“What the fuck—take it, take it, you dumb bitch… gotta—oh shit, yeah, just like that…”
Amy was a complete, glistening mess. Jamie had a death grip on her hair, his knuckles bone-white as he pistoned into her mouth, making her throat take every last inch of his rock-hard teenage dick. He moved with that terrifying, athletic stamina, grunting “all of it, c’mon…” under his breath, like a broken record. A little manic locker-room laugh ripped out of him. He was looking down, watching himself disappear into her throat, over and over again, obsessed with the muffled, desperate gagging sounds she was making. His eyes flicked up to see an equally handsome face with identical features smirking back at him. Bryan, his brother, was hammering Amy’s pussy like a jackhammer. Relentless, rough, unstoppable. The two jocks shared that same infuriating, yet irresistible cocky smirk that only people with their elite genetics can pull off.
Then there was me. The literal definition of a side character. A background NPC in my own fucking life.
I was stuck in the corner, hogtied and stripped bare like a piece of meat. The word FAGGOT was carved into my chest with a thick, permanent marker—a brand I couldn’t scrub off. My mouth was stuffed with a pair of their crusty, sweat-soaked socks, then sealed shut with duct tape so I couldn’t spit them out. My own cousins. The twins from hell. Two fucking demons I grew up with, and right now they were treating my girl like a disposable meat toilet just because… well, because they had the stats and I sure as hell didn’t.
Amy looked traumatized. Her face was a total mess of spit, tears, and their sweat. I could see the literal evidence of them breaking her in—a little virgin blood streaking down her inner thighs, mixing with the crazy amount of juices they’d forced out of her. This was her first time, and these two monsters had already cummed inside her like three times each, total disregard for anything. Me and her? We hadn't even made it past second base because she was all about "waiting for marriage." Yeah, okay. Absolute cap. Seeing her now, I realized she wasn't waiting for marriage—she was just waiting for someone with enough "alpha" energy to just take it.
In her defense, it’s literally impossible to say no to these guys. They have that fucking aura that you just can’t turn down. Like I said, it’s some genetic lottery shit that completely skipped my side of the family. They don't ask; they expect to be obeyed. And everyone—Amy, me, even the world itself—just falls in line. Every single fucking time.
But here’s the most cursed part of it all: while I’m watching my entire world get torched, choking on the heavy, masculine stink of their sweat and the grit of their nasty-ass socks… I was fully bricked up. Crazy, right? My own body was siding with the enemy. They were demolishing the only thing I gave a shit about, and my biology was giving them a standing fucking ovation. I wasn’t just a cuck. I was a fanboy. I was a literal slave to the fact that they were better than me in every way that mattered.
“Yo, check the loser’s face!” Bryan’s ice-green eyes cut right through me. “Bro, no cap, this bitch was engineered for this. Born to be a cumdump. Zero fucking debate.”
Jamie leaned back, cackling. “Facts! Too bad she’d never even let a fag like you get a look at the goods, huh? Massive L for you, cuz! You’re just here for the show. Front row seat to your masters!”
“We’re running the fucking script now, fag, just like you always wanted, hahaha!” Bryan cackled, then turned back to Amy and cracked a sharp slap against her hip that bloomed red. “Spread ‘em, you thirsty thot. Let’s audit the equipment.” He shot me a look of pure venom. “You don’t mind us stress-testing her, right, bruh? Sharing is caring!”
“Mind? Look at him!” Jamie crowed, his voice dripping with contempt. “He’s thriving! He’s gonna blow his load just watching us put in the work. Pathetic.”
“Totally,” Bryan nodded, grinning. “And remember what his old man said? ‘What’s his is ours.’ That obviously includes her.”
“He really did say that! Direct quote!” Jamie was losing it, his chest heaving as he stared down at Amy’s ruined face. “Don’t worry, though, once we’ve properly wrecked her, we’ll toss her back to you. She’ll be high-mileage, fully used up… but hey, maybe there’ll be a little bit of us left inside her for you to scoop up and eat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, fag?”
They were roasting me in real-time, their voices thick with victory-lap arrogance.
“Yeah, then you can wife our leftovers,” Bryan sneered. “The ultimate simp. Can’t wait for the wedding invitations, bro. Hahaha!!”
So, you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this fucking nightmare. Would you believe me if I said it’s one hundred percent on me? My fault, my own pathetic doing. You can judge for yourself, but the facts don’t lie. Well, to get the full picture, we have to rewind a few days. Tuesday afternoon, to be exact—the day Jamie and Bryan pulled up to the crib.
See, Dad had this brilliant idea that they’d spend the whole summer crashing with us. Or at least until Aunt Deb “got her head straight.” Personally, I was fucking thrilled. Not.
Okay, fine—they were my only cousins. In theory, having some people my age around beat rotting alone in the house with my old man, right? Yeah, problem is theory and these two assholes had nothing in common. Why? Simple. They were a pair of arrogant pricks who operated with the unshakable belief they were just… better. At everything. Period.
And the kicker? They’re two years younger than me. In a normal world, that should have meant something, right? They should’ve been showing me the tiniest bit of respect, or at least staying in their lane. But nah. That wasn’t their style.
They were fucking terrible. Always had been. Their main hobby was ripping into me for any stupid thing that crossed their minds. My height (or lack thereof), my hair, my ‘beak’ of a nose, my voice, my walk, my fucking breathing, the jokes I told—everything was weak, everything was fuel. Just straight-up bullying under the guise of "boys' rivalry."
But it was a "family emergency," so I had to suck it up. My dad’s sister was going through another messy divorce—World War III levels of drama—so my dad drove to San Diego and scooped them up. We’re their only family left. Aunt Deb had gotten knocked up in high school by some kid named Nick who, upon hearing the delightful news, decided fatherhood wasn’t really his vibe and ghosted her the literal next day. The twins had never met him. But according to her, they were his literal clones. Go figure.
When they hopped out of the car, it was like a fucking reality glitch. Identical in every way, down to the smirk, save for a tiny mole on Bryan’s neck. Both standing at a clean 6’1", carved up from a lifetime of competitive swimming—that insane V-taper, those broad shoulders, no cap. Jet-black curly messy tapers, ridiculously perfect bone structure, and these sharp, evaluating eyes that scanned a room like predators. They moved with a natural, toxic rizz that instantly downgraded every other guy in the vicinity and short-circuited girls on sight. They were the kind of guys who looked at "normal" dudes like we were a different species.
