Chapter 7: Summer Project
*incest, brothers, extreme fisting, prolapse, rosebud, toys*
It had been eleven months since that first night on the couch. Months of classes, parties, gym PRs, tailgates, and finals; all of it perfectly normal on the outside. Nobody on campus suspected that the two ripped brothers who lived off-campus spent every single night trying to turn Sam’s ass into a gaping sleeve of pure sexual debauchery. Summer break hit like a starting gun. Their parents were in Europe for two months. The apartment lease was paid. No jobs, no internships, just four empty months and a shared obsession that had grown teeth. Lucas laid it out the first morning, standing over Sam while he did hip thrusts in the living room, naked except for a backward cap and a ten-inch plug buried in his ass.
“This summer,” Lucas said, voice calm but absolute, “we’re not playing around anymore. Your cunt’s getting destroyed every single day; long toys, elbow deep fisting, punch-outs, inflatable plugs blown so large look pregnant. By the time classes start again, I want this hole so wrecked you can’t close it for a week.”
Sam just moaned around the barbell, thrust harder, and nodded frantically. That was all the consent either of them needed. Lucas had been sporting a semi since sunrise just thinking about the plan. Every morning he woke up leaking at the idea of spending another day buried in the body he’d grown up protecting. Owning Sam like this, turning his little brother into a permanent sleeve, wasn’t just sex anymore. It was the purest love he’d ever felt. The routine locked in fast.
- Mornings: Sam woke up with something already inside him, usually a 24-inch double-headed snake coiled so deep he could feel it in his stomach. He’d cook breakfast like that, waddling around the kitchen while Lucas drank coffee and watched the outline of the toy shift under Sam’s skin.
- Afternoons: the gym, still. Glute workouts that left Sam’s ass so pumped it looked fake.
- Evenings: Home for the real training…
Lucas bought a sling, mounting it in the spare bedroom. The turned the room into a real wrecking station: shelves of toys longer than forearms, jars of crisco and J-Lube, pumps, inflatables, a fuck machine with a two-foot attachment. Every day Sam spent hours in that sling; legs spread wide, hole greased and blooming open from the night before. Lucas worked him deeper, harder, more relentlessly than ever.
Elbow deep fisting became casual. Lucas could slide in to the elbow in under thirty seconds now, forearm disappearing into that slick, sucking cunt while Sam drooled and babbled. They started going past the elbow to mid-bicep some days causing Sam’s eyes to roll back and his belly bulged visibly from the intrusion. Sam’s brain would become static. One thought kept looping, over and over like a broken record: more… more… more…
Punch fisting was their newest obsession. Lucas would lube both arms to the shoulder, fold one hand into a tight duck-head, and start rapid-fire punching past the second sphincter. In-out-in-out, fast and brutal, creating vacuum suction that everted Sam’s rectum in obscene, rose-colored petals every time Lucas pulled free of the insatiable greedy hole. Sam would scream, piss himself, cum hands-free, then beg for another round before the prolapse even sucked itself back in.
Inflatables went in at night. They’d pump until Sam’s lower abs domed outward, until he looked five months pregnant from the silicone reshaping his guts. He slept like that, moaning softly every time he shifted, the pressure constant and perfect.
Sam’s brain rewired itself around the stretch. Empty felt wrong now. Wrong like missing a limb. He’d finger himself absent-mindedly during movies, ride random objects in the shower, whine if Lucas left him empty for more than twenty minutes. His cock stayed half-hard permanently, leaking whenever anything nudged his swollen ring. By the end of June his resting gape was three fingers without lube. By mid-July Lucas could fit both fists side-by-side with enough time and effort. Sam’s asshole had become this obscene, puffy flower; a thick outer ring, slick red inner walls always half-visible, perpetually wet and ready. And Lucas was addicted to the damage he created.
On the hottest night in July, Sam was in the sling again, sweat-soaked and delirious. Lucas kept his right hand buried and clenched, but stopped thrusting. Instead he fed his throbbing cock alongside it, forcing the wrecked rim to swallow both wrist and shaft at once. The hole gaped obscenely, purple lips stretched around the double invasion. He opened his fist inside Sam’s guts, wrapped slick fingers around his own veiny cock, and started jerking himself off deep in his little brother’s body.
