The Hot Brothers Ch. 11

We've got some kink going on. Domination and CNC and way too much of the bizarre for those who dig that.

Did he really just ask whether he had my attention? He had my arse in a state of eternal flame. Of course he had my attention. Even biting my lower lip didn't halt the quiver. All I could manage was a weak nod in response.

Where was Caleb? Why hadn't he overthrown his tyrannical alpha brother? Why the fuck had I even stupidly got lost in the lure of the younger brother's islander charms?

Pressure landed on my enflamed backside. His hands, maybe? The throb remained, though. "Next time won't be this gentle."

Gentle? He thought that absolute torturous pain was gentle? I still had no way to respond as I hovered in shocked awareness. Even as he massaged the area. I didn't need a fucking massage!

"Caleb." I struggled through a sob. Caleb could be the one to comfort me after this gentle paddling.

John continued to stroke the angry flesh. "This isn't a playground I set up for children."

Was he claiming Caleb acted like a child? Or both of us? Forgive us for the decade we lagged behind the oh-so-wise and pretentious millennial. Though, Caleb would have been a millennial given he was latter twenties. At least he didn't act like it.

Not like I could speak my mind on the matter. I couldn't hold my lips steady or even mute my whimpers.

The kneading sensation continued, but migrated closer to my core. My responding jolt was met with him shushing me and fingertips pressed to my entry. The exploration located the bundle of nerves that hadn't lost the need from when Caleb worked his magical tongue on me.

I hated this asshole for all he'd already done. Worse, I hated him for thinking he could continue the action where Caleb was forced to stop pleasuring me. Why would this Alphahole reap the rewards of--

Those cello fingers strummed my most pleasurous spot. There was no other way to describe whatever he just did.

"Caleb," I said again, just as weak as the last time.

John's response came with a soft swirling against my pulsing nub. It should have been reacting to the absolute agony of my backside as opposed to his touch.

"The only man you're going to be thinking about right now is me," he said.

He'd certainly mastered hindering any thoughts aside from my agony-ridden body. Right now he had me very aware of his melodious touch. A sensation I needed to hate, especially as his member pressed at my slick entry.

Why was I so receptive? This man had just caused me the most pain I'd ever experienced. He made sure this traveling dungeon was decked out in a way that guaranteed my torment. He'd plotted and purchased me for no specified amount--

His manhood sank to the hilt; his body against my angry flesh. And his finger continuing its perfected strumming.

"Fuck," he breathed, hardly audible over the classical piece that just began to play. A slow one.

He chased me down in a field, miserably cold with no top and shredded jeans--

He inched out of me before a steady glide into my depths again, swirling desire and pain through me as they battled for my attention.

He paddled me! Caused me to cry--

"Who's fucking you Julie?"

I lingered in a mix between loving the sensation and hating this over-the-top alpha male who demanded my attention.

His lean forward pressed his weight onto my back, his lips against the hair over my ear. "Who's fucking you?"

"You are," I replied.

Of course he demanded my full attention. His next shove into me held more force, though easily glid into my welcoming slickness. Pleasing in spite of my pained backside. Bliss inducing.

Did I add in all the things the mafia bosses wanted to hear? All the things that I so desperately fantasized about? Did I dare think of the man with short messy blond hair?

Not if I wanted this bizarrely amazing bliss to surface. "Sir."

"Fuck, Julie." His grind had this way of adding friction to that perfect spot inside me. His strumming ended, his hands preferring to find my breasts, adding to the rapidly growing need.

The pumping into me stopped. "Your pussy should be milking my cock with a soul-shattering orgasm." His grip added a painful squeeze to my nipples.

He planned to do this to me again? To refuse me the gratification of the ache he'd caused. Of what Caleb had stirred. Reversing everything. And all the pained sensations mixed with his voice didn't let me go to that happy place where my mind could easily let this come on its own.

This torment in a book felt different. To be read over and over again with anticipation. But to experience it. Oh, how I loathed him. Not the way he slammed into me. I loved that, but it had the sort of angle that ignored the heavenly location.

