I Came Home and My Twin Brother Made Me His Woman

I look at myself in the bathroom mirror of the family house, the one that has smelled stale ever since my parents left for good. Eight years have passed since I went to Boston, running away from everything and, above all, from him. From Mauricio.

We were identical twins, but I was always the softer one, the one who cried when he shoved me against the wall in those fights that started over nothing and ended with him on top of me, breathing hard, his eyes lit with something I couldn’t name then. He stayed in this inland town, running the family workshop, until the accident took our parents away. I came back because there was no one else left.

I’m wearing a set of black lingerie I bought at a boutique abroad: lace bra, string thong that barely covers anything, thigh-high stockings. I’ve shaved everything, perfumed myself, and my hair —once short— now falls in waves over my shoulders. My name is Daniela when I’m alone. Or when I’m with men who buy me drinks and whisper “baby” in my ear while they slip a hand under my skirt and squeeze the cock hidden in my panties.

The bathroom door swings open. I hadn’t locked it.

Mauricio appears there, with my same face but harder, more weathered. Sweat-soaked T-shirt, jeans. He looks me up and down. First surprise. Then something I recognize instantly: anger mixed with hunger.

“What is this, Daniel?” his voice was always deeper than mine.

I stay still, my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t answer. I just look at him.

He comes closer slowly. He smells of the day’s sweat, of a man who’s been hauling parts around in the garage. He closes the door behind him.

“Is this what you’ve become out there? Dressing like a woman?”

His words should hurt, and they do, but they also turn me on. I feel it between my legs, where the thong barely contains the erection beginning to swell against the string. I bite my lip.

“Call me whatever you want,” I whisper at last, with this voice that is no longer the old one. “But don’t touch me if you don’t want to.”

He lets out an ugly laugh and takes another step. We’re so close I can feel his heat. He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him.

“Look at you. You were always a weakling. Always letting yourself be pushed around.”

His eyes drop to the lace, to the soft skin, to how flat I am at the waist and how rounded my hips are after so many years of hormones and effort. He stops at the bulge in my thong, at the tip peeking over the elastic, already wet with the liquid leaking out of me.

“Take it all off,” he orders.

“No.”

I don’t move. I hold his gaze, because I know what’s coming. I’ve known since we were teenagers and he pushed me and I let him, feeling something forbidden grow inside me.

Mauricio draws in a deep breath. I can see how his cock starts to outline in his jeans, thick, straining the fabric.

“Fuck…” he mutters.

And then he shoves me against the wall, like before, but this time his hands aren’t going to hit me. They go straight for the lace. He tears off my bra in one pull and my breasts spring free, the nipples already hardened, dark, stiff as stones.

He bends down and licks them hungrily, biting, sucking as if he wants to punish me. He sucks one whole nipple into his mouth, takes it in up to the areola, and with his rough tongue hammers it mercilessly. I cry out and arch. He moves to the other one, bites it so hard tears spring to my eyes, and then licks it slowly to soothe the burn. His other hand goes down to the thong, yanks the string aside, and grabs my hard cock, squeezing it in his fist.

“Look at this,” he pants. “Hard as a man and with tits like a whore. You were made to get fucked.”

He shakes it in his calloused hand, squeezes from the base to the tip, drawing out the liquid already dripping from me. Then he goes lower, finds my ass between my cheeks, and reaches my opening, already prepared because I’d gotten myself ready just in case, already slick, waiting for him from the very first second he opened the door.

“Look at you, all prepared in advance,” he taunts, sinking one finger in to the knuckles. “You got your ass ready in case I showed up, huh, faggot? You knew I was coming to put it in you.”

I arch against the wall, moaning, impaling myself on his finger. He adds a second, then a third, opening me with no gentleness at all. It hurts and I love it. He works them in scissors inside me, curving them, touching me where no one had ever touched me like that before.

“Yes… please, Mauricio…”

“Please what? Say it, slut. Say it out loud.”

“Fuck me, brother. Put it in me. Make me yours like you always wanted.”

