Date: Thu, 14 Sep 2023 16:58:15 -0500
From: Ashton Delaney <ashtonrdelaney@gmail.com>
Subject: Brothers in the Devil's Fortune

Brothers in the Devil's Fortune
By Ashton

[Halloween is almost here. Hope you like scary tales. This work is for
mature audiences only due to violence/gore and extreme sexual content.
Horror/consensual incest/male-male. The unsafe masturbatory practices used
by the characters are intended for storytelling purposes only and should
not be attempted in real life, as they could lead to serious injuries.]

I got naked as I sometimes did when I was bored and frustrated in Father's
house (AKA Hell). I was skinny and underdeveloped for 16 and didn't know
that much about my body apart from the fact that I had an itch that was
hard to scratch. It wasn't in my dick itself, even though I also liked
playing with that, but felt like it was further back and deeper in, a place
hard to reach by mortal hands, and if I ignored it, my body would growl at
me in disappointment. The itch might lay dormant for a few hours, but it
would always find an inconvenient time to hit me back with a vengeance when
I wanted to think about anything but that.

Father was an incarnation of the devil himself or something like that, but
in those days, he rarely spoke to me and just stayed in his study
listlessly watching reruns of true crime shows while a single housegirl he
still kept around, one of my many sisters, took care of his needs in
silence. His habit of butchering his attendants made it hard for him to
find new help these days, turning the mansion's halls into a silent castle
where I was free to do whatever I wanted.

This itch had been bothering me for weeks, and I still had no idea how to
scratch it. I just knew it was inside my butt. Such a weird place for an
itch, but it was a real monster of one, and I was living in Hell on top of
the Devil's fortune. I assumed it was probably a curse of some sort. When I
got naked and put my hole on hard surfaces, like the edge of a chair, I
felt a pleasant tingling that seemed to reach all the way to spot, but
still didn't come close to satisfying it no matter how much I flexed my
muscles around it. I tried a finger, which also felt good, but I couldn't
get it inside and finally stopped when my arm got tired.

It was a warm evening with the twilight sun shining in through the
mansion's windows. Father would be taking a nap, and my sister, his
servant, would have gone to her chambers unless he called for her. I
strolled around in the nude knowing I wouldn't be seen or caught and
enjoyed the breeze on my erect penis that I gave a few tugs here and there
as I enjoyed the scenery outdoors that I would never be able to visit up
close and in person.

I decided to make myself some soup and graham crackers for supper and
decided to look around in the kitchen for things I could use to scratch my
needy itch, my boner still having not gone down. I rooted through drawers
and found many utensils with hard and thin handles. However, even being
alone and unlikely to cause any problems, I still felt bad about the
thought of sticking a utensil in my butt and then having it be used,
unknowingly, by my sister or a new resident in the future. Not to mention
that wood and metal might hurt more than it would satisfy.

With one more look through the cupboard, I got the idea to try my fingers
again, but to put something on them to make them easier to slide in. I
found some coconut oil and a single can of Crisco in the cabinet and put
each one on my fingers to evaluate the feel and smell. I went with the
butter with my dick twitching all over the place in anticipation for what I
was about to do.

I cleared off the unused dining room table and laid on my stomach on top of
it. It was very uncomfortable, especially under my hard penis, but it was
the closest place available. Lubing up my fingers and thumb on my right
hand, I took a held my breath and moved it to my buttcrack. The cool, oily
texture felt good on my hole, and I let out a small moan of pleasure. I
laid there for a while just rubbing my finger over it and feeling the
resistance of my hole as it flexed on its own. Every pass over the area
sent another throb down my penis, and the clear stuff was leaking out the
end. And all the while, my itch and the need it represented got bigger and
bigger in anticipation, like the urge to pee does as you get closer to a
toilet.

I stuck my finger inside, instinctively knowing that I would need to try to
poop to get it in deeper. Expecting to find gold immediately, I was
disappointed. The itch was still there, but I wasn't feeling anything good
from it, just a weird sensation while my wrist was tired and shaking
already. I shifted all around and moved my finger in different directions
trying to reach that spot I felt, but only ended up frustrated. I actually
felt pain pulling it back out quickly, like I'd been turned inside out. I
expected my finger to be covered in shit, but it was clean apart from the
Crisco. And my need remained. I tried again with my other hand that didn't
have a sore wrist, and it was even worse. I couldn't reach the spot. Maybe
my hands were just not the right size, my fingers not long enough or not
firm enough. My hands were small and kiddy for 16. That could be it. I
sighed and laid on the table in defeat, my balls blue and my boner growing
soft. It was getting dark outside, and the stars were coming out.

I walked back into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator to see what
we had to eat. I didn't eat that much in those days because I had to get
everything for myself, and there ewere times when I was hit with ravenous
hunger out of nowhere. I found a slice of quiche that I knew Father had
ordered thrown out in disgust, and I shoveled it down without even washing
my hands, noting it tasted very bad with excess peppers on it. And then I
opened the crisper compartment, and among a pile of vegetables, before I
knew what I was doing, I'd picked up a bag of baby carrots. I looked at
them with a smirk. The itch deep inside me contracted and tingled on its
own. These might be the perfect size and hardness to reach it.

