Doug Mayo is bound and shaved then used a bait to trap his brother....

Brother Act: Parts 4-8
by Jeff Kincaid
Art by Cavelo
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"Tell me something," I found myself asking after another hour or so of repeated assaults went by, cradling the naked young hunk against my shoulder with mock concern. My fingertips did another number on his tit while, below us, Mario's narrow little hand made squishing noises inside the dude's stretched-out shitter, slow and lazy, slow and lazy. "Did you and Zack fuck Mrs. Lundquist at the same time when you got her in your clutches, or was it just 'after you, Alfonse?"

May-Ellen had, you might recall, given us the answer when she hired us in the first place, but I wanted to hear it from Doug himself.

"Somebody asked you a question, shit-face." Harker didn't like it when a trainee didn't come up with an immediate reply. "You want me to cut some nice big 'prison tattoos' on your God-damned arms and legs?"

One could just imagine the reaction of the high-toned ladies on the country club's tennis courts, their favorite pro suddenly looking like some Puerto Rican hard- timer fresh out of Attica. If that didn't blow the meal ticket amongst the rich nothing would. "We sandwiched her, yeah." Reluctantly admitted. Zack had Doug use his
rampant pecker like a crowbar, it was stiff enough to maneuver her over on top of him from within her dripping snatch. Then Zack, the younger and more brutish of the Mayos, a plumber when he wasn't on the courts, did the roto-rooter job on the lady's cherry tailpipe. And visa versa, "what difference does it make?"

Why were the StudBusters so interested? "Because," Ryan was eager to tell him, "we want to make sure we miss doing nothing to you that you and your brother did to her." He was already spreading the weakened legs wider, helped by Mario once he'd withdrawn his hand from what now looked like the entrance to the Carlsbad Caverns.

"A fucking semi could drive up that hole now," he was convinced, eyes glowing as he watched me play Doug in "It Takes Two," jabbing my own rock-hard shaft into that gaping rectum and using it like a crowbar to roll him over on top of me, keeping a good solid grip on the large knotting muscles of his upper arms as I did.

"Who plays Zack here?" "Me," Harker volunteered, lowering himself on top of the upended jock, sliding the underside of his immense prong along the length of mine, using the main vertical cartilage to guide him all the way into the opening. "Oh, shit," Mayo began to scream, "not two cocks at the same time, it's not the same thing we did to her, it's not" He meant that with a chick you get the benefit of two separate entryways, of course.

"Maybe you should've thought of that when you doubledicked her in the first place, asshole." I felt no sympathy for him whatsoever. Everything we were giving him he deserved. Even more appropriate was the fact that Doug's anus, even after repeated fuckings and one tough fist, still had enough "clutch" to make us have to work to snap the head of that second dick inside the sphincter, not to mention the entire length of Harker's massive shaft. Every movement brought agony to the rapist, making him twist and hiccup, making him yowl in punch-drunk pain. Man, I just loved it, watching those heavily muscled arms of his flop uselessly outwards as we pounded our fucksticks into his ass. The face contorted -

And the cock?

It hardened, oh, yes. He got off on this action just as much as the other stuff. Another spray of cum was soon stinking up his body before we were done. Seeing it boded well for the next stage of our plan, I thought Boded very well indeed.


We let him sleep tied up, not wanting any getaway problems in the middle of the night, and we gave him a real breakfast. As Mario put it when Doug asked, "We want to keep your strength up."

"What else can you do to me?" he couldn't help but wonder as we cleared the dishes and silverware from the kitchen table and laid him out on top of it, belly up and still, of course, balls naked, stiffened chest hair here and there indications of where the cum had splattered and dried. The ropes we discussed back in the van when we first took the hunky young Mr. Mayo for his wild ride were now pressed into service, wrapped around each of the tennis player's substantially muscled wrists and ankles, tied to the four corners of the formica and chrome tight enough to keep him secure but with just enough slack to insure the circulation to and through the extremities.

While poor Doug was going to come out of this extended gang-bang minus a few things, hey: his hands and feet were not going to be included among that number. "I think we're all set," Ryan reported, giving me a snappy salute and, out of the prone prisoner's line of sight, a wink. Mrs. Lundquist's spread-eagled rapist sucked in a bellyful of air, frightened out of his fucking wits, jumping instantly to the conclusion we wanted him to, especially when I brandished a large pair of sheers in front of his bulging eyes.

"Oh, my God, please," he sobbed, writhing from side to side, restrained well by the ropes. "Don't cut them oft, please, anything you want me to do I will, I swear it, just don't castrate me, please...!"

