Thanks for all the feedback on my previous efforts. This is a new, two-part story which I hope you enjoy.
There is anal sex in this chapter so if that is not your thing then please look away now.
Please let me know what's good and not so good (don't just down-vote it without comment please).
Hope you enjoy.
LB
Prologue
Someone once told me about the universal pleasure-pain balance. The basic tenet is that the total amount of pleasure people feel in the world is balanced by the total amount of pain and misery felt by others.
It is a zero-sum game.
This of course ebbs and flows so that if I feel worse about myself then someone, somewhere is feeling a whole lot better. The reverse is true as person A's on-top-of-the-world feeling means person B will feel like shit.
However, it is not a zero-sum game for an individual and you don't have to worry about your amount of pain as I'm carrying the world's misery on my shoulders and have done so for nearly 19 years. You can all rest easy in your additional pleasure as I don't see it getting better for me anytime soon as the one thing, no, the one person who could make it right for me is out of bounds ... verboten ... interdit ... and certainly out of my life.
I guess I'm paying the penalty for 24 hours of pure unadulterated pleasure with her that will resound in my memory until I die. I remember clearly the point at which our mutual pleasure exploded forth but can't really pinpoint the moment when it started to build to a crescendo.
I do however remember when it all came crashing down, 19 years ago.
August 1999.
I was lying on my back on the floor, that much I did understand. What I couldn't really grasp was why my body hurt so much. Pretty much all over.
Then I heard his hard, Irish voice and it all came crashing back in on me.
"So, you fucker. You're awake."
I started to move my head to look at where the voice came from but it hurt too much so I swivelled my eyes. He was sat on the sofa looking down at me and I could see the absolute fury in his eyes. I knew this look from years ago when he'd got in a rage when I was smaller and I had felt his fists, belt and boots before now but never like this ... and not for quite a while. Not since I'd got as big, if not bigger than him and he realised he could no longer take me.
I guess you could say he caught me with my pants down this time and got lucky. Judging by the pain I was feeling he'd certainly made best use of the opportunity.
The house was completely silent, the screaming I heard when I blacked out was gone. We were alone. I tried my voice but it came out croaky.
"Where is she? Is she all right? What have you done with her? I need to see her."
His face darkened and he raised his fist threateningly.
"Shut your fucking mouth. Do not talk about her ... not after what you did to her ... fucking rapist! I should cut you cock and balls off and shove them in your mouth to shut you up."
I shook my head.
"You don't understand ... we love each other ... we want to be ... ahhhh ... fuckkkk!"
His booted foot came crashing down on my stomach. I realised the scream I heard was mine as my vision dimmed. When his face came back into view, I could see the snarl of uncontrollable rage and the spittle flying from his mouth.
"I SAID DO NOT TALK ABOUT HER! You degenerate fucker ... she is safe now ... you won't find her ... you will have no more contact with her ... the only reason I have not called the police to get you locked up is because your mother is too fucking soft."
"Where have you taken her ... fuckkkkkk!"
I screamed again as his other foot caught me on the temple.
"Why won't you shut the fuck up? You will not find her. You have 30 minutes to pack a bag and get the fuck out of my house. I never want to see you again, I never want to hear your name mentioned in my presence. I have no son. You are dead to me ... and I will kill you if I hear that you have tried to contact her in any way. Do I make myself clear?"
I stared at him as his words formed into coherent sentences in my brain. He roughly nudged my ribs with his foot.
"I said, 'DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR' ... STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
I slowly nodded and he stood up from the couch and walked towards the door but stopped and walked back. I knew what was coming and tried to curl up into a ball but was too slow and his boot caught me in the side, near my kidneys.
I screamed again and blacked out from the pain.
Chapter 1
24 hours before
Our parents took every opportunity to go away in their motorhome most weekends when the weather was good, leaving my twin sister, Brigid, and I to our own devices ... to slob out or to party-party (at someone else's house because it was certainly forbidden at our place).
In the early days, when they first left us behind at the age of 16, we hardly stayed at home and would be out, separately, getting up to all the things that bored teenagers do when freed from parental overwatch. We rarely did these things together as, despite being twins, we had not been particularly close for the last three years whereas before we had been inseparable.
Why did we drift apart?
Simple, I drove her away.
Why, you might ask?
Again, it is a simple answer. I fell in love with her ... or to be more precise ... I realised I was hopelessly in love with her and had been since we were born. I just didn't recognise it for what it was until we got older.
