Homecoming by Jimmy

 

Homecoming

 

by Jimmy

 

“Your brother is coming home.”

Aldo was not exactly listening to his mother speaking, but he was now. Aldo’s brother was in and out of prison for a while now. The thought of him coming home, Aldo twists in his seat not realizing that he has not taken a breath. When he does, he coughs and quickly takes a drink of water but spits that back out mid cough.

“You don’t need to be so dramatic, Aldo. Looks like that bunk bed will get some extra use soon.”

Aldo backs up from the table, coughing in his hands and turns to grip the window sill, eyes dark as midnight staring out at the sunken sun on the horizon bleaching the tree tops in brilliant hues of red gold.

Wiping the back of his mouth, Aldo turns to her unsure of what to say but knowing that he needs to say something.

“When?” he finally manages to get out.

She clears her throat. “Tomorrow night, I’m going to get him in the morning. I want you here, no extra wrestling practice and be on your best behavior.”

Aldo nods his head. “Si, Mama.”

A small smile comes over her, “That’s my good, nino.” Kissing him on the cheek.

Aldo watches her go, feeling wretched but never in his life would he say something to her that would make her smile disappear. They were too rare already.

The following night, Aldo was on his best behavior when Jorge returns home and is mostly quiet as his eighteen year old brother boasts about what he is going to do next, and his plans of finishing High School.

Aldo says little but moves the food around his plate. Not hungry.

After he clears the table and heads to his room, he spots Jorge sitting on his bed in a towel, water dripping from his hair. He smiles coyly up at Aldo, eyes unreadable.

“It’s been a while, come here amigo.”

Aldo comes up to him, tugging at his white t-shirt and is surprised when Jorge hugs him tight, whispering “Missed you, bro.” He steps back taking in Aldo. “You have been working out, look at these muscles!” Jorge feels up his arms and smacks his chest playfully, “I hear you get a lot of action.”

“I do alright” Aldo smiles, a little bashfully and blinks up at Jorge. Truth is, Aldo gets a lot of play indeed, with both girls and boys. His latest hook-up has been Gino Gomez, and he’s his brother’s age. Aldo does not give many details, but he shrugs.

Laughing a little, Jorge punches his brother’s shoulder. “Good for you, man. Hey do you want to play a little Roshambo before bed, you know...like old times?”

“No way!” Aldo puts up his hands in surrender. “You always kick too hard, mi huevos are still sore from when we were kids!” jokes Aldo, grabbing his bulge.

Jorge smiles wider, spotting the much large lump that his brother holds. “No longer a little nino now, I see.” Jorge jokes, and almost pokes at the large lump on display. His older brother is not understanding how his little brother gets so much…attention.

“Nope!”

Laughing Jorge thrusts out his pelvis invitingly. “You can take the first shot...come on, man.”

Aldo bites his bottom lip, his leg itching to kick him...especially in just a towel. “Maybe...a round or two. But go easy, mi huevos are sensitive, bro. I also have plans for them later and they need to be in working order.”

“I will, now take your kick. Show me what you got, Aldo!” Jorge says, and puts his hands behind his back closing his eyes. “I'm waaaaiting.” Jorge’s teasing tone edges Aldo on.

He can’t help it, not with Jorge’s lean frame on display. His body is toughened up from from working out, and the little trail of hairs leading from his navel southward entices Aldo on to get a good feel of his brother’s groin. Curiosity of how much he might be growing when he is eighteen finally cements it for Aldo. Aldo rears back his leg and takes aim at his brother’s groin, and kicks right up underneath the towel crashing his foot into his brother’s solid pair of testicles. A meaty crunch hits Aldo’s ears, and he grins knowing that he hit Jorge with a great nut kick.

“I got you!” Aldo jokes, half covering his laughing mouth smiling widely. But Jorge doesn’t fall or double over, he doesn’t even grunt.

Jorge just slowly reaches down underneath his towel with one hand feeling his balls, “Yup, both are still there amigo.” Both brothers are staring down at his crotch. His towel pops up from the impact and he lifts a corner, peeking underneath. It’s clear that he is a little excited.