And look, let’s keep it a buck—I’m not some basement-dwelling gremlin. I’m 5’8", lean, I get some play. But my face? It’s just… mid. Straight up forgettable. Especially standing next to demigods. Fuck, looking at them was like looking at the finished product, while I was still a rough draft, you know what I’m saying? Anyways…
“Yo, Stewie! What’s good, lil’ bro?!”
I wanted to crash out the second Bryan used that name. It was like nails on a chalkboard to my soul. Stewie, god I fucking hated it. Like I was still five years old. I’d been begging them for years to drop it, but it was like talking to a brick wall. They knew it crawled under my skin—that was the whole point. I just bit down on my tongue.
"Hey, guys. Welcome," I managed, trying to sound like a person and not a panicked animal. They didn’t even really look at me. Instead, they treated my driveway like their personal stage, launching into this loud, exaggerated post-drive stretch routine. Guns flexing against their thin tees, chests puffing out, yawning wide like lions. Their shirts rode up, flashing athletic shorts slung so low on their hips it was a miracle they stayed on, the waistbands of their boxer briefs cinched tight around the sharp crest of their pelvic bones. The fabric dug into those insane V-lines, pointing down like a crude map to their sizeable crotches. A thick trail of dark, coarse hair led from their navels down beneath that dangerously low elastic band. It was an obscene, intentional display. One of them even casually hooked a thumb into that waistband, giving his balls a slow, possessive adjustment before letting the fabric snap back against his skin with a soft thwack. I couldn’t help but stare for a second, weirded out by my own fucking eyes. Why was I even noticing that? I cleared my throat and looked away.
My dad was still buried in the trunk a few yards away. “Stewart!” he barked over his shoulder. “Make yourself useful. Help with the bags.”
The twins traded a look—that same nasty, mirrored smirk. In one fluid motion, they shrugged the straps off and let their duffels thud at my feet. “Yeah, Stewie,” Jamie whispered, his voice low enough so only I could catch the venom. “Be a pal. You’re good at carrying stuff, right?”
Of course, my old man didn't notice a thing. That was the part that drove me insane. They were fucking masters of the "hidden camera" play. No matter how hard they went in on me, they had this radar for adults—my dad, my aunt, whatever step-dad was in rotation. On God, they’d always pull back right before crossing the line, leaving me looking like the sensitive, whiny, little bitch while they floated through the house like a pair of fucking angels.
I swallowed that, too. Just bent down to grab the straps of their duffels.
Bryan reached over and gave me two condescending pats on the head, like I was a dog that finally learned a trick. “Good cousin. Atta boy.” He snickered, and then the two of them sauntered off toward the front door, leaving me holding their baggage.
I followed them, loaded down like a pack mule, trudging up to my room. Here was the next L I had to swallow: our house is tiny. Two bedrooms, total. My dad decided bunking with them himself was a no-go, so he had another one of his genius ideas. He dragged my desk out to the garage and crammed a double bed and a rickety-ass cot into my space. The cot was shoved right at the foot of the big bed. Guess who got the cot?
“Sorry, guys. It’s kind of a tight fit,” I mumbled, basically apologizing for my own invasion as I dropped their shit on the floor.
“Don’t even trip, buddy. You won’t even know we’re here,” Bryan said, his voice all fake sunshine. He kicked off his grimy flip-flops and then, to climb onto the big bed, planted his massive, dirty feet square on my pillow—using it as a fucking doormat.
“Oops, my bad, cuz,” he giggled, not sorry at all. “Didn’t wanna track any shit onto our bed. You’re cool with it, right?” He made a deliberate show of grinding his heel back and forth, smearing an imaginary stain, his eyes locked on mine with a triumphant smirk. “There! All clean. Look!” He actually held up his foot for a mock inspection before flopping onto the queen-size.
Needless to say, Jamie wasn’t about to be left out. He mirrored the move perfectly, lining up his own filthy footprints right beside his brother's on the white pillowcase. "Hahaha! Facts! Gotta keep the main suite pristine, STEWIE!" He dragged my name out like it was the vilest slur, then launched himself onto the bed to smack a deafening high-five with Bryan.
“Come on, guys. Seriously,” I muttered, but it was useless. This was the script since we were little. I stared at the stains darkening my pillowcase and felt that black-pill reality sink in my gut. This summer was going to be pure fucking agony.
We spent the rest of the afternoon setting up. I was lowkey relieved my dad was hovering; his presence was the only thing keeping them from going full demon mode. They definitely didn't want to ruin their "golden boy" image in front of "Uncle Mike." But honestly, after two hours, I wanted to scream. My dad would not shut up about how they should "make themselves at home" and how "everything I own is theirs." Like, thanks Pops, give them more ideas, why don't you?
Then, at dinner, he really sold me out. I was supposed to have a solo night with Amy, but he insisted they come along. "It’s rude to leave them alone on their first night, Stewart!" he said, like he was the moral authority. I tried to explain it was a date, not a group hang, but he wasn't hearing it. The twins were absolutely gassed, whispering locker-room jokes under their breath the whole fucking time. What the fuck could I do?
I called Amy to give her the heads-up, and she sounded straight-up annoyed that I was dragging my 'little cousins' along. But the second she laid eyes on them, the vibe did a total 180. That attitude just... fizzled out. Poof. Gone. You think I was surprised? Please, saw that coming from a mile away.
She came down the stairs wearing this white cotton sundress. The skirt was definitely shorter than usual, fluttering with every step. My girl was a straight-up knock-out tonight—long dark curls, blue eyes... just elite. And of course, I wasn't the only one noticing.
“Babe, this is Bryan and Jamie. My cousins from San Diego,” I said, trying to keep my voice chill. They hit her with these slow, hungry smiles that didn’t reach their cold eyes.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” Bryan purred, leaning in way too close, invading her space. “Finally putting a face to the name Stewie won’t shut up about.”
Amy glitched. Hard. She was staring at their stupidly handsome green eyes, their builds, the whole identical-twin mystique, and just… broke. She started giggling, this high, airy sound. Look, I love her, but Amy’s never been winning any IQ contests.
"So, real talk," Bryan said from the backseat while I was driving, "how does a ten like you end up settling for a mid-ass loser like our cousin?" Before I could even form a word, he cut me off with a fake-innocent grin. "No offense, Stewie, all love! But come on. Amy is clearly out of your league."
They were "accidentally" touching her constantly—a hand on her shoulder, playing with her hair, fingers grazing her arm. And Amy? She just kept up that brainless, tinkling laugh. Fucking end me.
