Tutor and Brother

Warning; It is about lust and "hard" BDSM. Two brothers caught in the wants of their tutor and of their own, have to find out, and decide about their future. It shall have angst, betrayal and all sorts of other happenings. It is my first try. Have patience. Any feedback? Please!!!!!!

Decadence, What Kind Of Love?
London, 1822
1. The Tutor…

“Aaahhh …shhh …” another swish of the whip with long tails, and again only the sound of the large ormolu clock counting in imperturbable cadence the time to the next lash, and the other, and the other. Each time the whip fell on his shoulders, on his back, on his buttocks he issued the same sounds of surprise, of trying to silence himself down, and of agonizing distress and need, awaiting the next moment of pain, for the sake of the pleasure moments to come. But first the punishment from his very displeased Master.

“You still have twenty more to go”, purred softly the voice from the dark. The voice was tender and caring.

He sighed, trying to collect himself. There had been issued a sentence to the punishment of thirty lashes, delivered at a distance of one hundred and twenty seconds each. He’d listened to the sentence with head bowed, kneeling in the middle of his Master’s Playroom, naked, his smart evening garb laid neatly on the floor, in the remotest corner of the chamber. Hundred and twenty seconds, he recited in his head, were actually two minutes. Two minutes times the twenty more left, meant forty more minutes. Twenty minutes had already passed. An hour of staying spread-eagled on the bed suffering, and hoping that at the end, the Master would grant him some release. He’d done such a stupid mistake this evening…

He’d left for the theatre with his friends, other peers of the realm, young pups and some older jaded rogues. Then they had all had a change of mind, and went instead to one of the luxurious brothels that catered to the most diverse and odd tastes and lusts. The six or so of them had entered, ordered some drinks and watched as the ‘Madame’ had paraded her girls and boys for them to see. They had taken a special interest on two of them, as they were a couple of brother and sister. When asked what services they offered, the Madame answered serenely that the two had been trained to cater to the most particular tastes. One of them, somewhat into his cups, has asked in a strident, curiosity piqued voice, if they could be used for say, whippings and the sort. As the Madame had simply nodded the decision was already there. They had all put in an extravagant sum for two hours of show with the two siblings. The Madame had raised an ironic brow, tried to make clear that this hadn’t been done with them yet. They had none of it. They wanted it, they were the spoiled peers of the realm, none of them with a lesser title than earl, and that was it.

The Madame sighed, led them to a secluded chamber supplied with all implements of whipping and left them with the two siblings. And he’d went along with the idea, over-excited and had watched erect how the two had screamed, moaned, and encouraged each other past shame and pain. In his mind the young male body of twenty and something had taken the face of his brother. His twin brother whom he’d longed for and yearned for since he’d learned about the pleasures of the body. His brother whom he’d wanted even more since taking a step further in his sexual education, learning about pain inducing lust and heated sated sex after the strange sexual arousing scenarios at the hands of their tutor.

Another strangled cry of pain, trying not to make any noise, no noise… Nineteen.

He’d arrived home on a high, inebriated with the scent of the boy whom he’d used twice in a row and still hungry for his brother, with the moaning sounds of the boy while he was pounding into him relentlessly spending his seed still resounding in his ears. And replaying, replaying almost to saturation wild images of his fantasy. He was wielding a whip, his brother bound to the whipping frame. He’d entered his bedroom carelessly, spent and feeling a comfortable laziness in his limbs.
Their tutor was waiting for him seated by the window.

“Where have you been Sedgwyck?”
The use of his title had made him immediately alert. Throwing nervous eyes to the small clock on the night desk, he’d seen he was late by more than two hours.

“I had need of you, and a firm promise you’d return immediately after theatre.”
“We still had a drink at White’s, I couldn’t very well leave”.
“You lie.”
It was a flat statement. Piercing steel-grey eyes stared coolly at him. He fell to pieces on the spot. He’d admitted to where he’d been and what he’d done. All the while those unnaturally grey eyes had watched him with burning anger at their back.
“Have you taken leave of your senses? Do you want to end imprisoned, disgraced and hanged at the end of a humiliating trial? Destroying the good name of your family, perhaps even ruining the future of your brother?”