He looks back up at Aldo and grins.

“Nice try, little bro.” Jorge says.

“Holy shit! That should have popped them for real! How did you take that?” Aldo asks, genuinely impressed.

“Practice.” Jorge says, winking at him. “They’re tough. But not indestructible.” He pats the inviting bulge still tenting the towel. “Your turn.”

Dread fills Aldo’s dark eyes, and they widen already afraid. “What? No way! You’ll destroy me!” He places both hands protectively on his groin, his brother’s reaction really changes the state of the game.

“Scared?” Jorge challenges, spreading his legs a little wider, the towel sinking down another inch revealing the pronounced V of his pelvis along with the top of his pubes line. ”Don’t be a baby. I will go easy on your first kick, promise.”

“I’m not! I just... I just don’t want…to you know, not be able to perform tomorrow night.” Aldo says, genuinely worried.

“You kicked first…you know how this goes. It’s my turn, my first kick will not be full strength. That’s the rules. Unless you’re admitting defeat already, and that you can’t take it.”

The challenge hangs in the air between them. Aldo shakes his head. “Fuck it bro, okay just...do it already. But remember…!” Aldo puts up a finger hauling Jorge for a moment. “Go easy, bro.”

“I knew that you had it in you. That’s my man, little bro!” Jorge reaches for Aldo’s groin, lightly feeling the targets and wear they hang.

“Feeling me up?” jokes Aldo, his cock tingling.

“You wish you horn dog, I want to see what you are packing...and where to aim my first kick.”

Aldo dry swallows. “I am already regretting this...” He whispers, eyes closing.

Jorge’s fingers find their mark and he taps them. “Ready? They feel big and vulnerable.” Jorge cradles Aldo’s balls, they do indeed feel bigger than the last time he held them when they were kids playing this game. Aldo’s scrotum impresses him, it’s surprisingly full, the fleshy-looking pouch contains a pair of almost chicken egg-sized testicles closer to a man’s size than a teen. Beside Aldo’s pouch is his good sized dick, the smooth head pressed against his thumb reminds him of his own when he was Aldo’s age…but his already appears to be bigger than when he was fourteen.

Aldo just nods.

“Alright...”

Jorge squeezes the large orbs. Aldo tenses at the unwelcome ball grab, his fingers itching to move and protect his vulnerable groin.

Jorge’s eyes stare at Aldo’s closed one, drops his hand and yanks up a hard and fast kick.

A brutal, sickening crack echoes through the room.

Aldo’s breath hitches in a silent scream as an indescribable agony washes over him. The world narrows to a pinpoint of white-hot pain centered in his groin, radiating through his entire being. He can feel his testicles compressing against his pelvis, each one seeming to crack and flatten under the immense pressure. His vision swims, and for a terrifying second, he thinks he might black out.

His legs give out from under him, and Aldo collapses to the floor in a heap, curling into a fetal position. A high-pitched, pathetic whimper escapes his full lips as Aldo cradles his throbbing, ruined nuts. The sensation is not just pain; it’s an awful pull back to his childhood, and Aldo groans feeling a deep primal hurt that makes him want to vomit.

Through wide eyes, Aldo watches as Jorge’s foot retreats back to the floor, and he reaches down to pat his big toes. Jorge stands back up looking over his younger brother, a smug grin on his face.

“Tougher than you remember, huh, little bro? And that kick might not have been as easy as I planned on. Your huevos needed a good first kick, I had to deliver.” Jorge says, flexing his muscles as Aldo carefully cradles his balls, the steady aching pulse in his sack taking up all of his attention.

“I’m...going...to...puke,” Aldo manages to gasp out, each word a struggle.

“Ha ha, come on man. It was not that bad.” Jorge’s grin widens. “You’ll have to get up first if you want to take your turn to kick me. Roshambo is longer than one round, you know.” He takes a step closer, looming over Aldo.

