Tutor Pt. 01

Tutor

by Pan

Chapter 1:

I stared at my father doubtfully. "What's in it for me?"

Wrong question.

Dad isn't abusive or anything like that. He's never hit us, I've never felt unsafe around him, and like, we know that loves us.

But he definitely has a temper. Not a 'run and hide under the bed' kind of temper, just a... yeah, 'you know when you've said the wrong thing' kind of temper.

"What's in it for you? What's in it for YOU? How about 'we're a family, and a family help each other out'? How about 'when I was at night school for eighteen months, Kayla watched you every single day and never once asked what was in it for her'? How about 'you love your sister and you want to see her succeed'?? How about all of THAT is in it for you?"

Fortunately, Dad's temper abates as quickly as it arrives. So I just nodded, tried to look contrite (which wasn't hard; Dad's points were pretty valid), and waited for the storm to pass.

His face was red and he was looking at me expectantly, and I realized it was my turn to talk.

"Of course. Yeah. Sorry, Dad."

Even factoring in his temper, I know I have a great father. When Mom bailed sixteen years ago, a lot of guys would've struggled, or... I dunno, found the first woman to marry and share the load.

Not Dad. He singlehandedly raised my sister and I, and... I mean, it's not like I have much to compare it to, but I think he did a pretty great job. Kayla is a year older than me, and she's in her first year of college, and I'm about to graduate high school top of every class except Art and English.

On top of that, we're all pretty close. Like, a lot of weekends we actually choose to hang out together as a family. We'll play board games or go on hikes. Voluntarily. It's like we like each other or something. Weird, right?

I think it comes from the fact that we all sort of banded together when Mom left. Dad tried as hard as he could not to vilify her, but even when I was young, Kayla and I knew... she left him.

She left us.

I'm not saying Dad's perfect, or that we're a perfect family. He has a bit of a temper, Kayla can be a bit of a know-it-all brat, and I...

I mean, I don't even know if this is because of the way we were raised, or because Mom left, or if I'm just a freak of nature who was always destined to be like this, but... fuck, it's so embarrassing.

I have a... crush on my sister?

No, crush isn't the right word. It's not like I see us dating or anything like that. I'm a realist; even if Kayla turned around and said "oh Mikey, I think you're such a babe, let's go out," it's not like we could. Dad wouldn't let us, for one - he loses his temper when I suggest that I don't want to tutor my sister in math, I can't imagine what he'd do if we told him we were going to, like, start dating.

So yeah, it's not a crush. I just... like her.

Okay. Lemme stop beating around the bush:

I want her.

I know. Trust me, I know. I know what a freak that makes me. I know that it's really, really, really, really not normal to want your sister. But Kayla... she has these big blue eyes, and this long red hair, and...

Ugh. Yeah. There's no way to make it sound normal. But the truth of the matter is, from the moment I started noticing girls, I... started noticing Kayla.

I'm not a bad-looking guy, I've hooked up with a few girls. But when I realized that I'd rather be spending time with Kayla, it was hard to maintain interest in them. They always seemed to fall short in some way - Kayla is smarter, funnier, taller...

... bigger tits.

Again, there's absolutely no way to justify any of this, I get that. But I think if you saw my sister's rack, maybe you'd at least start to understand? Just like our mother, Kayla was blessed with a pair that could feed an entire maternity ward. She's cute as a button, her smile lights up every room she's in, but the first thing that anyone notices about my sister is her boobs.

Since she started getting them in eighth grade, they've gotten bigger and bigger. And like I said, we spend every weekend together, so I've had a front-row seat to the greatest show a teenage boy could ask for.

I've never seen them. I mean, not bare. And neither Kayla nor Dad have noticed how much attention I pay them, thank Christ. So occasionally I'll get a glimpse of her in a towel on the way out of the shower, or a pajama shirt with no bra, or even one glorious glimpse of side-boob (with just a hint of rosy-red nipple) when she had to change in the car once.

I'm always careful not to take longer than a second or two to appreciate what's on offer, but even with the few brief peeks I've gotten over the years, I can tell you: They're fucking incredible.

That's all bad enough. I mean, what kind of a brother lusts after his sister? Even one with a body that would guarantee a steady OnlyFans income for the rest of her life (or the next twenty years, at least).

But after I apologized to Dad, it got worse...

"Thank you!" Kayla squealed, throwing her arms around me in a hug. I mean, we're siblings, and we're pretty close - we'd hugged before.

But not like this.

See, Kayla was studying a bachelor's degree in aviation. I know, pretty weird - female pilots are about as common as... well, probably even less common than brothers who get a hard-on whenever their sister enters the room.