“God!”… And again attempts to repress his howl of pain and desire, shushing himself, hands gripping firmly the rope knots. Eighteen his numbed mind whispered to him. Eighteen more and he felt his back on fire. He gripped spasmodically tight the gold-and silver spun velvet ropes he’d wrapped around his wrists, white-knuckled fists holding fiercely the ending knots. An unexpected lash bruised between his thighs.

Another repressed sigh. He buried his burning forehead into the cooling black satin sheet.
“We’ll count this one out Sedgwyck. You moved legs. Must I remind you everything is about discipline?”

He’d tried to protest just to be cut short.
“I don’t care about the lot of them. They can do whatever takes their fancy and break their necks in the process. But you, as you well know, you I care about.” The voice was flat, calm and dispassionate, yet compelling. Steely eyes glared at him expectantly.

“Master, please be kind and punish me hard. I erred and broke your trust and what we share. Please” he trailed off, “order me to atone as you see fit.”
“Go, bath and prepare.”

He jerked wildly on the bed. Seventeen.

He’d went with head bowed, disrobed folding neatly his elegant dress and after bath had kneeled in Master’s playroom, on the carpet head bowed and hands clasped behind his back.

“Light only the six candles around the bed. Go and fetch whip number seven. Lay face down, arms above your head gripping the ropes and legs stretched out as much as possible. There will be thirty lashes with it, since you seem to favor whippings.”
He’d shivered inwardly knowing the sheer power of number seven. It had been already used on him, on quite a number of occasions but never for so many lashes. He cringed apprehensively, and yet feeling the first stirs of new arousal. After such an intense punishment session, the Master’s lust was always all the more heated.

Tears had started forming in his eyes.
“Sixteen left”. The voice soothingly giving the signal that, no quarters would be granted.

Hot cheek resting on the warm turned satin sheet, he closed his eyes recounting how it had started. How he’d come to fear and love what was done to him, in equal measures, what he dreamed of doing to his brother, and share with him, here, in front of his Master. How he’d numberless times envisaged himself with his brother, alone, he as Master, and sometimes how they both bowed to their tutor and Master.

He’d been their tutor since their father had brought him as cherished friend and administrator of his estates after Waterloo. The handsome raven haired young colonel barely thirty had made a great impression on him and his brother. Soon, they were his loyal slaves, hanging on his every word. Even punishments if they failed in their study duties were swift and fair, followed by comfort after time since punishment had passed. Their father had died less than three years later, and left him sole custodian of children and estates. He and David had approved wholeheartedly and relieved as trust was implicit.

“Master…pleeeaaasseee…”
“Be honorable Sedgwyck, fifteen more”, the voice announced understanding and still unyielding.

And then, a couple of months after he’d turned eighteen, he’d made acquaintance for the first time with William’s cane on his bare bottom. He’d been drunk, totally foxed and William had waited for him to sober, and invited him to the class-room early morning for a confidential “discussion”. It had been a first appointment with the cane on his bare. When done, he’d raised from his bent over the chair position, just to show a most astonishing hard on. He was fully erect, aroused and panting, looking transfixed to William. Four years before this moment …And then, on the same evening, William indicated he’d found out his secret. His wish for his twin brother’s body had been the end of careless youth. Their tutor, had made him confess, and then had expressed wishes of his own. He’d given in for the sake of his studious brother, and because he still remembered the so efficiently applied cane of the morning. It had pained him, and yet stirred him. If the tutor had known, then that threat of canning also his brother, of taking his brother, hadn’t worked. Or, maybe he’d always thought about that moment of blackmail as an excuse for his own baser needs? Because what happened, what had been happening for the last for years had become in less then a couple of months also his own wish, desire and craving.