"You've been bad Julie."

Whispered from him in such a tone, my name gave me a high. Maybe he would let me find my release. Maybe--

"Julie," he groaned, shoving hilt deep, blasting into me. He remained in place, ensuring I didn't receive the friction I needed. Instead, the throb of the sting on my rear took hold.

The monster! The fucking bastard!

"Every fucking day I spent miserably away from you will be multiplied before you earn any orgasm."

He may have been wealthy as fuck, but the billionaires always made certain the woman they purchased or forcibly married received soul-shattering pleasure. This man had the abusive manner of the villains in twisted romances that even I didn't dare explore.

Further into the lair

I never cared to hear all those annoying details that made the pacing suck. Yeah, John freed me from the bench. He also placed an ice pack to my core until I became too numb, then he let me have a few minutes of privacy to take care of business and rinse the area off.

And now? Now I had a two-foot long chain attached to my ankle cuff that kept me securely connected to the metal pole in the center of the space. No bench. Only a couch I couldn't reach. Not even clothing aside from a black chastity belt. It didn't look monstrous. It was simple with a heart shape in the front and bendable but tight straps. However, the area of my core had a wide silver swell that ensured no friction.

And he did ensure I craved release before securing it to me. Before he left, he said, "I know you were wanting to hear Canon in D, here you go." And the classical wedding piece played on loop for around thirty minutes.

Finally, Caleb came to my rescue. Not that he could do anything for me. John had me under lock and key.

Caleb's lower lip tucked between his teeth as he snuck over to me with an arm suspiciously hidden behind his back. He looked so breathtaking in a black tee and loose pants. So relaxed, yet swoonworthy. And the way his hair flowed down to his shoulder made him all the more handsome.

He'd altered the lighting to a more amber glow. "I brought you something." He lowered to sit in front of where I sat with my back against the metal dancer's pole and my arms crossed in front of my chest.

I couldn't decide whether I wanted to glare at him or accept the gift box he extended to me. But how could I hate the hero? The one who, when chance arose, would free me of his brother. My dark and rugged knight who'd fallen for me despite any oath to be broken.

When I freed one hand to accept it, he beamed like a teenager with a crush. I lifted the lid, revealing purple fabric.

"I may have read one of the books you took with you to the masquerade."

When I pulled out the sheer purple fabric, a thin gold band also came into view. There were two pieces. The one with gold I let flow. A little slave skirt with long wide strips for front and back that would most certainly reach ankle length. The other must have been a halter type top when twisted into a figure-eight.

How could I be angry with the one person who'd gone out of his way to give me a dress similar to what a woman in one of my loved novels wore? I couldn't. There would always be time to fight him, to act out my fantasy and eventually escape, but for now, I felt the urge to show my appreciation for his thoughtfulness.

"Thank you, Caleb."

"Stand up." He tossed the box to the side. "I'll help you put it on."

Clutching the fabric to my chest, I rose, slowly, loving the way he scanned me--hating the chastity belt that covered my core that began to ache. No relief would come from the way this man made me feel so sensually powerful.

He didn't rush to his feet. He took his time and scooted onto his knees my way, kissing my inner knee. Not a simple peck either, but letting his tongue lap up whatever treat he must have imagined coated my inner thigh.

I felt as though I were a princess, forced to marry the powerful king of a rivalling kingdom. No...tribe. This man was too rugged for a simple well groomed ruler in a tunic. And for some unknown reason, he wanted this union. Me. Attractive and worth the effort to woo.

Worshipped. Fuck, did he make me feel worshipped as his sucks and lapping moved ever-higher. Nothing felt worse than the moment his lips bumped against the dooming chastity belt that marked me as the slave of a dark lord. The one who must be defeated so the magic binding this cruel device would be forever broken.

The fabric fell from my hands as I preferred to feel his silken hair between my fingers. To imagine his rage at the one who'd tormented me and chained me with a power too great to break free of and escape the dark tower.

