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As Hitchcock entered his home, he could immediately feel that something was wrong with the atmosphere. He stood there, having just hung his coat on the weathered stand by the door, quietly listening. But there was nothing to be heard, nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary to the tyrannosaurus rex, whose soft breathing and awkward swallow punctuated the self-imposed silence. The dinosaur was a male of huge stature, muscled through every inch and standing well over seven foot. Though he may have put on a few pounds of chubbiness here or there during his early fatherhood years, since his divorce he had pushed himself to get back into shape, and a single glance from any stranger would have told you that this man was a true specimen to the name, an alpha, a beast, someone that ought not be messed with. His cold, golden eyes were piercing, the rows of snarling teeth gleaming, the iridescent hues of his navy scales striped with bloodied crimson markings. It seemed that nothing would be capable of stopping him were to go on a rampage.

Yet Hitchcock was afraid.

One crushing footpaw after another, he mounted the stairs and as delicately as possible ascended into the looming silence. Every creak he made, each rustle of his clothes, the clink of metal hidden underneath made him cringe and wince. He did his best to remain stealthy, but for a man of his size that was practically impossible in literally every sense.

The assortment of doors available to him leading to whichever room were all closed, all except one. His bedroom door remained ajar, just a crack, but enough to reveal a spill of soft light creeping round the frame as if goading him to come in. He had not left it open when he had gone to work this morning, and most certainly his sons had no business going into that private sanctuary of his. So further he approached, crossing the landing with fear in every step, until he was able to reach out one arm, place his palm against the door's face, and press in in apprehension.

Upon the large king's size bed Hitchcock was greeted by the sight of his younger brother, Quentin, sprawled lazily across the sheets. If the presence of his sibling alone wasn't enough to startle the elder dinosaur, then it was the stark image of the younger naked before him, one arm propped behind his neck upon the headboard to serve as a pillow, his other paw grasping his monstrous erection with languid strokes. Hitchcock froze in place as he stared at his younger brother, lost for words, unable to even move or utter a syllable as his mind processed the display before him. His markings were none too dissimilar to his brother's, only lighter hues of red and paired with striking orange as if to accentuate each stripe along his build. They matched in blue however, but Quentin held a slyer look than thuggish, his eyes seeming to almost become accusing rather than assertive. Quentin was the same size as his brother, only a year younger, as the two had always fought to see who could be the bigger of the two racing through puberty. Quentin however had remained single despite them both being in their late forties, as the dinosaur wasn't in a position to marry the right man for him, as he often joked.

After all, you couldn't marry your own brother.

"'Bout time you got home," he declared casually, "I should punish you for being so tardy."

"I'm sorry, Master Quentin. I got stuck in traf-"

"I didn't ask for excuses." It seemed his brother was not in the best of moods. Either that or his impatience for his elder had worn away at his usual cunning demeanour. "Strip."

Without missing a beat, fearful for further reprimand and to avoid antagonising his brother even more, Hitchcock began undressing, ripping away his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, unclasping his belt buckle. He hadn't been expecting Quentin to be waiting for him, he must have ditched work early and let himself in with his key, but then it wasn't for Hitchcock to know the details. He threw his clothes into a heap upon the floor by the bedroom door and stood there proudly, uncomfortably, as he matched his brother in the nude. His gut held perhaps a touch more weight than he would have liked, nothing like Quentin's abs, but he still held the appearance of beefy. Smooth, supple scales intersected to form the tough hide all across his body, gleaming in the half-light streaming through the blinds, but the light caught upon his crotch. Perched between his legs, at the very top of his thighs, was the cage he had worn and known from the moment his last child had been born. It was the very cage that had been forced upon him into chastity, and he had long since forgotten how many years it had been since he had touched his own cock. His balls, swollen and forever on edge, were tight underneath the steel tube that encapsulated his soft dick, a thin slit cut in the end for his own convenience, and a discreet padlock whose keys were never in his possession.

"Don't just stand there," Quentin said as he lifted himself up from his recline, "Come here."

