The Prodigal Twin Returns

~Candy~

My husband has not touched me in six months. 

No, scratch that, the sadistic bastard loves smacking me around and pounding my head into walls. But he has not fucked me in such a long time. 

No kisses, ass gropes in the kitchen, and not even the trip to his infamous torture room for a night spent in forced bondage where he’d make me endure his sadistic sexual preferences. 

This tells me one thing: he has found a mistress or at the very least, someone else occupies his attention. 

My husband, Ansel, doesn’t love me but he loves taking out his issues on me. After years of being married to him, I’ve accepted his fists are the only way to know he has some sort of interest in me. His sexual sadism is the only kind of love I know. 

Stockholm syndrome? I don’t know. I can’t psychoanalyze myself. I can only tell you that six months of sexual celibacy is torture for me. 

The sickest part is…I miss him so much. I miss his torments and punishments.  

I endure everything he has put me through (seriously I have no other choice), but the one thing I can’t stand is not being fucked. 

A woman needs her orgasms. 

So tonight, I have made all the necessary preparations to trap his attention.

For one night, I want to feel my clit stimulated, I want someone’s dick moving inside me as I'm fucked senseless. 

I gave the maids a night off so when I start screaming, my voice will echo around the empty house.

*

I set the mood in the bedroom to sensual by turning the lights low and playing his favorite soft R’n’B music. 

I whip out all his sex toys, all his favorite S & M materials: the floggers, satin paddles, handcuffs, pet plays, nipple suckers and dildos. 

Then, I put on a set of his favorite red Victorian Secret bra-and-panties, place an adjustable leather choker around my neck, a ball gag in my mouth and blindfold around my eyes before handcuffing myself to the bed. 

I kneel there, legs tucked underneath me like a bait. An irresistible bait. 

The bedroom door is left open for him so he can walk in and find me ready for him. 

Soon, I hear his car drive in from work. My ears perk up, following the sounds he made as he climbs out of the car, slams the door shut and walks through the front door. 

He moves silently, as always, climbing the stairs. 

Each step brings him closer to me. To my naked body I’ve laid out as a treat for him.  

He has never been able to resist me like this. He likes me blindfolded, gagged, submissive and helpless.

He likes to torment me, to turn my skin red, to make me cry and no matter how much I hate him and the way he treats me, I can’t stop myself from longing for orgasm. 

The anticipation is killing me. His walk is purposeful, direct.

Seconds tick by slowly.

A gripping dramatic tension fill the air.

I have not presented myself like this to him in a long time. There’s a fifty-fifty chance he might reject me. 

The footsteps stop right outside the bedroom door. I hear him push the door wider. 

“Candy,” came a voice. Authoritative, reprimanding, dusky. 

I moan in response, practically throwing myself at him and begging him to take me. 

I can hear his heavy breathing but he doesn’t make a move from the door. 

 Nothing. Silence.

Afraid that he would leave me there, horny and degraded, I lie back on the bed, spreading my legs open to invite him.

Fuck me please, I beg. My hairless pussy is wide open for his taking. 

Finally, he starts to move toward me.

He kneels on the bed; the mattress sinks with his weight.

He grips the choker and yanks me forcefully toward him, hurting my neck.

He grabs fistfuls of my hair, wrapping it around his fingers, pulling tight. 

The pain is sharp. It shoots up my neck and down my spine.

 His fingers begin to trace my body slowly. 

He doesn’t speak as he tortures me: yanking at my hair, curling his powerfully thick hands around my neck to choke the life out of me, pulling at my hard nipples, ripping my panties into two pieces, and spreading me out on the bed so he can slip his fingers into me. 

Something’s different with him. I can feel it. 

It’s in the scent of his cologne, the urgency of his strokes, the curtailed breathing, deep, guttural growls, his silent thrusts.

My husband is never silent in bed with me. He likes to bark orders, to demean and call me filthy names like whore, slut, and reminding me that I would be nothing without him. 

Tonight, though, he seems quietly focused on just screwing me, on elongating my pleasure. He doesn’t slap or insult me. 

I feel his giant erection pressing around my vagina. He teases me with the head of his cock, moving in circular motions around my entrance before he actually slipped it in. 

I gasp internally. He is bigger than I remembered. Can a man’s dick grow several inches tall and thicker in six months? 

I don’t have time to think up the answer because he is moving inside me like he has never fucked me before.

He holds my head around his meaty, well-muscled arms. Too muscled. Definitely bigger than he was this morning.

 He wraps that arm around my neck, fucking me. 

Pounding. Moving. His hips thrusting. His dick meeting my cervix.

Tears slip out of my eyes. 

When I can’t take it anymore, I try to flee, to slip away, but he’s too strong.

He pins me down tight, tearing me up inside.

As we struggle, my blindfold loosens and shifts. 

I see his arm holding me first.

Wait a minute.

A stretch of tattoos covers his arms. Ansel doesn’t have any tattoos. 

I look up and meet the eyes of the man fucking me. 

My jaws nearly drop. 

Axel, my husband’s identical twin brother! 

“Come for me, princess,” Axel whispers a command. The forcefulness of his voice, command and the excitement of this moment throws me over the edge.

I erupt in orgasm, squirting.

A stream of urine gushes out of my vagina into the air. 

Axel smirks, slips out of me so he can position himself and open his mouth, taking all of it. It covers his face. 

He swallows hard and says: 

“Fuck, I can see exactly why my twin brother is obsessed with you!”