by Anne Brooke
Something about physical pleasure focused me on the demands Mark had made. If I wanted to come, I had to keep on painting until I’d finished something for the first time in a long, long time. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed this: the shape of the brush in my fingers, the power it gave me and the way it danced across the white space with light and color. Then there was the smell of the paints themselves and the way they took me back to the sheer joy of creating a picture, no matter how good or otherwise it was. The paints smelt of memories and all the times in my life I’d been here, in this studio, doing the job I once thought I’d been made for.
But then, I’d let it all go because I thought I couldn’t be good enough. Now, I didn’t know why I’d ever imagined being good enough was the most important thing of all. As I laid aside one brush and chose another, finer one, I realized my face was wet and tried to wipe away the evidence as subtly as I could.
Not subtly enough for Mark, however.
“Tell me what you’re painting,” he said, even as his lips distracted me by tracing a soft path down to my shoulders. “I want to know each stroke and each line as you make them. And no matter what my brother and I do to you, you must keep on talking, telling us what you see.”
I groaned and tried to concentrate more deeply on the lines, smudges and drifts of color in front of me. My attempt was made even more difficult as Johnny stretched his mouth wide and took both my balls between his lips. I tilted my groin toward him to make it as easy as possible for him to have and play with as much of me as he wanted. I’d give him everything he needed if I had it, him and Mark both.
“Liam,” Mark’s voice was a warning and a grounding, too. “Talk to us.”
“Y-yes, sirs,” I stuttered, panting hard. “I’ve divided the page with a blue line. I don’t know why, but it’s there. I want—ahh—I want the top to be red and underneath the line, it’ll be—mmm, oh God, Johnny, don’t stop—it’ll be green.”
“Do you like what my brother is doing to you?” Mark murmured, his hands resting warm and comforting on my shoulder blades.
“Yes, oh yes.”
“Tell me about it. Because I can’t see.”
I took a breath, pausing from the canvas for a moment to obey Mark’s wish. “Johnny has both my balls as far as possible in his mouth,” I whispered. “His mouth feels so warm and soft. I want him to take me all in, my cock too, if—if that’s what he wants.”
“Won’t that be dangerous?” Mark breathed. “With so much of yourself in my brother’s mouth, how will you be able to stop getting bitten?”
I gasped and my cock twitched, rock-hard and desperate.
“I c-can’t. I-I won’t be able to stop it. Johnny will bite me. He can’t help but bite me.”
“But you still want him to take you in.”
“Yes. Oh God, yes.”
“You want Johnny to bite you? You want him to give you pain?”
My paintbrush fell away as my hands began to shake. At the same time, Johnny’s ministrations to my balls stopped and he simply held me motionless in his mouth. I reached out and trailed my fingers through his hair.
“Liam? Answer me.”
Keeping my groin and legs as still as I could, I leaned back into Mark’s strong embrace.
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice so low I could hardly hear it myself. “Yes, I want you, both of you, to give me pain.”
“Good,” said Mark, as I began to shake. “Well done. We’re both proud of you. It’s good to know who you are and what you want. Remember…whatever happens, you aren’t allowed to come. Johnny?”
As if he’d only been waiting for his brother’s command, Johnny let go of my balls, leaving me shivering in the studio’s heat. For a moment, the lack of contact from him made me feel empty inside and then his lips were swallowing down my eager cock, teeth scraping across my skin. When he’d completely engulfed my prick, his lips and tongue lapped at my balls, trying to suck them inside, too, though there was no room for them.
The pressure and intensity of it made me cry out in shock, even though I knew what had been coming and had wanted it. Mark’s firm hand over my mouth steadied me and brought me back to silence and myself. Even though I still shook—couldn’t stop shaking—I whimpered my thanks as best I could. Crying out lessened the pain and bliss of what Johnny was doing to me, and I wanted to feel it all to the full.