Closer to his brother, Hitchcock began to notice absent details that he had overlooked before, like the vibrant neon blue of the medical gloves snug around his brother's paws, his bedside table already plundered for his lube, and a large bath towel had been draped across his bed undoubtedly to serve as a barrier from the mess he was sure Quentin planned to make. A pair of snapping fingers directed him onto the bed, and warily Hitchcock clambered onto the mattress, crawling upon all fours as he approached his brother.

A paw reached out and held his chin as if inspecting him, and Quentin stared down his elder brother's snout with slyness returning to his gaze,

"There's a good boy, but you know what I want..." His lips curled in a smirk, "Turn around."

Lumbering slowly, Hitchcock pulled his weight around and presented his brother with his fat rump. Like the rest of him, it too was thickly muscled with just a hint of fat on it, so that each cheek was plump, hardened, but rippled when Quentin smacked the flat of his palm playfully against his brother's ass. He groped the two globes between his fingers, his cock throbbing between his legs as he molested his older brother, the shiny cage perked between his swollen thighs, balls tight against his taint, and his rump ripe for abuse. The dinosaur prised apart the cheeks and revealed the last dirty secret Hitchcock had hidden away that nailed his reputation as a slutty, submissive man-whore.

Sitting between the two cheeks, flush with the musky valley of his ass, was the small glimpse of something black. A handle, or so it seemed, to something that sat inside the dinosaur's guts. Quentin wasted no time in picking his fingers around the protruding object and twisting, pulling backwards, and sniggered as he watched the brighter pink of Hitchcock's rim pull back with it, bulging obscenely until it birthed the rest of the hidden toy. It popped with a lewd fart of stale air, Hitchcock grunting in discomfort as his ass was re-stretched in the wrong way, and his brother gave him no remorse as he extracted the fat plug that had been sitting in his ass all day, just like it always did every day whenever Hitchcock wasn't serving his brother with his holes. To call it a plug however would be an understatement, as Quentin kept pulling and pulling, revealing more and more of the long, bloated girth of the toy that bordered almost comically as a dildo, until finally its blunt, rounded head slipped free from Hitchcock's stretched hole, his rim slack and stretched as he was emptied of the goliath mass. The older brother hunched on his elbows, panting hard and sucking in air as he squirmed, now painfully hollow and exhausted, but still very much presenting his ruined rump up for Quentin's pleasure.

The dildo-plug was tossed aside onto the bed, right next to Hitchcock, and he could see just how large it had been. Any other person would have quailed at its size, but the dinosaur's beastly build offered him the perks of being a bottomless pit where his guts seemingly had no end, something his brother merciless pushed and explored the limits of every chance he could get. The toy was as thick as one of his own legs, knowing he would never be able to close both paws around it and be able to touch fingertips, and it was as long as a forearm, if not longer. Every day he could feel its inches inside him, and by now it was second nature to him, needing to feel it squatting inside him, pushing on his stomach, impaled in his guts, just to feel next to normal - whatever normal was anymore for him.

"Such a loose bitch," Quentin chuckled as his paws smacked the gaping hole of his brother's beyond wrecked asshole, which hung in a permanent state of slackness, "Can't even call you a man anymore, with a pussy like this." Hitchcock squirmed as his brother slapped around his hole, but never once shying away from those abusing paws. "Bet you just want to be full, don't you?"

"Yes Master!"

"Don't worry, your brother'll take good care of you."

Hitchcock felt lukewarm slime pour across his backside, silky and slick as it cascaded across his cheeks. Lube, thick and ceaseless, slathered his hole before Quentin stuffed its nozzle between his lips and squeezed, depositing a hefty slurry directly into his guts. He barely felt it going in, and coming out was even easier, the lube lining every inch of him inside and out until was a slippery, shiny mess. When Quentin balled up his fists and pressed his knuckles up against his brother's hole, there was only a hint of resistance as the dinosaur's body yielded near immediately, swallowing those paws as they punched into his guts.

He let loose a fevered groan as fists entered his ass, one after the other, only replaced when the first had been torn back. Quentin was an expert with his paws, practiced and seasoned after years of abusing his older brother's ass, and within minutes he had him grabbing at the bed sheets and throwing his head back as he punch-fucked his hole into oblivion. His arms powered like pistons, pumping back and forth through Hitchcock's blown ass, soon the sloppy sounds of his fists shoving in and out filled the room with their sickly chorus. Unable to cum, unable to even muster an erection as his cock strained at the cold cage around him, the older dinosaur could do nothing but take what pleasure he could as it felt like his prostate was the target of a punching bag, to which his brother hit with keen precision and speed, never once letting up for a minute as he drove his paws into his guts.