Aldo just groans in response, rolling onto his side, trying to find a position that offers even a sliver of relief. There isn’t one. The pain is a constant, throbbing presence, a reminder of his foolish agreement and Jorge’s perfect kicking foot.

“Come on, Aldo. Say ‘Jorge, you win. Your balls are bigger and tougher than mine.’ Go on…you know that you want to” Jorge nudges Aldo's shoulder with the toe of his bare foot.

“Go to hell,” Aldo spits, pain and humiliation stinging his eyes as he takes deep breathes trying to calm himself and soothe the aches in his groin, his fingers gently running along his orbs, and back again.

Jorge laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes the wooden floor vibrate. He crouches down beside Aldo, bringing his face close, and puts his hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I know that you missed this.” Rubbing gently, Jorge takes in Aldo and he sigh. “It is nice to be home.” He squeezes. “Now get up. Your turn.” Jorge’s grip on Aldo’s shoulder tightens. “Or I’m going to kick them again while you are on the floor.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Maybe,” Jorge agrees, letting go and standing up. “But I’m the asshole with two perfectly functional nuts right now, and you’re the one on the floor.” The comment stings because it’s the truth.

Aldo struggles to sit up, moving slowly to avoid aggravating the fiery ache between his legs. Every motion sends fresh waves of nausea through him. He glares up at Jorge, who stands over him with a confident smirk, hands on hips, towel still tented around his waist and from this position, Aldo can just see the bottom of Jorge’s heavy ballsack, and the balls swinging there.

“Alright, fine,” Aldo grits out, pushing himself to his knees. “You want another kick? You got it.”

“Attaboy.” Jorge grins, spreading his legs once more, presenting the inviting target, his wet towel slips down his hips a little and he almost gives Aldo a little show. Pulling it back up, Jorge knots it again at his hip.

Aldo climbs to his feet, swaying slightly. He takes a deep breath, trying to center himself despite the throbbing in his groin. He eyes Jorge’s crotch, the bulge prominent beneath the towel. He remembers the solid thud of his foot connecting with Jorge’s balls, the lack of reaction from his brother. This time, he needs to make it count.

“Ready when you are, little bro.”

Aldo doesn’t hesitate. Taking a running step forward, Aldo comes at his brother ready to show him what he has got. He swings his leg up in a perfect arc, aiming with everything he has. His foot connects, a solid, satisfying impact that echoes in the small room.

Jorge indeed manages to stay upright, but his wounded eyes tell a different story. He laughs a little, and one hand reaches down his belly and stops just before it goes beneath and he groans a little.

“Not bad…” Jorge says, and does a little jump. Everything underneath his towel moves, and Aldo spots the tip of his brother’s brown dick coming out of the fold, he’s hard and the tip of his cock slips out of the sheath around the head revealing a bit of the glistening crown. Aldo expected and hoped, that Jorge would need more recovery time. But he does not.

Instead, Jorge just stands there, a wide grin spreading across his face as he tucks his cock back in, rubbing the head as he places it back behind the towel.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Jorge asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I barely felt that one. Obviously as a swimmer you don’t get too kick much…you must be awful at it.”

Aldo stares, disbelief and frustration warring within him. He’s put everything he has into that kick, and it’s like hitting a brick wall.

“My turn,” Jorge says, and before Aldo can react, he feels a sharp, sudden pain as Jorge’s foot snaps up and connects with his vulnerable testicles. This kick is different from the first. It’s faster, more precise, and somehow, more painful. A blinding white light flashes behind Aldo’s eyes, and a strangled cry escapes his lips as he collapses to the floor for the second time.

The world tilts, the room spinning in a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors.

Jorge is laughing, a loud, boisterous sound that fills the room and bounces off the walls. “I told you they were tough,” he says, nudging Aldo’s prone form with his foot again. “You just can’t take a kick like I can.”

Aldo is too lost in a sea of pain and humiliation to respond. He can only lie there, curled in a fetal position, cradling his aching, throbbing balls, and listen to the sound of his brother’s highly amused laughter. He never stood a chance. Aldo beats the floor with his fist, while the other holds onto his testicles.