"Hehehe! He totally knows he lucked out, right, babe?!" she chirped, hitting me with this over-the-top saccharine tone that made my teeth grind while they all howled. I wanted to swerve the car into a pole, but I just gripped the wheel and took the fucking L. Again.
The night just kept delivering. They were pros at this shit—tiny, deniable violations I couldn't call out without looking like a paranoid, jealous incel. At dinner, Amy sat right between them, looking perfectly content with their arms slung over the back of her chair. Then a drip of ice cream landed on Jamie’s inner thigh, and she actually leaned over to dab it off, her fingers brushing way too close to his crotch while they all giggled like it was nothing.
By the time I dropped her off, I was buzzing with a quiet, humiliated rage. The goodbyes were disgustingly warm—lingering cheek kisses, hands on her waist. And then, of course, the second her door closed, the post-game roast began.
"Your girl is a certified baddie, bro," Jamie said. "But let's be real—she'd rather get wrecked by one of us than deal with your mid energy. Hahaha!"
"Or both of us at once," Bryan added. "She’s giving 'wild one' vibes, lowkey."
"Knock it off," I said, trying to sound tough, but it came out pathetically weak. "I'm warning you, she’s off-limits. Got it?"
Instead of backing off, they just snickered from the backseat while I played their personal chauffeur. Shocker, huh?
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, big man," Jamie muttered, arrogant as fuck "Now take us home, Romeo! We need our beauty sleep! Hehehe!"
We got back a little after midnight. They headed straight to the room, claiming they were "drained," and honestly, I was glad to be rid of them. I needed to decompress. I slumped onto the couch and rubbed my eyes, my brain spiraling.
How the actual fuck was I supposed to survive a whole summer of this? One afternoon, and I was already cooked, ready to off myself.
But as much as I hated them, as much as I wanted to put my fists through their smug faces, there was this venomous, intrusive thought I couldn’t scrub away. A deep, pathetic part of me was lowkey obsessed with how effortlessly superior their entire existence was. It was just… facts. They operated on a different plane. In two hours with Amy, they’d generated way more raw, electric tension than I’d managed in two fucking years of dating. What a joke.
Maybe they had a right to that arrogance. Maybe the world really was built for guys like them. They were taller, more shredded, had infinite rizz, they were definitely packing heavier downstairs, and they even cleared me in school—which was saying something, since I was pulling straight A’s. Fuck. Sometimes the genetic lottery isn’t just rigged; it feels like a personal fucking insult.
After twenty minutes of doomscrolling through my own thoughts, I headed up to the bedroom. The lights were out. They were already out cold, their near-naked bodies just dark, sculpted shapes in the moonlight. I stripped down to my boxers—it was way too humid for clothes—and climbed onto my janky-ass cot.
I pressed my face into the very pillow they'd used as a doormat. Bryan's feet were right there—maybe ten inches from my face. The faint, sour tang of dried sweat and worn leather from his flip-flops lingered in the air. I didn't move away, though. The moonlight slicing through the blinds was just enough to see them clearly, and I found myself weirdly, stupidly fixated. They had to be at least size 12. Long, almost elegant toes, the second one slightly longer than the big toe. The soles looked soft, weirdly smooth considering how much they walked on them. It was… intimate. And then it hit me—a core memory I’d tried so hard to delete started buffering in my head, sharp and unwelcome.
Three years ago. I’d kissed those same feet. Down on my knees, looking up at them while they laughed their balls off. Not by choice—it was a “penalty” for losing some bullshit, rigged bet I never stood a chance of winning. The most humiliating moment of my life at the time. For sure.
But the thing was—and it sat in my gut now like a cold, dense stone—that humiliating, gross moment hadn’t just made me mad. No. It had flickered something else to life. Something I couldn’t put a name to back then. Something I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel. Something I’d buried so deep I almost convinced myself it never happened.
But it was there. And right fucking now, with the smell of his skin in my lungs and the memory burning behind my eyes, it wasn’t just sitting there. It was pushing. Hard. Toward something completely unhinged.
I moved. No sound. Just inching forward off my cot like a total creep. The smell of his sweat got sharper the closer I got. It should have been disgusting. I should have stopped. But I needed to know if I was losing my mind, if the memory was playing tricks on me. So I didn’t stop. My face was maybe three inches from the pale arch of his foot when the rusty springs under my cot let out a loud, groaning creak.
I froze, my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest. Bryan stirred. His leg twitched, his foot flexed slightly. But his breathing stayed deep, even. He didn’t wake.
I stayed statue-still for what felt like an hour. But once I was sure he was still out, I listened to the ugly, undeniable pull in my gut and finished what I’d started. I had to. I just had to. Slowly, achingly, I leaned the final distance and pressed my lips to the center of his warm, moist sole. A kiss so light it was barely a breath.
There it was. That same weird, electric jolt in the pit of my stomach. But it still didn’t click, so I did it again—this time slower, letting my lips linger against the warm skin of his arch, almost like I was trying to taste the sheer disrespect of it. The butterflies in my gut weren’t butterflies anymore; they were a frantic, fluttering riot.
I kissed his foot again. Five times. Six. Seven. Each press of my mouth a silent question, each one sending another low-voltage shock straight through me.
And then the realization detonated in my fucking skull. I finally understood the feeling coiling tight in my core. I knew it well. My breath hitched. A cold sweat broke out on my neck.
I was getting hard. Not just a twitch. I was fully, achingly bricked up. My boxers were straining against a thick, throbbing erection that felt like it had a heartbeat of its own.
What the fuck is happening?! The scream was deafening inside my own skull. I’m broken. I’m fucking broken. I’ve officially lost it. I felt the ground tilting, my sanity teetering on the edge of a full, catastrophic collapse.
And then the world froze solid the second a low, amused voice cut through the dark.
“Well? Why’d you stop? You were actually starting to get into it, too. Hehe!”
His voice was a bucket of ice water dumped straight into my soul. No. No, no, no, no, this isn't happening. This can't be real. My heart didn't just sink; it plummeted, a cold, dead weight hitting the pit of my stomach. Bryan flicked the bedside lamp on, bathing the room in a harsh, unforgiving yellow glow. He sat up, legs spread casually, the thin fabric of his boxers straining obscenely at the crotch. The grin on his face wasn't just a smile; it was demonic, a slash of pure, evil amusement. Jamie groaned beside him, scrubbing a hand over his face, his voice thick with sleep.
“Yo, B, the fuck? Turn that shit off. I'm tryna sleep, bruh,” he muttered.
