If Ashley had seen my face when I found the piece of paper, I bet it would have filled up her entire ‘need to be acknowledged’ bar and then some.
Obviously I didn’t know what I looked like, but I can tell you the emotions that were running through my head. Shock. Lust.
It was working.
I mean, I knew it was working. I knew that my actions had been having some pretty strong effects. My sister hadn’t just randomly started stripping, or abruptly become a camgirl for no reason. If I hadn’t discovered the filing cabinets, there was a zero percent change that Ashley would have allowed me to hold a camera inches from her wet pussy as she loudly came, again and again and again.
But thus far, everything I’d done had just changed her actions.
In front of me was the most tangible piece of evidence yet that I was changing her desires. Rewriting her mind.
I hadn’t manually added ‘Exposure to Jacob’ as a priority in my sister’s life. She’d generated it herself.
Exposing herself to me was now something that she prioritized.
My face was glowing with excitement as I slowly closed her cabinet drawer.
In that moment, I knew for a fact: there was nothing I couldn’t do. Nothing.
My sister would be mine.
The next morning, my sister approached me wearing one of her camgirl costumes. A tight-fitting crop top which left her shoulders bare. The fabric hung loosely off her breasts, drawing the eye to her exposed navel. If you looked closely, you could see her nipples poking through the thin fabric.
Below the waist, she was wearing a pair of jean shorts that allowed a generous view of her under-buttock. I’d seen my sister naked, countless times; I’d watched her achieve orgasm by her own fingers and fuck herself with a toy until she shivered with pleasure. I’d seen her fulfill a viewer’s request and spread her cheeks, exposing her asshole to me. To him. To the world.
I’d spent so much time observing the most intimate parts of my sister, I could have picked them out of a lineup. But seeing her in that outfit…god. It still did things to me.
Even though I’d affected my parent’s priorities, the outfit was slutty enough that I bet they still would have said something at the sight of it.
I don’t think I’d ever seen something so hot in my life. And she was wearing it for me. She had put this outfit on specifically to get my attention.
Six months ago, my sister wouldn’t have worn something this provocative if I’d offered her a million dollars. Now, she was doing it in a desperate attempt to get my attention.
The moment I saw it, I was hard as a rock.
“What’s up?” I rasped, immediately wishing I’d swallowed before talking. My sister blushed at the sound of my voice.
“Hey,” she said, an unexpected shyness to her voice. “Um…”
I kept silent, not trusting my voice to hide my arousal. The pause stretched on long enough to get awkward, but Ashley didn’t break it.
Avoiding awkwardness around me was no longer a priority, after all.
“It feels like it’s been a year since I performed,” she finally said. It hadn’t even been two weeks. “I’m worried I’m starting to get a little rusty.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, feigning disinterest. Not particularly well, but enough—I suspect—to fool my overly-needy sister.
She needed to expose herself to me. It was, for the first time in her life, a priority.
And here’s the thing:
I hadn’t moved the paper.
I could have. I could have made it more vital than eating, than breathing. I could have made Ashley willing to run through the school naked, just for the chance of her brother seeing her tits.
But instead, I left it where it was. Exposing herself to me was now a priority in my sister’s life, and I knew she would act upon it.
Animals instinctively find food, shelter. We have sex out of a nature-driven imperative to further the species. We don’t question it; we do what we have to do.
And now, my sister had a similar need to reveal her body to me.
“If it’s not too much trouble…would you mind watching me, making sure I haven’t lost it? Your feedback has always been so helpful.”
My sister could strip off and do the Macarena, and I bet she’d still be a top-ranking model on the camsite. Before I’d started helping her out, her audience was already larger than some people who had been camming for years. Ashley’s body defies all reason. She’d transformed me into an incest-obsessed sisterphiliac, just by how fucking hot she is.
I didn’t tell her that, of course.
“Sure thing,” I grunted, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible. “If you think it’ll help.”
Her relief was palpable. I briefly wondered what would have happened if I’d refused—would the new piece of paper with my name on it have started slowly drifted upwards in her priorities? Would she have gotten more and more desperate, until she was begging me, pleading with me to watch her dance?
As far as Ashley was concerned, I was just her helpful brother. Sure, we jerked off in front of each other sometimes, but I’d worked hard to make sure that was a casual thing. From my sister’s point of view, I wasn’t attracted to her—I was just doing what I could to assist with her new career.
Y’know. Like any good sibling would.
She grabbed my hand and practically ran up the stairs, leading me into her room.
As she began her routine, my brain was racing. Was this it? Was this the turning point? What would happen if I pulled my cock out halfway through her routine? Her desire to be watched, to be acknowledged…was it strong enough that she’d accept my arousal unquestioningly?
It was tempting. It was so, so incredibly tempting.
