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He'd always been capable, confident. Always doing chores for you, saying "Here, let me." He always takes charge, shows off his strength, learns every manual labour task under the Sun so you have someone to do it for you.
You sometimes made a joke of it, to Caleb's face too. Told him it'd be funny if you swapped places for a day —he can lounge around looking pretty while you wait on him hand, foot, and finger. To let him not be the man, even just for a moment.
You sit watching him work out, perched on the bench in the home gym as he alternates one handed press-ups. It's impressive, his strength. The muscles under his shirt ripple, the taut strings in his wrists and forearms thrumming with each upwards push to make for flawless jar opening before you ever even open your mouth to ask for his help. He always just steps in, ready to be the man.
"Tired yet?" You ask sweetly, tilting your head to watch him as he sits back on his knees.
He huffs a laugh, "What? You bored?" He stands and saunters over to you, reaching for his water bottle that sits next to you on the bench. He pours some in his mouth.
It drips down his chin, creating a path over his adams apple and down the neckline of his white compression shirt. You stare shamelessly, trying to locate where the path of residual water ends and his sweat begins. He sets the bottle down.
"Just one more exercise then I'm done, alright?" Caleb ruffles your hair for a moment before pinching your cheek, and an unexpected wave of humiliation and annoyance comes over you. You aren't always like this —most days the gesture is endearing. But there's something in it, something condescending and paternal: like he's asserting his dominance in your roles. You don't like it.
Caleb wraps his hands around the pull-up bar and gets comfortable before beginning, tucking one foot behind the other and raising his chin over the bar. You stand, walking around the equipment to find yourself in front of him. With disgrace to your subtlety, your eyes track on his chest, and you tell yourself you're just focusing on way he engages his muscles.
His chest tenses with each rep, swelling to push him harder. You can't look away.
"You know, you could probably wear a bra with the size of them."
Caleb keeps up his reps but chuckles. "Yeah? How big do you think?"
"Mm... probably a B cup, maybe C. 36B. We'll get you measured."
Looking at his face, you catch his eye roll. "Alright, pips."
"I'm serious. For curiosity sakes, at least."
He pauses at the bottom for a moment, readjusting his grip before the twelfth rep. "I know, sweetheart."
That irrational irritation comes back, uncharacteristic but earnest. Sweetheart.
"You laughing at me? Hm?"
He falters, dropping his grip from the bar and looking down at you, confused yet still amused. He says nothing.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
You step closer. "Like a smug little bitch. You think you're so pretty, and you can do and say whatever you want?"
Caleb's smirk falls away, replaced by genuine confusion now. "Wh.. what?"
"How about I laugh at you? Would you like that? What's so funny about cup sizes? You work so hard for those tits but can't face talking about them?"
Caleb says nothing, his lip opening and closing but finding nothing to say.
"Come with me." Your anger flares and you can't seem to dampen it, and a part of you doesn't even want to. Your hand locks around his wrist, the circumference of your fingers not quite long enough to fit, so you squeeze painfully tighter to make it close. Dragging him out the gym, taking advantage of his stupor and uncertainty, you march him to the bedroom.
You push him, and he lands hard on the bed, hands scrambling behind him to sit upright. "Pipsq-"
"Shut up. Sit there and stay fucking quiet."
You keep digging through the drawers, finding a red lacy matching set and some garters and suspenders. You set them aside out of his view, walking over over with the bra.
"Ahh, this'll do just nicely." You put your hand in the centre of his chest, pushing him to lay. He does so with resistance, but stops you from taking off his shirt. You huff, "Oh? What happened to indulging my every whim? Doing whatever pleases me? Doesn't that extend to all cases? Now, take. It. Off."
You can physically see Caleb's adams apple bob as he swallows, hands frozen a moment before he reluctantly strips off his sweat soaked shirt.
"Atta boy," you say with a smirk, reaching around his back and feeling greatly satisfied when the bra reaches all the way. It's tight, but that surprisingly only fuels the erotic look of him. "Or should I say 'atta girl?' Squeezed into a little bra like that just for me, baby? Oh, just look at these," you grab his chest and push it up to make cleavage, "such a pretty princess for me with your perky tits all on display."
"Pipsqueak, I don't kno-"
You slap him clean across the cheek. "I said shut up, didn't I? How bout you listen to me for once?"
All he can do is nod as a pink hand print begins to bloom.
You turn back around and grab the panties, garters, and suspenders. "Shorts." You make a downwards gesture, signaling for them to come off. He obeys.
You grab the shorts as he hands them to you, and can't help the grin that splits your face when he takes off his boxers without even being told. A thought comes over you just as you're about to put the panties on for him.
You toss the tiny scraps of lace into his lap. "Put them on yourself."
His mouth pops open, and now the hand print is indistinguishable from the blush. Caleb clutches the fabric and lets it fall open so he can get a good look. "I don't think this is gonna fit."
"Make it fit. And stop stalling, I wanna see it."
Caleb stands, feeling shy and clutching his hands in front of himself for a moment before stepping into the red panties. He's right, they don't really fit. What he failed to consider was that that was the goal. You make a swirling motion with your finger and he turns, and to your pleasure the fabric has nowhere else to go except between his ass cheeks. The smooth, round muscles on full display like he's some early 2000s playboy model.
"Garters." You command, and he dutifully picks them up from the bed and steps into them, adjusting them on his thighs. They hug him tightly, creating a dip where they dig in, the edges of the fabric rolling slightly.
"Turn. Let me do the suspenders myself." He does, but you don't miss the hesitation and way he cups himself. "You know, if you keep up like that I'm going to consider handcuffing them behind your back." Caleb honest to God whines before removing his modesty. You smile, happy for lack of fight and how resigned he's becoming. You clip the suspenders, keeping his garters up and stopping the rolling of the seams.