“In a sec,” Bryan said, his eyes never leaving mine. They glittered in the lamplight. "First, our dear little cousin here has to explain why he was just down so bad, kissing my feet with so much passion. Hahaha!!"
The words hung in the air. Jamie's hand froze mid-rub. The sleep evaporated from his face like smoke, replaced by sharp, alert disbelief. He turned his head slowly, his gaze locking onto me. “Wait, what? No shot. Are you serious right now? Hahaha!!”
I was paralyzed. I hadn't moved a muscle; I was still hunched over, at the foot of their bed, my face mere inches from Bryan's grimy foot. The rank smell of his skin was suddenly overwhelming. I tried to stage a recovery, to force my body to move, to laugh it off, but I was in complete and total panic mode. My voice, when it finally came, was shaking like a fucking leaf in a storm.
"Oh, shut up, Bryan," I stammered, trying to summon some fake confidence that sounded pathetic even to my own ears. "In your dreams, maybe. You probably just hallucinated that whole thing while you were passed out."
Jamie wasn't buying the cap. Not one bit. And his expression told me I was a goner. There was no coming back from this.
"Nah, man, don't even try it," Bryan said, so smug it was ridiculous. He leaned forward slightly. "I wasn't even asleep yet. I felt the whole thing. You were literally making out with my sole like it was your girlfriend's face."
The weight of their stares was a physical pressure, pinning me to the spot. They weren’t just amused anymore; they wanted the naked truth, and they wanted to watch me admit it, piece by broken piece. I had zero exit strategy, no cover story left.
“Well? Is it facts or not, Stewie?” Jamie pressed, his voice a low, insistent murmur, conscious of my dad sleeping in the next room.
Defeated by those two identical, predatory stares, the little fight I still had drained out of me all at once. My shoulders slumped. I finally let my head hang, a single, slow nod my only answer.
“NO WAY!!” Jamie hissed. “That is actually heinous! Hahahaha!!!” He threw himself back on his bed, his body shaking with silent, convulsive laughter, a hand clamped over his own mouth to muffle the sound. Bryan was chuckling right along with him.
“Deadass!” Bryan breathed, wiping a mock tear from his eye. “It’s fucking revolting!” Then the amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by a sharp, analytical gleam. He leaned in closer, the space between us shrinking. “But I need to know why, Stewie. What’s the move here?”
The pressure built behind my eyes, in my throat. I was overwhelming. I finally snapped.
“I don’t know, okay?!” The words erupted from me in a choked whisper. “Something is wrong with me!” I started hitting the sides of my own head with the heels of my palms, a frantic, punishing rhythm. “I don’t get it… Why am I like this?!” I sounded like a pathetic kid.
“Shhh, haha! Don't worry, buddy, we'll break it down for you,” Jamie said, exchanging a loaded look with Bryan that told me they’d already dissected me and reached a verdict. Jamie started the roast, his voice a theatrical, hushed whisper.
“In my professional opinion,” he began, gesturing with one hand like a professor, “you finally realized what B and I have been trying to tell you for years.” I stared at him, utterly lost, my mind a blank static. “You’re just a…” he paused, deliberately searching for the ultimate, soul-crushing insult, “…a natural-born loser. Right?”
Bryan didn't miss a beat. “Facts!” he breathed, a grin splitting his face. “Hahaha!! It took you long enough to accept your place, damn! You’re so fucking dumb! Hahaha!!” He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. “Look at you. You’re a bottom-tier worm who couldn’t even close the deal with his own girl after…. what? Two years? We met her tonight, and in like ten minutes, she was pretty much ready to suck our dicks. Hahaha!!!”
Jamie chimed back in, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Come on, just admit it. The only thing you’re good for is being our little bitch servant…”
Bryan lifted his bare foot, the one that had been right by my face all night, and slowly, deliberately, “caressed” my cheek with his grimy sole. His skin was warm, slightly damp, and left a faint, salty smear against mine. I flinched but didn’t pull away. That didn’t even cross my mind. “Yup, and if you wanna kiss our feet, we might even decide to let you” he finished, his tone sweetly malicious, “After all, we’re definitely the main characters here. You’re just the… what? The footstool, maybe? Hahahaha!!!”
They reached over my slumped form and fist-bumped. Their laughter, though hushed, seemed to fill every corner, bouncing off the walls as they watched me sit there in the blinding light, totally and irrevocably broken.
It wasn't just their words that shook me. I was used to their constant roasts and trash talk; to them, this was probably just another Tuesday night. But for me, something had shifted. In that moment, their twisted logic didn't just sound like an insult. It dangerously started to click into place in my head, like a stupid, sickening puzzle finding its final piece, one I never knew I wanted to finish at all costs. I should have told them to kick rocks, like I always did, to throw a pillow and roll over. But I was stuck, pinned by their sharp stares that felt less like a joke and more like a low-key threat.
"Come on, guys... let's just go back to sleep, okay?" I whispered pathetically. Predictably, my plea did absolutely nothing.
"Sure thing!" Bryan shot back, his voice a hushed, mocking mimic of mine. "As soon as you answer the fucking question." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, refusing to let me off the hook. "It's a simple play, Stewie. Why were you glazing my feet like a total freak?"
"I don't know, Bryan! I don't know, okay?" My brain was a scrambled mess of panic and shame. "I just... I wanted to..." I trailed off, my eyes darting around the shadowed room, searching for any excuse that didn't sound completely unhinged. But what lie could possibly cover for what I’d just done?
Then Jamie's whole vibe changed suddenly. He got strangely serious, the mocking grin fading. "Come on, Stewart. Real talk. We're family. You can be honest with us."
He used my actual name. Not Stewie, not loser, not bitch. Just Stewart. It was probably the first time he'd ever done that, and his voice dropped to an almost-concerned murmur. What was up with that? Red flag, right? Unfortunately, that tiny, fabricated shred of validation was a crack in my defenses. It was enough to make me fold.
"Okay, look..." I started, my voice barely above a breath. "Do you remember that summer at Grandma's house?"
They both furrowed their brows, exchanging a glance. "Yeah… what about it?" Bryan asked, his tone guarded but curious.
I swallowed hard. My heart was hammering against my ribs. "Do… do you remember that bet? The one where we had to steal..."
"...the cherries from Old Man Wallowitz's tree? Yeah, I remember," Jamie interrupted, a slow, nasty smirk crawling back onto his face as the memory connected. "And I remember you losing and ending up on your knees kissing our feet like a little bitch. You remember that, B?"
