down and I relaxed even more, I began drifting to a place somewhere between conscious and subconscious. I felt as if I was floating and after a few minutes I opened the eyes inside of my mind.

I was standing inside the corridor of the attic that I had created in my mind. When I was sixteen and had been in karate for a few months, I had lost my temper and had completely unloaded on a couple of kids who had tried to hurt me. Technically it was self-defense, but I had broken the right arm and three ribs on one kid and the jaw and nose of the second, and it had taken three people to pull me off of them. The voice had told me to hurt them so badly that they would never even think of hurting me again.

The social workers were pretty close to writing me off at that point, but my Karate instructor, a man named Joe Cabral, who gave free classes once a week at the home, stepped in and said he could help me. Cabral had sat and talked to me, or really at that point at me, for a while as I didn't really talk to anybody. After all, you never knew when you might make too much noise. At that thought I felt a ripple of unease go through my peaceful state. A growl came from down the other end of the attic. I took a deeper breath and refocused.

Unfazed by my unresponsiveness Cabral continued to give me private lesson's(,) working out with me three times a week, much to the distress of the social workers who thought I was already too dangerous. After every lesson Cabral would talk to me about discipline and control and that I could have them if I wanted them, along with confidence, self respect and the ability to deal with everything around me.

Cabral was still my teacher when Doug and Denise took me in and after Megan had gotten me over the fear of speaking to people I started talking to Cabral, I told him I had no control over my temper; that all I saw was red and it was all over. This of course wasn't completely true, what I saw was Max Thompson's screaming face and massive fists. What I also didn't say was that I had a voice in my head telling me to hurt before I was hurt.

Cabral then told me that he had once had the same problem and for the same reason, like myself, Cabral had also been badly abused as a child, except for him it was his real father, and as he got older he began to have serious problems with anger and fighting. His mother had sent him to a therapist who had taught him a mental exercise to control that rage.

The trick was to picture your rage as some type of animal and then create a cage for it in your mind. Then meditate every day with that image, until you had it firmly envisioned in your head. Once it was complete, you put the animal in the cage and locked it. The idea sounded ridiculous, but I had a good imagination from reading constantly and gave it a try.

I envisioned my rage as a dog; a big black hound with red eyes and fangs that were so long they came out over its lower lip like a saber tooth. Rather than a cage I created an attic, an old musty one that no one would ever go in. I put the dog in the room at the end of the corridor and after closing the door put a wooden brace across it so it couldn't break through.

This worked surprisingly well. I found I was able to control myself much better. Of course if someone touched me the dog would get out and all hell would break loose, but eventually, as I got better at karate that improved as well. As I learned how to defend myself by being faster, and more proficient than my opponents, I didn't need to lose my temper to handle myself. Even now at the clubs, when trouble started, I could usually talk the trouble makers down and if I had to act, was able to do so in a controlled manner, doing just enough to end the fight quickly with minimal damage to my opponent.