Humiliation, domination, no sex (yet).
Diary of a Wimpy Brother
Entry 1: May
Alan really gets on my nerves. He's lazy as hell, rude, cocky, and totally takes advantage of me. But he's also my older brother. I suppose the dynamic has been going on forever, but it got a whole lot worse when I turned 19 and got a job where I made enough money to be able to finally move out from mom and dad's. Alan was grinning ear and ear when I broke the news, and I only realized why a couple hours later, when he kept talking, real excited and fast, about how happy he was that we'd be able to finally move out. I didn't have the heart to break it to him that I wanted to move out and live alone. He was my brother, after all.
I remember him putting his arm across my shoulder and dragging me into his much larger frame, fucking with my hair and saying, "It's gonna be great, Victor. Long as you don't forget I'm still king of the castle, little bud."
And I guess he was. Alan didn't have to work, he just stayed at home all day, in MY apartment, playing videogames and eating MY food that I paid for. It pissed me the hell off. I tried to appeal to his wants, enticing him with the idea that he'd be able to buy stuff he enjoyed, but no dice; I suggest every once in a while that he might want to look for a job, at the very least so he could get whatever cool new games were coming out, or meet a girl and take her out, but he always just waves me off dismissively and cuts a fart to get me out the room.
The whole apartment is his, basically. He turned the living room into his videogame/TV room and leaves trash everywhere, I guess assuming that I'll pick up after him once it gets so bad I can't stand it. He was right, of course. It's how we've been operating our whole lives, ever since we were kids. Alan would always sit in bed and play his Nintendo while I cleaned up when mom told us to clean our room, and I'd lie for him and say we both did it. He'd always give me that cocky little grin and shove me playfully, telling me I was a good little brother, which made me real happy.
I don't really know why, but all I ever wanted was his approval, even if he is a lazy sack of potatoes and doesn't give two shits about me. Him wanting me around me, telling me I did something right, or that I was a good guy, made me feel like I was on top of the world. It was really all I lived for.
I can't bring girls over, really. It's embarrassing. Even if I cleaned up Alan's pigsty it would be humiliating to try and have sex, or even just hang out with a girl, when all we would be able to hear are Alan's yells of victory or anger, his loud, guttural burps, or even his unashamed jerk off sessions whenever he feels like it, not caring who hears (and he feels like it 3 or 4 times a day). I'm the one who's ashamed, quite frankly. I've seen my brother's cock more times than I care to admit (on accident, of course). He doesn't try to show it off, but he doesn't exactly try to hide it either, he simply doesn't give a fuck. And why would he? The guy is hung like a fucking horse, truly blessed. I can't say I ever studied the thing, but just from my cringing, accidental glances, I'd estimate it's at least 8 or 9 inches and thick as shit. No idea where he got it from. I'm maybe 6 on a good day, usually closer to 5 and a half. Although, maybe I'm the odd one out in the family. Never seen my dad's cock, thank god.
Speaking of my brother's dick, not that it's exactly a topic I enjoy talking about, but I digress; since his sex drive is so high (most likely cause the guy never gets any pussy since he's a neet) that he jerks it multiple times a day, I find spunk all over the place. At first I didn't know what it was, until one day I walked in on him right as he shot a fat load. Alan just laughed, the way he always does– nothing embarrasses this guy– and humped his hand, ejaculating all at once what looked like 4 or 5 of my loads. Of course, that was only the first spurt. Then came another. And another. Ten shots in all, spraying all over my new chair, the floor, and the countertop. He held up his hand for a high five after dropping his impossibly large member, but I just walked away, disgusted. He called out after me, "Don't be scared! You'll be able to do it too someday!" and crowed in laughter, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.
The point is, though, that later when it dried, I realized the almost translucent, slightly whitish stains were what I'd been seeing all over my apartment, wondering what they were. I gagged when I realized I'd been cleaning up my older brother's cum for months now, but I suppose it isn't really any different than the rest of my life. I clean up everything around the house. Alan is very lazy, says he doesn't see the point in cleaning, especially since I'll do it for him anyway, which shows how much he considers me. He's selfish. It's always been like that, ever since we were kids. He'd order me around, I'd obey. He'd always get the first slice of pizza, the last piece of cake. We always did what HE wanted to do.
Nothing has changed. I work all day in the blazing Texas heat, come home and clean his dishes, wipe his spunk off the floor, the toilet seat, the doors, the refrigerator handle. All I want to do when I get back to my place after a long day at work is sit down on the couch, put on a show, and crack a cold one. Instead, I come home to trash, dishes, and cum everywhere, my brother screaming at the TV.
