A Brothers torment.

The atmosphere at the table shifted palpably, the tension draining away to be replaced by the mundane clinking of silverware, though the air between Natalia and Trent crackled with a current that was far from familial. As her mother launched into a story about the neighborhood housing association, Natalia felt the ghost of Trent’s grip burning into her inner thigh, a brand of possession that made her squirm in her chair. She stole a glance at him, watching the way he calmly carved his meat, the earpiece invisible but his presence in her head absolute. She wasn't just a sister or a stripper anymore; she was an asset he had secured, a thrill that mixed dangerously with her relief and left her damp with anticipation.

 By the time dessert was served, the immediate threat of Carol and the club had receded into the background, replaced by the looming reality of the intel they had gathered on Harrison. Trent excused himself first, citing a "study group," a code phrase that made Natalia’s heart skip a beat. She waited an agonizing ten minutes, murmuring a polite goodbye to her parents, before grabbing her coat and slipping out the front door into the biting autumn wind. She didn't go to the library; she circled around the side of the house and climbed the trellis to Trent’s second-story window, her sneakers scraping softly against the wood.

 She tumbled over the sill into the dark sanctuary of his room, pulling the curtains shut behind her to seal them in. Trent was at his desk, the monitors casting a blue glow over his face, but he swiveled around as she landed, his eyes hungry and fixed on her. Without a word, Natalia shed the coat, letting it pool on the floor, and stood before him in the thin silk camisole, her nipples hard points against the fabric. "I did what you said," she whispered, crossing the room to stand between his knees, her hands resting on his shoulders. "I kept them talking. I bought you time. Now take what you're owed."

 Trent didn’t speak; he simply reached out, his large hands spanning her waist to pull her flush against the chair. The leather creaked under the sudden shift in weight as he hooked his fingers into the delicate waistband of her skirt and tugged her down onto his lap. The position forced her legs apart, straddling his thighs, and the silk of her camisole rode up, exposing the creamy skin of her hips to the cool air of the room. He looked up at her, his eyes dark and predatory, tracing the line of her jaw before his gaze dropped to her chest, where the rapid rise and fall of her breasts betrayed her composure. "You were a good girl at the table," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her chest. "But good girls don't let their brothers touch them under the table while their father watches."

Natalia let out a shuddering breath, her fingers tangling in his hair as she rocked her hips forward, seeking the friction she had been craving since the moment his hand landed on her thigh. "I'm not a good girl, Trent," she whispered back, leaning down until her lips grazed the shell of his ear. "I'm your accomplice. I'm the one who gets the intel. I’m the one who takes the risks." She reached between them, her hand boldly palming the front of his jeans, feeling the hard length of him straining against the denim. "And right now, I'm the one who needs you to remind me why I'm doing all of this. Take the payment, Trent. Take it."

 With a guttural groan, Trent gripped her ass, standing up effortlessly and tossing her onto the bed. She bounced on the mattress, the silk camisole slipping further up her stomach, and she looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes. He followed her down, caging her in with his body, one hand pinning her wrists above her head while the other traced the curve of her breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak through the thin fabric. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else, Nat," he promised, his voice rough with lust and possession. "When I'm done with you, the only thing that’s going to get you wet is the sound of my voice in your ear telling you what to do."

Natalia didn’t bother with a verbal response; she simply arched her back, pressing her chest into his palm, a silent invitation that Trent didn’t hesitate to accept. He hooked a finger into the delicate lace of her camisole and yanked, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip that exposed her pale, heavy breasts to the cool air. He didn't waste time with foreplay, his head descending to capture a rosy nipple in his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just hard enough to make her gasp. Her hips bucked instinctively, grinding her core against the denim of his jeans, desperate for friction, but Trent held her down with the weight of his body, controlling the pace. "Look at you," he muttered against her skin, his voice vibrating through her chest. "So desperate for it. You were shaking at the dinner table, terrified of that manager, but now you're just a wet mess begging for your brother's cock."

 He released her wrists only to slide his hand down her stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her skirt to find her slick and ready for him. He groaned at the contact, the realization that she was this turned on by his manipulation and control feeding the dark hunger driving him. He pushed two fingers inside her roughly, curling them to find that spot that made her toes curl, watching her face flush with a mix of shame and ecstasy. "This is mine, Natalia," he growled, pumping his hand in a rhythm that had her clutching at his shoulders, her nails digging into the muscle. "Not the club, not the team, not those perverts you dance for. This tight little pussy belongs to the man who pulls your strings now."

 Natalia’s head fell back against the pillows, her breath coming in ragged sobs as he worked her closer to the edge, her body betraying her completely to his touch. "Yes," she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut as the pressure built to a breaking point. "It’s yours, Trent. I’m yours. Just please... make me forget everything else." Trent pulled his hand away, ignoring her whine of protest, and quickly unbuttoned his jeans, freeing himself. He positioned himself at her entrance, his gaze locking onto hers, intense and unyielding. With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside her, claiming her with a brutal efficiency that erased the lingering fear of the day and replaced it with a searing, undeniable reality: she was his asset, his toy, and there was no going back.