"How could I forget?" Bryan chuckled, a low, dirty sound. "Literal highlight of the summer, haha!" He made a face that was half-disgust, half-amusement. "Don't tell me you actually liked being our foot-rag?!"
"No, I didn't... I mean..." They were both locked onto me now, their earlier laughter gone, replaced by a focused, waiting silence. The air in the room felt charged. "I just felt this... weird sensation. I didn't get it at the time. So tonight, when I saw your feet right there... I just wanted to see. I wanted to know if I was actually that messed up."
Their insufferably gorgeous smirks returned, slow and knowing, piercing right through the last of my denials.
"Well, you did good, cuz! Hehe!" Bryan chuckled, the sound soft but vicious. "So, be real with me. You actually like kissing my feet, don’t you?"
I sat there, frozen for a long, suspended heartbeat. The hum of the night outside filled the silence. Then, defeated, I gave a tiny, almost invisible nod, my eyes fixed on the white sheet between his feet.
Jamie let out a sharp, jagged laugh that he quickly stifled into a choked snort. Bryan just kept smiling.
"But look how fucking rank they are, bro," Bryan said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he shoved his foot closer. The aggressive masculine scent intensified. "They smell like straight-up ass! Haha!"
He lifted his foot and pressed his warm, slightly gritty sole right against my nose. Again, pulling away wasn’t even considered by my brain. A tremor ran through me, but I just sat there, inhaling the dense, musky scent of his disrespect, my face stupid and slack. My dick throbbed painfully in my boxers, a traitorous, aching pulse that matched my racing heart.
"Total biohazards. And you really want to kiss them, you little sub?!" He glanced over at Jamie, and they shared a look of pure, unholy triumph, both of them visibly thriving, feeding off the raw spectacle of my humiliation.
I nodded again, the last stubborn shred of my pride dissolving into the humid air of the room. Then, in a voice so quiet it was barely a breath, I whispered, "...please..."
The room didn't just explode; it detonated. Their laughter hit me like a wave.
"HAHAHA!!! SEE?! WE FUCKING TOLD YOU!!" Jamie hissed, his voice a sharp, gleeful whisper-shout. "You're a fucking loser, bro! You’re actually inferior. Like, a literal freak. What else do you even call a pathetic dog like this? Hahaha!"
Bryan slid forward on the bed, planting both feet right in front of my face. His green eyes, glowing with pure, unholy triumph in the dim light, locked onto mine. "Alright, little foot bitch. I'll allow it." His voice was a low, commanding purr. "Finish the job, Stewie. Get to work! Hahaha!!!"
Hearing that nickname—foot bitch—sent a fresh, hot lance of shame through my chest. For a split second, I wanted to take it all back, to scream that it was a joke. But the sick, electric excitement coiling in my gut was already winning, a fever that was burning out the last of my resistance. I looked away from his victorious gaze, focusing instead on the dirt-stained, pale soles hovering inches from my lips. I hesitated for only a second.
"Come on, loser!" Jamie taunted, his voice a harsh whisper. "You want them or not?! Pucker up, you freak!"
And just like that, I let go. I let the last tattered bit of my dignity fall away. I closed my eyes, leaned in, and did exactly what he told me to do.
"Yeah!!! Go on, you pathetic little bitch!" Bryan's triumphant whisper was right in my ear. "Show us how much you're thirsting for it!"
My mind, in a final, pathetic act of rebellion, threw up an image of Amy. I loved her. But I had never, not once, kissed her with this much raw, desperate heat. It was pathetic, really. I was moving from the slightly calloused heel up to the damp, salty arch, switching back and forth like a man possessed. The rank, pungent stench was like a drug, pulling me deeper. I was full-on making out with his feet, my tongue pressing against the back of my teeth to stop itself from joining in.
"Yo! My turn, bitch!" Jamie barked, his voice a gleeful stage-whisper. "You don't wanna make me jealous, right?! Hahaha!!" He shoved his own feet into my face, roughly displacing Bryan's. I didn't even blink. I just dove in, kissing them with the same desperate, loser energy. They smelled just as foul, like the deep end of a neglected locker room, but the sheer intensity of it only made me more feral.
"And look us in the eyes while you do it, STEWIE! Haha!!" Jamie barked, noticing my eyes were squeezed shut in concentration—or maybe just shame.
I forced my head up. The view was a masterpiece of my own degradation. Their perfect, athletic bodies lounged above me on the bed, their crotches in full display. Their chiselled, arrogant faces peered down at me, amused and disgusted at the same time, while I sat in the most submissive, dog-like position imaginable on my fucking cot. They totally fucking looked like two bored, beautiful gods amusing themselves with a piece of roadside trash. My face. Inside, I was a total wreck. I was spiraling so hard that hot, silent tears started cutting tracks through the grime on my face.
"Why the hell are you leaking now, Stewie?!" Bryan jeered. "You sad?! Don't trip—even though you're like sub-human, we still love having you around, you know?! Hahaha!!!"
"For real, bruh," Jamie added with the fakest sympathy I'd ever heard. "Even if you've got the IQ of a fucking goldfish, we don't mind letting you… what do you even call this? Worship us?"
"Hahaha!!! Yeah, that works! And hell no!" Bryan laughed. "If you want to be our personal slave boy that bad, we're gonna treat you like one, STEWIE. Best believe that!"
They were dragging me through the dirt, verbally flaying me alive. But there was a brutal truth to it all. They hadn't laid a finger on me to start this. No one had forced me. I was the one who crawled over in the dark. I was the one who begged for it. And the undeniable, humiliating proof was still between my legs—a throbbing, aching erection so hard it was fucking painful. My own body was screaming the verdict they'd just delivered: they were the alphas, and I was nothing. That subhuman dig was starting to feel… well-deserved.
"Yeah, it was about time you stopped capping and accepted you're at the bottom of the food chain," Jamie said, his tone shifting to something almost conversational. “You should thank us for helping you figure that shit out, bitch!”
I kept kissing, the salty-bitter taste of their skin filling my senses. Jamie's words hit me like a physical blow, straight to the core. After a few seconds of mechanical movement, I mumbled through the tears and the pressure of his sole against my mouth, "Yes... thank you, guys...."
I went right back to work, my movements now fueled by a strange, shattered gratitude. They just cackled above me, a hushed, victorious symphony. "You're fucking welcome," Bryan whispered, his voice thick with glee. "Don't even mention it, hahaha!!"
After another minute of my pathetic, sloppy work, Jamie leaned down from the bed. His eyes were dark pools in the low light, his voice a hushed, intense whisper. “Dude, how do you even look at your own reflection without puking, huh?”