“Fuck, look at you,” Lucas rasped, staring down at the impossible stretch. “Taking my fist and my cock at the same time. This used to be such a tight little virgin hole.” Sam could only whimper, eyes unfocused. Sam felt every stroke: Lucas’s knuckles dragging over his prostate, the fat head of his cock bumping his own palm, hot pre-cum smearing across fingers and rectal walls. Wet, rhythmic squelches filled the room as Lucas pumped faster, literally using Sam’s ruined asshole as a living fleshlight. “Gonna keep you like this all summer,” Lucas promised, voice breaking as he got close. “Every day. Deeper. Wider. Until there’s nothing left of this cunt but a tunnel for me.”
Sam managed one coherent sentence, voice hoarse from hours of screaming: “Never stop.” while pissing himself helplessly from the onslaught.
Lucas came with a growl, flooding the sloppy ruined guts, then slowly eased himself free just to watch the cavern stay open; fist-wide, dark and pulsing, coated in cum and lube. “Fuck, Sammy… I just jerked off inside my own brother.” Two more months of stretching ahead of them before college resumed. They were just getting started.
Chapter 8: Beer-Buzzed & Permanently Blown
*incest, brothers, drunk sex, permanent gape, rimming, ass-to-mouth, public plug use*
The Uber ride home had been a blur of laughter, spilled beer, and Lucas’ hand secretly wedged between Sam’s thighs the whole way, two fingers hooked around the base of the fat black plug that kept Sam from leaking all over the seat. They stumbled through the apartment door still half-drunk, the thump of distant bass from the Autumn kegger still echoing in their ears. Sam kicked off his shoes, peeled his sweat-damp T-shirt over his head, followed by hooked thumbs in the waistband of his gray sweat-shorts pushing them them down until he was naked except for the backward cap he still hadn’t taken off and the plug he had in for hours.
“Leave it,” Lucas slurred, “Want to see what a year of daily wrecking did to my favorite toy.”
The plug was obscene: four inches wide at the bulb, shiny with hours of ass slime, sitting snug between those monstrous glutes like it belonged there. Sam shivered, thighs spreading wider on instinct. Lucas gripped the plug and eased it out slow. The second the widest part slipped free there was a wet, filthy sound—a long, syrupy slurp as Sam’s walls tried to cling to it. Lucas dropped to his knees without ceremony and spread Sam open with both hands. Even drunk, the sight punched the air out of him. Sam’s hole didn’t close anymore. Not even close. The thick outer ring had become permanently swollen, doughy lips, dark pink, almost purple at the edges, glistening under the kitchen light. Between them was a constant half-inch gape, and deeper inside, the slick red rosebud winked lazily coated in a thick layer of clear anal mucus that drooled in slow strings. The smell hit Lucas like a drug: warm, earthy, faintly sour, the unmistakable reek of a cunt that lived stretched and wet. He groaned and leaned in, dragging his nose up the slick valley from Sam’s balls to his ruined cunt.
“Fuck, you smell like a used whore,” he muttered, voice thick.
Lucas dove in face-first. He licked a broad stripe from taint to tailbone, tongue sliding through the swollen outer lips and dipping into the yawning shithole. The taste exploded across his tongue—salty, bitter, slick and slightly metallic, the flavor of ass that had been worked open for a year straight. He groaned into the hole and pushed deeper, making out with Sam’s busted cunt like it was a mouth: lips sucking on the puffy rim, tongue fucking inside, lapping at the slimy walls until strings of mucus clung to his beard. Sam was already moaning, drunk and wrecked, knees buckling as he bent further over the kitchen counter. Lucas gathered a thick glob of the clear slime on two fingers, warm, viscous, smelling strongly of Sam’s insides, and brought it up to his brother’s mouth.
“Open, you dirty broken anal slut,” he ordered, slurring but firm.
Sam’s lips parted without hesitation. Lucas fed him the mucus like it was frosting, watching Sam’s tongue swirl around his fingers, swallowing his own ass juice with a humiliated little whimper that went straight to Lucas’s cock.
“Good boy. Taste how loose you are now. Taste what I turned my little bro into.”
Lucas stood, shoved his jeans down just enough to free his dick, and lined up. When he pushed in there was almost no resistance, just a wet, sucking heat that swallowed him whole. Sam’s hole felt like warm jelly around his shaft, loose enough that Lucas could feel cool air on his cock with every with every thrust.
“Jesus fuck,” Lucas groaned, starting a brutal pace. “It’s like fucking a pussy that gave up. Just a big sloppy sleeve for my dick.”
Every thrust made obscene, wet squelching sounds, lube and mucus and a year of constant use getting churned into froth around Lucas’ cock. Sam’s swollen lips dragged along the shaft on the out-stroke, clinging softly, then folding in on the in-stroke like a hungry mouth. Sam could only brace against the counter and take it, moaning brokenly every time his brother’s hips smacked into those massive, over-pumped glutes. Lucas lasted maybe three drunk, sloppy minutes before he buried himself deep and unloaded, adding another hot flood to the mess already inside. He stayed plugged in after, arms wrapped around Sam’s chest, both of them breathing hard.
