The ropes bit into his wrists exactly the way he needed. Alex had his younger brother, Marcus, stripped and spread on the old wooden table in the basement, arms pulled tight above his head, ankles lashed to the table legs so his thighs stayed open. The single bulb overhead threw hard shadows across Marcus’s chest and the thick line of his cock already leaking against his stomach.
“You asked for this,” Alex said, voice low and rough. He ran a palm down Marcus’s torso, feeling the tremor under the skin. “Told me you wanted to be tied up and used like the filthy little brother you are.”
Marcus swallowed hard, eyes glassy. “Yeah. Don’t stop.”
Alex gave his brother’s balls a firm squeeze, just short of pain. Marcus’s hips jerked, cock twitching. Alex smiled without warmth and reached for the bottle of lube on the shelf. He slicked two fingers and pushed them straight into Marcus’s hole, no teasing, just the steady drive of someone who knew exactly how much his brother could take.
Marcus groaned, back arching off the table. The ropes creaked but held. Alex worked him open fast, scissoring, twisting, adding a third finger when Marcus started pushing down onto his hand. Every time Marcus tried to close his legs, the rope stopped him. Every time he tried to reach for his own cock, Alex slapped his wrist back down.
“Hands stay where I put them,” Alex growled. He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on Marcus’s thigh, then unzipped and hauled out his own cock. It was already hard enough to ache. He dragged the head through the mess of lube around Marcus’s hole, then shoved in with one long thrust.
Marcus cried out, body locking around him. Alex didn’t give him time to adjust. He fucked in deep, short, brutal strokes that made the table legs scrape the concrete. Every thrust forced a grunt out of Marcus, and Alex loved the sound.
He planted one hand on Marcus’s chest, pinning him, and used the other to stroke his brother’s cock in time with the pounding.
“Tell me whose hole this is,” Alex demanded.
“Yours,” Marcus gasped. “Fuck—yours, Alex.”
Alex leaned down, teeth scraping Marcus’s ear. “That’s right. My little brother. My toy. Gonna keep you tied here until you can’t remember how to walk straight.”
He changed angle, grinding against Marcus’s prostate on every drive. Marcus’s cock jumped in his fist, spilling precome over Alex’s knuckles. The basement filled with the wet sound of skin on skin, the creak of rope, Marcus’s broken moans.
Alex pulled out suddenly, ignoring the whine of protest. He untied one ankle, flipped Marcus onto his stomach, and retied the leg even tighter, ass now raised and exposed. He slapped both cheeks hard, watching the red bloom, then drove back inside. From this angle he could reach around and wrap a hand around Marcus’s throat, not choking, just owning.
Marcus came first, untouched, cock jerking against the table as he spilled in thick pulses. His hole clamped down so tight Alex almost followed. Instead he kept fucking through the spasms until Marcus was shaking and oversensitive, then pulled out and painted his brother’s back and ass with his own load, marking every inch the ropes left bare.
When he finally cut the ropes, Marcus stayed limp and pliant, breathing hard. Alex rubbed circulation back into his wrists, then pulled him upright into a rough kiss that tasted like sweat and surrender.
“Next time,” Alex said against his mouth, “I’m using the spreader bar.”
Marcus’s answering grin was shaky but hungry. “Promise?”