You push him back down to sitting, and lean forward to his ear. "You're going to turn around and lay on your stomach. Don't look around, and don't make a sound. Alright?" He nods. "Good girl." You pat his cheek.
Stepping away but keeping your eye on him, you walk towards the closet where you keep your box of toys. You look over your shoulder once more, a shiver running through you upon finding him doing exactly as he's been told.
With what you need, you very slowly walk over, securing the strap around yourself. When you get closer, you notice Caleb is genuinely shaking. Adrenaline from pleasure or fear, you're unsure. Perhaps it's both, or another thing entirely.
You spend some time gently stroking his perfectly muscular cheeks, the initial contact making him jump. "You'd do anything to make me happy, right, gege?"
He nods immediately, his breath heavy.
"And you wouldn't say no, no matter what it is?"
Again, he nods.
"Good. Let's see you keep to that."
Hooking your finger under the fabric at the bottom of his spine, you move his panties aside. Gently your fingers go between his ass cheeks, and your foot shoves his legs apart.
"Wait-" you hear him gasp as he realises what's happening, and just as he begins to turn his head, your grab his neck roughly and pin his face down.
"Keep to your promises, baby." You mutter to him, the words coming out more forcefully and less soothing than you hoped. Still, your hand remains like a vice on the back of his head and your other gathers up saliva on your fingers.
Your fingers come back to his hole, drawing circles around it before gently pushing the tip of your index finger in.
"Shh, shh, shh. Relax, babygirl." Very slowly, he begins to do so, but the violent tremors that go through him aren't without notice. Carefully, you release the grip on his head and trail your palm down his back, rubbing circles as you push down to your second knuckle.
"Please..." Caleb whimpers, trailing off.
"'Please' what? What are you 'please'ing for?"
"I don't..." he starts, "I don't want this."
"I know, but, baby, you said you'd do anything for me." You put on a dramatically pouty voice, playing into your role of his baby sister for just a moment. He's backed into a corner, and you both know it. It's his job to be there for you however you need it, and he's not about to prove himself a liar.
He stays quiet for a moment, clearly torn between keeping his dignity and making his girl happy. "Just," he swallows thickly, words caught in his throat as be presses his forehead into the mattress, "be gentle."
With a sadistic smile, you finally slip into him all the way to your bottom knuckle, hooking your finger to stretch him out. "Hmmm... we'll see."
You work another finger inside, pumping them in and out slowly as you try to get them both all the way inside with ease. He eventually loosens up, not complaining further than a whine or grunts every time you press harder than necessary on his g-spot.
Your fingers pull out with a slight pop, his hole twitching as it gravitates closed again. You don't give it much reprieve as you lube your strap with spit and force it inside. Caleb's feet buck off the floor, and he shakily cries out while his hands fist the sheets.
"Stop-" he begs but stops himself early, dropping his head again as he moans out expletives to help him cope through it.
Your hips jerk forward deeper, and you have to brace your hand on his lower back to stop yourself loosing your momentum.
"God, baby, you look so pretty like this." You snap the panties against his ass, then slip your fingers into the waistband like they're a handle you can use for leverage. Leaning back, you thrust deeper into him in steady increments until he takes the whole thing. "Such a pretty girl."
He endures, just clutching the bedsheets with white knuckles as he tries to control his breathing.
"You're being such a slut for me. That's it, just keep breathing. It'll all be over before you know it, and by then you'll regret ever asking me to stop." You can't help letting out a low moan every time your pelvis bumps into his ass, the minor friction giving you all it's worth.
Caleb starts to grind into the bed, matching your thrust as he rubs himself into rough material of the lingerie. With each thrust, it tugs at the bra on his chest, slipping down and revealing the red marks that had been marinating under the wire. You can see a section at his side has actually broken skin.
"I'm close-" He whimpers, "I'm really fucking close." His hips get erratic, everything in him shaking as he forces his cock into the bed and fucks back into the silicone.
"Oh, fuck, you make for such a good girl, Caleb." You loosen your hold on the waistband, rubbing up his spine. "I'm so proud of you."
You know the exact moment he comes —his thrusts pause for only a moment before he wriggles on the bed, feet digging in to the carpet as he clamps down on your strap. The sight is so erotic that a psychosomatic tension builds in your stomach and heightens with each stroke.
"I'm almost there too, baby." You keep forcing yourself into him, deeper and deeper and going harder in your sporadic state of chasing the best high of your life. He cries, unintelligible as his hands kick and scratch at the sheets. You pin him down, needing this, craving this power deeply, uncaring for what you're doing to him in this moment. Is this how he feels every other time you fuck? Is this the sort of power he gets? No wonder he acts the way he does, reaping every drop of respect and advantage he can get. Its intoxicating, seeing Caleb bent over and humiliated, earning back everything he's taken in being a man.
Just as he says, "It's too much," You rutt quickly against him as the pulse of orgasm almost takes you out from your knees. You shamelessly drag out your own high, in your own world even as he cries out for you to stop. Finally, you do —reluctantly removing yourself as saliva, natural lubricant, and a small amount of blood coat the strap-on.
Caleb fully falls on the bed, breathing hard as he tries to cease his sobbing. You grab the desk chair behind you to your right and sit down, shaky hands rubbing your exhausted, twitchy thighs for a moment before you look back up at him. You whistle for his attention and give him the time he needs to push up on his hands and move out of where he coated the bed is cum.
"Come here and lick me clean." You coax as you pat your lap, and he wipes he's nose before dropping to his knees and crawling to you.