"Then you better lie real still, bitch," I told him, deliberately brushing the entire length of cold steel along the underside of his smelly scrotum, gratified at the way it pimpled up, going from low-bag to high-bag in the space of a single second. "Move and who knows? My hand might slip." I continued moving the twin blades north as I spoke, letting him shiver with fear and at the same time try to keep every last one of his massive muscles quiescent.

What was I going to do? Simple. "Finish making you into the stupid cunt you are." And cunts, stupid or otherwise, didn't have hair on their fucking breasts. They also shaved their armpits and sometimes their pussies.

Not that handsome young Doug was anything like some of the bears I've known, studs with pelts as thick as a beaver's frequently extending over their shoulders and down their backs, even going so far as to cover part of their asses. Mayo's pattern, in contrast, was a lot more attractive and select, fanning out from the thickness in the cleft between his trapezoid-shaped pecs, looking like a GrecoRoman architectural support for his collar bones.
Sex-ee. But we had plans and the hair had to go. Snipping on the horizontal, cutting like a scythe through a field of Russian wheat, I reduced the growth to a stubble which wouldn't clog up the razor scheduled to follow. Working behind me with admirable precision, Mario brushed the severed excess into a large clear plastic bag: something our aghast young athlete might want to keep as a souvenir of this unexpected weekend. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes as he lay there and watched, yet one more piece of masculine pride taken away from him.

"Skin so nice and pink," I murmured to him as I cut carefully into the tuft hiding the sensitive flesh of his right armpit "You're never going to want to hide it under all that hair ever again, no way."

A soft little "aaaahhhh" came dribbling out of his mouth as the shears snipped downwards across his naked belly and dipped into the dirty blond brillo bushing up his groin. Three snips, four, five all told; the pubic forest was reduced to a neatly manicured lawn.

"Soap?" "Right here," said Harker, the mound rising up out of his crotch utterly enormous. Watching the defoliation of the hunk was one of the most sensual experiences of our lives, we were discovering, and it was because of that that we were taking it slow, making it last as long as we could. Even Doug Mayo couldn't help but be aroused by what was being forced upon him - it was hard to not notice the bobbing of his considerable dick, the leakage pouring like cum itself all over the cheesy head of the hardened organ.

All these effects were increased almost a hundred-fold, it seemed, as we spread shaving cream across the plateaus of his chest and brought the straight razor into play. My Uncle George happened to operate a barber shop when I was a kid; there was even a time when I considered that as a profession for myself and took a few oft-the-cuff "lessons." Doug Mayo's studly pecs were going to be given a nice close professional job, emerging smooth and nicked not even once. Ditto the armpits. Ditto the pubes.

It took about forty minutes, all told, from neck to nuts and we all later agreed that it was perhaps the most erotic forty minutes any of us had ever spent. Harker wasn't the only one who came unaided in his jockstrap, nor was he the first, that "honor" going, naturally, to Doug himself. When the edge of my razor was doing the last clean-up on the underside of his ball bag, catching those few stray hairs left, a huge elongated siren-like cry convulsed the tennis pro's tortured form. Blade or no blade there was no way to stop it, that sculptured shaft cannonading like crazy, blowing bolt after bolt of hot cum high into the air. "I can't help it," Doug wept, thrashing between the ropes, fingers and toes clawing and clamping, "I gotta cum, I gotta shoot, shit, shit, yeah, ahhh...

"Told you you'd like it, bitch," Ryan reminded him as he rinsed the body down so that we could admire the now hairless physique, running our fingers over it and making it squirm. It was hot fun, oh, yeah, making it squirm: we didn't get tired of doing it for almost half another hour. There was that much time on our tight schedule open - but when those precious minutes were used up it was time to get back to the job.


Doug Mayo was, after all, only one half of a brother act. When one has a leak one calls a plumber, doesn't one. Shit, did we all have leaks! And wasn't it convenient, to know someone whose brother just happened to be a plumber. Specifying Zack on the "call" didn't take too much finessing, especially since the job was in an apartment the young pipe man knew only too well.

The Studbuster team was ready and waiting for him, opening the door to his knock and letting him walk right into the trap. Anticipating nothing - why should he have? - it was a snap to slam the door shut behind him and jump him, pinning him upright despite his youthful muscles, beating him down with just as much joy as we had when we did it to his sibling.

"Who the fuck are you guys?" he wanted to know when he had the momentary chance to catch his breath, Mario and Ryan holding him down against the carpeted floor, Harker sitting heavily on his chest, pouring the contents of a whole bottle of hundred-proof straight down the mouth I was forcing open from behind. The younger Mayo glugged and gagged, unsuccessfully trying to spit the stream out.

No chance. "Drink that shit, bitch," was the only answer he was going to get "Chug-a-lug it down, yeah. Get drunk."