After a few minutes the room goes quiet.

The only sounds are Aldo’s ragged breaths and the distant hum of the light overhead, and a few cars that drive by the second floor window. Jorge stands over him, his expression unreadable. He takes a step back, giving Aldo some space.

“You done yet?” Jorge asks, his voice low.

Aldo doesn’t answer. He just lies there, a knot of misery and pain. He wants to disappear, to sink through the floorboards and into the darkness below. Aldo was almost hard when Jorge started touching him, but he’s fully soft now the cock laying across his bruised nut sack. Aldo took off his shorts, so that he could feel his nuts properly in his underwear, his shorts around his thighs.

Jorge sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. “Come on, Aldo. Get up. We’re not done here.”

Aldo groans, a low, pained sound. “I can’t,” he manages to gasp out.

“Yes, you can,” Jorge says, his voice firm. “You’re my brother. You’re stronger than this.”

He reaches down, grabbing Aldo by the arm and pulling him to his feet. Aldo stumbles, his legs weak and unsteady. He leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his groin.

Jorge looks at him, a flicker of something in his eyes. Pity? Concern? It's hard to tell. “One more kick,” he says, his voice softer now. “One more, and your turn is over.”

Aldo shakes his head, a silent plea in his eyes. “Please, Jorge. No, no more.”

Jorge’s expression hardens. “Hey come on now, we’ve barely played…it’s your turn. Come on…show me what you got, I know that you have been holding back.”

He takes a step closer, and Aldo flinches, expecting another kick. But Jorge just stands there, looking at him. He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of Aldo’s jaw. “You are tough to be playing this with your big bro, that’s commendable,” he says, his voice scarcely a whisper. “I’ve always admired that about you, how you never back down.”

Aldo is confused. He doesn’t understand this sudden shift in tone, this unexpected gentleness. He looks into Jorge’s eyes, searching for answers.

Jorge smiles, giving him a small shrug. “It’s just a little game between us brothers, and…you were always my favorite partner to play against.”

He takes a step back, spreading his legs once more, presenting the target. “Your kick,” he says, his voice final. “Make it count.”

“You’ve played this game with more than just me?” Aldo asks.

“Yes, it passes the time. I played it a lot in the boy’s home…I was a frequent champion.”

Aldo gulps. “Shit…I’m not going to win.”

Aldo looks at Jorge, at the solid, unmoving form of his brother. He knows this is his last chance. He knows he has to make this one count. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the pain that flares in his groin. He centers himself, focusing all of his energy, all of his rage and frustration, into a single, powerful kick.

He doesn’t hold back. He doesn’t hesitate. Aldo puts everything he has into it, every ounce of strength he can muster. His foot connects, a solid, bone-jarring impact that sends a shockwave up his leg.

Aldo watches Jorge, waiting for a reaction, for a sign that he’s finally broken through, that he’s finally hurt him.

Jorge stumbles back a step, a pained gasp escaping his lips. He doubles over, one hand flying to his groin, his face contorted in a mask of agony.

Aldo stares, a surge of triumph coursing through him. He did it. He finally did it.

Jorge looks up at him, his eyes wide with shock and pain. “You...” he starts, his voice choked. “You actually...”

He straightens up slowly, a grudging respect dawning in his eyes. “You got me, little bro,” he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Shiiit, I’m going to feel that one for a while. You actually got me.”

Aldo feels a wave of relief wash over him. He’s won….kinda.

But the relief is short-lived. Because he knows, with a sinking certainty, what comes next. He knows that it’s Jorge’s turn now. Another kick coming…for him. And he knows, with a terrifying certainty, that Jorge will not hold back, if he was at all in the beginning, he certainly won’t be now.

“You’re up, bro,” Aldo says, his voice trembling slightly.

Jorge nods, his expression grim. “My turn.”

Aldo doesn’t spread his legs this time. He keeps them close to his body, wanting to back down but something in him prevents Aldo from doing so.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice low.

Aldo nods, his heart pounding in his chest. He’s not ready. He’ll never be ready. But he knows he has to take it. He has to see this through.