By the time he'd reached my visibly shivering navel, my short fingernails dug into his scalp, gently tugging him higher to my swelling breasts. I could feel a rugged stubble tickle my skin. The heated breaths that grew more impassioned as he explored ever-higher.

His crown fell, loudly clanking against the stone floor. Who knew how long this prison cell would remain barren of guards after that clatter. Or when a dragon might circle the tower that was lit only by a strip of moon that twinkled in his soul-guzzling green eyes.

Now he'd reached my heaving breasts, and I couldn't fight the urge to rip off the detestable tunic separating our bodies. Yeah, I changed my mind about the tunic. I had to once the crown fell. Once my god-sent hero who glittered in holy white had come.

Ever higher he came, raising his muscular arms as I yanked the heroic garment upward and off him. Desperate for every powerful suck and twirl of his tongue below my chin that had upturned the moment he gripped the hair at my nape.

"Damn, Jules," he breathed, trailing up to my lips. "I already love every single thing about you.

I needed the massive manhood poking my navel inside me. I ground forward, desperate for any friction against the vile chastity contraption that refused him easy access.

"Ravish me." I spoke the words I loved imagining. The ones that would have a threadbare dress ripped from my helpless body.

"Baby girl," he hummed before pecking my lips.

I already imagined him pounding into me as I raised a leg to curl around so his pelvis firmly held me against the pole that imprisoned my other ankle.

"John has the keys." His whisper tormented me. The possessive Alpha would torment both of us for eternity. "And this." Caleb's fingers lightly brushed where I'd been paddled. But that weak throb felt like a bonus at this point. A pleasuring sort of heat, and the memory of the cruelty I'd endured due to a billionaire's jealousy that he could never have my heart.

"Please," I begged. I had no choice but to drop to my knees, casting a helpless glance upward to Caleb. "Master." Forget the sweet guy who came to free me. Why couldn't I be dominated? To find a way to enjoy this situation.

The side of his mouth quirked upward.

"Just a minute, baby girl," he said, quickly sidestepping to retrieve something before tucking a pillow behind my head and neck. The moment he returned in front of me, dark eyes looked down with hunger.

If I didn't do as he desired, he could shift into a werewolf, and I didn't want that aggression. I yanked down the front of his loose pants and didn't hesitate to take him into my mouth. The erection he must not have alleviated earlier because he awaited to moment he could return to use my mouth to satisfy his wicked cravings.

I clawed his thighs as I quickly worked, knowing exactly the perfection he expected of only my swirling tongue and bobs of my head. But I couldn't do as good as he expected, and he would have to teach me a lesson.

A lesson. Any moment now. Punishment for me not moving fast enough. Not sucking. No longer swirling my tongue. A bratty, defiant personal slave.

I glared upward.

Any moment now.

"Bad, bad, girl, Jules," he purred, teasing me before a forward thrust that had my head to the pillow. His fists went to my hair, not painful as they pulled. Just right in the pressure.

His hips pumped and his cock met my throat. "Such a bad slave." He glared down to where I looked up to him, desperate to receive my punishment and forgiveness. Even if I spread my thighs and rubbed the cold silver--which I did--no gratification could ever quite come to my aching core. Maybe I would forever be unpleasured due to my bratty ways. My upbringing I'd always rebelled against. Desperation for release may only be met with erotic torment.

Now he shifted one hand to grip the pole as he pumped into me, owning my mouth in a way I'd never thought I could love so much. "Baby girl," he breathed, pushing deep to force his juices straight down my throat.

My greatest efforts at gratifying my own ache were met with cold cruelty that trapped my nub.

Caleb pulled from me, his own ridged chest swelling in a tempo similar to mine. His grin grew and he winked down while raising his pants.

Something about this charming man proved to match my every fantasy. The safe space that unleashed my imagination as he knew in detail how to elicit the strong emotions that always captivated me.

"We didn't even get to have fun with your slave girl outfit." He leaned down to pick up the sheer purple outfit, bringing the dark lord himself into view.