One entire bottle will do that to a kid, whether he wants it or not. Just to test the theory out we let him loose when the last drop had been imbibed, laughing at the uncoordinated way the angry young stud punched out at us, missing us by miles as we happily danced around him, taunting him. "Come on, big man, sock it to us, come on, put it there -~"

He swung and spun, losing his balance, falling, climbing back up and falling again when Mario hooked his leg around his calf and yanked. It was all too apparent that Doug's overly butch kid brother hadn't done so well in his high school biology course - had he paid more attention he'd have known that the more active you are after guzzling a quart of liquor the more drunk you get quicker.

The third time he fell he just rolled over on the floor and couldn't get up, laughing at his own drooling self. "What did you put in that booze? Huh? Ha?" Several hiccups and belches followed, followed by another peal of Arthuresque laughter.

I got down on the floor beside him. "Hey, Zack," I whispered, confidential into his ear. "You know who wants to see you tonight? You know who wants your dick in her snatch, Zack, hmm?"

"No," he frankly admitted, spluttering because he knew that the voice confiding in him was only withholding the delicious little secret, not keeping it from him. "Who?"

"Mrs. Lundquist May-Ellen Lundquist wants another round with that big fat plumber's helper you got, how about that, huh?"

"She wants me to fuck her cunt again?" His eyes sparkled with instant anticipation. I hated him for his smugness and sexist preconceptions.

"Damn right, Zack." It was my own anticipation of what was to come (to cum?) that made me throw myself more enthusiastically into the charade. "And you know what she wants even more than that, even more than that monster plug of yours in her cunt and down her throat?"

"What?" he couldn't help but giggle. "She wants you to ream out her butt, yeah, that's what May-Ellen Lundquist wants more than anything else." Did he remember when he did it before, while his stud brother Doug was giving her a cuntfull of his own matching cock? "How good it felt, your big ten-inch schwantz mashing up into that lady's high-class shit?"

"Eleven." Another adolescent giggle. When he was "really hard, harder than hard," eleven inches. And yeah, he sure did remember how it felt, that hot asshole closing around the entire eleven-inch length. "She wasn't so high and mighty when I got through with her, no, sir. She was sweating and oinking just like very other stupid bitch I ever pounded, taking cock all over the place just like a whore. A fucking low- class whore."

"Yeah, well, she wants you to make her sweat and oink all over again, all by yourself this time," I informed him. "You think you can do it, Zack? You think you can get that putz of yours to send her to Heaven, huh?"

"I'll 'send her' someplace, you bet," he slavered, belching again, eyes glazed. "Where is the little bitch?"

Waiting for him at the club, where else? "She wants it romantic, under the stars, out thereon the tucking grass." It was a warm night; why the hell not?

"Yeah, why the fuck not" The youthful jock let us lead him out and into our van, groping his crotch all the way, grinning. "Look at this thing, look," he said proudly. "Did I say eleven inches or did I say eleven inches I am going to turn that asshole of hers inside-out lam going to make that whore scream for more, more, more, oo!"
Maybe he would at that. There are whores and then there are whores.


She was waiting for him where I promised she'd be, out there on the third green under the stars, writhing with sex heat, wearing the best from Frederick's of Hollywood, the hair usually so carefully brushed back wild, all over the shoulders. Her ass was up, inviting penetration. Exposed. Beautiful in the soft moonlight.

Was that Zack? Was it? Was Doug's big butch brother Zack going to stuff her ass again? Was he going to jam his hot hard prong through her sphincter and ream her out for hours and hours, was he?

The voice was low and sexy, almost unisex in its heat "You can count on it, bitch," the drunken young plumber vowed, ripping the zipper down on his jeans, letting his pole snap up at an acute angle as though it had metal springs inside, the foreskin rolled back around the precum-lubricated corona, the head the broadest of flanges glistening with the several wads of spit hawked off his tongue. "Expect no fucking mercy."

No fucking mercy is precisely what Zack gave his victim, slamming the length of his muscular young physique on top of her back, hooking his throbbing young peter through the shitty portal with one brutal stroke, the force of the impalement driving the entire eleven-inch length in to the hilt.

"Ummpppmhh," the figure underneath him gasped into the grass, Zack holding it down and fucking with all his might. Slam! Twist! Slam! Thud! "Aaaaahhh -!"

"Told you I'd make you scream, bitch." The voice was thick with saliva, husky and hoarse. "Yell your fucking head off, if you want, I don't care if you want the whole world to know the high and mighty Mrs. Lundquist likes it when a hot-cocked stud gets on top of her ass and rides it all night, I don't mind at all."

