Hierarchy of Needs
As my sister openly sobbed, it was hard not to smile.
Not that I didn’t deserve to celebrate; it had taken me the better part of two weeks to get all the pieces into place, but it was worth it.
She was totally distraught…and had turned to me for comfort.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, trying to mask the glee in my voice. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I just…I just don’t know what came over me.”
Half a dozen men, I privately thought, holding back a chuckle.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You were just a little tightly wound; everyone loses control sometimes.”
“I mean it,” she said, looking up at me with two red eyes. Even while she was sobbing, she managed to look sexy. I genuinely have no idea how she did it. “I couldn’t help myself. It was like I wasn’t in control of my body.”
Crap. May have overdone it a little bit there.
“There, there,” I said, patting her head and pulling her to my chest. “It was just a moment of weakness. I’m sure that by tomorrow, everything will be back to normal.”
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sure you’re right.”
I was. By the morning, the file would be back in place, and the night’s events would be explained away as a freak incident, never to be repeated.
At least, I hoped.
In accordance with their programming, Mom and Dad never even questioned Ashley on where she was every night. If they had, and she’d told them, I was pretty sure that they wouldn’t even mind.
It’s interesting; no matter how much you change someone’s priorities, they still remain them underneath. Mom and Dad had gone from high-pressure, inquisitive and actively involved parents to disinterested figures who just enjoyed our company…but if I hadn’t been looking for it, I don’t know that I would have noticed the difference.
Mom still told awful jokes, Dad still spent way too much time at the office. I guess those were things I could have changed if I’d had a reason, but I suspected that even if I moved Mom’s desire to be funny down in the priority list, and made Dad want to impress his bosses less…they’d still be them, y’know?
What makes us us? That was the kind of question that would have kept me awake all night, once upon a time, but with my reduced curiosity it was pretty easy to dismiss.
Instead, I focused on my sister.
Each night followed the same routine. She’d disappear after family dinner and come back in the early hours of the morning. I guess I didn’t technically see her go to the strip club, but she came back each night carrying a pair of six-inch pumps, smelling like shame and cheap perfume, so yeah; I doubt she was moonlighting as a crappy Catwoman.
As soon as she returned, the music would start, and I could log on to see her naked, performing all manner of lewd acts.
Her clientele was growing, at both locations. She never mentioned specific numbers to me, but I checked out her filing cabinet a couple of times and she was starting to make serious bank at the strip club.
Imagine if Jessica Rabbit came to life as a blonde and started getting off on stripping. Yeah, it wasn’t a huge surprise to work out why she was pulling so much dough.
What did surprise me was how much her camgirl audience was growing. Like I said, she wasn’t doing much “right”. S would strip off pretty much straight away; no teasing, no begging for tips. Then she’d just get off while talking about her shift.
I mean, I guess it’s not totally crazy. She was hugely attractive (as I may have mentioned) and she was breaking the whole camgirl paradigm—she genuinely didn’t seem to care about the money. The strip club was fulfilling all her financial needs and so the camgirling was just to get off in front of strangers.
And that’s what gave me the idea.
See, I have a theory. As our needs are met and filled, our priorities shift. If I desperately wanted a girlfriend, after I get one I’m obviously going to prioritise that less, right? That’s why people break up; if everyone spent as much effort on keeping a girlfriend as they did on getting one, there’d be a lot more happy couples in the world.
So in my filing cabinet, ’Having A Girlfriend’ would slowly shift backwards over time…until we broke up, at which point it would probably leap forward again.
That wasn’t happening with Ashley.
As her short-term income went up, you would normally expect to see the ’Short-Term Wealth’ file drifting backwards. If the need is met, it’s not as much of a priority any more, right?
But I checked it every day or two, and it never moved. Instead, the “goal”—how much wealth would make her happy—kept increasing and increasing.
Maybe this is just a natural part of wanting to be rich. I mean, you never see a billionaire go “Okay, I’ve got enough money now.” People keep wanting more and more, even as they blast past their previous goals.
But I suspect that’s not what was happening. At least, that’s not all that was happening.
I’d bet that it was my fault. Since I’d been the one to move the folder, it wasn’t going to move again until I made it. And so I’d put my poor sister into this loop; even as she was making more and more money at the club, she didn’t take fewer shifts. She just kept on working, watching her income go up, always wanting more.
And it wasn’t just money. The more she exposed herself, the greater her exhibitionist itch grew. That was why she kept on camgirling: there was a maximum audience at the strip club (the number of people that fit in the building, obviously) whereas camgirls could be seen by thousands.
Hundreds of thousands, if they got big enough.
The end result was that Ashley used the two outlets to scratch different itches. Her increased viewership online hadn’t led to more money, so she just did whatever she could to get more views…and her fans at the club weren’t going to suddenly increase by a factor of ten, so she focused her efforts on milking them for as much as she could.