I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know how I’d face the mirror tomorrow, or ever again. All my world had narrowed to the masculine stench that was raping my brain.
“If you’re so obsessed with them,” Bryan mused, his tone faux-thoughtful, like he was solving a complex math problem instead of orchestrating my ruin, “why don't you just lick them for us, Stewie? They’re so fucking disgusting they should be cleaned, right J?”
“Absolutely!” Jamie chimed in, his face alight with cruel inspiration. “That’s gotta be a peak experience for a foot-freak simp like you, right? Licking the filthy-ass feet of your superiors?! It’s like your literal purpose in life! Hehe!!!”
I paused, pulling back just an inch, the damp, salty taste still on my lips. I looked up at them like a cornered, beaten animal, my vision blurry with unshed tears. “You... you want me to lick them?” I asked, the question hanging in the thick, humid air between us, thick with my own horror. My next words were so idiotically obvious “But they’re so dirty and… they’re covered in sweat…”
“Hahaha!! Oh, now the little bitch noticed?!” Jamie mocked, pretending to be shocked, his voice a hushed shriek of delight. “Deadass! The revelation hits him at last!”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be fun to watch you do it, bitch!” Bryan said, his grin widening into something truly vicious. “And I’m pretty sure you’re fucking dying to do it anyways!”
I hesitated again, a final, useless spasm of resistance. Why I even bothered was a mystery, since his words couldn’t have been more dead on. I was totally dying to lick their feet. Nothing had ever been so true, ever! The desire was a physical ache, a humiliating throb that had taken root deep in my gut. I had never wanted anything so badly in my whole fucking life.
But Bryan didn’t wait for me to process my feelings or muster a coherent thought. He just slammed his warm, gritty sole forward, pressing it hard against my mouth, the pressure forcing my lips apart. “Stop being a picky little pussy,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low whisper meant only for our twisted circle. “Stick your tongue out and fucking do it, bitch!”
Yet another demon—the final one, the one that embraced absolute submission—suddenly possessed me. Maybe it was the complete surrender of my will, the last crumbling of the facade. My lips moved against the textured skin of his foot, and I whispered, the sound muffled and broken, “Yes, Sir…”
They shared a look over my head—a glance of pure, toxic triumph that spoke volumes. This was the moment they’d been working toward all night. They’d won. Completely.
“Hehe! Sir? Tooootally like the sound of that, bitch!” Jamie cackled. “You fucking love doing what we tell you, don’t ya?”
My tongue, tentative at first, touched the salty skin. Then it flattened, dragging a wet stripe from heel to arch. The taste was a straight-up assault—a concentrated blast of salt, bitter grit, and the dense, musky tang of a full day’s sweat. That final, undeniable wave of humiliation was the last straw. My body betrayed me completely. I didn’t even have to touch myself; a violent, desperate climax ripped through me right there on my knees, soaking my underwear in hot pulses that left my whole lower body shuddering. I couldn’t choke back the helpless moans that escaped with every swipe of my tongue, my mouth watering obscenely, making the whole degrading spectacle painfully obvious.
“Haha! No shot! No fucking shot!” Bryan roared in a throttled whisper, his eyes wide with twisted, ecstatic delight. “Did this freak really just bust?!” All I could offer in reply were more pathetic, shuddering gasps, my traitorous tongue never leaving its assigned task.
“So this shit gets you right off, huh, you fucking bitch slave?” Jamie’s voice was thick with disgusted awe. He suddenly stood up on the bed, then planted his bare heel directly on my mouth, grinding it down slowly, with deliberate pressure, like he was extinguishing a cigarette butt into dirt. The pressure made me gag slightly, tears springing fresh to my eyes.
“Yes… Yes… it feels so good…” I whimpered, the words slurry and broken, still riding the dizzying, shameful high of the craziest, most satisfying orgasm of my entire existence. Talk about a new personal best.
“Is this what you want, you fucking sissy?! Huh?!?” Bryan leaned in, his face close to mine. “You want us to actually own you? To be our literal property?!?”
The look on their faces was so profoundly demeaning it sent a fresh, shocking jolt through my spent body. I was still shuddering through the aftershocks, but the rough treatment, the verbal flaying, only made the degrading afterglow feel more intense, more complete. I was shattered. Empty. Theirs.
“Yes… please…” I breathed out, the words shaky and breathless as hot tears cut clean lines through the grime on my cheeks.
“Hehehe! This is fucking unreal, bro!” commented Jamie loocking at his cackling brother Then he turned to me and went, “Then get to work, slave! Lick, lick, lick!!” Jamie lightened the pressure of his heel just enough for me to move my jaw, and I immediately pivoted, my tongue swiping a broad, wet stripe across the grimy arch of his sole before shuffling on my knees back to Bryan. Bryan had perched himself on the very edge of the bed, spreading his legs, making sure his feet were at the perfect height for me to reach.
“Yo, B, hand me the phone!” Jamie commanded, his voice a hushed, giddy whisper. Of course they needed to immortalize this “L,” to make sure my rock-bottom moment was recorded for posterity. I mean, can you even blame them? Honestly. He aimed the lens right at his perfect face, and the shit-show began.
“What’s up, world! I’m Jamie, and this is my brother Bryan!” He panned the camera over to his clone, who gave a smug, two-fingered salute to the lens.
“It’s a vibe!” Bryan chimed in cockily.
“We’re out here tonight,” Jamie continued, adopting a mock-serious, newscaster tone, “because we want to talk about a major problem facing kids today…” He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes wide. “…the smell of our feet.” They both lost it, cackling like maniacs, their bodies shaking with silent, vicious laughter before Jamie tried to force his face back into a grim mask.
“Don’t laugh, B! It’s a crisis for young American dudes everywhere!” He made a shocked, concerned face, and Bryan played right along, nodding sagely.
“Not for us though, bruh! Never again! Hahaha!!!” Bryan smirked, puffing his chest out slightly.
“Facts!!” Jamie agreed, flipping the camera between their smug faces. “We’ve officially solved the problem, haven’t we?”
“One hundred percent!” Bryan snapped his fingers. “In a literal flash! No cap!”
“Yeah! You guys want the life hack?” Jamie slowly panned the camera down, the lens capturing my hunched, pathetic form at the foot of their bed. “Ta-daaah!!! Hahaha!!! Meet our cousin Stewie! Say hi to the fans, loser!”
I was so utterly mind-broken and fried, that I just played along, my brain reduced to static. “Hello,” I managed to mumble, the word distorted and wet as Bryan pressed his toes against my lips, smearing them and forcing my mouth into a grotesque pucker for the camera.
