Steve woke up with a mallet in his hand and a foul dream still in his head. George was in the corner and his eyes were still quite heavy, so he didn't stir from where he lay. The sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon to shine through a small window as Steve got out of bed and stood over his younger brother. His titanium-alloy cock was already starting to swell. He hesitated for a time, savoring the moment. The calm before the storm. Then, he swung the mallet down on George's head.
With a clicking and a whirring, George kicked back to life. His horridly twisted circuit boards burned as they struggled to run the wretched automaton. His limbs twitched and shivered until George was in a standing position. What god would create such a wretched being?
George's first act upon waking up was to start fondling his chode like the socially-unaware waste of space he is. Steve felt a pleasurable mix of pity and hatred as he looked at this sorrowful display. He converted this raw emotional response into sexual energy. He slapped George's hand away from his withered flower. He pretended to swing the mallet at George's testicles, stopping just before impact. His brother cringe in response. What a coward.
Steve smirked as he wrapped his hands around George's member. He slowly stroked, feeling every contour of the phallus. How pathetic. It was small, that's the only way to describe it. Next he grabbed his own dongulus. It was large, surging with life. Thick veins ran along its length, just underneath the surface. Through them ran a potent mixture of liquid crystal and nanobots. It was clear who had the superior instrument of penetration.
George confusedly watched Steve masturbate. He was vaguely hungry, having not had breakfast yet. His brain was always quite slow, but he especially had trouble remembering things in the morning. But eventually he remembered what this meant. "fuck fuck ahh shit no please out I am now" he vomited as he tried to leave. Steve grabbed him by the ass and dragged him into bed.
George tried to fight it, but Steve was too strong. "Time for bed, George." He threw the retard onto the mattress and pounced on him. He slammed the mallet as hard as he could into George's prostate. The idiot writhed in pain as Steve grinned sadistically. He would make this abomination suffer. And the best path to suffering was the merging of pleasure and pain. To rape the mind until good was bad and bad was good, to cause all sensation to take on warped meaning. Is this not what it means to send someone to hell?
Steve continued to grind the mallet further up George's anus, twisting its irregular shape against the walls of the unholy chasm. As he did this, he delicately jacked off his brother's cock. His fingers slowly meandered their way up and down the shaft. They teased, they danced, they discovered the paths to ecstasy. All the while the mallet forced its way deeper into George's bloodied intestine.
George started hyperventilating. As intense as the pain was, his arousal was undeniable. The two started melding in his addled mind. As the minutes turned into hours, George started having trouble distinguishing the two. He came again and again, filled with fear and pain and the constant fog that filled his skull.
The sun rose in the sky, and started sinking towards the horizon again. When it was almost halfway down, Steve adopted a different plan of attack. He swiftly tied a blood, cum, and shit-stained George down to the bed with some ropes he had prepared ahead of time. However, restraints were probably unnecessary; George was lost in a cocktail of shock and orgasm. He couldn't leave the bed if he tried.
Steve left the room and made his way to his secret lab, where he received his most sacred visions and constructed his deepest philosophies. He walked up to a tank of water by the wall and extracted one of his most prized possessions: Ol' Salty, a 65 pound lobster. Robot and animal embraced each other; Steve kissed Salty's antennae while the crustacean crackled affectionately. They were going to share a lovely moment together.
Steve walked back to the bedroom while Ol' Salty followed. When the leviathan saw George's slender form on the bed with a mallet still protruding from his gaping asshole, it clicked in excitement. Steve lifted the titan onto the bed and it ran directly where it belonged: into George's welcoming poopie chamber.
Salty spun around inside George and felt around the space with its antennae. Once the behemoth was comfortable with its surroundings, it started feeding. It ate away at George's rich bio-engineered anal cavity with its rather unnerving mouth and tore at the walls with mighty pincers while Steve licked George's nipples and tapped his balls repeatedly with the bloody mallet. George, still conscious, was on the brink of insanity. Chewing, pinching, licking, pounding. George felt it was all far too much. Steve did not.
As George tried to beg for mercy through his orgasmic moans, Steve produced a bronze casting of his brother's cock. How he acquired this casting is a mystery. Without further ado, Steve jammed the casting up George's urethra. It thrust in and out, probing, tearing open the peehole. "Look on the bright side," said the older brother. "If you ever get kidney stones they'll just fall right out." When Steve decided that George's chode was torn open wide enough, he replaced it with his own dong. His fat, 9.5 inch, veiny dong. A monument to power and subjugation, a union of wisdom and carnal energy. It was at least 3 times larger than George's own, in terms of both length and girth. It seemed at first as if it wouldn't fit, but then Steve shoved it in with hydraulic force. All the while Ol' Salty was still dining on protein-rich intestinal lining with the odd chunk of feces. George squirmed and his servos whined as he weakly fought against the restraints. Finally, his system was overloaded just as the sun dipped below the horizon. His system enacted a forced shutdown and he went limp.
Steve went perfectly still, then slowly drew his cock out from George's ruined shaft. "I still haven't cum," he lamented. "Oh well, there's always tomorrow." And with that he dragged George back into the corner, stowed the ropes and bronze dildo, changed the bed sheets, and carried Salty back to his tank while singing a lullaby. The last thing Steve did before crawling back into his bed was clean off the mallet. He smiled as he enacted his sleep protocol. Tomorrow was another day.
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