But I guess our whole family is weird in their own way, because Kayla's dream had been to fly since she was a kid, and she wasn't going to let anything get in her way.

Not even math.

Her bachelor's program had a lot of practical experience built into it, but - as you'd expect - there's a whole lot of theory that goes with it. And despite her aeronautic ambition, despite her intelligence, Kayla hated math.

That's where I came in.

Like I said, I'm top of most classes at school. I wish I could say it was just because of my brain, but honestly... I think my obsession helped, in a weird way? Where everyone else was dating, I was studying. Again, it's not like I couldn't have a girlfriend, if I wanted one...

I just didn't want one. What I wanted, I couldn't have, and so all the energy that the rest of my grade was putting into relationships, I poured into studying.

Kayla was studying college-level math, but I knew I could help her. As did Dad, which is why he volunteered me.

And my sister was incredibly grateful.

"Thank you thank you thank you," she said, squeezing me tight. Yeah, we'd hugged before, but... I dunno, this was different. Her tits were pressed up against my body, her voice was breathy with gratitude... and then, as if specifically to taunt me, she pulled back and looked up at me with those bright blue eyes of hers, and said:

"I owe you!"

That's where it started. I mean, I guess it started the first time I ever jerked off with my sister dancing through my mind (literally dancing - I'd just watched her school performance, and the way she moved, those tight clothes... it had pushed me to a place I'd sworn I'd never go).

But that look of gratitude, that was where it really started.

"Do you want to start tonight?" she asked, and I swear, it was like the words came from somewhere else, fully formed, like someone outside of me pushed them through my vocal cords.

"Nah. Let's start tomorrow; I want to pick up some supplies."

Maybe if I hadn't said that, maybe if we'd started that day, nothing more would've happened. I would've been a normal brother helping his normal sister study in a normal way.

Nope.

The next day, when Kayla came into Dad's studio (the only room with a desk big enough for both of us to use... and also the room furthest away from the rest of the house), she tilted her head to the side.

"What's that?"

Dad's an architect. He used to be a sculptor, but after Mom left, he decided he needed something more stable, and now he works for one of the big firms. I know he finds it less fulfilling, but it's a steady paycheck with steady hours.

And it means his studio is empty most of the time.

"It's a metronome," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's to help keep focus. Activates your right brain."

"Left brain," Kayla corrected, and I nodded. Fortunately, she accepted the presence of the small device without a moment's hesitation.

I should explain.

Kayla and I are both creative, we get it from Dad. She dances (although not so much anymore, she's too swamped with college) and I play the sax.

Saxophone teachers are... well, a bit weird. I mean maybe music teachers in general, but I can tell you that saxophone teachers are the weirdest of the weird. And a few years back I started taking private lessons with the weirdest of the weirdest of the weird.

His name was Mr. Freudenberger, and before and after lessons we'd chat. His grandfather was a psychologist - he'd fled Germany during the war, and while in America had become a world expert in stress, chronic fatigue, all that kind of thing.

"But he learned something that he never published in any of his books," Mr. Freudenberger had told me once, a smile dancing across his lips. "He told my father, and my father told me."

"And you're going to tell me?" I'd asked. Like I said, he was a weird dude, but he was also pretty interesting. And a helluva sax player.

Mr. Freudenberger shook his head. "Family secret," he said. "I can never tell anyone."

"Okay..."

"But an observant student... well, there's no saying what someone could pick up if they paid attention."

To this day I have no idea why Mr. Freudenberger wanted me to know his secret. And if he'd even had an inkling of what I was going to do with it, I know there's no way in hell he would've shared what he did.

Or hell, maybe he would. I cannot overstate what a weird guy he was.

Normally after class, I'd wait in the hallway for Dad to come pick me up. He'd just started with the new firm, so he was often late - trying to prove his worth at the company, all that. I wasn't too bothered; when his first paycheck had arrived, Dad had bought me and Kayla phones with unlimited data plans, so I was more than happy to poke around on reddit and tumblr while I waited.

Maybe that was why Mr. Freudenberger showed me what he did; he felt sorry for me, sitting alone in the hall, waiting for Dad to come get me.

Perhaps he just wanted to show off. Having a secret like that, it must've been a big deal, and I was the only person he could show it to.

Whatever the reason, it happened. When his next student entered, he told her that I was going to monitor the lesson. Week after week, he let me stay behind and watch the next lesson.

And, as he knew, I was an incredibly observant student.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

If the metronome bothered Kayla, she didn't show it. A saxophone lesson? That's a built-in excuse to use a metronome. A math lesson makes it a little less harder to justify... but, of course, my sister trusted me.