“So tell the fans!” Jamie commanded, leaning in, the phone lens a dark, unblinking eye. “What exactly are you doing right now, bitch? Describe the activity for the viewers at home.”
“I’m licking your feet clean for you, Sir…” I whispered, the admission barely audible. They cackled. Predictably.
“And why are you licking them?” Bryan prodded, shoving his toes past my lips again, the taste of salt and pavement grit sharp on my tongue. “C’mon! Spit it out for the algorithm. What’s the motivation here?”
“Because they’re sweaty and dirty… and you told me to lick them…” The words tasted even worse than their skin, a foul confession I had to swallow.
“Hahaha! Facts, bitch!” Jamie crowed, nodding like a proud teacher. “But that’s not all, is it? What else?”
“It’s… It’s my… purpose in life…” I choked out. And don’t judge me too harshly when I tell you that playing along, giving them exactly what they wanted, felt just as good as it was humiliating. It was a relief, like finally scratching a poison ivy rash raw.
“Hahaha!! Exactly, STEWIE!” Jamie shouted-whispered, the camera shaking in his glee. “And why’s that? Break it down for us.”
“B… because I’m… inferior to you…” I said, the truth a hot coal in my throat. “I’m subhuman… I… I wanna be your… slave…”
“Bingo, bitch!” said Bryan, snapping his fingers. “And you’re also a total retard, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Sir…”
“Yeah, and since you’re too stupid to function on your own,” Bryan picked up, his voice a condescending drawl, “you realize this is just your dream life, right? This is your W. Cause you only have one job now: to obey. Only obey. That’s your entire stats page. Your reason to get up in the morning.”
“Obey,” I repeated, the syllable final and hollow. It was the most hilarious and horrific video I’d ever been in, and I was its star and sole audience.
“Hahaha!!! Good boy, slave!” Bryan praised me, the mockery so thick it was a physical weight pressing down on my shoulders, while Jamie flipped the camera back to his own triumphant, grinning face.
“You guys get it now?” Jamie asked the imaginary audience, raising his eyebrows in that fake, ‘can you believe this’ expression. “It’s simple, right, B?” and the camera was back on me.
“Yeah, why waste money on powders or spray when the solution is right here?” Bryan laughed, gesturing vaguely at me with his free foot, his toes wiggling in the air like he was pointing at a piece of furniture.
“Exactly!” back on them as Jamie nodded vigorously, his eyes gleaming with malicious pride. “So if your feet are straight-up suffocating the room when you kick off your shoes…” he stood up to finish the bit, striking a ridiculous, hands-on-hips pose like a cheap lifestyle influencer, “…just enslave your cousin, your step-brother, uncle, whatever—just find the family bitch—and make him lick them clean! Zero cost, maximum efficiency! Hahaha!!!”
“He’ll totally love it, by the way, I can personally guarantee that!” Bryan concluded, his voice slick with certainty. “Look how hyped our little pet is…” Jamie pointed the camera at me one last time for a tight, unflattering close-up, then reached down without looking and shoved my face hard against his sole, grinding my nose and cheek into the damp, salty skin. “…thank your masters, you fag freak!”
“Thank you… thank you, Sir” I whispered into the grimy flesh, the words barely audible, more a vibration against his foot than actual sound.
“Hahaha! That’s a wrap from Jamie, Bryan, and their personal foot-licker! Let us know if you’d do the same! Hahaha!!!”
He got one last, lingering shot of my tear-streaked, spit-smeared, utterly broken face before ending the recording. They both collapsed onto the bed, absolutely losing it, their laughter muffled by pillows they shoved against their faces to keep the noise down. The heavy silence that followed their stifled giggles was profound. I didn’t stop, though. Driven by a need deeper than shame, a compulsion that felt more like truth than anything I’d ever known, I stretched my neck out, my tongue darting out once more, desperate to keep serving, to taste that final, degrading proof of my place. The rough texture was my gospel now.
"Hahaha!! Damn, that was elite content, J! Best idea you've ever had!" Bryan wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye as he tried to keep his voice to a victorious, hushed roar. "Sent it to the group chat. The boys are totally gonna lose their shit!" They weren’t even looking at me, but I could tell they were completely satisfied with their new, broken toy.
“Way ahead of ya, bruh! Hehe!” Jamie replied, his thumbs flying over his screen in the dim light. Then, without looking up, he issued another command, his tone casually vicious. “Hey, sissy. Hand over your phone. And unlock it. I wanna copy all your contacts. Now.” He finally glanced down at me, his eyes glinting. “A little insurance policy. In case you wake up tomorrow with a sudden case of amnesia and want out of your new job.”
“Total fucking genius, bro!” Bryan chuckled, a low, dark sound. He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head again. “But I doubt we’re gonna need it, hehehe! Look at him. He’s not going anywhere.”
"Well," Jamie mused, tapping his chin theatrically, "We could send the video anyway, just to be safe. Don't you think the dudes he's been hanging with deserve to know the truth? That their boy is a foot-licking little bitch who'd literally do anything they wanted if they just let him kiss their Jordans?" My breath hitched. A fresh, cold wave of panic washed over me, sharp and nauseating.
“Hahahah! Totally, bro!” Bryan agreed, his eyes lighting up at my visible distress. “Full transparency. It’s only right.”
"N… no… please…" I choked out, the tears coming faster. The thought of those faces—the guys I'd played ball with, hung out at the mall with… Mark, Leo, Jax, and the others—seeing me like this… it made my stomach lurch violently. It was a different kind of sickness, deeper than the taste in my mouth.
“What’s the problem?” Bryan asked, feigning innocence. “If you’re lucky, they might even let you suck their dicks! I know you’d die to suck ours, but it ain’t happening, fag!” The slur landed like a physical slap, final and dismissive.
“Yeah, but your little slut girlfriend can do it for you,” Jamie added, his voice sugary with malice. “Hehehe! We’ll tell her you recommended her. Say you wanted her to get the full alpha experience you can’t provide.”
“Hahaha! Totally, bro!” Bryan replied. “And we’re gonna make sure she gets the technique right." He started making obscene motions with his hands, pantomiming holding a head down to his crotch, his hips giving a few slow, vulgar thrusts into the air. “She seemed like she’d be into it. Real eager to learn. Hahaha!”