“Your cunt’s never closing again,” Lucas murmured against Sam’s ear, giving a lazy thrust that made cum burble out around his cock. “I’m never letting it.”
Sam just pushed back weakly, content, and nodded. He felt the words land in his gut like truth. A single clear flash cut through the haze: I’m home. Then the fog swallowed him again.
Chapter 9: Leak
*incest, brothers, public exposure, humiliation, violence*
It started with a GroupMe titled ‘Campus Gym Thots’ Some sophomore who trained at 6am had snapped a grainy locker-room mirror pic of Sam bent over tying his shoes, shorts riding low displaying the wide black base of his plug clearly visible between his cheeks and a dark wet spot beneath it. The caption read 'this fairy’s got a butt plug lmao, who’s been pounding that ass?” followed by a string of eggplant emojis and laughing faces.
By noon the chat had 180 members. By dinner it was over 400. The photo got cropped, zoomed, memed, set to music on TikTok. Someone overlaid the words “BACKDOOR BRO” in rainbow text. Someone else slowed it down and added a clip from a gay porn sound effect, with comments piling up: “dude’s a total bottom, no wonder his glutes are so jacked,” “bet he takes it like a champ from the whole team,” “straight? yeah right, that hole’s seen more dick than a gloryhole.”
Everyone had always assumed the brothers were straight. This flipped the script, turning Sam into the campus punchline for every homophobic jock who needed a laugh. Sam didn’t see it until 8pm, when three separate teammates DMed him the same screenshot with some variation of “yo this you? lmao fag.” He read the messages in the library bathroom, stomach dropping so hard he thought he’d puke. His face burned, hands shaking as he scrolled through the hate. Then he locked himself in a stall, pulled the plug out just long enough to make sure nothing was actually bleeding, shoved it back in, and walked straight out of the building.
Lucas was at the apartment lifting in the living room when Sam slammed the door hard enough to rattle the plates in the kitchen. “You see it?” Sam asked, voice flat.
Lucas set the bar down. “See what?”
Sam just handed him his phone. Thirty seconds later Lucas’ face was stone. He scrolled, jaw flexing harder with every new meme, every new comment: “free OnlyFans leak,” “dude’s asshole got its own weather system,” “bet he shits himself on leg day.”
Lucas closed the app, handed the phone back, and said, very calmly, “Who took the picture?”
“Some kid named Tyler. Red hair. Always wears that stupid stringer with the anime girl on it.”
Lucas nodded once. “Cool.” While grabbing his keys.
Sam caught his arm. “Don’t do anything that gets you suspended.”
Lucas looked at him for a long second. “I’m not doing anything to get me suspended. I’m doing something to get that picture deleted from planet Earth.”
It was 11:12pm around the dark edge of campus quad, behind the old oak trees where the lights didn’t reach. Lucas had waited outside the gym following Tyler at a distance as he cut across the empty grounds toward his dorm. No one around, just the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves in the wind.
Tyler didn’t hear him coming until Lucas grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “What the fu…”
Lucas’s fist connected with Tyler’s nose in a sharp crack. Blood sprayed immediately, hot and coppery, Tyler stumbling back with a yelp, hands flying to his face.
“You think it’s funny?” Lucas growled, voice low and even. “Posting pictures of my brother’s ass? Calling him a fag?”
Tyler whimpered through his fingers, blood dripping onto his shirt. “It was just a joke, man. Fuck, you broke my fucking nose dude!”
Lucas stepped closer, towering over him. “Delete it. Every copy. Right now. And if I hear one more word about Sam from you or your little chat group, I’ll break more than your nose.”
Tyler fumbled for his phone with bloody hands, deleted the original from his camera roll, deleted it from recently deleted, removed himself from the GroupMe, and airdropped the raw file to Lucas so Lucas could watch him factory-reset the entire phone on the spot.
“Cloud?” Lucas asked. Tyler logged out of iCloud right there, tears mixing with the blood on his face. When it was done, Lucas shoved him hard enough to send him sprawling into the grass. “Stay the fuck away from the gym. Share that photo again and I’ll find every device you own break it, then break the hands that typed the captions.” He walked away, leaving Tyler sobbing in the dark.