Why wouldn't she?

"So integration is just differentiation in reverse," I said.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"I know," my sister said, rolling her eyes. "I've been studying this shit for years."

"I know you know," I explained gently. "But Dad asked me to tutor you, and I need to be thorough."

This was our third lesson. I was going slowly, to make sure that she didn't suspect a thing. I wanted to make sure that she was completely used to the metronome - if she was too aware of it, it wouldn't work.

It was a little frustrating, going so slowly... but I knew from watching Mr. Freudenberger that it would be worth it.

"There's thorough, and then there's molasses," Kayla responded, and I nodded.

"Find the page we were on last week?" I instructed, and my sister reluctantly obeyed. I know she didn't love that her younger brother was her tutor, but this gave her the best possible chance of achieving her dream.

As she flipped through the book, I continued. "I'm smarter than you," I said. "You should be grateful that I'm going over material you already know."

Normally that would have evoked a reaction from my sister. A roll of the eyes at the very least, but more likely something like a punch on the shoulder.

But instead... nothing.

No, better than nothing.

In reaction to my declaration that I was smarter than my sister, she nodded. She nodded, and waited for my next instruction.

I hid a smile. She hadn't even noticed.

It was time.

Weird thing about the human brain; we like rhythm. We just like it. That's why we dance, that's why we like music. Even speech has a natural rhythm... in English, it's about four beats per second for speech, but that changes for stuff like poetry or, like, horse commentary.

Like an auctioneer - their bps (beats per second) is way higher than a normal conversation.

Mr. Freudenberger never explicitly explained it to me, but my theory was that during his studies and experimentation around stress, his grandfather had discovered a certain soothing bps. A bps that the human brain is naturally attuned to.

A bps that the human brain just, like... accepts. And so, as you've probably guessed already, that was the speed that the metronome was set to. And the last thing I said, the declaration that I was smarter than my sister... that was the exact rhythm I'd been speaking at.

Kayla hadn't rolled her eyes. She hadn't shouted, or punched me, or stormed out of the room and declared that she didn't want to do this any more.

In response to my brash statement, she'd just... accepted it. Again, I'd never had this explicitly explained to me, but from watching Mr. Freudenberger, I knew: she hadn't even consciously heard it.

My instructions had gone straight into her subconscious. She accepted them as simple truths, completely bypassing the part of her brain that would question or fight against them.

"Here," she finally said. "Page 556."

For the next few minutes, I continued to explain basic concepts to her. Stuff that I knew she already knew, stuff that we'd covered in the previous two lessons. And even though I saw her starting to get frustrated, my sister swallowed it and let me teach.

She trusted me. She trusted that I was smarter than her.

And after I explained something she already knew... she thanked me.

My sister was grateful to me, for teaching her stuff she had learned already.

I was almost giddy by the time I had some problems for her to solve. Again, just basic differentiation - I knew that they wouldn't really stretch her, but I wanted to make sure that her brain wasn't too occupied.

If she was using too much of her mind on the quiz, she might not have enough left for my instructions.

"It's important to be comfortable when you study," I said, carefully matching my speech to the metronome. "Isn't it?"

"Mm-hmm," my sister responded. She was fully conscious, fully engaged with the task at hand... but at the same time, it was like she was hypnotized. Again, it had taken me several weeks of watching Mr. Freudenberger to notice the pattern - it only worked when the person was engaged in something else. That's why his instructions had (thankfully) never worked on me. I'd been giving him my full attention, while his other student had been working on scales, or cleaning her sax, or counting the number of key changes in a piece.

"You'll learn better when you're comfortable," I continued. "You should be more comfortable when you study so you can learn better."

Again, Kayla didn't say anything, just nodded. I glanced down to see how many questions she had remaining. She was about halfway through; I had a little more time.

I licked my lips. They were suddenly dry. Everything so far had been... excusable. Like if my rhythm was off and Kayla heard me, I could justify why I'd been saying I was smarter than her, or encouraging her to be comfortable.

But if I stuck entirely to stuff that I knew was safe, I'd never get what I wanted.

And what I wanted... wasn't safe.

"You'd be more comfortable without a bra, wouldn't you?"

My sister's hand stopped moving for a moment, and I froze. Had I gone too far? In all the sessions I'd witnessed, Mr. Freudenberger had never made a misstep. It made sense - he'd been doing it for years at that point. He clearly knew exactly where someone's limits were.

But he'd never explained them to me. I was stumbling around blind. Maybe all the stuff he'd had the student do was stuff she'd wanted to do anyway? Maybe it wouldn't work with Kayla, simply because she was my sister?