He unbuttons his jeans with his other hand and yanks them down to his knees. His cock springs upward, thick, veined, the purplish head already gleaming with pre-cum. It’s identical to the one I remember from when we showered together as kids and I’d glance sideways, but now it’s a full-grown man’s: enormous, hard, the heavy balls hanging underneath. Now it’s mine.

He pushes me down by the shoulders and he doesn’t need to say anything else. I fall to my knees in front of him and open my mouth. He shoves it in all at once, to the back, and the tip hits my throat. I choke, my eyes filling with tears, and he grabs my hair with both hands and starts fucking my mouth without giving me a chance to breathe.

“Suck me like a little bitch, Daniela. Show me what you learned in Boston.”

I suck with hunger. I run my tongue along the whole length of him, suck his balls one by one, taking them whole into my mouth, and swallow him down again. Saliva runs down my chin and drips over his shaft. I lick his head, bury my tongue in the little hole at the tip and taste the salty pre-cum. He growls and drives into my throat harder, until my nose is buried in the black hair of his pubes and I can’t breathe.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s it… swallowing all of it.”

When he feels he’s about to come he pulls out with a jerk. He gets me to my feet and turns me toward the mirror. I see our two faces reflected there: mine made up, mascara smeared, lips swollen, his savage. He bends me over the sink, spreads my ass cheeks with both hands, and crouches down. I feel his hot, rough tongue against my hole.

“Ah, fuck, Mauricio…”

He eats my ass without disgust, licks it all over, slips his tongue inside, pulls it out, pushes it back in. He salivates, spits, sucks. I writhe over the cold porcelain, with my hard cock knocking against the cabinet. When he thinks I’m wet enough, he stands up, spits again into his hand, smears his cock with it, and opens me.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he whispers against my neck. “Your brother blowing out your ass.”

And he goes in with one single thrust. The pain is brutal; the pleasure, even worse. I scream and he covers my mouth with his hand. He stays inside for a second, all the way to the balls, letting me feel every centimeter. Then he starts moving without mercy, holding my hips so hard I know tomorrow I’ll have his fingers marked into my skin. His hips slam into my ass with a wet, fleshy sound that echoes in the bathroom. I push back, taking him deeper, wagging my ass for him.

“It was always yours,” I pant when he frees my mouth. “I always wanted this. I always dreamed of your cock inside me.”

That turns him on even more. He grabs my hair, arches my back, and speeds up. He fucks me with rage, with years of repressed desire, with hate and love mixed into every thrust. His hand wraps around my cock in front and shakes it in the same rhythm. He squeezes from the base, pulls, goes up, goes down. In the mirror I watch my tits moving to the beat, watch the makeup unravel on my face, watch my brother splitting me open from the inside.

“Come, Daniela. Come with me inside you. I want to see it.”

I come with a strangled cry. My cum spurts out in jets and splashes the mirror, the porcelain, his hand. I convulse all over and my ass clamps down on his cock, squeezing him. He lasts two more thrusts and then drives in to the hilt. He goes still, spilling inside me with a deep groan, filling me with hot seed. I feel his cock throbbing inside me, shooting stream after stream. We stay there, tangled together, speechless, letting our breathing slowly settle back into place.

When he finally pulls out, a thick thread of his cum runs down my thigh over the stocking. He turns me around with new tenderness. There is something different in his gaze: possession, but also a hunger that has not been satisfied. He scoops up with two fingers his own semen dripping down my leg and puts it in my mouth. I suck it off, looking him in the eyes.

“This wasn’t a one-time thing,” he says, hoarse. “You’re going to be my woman in this house.”

I nod, still trembling.

“Yes, Mauricio. I want to be.”

***

The days begin to blur into a routine that brings me back to life. He gets up early to open the workshop we inherited. I stay home, sorting out bank papers and funeral paperwork, but above all getting ready for him.

Every morning I choose different lingerie: a sheer bodysuit, a satin set with garters, fishnet stockings. I take my time applying makeup in the mirror and perfume my neck, behind my ears, between my breasts. I put a steel plug in my ass to keep it open and ready for when he gets home. He shows up at noon, sweaty, hands smeared with grease, and he doesn’t say hello. He just looks at me from the kitchen doorway and I already know everything.