“Please, no more, no more…”
The whip trailed playfully down his body, as he twisted anguished his body yet again.
“Don’t. Or I’ll have to give you the bit. Should I?”
He just nodded frantically with his back-thrown head. A leather bit was pushed by a long-fingered, black-glowed hand between his teeth, as he never let go of the ropes. There were still fourteen to go.

On the first evening, after his brother had retired to their chamber, William had started initiating him applying in equal measure a cane and wicked intimate touches, talking about discipline, control, arousal, and want…all in a maddening mix that ultimately had led to the very spot in which he was now. He’d thought after that first time that he had already understood the wishes and desires of his tutor, and that he would be able to go along with them, just to keep his brother safe. He had been wrong. It had been but the prelude of scheduled canning, birching, followed in next weeks by belts, whips of different sizes, riding crops. Always after their use, William had soothed his aching bottom, caressing it with his finger tips, taken him into his arms, kissing him on throat, bared chest, suckling his nipples and stroking his engorged shaft arousing him till he spilled himself under William’s eyes and in his hand. Soon he’d found himself waiting with mixed fear and hardly concealed lust to these weekly occurrences to which he was by now a willing partner, although he disliked the very thought of his submission. Yet, again and again he found himself before the door, then in the room, naked and willing. It had become a pattern of once a week, Friday’s in their tutor’s chambers. Each encounter made him feel more attracted to the man handling his body. William had just kept on spanking him with various instruments for some months, the caresses, touches and kisses becoming more intimate and arousing with each session, all the time.

Every time a new touch, like the one when he’d been first breached with a finger in his anus. Or the time he’d had his balls and cock tied for the very first time. Learning to take two, three fingers inside, hurting yet craving the pleasure of feeling his prostate caressed. And then, he’d been ready to deliver himself completely to William’s hands and body, willingly to his own surprise. On his back, legs wide-spread, knees pushed up, supported by his tutor’s arms, uttering sounds of distress and impatience alike as his tutor entered full-length breaking his cherry, holding him in the scissor-embrace. He jerked again, and bit wildly the leather strip in his mouth whimpering. Thirteen.

They’d made love leisurely and heated by until then unsatisfied lust for the other’s body after the first intense session with the whip that now pained his skin. As that night encounter had ended, he’d moved out of chambers shared with his brother, taking rooms of his own, in the next chamber suite. The tutor had commented that now he might need him more often. And he’d acquiesced. The uncomprehending, speculative look of his twin had been shrugged away with indifferent excuses and explanations. David had on that simply accepted it, considering that perhaps it was for the best, as they both teetered on the brink to manhood, and he had preoccupations concerning his own body and own desires. A sudden shyness had been already making its way in their confidences since their sixteenth or so year, and this was the final cut, as it turned into full-blown denied intimacies about what the other thought, how he evolved in life and grew into adolescence and manhood.

Tiny whimpers hindered the full scream as he bit deep into the leather strip. Twelve more left, dear God!

They’d started arranging the playroom together, as the bedroom had proven in less then two weeks unsatisfactory for their fantasies, desires and lusts. It had been sheer luck that they’d discovered behind the tapestries of one wall in their guardian’s library a walled in door, that lead to a chamber with no windows…empty, but with strange bolts in various places on the wall, an adjoining smaller room…it was plain it hadn’t been used in ages. It stirred their both imagination, and they’d started arranging it according to their wishes in great secret, with workers brought from France and Italy, who didn’t speak English, and who’d been each sent away immediately on completing his tasks. The single drawback, if one could call it that, as William had ironically commented at the time, was that one couldn’t get to noisy, less the other brother would hear.