And so despite getting off in front of thousands, and earning more than I knew a stripper could even make, my sister found herself constantly frustrated. She wanted to expose herself to more people, and she wanted mo’ money.
The plan was simple. The best part was, for the first few weeks, I didn’t need to do anything. I just kept watching her target income rise and her urge to flash people grow. Even after a full night at the club and a two-hour show, I knew she was desperate to expose herself to more people. When she thought I wasn’t home, she’d started answering the door naked, or putting on a bit of a show for our neighbor.
He’s 78 years old. Like I said, exhibitionist tendencies don’t discriminate.
Then, when she was starting the climb the walls with frustration…that’s when I’d executed the second phase of my plan.
One Sunday night, I’d moved two files in my sister’s filing cabinet. Her ’Orgasm’ priority was shifted way, way up…and both ‘Sex’ and ‘Masturbation’ way down. ’Sex’ went at the very back of the cabinet, and ’Masturbation’ wasn’t much higher.
The idea was to make her desperate to cum, at all hours of the day…but uninterested in getting herself off, or getting off with someone else.
Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure what would happen. The goal was just to make her constantly horny, but it really could have done anything. Maybe she’d learn to cum just from thinking about it, or get off from people watching without needing to touch herself. Maybe she’d masturbate out of necessity. Like in my cabinet: ’Personal Grooming’ had been quite low, but if I wanted to impress a girl (or my parents were forcing me) it was absolutely something I’d do.
Obviously unless it was on camera, I had no idea if my sister was getting herself off or not, but I can tell you; over the next few days, her cum shows were almost entirely replaced with her just dancing, showing off her body, and taking requests (I got far too excited when my “put on your old school uniform” suggestion was accepted. Man did that take me back).
Then, at the end of the following week—Saturday night, her biggest shift of the week—exactly an hour after she left for work, I went back into the tiny room beneath the stairs.
And I moved ’Sex’ to the very front of her drawer, behind only ‘Air’, ‘Water’, and ‘Food’.
Ashley looked out at the crowd, licking her lips.
She wanted to fuck them.
All of them.
No, that wasn’t right. She needed to fuck them. She had never been so sure of anything in her whole life.
She didn’t care that she was just starting her shift, she didn’t care that she’d get in trouble. In that moment, all she needed—more than anything—was to get their dicks hard and get them inside of her.
Her tongue passed over her lips again, and she looked around cautiously. She was horny—she’d been horny all week—but she wasn’t stupid. If she leapt off the stage and started straddling people, she’d get kicked out (or worse; arrested) and then she wouldn’t get to fuck anyone.
No, if she was going to do this (and she definitely was) then she was going to have to play it smart.
Step one, dance. As well as she could, to get those cocks nice and hard, so she could lower herself down on them, so she could feel them inside her…so she could cum around them and make them cum as well.
Focus, Ashley, she told herself, and forced her attention outward.
For the last week, she’d been so turned on—so turned on—and yet strangely unmotivated to do anything about it. She’d only cum twice in the week, when the urge had grown so strong that she couldn’t hold back any longer. Even then she hadn’t reached between her legs, or found someone to do it for her; she’d just ground herself against the couch in jeans, the feeling of the stiff material against her throbbing wetness enough to bring her to orgasm.
A few days ago, just for a moment, she’d wondered if she was asexual, or going through some kind of weird early menopause. First the sudden exhibitionist streak, then the desperate focus on money…and then the endless arousal and total lack of interest in finding a man to take care of it for her.
It’s probably just my birth control being strange, she’d told herself, and not thought about it any further.
But now…this sudden animalistic desperation to be fucked. She felt like a creature in heat, willing to take any cock that she could get.
What’s happening to me? she briefly wondered, but then the music shifted, and her focus went back to what she was doing with her body…and how the audience was reacting to it.
“Yessss…” she whispered, unable to hold it back. Several men were throwing money at the stage, and she knew what that meant. They wanted her.
They all wanted her.
And tonight, they would have her.
“So when did they catch you?” I asked, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.
“About halfway through my shift,” Ashley replied, blowing her nose on the tissue I’d just handed her. “I must have fucked a dozen guys before someone told the manager what I was up to.”
At once? I wanted to ask, but I knew I couldn’t. She trusted me, but asking too many questions was sure to raise her defenses. Instead, I just smiled, and for a moment my sister glanced up at me.
I tried to keep my gaze as innocent as possible, but I needn’t have worried. It wasn’t a look of suspicion that she was throwing in my direction…it was one of lust.
It only lasted a second, and it immediately disappeared, but my heart leapt with joy. Even after being sacked and kicked out of the club, even after being escorted home by two police officers (whom I was certain she had tried to seduce), my sister still needed to be fucked.
And as the only male in the vicinity, she’d turned to me. Just for a second before the thought was gone, but it was working.
I was on the way.