“Easy,” Mark said, running one hand down my back and buttocks in a soothing motion and holding my mouth and chin with the other. “Easy there. If you want to have the pain, you have to have the patience, too. Just like the spanking, remember?”
Oh yes, I did remember, but that hadn’t been the same at all. My arse had been in the line of fire, as it were, and now it was my cock and balls. A completely different kind of package. The sharp scrape of Johnny’s teeth over my most sensitive skin made the breath hiss between mine, even through Mark’s fingers, but bloody hell, I was loving it. Everything, every sensation, every thought, every pleasure was concentrated entirely on the fact of what Johnny was doing to me. Even the agony was delicious. He could have shredded me to pieces and I would have begged for more. Right then anyway.
But he wasn’t shredding me to pieces, was he? Johnny was giving me just enough pain to keep me focused only on him and all the while paying me the kind of attention I only ever received from the twins and engulfing me with the pleasure of his tongue and lips. He gave me the pain and he kissed it away again. God, I loved him, and Mark, too, for letting Johnny do it to me.
Then, Mark spoke to me.
“Paint,” he whispered. “I haven’t told you to stop. Paint and tell me what you’re doing.”
From nowhere, the brush I hadn’t yet used was pushed into my fingers again. Mark must have caught it before it fell to the floor. Almost entirely from instinct, I coated it with the deepest red I could find and began edging lines and darker shapes over the space on the upper left of the canvas.
“Red,” I whispered. “The highest part of what you give me is red. I find you there. And it fades into the blue so they’re like different sides of the same thing. Ah, Johnny, I love you. I love you both. It’s something wild and free I never knew I could have before. I never knew it could be like this. You make me feel special; you make me feel I can do anything.”
All the time I was speaking, my hand was dancing a delicate pattern over the page as I tried to hold in balance the pain and pleasure consuming my cock and balls, and the overwhelming need to paint it out, to create something from what I held inside me. What the Delaneys had released. It was the truest response I could make. Not in words, but in pictures.
Johnny kept on licking and swallowing me, while Mark whispered hot words against my skin. And then, suddenly, I was there, held in a place where I didn’t have to struggle to concentrate on not coming in Johnny’s mouth because the fact of painting and telling Mark about it while the brush swept across the canvas kept me grounded and obedient. Right now, nothing was more important than that.
So I kept on talking, gasping too, as I finished the red part of the painting and turned my attention to the lower part. Johnny’s section. It needed to be green.
“Green?” Mark queried as he nibbled on my ear. “You’ll be wanting more paint then?”
“Y-yes, please,” I managed to say. The pain and pleasure Johnny was doling out to me began to reach almost unbearable heights.
Mark chuckled. “I’ll get you another new brush. See how good I am to you.”
Oh yes, he was. They both were.
Somehow, I managed to coat the paintbrush in something resembling the green I was after and started on the last section of the picture. Still, I kept on talking, telling Mark all about it. Johnny, too, if he were listening. Hell, I was good. This time, the brushstrokes were lighter, less dynamic than the powerful top left section. I liked to think it was because Johnny was a subtler character than his older twin, but, actually, it was more likely because I was pretty spaced out by then. Not to
mention being in the kind of zone I hadn’t been in before, not like this.
I painted swirling grasses rather than storm-filled sunset skies, each small blade looping and twisting into the next and the next, and the one after that as well. Part of this was because I didn’t trust myself not to come in Johnny’s deliciously hot and demanding mouth if I allowed the brush to leave the canvas for one second more than was necessary, but most of it was because I didn’t want to get paint on Johnny’s clothes. Halfway through, I was beyond being able to judge the right amount needed. Instead, I was simply getting it on the picture and blending it outward from there.
“Have you finished it yet?” Mark asked me, as I was doing the best I could under the circumstances in the final corner.
“Nearly, sir,” I managed to choke out. “Ju-just a few more minutes, I think.”
“Good,” he said. “But, whatever happens, don’t forget: no orgasm ’til I tell you to.”