He bends me over the counter, the same one where Mom used to make dinner, hikes my skirt up to my waist, and yanks the plug out in one pull. Then he opens his fly, pulls out his already hard cock, and drives it into me in one thrust. He fucks me between the breakfast dishes, with my tits crushed against the cold marble and his heels scraping the tiles. He grabs me by the throat from behind and whispers filthy things in my ear while he fills my ass with hot cum. Other afternoons we shower together and he soaps me slowly, washes my hair, kisses me while the hot water falls over both of us; then he knees me on the shower floor and I take him in my mouth until he comes on my face and makes me lick up every drop. At night we sleep in our parents’ marriage bed, wrapped around each other, and sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night with his hard cock wedged between my cheeks and mounts me like that, in silence, biting my shoulder so I won’t scream.

A week later I no longer go out without his permission. He’s bought me tight dresses, short skirts, toys he orders online: dildos of every size, a harness, anal beads, a vibrator that I slip into my cock while he fucks my ass and makes me come without touching me. One day he catches me in front of the mirror, stroking my breasts, imagining them bigger.

“You want surgery, baby?” he asks from the doorway.

I turn, blushing.

“I want to be more of a woman for you. I want nothing left of Daniel.”

He comes over and hugs me tight.

“Do it with the inheritance. But you’re already my woman, with or without anything. You’re mine.”

***

One night he comes home late, his breath heavy with alcohol. He drags me to the edge of the bed, tears off my panties, and takes me with a new roughness, almost desperation. He fucks me sideways, with one of my legs up over his shoulder, thrusting so deep I feel the tip pounding far inside me. When he finishes and fills me once more, he sits on the edge of the mattress and his face changes. There’s no anger now, only drunken confusion.

“Daniela… I have to tell you something. I have a girlfriend. Carmen. I was planning to marry her.”

The words hit me harder than any thrust.

“Tonight I went to see her,” he continues, rubbing his face. “I wanted to say goodbye. But I couldn’t. I could only think about you. About how you give me everything.”

I’m Daniela now. His woman. Doesn’t he really see it?

“I don’t know what to do,” he murmurs. “If you leave again, I’ll be alone. But I want you.”

He gets up unsteadily and goes to sleep in the other room, leaving me alone in bed, his semen dripping between my thighs. I don’t sleep a wink. At dawn I go to look for him. He’s awake, hungover and full of guilt.

“Listen to me,” I say. “Let’s sell everything. The house, the workshop, the inheritance. With both of us together we can go to Valencia, or to another country, somewhere no one knows us. Somewhere no one knows we’re brothers. We’ll live as husband and wife.”

He looks at me, surprised.

“And if I want real women too?”

It hurts, but I smile through the pain.

“You can have them. I’m willing to share you. Bring them, fuck them in front of me if you want. Maybe I’ll even join in. But I’ll be your woman. Your main one.”

He stays quiet for a moment and then pulls me to him.

“You’re perfect, Daniela.”

That morning he takes me slowly, with a tenderness I never knew him capable of, kissing my dried tears like a promise while he fills my ass for the umpteenth time.

***

We sell the house quickly and the workshop a little more slowly. Once everything is added up, it’s enough to dream big. We choose Valencia: a penthouse in the center, with a terrace and views of the old rooftops, and more than enough space to scream without anyone hearing us.

We arrive in spring. I’ve already legally changed my name: Daniela, in full. The first few months are a constant honeymoon. We wake up loving each other, we cook loving each other, he takes me against the terrace windows while the city wakes below, with my tits crushed against the cold glass and people passing in the street below, unaware that up here his brother is blowing out my ass in broad daylight.

But Mauricio’s desire still hungers for more. One night, while he’s stroking my cock on the sofa, he confesses it in my ear.

“I want to see you with a woman, baby. I want us to be three. I want to watch you eat another girl’s pussy while I fuck you.”

I come just from hearing it, splashing his hand.

The first one we bring home is called Renata: brunette, generously curved, with an expert mouth. We meet her in a downtown bar and invite her that same night. The scene is perfect. I’m wearing red lace; Mauricio tears Renata’s dress off as soon as the door closes and leaves her in nothing but a tiny thong. The three of us kiss, tongues mixing, while he watches from the sofa with his cock out, slowly wanking it.

