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“Would you tell me how often you masturbate?”
“What about if it wasn’t specific numbers?”
“Would you tell me if you masturbate more than once a day?”
I know I should have just asked, but I was curious.
“I don’t want you to think I’m a slut.”
Okay. Apparently my sister’s idea of a slut was a girl who masturbated more than once a day. And she’d already kind of answered the question, but I decided to confirm anyway.
“Do you masturbate more than once a day?”
“How often do you masturbate?”
“All the time.”
“How often specifically?”
“Two or three times a day.”
“And what do you think about while you’re masturbating?”
“And what does that make you?”
“Your slut. I’m your slut.”
“You’re a slut for your brother, aren’t you?”
“I’m a slut for my brother.”
I hadn’t put my sister under for around two weeks. The last time we’d had a session, I’d changed things so that she would watch me masturbate in the bathroom, each and every morning…and get off while she did.
It had been a total accident. But, after freaking out and working out exactly what I’d changed, I saw the perks and decided to run with it.
It was not a hard decision.
And so, for the last two weeks, I’d been masturbating in the bathroom. Every day at 8am, I’d go in and jerk off, leaving the door open—just enough for her to see what I was doing. And every morning as I came, I’d hear the muffled groans through the door of my sister getting off as well.
It. Was. Awesome.
“Spread your legs,” I said, grinning as Lucy obediently did. She was wearing a pleated short skirt—she’d been wearing a lot of them around the house lately. Almost every time I looked at her, she’d be positioned to show off her braless tits, or bending over to show me her amazing ass.
If she ever caught me looking directly at her, I knew the show would be over. I had gotten very good at checking her out from the corner of my eye.
Even while she was under, I couldn’t risk looking directly at her panties…but while she was under, I could tell her exactly how to pose, what to do.
“Subtly lift your boobs up so I can see as much cleavage as possible.”
You’d think that would be a risky one, but I’d caught her doing that in real life the other day. She sort of folds her arms underneath them, and suddenly there’s a whole lot of boob in my face.
I know, I know: while she’s under, I can see my sister topless. But there’s something weirdly sexy about my sister, fully-clothed, contorting her body however I want her to. Especially since I can’t look directly at her—I have no idea why that’s hot. It just is.
“Stand up and do a twirl.”
Her skirt flew up, exposing her colorful panties. I wanted to reach out and grab her ass, feel it in my hands, reach one finger around and see how wet her pussy was…
But not yet.
“Sit down,” I said, needing a moment to compose myself. My sister was getting off each day, watching me jerk off, and running around the house in very little clothing. Life was pretty great…especially since Mom wasn’t objecting.
Especially since Mom had started to join in.
“Hypothetical. You’re twenty.”
“You’ve just bought a dress.”
“It shows a lot of cleavage, doesn’t it?”
“It shows more cleavage than your other dresses, doesn’t it?”
“Tell me how much cleavage it shows.”
“It shows a lot of cleavage.”
“Tell me where it ends.”
“Slightly above my nipples.”
“Your bust is sexy, isn’t it?”
I’d gotten to “bust” through some trial and error. Boobs, tits, breasts, even bosom—no go. But for some reason, bust was fine.
She’d say nipple, but me saying “bosom” woke her up. I didn’t understand my Mom at all.
“So in this dress, they must look even more sexy, right?”
“It’s sexy when men look at your bust, isn’t it?”
“And so it must be even sexier when you’re wearing a dress with a lot of cleavage, because even more men look at your bust. Right?”
Again, the hesitation. Again, she agreed. It had been quite a slog, getting to this point—I’d esenyurt otele gelen escort taken her up through the years once more. This time I’d even broken my rules, hypnotizing her twice some days. But it was totally worth it: it was working.
It was working.
“You like feeling sexy, don’t you?’
“You like the sexy feeling that stockings give you, don’t you?”
“Dresses that show a lot of cleavage are sexy too, aren’t they?”
“It’s okay to wear sexy dresses around your family, isn’t it?”
“You don’t find your family sexy, do you?”
“So your family mustn’t find you sexy either, right?”
That was a new one. Mom had noticed me checking out her stockings once—I’d managed to avoid leering as my sister basically showed me a tit, but I hadn’t been able to avoid checking out Mom’s stockinged legs.
And so, somewhat counterproductively, I’d brought her some science showing that people don’t find their own family members sexy. The Westermarck effect, it’s called—it mostly applies to brothers and sisters (I guess I’m just broken) but I’d convinced Mom that it meant that I didn’t find her sexy, and so she had continued wearing stockings around the house.
“You like how sexy your bust is, don’t you?”
“And so you must love how it looks in your new dress.”
“You decide to wear your new dress whenever you can.”