Jorge takes a step forward, then another. He’s standing right in front of Aldo now, so close that Aldo can feel the warmth of his breath on his face.

“This is going to hurt,” Jorge says, his voice a low snarl. “A lot.”

Aldo doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes, bracing himself for the impact.

He feels a sudden, sharp pain as Jorge’s knee comes up, driving hard and fast into his already bruised and aching testicles. This isn’t a kick. This is something else, something personal and punishing.

The unexpected knee takes Aldo a moment to process as he was expecting Jorge to step back, he thought that he had another second to prepare. Aldo was wrong.

Aldo’s world explodes in an unseen crash of merciless pain as Jorge’s knee hammers into his balls from below. A strangled scream rips from Aldo’s throat as he collapses to the floor, his body writhing in pain. The room spins, the sounds of the world fading into a distant, muffled hum. He can feel his testicles throbbing, a sickening, pulsing ache that seems to consume him, to define him. Aldo feels sick, the nausea is fully back, washing over him. He’s going to be sick this time, he just knows it.

He can hear Jorge’s voice, distant and distorted, as if from underwater. “You should have stayed down, little bro,” the voice says. “You should have just let me win.”

Aldo opens his eyes, the room slowly coming back into focus. He’s on the floor, curled in a fetal position, his hands cradling his throbbing, aching nuts. Jorge is standing over him, a triumphant smirk on his face. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. He hasn’t even lost his breath.

“That’s game,” Jorge says, nudging Aldo’s shoulder with the toe of his bare foot. “I win, come on say it, ‘You win, big bro.’ End it, Aldo. You can’t get up…not after that.”

Turning away, Jorge drops the towel. Aldo barely focuses on Jorge’s massive erection, pointing straight up the head almost fully retracted and glistening with pre-cum. He grabs a pair of underwear, pulling it up and carefully covers his goods. He turns back, and Jorge sighs “Come on, bro. Let’s get you back up.”

He reaches down, grabbing Aldo by the arm and pulling him to his feet. Aldo stumbles, his legs weak and unsteady. He leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his groin.

Jorge looks at him, a flicker of something in his eyes. Pity? Concern? It's hard to tell. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

Aldo shakes his head, a silent whimper escaping his lips. “Mi huevos…they, oh it hurts…hurts so bad.” Aldo hunches over, both hands still there, holding his groin.

Jorge rubs his cock a little, feeling his hardness. “You made it through, that’s impressive. And no surrender. Guess I got to get ready for when you kick me next.”

“No.”

“You give up?” Both of Jorge’s eyebrows are up and he comes forward, ready to accept his victory.

“No, not a kick. You get my knee.”

Taken aback, Jorge whistles. “Little brother has some teeth, let’s see that howl wolf boy. Come at me.”

The last thing Aldo wants is to do is put any more strain on his wrecked balls. But he needs to stand up for himself. Forcing himself upright, a fresh wave of nausea hits him. He pushes past it. He looks Jorge in the eye, sees the challenge there, the expectation that Aldo will back down.

He doesn’t.

Aldo gathers the last of his strength, the remnants of his pride, and lunges forward. He’s not aiming for a kick. He’s aiming for a knee, a direct, powerful upward thrust with all the force he can muster. He channels the pain, the humiliation, the sheer indignity of it all, into this one last act of defiance.

His knee connects.

Aldo’s knee hits Jorge’s bulge in his underwear, aiming for the outline of the meaty hung ballsack right below the tented fabric. The sound is a wet, sickening thud. Jorge’s eyes go wide, a silent ‘O’ of shock forming on his lips, while Aldo’s knee plasters his balls against his own body, flattening out the twin globes easily. Jorge doesn’t scream. He doesn’t fall. Jorge just stands there, a statue carved from pure agony. Then, slowly, gracefully, like a mighty oak felled by a silent axe, he crumples to the floor.

Aldo stands over him, breathing heavily, a strange, detached sense of satisfaction washing over him. He didn’t win the game. He didn’t even come close...but he never gave up.

