Hierarchy of Needs
It was lucky that I decided to log on and watch my sister’s show that night.
If I hadn’t, if I’d just gone to my bedroom (as I was thinking of doing) and waited for my sister to go to sleep so I could readjust her filing cabinet, I would have missed it.
But—as you can imagine—I was pretty turned on by the conversation we’d just had, by the image of my sister fucking half a dozen strangers at the club.
At the look she’d inadvertently shot me…and at the knowledge that all of it, all of it was because of me.
And so, unsurprisingly, I’d decided to jerk off. And when I heard the music coming from my sister’s room, I knew exactly what I wanted to jerk off to: my sister’s body, coming live from just a few feet away. She’d probably be breathily describing her night again, and hell…I was more than happy to jerk off to that.
Instead, when I logged on, I was surprised to find she’d changed the room’s description. It normally read “Ashley’s sexy dances” or “Ashley’s hot room” (like I said, she’s terrible at the marketing side of camgirling).
Tonight, it read “Want to fuck me? Make a bid—I’ll cum to you.”
No no no no no.
I leapt out of bed, and ran straight into the filing cabinet room. I was in such a hurry that I left the door open—if anyone had walked into the hallway, they would have had a clear sight of me, frantically flipping through dusty files in a mysterious room that none of us had ever been inside before.
Fortunately for me, no one did, but jesus. What could have happened that night still gives me chills.
As soon as I got to ‘Sex’, I moved it back to approximately where I’d originally found it. At some point, when I was the one Ashley was having sex with, I’d move it back up to the front of the cabinet…but for now, I was more than happy with my sister having a normal, healthy sex drive.
It took me a few minutes to find—minutes I would have much rather spent checking the chatroom to make sure that Ashley had changed the message—but soon enough I laid my hands on Personal Safety, and made sure to move that quite close to the top of the list, above even Short-Term Wealth.
Personal Safety is a broad concept, but rather than flip through the file and work out exactly what it contained, I wanted to check on my sister. For now, it would (hopefully) mean that she wasn’t driving to random dude’s houses and having sex with them.
Slamming the cabinet shut (another stupid move; it could easily have woken up our parents, or attracted Ashley’s attention) I left the tiny room, closed the door, and sprinted back to my room.
Almost as soon as I sat down, she changed the room’s description to “Sexy lady dances” (I’m guessing ’using your real name online‘ falls under ‘Personal Safety’, as it should).
“Sorry boys,” she said with a sexy pout. “Not tonight.”
The rest of the show was a fairly generic dance show, and as I came while watching my sister’s swaying body, my mind was racing.
That had been close. My sister had been all-too-willing to go to a stranger’s house and fuck them for money…and, after all, why not? With her body, with her enthusiasm, she could make an absolute killing.
’Personal Safety’ had prevented her from following through on this haphazard plan, but hell—maybe she’d find a brothel in town, one where they took care of the whores.
I had no personal issue with my big sister becoming a sex worker, except that it wasn’t part of my plan. The plan that ended with her as my personal sex slave.
(After jerking off, I spent about half an hour brainstorming scenarios, seeing if I could somehow work my sister becoming a whore into the plan, but I couldn’t come up with any way my sister would be cool with me turning up to the brothel. No, better to nip this in the bud early.)
Fortunately, when my sister’s show ended and the music stopped, the solution presented itself pretty quickly. Heading back into the tiny room (stealthily, this time) and flipping through my sister’s files, I quickly found ‘Getting Caught Breaking The Law’.
I moved that up. Not far enough that it’d control her life, but certainly far enough that it would stop her from becoming a prostitute.
This would probably mean the end of her joining me to watch freshly-downloaded Game of Thrones episodes, but that was a sacrifice I was willing to make.
It could be an issue if she assumed that incest was illegal (it’s actually not in Connecticut, something I’d learned from independent research a few months ago) but I figured avoiding getting caught having sex with her brother would probably be a high priority whether or not it was legal.
And if that didn’t fix it, I could always just scrawl ‘Knowledge Of Local Incest Laws’ onto a piece of paper and inserting it into her cabinet.
(I didn’t, not yet—I can’t imagine anything that would raise more suspicion that an inexplicable burning desire to learn the laws of boinking your brother…but if all went to plan, it would be something she’d be keen to learn soon enough.)
Hoping that I’d protected myself against all contingencies, I went to bed.
The next day, I planned to implement the next step of my plan.
“Ashley, I know about the site.”
My sister froze, her hand halfway towards bringing a piece of toast to her mouth. Our parents had gone to work, and we had the house to ourselves.
“What site?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, and I shot her a look.
“C’mon,” I said, and she immediately buckled.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, hoping that laying it on thick would be effective. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do!” she rushed to answer. “I just…I dunno, I didn’t want it to be weird.”
“Well, I mean, my room is just at the other end of the hall. I didn’t want you to feel…uncomfortable, I guess.”
I nodded. What she said made enough sense, but I didn’t really care what her reasoning was; I just needed to make sure to strengthen our ‘share everything’ bond.
“I thought you didn’t trust me,” I said, putting on a sad face, and she practically leaped across the table to give me a hug.
“Of course I do!” she said, and I returned the hug, desperately fighting the urge to bury my head into my sister’s soft, plentiful cleavage.
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound casual. “So…tell me about it.”
I don’t know if I’m just good at manipulating my sister or if it was the way I’d known exactly which buttons to press…or hell, if she was just desperate to talk to someone about it, but for the next two hours, she told me everything.
I just nodded and listened as she went into what anyone else would have considered an uncomfortable level of detail, and when she eventually ran out of steam, I spoke up.
“Have you had much success?”