I was about to reply I knew the rules and had every intention of carrying them out if I could when he slid down my back, opened my butt cheeks and, without any more fuss, pushed his tongue right inside me.
“Arrggh!” I yelled, all good intentions flung to the four winds and beyond. “God, Mark, I can’t. I can’t hold on.”
Unable to reply, Mark’s fingers gripped my waist and his nails dug into my flesh. He shook me, hard, a warning for me to carry out his command, come what may. I just had to hope that what came wouldn’t be me. For long, long moments, I teetered on the brink of letting it all rush out and collapsing, thoroughly mastered, to the studio floor.
Still, Mark’s sharp nails and the grip of my own fingers round the paintbrush somehow kept me just about under the twins’ control. Even so, his tongue felt amazing, a warm, wet thrusting that teased my arsehole into delicious spasms. I’d always loved being rimmed. Here and now it felt like a gift, and I wanted to tell him, tell them both, how very much I loved them, but I didn’t dare as I thought if I spoke, I might explode entirely and never be able to pick up the pieces.
I didn’t know where I found the strength of mind to keep on painting while Johnny was torturing my cock to the delicious edge, and Mark was thrusting what felt like fireworks into my arse. There was a lot to be said for a good Irish upbringing, if only I’d had one.
Just as I thought it was all over for me, I finished the last sweep of paint and dropped the brush.
“I’m done,” I gasped, and I was, too. In oh, so many ways.
Mark withdrew his tongue and pulled me backward, away from Johnny’s attentions. Not a moment too soon. All I could do was groan. I was far beyond finding any words, let alone what I might say with them. It was taking all my abilities just to stop myself coming. The only thing I knew was I’d do whatever the Delaneys wanted me to do next, no holds barred.
Before I could take my next breath, Mark pulled me to the floor.
A slight pause and then, “Nice painting, Liam. It’s got passion.”
That didn’t surprise me, but I wasn’t interested in art right then. There were far more important things on my mind. Mark, thank God, didn’t mess around. I heard the sound of a condom packet being torn open, but the next thing I knew was the condom being thrust into my hand.
“Put it on,” Mark said with a growl, and I tried to turn to face him to obey the command.
He swung me back around. “No, you idiot. Put it on yourself.”
“What? But…”
Johnny laughed, while Mark just sighed.
“You’ve done so well,” he said, “under challenging circumstances. So Johnny and I thought it was time for a reward, as well as high time we saw what our special threesome can really do.”
Before I could think how to respond, Mark was already ripping open another condom packet and passing me the lube. My fingers trembled as I put on the condom, and as Mark took the lube back to prepare himself.
By now, Johnny was undressed. I hadn’t even noticed it happen. It was only when he grabbed a nearby chair, went down onto all fours across it and spread his legs for me that I lost my nerve.
“I can’t do this,” I said, my voice so shaky I could hardly get the words out at all.
“It’s an order, Liam,” Mark replied, his cockhead even now pushing an entry into my body. “Just do it.”
If only it were that easy. My own prick was still hard, still throbbing, but I’d never entered either of the twins before and suddenly it was a step I wasn’t sure I could take. I’d only just learnt how much I loved being submissive. What would happen to all that if I took the active role with Johnny, even at Mark’s command?
Johnny pushed his arse back against me, and I gasped.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re still in charge, but I want it, Liam. I want you.”
That was all it took. Slowly, holding my breath, I pushed my lubed fingers inside him. He groaned. “More. Now, please.”
At the same time, Mark thrust his whole cock inside me, so I couldn’t help crying out, and he murmured, “Don’t keep my brother waiting. That kind of disobedience doesn’t end well.”
I believed him. Removing my fingers from Johnny’s arse, I lined up my cock with his hole and used Mark’s next push to power myself inside. Johnny opened to me as if he’d been waiting for this forever.
“I love you.” He groaned. “Both of you.”
