Here is the conclusion to A Long Journey To My Brother, which I hope you will enjoy. I want to thank everyone who responded to the first part of the story, the comments were much appreciated.
If this is your first exposure to the 'Long Journey' story, I would greatly recommend you read the first part, well, first. If you insist on beginning with this second part (and really, you're missing out), Taylor is a young woman with a penis who has begun a sexual relationship with her older brother Jacob, who has become her roommate halfway through her first year of university. Taylor has endured many trials and tribulations during her life, including being raped by her prior dorm roommate and that woman's boyfriend during a seduction turned betrayal. Part 2 deals with the fallout as well as her and Jacob's relationship evolution.
All characters depicted in this story are over 18.
I felt the golden rays peaking through the blinds, the sun bathing my day's beginning in its warm embrace. Though not starting work until noon, I still felt hurried by the clock. I didn't want to move, I didn't want to get up, I merely wanted to cocoon in my blanket and savour a beautiful morning which followed another beautiful night. My eyes remained shut, and I smiled in remembrance.
It had been a wonderful six weeks. My boss had informed me that I would be training as her assistant manager during my summer break, my grades were getting stronger, and I even stood up for myself when some twerp classmate made a snide remark. While I didn't send him running for the hills with a blast of witty rejoinders, I didn't cower in fear either. My confidence was gaining, and the cause was no mystery.
Jacob was still silent, still reticent, and still frustrating at times. He was also the best thing in my life, as he continued to care for me and love me. He also continued, on an increasingly regular basis, to fill my ass with his hard cock. My brother steadily made himself available, looked at me with lust in his eyes, and never made me feel anything but desirable. I dreamt of his body at night, and whenever I felt the urge, rode it during the day. We continued our regular Friday night "dates" (thankfully my schedule almost never conflicted), yet also found other occasions to drive each other to climax. Jacob was quite satisfied to let me use him to fulfill my sexual cravings, and never turned me down when I wanted to play. Which hinted at the only slight problem.
As much as I loved our sexual adventures, being quite aroused by our taboo lust, I also felt the occasional pang of unrealized want. More specifically, while Jacob's placid nature had allowed me to push our relationship into more intimate territory, with wonderful results, his general lack of assertiveness prevented my brother from truly taking charge in the bedroom. Over the years, I had come to realize that while I could be the forceful one in bed and even enjoy it, a part of me wanted to be on the receiving end of a man's intent. To be taken. To submit. I wanted to be used by someone I loved, and be able to trust that they would also do right by me (the Cassie-Brian incident obviously didn't fall in that category). The thought of my brother carrying this out gave me tingles.
Trying to facilitate that desire was another matter. With Jacob being so uncommunicative (not to mention clearly damaged by life), yet so obviously turned on by myself and our situation, I couldn't really say to him, "What the hell is wrong with you?" My brother needed to be coaxed, seduced, yet I wanted him to take control. Even when I led him into my bedroom while nude (the only time we had taken our games into my space), crawled onto the bed on all fours, and implored him to fuck my ass raw as I waved my oiled-up backside towards him, I never got the impression that he was really willing to command the situation, even though he did slam my asshole good. Jacob was a tough nut to crack.
"I'm really proud of you, Taylor."
As usual, nobody stunned me without preamble quite like my brother. Jacob had never before said those words to me. While he calmly navigated Tucson's Saturday night traffic, I racked my work-addled brain, weary from a long lunch-supper shift, to give a profound, heartfelt, or at least witty response. Once again, my advanced education came to the rescue and I gave him my best.
"What?"
Yup, I still had it.
"Workin' so hard, keepin' at it, you've really turned things around. It's been impressive." My initial instinct was to seek inspiration, perhaps to the point of being maudlin, but I knew that wouldn't fly with Jacob. Consequently, I reverted to an old standby, self-doubt masquerading as modesty.
"Oh, I haven't really done that much. I'm just trying to get somewhere good."
"Well, that's much of the battle, isn't it? Going for what you want?"
"I guess so. It just doesn't always feel like a struggle."
"But you've had stuff to get through."
"Yeah, but when you focus on what you want and take control, it's really not that difficult. People will often just go along, which helps you out. Then you can find what you really need."
Jacob stayed silent, ostensibly focused on getting us home in one piece. I was unsure if he understood what I meant, though I wasn't completely sure of the meaning either. Little did I know what those simple words would set off. Nor how much I would enjoy finding out.
Tip-toed, I stretched towards the top shelf, my arm reaching, my hand grasping, my fingers just brushing the container, yet was unable to fully clasp the moulded plastic. I descended flat-footed to the floor, my held breath releasing, my long shirt dropping to cover my bare behind. Having my Sunday free allowed me to lazily delay my morning rise, followed by the luxury of padding about the apartment in nothing more than an old shirt while deciding on breakfast. Jacob slept away his nightly alcohol intake, leaving me a quiet stillness to contemplate my morning repast. I wanted something which would be both nourishing and capable of satisfying my sweet tooth. Waffles. Homemade waffles, with maple syrup. Quickly parsing the kitchen cupboards, I realized we possessed all the necessary ingredients, and with a burst of excitement, collected the required utensils and dishes to make the hotly anticipated meal. All save the mixing bowl, which sat on a top shelf barely beyond my diminutive frame. Yet my determination was undeniable, and I steeled what passed for my abdominal muscles in order to vertically lengthen my body.
I stretched my form upwards once more, straining with all my might, unconscious of both my breathy grunts and uncovered lower body, all to acquire the coveted prize. However, my single-minded focus caused me to be oblivious, and I missed the stealthy approach of a larger body, one whose strong hands suddenly grasped my hips, giving me a shock of fright and nearly a heart attack.
"Aaah!"
I quickly recognized my brother's scent, though it couldn't have been anyone else.