They kept laughing, a low, ugly sound that filled the space between my sobs. And I did absolutely nothing. Not a word in her defense. Not a move to stop them. I felt a distant, hollow pang of guilt for not defending her honor, but it was smothered instantly by the warm, heavy truth settling in my gut: I had never felt more right, more complete, in my entire life. The contradiction was dizzying. So I just kept working my tongue over those perfect soles, the salt and grit a familiar anchor. What a fucking loser, a voice in my head agreed.
After a long while, their laughter subsided into tired, smug sighs. "Well, we're actually gonna crash now, Stewie..." Bryan announced, his voice dripping with bored superiority as he stretched his arms above his head with a yawn. "...but you have our royal permission to keep licking all night if you want. Consider it a reward for your pathetic service. Aren't you stoked?! Hahaha!!!"
Jamie gave me a final, playful, and deeply disrespectful shove with the ball of his foot, knocking my head back slightly. I steadied myself, the taste of them still thick on my tongue. "Yes…" I whispered, the word thick with submission. "Thank you… thank you…"
Well, there you have it. The full, pathetic origin story. I know, I told you it was all my fault. I'm basically the author, editor, and sole consumer of my own tragicomedy. Needless to say, it took them less than fourty-eight hours to get their dicks sucked by my girl, which, I gotta say, was a faster turnover than even my most cynical self had anticipated. But hey, if they could turn me into a literal, foot-worshipping dog in a single night, what chance did a girl like Amy have against them? Literally zero.
And so there they were, right in front of me, a grotesque, sweaty sandwich on their bed in the harsh afternoon light. Jamie had his dick buried deep in Amy, who was pinned on top of him, her back arching, while Bryan was pounding her ass from behind, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave tomorrow's bruises. She was whining, a high, broken sound—the kind of noise you’d expect from the filthiest, cheapest corner whore, not from the honor roll junior I’d taken to prom. It didn't even sound human anymore. My dad was still at the office, thank God, because the lowkey terror of him walking in on this three-ring circus would have probably finished me off for good. It was around four in the afternoon, and their shredded, glistening bodies were sliding over each other, absolutely drenched in sweat that caught the light from the window. Between a shared, exhausted sigh and another pathetic whimper from Amy, my cousins filled her up once again, first one, then the other, just straight-up ruining her. A real tag-team effort.
Bryan pulled out after a few spent seconds and flopped back onto his spot on the mattress with a heavy thump. Jamie, being a "true gentleman" and a paragon of chivalry, simply grabbed Amy’s hips and roughly shoved her leaking, trembling body off him, letting her drop to the floor with a soft thud.
"Get off me, whore!" Jamie barked, not even looking at her as he rolled onto his side next to his brother. "You don’t actually expect us to cuddle you, do you? Hahaha!!" Bryan added, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. Both of them were completely wiped out after the colossal screwing they’d just put in. Peak performance, really.
Amy, my beautiful Amy, just collapsed onto my janky cot a few feet away, her body curling in on itself. Her face, which I used to think was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, was now a hideous mask of spit, sweat, and a hollow-eyed trauma. She turned her head, her gaze finding me kneeling by the foot of their bed. A fresh, silent tear traced through the mess on her cheek. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Stew..." she whispered, her voice shattered.
I looked back at her, my own eyes wide with a desperation that mirrored hers, but with the grimy socks still jammed in my mouth I could only answer with a pained, pleading look. A real meeting of the minds.
"Thinking about it," Jamie mused, his voice lazy, "you can still be useful. Get over here!" He reached out a long arm, tangled his fingers in her hair, and yanked her toward his groin. She cried out, a sharp gasp of pain.
"Ouch!"
"Shut the fuck up and lick this mess clean!" he ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate. He shoved her face down onto his filthy, cum-stained dick. And she didn't even hesitate. No fight, no further protest. Her mouth opened automatically, and she started cleaning him up with a mechanical, defeated efficiency. Quite the transformation. And the worst part—the part that made my own stomach twist with a sick jealousy—was the subtle shift in her whimpers. The pain was still there, sure, but underneath it was a shaky but definite, surrendered want. The crying wasn't just from humiliation; it was the overwhelmed sound of someone who, against every fiber of her former self, was unmistakably getting off on being treated like absolute garbage. A real breakthrough for her. Bravo. But who am I to talk?
"And you, faggot!" Bryan said, shifting his elite smirk from Amy's bobbing head to me. "Spit out those fucking socks and get over here to do your job, footlicker! Hahaha!!!"
I obeyed instantly. I didn't even have to think about it—my body was moving before the command had fully left his lips. I couldn't wait to get back to work. Pathetic? For fucking sure. But the alternative—existing outside of their command, in that vast, meaningless space where I had to make my own choices—seemed unthinkable, a terrifying void. I scrambled over on my knees, positioning myself at the foot of the bed, my own ridiculous excitement embarrassingly obvious. When my tongue made contact with his warm, sweaty sole, my mind went quiet, a blank, peaceful static.
"Well, not a bad play for a Saturday afternoon, right?" Bryan said, letting out a contented sigh as he glanced at his brother.
Jamie grinned, trading a look of pure, toxic complicity. "Facts. We've been here, what, five days? And we've already secured a personal foot-slave," he nodded toward me, my tongue tracing his arch, "and this..." He looked down at Amy, still working between his legs with a kind of broken zeal, an eager rhythm to her tongue. "...an all-purpose community cumdump who's lowkey loving the assignment. Hahaha!!!"
"Yeah!" Bryan chuckled, the sound rich with arrogance. "And we didn't even have to try. They just folded like lawn chairs! Can you believe it? Hahaha!!!"
"This is the life, bro," Jamie sighed, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam.
"Deadass!” Bryan chuckled.
"Hey," Jamie said, tapping the top of Amy's head with his foot. "Lick my balls too while you're down there, whore. Don't be fucking lazy. Earn your keep."
They chuckled for a few more seconds, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through the mattress, then, simultaneously, took a deep breath and settled back, closing their eyes and crossing their arms comfortably behind their heads. They wore identical, satisfied, arrogant smirks on their stupidly handsome, boyish faces. They looked like two perfectly sculpted monuments—young masters being rightly, dutifully worshiped by their broken, willing inferiors. The room went quiet, save for the soft, wet sounds of our tongues devotedly working over their perfect, spent bodies. Amy's crying had subsided into the wet, sniffling rhythm of her task, a sound now completely indistinguishable from shameful enjoyment.
Damn. What a moment. Really picturesque. A real Hallmark card of mutual ruin. And to think, all it took was one bad bet on some stolen cherries. Poetic, really. Almost beautiful, in a completely fucked-up way.
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