But I knew it wasn’t worth the risk. Having sex with Ashley was my priority, not just jerking off to her. I’d ensured that I could do that any time I wanted.
If this was going to work, I needed to take things slowly.
And so for the next half-hour, I restrained myself. I didn’t jerk off, I didn’t allow my eyes to reveal my lust.
I just watched.
For all her enthusiasm, Ashley started off quite nervously. I guess dynamic of a sex show is different when it’s just one person than when it’s a crowd. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was pretending that I was an audience larger than one. Was she mentally performing for her fans, or did she knew that the show was just for me?
Although…in her time as a stripper, she’d done more than a few private dances. Performing for a single person wasn’t something she’d never done before.
Although those had often ended in sex. Or at least some pretty intense touching.
Was that why she was nervous? Was she remembering how ‘private dances’ had ended for her in the past? Was she remembering the first time she’d performed for someone, and broken all the clubs rules by fucking him?
Was Ashley starting to picture me the way I’d seen her for so long? No longer as just a sibling, but as an object of desire?
I couldn’t ask. And as useful as her filing cabinet was as a window into her mind, even it couldn’t tell me.
After some brief fumbling, Ashley performed a routine I’d seen her do so many times before on the camsite. She started with a slow dance, twirling around, her knees together. Her hips led the way as her hands ran up and down her body, playing with the edges of her crop top, teasing me (and her imaginary audience, perhaps) before pulling it off.
She paused expertly, right before exposing her nipples, just as I’d taught her. She lifted her top and gasped as her breasts fell into view. Was that part of the show, or was she excited to be revealing her heavy tits to me?
I’d seen them all before, but…this was different. My sister was stripping for me.
Just for me.
My sister twirled around, her thumbs hooked playfully under her G-string. I watched, making sure to keep a disinterested expression on my face, as she slowly began sliding down her shorts, spreading her legs. Arching her back and sticking her ass out towards me, Ashley teased her G-string off, building anticipation, just like she would with her viewers.
As her sopping wet underwear finally slipped down with a pleasing flick, revealing her freshly-shaved pussy, I couldn’t help myself.
It was quiet, and I cut myself off immediately. But my sister’s actions made it clear that she’d heard me, that my small sound of arousal had made its way to her ears.
Maybe if I hadn’t seen it happen so often, I wouldn’t have recognized the signs. It was clear that her reaction was instinctive, not performative; I suspect what happened took her completely by surprise, just as it did me.
Without touching herself, without saying a word, standing less than a foot away from her brother, halfway through her routine…Ashley came.
The small sound of my arousal was enough to trigger an orgasm in my sister, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening when I realized what was happening. Within a few short moments, my sister’s face turned from a deliberately sultry gaze to an expression of shock to a look of unbridled lust as she twitched and trembled in orgasm.
My sister, ever the performer, didn’t let it stop the show. Once her climax passed and her eyes refocused, she continued performing as though nothing had happened.
As though the sound of my pleasure hadn’t just made her cum.
I wanted to jerk off.
On every level one can ever want to jerk off, I wanted to jerk off.
The sight of my sister was really enough just by itself, even when she was fully clothed. But when she was naked, performing a one-woman sex show just for me…fuck.
Yeah, I wanted to jerk off.
But it was more than that, obviously. It was the knowledge that I’d done this, that I’d been the one who had shifted my sister’s priorities so thoroughly that stripping for me wasn’t even something I’d had to suggest. Ashley had come to me, desperate for me to watch her routine.
Desperate for my eyes on her body. Her scantily clad, increasingly nude body.
My sister wanted me to see her wet pussy, her huge, pendulous tits. She wanted my eyes to cloud over with lust as I stared at her, my incestuous desire obvious. She wanted me to want her.
That was what made me want to jerk off most of all. The idea that giving into my desires, pulling my cock out in front of my Ashley and stroking my hard meat might actually help.
I mean, my sister had just cum from the sound of me moaning with pleasure at the sight of her wet cunt.
Just one little moan had triggered an orgasm. She hadn’t even touched herself; she’d just spontaneously cum, purely at the sound of my pleasure.
What would happen if I pulled my dick out and started masturbating?
I wanted to know. I wanted so, so desperately to know. My desire for my sister had had made the relatively low position of ‘Curiosity’ in my filing cabinet irrelevant; I was suddenly overwhelmed with questions. It felt like insomnia always had, but in the middle of the day. A constant rush of questions that I knew I couldn’t ignore.
Would this be it? If I pulled my cock out and started jerking it, would Ashley be so turned on that she’d fuck her own brother? Would she be appalled, and leave the room?
Or would she just keep on performing, pretending that nothing was amiss?
It was the third option I craved the most, honestly. I mean, obviously I wanted to fuck my sister; that was what I’d been working towards for so long. But this felt wrong, like she’d be fucking me out of pure lust.