Back at the apartment Sam was curled on the couch a hoodie and sweats, knees to chest, staring at nothing. Lucas locked the door, toed off his shoes, and sat down next to him.
“It’s handled,” Lucas said quietly. “Picture’s gone. Chat’s getting nuked. Nobody’s gonna share it again.”
Sam didn’t look at him. “They think I’m a fag now. The whole campus. Like I’m some… some gay slut who can’t keep his ass shut.”
“Yeah,” Lucas admitted. “Fuck what they think. They’re idiots. You’re my brother, and if anyone says it to your face, I’ll handle them too. But they’ll talk quieter now.”
Sam’s voice cracked. “I just wanted big glutes, man. Didn’t think it’d turn into… this.” Lucas pulled him in until Sam’s head was on his chest, his whole body shaking. Sam leaned into him finally, hiding his face in his bro’s pecs. “It’s so fucking embarrassing. Walking around leaking like that… and now everyone knows.”
“I know,” Lucas murmured, rubbing his back in slow circles. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who turned your hole into a faucet.”
Sam gave a wet laugh that was half sob. They stayed like that until the shaking stopped. Then Lucas stood, scooped Sam up like he weighed nothing (Sam had always been the thicker one, but Lucas was stronger), and carried him to the bedroom. He laid Sam on his stomach, peeled the sweats down slow, like he was unwrapping something precious. The plug came out with a soft glorp. Lucas didn’t say a word about how red and swollen everything looked, or how the sheets were immediately wet. He just kissed the small of Sam’s back, then lower, then spread him open and licked him clean, slow, gentle, worshipful. No rush, no dirty talk, just taking care of what was his. Sam started crying again, but this time it was different. When Lucas finally slid inside, it was bare, slow, face-to-face on their sides, arms wrapped tight around each other. They held each other while Lucas moved in tiny rolls of his hips, barely thrusting, just staying deep.
“I got you,” Lucas kept whispering, over and over, lips against Sam’s temple. “Always got you.”
Sam clung to him and nodded into his neck. After, they showered together (actually showered, no funny business) and fell asleep tangled up, Lucas’ chest to Sam’s back, palm spread protectively over the slight bulge in Sam’s lower belly where the one of his oversized plugs now rested.
The memes died down by the next weekend. And if Sam wore slightly baggier shorts to the gym for the rest of the semester, nobody said a word about it to his face. Some things you just don’t fuck with, brothers are one of them.
Chapter 10: Permanent
*incest, brothers, extreme prolapse, rosebud play, double fisting, permanent eversion, body modification, worship, bondage/restraints, gooning*
The fall semester came and went like background noise. The leaked photo faded into campus legend (something people whispered about for a week, then used as a vague insult). Sam got his swagger back by October: backward cap, tight tanks, mirror selfies with the caption “glute season never ends.” He still plugged up religiously before leaving the apartment, however the plugs got bigger, the shorts got smaller, and the smirk returned full force. Lucas, though, never relaxed. He walked half a step behind Sam at parties, scanned every locker-room corner, and if anyone’s gaze lingered too long on Sam’s ass, Lucas stared them down until they looked away. Sam rolled his eyes and called him a psycho, but he secretly loved it.
Then May arrived, the campus emptied, and summer number three began. Lucas never said the words out loud, but the plan lived in his head the second they locked the apartment door. This is the summer Sam’s rose never goes back in.
The Double Altar – early June
The living-room blinds were half-closed, casting golden stripes across Sam’s back. He was face-down on the thick yoga mat they’d bought specifically for this, knees spread wide, ankles locked in soft cuffs chained to the coffee-table legs so he couldn’t close up even if he wanted to. A rolled towel under his hips tilted his ass upward like an offering.
Two hours in Lucas hadn’t taken a real break. His right arm was buried to the mid-forearm, left hand working alongside it, knuckles grinding against his forearm and Sam’s engorged anal lips. The air smelled thick: Crisco, sweat, ass mucus, the faint metallic tang of overstretched tissue. Sam’s hole no longer looked human in any normal sense. The outer ring had become two permanently swollen, doughy lips, dark purple-brown from chronic bruising, glistening with a constant sheen of slime. Between them was a permanent oval gape the size of a soda can, framed by the puffy rim that never fully closed anymore. When Lucas pulled back even slightly, the red inner lining ballooned out in a thick, wet rosebud the size of a small fist; shiny, veined, slick with strands of clear anal mucus that stretched and snapped with every movement. The rose itself was no longer pink; it was a deep, angry crimson from daily eversion, marbled with pale stretch marks where the tissue had given up and lengthened. Every slow twist of Lucas’ arms made the rose swell fatter, then retreat just enough to reveal the black tunnel beyond; wide, ridged, coated in frothy white lube that dripped in steady rivulets down Sam’s balls and puddled on the mat.
