What an expert tormentor the sergeant was proving to be! SWISH-CRACK! A sixth stroke and Peter felt sure that would be the final one. But he was wrong... Very, very wrong! SWISH-CRACK! The seventh was a real corker, cracking and burning into Peter’s soft posterior. SWISH-CRACK! The eighth was the worst so far, searing and unforgiving. Peter bucked and writhed but by now Mark was almost in a trance, slashing the cane down without thought as he rejoiced in his own sadism. SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK!. . ...that he was my brother. I was tormented. My body was crying out for a good fuck, but the only person I could get a hold of was the one person I couldn’t have sex with. Or shouldn’t. Gah what a mess. Well he probably wouldn’t even if he could. Or would he? Hmm. I remember he would always try to be sneaking glances at me when I came out of the shower, or walking into my room unannounced. I’m sure he stole my underwear and bras from the laundry bin too. Maybe he would fuck me if I wanted. Of. More

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