“Oooooh fuck, fuck....oh fuck, bro! Bro...my balls!” Jorge’s eyes bulge, and his hands slip beneath his underwear strap and he fondles his large testicles. The pair shoot painful throbs as he holds them and Aldo’s shadow reminds him that he has an audience.

“My god...”

Aldo finally smiles, for the first time all evening.

“I knew that they weren’t steel.” Aldo’s smile grows.

Jorge looks up, trying to get on a knee but he fails, he sits up with a groan. He doesn’t talk, but the pain in his eyes says it all.

“I win...Jorge.” Aldo says it, and the words come out tasting of blood and victory. “Say it.”

Jorge just shakes his head, looking at Aldo in disbelief.

“Say it,” Aldo repeats, his voice stronger now, fueled by adrenaline and the sight of his brother’s pained expression. “Say ‘Aldo, you win. Your balls are bigger and tougher than mine’...like you told me to.”

He hobbles to the bed and sits down, pulling his knees to his chest, giving his own balls a much-needed respite. Aldo tries not to show just how rare everything is south of the border, not giving Jorge any indication how hard he hurt him. Watching his older brother, Aldo tries not to touch his out balls, but to stare stoically at Jorge, who is still on the floor, curled around his throbbing package.

A long moment of silence stretches between them, broken only by their heavy breathing. The game is over. The power dynamic has shifted.

Finally, Jorge lets out a long, shaky breath. He looks at Aldo, a grudging respect in his eyes. “Alright,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You win, little bro. Damn...you win.”

“I do!?” Aldo jumps up and down, and pulls off his shirt, throwing it to the floor, and yanks down his shorts, coming right up to his older brother, and his groin inches from his face saying. “Now kiss mi huevos...the biggest family jewels in the house!” Aldo, over eager feels a harness creeping into his cock, and he looks down. He is halfway there. It points right at Jorge’s face, Aldo beams in triumph. He won.

“Put your big lips on each huevo, and kiss them.” Aldo’s grin turns into a smirk. “Or I will just do it again,” Aldo whispers this last part, like a secret promise.

Jorge looks up at him, at the triumphant smirk on Aldo’s face, at the half-hard cock jutting out from his body. He knows Aldo is serious.

With a sigh of defeat, Jorge leans forward. He presses his lips to Aldo’s left testicle, a soft, yielding kiss. Then he moves to the right, repeating the gesture. The touch of his lips is warm, a stark contrast to the lingering ache in Aldo’s own balls.

He leans back, looking up at Aldo. “Satisfied? You can’t tell any bother, and I mean anybody that this happened little bro. Okay?” he asks, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Aldo seems to think it over, as his cock strains a bit growing to his full height and resting right below his belly button. The hardened penis glistens at the top from a small leak and Aldo grabs his brother’s shoulder on the floor.

“Under one condition. I get to kick your balls…one more time tonight, right now.”

Jorge’s mouth runs dry, and he feels his own nuts not realizing that he has even cupped them and looks up at Aldo. “But, bro…my balls. They can’t take another hit.”

Shrugging, Aldo says “Not my problem,” as he grabs the back of Jorge’s head, not bothering to put on underwear and slides up his foot, toes scraping against Jorge’s inner thighs. “Now move that hand.”

“You are going to break them!” Jorge says, looking at Aldo in disbelief.

Aldo’s toes tap at Jorge’s wrist, a silent command. “I guess we’re going to find out if you’re right,” he says, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He’s enjoying this, the power, the control. He’s never had this kind of power over Jorge before. He’s not about to let it go.

Jorge slowly removes his hand, a look of pure terror on his face. He’s completely at Aldo’s mercy now, a position he’s never been in with his little brother.

Aldo lifts his foot, positioning it just so. He can feel the warmth radiating from Jorge’s groin, the slight tremor in his brother’s body. He takes a deep breath, savoring the moment.

“Please, little bro…” Jorge whispers, his voice cracking.

Aldo hesitates, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. He looks down at Jorge, at the fear in his eyes, and feels a pang of something. Guilt? Pity? He’s not sure.