“You get more dresses that show lots of cleavage.”
“Any chance you get, you wear dresses that show lots of cleavage.”
“Except when you’re at work, you’re almost always wearing dresses that show lots of cleavage.”
“You like showing a lot of cleavage, don’t you?”
“I like showing a lot of cleavage.”
“It’s okay to show a lot of cleavage around family, isn’t it?”
I knew my sister was getting off once a day while watching me. And she’d just admitted that she didn’t get off any other time.
The only time Lucy came was while watching me do the same…that was definitely something I could use.
“Okay,” I said. “Hypothetical: every morning at 8am, you stand outside the bathroom and watch me jerk off.”
This obviously wasn’t a hypothetical: it was really happening. In real life. I sometimes still struggled to process it. It was really happening. It had been a total fluke, but man…what a lucky thing to fluke upon.
But I knew she wouldn’t talk about it if I flat-out asked, so I had to play the hypothetical.
“Every time you watch me cum, you get off as well.”
I paused. I’d worked out what I needed to do next just a few days after everything had started. But even though I knew it would get me closer to my goals, it felt like a step backwards, and so I’d held off. There was something so hot about knowing my sister was outside the bathroom, her hand down her pajama pants or up her nightgown, getting off in time with me, cumming at the site of my cock shooting off…
Part of me never wanted to stop. But sometimes the only way to go forward is to go back, and so I knew I had to do it.
“One day, you go to the door of the bathroom at 8am…and I’m not in there.”
“You go and find me—I’m in the lounge room, sitting in Mom’s armchair watching TV.”
“What do you do?”
“I tease you.”
It came out in a monotone, as always, such a matter-of-fact statement. But her hand twitched as she said it, like she wanted to reach down and flash me the front of her panties (as she’d done a few times before, when she was feeling particularly cheeky.)
“I sit on your lap,” she said, to my surprise. Up until now, her teasing had been mostly visual. There had been the occasional boobs pressed against my chest, or butt against my crotch as she squeezed past (it had been a hell of a challenge to avoid getting a boner, which I knew would stop the show immediately) but she’d never been this direct.
“I sit on your lap and ask what you’re watching.”
I could have gone down that train of thought a bit longer (last time I’d followed a whim, it had accidentally been quite rewarding) but I had a lot I wanted to get through in this session, so I pressed on.
“You don’t get off that day.”
Nod. I didn’t know her masturbation habits, but esenyurt rus escort I figured “you don’t jerk off” was a pretty safe part of any hypothetical that didn’t include Johnny Depp.
“The next day, the bathroom is empty at 8am again.”
“You come and find me—this time, I’m in the kitchen, making breakfast. What do you do?”
“I come up behind you and give you a hug from behind.”
Interesting. Maybe watching me jerk off made my sister feel some kind of connection to me, and when that connection was missing, she used physical affection to duplicate it.
Or hell, maybe she was just horny. I made a mental note to check if she got touchy-feely when she was horny.
“You don’t jerk off that day.”
This time there was a slight pause before the nod. I think after getting off every day for two weeks, you get kind of used to it. I know that before I started playing with her, Marcie used to only get off every couple of days, and now—based on her texts—she cums once a day thinking about me, if not more.
(Marcie was away with her family for a month, which was both a curse and a blessing. On one hand, I missed using her to get off. On the other, it meant I was so built up that cumming each morning in the bathroom was easy and fast—I didn’t want to take too long, in case Mom caught us, or Lucy got self-conscious and stopped.)
“The next morning, you’re super horny.”
Nod. Instant, very emphatic nod.
“You go to the bathroom door at 8am, but I’m not in there.”
“You can’t find me in any of the public rooms of the house.”
“You walk to my door, and you notice that I’m laying on my bed.”
At this point, I was again torn. A part of me wanted to keep on keeping on, just move the voyeuristic activities to my bedroom. But that wasn’t the path that would lead me where I wanted to end up.
And so instead I followed the plan that I’d spent the last week coming up with.
“I’m having a nap.”
“You go to your room.”
“You’re really turned on and you want to cum.”
“You start to play with yourself…”
Another nod. I hadn’t even finished the sentence: that’s how keen she was for a hypothetical orgasm.
“…but no matter what you do, you can’t cum.”
Pause. Long pause. And then, after the pause was so long I was worried she was going to wake up, my sister shook her head.
“I’ve never had any trouble reaching climax when I play with myself,” she said. “Especially when I’m turned on.”
I trailed off. I hadn’t thought about this—I can tell my sister whatever I like about my own sexual habits, but when it comes to her own, she’s indisputably the master.
