Authors: Penny Blake
FOSTER BROTHER’S ARMS
By Penny Blake
Weak. Worthless. Idiot.
The words I’ve heard all my life echo in my mind, but I refuse to believe them.
Instead, I dig through the dumpster a block from the house where I live, trying to fight the hunger gnawing at my belly and making it impossible to sleep. I’m rewarded for my search with a magnificent prize: half a birthday cake.
It’s still in the original bakery box, so it’s protected from the garbage around it, and a quick taste tells me it’s fresh. A chocolate cake with butter-cream icing so sweet the sugar bursts on my tongue and makes me light headed.
Who’s weak and worthless now?
With a satisfied grin, I climb out of the dumpster, clutching the box to my chest. Brushing bits of filth off my threadbare shirt and too-small jeans, I head back to the house with my find.
I can’t wait to bring my treasure to Lana, the one bright spot in my otherwise miserable existence.
my sweet foster sister. The only good thing in my life.
I still remember the first day I was brought to the house of horrors I call home. The first thing I saw was her sweet face peeking out the doorway of a back bedroom. Her tangled blond hair lay limp and disheveled over her faded nightgown, and her forehead was creased with worry. Even then, she was beautiful. Angelic. Her sapphire blue eyes filled with the perfect mix of softness and strength.
It’s Lana who teaches me to stay out of sight and avoid eye contact when our foster father is coming down from one of his highs. Coke, meth, crack, it didn’t matter what he’s on. When he’s coming down from any of them, that’s when he’s the cruelest.
Lana instructs me to cry loudly as soon as he starts a beating. He’ll stop faster, she explains, when he knows he’s hurting you.
But even though I’m only twelve, the one thing I have is my pride, so I take his blows without a sound.
My pride is foolish, I suppose, but it’s all I have. It’s the same pride that makes me fight the boy at school who’s picking on Lana for wearing the same ratty dress three days in a row. I hit him so hard I fracture his eye socket, an offense that gets me suspended, and after our foster father finds out, leaves me with angry red welts up and down my back.
Yet I endure it all in silence, the welts and the hunger and the bruises, because I can. But this…this I can not endure.
I brought my cake into Lana’s room to share it with her, as a sort of midnight snack, knowing she’d gone to bed hungry too. Hunger is a constant companion for us.
As I stand in her doorway, the cake falls to the floor when I see
looming over her. She lies in bed crying softly in the dark, whimpering
no no no
over and over.
Our foster father hasn’t seen me yet. His back is turned and he’s too caught up in whatever vile act he’s committing upon Lana to notice me. Or maybe he knows I’m there and he simply doesn’t care.
With cool resignation, I stride to the kitchen and open the drawer where the knives are kept. There I reach in and pull out the longest, sharpest blade.
The knife feels right in my hand. Lethal. And for the first time, I know I have to fight him, even if one of us dies in the process.
I creep softly to my foster sister’s room, where the only sound is her soft cries and his ragged breathing intermingled in the dark.
And the pounding of my heart as I loom over him.
Raising the knife over my head, I summon the strength and bring it down hard. Jamming it into his back with all my hatred, all my rage, all my loathing.
One fatal plunge is all it takes. Hot blood runs over my hand, making the knife slippery. As I drop the blade to the floor, he slumps to the ground.
He makes a burbling noise, and then he’s silent. Then the only sound is Lana’s soft sobs and my steady breathing. I go to her and she reaches for me, and we both cry in each other’s arms.
I cry for her and for me. I cry because I know I’ll go to hell for what I’ve just done.
Though in truth, by now I no longer believe in hell. Not one that exists outside our world anyway.
Hell, I’ve come to understand, is right here on earth. And its minions live among us.
I stare out the darkened window of my suite on the fortieth floor of the most exclusive hotel in the city, the lights of the Vegas strip glittering below. My reflection stares back at me in the glass.
My hands rest in the pockets of one of finest suits money can buy. Appropriate for a man who runs an empire. My spoils.
Yet tonight all I can think about is
. The girl with sapphire eyes who I once killed for. The girl I loved as a teenager. Before she broke my heart and destroyed my soul, and left me the empty shell of a man that I see in the glass tonight.
My phone vibrates to announce an incoming text, and I tap the screen carelessly.
I hate this city. I’m here on business and I can hardly wait to leave three days from now.
Las Vegas is a sad collection of douchebags trying to get fucked. Empty sacks gambling away the last few crumbs they have left in the world. Drunken women dressed like whores trying to get…I’m not even sure what they come here looking for. And I don’t care.
They bore me. Every single one.
The girl from the agency will be here in ten minutes. The one thing I’ll say for Vegas is that for men like me, men who are willing to spend tens of thousands of dollars for a night with a high-end whore, the quality of women impeccable. The whores in Vegas are fan-fucking-tastic.
My cock expands at the thought.
I requested a blond with real tits who’s an experienced sub. I have my bag of tricks in a leather case in the bedroom. My toys, which are far more fun to play with when my sub is tied up. And tonight I don’t intend to hold back.