But the power is intoxicating. The thrill of victory is too strong to ignore. Aldo’s face contorts, not with the effort of kicking, but with the storm of emotions warring inside him.

“Not a chance, Jorge. You have earned this.”

Aldo brings his leg back, all the way in a huge arc feeling his leg muscles straining.

“No wait, I'm on my knees!” Jorge starts to climb, but Aldo pushes him down holding onto both shoulders and bumps his nose with his cock.

Smiling Aldo answers him “No way, that’s where I want you.”

The swing of Aldo’s foot swooshes between Jorge's legs and the older teens eyes widen and he tries to say stop...but that's when Aldo's foot connects heavily against his crotch. The smack is loud in the small room, and the impact lifts Jorge from the floor momentarily, his hands flying down to protect his nuts from any further attacks. Jorge’s legs fly out from under him and he falls backward, hitting the floor with a heavy thud, a strangled cry escaping his lips. Aldo just stands over him, a grim smile on his face.

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by Jorge’s ragged, pained breaths. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just lies there, a broken, defeated heap on the floor. His older brother curves into a ball on the floor, the fetal position...the ultimate knowledge of how bad you beat another guys balls.

“Hot” whispers Aldo, grabbing his hardness and starts stroking. Looking down at his own body, his cock juts out from his hips, ready to go. Just below are his bruised, and achingly sore balls hanging beneath but Aldo notices how close they nestle against his groin. He may be no better than Jorge, but Aldo wants to really show off his win...by cumming right onto his brother's body. No better homecoming than that he can give.

This may have been a kid’s game when he was younger, but Aldo is older now...and those few years have shaped him and he is going to show Jorge just how much.

“Time for your prize, mi hermano,” Aldo says, and he nudges Jorge's face with his bare toe. “Turn over,” he commands, his voice husky with arousal.

Slowly, painfully, Jorge complies. He rolls onto his stomach, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the brutal kick.

"What...what do you...want, now?" grunts Jorge, eyes still closed, his face a mask of etched lines as he holds his privates firmly in both hands.

Saying nothing, Aldo starts to move, his hips rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of his fist as the noise of his masturbation reaches Jorge's ears he opens his eyes. The blurred vision of Aldo comes into view grasping himself and he blinks up at his younger brother in clear enjoyment and is struck speechless. Upon seeing Jorge's eyes on him, he lowers himself so that he startles Jorge, and slides his cock right against his chest between the hardened pectorals and rams his hardness against him. Aldo quivers, and moans feeling his cock against the smooth skin of Jorge’s chest and brings up his cock to the pink nipple on Jorge's left pec and pushes against it.

“Fuck yes” Aldo groans, the friction is exquisite, a delicious torment that sends shivers down Aldo’s spine. He can feel the tension coiling in his groin, the pressure building, the promise of release.

He closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation, Aldo jerks his hips, his back in motion sliding like a snake in air. His heavy sack rests against Jorge's skin, and Aldo hums with satisfaction at the contact.

“No bro, you...can’t!” Jorge is in disbelief and he feels Aldo leaking on his skin the pre-ejaculate rolling down his nipple as Aldo slides his purplish head against him and leans down groaning. “Fuck...I can! This is my house...and I am king of it.”

“Mi hermano,” Aldo moans as Jorge bites his lip, smelling Aldo’s scent in his nostrils as he reaches up with one hand to slow down Aldo, the only way he knows how. Jorge can see how close Aldo is to finishing, but the heavy orbs on his chest are so inviting and he grabs onto them, like a life preserver.

Aldo's eyes fly open, dark and wide as Jorge’s fingers hold steady the pair of jewels in his ballsack. The bare grab causes Aldo to gasp, and he feels his cock strain, as Jorge's thumb presses into his left testicle. The hard squeeze that follows brings Aldo's pain right back to the forefront of his brain, and he shakes his head as if that could stop his older brother. But Jorge does not give up.