He spoke for me, too. My body had never been both filled up with one twin, whilst possessing the other. It couldn’t get any more perfect than this, even squashed between two strong men so I could barely catch a breath and wondering just what the hell I was going to do if my parents walked in.
Thank God, they had more sense, as surely they must have heard the noise the three of us were making. And thank God, the door was locked, though, honestly, we were all way beyond caring. Taking my courage into both hands, I reached around, took firm hold of Johnny’s cock and began pumping it, just as the three of us found our rhythm.
Hell, even if this broke every bone in my body, it would so definitely be worth it. Couple relationships were history, and trios were the way to go, for sure. I’d never doubted it.
Johnny came first, his body clamping down on my eager cock with such force that I couldn’t help but follow him. A few moments after, Mark swore softly in my ear and completed the show. The three of us collapsed, panting and groaning, down the side of the chair, which had stood up against a fair pounding of its own, and across the studio floor. We certainly weren’t going to win any prizes for post-coital elegance. But that wasn’t what we were together for in the first place, was it?
Half trapped beneath me, Johnny was the first to recover the power of speech. “That was hot,” he said, “but next time, I’ll use cushions.”
“Wimp,” Mark said, making us both laugh. “Take care not to ruin our street cred, little brother.”
“You’ll never ruin it for me,” I whispered, and kissed them both as thoroughly as I could. “That’s a given.”
After we’d cleaned up and sorted out our clothes, I set the studio to rights and hoped my father wouldn’t look too closely. I wasn’t entirely sure that some of the furniture was exactly back to how he preferred it.
Neither did I have the time to check because there was a knock on the door and my mother walked in. She was smiling and holding the key. So much for being safe then. I’d forgotten she had a spare.
“Ah, I see my timing is better than at our last meeting,” she said, giving me a disconcerting wink. “I thought it had gone quiet, so I hope you’re finished ‘inspecting the artwork,’ my dears. Because, Liam, your father’s on his way.”
That meant only one thing. My father had found a plan for whatever picture he was about to start next, or the one he intended to finish, and he was set to go. He wasn’t about to take kindly to my attempt at art currently sitting boldly on his second-best easel. I made a grab for it, not caring whether or not my scrabbling fingers would ruin the wet paintwork, but Mark stepped in front of me and gave me
a hard stare.
I stared back. A bold response, I admitted but, with my father in full creativity mode, it was for his own good really.
Mark didn’t blink. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“S-saving us b-both from my father’s rage?” I stuttered, wondering what else I could say, but I didn’t get the chance.
Because Mark took one step forward, grabbed me by the shirt collar and gave me a firm but gentle shake. “But, Liam,” he said, his voice low, “being with us means you don’t have to hide any more and you don’t have to be afraid of anyone else. Not now and not ever.”
I gaped at him.
He shook me again, his fingers caressing my shoulders this time. “Do you know what I’m saying?”
Before I could reply, Johnny’s face rose between us. “I think he does know, Mark,” he said quietly, “but I also think it’s time you told him directly, don’t you?”
A pause followed, when not even my mother spoke. Which just showed the age of miracles was not dead after all.
Then Mark sighed.
“All right,” he said, “but this is the one and only time I say this. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Johnny and I both replied at exactly the same moment, though Johnny looked away and shuffled his feet when he realized what he’d said.
“Good,” Mark said. “In that case, I love you, Liam. In fact, I love both of you, but in different ways, and what we have together, the three of us, has made me the happiest I’ve ever been.”
By the time he’d finished speaking, he was glaring at me, not as if caught up in the throes of a romantic confession, but more as if devising the most terrible punishments he could imagine. At least I hoped so. I did so love a man with imagination.
My mother sniffled and broke the spell. “So romantic.” She sighed. “You young men. Brings back happy memories, you know.”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all, but luckily didn’t have to think about it since my father chose that precise moment to burst through the door, paper in one hand and a set of what looked to be brand-new brushes in the other.