Lucas was mesmerized. He couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop touching. His own cock had been hard for the entire two hours, leaking steadily onto the floor, but he hadn’t fucked once. This wasn’t about his dick anymore. This was worship.
“Fuck, look at you,” he whispered for the hundredth time, voice hoarse with awe.
He eased his right hand out to the wrist, slowly, reverently, so he could watch the rose cling to his skin, stretching another inch before releasing with a wet kiss. The second his knuckles cleared, the prolapse bloomed fully outward, hanging heavy and free, swaying like a pendulum between Sam’s trembling thighs. Lucas traced one finger around the rim of the rose, feeling the heat, the slickness, the way it pulsed under his touch like a separate living thing.
“I did this,” he said, almost to himself. “I turned my little brother’s perfect tight hole into this wrecked, beautiful sleeve.”
Sam could only moan, forehead pressed to the mat, drool pooling beneath his cheek. His cock had leaked a continuous puddle for the last hour; it hadn’t been touched once. Lucas gathered more Crisco, lined both hands up again; fingers tight, thumbs tucked, and began the slow, relentless push for the double. Sam’s body accepted it now like it was designed for it: the swollen lips parting with a lewd fart, the rose folding inward around Lucas’ wrists, the tunnel expanding with a series of soft, obscene pops as the rectal walls yielded. When both hands finally sank in side-by-side to the mid-forearms, Lucas just held still and stared, chest heaving. His cock jerked hard against his abs, untouched, leaking a thick string of pre. His arms trembled from the strain, but the sight of both his forearms disappearing into his little brother made him grin like a madman.
“That’s me inside you, Sammy,” he rasped, voice cracking with raw pride. “Fuck, I’m never getting over this.” Two full adult male arms disappearing into his little brother’s ass.
The ass ring, engorged, thick lips with veins visible beneath the skin framed a grotesque flower in full bloom. Lucas leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the stretched rim, tasting metallic and salty. He dragged his beard through the slime on purpose, coating it, then licked his lips and groaned at the taste of Sam’s insides. His own hole clenched in sympathy; owning this body, his brother’s body, felt better than any orgasm he’d ever had.
“Four hours today,” he murmured against the ruined flesh. “Minimum. We’re not stopping until this meat hangs to your knees.”
Sam whimpered, half in exhaustion, half in desperate agreement pushing back weakly against the invasion. Lucas smiled, twisted his arms deeper, and settled in for the long, obsessive destruction of the hole he was more in love with than anything else on earth.
Ballooned & Broken – Late July
The AC was cranked so high the room felt like a few degrees above freezing, perfect for keeping Sam’s rose swollen and sensitive. He was already locked in the sling, legs spread wide in the padded stirrups, naked except for his backward cap and a thick leather collar Lucas had buckled around his throat that morning. His prolapse was out, seven thick, wet inches of crimson rectal tissue hanging heavy between his cheeks, swaying gently with every breath. Lucas stood between his legs holding the new inflatable plug: black latex, softball-sized when deflated, capable of tripling in width.
“Color?” Lucas asked, voice low and steady.
“Green, bro… please,” Sam panted Sam, eyes glassy. “Need my cunt destroyed today.”
Lucas smirked, slicking the plug with J-Lube. “You don’t decide what your cunt needs anymore. I do. And right now it needs to learn how to stay inside-out forever.”
He pressed the tip against the hanging rosebud. Sam immediately bore down, grunting, pushing out harder so the tissue wrapped around the rubber like a sleeve. Lucas slid the entire deflated plug inside the prolapsed tube in one smooth motion.
“Hold it,” Lucas ordered.
Sam clenched his abs and pushed like he was taking the biggest shit of his life. The rosebud flared wider, then the plug disappeared completely inside the hanging sleeve.
Lucas grabbed the pump bulb. “Count for me.” …and squeezed.
“Fuck—one…” Sam’s voice low and focused.
Two. Three. Four. The prolapse began to swell, ballooning outward as the plug expanded inside it.
Sam’s voice cracked. “Oh god, ten… fifteen… it’s getting so big…”
At twenty-five pumps the rose was stretched thin around the growing sphere, veins standing out, turning almost translucent. Sam was shaking, sweat rolling down his chest.