 The rhythm he set was punishing, a stark contrast to the careful, calculated maneuvering he had displayed over his phone downstairs. There was no stealth now, only the raw, wet slap of skin against skin and the creaking protest of the bed frame. Natalia wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back in a desperate attempt to pull him deeper, her fingernails raking red trails down his shoulders. Every thrust drove the air from her lungs, forcing out broken cries that she had to muffle against the curve of his neck, terrified the sound would carry through the thin walls and alert their parents to the depravity unfolding just feet above their heads. The thrill of getting caught mixed with the intense stretch of him inside her, creating a dizzying high that made her head spin; she wasn't just a stripper or a swimmer anymore, she was a living, breathing vessel for his obsession, surrendering completely to the man who had systematically dismantled her life only to rebuild it around his cock.

 Trent gripped her hips bruisingly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he leveraged himself deeper, watching the way her breasts bounced with the force of his movements. He was captivated by the dichotomy of her—the innocent golden girl of the campus swim team, reduced to a writhing mess beneath him, begging to be owned by her own brother. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that tasted of mint and desperation, swallowing her moans as he felt her beginning to tighten around him. The power was a drug, headier than any liquor he’d ever tasted; he held her secrets, her safety, and her pleasure in the palm of his hand, and looking into her hazy, unfocused eyes, he knew she wouldn't have it any other way. "You're going to take every drop," he growled against her lips, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. "And tomorrow, you're going to walk into that club like nothing happened, but you're going to feel me dripping out of you the whole time."

With a final, guttural groan, Trent buried himself to the hilt and emptied himself inside her, the heat of his release flooding her senses and triggering a blinding orgasm that ripped through Natalia’s body. She arched off the mattress, her body locking up as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her vision whiting out under the intensity of it. They collapsed together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and heavy breathing, the room silent except for the thundering of their hearts gradually slowing back down. Trent pressed his forehead against hers, staying buried inside her for a long moment as if reluctant to break the connection, his possessiveness lingering in the air like a heavy fog. Natalia lay limp beneath him, wrecked and thoroughly used, a lazy, satisfied smile touching her lips as she realized that for the first time in months, she wasn't afraid of tomorrow—because tomorrow belonged to him.

 The mattress dipped under Natalia’s weight as she crawled across the duvet, the silk robe slipping from her shoulders to pool at her waist. She was naked underneath, the pale moonlight catching the curve of her spine and the swell of her hips. Trent lay back against the headboard, his laptop resting on his bent knees, the blue light illuminating his dark expression.

 "You're tense," she murmured, her hand sliding up his thigh under the covers. Her fingers found him, hard and waiting beneath the fabric of his boxers. "Let me help."

She didn't wait for an answer. Natalia peeled the blanket back and tugged his waistband down, freeing his cock. She wrapped her hand around the base, stroking him slowly, her thumb teasing the sensitive underside.

 "Play it," she whispered, leaning down to run her tongue along the shaft. "I want to see it."

 Trent let out a ragged breath, his hand hovering over the keyboard. "You sure? It’s graphic."

 "I want to see the bitch break," she said, her voice dripping with venom. She took the head of his cock into her mouth, sucking gently, her eyes locked on his. "Play it."

 Trent hit the spacebar.

 The video filled the screen. Jessie was on her hands and knees, the camera shaking as her father lined up behind her. The audio was low, but the guttural sound of Robert Kincaid groaning was clear. He thrust forward, burying himself in her ass. Jessie screamed, a high-pitched, broken sound that was half-pain, half-performance.

 Natalia moaned around Trent’s cock, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. She took him deeper, her tongue swirling as she watched the screen.

 Slap

 Robert’s hand came down hard across Jessie’s face, snapping her head to the side. The sound was sickeningly loud in the quiet room. Jessie’s cheek was already red, her eyes tearing up, but she looked back at the camera and whispered, "More, Daddy."

 Natalia’s hand moved between her own legs, her fingers finding her clit. She rubbed herself in tight, frantic circles, matching the rhythm of the thrusts on the screen. She watched Jessie being used, watched the violence and the depravity, and it seemed to fuel her.

 She pulled her mouth off Trent with a wet pop, gasping for air. "She likes it," she breathed, her hand pumping his slick shaft. "She loves being his little whore."

 "She doesn't have a choice," Trent gritted out, his hips bucking up into her fist. "Look at her eyes. She's gone."

 "I don't care," Natalia moaned, her fingers working furiously between her thighs. "Look at him. Look at how much he hates her while he fucks her. God, Trent... I want you to hurt me like that."

 She took him back into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, taking him until he hit the back of her throat. She gagged slightly but didn't pull back, her eyes watering as she stared up at him with a mixture of adoration and a desperate need to be consumed.

 On the screen, Robert Kincaid grabbed a handful of Jessie’s hair and yanked her head back, arching her spine painfully as he drove into her. Jessie sobbed, her face a mask of ruined ecstasy.

 Natalia’s body tensed, her thighs trembling as the sight pushed her over the edge. She moaned deep in her throat, the sound muffled by Trent’s cock, her orgasm rippling through her while she touched herself, imagining it was her hair being pulled, her body being broken.