“Mmmmm,” she said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “Sort of. I mean, I have a bunch of fans and viewers. I just, I dunno, don’t really seem to make much money.”
I tried not to let my glee show. Everything was going exactly as I’d planned; she was really feeling the missing income from the strip club, and my most recent folder-meddling had eliminated any other easy ways to make money from her body.
“You know,” I said, staring her straight in the eyes, “…I could help you with that.”
Over the next few weeks, my sister let me slowly take over every aspect of her camgirl site.
I never explained how I’d gotten so much knowledge about camgirl sites, and Ashley never asked.
She just trusted me.
Admittedly, when I managed to almost double her income in a single night, that trust was well-earned. Even if I hadn’t ensured that trusting her little brother was a high priority, I’m pretty sure she would have been willingly letting me run the site for her in no time.
At first, I was fairly hands-off. I shifted ‘Masturbation’ to the front of her folder again, which helped. For a while now, her shows had just been stripping and swaying. With self-pleasure a priority again, people would happily pay to watch my sister get off.
I’d suggest key phrases she could use; I taught her the stripping system, where instead of just logging in and taking all your clothes off, you only take your shirt off once a certain number of tokens have been met, then the same for your pants, panties, bra…
All of this was done in the abstract, at least for the first week. As you’d expect, she felt pretty weird about me seeing her naked body, and no matter how much I searched her cabinet, I couldn’t find anything that would help me in that regard. No ‘Preventing Family From Seeing Nudity’, no ’Modesty’—the closest I could get was her Exhibitionism folder, and I searched the subfolders and the sub-subfolders almost a dozen times before eventually realizing that nope, family just wasn’t covered.
From what I could work out, when I shifted ’Exhibitionism’ up, it must have automatically shifted ’Modesty’ way, way down. So far that I couldn’t find it; her drawer was, after all, infinitely long, and there’s only so much time you can spend flipping through abstract and unnecessary priorities (’Bees’, ‘The Glare On The TV Matching Up With The Shine On A Bald Character’s Head’, ‘Rice Krispies Making A Neat Little Circle Around The Spoon’) before being forced to call it a night.
(It was funny—after about three hours of searching one night, I opened my own folder to find ‘Sleep’ had shifted to just behind ‘Sex With Ashley’. Twenty minutes later, when I felt my drowsiness overcome me, I checked again…sure enough, it had moved ahead of it.)
Eventually, all I could do was conclude that ‘Modesty Around Families’ must have been in a different folder—after all, her exhibitionism folder didn’t include me or Mom or Dad.
I dunno. All I could tell you was that it was incredibly frustrating, and after spending almost every night going through files, I was starting to get pretty sick of it.
Fortunately, my time outside of the little room was much more interesting. Ashley never asked how I found out about her side-project (thanks, I assumed, to the new position of her ’Curiosity’ folder) and she refused to tell me what her username was, so I knew she had no idea that I was watching all of her performances in that first week.
It turned out that Ashley had—entirely by accident—cultivated a great base to make money from. They were so used to seeing everything (everything) she had to offer, and so when she started setting targets, they were quick to pull out their wallets and drop tokens until she was naked, and then drop tokens until she was dancing, and then drop tokens until she was cumming…
At my advice, she started learning the names of her regular clients and acting excited whenever they came online, and making sure to pay extra-special attention to the biggest tippers. She even tried going into a private room once or twice for big tips, but quickly worked out that with the crowds she was drawing, she could always make more money in the big room, especially as her numbers would drastically drop whenever her stream was replaced by a “Sorry, currently doing a private chat” screen.
By the end of the first week, she was hanging on my every word, desperate to use my knowledge to make as much money as possible—more, more, always more.
And that was when I told her; to help any more than this, I’d have to be able to see her show.
That shut her up. She spent almost three days, trying to decide whether it was worth letting her little brother see her naked—no, not just naked; masturbating for the crowd—in exchange for the possibility of making more money.
In the end, I had to bump the folder up, until it was the sixth folder in her drawer—Air, Water, Food, Shelter, Trust in Jacob…and Short-Term Wealth.
The next day she came to me, red-faced, and told me what her username was.
That night, as she did her show, we had a chat program open. I was able to offer advice live, and while it didn’t make as much of a difference as my earlier advice had, it clearly made a difference. My sister set a new record that night.
For the rest of the week, she couldn’t even make eye-contact with me, but every night she’d let me know when she was going online, desperate to get my real-time advice on her show.
When I wasn’t watching my sister’s show (which, at my advice, had been severely shortened—no more all-nighters. A shorter show meant more concentrated tips, which meant a higher ranking, which meant more exposure) or going through her files, I was either sleeping or watching other cam-girls. Good performers, bad performers—anything I could learn from.
I had started to run out of advice to give, but whenever I saw a high-earner I was able to grab at least a few tips to pass onto my sister, and watching awful performers meant that I could solidify my advice on what to avoid doing.
At my suggestion, my sister switched camgirl sites, changed her username, bought a Hitachi and tailored her show to match my every piece of advice. She’d started obeying my every command…only as it related to her show, sure, but it gave me a real taste of what was to come.
But until she grew more comfortable with me seeing her perform, we couldn’t progress. I’d thought that she’d have gotten used to it, but even after two weeks she still blushed every time she approached to tell me that she was about to go on cam, and she continued avoided eye-contact the next morning.
I could have waited it out, but my patience was running out. It had been several months since I’d found the filing cabinets. I’d thought by now I’d be balls-deep in my future, and while I appreciated how far I’d come, I wanted so much more.
I couldn’t wait eight years for this story to conclude. It was time to take drastic measures and make a bold move.