“More,” he begged, delirious. “Please, Lucas, make it hurt, make it huge…”
Lucas kept going, relentless. Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty. The prolapse now looked like a grotesque red-orange fruit, easily ten inches across, hanging to Sam’s mid-thigh. The skin was so thin Lucas could see the black plug through it. Lucas’ knees buckled. He caught himself on the sling, cock spitting pre in a steady stream down his thigh, untouched. Forty pumps and his little brother’s mind was gone, because of him. The power hit harder than any fist ever could.
“Look at your cunt,” Lucas growled, slapping the swollen ball of tissue lightly, watching it wobble. “This is what a real hole looks like. Not some tight virgin pussy. A destroyed sleeve that lives outside its body.”
Sam sobbed, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes, I’m your destroyed sleeve—”
Lucas attached the quick-release valve and yanked. The plug deflated with a long, obscene hiss, and in one brutal pull he ripped it free. The prolapse came with it, sucked out in a wet rush until nearly twelve full inches of thick, glistening rectal tube slapped wetly against Sam’s thighs. Sam screamed, back arching, eyes rolling white.
Lucas didn’t give him time to recover. “Push. Now. Empty. Show me how broken you are.”
Sam bore down with everything he had, face turning red, neck veins bulging. The prolapse surged outward again, longer this time, dripping.
“Again,” Lucas commanded. “I want that rose touching the floor by the end of the week.”
Sam could barely speak, just whimpered and pushed, pushed, pushed. They did it eight more rounds. By the sixth, Sam was gone, gooned out, drooling, eyes unfocused, babbling in a broken whisper:
“Break it… break my cunt… make it never go back in… please bro I need it I need it I need it…”
Lucas’s voice dropped to a growl, possessive and tender. “I already did, baby. Look what I turned my own brother into. You’re not even a person anymore. You’re my ruined sleeve and I’m addicted to the way you break for me.” Lucas pumped faster, harder, slapping the swollen prolapse, tugging it, stretching it like taffy. “That’s it, little bro. Let it all go. You don’t need thoughts anymore. Just this wrecked meat swinging between your legs.”
On the ninth and final pull, the prolapse came out a full fourteen inches, thick as a forearm, dark purple-red, twitching and dripping. Sam’s body convulsed in a dry, full-body orgasm, cock untouched, a thin stream of clear fluid leaking from the tip as his mind shattered into white-hot bliss.
He hung there limp, mouth open, tears and spit running down his face, barely conscious, mumbling the same phrase over and over. “Thank you… thank you for wrecking me… thank you…”
Lucas gently unstrapped his legs, gathered the long, hanging tube in both hands like it was sacred, and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of the rosebud. He wrapped one hand around his own cock and jerked himself slow, using the dripping mucus as lube, eyes never leaving the monstrosity he’d created. “Gonna come just looking at what I did to you,” he whispered against the rose, hips stuttering. “Three years and you still make me lose my fucking mind. Ballooned and broken,” he whispered against it. “Exactly how I want you forever.” Sam could only nod, utterly mindless, utterly his.
Eighteen Inches of Brotherly Love - Late August
The room was lit only by the flickering blue of the TV and the orange streetlight leaking through the blinds. Preseason football droned in the background, forgotten. Two empty beer bottles sat on the nightstand; two more sweating in their hands. Lucas was propped against the headboard, still every inch the confident 6' gym-bro god at twenty-four: thick beard framing that sharp jaw, dark hair messy from Sam’s fingers earlier, heavy pecs and ropey vascular arms glistening with a sheen of sweat, six-pack flexing every time he laughed or took a sip. His cock lay half-hard against one thick quad, already leaking because it knew what was coming.
Sam was sprawled across his lap like he belonged there (because he did), twenty-three now, cap still backward even in bed, fair skin flushed pink from the summer heat. His lower body had changed the most: narrow waist flaring into that obscene, over-pumped bubble butt, glutes so round and separated they looked fake even when relaxed. And hanging between them, resting warm and heavy across Lucas’s thigh, was the pride of the entire summer: eighteen inches of permanent, dark-crimson prolapse, thick as a beer can at the base and tapering slightly, slick and shiny, twitching every few seconds like it had a heartbeat of its own. Lucas’ free hand never left it. He stroked the length absently, the way another guy might pet a dog, tugging gently so it stretched another inch, then letting it settle again.
“Two years tomorrow,” Lucas said quietly, eyes on the TV but not seeing it. “Two years since I first put my dick in my little brother.”
Sam grinned, lazy and drunk and happy. “Best two years of my life, man. Look what we made.” He reached back and lifted the prolapse with both hands like he was showing off a trophy. “Eighteen fucking inches. I’m a goddamn medical marvel.”