My cock expands further and I will it to stay down. I intend for this to be a long, leisurely night. Not just to get my ten thousand dollars worth, but because I haven’t fucked in months. I need a release. Or ten.
The bell rings and I stride to the door with purpose, ready to get my date underway.
I open it and nothing can prepare me for what I see.
Long blond hair five shades lighter than I remember it. A smattering of freckles across a pert nose.
Sapphire blue eyes.
The plunging neckline of her dress is so low it nearly reaches her navel, and her skirt is so high I can almost see her pussy.
“Mr. Everly?” she asks with a smile. “I believe we have a date tonight.”
I smile back, school my features not to show my shock, and gesture for her to come in.
Oh Lana. Lovely Lana. How did you fall so far?
I enter the lavish suite on sky-kissing knock-off Louboutin heels, which are even harder to walk in now that my knees have turned to jelly and the rest of my body feels like lead. I take off my faux fur coat and when I hand it to my host, I notice that my hand is trembling. I position myself so the evidence of my nerves isn’t obvious to him.
So this is my date tonight. Good lord.
How he’s changed in ten years. His shoulders are much broader now. I can tell by the way they fill out his perfectly tailored white dress shirt. And by the way the fabric stretches across his chest, I can see he’s cut with muscles.
And that face. God, that face.
He looks more mature now at twenty-six than the last time I set eyes on him, when we were both just sixteen, but he’s still as gorgeous as I remember. Maybe even more so, if that’s possible.
His thick dark hair, which he used to keep short, is longer now and fashionably unkempt, with stray bits curling around his ears. I’m sure it cost him a fortune to look this effortlessly cool. This luxurious penthouse suite is proof that he’s made it.
proof he’s made it. I come with a hefty price tag, after all.
Does he really not recognize me, or is this some kind of game?
I smile at him playfully, deciding to go along with it for now. Running a red fingernail down my neck, I trace a path down the strip of bare skin exposed by the plunging neckline of my dress. “How would you like our date to begin?” I ask.
The moment the words leave my lips, his eyes darken and he frowns. “First, let’s get something clear. You don’t prompt me. You wait silently for my instruction.”
“I’m willing to—“
“Quiet!” I jump at the hard edge in his voice, the anger in his dark eyes. “I thought I asked for an experienced sub. I just commanded you to wait silently for my instruction and again you’re rattling off at the mouth. You displease me. Now strip and bend over on that ottoman and take your punishment.”
His frown still in place, he reaches down and begins to remove his belt. A part of me is frightened, yet at the same time, I feel a rush of liquid heat between my legs.
Afraid to say anything more, I approach the ottoman and begin to strip. He watches me with his arms crossed and an irritated expression, absently tapping his rolled up belt on his bicep.
I unzip my dress and let it fall to the floor. I’m not wearing a bra or panties, so I’m completely naked except for my heels.
“Leave the shoes on. And before you bend over, present yourself to me.”
“How would you like me…to present myself?” I ask, a tremor in my voice, hoping my question won’t irritate him again.
“Sit down on the ottoman, lean back and spread your legs wide so I can inspect what I paid for.”
Not wanting to displease him, I do as he says.
Even though his expression is stern, there’s no denying the heat in his eyes as his gaze rests on my sex, on full display for him.
He steps closer, still staring at my most intimate parts. “Now reach down and spread your lips apart so I can see your opening. I want to make sure it’s as pretty as the outside. I only fuck pretty pussies.”
I reach down and when I do, I’m surprised at how wet I am. My fingers slip and slide over my lips as I spread them apart for his inspection.
He leans down and presses a finger into me. “Look how wet you are,” he observes. “You clearly need a good fucking.” His finger moves in and out, sinking into me and then reappearing. “Yes, I think you’ll do. I like how pink your pussy is, and I like that you’re waxed bare. Yes, I think you’re worthy of my cock.”
He continues to examine me, stroking my internal passage as if testing its tightness. Then his finger curls upward and he caresses my G-spot, sending spirals of pleasure through me.
It feels heavenly to be spread open for him while he works me with expert skill. A low moan escapes my lips.
He immediately withdraws his finger from my channel and I nearly cry out in pain.
“You weren’t supposed to enjoy my inspection. I haven’t given you permission to take your pleasure yet. Now bend over present your ass for discipline.
I shift my position so I’m ass-up on the sleek white leather ottoman.
The belt comes down on my ass and a sharp, hot sting bites into my flesh.
Harder this time, and yet despite the sting, heat continues to build between my legs.
Then he rubs his hand over my ass with surprising tenderness.
He leans down. “I’m sorry I had to do that,” he whispers in my ear, removing my heels and tossing them to the floor. “But you needed to learn who’s in charge while you’re here. You may get up now.”
I get up and meet his eyes. They’re still hard and cold. I don’t want to displease him again so I merely nod and wait for him to tell me what he wants me to do next.
“Good girl,” he says, his lips curling into a brutal smile. It doesn’t spread to his eyes, which are still pure ice.