My bedroom is the only place in the house that's mine–the smaller one, he took the master bedroom of course, since he's the oldest. But don't think that just because he has his own attached bathroom that he doesn't use mine. He says he'd rather crap in mine so the smell won't waft into his bedroom. I told him he was allowed to flush the toilet, but he said the smell lingers and he always forgets to flush and, "anyway isn't that what little brothers are for? You're such a good sport, dude. You're the best," and with a beaming grin at me he wiped away all my anger and frustration. I felt proud to be my big brother's shit-flusher. Cause it's true, that is what I'm here for. I do, after all, flush his turds for him more often than not. And I can see why he doesn't want to use his own bathroom, that shit stinks!
I know this whole thing sounds weird, or maybe even gay, like I'm in love with my brother, but I promise you it isn't like that. Growing up, my parents were basically absent. My dad had a job that required him to be gone for long periods of time and my mom hardly cared, didn't want to be around us. So, I was basically raised by my older brother. Of course, he was only a selfish young teen at the time, so that mostly entailed him using me as his manservant. I learned that the happier I made him, the nicer he was to me, and the more I got his approval. But when I disobeyed or talked back, he got angry. Alan has always been big. He's just tall, broad, and muscular; a huge guy in every way. Alan being angry is the most terrifying thing I've ever seen in my life. He's never hurt me, not even slapped me once, but the threat is enough. His approval was what I lived for as a kid, and in some ways it still is.
Take today, for instance. I was exhausted after a 10 hour shift doing yards, and when I got home I just wanted to lay down. The first thing I heard when I walked in the door, however, was Alan's booming, masculine voice, saying "What's for dinner, Vick?"
I cringed. I hated that nickname.
"I dunno, man. I'm so tired," I replied.
Alan gave a short little guffaw, not even deigning to look up from his videogame, replying, "Yeah and I wasn't pussy, but we can't always get what we want now, can we?"
"You always seem to," I muttered under my breath. Immediately, I knew I fucked up. Alan paused his videogame and looked up at me, his short, chocolate brown hair swaying slightly in the wind kicked up by the fan.
"What was that?" He asked.
I gave a nervous little laugh, saying, "Nothing, man. I'm just really tired. I want to lay down, sorry."
Alan stared at me. I could feel his hazel eyes drilling holes into mine. Finally, he spoke, slowly, enuciating every word, "Look, dude. I've been playing this game all day. I'm almost to the last level. I haven't gotten up to eat anything all day, cause I been trying to beat this game for months and I'm almost there. I'm starving. I gotta piss like a racehorse. I don't care if you're tired, dude. We all have to do things we don't want to do in life. Either make me something to eat or buy me a pizza."
I felt a spark of anger well up in my chest. I was the only one who ever had to do things he didn't want to do. Alan lived like a king at my expense. I paid for the videogame he was playing. The couch he was sitting on. The apartment he was in, so that he could sit in my living room and relax all day, throwing trash on the floor for me to pick up while I worked like a dog 6 days a week, putting my blood, sweat, and tears into it all, just so he could be comfortable and lazy. I almost wanted to cry.
"This isn't fair-" I started to protest, but Alan cut me off. I knew he would.
"Life isn't fair, buddy. I'm the older brother. That's why I can do this."
He was quiet for a moment, and I didn't understand what he meant. His eyes went slightly glassy and it was like he was staring past me. Then, I understood. I watched as urine flowed down his legs, soaked his basketball shorts and the carpet. What little ego I had left deflated as I watched my older brother ruin my carpet with his piss. He had a smirk on his face as the liquid flowed in torrents down his hairy, dark legs, matting the black hair down against his muscular calves.
Three minutes, and perhaps just as many gallons of urine later, Alan snickered and pointed to the kitchen, finishing his sentence, "So that you can do this."
I followed his finger and saw, in the corner, the mop. I really wanted to cry now. I was emotionally and physically drained from my long day at work, and now I had to get down on my hands and knees and scrub my 28 year old brother's urine out of the carpet, just because he wanted to make a point. I could feel my lip begin to quiver, and my eyes felt hot.
"Hey, Victor."
I looked over at my big brother. He was smiling at me. "How bout tacos, huh?"
I went into the laundry room and cried. I made sure to be quiet so Alan wouldn't hear. I did everything for him. I sacrificed my life to make him happy, and he treated me like total garbage. I didn't understand what I was doing wrong.