Lucas laughed, low and fond. “You’re my medical marvel.” He leaned down and kissed Sam slow, beard scratching against smooth cheek. “Love you, Sammy. Not just the hole. You. My pain-in-the-ass little brother who steals my pre-workout and still can’t parallel squat.”
Sam kissed back, soft. “Love you too, Luc. Love that you protected me all semester. Love that you turned my ass into a permanent fleshlight. Love every second of being your ruined slut.”
They stayed like that for a minute, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. Then Lucas’ voice dropped, dominant and sure. “Roll over. Want both arms tonight.”
Sam didn’t hesitate. He shifted onto all fours in the middle of the bed, massive glutes up, prolapse already swaying. Lucas slicked his right arm to the shoulder with J-Lube, lined up, and punched in, no warm-up, no mercy. The entire arm disappeared in one brutal thrust, past the elbow, past the bicep, all the way to the shoulder with a wet, obscene squelch. Sam’s back arched violently, a strangled scream ripping out of him as a hot stream of piss flowed from his untouched cock, splattering the sheets.
“Fuck yes,” Lucas growled, twisting deep. “Piss yourself for me bro.” Lucas’ whole body shuddered, a guttural moan ripping out of him as the heat swallowed his shoulder. His cock slapped his abs again, leaking like a faucet. He started punching, hard, fast, shoulder-deep violations that made Sam’s body jerk forward with every impact. Piss sprayed again and again, soaking both of them, the bed and the floor. Sam was babbling, gooned out instantly, eyes rolled back, drool dripping from his open mouth. “Take it. Take your big brother’s whole fucking arm.” Another punch. Another gush of piss. Every jet of piss that hit his chest made Lucas laugh, wild and proud. “Marking me while I wreck you,” he growled, punching deeper. “Good boy. Show big brother how broken you are.” Ten minutes of pure destruction later, Lucas finally pulled out. The prolapse surged outward, eighteen inches of thick ruined meat hanging.
Lucas flipped him onto his back and slid his cock inside the warm, slick tube. He stared down at his cock disappearing into the slick red sleeve and felt his balls draw up tight. “Fucking my own creation,” he rasped, voice thick. “My little brother’s insides wrapped around me like a toy I built myself.” He fucked it slow at first, watching his shaft disappear into his little brother’s prolapsed guts, then faster, hips rocking. Sam could only whimper and watch, hands gripping the sheets. When Lucas got close he started jerking himself off through it, using Sam’s own guts as a fleshlight. He came with a deep, guttural roar, flooding the inside of the prolapse with thick ropes of cum that dripped back out in heavy strands. Collapsing forward, catching himself on locked arms over Sam, both of them panting, soaked in sweat and piss and cum.
Sam reached up, cupped Lucas’s bearded face. “Classes start Monday,” he whispered, grinning through the haze. “Gonna have to stuff all this back in for the first day.”
Lucas kissed him once more, soft and possessive. “Don’t you dare,” Lucas said, thumb tracing the cap brim like he used to when they were kids. “I worked too hard turning my favorite person into my favorite hole.”
Summer was over.
The rose was forever.
Chapter 11: The Final Shape
*incest, brothers, extreme prolapse, permanent destruction, fisting, piss play, body modification*
The last night of summer break felt different. No more games, no more preseason on the TV, no more pretending tomorrow mattered. They both knew this was the line they were crossing for good. Sam was on his back in the sling, legs locked high and wide, his ruined hole already blooming. After three years the outer lips had evolved into grotesquely thick, swollen, engorged rings of flesh (brown-purple like overripe plums left too long in the sun, perpetually bruised and shiny with mucus, so bloated they no longer resembled anything human). They framed a constant fist-sized gape that never closed, the inner lining glistening dark red just beyond the puffy rim. From it hung the summer’s work: eighteen inches of layered, everted rectum, heavy and wet, swaying like a tail.
Lucas stood between his thighs, arms slicked to the shoulders, eyes locked on Sam’s. “This is it,” he said, voice low. “We push it all back in one last time. Then I punch through and we force so much new rose on top of the old that it can’t ever retract again. You’ll walk around with a massive meat sack swinging between your legs for the rest of your life. That what you want, little bro?”
Sam’s answer was immediate, reverent. “Make me broken for good, Luc. I want everyone who ever sees me naked to know my own brother rebuilt my body into something unusable for anyone but him.”