It wasn’t a question of thickening the walls, because, according to the old designs of the large manor, these rooms were concealed between and behind the rooms held by the brothers. It was now decked with burgundy red tapestries, heavy bed curtains, matching the tapestries on the walls, miniature sculptures in the most sensual and erotically provocative positions of two men embraced in love, and huge mirrors above and in front of the bed. Here and there the tapestries were broken by golden-colored hanging chains, or manacles pinned directly into the wall, for hands and feet, the cabinet a treasure trove of various butt-plugs, glass and metal shaped phalluses, necklaces of pleasure pearls and finely round polished diamonds of different sizes up to the one of a dove egg on a string of gold, nipple clamps, and all sorts of other toys secretly imported from India and Siam as ordered by William, through a like-minded friend working with the East-Indies Company. All finely crafted and yet able to pleasure and pain the body. The smaller room had been changed into a punishment room, with a Saint-Andrew’s cross, empty walls with black chains, a whipping frame, a rack…

Keening repressed scream. Eleven.

Twice a month they could afford to use that room and this playroom at full potential, and while William tortured him erotically hours on end, Cedric could let go, and scream, and beg, and moan from the top of his lungs. It was with clockwise precision on every next Thursday, when David left to return after two days, without giving any explanations as to his whereabouts in the meantime, since their eighteens year. The year of his fall, and David’s escape due to his own cravings for lust arousing pain, and his sacrifice. His acceptance of their tutor’s conditions.

“I…can’t… …any more, Master” He’d lost the bit from his mouth and screamed in hushed tones.

“Silence. You don’t want to wake up your brother now. You’d buy some time, but I would punish you the more. And then, I’d have you warm those diamonds in your ass for the next twenty-four hours. And maybe get your brother in the bargain too”.
He whimpered, writhing fitfully on the bed.
“Do you want me to gag you?”
“No. Please, Master, punish me, but don’t gag me. I’ll…I’ll keep as quiet as I can.” Ten. It seemed an infinite number. His master touched his hair in a comforting gesture.

“You are my brave boy, aren’t you love?’
“Yes…” Blessed respite.

Another swishing sound in the air. He strained his muscles. Shallow suppressed scream Nine.

His brother, he loved him. He’d loved him ever since he could remember. Even now he remembered in minute detail the times when they were bent together, holding hands over the desk, taking the cane on their shivering trousers. The beauty of David’s screams, of his blue-eyes blurred with tears. Once, his brother had confided after a sound thrashing that he’d cried more for his brother, who’d had to take five extra, while he held his hands, than from the pain he had felt. They’d embraced and slept in each others arms all night upon this confession. Only short time thereafter, David had ceased talking to him, and sometimes he’d had the definite feeling his brother waited for him to fall asleep, although he’d never been able to figure out why. They’d been almost sixteen at the time, and he had also tried to stay awake, to look at his brother while he slept, imagining him in strange positions, his hands caressing and punishing him all the same. It had been what had scared him, and ultimately had him under the influence of their tutor. Had there been a chance they’d both failed to use? He didn’t know now, as he hadn’t known then. Yet it bothered him. This monstrous attraction he’d started feeling for the man loving and paining him, all the while continuing to yearn for his brother, beyond the knowledge of the impossibility of having all this shared with his brother.

It just followed in the same cadence. Eight, then seven, and six, five, and other hissed sounds of pain, his body convulsing on the bed, his engorged shaft dripping in expectation of relief. Four. The last three were delivered at the same time distance as the ones before and with same intensity. He jerked wildly; his wrists reddened by the several times anguished twisting of ropes around them, knuckles snowy white from strain. And then he simply collapsed in himself, crying tears of relief. It was over. The punishment had been meted.

“Stay there.” Fine black leather deer gloves fell on the carpet.
Soothing hands over his back, applying the healing salve, insisting on the more raised red welts on his thighs, and bottom and shoulders. Then the black clad shape of his tutor took again few steps back.
“Tell me, what you want now. Tell me all, my beautiful boy.”
“I want you master, I want your hands on me, showing you forgave me…”, he answered dazed by pain and pleasure.
“Turn”.