In those early days, before boobies, pimples and a broken voice, it was a simple mutual love engendered by our respect and affection for each other. We liked each other, we trusted each other, we supported each other. It was innocent love at its purest and we both told our parents on numerous occasions that we were going to marry each other when we grew up. At first, they were mildly amused by our vehement protestations when they said it wasn't possible but, when we persisted to say such things when we got to 11, they started to get more annoyed with our 'silly prattle'. Whereas one of us slipping into the other's bed to sleep had been looked at with fondness in the past, my father started to use his belt on me as a warning not to do it. It never bothered me that it was always me who was punished ... Daddy's Little Princess could do no wrong.
All that changed when we grew into our teenage years and the cute, red-headed, girl-next-door grew into a ravishing beauty and my childhood love for my wonderful sister developed into something that I could never express to her or to anyone else.
I had known that something was wrong with me when, at the age of 14, she went on her first date to the cinema with another boy. I wanted to break his neck but petulantly took it out on her by being mean and rude to her. She didn't understand why the brother she idolised was being like this and dissolved into tears. This would not be the last time that happened although I would try to make it up to her each time. However, the cumulative effect over time was to stretch and then break the bond that had been so strong since our birth.
By the age of 15, I had shot past her in height and was much taller and larger than most kids we knew. Brigid on the other hand had retained her petite, waif-like frame and glowing red-haired beauty and the boys flocked around her. I thumped a few of her suitors for no good reason other than I was full of angry jealousy. This seemed to deter them until Brigid found out what I had done and I heard the expression 'stay out of my life' for the first time from her lips. My heart broke.
By the age of 16 I was becoming a bit of a chick-magnet myself... tall, good looking, good at sports etc. but found that I measured every girl I ever met against Brigid and most of them were found wanting either before, or after, the first date. I became a bit of a loner and started to go off the rails, including being arrested for fighting and affray on more than one occasion by the age of 17. A bit of underage ale-drinking made me moody so if you looked at me wrong it would get you a thumping. Brigid's scorn for my behaviour was matched by my father's ire and I became even more withdrawn and morose.
Despite the breakdown in our relationship, or more likely because of my feelings for her, I was immensely protective of my little sister. If I was around and heard someone speak about her or to her in a manner to which I took offence (basically any word will do), it would get them a kicking. Unfortunately, Colchester is an army town and there are a lot of squaddies who fancy beautiful, petite redheads and I had to do quite a bit of kicking.
The one thing I don't do is drugs and I got narked as I found out that Brigid had been 'experimenting' with some stuff. I politely asked the guys who were dealing not sell to my sister. Their response wasn't the one I had wanted so I had to persuade them of the error of their ways. They finally saw things my way.
All that did was to get me another gob-full from Brigid who was pissed off that I was stopping her from having fun. We had a bit of a heart-to-heart about how she could fuck up her life in so many ways if she took the wrong stuff or got so wasted that blokes took advantage of her but she wouldn't listen.
She's a very headstrong beautiful, petite, redhead, Irish girl but I'm equally headstrong although the red hair looks more ginger on me so I'd been sporting a number 1 crew for a couple of years just to stop lads from taking the piss. It didn't hurt my hard-nut image either.
Anyway, I digress.
Basically, I started following Brigid around. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't stalking her or anything, as, to be more precise, I would 'accidentally' appear in the same pub, club or party. It helps to know the barmen and bouncers around town and I'd always slip them a tenner if they gave me a bell to say she'd pitched up and I would make my way there and hang about in the background, trying to blend in.
That's easier said than done as I'm a big lad, 1.9m and 115kg, and although we're twins, we are definitely not identical as Bridge would weigh 45kg if she was wearing a suit of armour and is a good head and shoulders shorter than me.
To say she got pissed off if she saw me lurking was an understatement but I tried to be discrete. I tried not to embarrass her by dragging her away from unsavoury characters but there were a number of guys who were trying to chat her up that didn't come back from a trip to the loo. However, one evening, I actually saved her from a fate worse than death.
Not that she said thank you, mind. Leastways, not straight away.
I saw some geezer, a smooth Canary Wharf wanker ... sorry ... banker ... put something in her drink while she wasn't looking. It was one of the times that she didn't know I was around and glared at me when I sat down at their table. The guy wasn't any more welcoming.