Punching however was not all that Quentin was skilled at, and either when he seemed to grow tired of pummelling his brother's hole, he slid into a more relaxed, casual speed as he took one paw and pushed it deeper. Hitchcock's hole greedily gulped and ate his brother's forearm as it was fed into him, undulating fingers probing through his stretched, experienced guts to find their path through his colon. Deeper he went, making the older tyrannosaurus writhe in exquisite intensity as he felt Quentin's elbow slide past his rim and begin the descent of his bicep, guiding his arm ever further into the hot, musky depths of his ass, until Hitchcock swore his brother was down to the shoulder and gnawing at his cheeks were hungry teeth.

A sound clattered from beyond the room, echoing through an empty house and into the bedroom. Hitchcock recognised it instantly, his front door being unlocked, opened, and effectively closed as someone entered his home. He froze where he was, struggling to hold back the whimpered grunts that Quentin milked from his guts, shoulder-deep in his ass as he slurped and rotated his arm, pushing and pulling at his deepest folds to put Hitchcock on edge.

"S-stop, please!" The bigger dinosaur pleaded, voice softened to a stuttering hush, as his eyes stared fearful out of the wide open door, "I think Travis is home!"

"So?"

Quentin refused. His arm was still sunk deep into Hitchcock's rump, and he didn't dare move or pull away from his younger brother for fear of invoking some wrath on his part. A cold chill ran through his body as he heard a heavy footfall climb the stairs, and his stomach dropped - as best it could, with Quentin buried deep inside - as he saw his youngest son step onto the landing, sporting his letterman jacket and sports duffel slung on one shoulder, as he looked across to the open doorway.

Travis, much like his brother Vincent, looked more like their mother, sharing her markings of cracked, speckled segments, Travis taking on crimson whilst Vincent took marsh green. Their hide however was most similar to their father's, who now upon all fours was petrified, staring right back at his son whilst his uncle destroyed his dad's ass in the most gruesome way imaginable. Their gaze met, for long, wrenching seconds, as nothing happened.

Finally though, Travis spoke up,

"Fuck, Uncle Quentin, you started without me?"

"I'd watch your language, boy," Quentin cut back, with just a hint of joviality in his tone, "Or you'll end up like your father here."

"Sorry sir."

"The night's still young, you want to join?" Travis gave a shrug of his shoulders, indifferent to the horror that should have had him repulsed at the mere sight,

"Wish I could, but Kurt wants me round his later." His younger approached the room, strutting up towards the end of the bed where his father leaned over, too afraid to look up and meet his son's smug face, "Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun... Ivan wanted me to pass something on to Dad."

Ivan... That was their stepfather, the man their mother had remarried to when the divorce was finally ratified. He struck everyone as a gentle giant of a draft, but like with anything in the Monroe family, appearances could be deceiving...

With a mixed reaction of revulsion and horror, Hitchcock flinched as Travis dropped his pants to reveal a pungent, well-used jock, turned on the spot, and thrust his backside into his dad's face. The implication was clear, but as his son leaned back further onto his muzzle, Hitchcock was smothered in the sweaty, musky depths of his own flesh and blood's tight, bubbled backside.

"Get eating."

It didn't matter who the order came from, as Hitchcock immediately got to work on the command, knowing his place. His pushed his tongue through his son's hot depths and slurped at the freshly fucked hole; cum spilled out onto his tongue, remnants of a load that must have been stewing in his son's guts for some time. It was warm, sickly, and it slathered down Hitchcock's tongue as he got to work gulping back the seed. It was a horse's load, Ivan must have again gotten blue-balled thanks to his ex-wife's almost habitual frigidity. Grunting in dark shame, Hitchcock ate the horse's load from his son's ass with greed, ass still swollen and full with his brother's arms, as he began to steadily build speed again, driving his full arm in and out of his wrecked hole, from shoulder to wrist.

Just another day at the Monroe household...