Again, don’t get me wrong; having Ashley fuck me because of lust would’ve been like mana from heaven. But, like heaven-mana, I knew it wouldn’t last. Either she’d have to feel that lust again each and every day, or she’d come to her senses and…
God, I didn’t even know what would happen. But no matter what, I knew it wouldn’t be good.
Not in the long term.
And so I restrained myself. My aching cock stayed in my pants, and I watched as dispassionately as I could as Ashley finished her routine. I didn’t moan, I didn’t jerk off—I played the part of the helpful brother, the uninterested observer.
For the next half hour, Ashley put everything she had into the show. She slid onto the bed and raised her butt up, showing off the wet pinkness that had just elicited a moan. She slapped her ass, rolled around on the bed and stuck her enormous tits out for my approval.
The hardest part (no pun intended) was when she pulled out her Hitachi. I’d seen her get off with the enormous vibrator more times than I could count, but there was something about knowing this performance was for me, that she was getting off (deliberately, this time) purely for my watching pleasure.
She wasn’t just masturbating to masturbate. This was a show for Jacob, a performance for her brother.
My sister was cumming specifically for me to see. And, unlike the orgasms of the past few days, I didn’t have to pretend to ignore it. I could lean forward, tilt my head to the side.
I could visibily show Ashley that yup, I see you. I see what you’re doing. I see you getting off for me.
Even the power of the filing cabinet didn’t let me see inside Ashley’s head. And so as her buttocks clenched and her eyes rolled back in her head, I couldn’t help but wonder—what was she feeling as she came? Arousal, obviously, but was it mixed with shame? I’d spent months, maybe years feeling incredibly embarrassed as I came while thinking about my sister.
Did Ashley feel the same? As her perfect body twitched with pleasure, was she feeling guilty about how she felt?
Or had the cabinet done its work, and made her accept that getting off in front of her brother was a necessity, not something to feel embarrassed about?
When her orgasm was complete and her toy switched off, my applause made her laugh.
“Thank you, thank you,” Ashley said, bowing to an imaginary crowd. If she was feeling that beautiful cocktail of shame and passion, I feel like there would have been more tension.
Then again, my sister’s a master performer. Perhaps this was just part of the performance.
“Any advice?” she asked, and I shook my head.
“Good stuff,” I said, and she nodded.
I expected her to kick me out, to be honest. We’d just shared the most intimate moment I’d ever had with…anyone, honestly. Like, I’d seen my sister cum before, but she’d never done it for me.
And I’d made her orgasm with a nod in the past, but it had been voluntarily. Controlled.
The first orgasm during her show? That had been real. Unexpected.
But—perhaps due to how much she prioritized Trust In Jacob—Ashley did nothing to suggest she wanted to be alone. She didn’t even put her clothes back on, just plopped her naked, sweaty body beside to me on the bed and asked if I wanted to watch some Netflix, rolling her eyes when I reminded her that the internet was still out.
We ended up watching some old movies she had on her hard drive—To Kill A Mockingbird, which I hadn’t seen before, and then Twelve Angry Men.
The entire time, I was tempted to pull out my cock and jerk it. I was so worked up, and had the right material presented itself, I don’t even think Ashley would have found it suspicious. But—shock!—black-and-white films about justice within the legal system don’t really inspire masturbation breaks.
As we watched the movie, I struggled to keep my eyes on the screen. Ashley’s flush slowly faded, her skin lost the sheen of sweat that it had built up as she’d danced—and then cum—for me, but…she was still naked. She was still my beautiful, sexy, naked, post-orgasmic sister. I’d fantasized about her body for years, and even after months of seeing her naked, it still hadn’t grown old.
I wanted to stare at her. I wanted to make her spread her legs so I could see inside her. I wanted to run my eyes over every part of her incredible body.
But that wasn’t the plan.
And so I controlled myself until our parents got home. Ashley got up, got dressed, and I made an excuse to return to my room so I could get myself off.
I’d like to tell you that this repeated itself every night for the next week, Ashley performing exclusively for me each and every day…but alas, that was not the case. That night, the internet returned. Ashley’s squeals of joy could be heard throughout the house—fortunately for our parents, her moans of pleasure half an hour later could not.
I tuned into my sister’s show, not really sure what I was expecting. A moment where she’d turn to the camera and say “Jacob, this one’s for you”?
It was a standard show…I mean, it was a very good standard show (Ashley’s two weeks of pent-up frustration was matched by her audience, who had clearly missed her as much as she’d missed them), but there was nothing that told me what had happened was special, that it had changed anything.
But it had. Of that, I was sure.
Now, I just had to work out how to change it from a special, one-off occurrence…to the status quo.