Wrong: A Spoiled Stepbrother Romance (7 page)

*****

Rorke

My sparring matches were always saved for the end of the day, Hubert always made sure to schedule me last. My matches came to be quite an event, every single person in that gym would line against the ring, eager to see me try and defend myself against one of the more seasoned boxers. After weeks of training though, there was now a slightly improved performance coming through. After getting the hang of the day-ending sparring matches, I started to find the rhythm, a way to keep myself from getting too banged up. I learned to anticipate the punches coming my way, no matter how fast, and was able to get in a few of my own.

It was at the end of every grueling workout that Hubert would announce the sparring match ups, the two boxers he wanted to train together. It was supposed to be light punching, nothing major, in an effort to improve each boxer. Instead, my matches turned out to be the bloodthirsty entertainment for everyone else, full-on damaging punches thrown with the one goal seemingly to be to show me that I was still no boxer. Suddenly, I started to get encouragement when they found I wasn't backing down.

"That's it, son!" Hubert started to yell out when I'd do something smart like block a quick punch or even land a jab against my opponent. Hubert's praise was more of a reward to me than succeeding with an effective punch, his support gave me the energy to keep going. Even though his encouragement was becoming more and more frequent, I was still regularly taking a beating. These kids I was facing were more trained, more disciplined, smarter, better, younger, faster. Once they were able to get through my defense for the first time, it was only a matter of time before they perfectly demonstrated the flaws and weaknesses in my technique.

"Don't give up, son," Hubert would call out if he thought I was in trouble.

"I won't quit, I'll never quit!" I proudly yelled out every time, no matter how corny it might have sounded.

Though the entire gym had been less deliberate in their quest to actually get me to quit, there was still a bounty for the one who could actually make it happen. Everyone knew there would be a well-earned pride for the fighter who could beat the rich kid so mercilessly that he ran out with his tail between his legs. The grand prize would be the capturing of my dignity and I wasn’t willing to let that happen.

One day, when I was feeling my most confident, Hubert threw me a bit of a curveball.

"And lastly," Hubert announced at the end of one particularly brutal day, "we'll have Mr. Fratelli up against, how about Miller?"

My sparring partner that day was two weight classes above my own which caused me some worry. Miller was the most feared fighter in the gym, a mountain who was known to never show mercy. Though in the back of my mind I knew I would eventually be paired with him, I secretly hoped it would never happen. Watching Miller saunter to the ring, I tried to hide my growing fear knowing I couldn't let myself be intimidated.

"Rorke," Hubert called to me as I taped up my gloves at the other end of the gym, "you ready?"

Once I nodded an approval, I prepared to start on my way into the ring but gave pause when I heard a familiar sound. A thumping bass started to pulse through the floor, a bass line I knew all so well.

Back to the wall, one man shall stand.

Since Hubert didn't allow music to be played in the gym, I knew it had to be more than a coincidence. And of all songs to start playing, it couldn’t have been by chance. The crowd kept their serious faces on as they watched me discover the ruse they had put on. An immediate wash of smiles and laughter broke out, all alerting me to the fact that this was all intended.

Rise above and conquer all.

As the neglected PA system pumped dust and music through the gym, I was left to embrace their playfulness as a sign of acceptance, maybe even slight respect. Whatever their intention, playing my song and cheering me on filled me with the confidence needed to face the intimidating Miller. Wanting to show my appreciation, I decided to get to the ring in style. As my song blared (the song that these guys must've heard playing constantly through my headphones), I approached my sparring session not with that of a stoic boxer but instead with the theatrical stylings of a professional wrestler, embracing the energetic sound of what had become my song.

The crowd ate it up, hooting and hollering as I really hammed it up on my way down to the ring. Miller was a good sport, patiently waiting for me to get through whatever it was I needed to do. His red gloves rested on his hips as I motioned for the crowd to get louder and encourage me further in. They obliged.

The confidence I felt that day stepping into the ring with Miller was at an all time high. My ego inflated back towards where it had rested for so long. It was naive to believe that that was all that I had been missing but there I was, squaring up against a much larger opponent, sincerely believing I had the strength to pummel him.

That notion was quickly beat out of me once a right cross caught me unprepared, stumbling back towards the ropes. Though my hearing had suffered consequences from the well-targeted punch, I could still make out the crowd above the ringing in my ears. There was a loud portion of my fellow fighters cheering loudly for me! Many were loudly encouraging me to shake it off, to keep going. That was what I needed the most. My gloves went back up and I marched towards Miller, ready for whatever he had prepared for me.

Thanks to the tutelage of a knowledgeable trainer and my fellow gym rats, I had started to learn what to look for. The small fraction of a second when Miller's temple was briefly exposed was my entryway. Before he could raise his hands to defend, my left hand flew wildly and connected, momentarily stunning the man. The audience ate it up, reacting wildly to the solid punch I had landed. The reaction turned out to have a huge negative impact. The cheering had made me cocky and had only angered Miller. I could see the fire in his eyes as he prepared to make me pay for his embarrassment.

First it was a solid punch to my kidney and then a relentless pounding against my head. Though this was supposed to be a sparring session, it had quickly turned into a heavyweight fight, nothing held back. The stars returned to my vision and I saw nothing else as I absorbed the relentless attack on my entire person.

Leaning against the ropes and holding on for dear life, I prayed for a merciful end to this, hoping someone would soon step in to save me. Thankfully it wasn’t long before I heard Hubert insisting Miller step back. The shadows waving around in front of me were at first hard to figure out but soon I realized it was likely the trainer, waving his arms to indicate that the fight was over.

"Hey...hey," Hubert's voice cut through the fog and I felt his presence in front of me. "You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me a second and I'll be ready to go back out," I insisted. Hubert laughed.