“What are you doing? Stop! That hurts! Oh no…” Aldo tries to pull away, but Jorge holds on, his grip like a vise. “Let go!” Aldo grunts in pain, but he can't get enough leverage to break free. He's trapped, straddling Jorge's chest, his balls in a crushing grip. His cock, throbs and Aldo trying to pry his balls away goes back to the demanding hardness and strokes it again, while the searing, all-consuming pain continues.

“Aww, does that hurt, little bro?” Jorge asks, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “Is my little king not enjoying his prize?”

Aldo thrashes, trying to escape, but Jorge's grip is unyielding. Aldo doesn't stop, his fist flying up and down his erection and Jorge can feel the pair in his hand pulse, and he looks up. “No way little bro, do not even...oh crap.”

A whimper comes from Aldo as he on the edge twists his cock up, sliding it up and between Jorge's chest and points the top of his erection right at Jorge's face.

“Fuck...you” Aldo says in defiance, as he balls throb and his cock jerks hard in his hand and he locks eyes with his older brother and spasms. A thick, white jet of cum erupts from the tip, splashing against Jorge's cheek. Another follows, landing on his lips. Jorge flinches, turning his head, but it's too late. The sticky warmth is already on his skin, a mark of Aldo’s victory.

Aldo collapses, a shuddering mess of pain and pleasure, his body trembling. He rolls off Jorge, curling into a fetal position, his hands flying to his bruised and battered balls but he grins despite the pain.

Jorge wipes the cum from his face, a look of disgust and disbelief on his features. He stares at Aldo, who lies on the floor, a beaten, broken mess. He's not sure what to do, what to say. The game has gone too far. The lines have been crossed.

“Aldo...” he starts, his voice hoarse.

Aldo doesn’t answer. He just lies there, a silent, trembling heap. The pain in his groin is a dull, throbbing ache, a reminder of the game, of the victory, of the price he paid. He can feel Jorge's eyes on him, but he can't bring himself to look back. He’s lost in his own world of pain and shame, but overall he smiles and his long lashes beat against his cheeks as he croaks “I’m still… the king.”

A long, heavy silence stretches between them, broken only by their ragged, pained breaths. The room is a mess, a battlefield of their brutal game. The floor is littered with their discarded clothes, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex.

Jorge slowly gets to his feet, his movements stiff and pained. He looks down at Aldo, a complex mix of emotions in his eyes. Anger, yes. Humiliation, definitely. But something else, too. A grudging respect, perhaps. A flicker of something...Aldo can't place it.

He doesn't say anything. He just turns and walks away, heading for the bathroom. Aldo watches him go, a strange sense of emptiness washing over him. He won the game, but somehow Aldo doesn’t feel as good as it should.

He hears the sound of the shower running, the steady rush of water a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. He closes his eyes, trying to block out the world, to lose himself in the welcome embrace of sleep. But sleep won’t come. The pain is too sharp, the memories too fresh. He can still feel Jorge’s knee driving into his balls, the searing, all-consuming agony. He can still feel Jorge’s hand crushing his orbs, the sickening, pulsing ache.

Naked and on the floor, he sits up wincing. “Mi huevos.” Aldo closes his eyes, whimpering a bit and feels his hard down start to soften. He can’t believe that he came all over his brother’s face. His stomach does a flip flop and Aldo puts a hand to his throat. What’s done is done. And it's not like Jorge didn't have it coming.

Aldo gets up, slowly, carefully. The room spins, a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors. He leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his groin. He looks at himself in the small mirror on the wall, at the reflection that stares back at him. He’s... well, not himself. Pale, and trembling from the ache in his balls, Aldo falls back to his knees, groaning.

“Hurts so bad, papi.”

He's not just Jorge’s little brother anymore. He’s a fighter, and he won the castle. Aldo is the king of this house, at least for tonight.

The shower stops. He hears the sound of Jorge moving around in the bathroom. He knows he should probably get dressed, clean up, and at least head to bed.

But Aldo can’t. He’s too tired, too sore.

He lies back down on the floor, closing his eyes, and lets the darkness claim him.

 

 

 

~End