 The combination of her mouth, the vibrations of her climax, and the debauched filth on the screen was too much. Trent gripped her hair, mimicking the man in the video, and held her down as he came.

 "Fuck," he hissed, his hips jerking.

 Natalia swallowed every drop, her throat working around him, her eyes rolling back as she milked him dry. When he finally released her, she sat back on her heels, wiping a stray drop of cum from her lip with her thumb and licking it clean.

 She looked at the frozen image of Jessie’s ruined face on the screen, then back at Trent, a dark, satisfied smile playing on her swollen lips.

 "We own her now," she whispered.

 Natalia crawled up the bed, straddling his hips, the heat of her bare skin searing against his. She didn't wait for gentle coaxing. She poured the lube over his hardening cock with shaking hands, her eyes fixed on the screen where Jessie’s father was still mid-thrust.

 "I want you to fuck me like he fucked her," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. "I want you to take my ass, Trent. I want to give you my virginity there."

 "Nat, wait," Trent started, but she was already positioning herself.

 She reached back, gripping his shaft and guiding the blunt head to the tight, unyielding ring of her ass. She looked him dead in the eye, a manic glint in her gaze.

 "I want you to rape my ass, Trent. I want you to take my virginity, while you beat me."

 She sank down.

 The resistance was immediate and brutal. Her body wasn't made for this, not yet. As the head of his cock breached the tight muscle, a sharp, tearing sensation ripped through her.

 "Fuck!" Natalia screamed, her head falling back, her spine arching violently. "Oh god, it's tearing! It's tearing!"

 She didn't stop. She forced herself down, impaling herself inch by agonizing inch. The burn was blinding, a white-hot fire radiating from her core as the delicate tissue gave way under the intrusion. She felt herself ripping, the sting sharp and ferocious, but the debauchery of it only made her wetter.

 Trent watched, mesmerized and horrified, as she took him to the hilt. Her breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps. He reached up, his hands finding her breasts, kneading them roughly before pulling back and swinging his palm in a sharp arc.

The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot. Natalia cried out, her body jerking, her nipple stinging from the impact.

 "Do it again," she hissed, tears streaming down her face. "Hit me! Make me feel it!"

 Smack. His other hand landed on her other breast, leaving a red handprint that bloomed instantly across her pale skin.

 She began to ride him, a desperate, erratic rhythm. Every thrust felt like sandpaper inside her, the friction agonizing against the fresh tears. She screamed with every downstroke, a raw, throaty sound that bordered on agony but was laced with dark ecstasy.

 "Look at her!" Natalia shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at the laptop where Jessie was sobbing in pleasure. "She's a whore! I'm a whore! Hurt me, Trent! Destroy my ass!"

 Trent lost control. He gripped her hips, bruising her, and slammed up into her, meeting her downward plunge. The wet slap of skin against skin was drowned out by her screams. He struck her breasts again, alternating between the heavy mounds, watching them bounce and redden under his abuse.

 "I'm cumming!" Natalia wailed, her body convulsing, the pain triggering a violent, shattering climax that ripped through her. "Fill me up! Cum in my torn ass!"

 The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing and the hum of the laptop fan. The video on the screen had looped back to the beginning, Jessie’s moans starting up again, but the reality in the room was far more visceral.

 With a guttural roar, Trent obliged, burying himself deep as he spilled inside her. Natalia collapsed against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, her body twitching in the aftermath, her ass bleeding and ruined, just like Jessie's on the screen.

 Natalia lay limp against Trent’s chest, her body twitching with the aftershocks of the violence. She could feel the wet heat between her thighs, but it wasn't just cum; there was a slick, sticky warmth that signaled damage. Every heartbeat sent a throb of agony through her rear, a sharp reminder of the tearing.

 Trent’s hand rested on her lower back, his fingers coming away damp when he pulled them away. He looked at the reddish smear on his skin with a grimace. "Nat... you're bleeding."

 "I know," she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. She tried to shift, wincing as the pain shot up her spine. "I can feel it."

 "You're not going to be able to swim," Trent said, his voice low, practical. "Not for a few days. And you definitely can't work."

 Natalia let out a broken laugh, burying her face in his neck. "The Velvet Gavel will have to survive without the 'Star of the Show' for forty-eight hours. No pole work, no lap dances. I can barely sit, let alone grind on some pervert's lap."

 She turned her head, looking at the screen where Jessie was currently taking her father’s cock in her mouth again. The sight no longer filled her with jealousy, but with a cold, hungry curiosity.

 "You should do it," Natalia murmured, her fingers tracing the muscles of Trent's stomach.

 "Do what?"

 "Fuck her," she said, her eyes glued to the screen. "Jessie. You should go to her. Blackmail her with the video, sure... but make her do it with you. Put a mask on her, or don't. I don't care. I want to watch you use her."

 Trent stiffened slightly beneath her. "You want me to sleep with her?"

 "I want you to ruin her," she corrected, lifting her head to look him in the eye. "I want to sit right there," she pointed to the desk chair, "and watch you treat her like the cheap whore she is. I want you to make her beg for it while I watch. It’s only fair, isn’t it? She wants to play with the big girls? Let her see what a real man looks like."