Renata kneels me, pulls down my panties, and discovers my hard cock. She doesn’t look surprised; she smiles. She takes it all into her mouth and sucks me while I bite her nipples. Then she takes me to the sofa, straddles Mauricio, and spears herself on his cock in one go. I get behind her and eat her ass while my brother destroys her pussy from below. She screams and writhes between the two of us.

Then Mauricio puts me on all fours on the rug, spreads my ass cheeks and drives into me to the hilt, and I bury my face between Renata’s legs, where she’s stretched out on her back in front of me. I lick her soaked cunt, suck her swollen clit, slide two fingers into her and move them. She moans, grabs my hair, rides my face. Her taste is sweet, pure woman, mixed with my brother’s cum still inside her. I suck everything up, swallow it, give it back to her with my tongue deep inside.

Mauricio pounds my ass faster and faster, shaking me to the core. I come without touching my cock, just from my ass, just from the smell of Renata’s cunt in my mouth, and my cum falls over her belly. She comes screaming into my face and soaks me. Mauricio comes last, inside me, filling me until I overflow. The three of us end up in bed, sweaty, tangled, with cum and saliva everywhere, and Renata leaves at dawn with a kiss and the promise to come back.

After her come others: blondes, redheads, a couple who teaches us new games with harnesses and double dildos. One night Mauricio puts a strap-on on me and lets me fuck a girl while he fucks me from behind; it feels like a train and I scream so much the neighbors bang on the wall. Every time I become more of a woman for him, more wife, more desired.

***

A year later I live as Daniela full-time. I’ve had breast surgery: now they’re big, round, perfect. When I wake from the operation, Mauricio is there, holding my hand and kissing my forehead.

“My perfect woman,” he whispers.

Bianca becomes our regular. She’s fascinated by my body, that mixture of what I am, and she loves sucking my cock while Mauricio puts it in my ass. One night, the three of us exhausted, she whispers in my ear with my cum still at the corner of her lips:

“You’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever seen. Your husband is lucky.”

Mauricio hears it, smiles with pride, and kisses me hard, tongue and all, knowing he’s the king of the penthouse.

He sets only one limit, and he sets it exactly where he wants. He lets me get breast surgery, but forbids me to touch what’s between my legs.

“You’re never taking it off,” he tells me one night, stroking it slowly, squeezing it in his fist until it hardens between his fingers. “I love seeing you like this. Half woman, half mine. It drives me crazy playing with all of you. I love it when it gets hard when I put it in your ass, when you come without me touching you, when you soak the sheets with cum.”

And I accept, because he’s the one in charge and because obeying him turns me on.

***

The years pass. We keep living as husband and wife in a penthouse full of mirrors and memories. I model lingerie, I earn my own money, men and women desire me. But I always come home to him. I always kneel at his feet as soon as the door closes and pull his cock out of his pants to suck it before I even greet him.

One winter night, after dinner on the terrace, he carries me to bed in his arms. He undresses me slowly, kissing every inch of this body he helped shape. He licks my operated breasts, goes down my stomach, sucks me off like few times before, taking me all the way into his mouth until I’m fully hard between his lips. Then he opens my legs, lifts my hips, spits into his hand, and sinks into my ass like he owns the place.

“I love you, Daniela. My sister. My wife. Never change this,” he whispers while he drives into me with a slow, deep, impossibly deep rhythm.

He jerks my cock in the same beat, squeezing it in his fist, pulling the foreskin back until pleasure hurts. I come first, trembling all over, splashing my belly and my new tits. He follows, moaning my name, buried to the hilt, and I feel his hot cum flooding me once more from the inside. We stay wrapped in each other, sweaty and happy, with his cock still inside, softening slowly in my full ass.

Sometimes, in the long silences, a distant melancholy catches up with us: the echo of a life that might have been normal, of parents who never knew, of a world that might not fully accept us. But we know this is ours. This is real. This is forever.

Because as long as he wants me whole —my body, my submission, my love, my ass open for him every night— I will be his and he will be mine. Husband and wife. Brother and sister. And in the intimacy of our bed, no one else matters.