Lucas leaned down and kissed him slow, filthy, loving, then gathered the entire eighteen-inch length in both arms like a rope and began stuffing it back inside. Sam tried to help. He clenched his guts, desperate to pull the mass back in like he once could. Nothing happened. His pelvic floor was long dead: muscles stretched into useless ribbons by now, nerves fried from thousands of hours of abuse. All of his attempts only made the prolapse twitch and leak harder, no suction, no grip, no hope of ever retracting on its own again. Sam could only watch, helpless and delirious, while his big brother manually packed his own ruined guts back inside him one last time. When every inch was finally tucked away, only a thick angry rose remained waiting between those obscene ass lips.
Lucas didn’t ease in. He punched both fists together, shoulder-deep in one savage thrust. His cock jerked hard enough to slap his abs, causing a thick rope of pre to arc across Sam’s chest without a single touch. His arms shook from the force of the punch, veins standing out like cables, but he couldn’t stop grinning, feral, proud, in love with the monster he’d built. “That’s my fist ripping my little brother open.” he rasped, voice cracking with lust. “Nobody else gets this. Ever.”
Sam’s scream turned into a broken sob of pure ecstasy. A hard jet of piss shot from his cock, splattering Lucas’s chest as the new meat exploded outward. But this time it didn’t stop at the old length. The force of the punch, the months of training, the constant secretion, all of it combined into something irreversible. As the balled fist withdrew, new tissue everted in waves, surging out over the packed layers beneath, folding and stacking in real time. Fifteen inches became twenty, then twenty-five. Mucus poured in impossible quantities (thick, warm, syrupy rivers of it) gushing from the ruined ring with every brutal punch, soaking the mat, the floor, their legs in a glistening flood that never seemed to end.
Lucas watched inch after inch bloom outward and felt something primal snap in his chest.
His own brother’s guts, rebuilt by his fists, his cock, his obsession, were literally growing outside the body he once carried home from middle-school football practice. The thought alone made his balls tighten so hard it hurt. He licked his lips without thinking, and dove in to taste Sam’s insides. His cock leaked a steady stream down his thigh, beard now drenched in anal mucus clinging to the dark hair in sticky strands. Three years of work and he still wasn’t numb to how fucking good it felt to own this body.
Sam pissed helplessly with each fresh impact, hot streams arcing across his belly and Lucas’ chest as the sleeve kept blooming outward, longer, thicker, heavier. The prolapse no longer resembled anything that had ever belonged inside a human body. It was an enormous, elongated bulb of inverted rectum (thickest in the middle like a swollen, overripe gourd, tapering toward the dripping tip), dark purple-red and marbled with scar tissue and angry veins. The surface glistened under a constant sheet of slime, ridged and uneven from years of abuse, hanging so low and heavy it pulled Sam’s hips forward, swaying with every shallow breath. It looked obscene, irreversible, magnificent. Sam reached down with both shaking hands and lifted it, cradling the warm, pulsing mass against his stomach.
“Look what you did to me,” Sam whispered, tears in his eyes—not from pain, but from overwhelming pride. “You literally destroyed my cunt, Luc. I’m not even a person with an asshole anymore. I’m just… this. Your creation.”
Lucas dropped to one knee in the puddle of Sam’s ass-leak, both hands cradling the enormous, elongated bulb like it was sacred. “Fuck, Sammy,” he whispered, voice raw. “I took a perfect tight ass and turned it into… this. My masterpiece. My little brother’s body is the proof I’m the only one who ever really loved you right.” “I love you,” he said against the monstrous prolapse, voice cracking for the first time all summer. “Love every ruined inch. Love that you let me do this to you. Love that we’re both fucked up enough to want it forever.”
Sam’s fingers slid into Lucas’s sweaty hair and held him there, both of them breathing hard against the slick, pulsing weight between them. “Then keep me this way. For good.”
They collapsed into Lucas’ bed without wiping anything down: piss cooling on their skin, lube and mucus smeared everywhere, the sheets ruined for good. Sam curled into his brother’s chest; the massive prolapse draped over Lucas’s hip and thigh, warm and wet. Lucas wrapped one arm around Sam’s back, the other resting possessively on the swollen, ridged surface that had once been an asshole and was now something far more permanent. His fingers curled inside the outer layer, feeling the heat, the pulse, the irreversible proof of what he’d done to the person he loved most in the world.
Outside, the first hint of September crept through the blinds.
Inside, the brothers held each other in the wreckage they’d spent three years building, breathing in the smell of sex and finality. Tomorrow they’d figure out how to live with what they’d done. Tonight, Lucas fell asleep with his hand buried in the monstrosity he created, smiling against Sam’s hair.
The story was over.
They were happy.