Great balls of sweat showered down off his brow, spraying the sex-crazed bitch as he humped, pistoning his hips forward and back, forward and back.

"I really must've opened this ass of yours last time, hey?" It was wider than a cunt "Or did I make you dig the gooseberry lay so much you've been doing it all over the place ever since -?"

"You're hurting meeee..." Damn right he was hurting her, Zack wanted the whore to know. "And you, you bitch, you love it, don't you; don't you just love it to hell, huh? Huh? Huh?"Each one of the huhs was punctuated by an increasingly vicious cock-thrust forward, the plumber battering his gristle-filled meat jack hammer-like within the tight confines of dynamited ass, great farting noises belching out into the night.

"Yeesssssss - yyyeeeaaaahhhh -!" She did "love it," she "loved it to hell," just like her sadistic lover said.

"Love what?" a new voice interjected from the darkness, filled with shock and contempt "What do you animals think you are doing here?"

The fuckers looked as though they had been harpooned, scrambling up open- mouthed - not an easy thing to do when you're connected by almost a foot of livid hardon and your ass muscles have clamped down around it in fear and shock. Increasing their shock, especially when it came to Zack, was the fact that one of the people discovering the couple in this most embarrassing and awful of flagrentes was, gulp, Mrs. May-Ellen Lundquist, on the arm of her husband, Mr. Harrison L. Lundquist, in the company of two other husbands and wives highly placed in society, charter members of this exclusive country club.

They were escorted by a uniformed security guard. Armed. Zack's mouth was moving as though words were being formed, but no words were really necessary. Everybody knew he was trying to figure how he could have been giving Mrs. Lundquist his roughest in-and-out when Mrs. Lundquist was obviously not beneath him but on top of him. Shit!
Who was this lady they were seeing him "with"? Well, of course, that was no lady, that was his brother Doug! A little scream that was half scream and half embarrassed laugh came out of his throat as while Doug in the wreck his brother had made of his drag started to tell the Lundquists et al - the very folks who had hired him as the club's tennis pro in the first place, the very board members who could terminate his contract at a moment's notice -that he could explain. Really he could. Explain.

The Studbusters didn't stick around to hear it They just laughed themselves silly all the way back to the precinct house and got it on in celebration of another job well, well done.


Some days later I had occasion to visit that country club again, a guest of a friend who had nothing to do with the previously related events, although as you might expect one of the reasons I accepted his invitation to lunch was the previously related events, curiosity consuming me.

Doug Mayo had to have been long gone in a cloud of scandal, wasn't that true? "Oh, my, yes," my friend said over his shrimp cocktail. "Although the details are somewhat murky." All sorts of stories abounded from the locker rooms to the dining rooms, from the tennis courts to the swimming pool.

One actually was just about what was what the one nobody believed. Doug Mayo, the muff-diving tennis pro, a transvestite fag?

Come on. My eyes wandered through the plate glass window at the replacement pro, who seemed somewhat familiar - didn't I know him from somewhere? "He's May-Ellen Lundquist's kid brother, Joe Minor." Who? "May-Ellen Lundquist's -" She was across the room. I excused myself momentarily and pulled her away from her own companions, confronting her unruffled elegance with my worst fears. That whole double-rape story was cock and bull, wasn't it. Wasn't it?

"Really," she smiled. "You think I lied about both brothers having intercourse with me at the same time in Doug's apartment?" Cool as a cucumber, Mrs. Lundquist. Pert, pretty, clean, bright, built. Oh, she was double-banged by the Mayos in Doug's pad, all right - but she instigated it, or took advantage of it, whichever; it wasn't important What was important was that she used it as her excuse to hire the Studbusters.

"Not to be privately avenged for a crime which couldn't be acknowledged publicly... but to get your own brother a job he couldn't have gotten otherwise; that was what this whole thing was about from the start."

Correct me, madam, if I'm wrong.

"It's a dog-eat-dog world, Mr. Studbuster," she smiled, no correction forthcoming. All I could do was stand there while she returned to her friends.

"Something wrong?" My friend had come to get me back to our table, drawn by the look on my face. I'm not usually in the middle of a crowd, lost.

Oh. Hi. And nah, nothing was wrong. "Just saying hello to a one-time client I thought might open a whole new field for my firm." How had I put it during that first meeting, I asked myself: "What a beginning?"

Maybe not.



  1. 31118azti - December 26, 2019, 2:38 pm

    More art work would have been nice!

  2. RoughRider83 - April 15, 2024, 8:51 am

    Jeff Kincaid has always been one of my favorite authors and Cavelo’s artwork is always hot. I owned the Studbusters books published by Larry Townsend and they were always guaranteed to satisfy! I hope the rest of the stories are published here.

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