“Okay,” I said, after a few moments of thought. “Ummm…new hypothetical. We’re on vacation at the caravan park, your iPod breaks, and there’s a blizzard outside…”
Over the next minute, I summarized the hypothetical from one of our earlier sessions. Lucy nodded: suddenly, we were in the world of knowingly, deliberately getting off in front of each other.
“Would you tell me if you like getting off in front of me?”
“Do you like getting off in front of me?”
“Would you tell me why?”
“Would you tell me if you find it harder to get off when I’m not around?”
“Do you find it harder to get off when I’m not around?”
“Would you tell me why you like to get off with me, then?”
Another dead end.
“Okay Mom, hypothetical. You’re nine.”
“You see a nice woman’s shirt in a catalogue.”
“It shows off her midriff, and it looks really pretty.”
I waited for a while, but still nothing.
That was weird.
“Do you know what a midriff is?”
Huh. By moving my mother back far enough, she’d lost parts of her vocabulary. I had no idea if I could even use that, but it was definitely interesting.
“It’s her…tummy. She’s wearing a short skirt, and a shirt that shows off her tummy.”
“You look at your tummy. It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?”
“In the same catalogue, there’s a sexy nightgown.”
Again, that silence.
“Do you know what sexy means?”
“There’s a nightgown that’s lacy and see through, and it shows esenyurt türbanlı escort most of the woman’s body. Do you understand?”
“Even her privates?”
“Yes, even her privates. Do you understand?”
“You think it’s really pretty.”
“You want to get one just like that when you grow up.”
“It’s fine for family to see your privates, because they’re family.”
“It’s such a nice nightgown. You can’t wait until you grow up, so you can get one of your own.”
I was totally stumped. My plans had been thwarted by, of all things, how good my sister was at getting off.
Unless…unless that was something I could use.
“New hypothetical!” I said, suddenly inspired. I glanced at the clock—this might take us over the half-hour, but I hadn’t put her under for two weeks. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t noticed if I stretched the limit a bit.
“Every morning at 8am, you stand outside the bathroom and watch me jerk off.”
“One day, you go to the bathroom, and I’m not there. You find me in my room—I’m just laying on my bed.”
“You still want to get off, so you go to your bedroom.”
“When you start playing with yourself, your mind turns to what you’ve been looking at as you get off for the last few weeks.”
“As you cum, you imagine me getting off.”
Wow. No resistance at all. Maybe I’d still be able to make it in under half an hour…
“The next morning, when you come to the bathroom, I’m not there.”
“You realize I didn’t come and thank you at all the day before.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you haven’t jerked off.”
“That’s right. You go to your room and get off again.”
“As you do, you think of me.”
“You think I’m very sexy, don’t you?”
“You like thinking of me cumming when you cum, don’t you?”
“I don’t come and thank you again all day.”
“The next morning, I’m not in the bathroom at 8am.”
“You go to your room and get off, thinking of me.”
“Every time you get off, you think of me.”
“What do you think about when you get off?”
“Your cock. Your cock, cumming.”
I smiled. I felt like I’d pushed through another limit, somehow.
“The fact that I’m not masturbating—how does that make you feel?”
“Does it make you want to help?”
There was a long pause as my sister thought. I decided to help her out a bit.
“Does it make you want to tease me more?”
That was a surprise.
“Because you don’t really notice when I tease you.”
Ah, of course. My sister’s teasing, as far as she’s concerned, is for her, not me. If she thought it would be helpful, she certainly wouldn’t do it.
“Does it make you want to help me get off?”
“Does it make you want to…jerk me off?”
“It makes me want to find out why you’re not getting off and help you with that.”
Interesting. Not quite what I was going for, but I’m not one to look a Trojan horse in the mouth.
It was time to wake my sister up. The session was about to run over, and I wanted to wake her up slowly and implant the memory of her getting off every day, thinking about me.
Yes, it meant the end of our real-life mutual masturbation sessions, but they were technically one-sided anyway. She was watching me—I didn’t get to watch her.
I was trying not to think of it as a step backwards, but a leap forward in a more useful direction. I’d replaced it with something almost as good: the knowledge that every day, my sister was in her room, playing with herself, thinking of me as she came.
I hadn’t gotten as far as I’d hoped, but I could hardly complain.
“Any time you’re at home and you’re not wearing a low-cut dress, you wear skirts and tops that show midriff.”
“Every night, you wear transparent, lacy nightgowns.”
“It’s okay for family to see you in them, isn’t it?”
“It’s okay for family to look at each other’s bodies, isn’t it?”
“It’s okay for your son and daughter to look at each other’s bodies, isn’t it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Is it okay for Lucy to start wearing short skirts around the house?”
“Is it okay for her to look sexy?”
“Is it okay for her to wear transparent, lacy nightgowns?”
“Is it okay for her brother to look at her body?”
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