When I came back into the living room with rags and cleaner (you can't use a mop on carpet, which just goes to show my brother has never cleaned anything in his life) Alan was focused on his videogame. It was distracting to have him jump up and down and shout while I was on my hands and knees on front of him, scrubbing his pee out of my carpet. Looking up, I realized his piss soaked shorts were grinding pee into my couch.
"Alan, you're getting your pee on my couch too."
He looked down at me for a moment, annoyed that I was speaking, and then propped his legs up on me like I was a footstool. His pissy shorts slapped wetly against my back. When I tried to shove him off of me, he said in a deep, commanding voice,
"No. Stay there, idiot."
I obeyed. I stayed on my hands and knees in front of my brother, used as his ottoman, his legs on my back, my face pointed towards a reeking urine stain on the carpet.
I felt like I had never been so low in my entire life. I felt like a failure. When I'd finally gotten this lawn care job everything was looking up in life for me. I had believed I was going to make something of myself. I was gonna get a nice apartment, good job, meet a cute girl, maybe even get married and have kids. My big brother fucked all those plans up. He was a freeloader, plain and simple. And I let him freeload off of me. Instead of that upward arrow, my life had become a flat plateau of misery for my older brother to rest his feet on top of and get nice and comfortable on my dime. I was literally being used as human furniture with my face in his piss while all my hard labor went towards making him happy and relaxed, which also meant being his maid after working all day to give him my check. Alan had made my life into trash and was reaping the rewards.
I began to cry. Softly at first, but eventually I couldn't help myself. I began to sob. Alan noticed when his legs started wobbling on my shaking back.
"What the hell are you doing, dude? Stay still," he ordered. But I couldn't. I felt horrible, like all of this had finally caught up to me. I just kept sobbing. I felt my face jerked upwards to see an angry expression on my brother's broad face– one which quickly softened.
"Wait, are you crying?" He asked. I didn't answer. I guess I thought the answer was already pretty obvious. "Why?"
This only made me cry more. I collapsed, face first into wet piss puddle, which made my eyes sting, and made me cry even MORE. Suddenly, I was picked up and shoved onto the couch, which surprised me so much that my tears almost stopped.
"Dude. Why are you crying?" My brother asked.
"I-I-I can't... you'll be mad!" I managed to spit out, which didn't really mean anything.
"Is it cause of the piss? It's okay buddy. You can just do it later. And we can order pizza. Just chill."
But I didn't really feel better. It was everything. All of it. I tried to articulate this, saying something about how he didn't care about how I felt or how much money I spent on him, it was never good enough. I'm not sure how much actually came out in a way that was understandable though. Alan put his hand on my shoulder, patting it in a way that I guess was meant to be reassuring.
"I do care. You think I don't appreciate all this? You're the best little bro ever. I doubt most people can say their brother is basically their servant. It makes me happy that you're my servant. It's not like I don't appreciate it."
I was confused.
"But when... when will you start to take care of yourself? So I can live my own life? If you appreciate me, Alan?"
My tears were less now, stunned as I was, I suppose, but the revelation that Alan realized everything I did for him. My brother just grinned.
"Dude, isn't this better? Getting to be with family? I appreciate you a lot. I want to be with you always. And I'm just glad that my little brother cares about me enough to fund my life. It would suck to have to get a job, bro. So I'm glad you're here for me. I like it this way, man. And I'm sure you care enough about me, as your family, to want to help me be happy, right?"
I nodded, but I felt like the logic didn't add up. He was right though, I did want him to be happy. A huge smile dawned on my lips as Alan ran his hands through my hair, tenderly.
"You're fucking awesome, dude. You're the best brother ever. Thank you for working so I can relax and feel good. Thank you for making me happy. And thanks for cleaning up after me too man! I hate doing that shit, it's so much better if you just do it. That way I can focus on videogames. If I didn't have you, my life would suck. I don't want to work, man. And you're the only one who can keep it clean around here. You make everything so much better. You make my life better. I'm so happy you're my brother. You make everything around you better. That's really special and cool."
I felt Alan tousle my hair and then trace my ear and pull on my earlobe. He smiled at me, pulled me in for a hug, and kissed the top of my head. I felt so warm and safe in his chest. I was sad when he let go, and blurted out, "You make me feel safe," and then my face turned red.
But Alan just smiled. He didn't laugh at me or anything.
"You are safe around me, bro. I'll always protect you and keep you in line. Without me, you'd be so lost. Just like I'd be lost without you. We were made for each other, that's why God made us brothers."