I cleaned up everything but the Crisco and a single baby carrot, my heart
pounding in anticipation the entire time. My boner was back to full
mast. Getting back on the table, I dipped the carrot in the Crisco, and
with ragged breaths, I laid down with my butt up in the air and started
manipulating it around my hole like I'd done with my fingers earlier. It
already felt so much better that it took my breath away. I paused only to
load my fingers up with more Crisco to put it in my hole on its own to lube
up the path.

With a shudder and moan, I inserted the carrot, sticking my butt higher and
higher in the air to direct it to that spot that had been bothering me for
so long. My body was covered in goosebumps, and every inch of it wanted
that carrot inside of me, wanted it to hit that sweet spot as hard as it
could. I pushed it until only a little bit remained outside my body,
feeling the sensation of fullness inside that drove me wild, but that one
place, that one itch, was still further in. I tried contorting in more
unnatural positions. Frustrated and full of need, I pushed it in further
until it was all the way in. I let out a loud and sudden yell as the cold
and hard pressure finally reached its mark. I was shaking all over in
bliss, barely able to contain myself from the new, powerful sensations I'd
never felt before. I thrashed around on the table, moaning loudly,
thrusting my hips and causing the carrot to move up and down on that spot,
with each new impact sending another jolt of white-hot electricity through
my body. Pressure was building in my dick, and I knew it was about time for
the sperm to come. I wanted it to last just a bit longer after the trouble
I'd gone through.

I moved my hand back down to my butt, and through the window came a sudden
bright light--headlights. In a panic, I rolled off the table hitting my
shoulder hard on the floor, knocking the uncovered Crisco under a shelf
full of an expensive dinnerware set. Who could even be here at this hour?
Whoever it was would find me like this fast unless I got out of there. The
only two open entrances to the mansion were the stairs leading down from
the kitchen and the front door, both just rooms away from me. My bedroom
and clothes were clear on the other side of the mansion.

While rubbing my shoulder, I stood up and felt a sharp surge of pain in my
butt as the carrot shifted around and pressed into a place it shouldn't.



"Ow!" I yelled, trying to quickly reach in for it and poop it back out. It
barely shifted at all and caused my pooping muscle to cramp up around it. I
groaned in discomfort. I heard voices on the stairs leading to the kitchen
and more than one person slowly walking up it. I began to hyperventilate
with panic. I had no way to fix this and no time. And the open Crisco was
still under the shelf. I did the one thing I could do and took off
running. It hurt a little bit inside me, nothing too major, but then I got
to the stairs leading up to safety. I went up just three steps and all of
them caused surges of pain around the carrot that made me double
over. Hearing the kitchen door open, I limped off the steps and into the
dark hallway that was once used for guest quarters, covering my mouth. I
ducked into a spare bedroom just in time, because directly after I'd closed
the door, I saw that the hallway lights had turned on. Whoever had shown
up, a man and woman chatting somberly, had been close to finding me. I went
into a closet that smelled like moth balls and sank onto the carpet,
experimenting with different positions until I found one that made the pain
go away for the moment, lying on my back with my knees almost to my
chest. I tried to poop as hard as I could while pulling on the end of the
carrot with my finger and thumb. It budged only a little and felt like it
was scratching up my insides in the process. I began to sob and sob. It was
one thing if my sister caught me doing something weird and stupid like
this, but Father's guests... (who else could it be?) If I caused him this
much shame, he wouldn't allow me to live. Quite literally. He'd done away
with my brothers and sisters who had disgraced him without a second
thought. He'd build his entire fortune and home on skulls and had a family
of skeletons with him on top of the pile.

When it came to business, there was none as ruthless and cunning as Father,
and he amassed vast amounts of wealth. But when it came to his family life,
he'd gone many years unsatisfied with the wives he'd married for political
power, and they'd all mysteriously gone missing or fell ill. Rumor has it,
he was a prolific pedophile and only got off to torturing young girls. As
the story goes, he used to pick up dozens of homeless girls he found on the
street, promising marriage and safety. One of those was my mother, who
after giving birth was reduced to an animal in a kennel with her arms,
legs, voice box, and tongue cut off. He used her as a piece of warm meat
for years until she finally died, and then he tossed her in the burn pit
with the rest. (There's no proof of this story, of course, apart from the
burnt skeletons and bloody cages in the alleged secret basement few were
ever allowed to enter.) Most of my brothers got put up for "adoption" after
birth, while my sisters were kept for his sick purposes and/or slavery, but
in his old age and post-cancer diagnosis, he finally saw the value of
having a son alive and well and began to seek the perfect heir among his
many options he'd previously given away, myself included. It wasn't unusual
for my long-lost brothers to randomly show up in the house, stay for a
while, and then be discarded after he found them unworthy. I had somehow
been there for five years, longer than anyone else, without ever getting on
his hit list. Five years which were about to come to an end.

For, as if the torture I was in couldn't get any worse, the door to the
bedroom where I was hiding in the closet suddenly opened, and in walked the
two guests.



***