"It's over, son. Do you know what you did wrong?"

My mind had a list of things identified and I started to rattle them off. Hubert wasn't interested.

"All of the things, remember all of them," he kindly explained, "and don't do them anymore."

*****

Even though I had just been beaten pretty hard in the ring, for the first time, I felt actual support from those I shared the gym with.

"Wasn't that bad."

"You'll get there."

"You're much better."

…were a few of the things thrown out to me as I made my way to the locker room. A few pats on the back was enough to soothe the stinging wounds left behind from Miller's gloves. The confidence I had a hard time maintaining started to feed on this and grow inside me once again. Though I had been fairly beaten yet again, I considered this day at the gym a small victory. That's why I raced out of there as fast as I could, eager to get far before it was all taken away.

My adrenaline was so high as I sped away from the gym that I barely even acknowledged the searing pain my body was in. Desperately I wanted to tell somebody about the improvements I had made in the ring, about how much better of a boxer I was becoming. For the first time, I actually felt confident that all of the hard work was paying off, that I actually had a fighting chance at becoming a real boxer. Driving home I felt an intoxicating giddiness that I hadn’t felt in I don’t know how long.

When I saw Madelyn’s car parked outside the carriage house, I was thrilled to know she was home; I couldn’t wait to tell her how I had lasted longer than ever before inside the ring. The door was unlocked and I pushed it open, about to announce my arrival when the sight of her stopped me dead in my tracks.

The bathroom door was open and Madelyn was standing before the mirror in just her underwear. She didn’t see me and continued to carry out a fake conversation with her reflection, laughing and gesturing like she was the queen of some imaginary social gathering. Madelyn mesmerized me with just how happy she looked. Whatever fantasy she had playing in her head delighted her. She had escaped to a place where she wanted to be and was so lost in it, she hadn’t realized I was watching her from a short distance away.

As much as I was transfixed by her clear happiness, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander somewhere else. The pink bra she had on clung to her body and lifted her chest up high. The smooth domes of the pink cups did their best to contain her plentiful breasts, its support still providing for just a little bit of jiggle as she moved. From my position semi-hiding behind the couch, I witnessed in awe the small gap between her bra and chest when she would lean slightly forward, the shape of the top of her breasts evident as the strap hovered above. The pink panties she had on were lined with white lace and road the curve over her shapely ass, clinging tightly to the bottom I desperately wanted to just touch. I followed the lace trail with my eyes and found her sexy stomach, free of her hands and bare; beautiful.

Madelyn’s pretend conversation called for her to look to her right and that’s when I was spotted, frozen by the couch. Our eyes met for a quick moment, my stepsister exposed and practically naked. She allowed me a few extra moments to take in her beauty, to see her body at a more personal level. Or maybe she was conflicted as to what she wanted to do. Madelyn bit her lip on one side, staring me down with a dare to come examine a little bit closer. We stood locked in each other’s gaze, each challenging the other to make the next move. As I slowly rose to get near her, Madelyn’s demeanor changed; she let out an annoyed sigh and screamed “Rorke!” before running off to her room, slamming the door loudly as quickly as she could. Though her reaction was not what I had expected, I still desperately wanted to tell her about how my day had gone. I was so proud and didn’t have anybody I could tell about it. I didn’t have anyone except her.

“Go away!” she yelled from behind the door after I lightly knocked and tried to inform her I only wanted to talk. “Away!” she clarified when I didn’t move on as quickly as she would’ve liked. Without anywhere else to go, I sadly went to my own room, closing the door ready to give up on sharing my new found optimism.

Just as I was about to turn on some music (damn right it was that song), I heard something strange. It was almost like a sharp inhale, followed by another one quickly right after. It took a moment to figure it out but once the lightbulb turned on over my head, my dick swelled to ten times its normal size.

First I pressed my ear up against the wall separating me and my stepsister. Not only could I hear her breathing rapidly, exhaling pleasurable moans, but I also heard a faint buzzing. Something electric whirring at a steady pace. It didn’t take long to realize that Madelyn was employing a little help from a tool I was shocked to learn she owned. Envisioning her on the bed, legs wide open, using the toy to excite herself - it was too much. My hand raced into my shorts and greeted my hardness, gripping tightly as I listened intently.

Madelyn purred along with her buzzing toy, I could hear almost everything through that wall. Vibrations against the wall passed on the sound of her entering herself, moving her wet fingers in and out at an increasing pace as the toy entertained her special spot. At first I didn’t want her to be able to hear what I was doing to myself but before long, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know I was pumping away on the very cock she had made so hard. My own self-lubricant arrived quickly and allowed me to match the humidity in her sounds, the forbidden promise of something even wetter.

It was too much, my eyes squished closed for a moment before releasing along with my exhale. This was as if I was an runner on the final stretch of a long run. I was giving it my all, rocking back and forth as I imagined Madelyn’s hair falling over the side of her face as she would climb on top of me, swing her leg over my naked body and mount me. With her hand, I imagined my stepsister reaching behind herself, putting my cock right against her damp, pink lips and slowly, oh-so-slowly lowering herself down onto me. We’d share a smile as she’d rest her hips on mine and brush the hair out of her face. Madelyn would then place her arms around my shoulders, the very edge of her pointed nipples would send small sparks across my body whenever they’d make even the slightest contact with my chest. We’d kiss just as Madelyn would start rocking back and forth, sliding me in and out of her with each gyration of her pelvis.

“Oh yeah!” I heard escape Madelyn’s voice as a loud whisper. She had to have known I could hear her. Knowing right then she could be having the same hot daydream that I was just did me in. My eyes clenched tight as did every muscle in my body and I continued to thrust in and out of my right hand, the hand I pretended was Madelyn most intimate orifice.