He turned on his welted back, whimpering as he felt the slowly calming ache of the raised welts. His tutor had dragged a chair near the bed, and threw him the removed pillows. “Prop yourself on the pillows, and slowly start touching yourself. You are not allowed to come”, he finished in a softly menacing tone.

He’d started then palm open, fingers splayed to touch his nipples, caressing them into swollen buds, licking unconsciously his want-dried lips as his other hand slowly started stoking his already erect shaft, with up and down movements, woven with moments, in which his thumb stroked the moist head, fingering himself at the root of his shaft. His breathing became more and more shallow, and he soon found himself on the brink of coming.

“Stop.” He uttered a protesting moan. Hand resting as if in imploration on his shaft, as the following demand was issued. “Squeeze yourself softly at the root, and then resume”.

His eyes closed, a hushed breath floated from his lips as he obeyed, as always. Then he started anew. The man in the winged-chair sat watching with burning eyes. The twenty-two year old blond boy was the pinnacle of his dreams. The young male submitting to his will had softly curled hair, falling in neat waves lightly over his ears, and covering his nape, even when disheveled like now. His body had long aristocratic limbs, well-trained muscles in all the right places. It was not the body of a weak effeminate boy, but the body of a healthy young, sex hungry male.

“Talk to me, tell me, what makes you most aroused now?”
“You, thinking of you taking me, letting me reach completion”, the boy answered in an achingly begging voice.
“No, you won’t have me yet. First, I want you to continue what you’re doing, as instructed, again, and again, without coming. All the while, tell me, speak to me, I want to hear you whispering to me softly, describing exactly what makes you keep aroused.”

The boy gasped harshly, stopped himself with wild sheer will-power, to avoid coming, for fear of new discipline, and started anew. Soon, he was maddened with lust, unable to think, talking in whispered, sighing tones, not quite knowing what, as he was completely focused on not failing his master again in one single evening.

“Your hands, master, please…please…and my brother, aching, writhing, after I whipped him, and then I take him, you watch, we both please you…”

The man undressed and joined the young boy on the bed, and removed Cedric’s hand only to wrap his around the shaft. He was the one squeezing it now, caressing the root, the balls, and again denying him completion. The boy just laid there sprawled, gasping shallower and shallower, from time to time a moan of unfulfilled lust escaping his lips, as tiny drops flowed in almost constant stream from his shaft.

“It took you a long time to admit. So, you’d like to have your brother for you, don’t you?” the words were softly murmured in his ears, as he was sharply brought to a moment of consciousness, by his master’s hand squeezing the root, and continuing to press, till pleasure turned to soft pain.

“Yes, yes, sorry, sorry, yes…” the boy whimpered.
“You hadn’t learned anything in these four years? How dare you talk of him and beg for me?”

Cedric shivered, and arched his body up, hands reflexively gripping anew the ropes. His Master was now punishing him again, the pressure of his hand on his balls growing by the second. He didn’t want to struggle. He couldn’t...wouldn’t...sighs of lust escaped his lips.

His master and tutor continued stroking him, bending his knees, up, inserting a dildo into him. He moaned, raising his hips in an erotically challenging movement.

He stood up, and undressed swiftly, making Cedric want him all the more in his body, as he went to the cabinet. He opened one of the drawers and took out a ring. Then he returned, and as Cedric was already sprawled on the bed, legs open, knees bent up, he simply reached to his groin, attached the ring to the engorged shaft and clasped it close. Cedric’s face signaled he was close to tears.

“You are not to come for the next twenty-four hours. Not to try touching yourself, in hopes I wouldn’t know. And now open your mouth, take me into it, prepare me to take you.”

William feeling ready to come, pulled out the dildo from Cedric’s bottom and took him harshly, making him scream with lust and pain in the hand clasping his mouth, as he pounded in and out of the boy’s body, till with a groan of his own he collapsed on him sprawled on the bed.