No. No, I'd seen what Mr. Freudenberger had done with his student. It had definitely gone beyond something that she ever would have done on her own.

A moment later, Kayla resumed writing. She didn't look up at me, she didn't make a face.

She just nodded.

I let out a soft sigh of relief, and a smile spread across my face.

This was going to work.

Chapter 2:

I didn't do anything else that lesson.

I was tempted. I mean, it had worked. My subconscious instructions to my sister had landed; she'd agreed with what I'd said. It had taken all my self-control not to follow that up with, y'know, "your brother's dick tastes like candy and you'd be a fool not to drop to your knees right now and start licking."

But I didn't. Partially out of caution, of course - I'd already gone so far, I didn't need to push it further and risk... well, I don't even know what the risks were. Kayla consciously hearing what I was saying, or realizing what else I'd said to her, or... I dunno, her mind collapsing in on herself.

I stopped there partially out of caution, but mostly because I wasn't going in completely blind.

I was following the path that Mr. Freudenberger had shown me.

"You'll learn better when you're comfortable," he told the student he taught after me. I never learned her name - isn't that funny? Considering everything I saw, everything I learned about her, everything she did in front of me... I never learned her name.

I'd always slip into the room after her class started, when she was focused on the violin (Mr. Freudenberger taught more than just sax). The first time I did, she'd looked up at me for a second, but Mr. Freudenberger had told her not to worry about me, to just pretend I wasn't there.

At the time I clocked that there was something weird about the way he was speaking, but I was nowhere near putting it all together. Not yet.

It worked. After that, she literally never seemed to notice when I entered. She would just keep focusing on the strings, on the music sheet in front of her, on what Mr. Freudenberger was telling her.

On the metronome.

The student - for the sake of storytelling, let's call her Viola - nodded at Mr. Freudenberger's words. This was the second class he'd let me observe (I was moving slower than he was. I had more to lose.) - maybe there had been other rhythmic instructions slipped in there, but this was the first one I noticed.

Not because of the way he spoke (it took me a while to put that together), but because of her reaction. She nodded, and I saw her entire body relax.

Okay, yeah, not exactly the most intense reaction in the world. Maybe if it had just been that, I wouldn't have registered anything strange, or even remembered.

But with what came next, the whole incident was burned into my memory forever.

"You'd be more comfortable without a bra," Mr. Freudenberger continued, and my eyes widened at what he was saying.

Again, Viola nodded. And again, Mr. Freudenberger didn't stop there.

"Take off your bra," he said, and... yeah, you can see why I remembered this. Viola put down her violin, put down her bow, and - her eyes still glued to the sheet of music she was reading - reached behind her and took off her bra.

Mr. Freudenberger gave her a little nod. "There's a good girl."

Again, Viola just nodded in response. She set her bra down, picked up her instrument, and continued practice.

He didn't say anything else for the next few minutes, just focused on her form (he was a good teacher. Or maybe he just knew if she didn't actually improve, she wouldn't return for future lessons.) and gave her notes.

Then, while he had her play the entire thing through without stopping, he continued his instructions. Quite loudly, so that she'd hear him over the sound of her playing.

"You shouldn't wear a bra to lessons in future. It's more comfortable without it, and you'll learn better if you're comfortable."

Viola nodded, and a wicked grin appeared on Mr. Freudenberger's face. And then - more for his sake than hers, I suspect - he said it again.

"Good girl."

I wasn't quite as forward as he'd been. For reasons that will become clear, I wasn't using his instructions as an exact script - just a, like, general direction.

I mean, it's possible that the only way to use the Freudenberger Technique is to follow exactly his steps in exactly that one order, but I don't think that's true.

Again, for reasons that will become clear.

So yeah, I could've been more explicit. I could've told Kayla that she wasn't to wear a bra to the next lesson. But she's a smart girl, and I didn't think I needed to be be quite that clumsy.

You know what they say: Lead a horse to water and it'll remove its bra of its own accord.

For the rest of that lesson, I didn't say anything. I mean, I said plenty of stuff, but not to the rhythm. I just taught her as well as I could. She was picking it all up pretty quickly; not because I'm a particularly amazing teacher, my sister is just smart as a whip. Her brain is bigger than her distaste for math.

I wasn't worried that we'd run out of stuff to learn or anything like that. I was pretty sure that everyone - Kayla, Dad, and definitely me - would be happy for me to keep coaching her for as long as she was in school.

And if they weren't, I knew how to convince them.

"You won't notice anything unusual about the way Kayla dresses."

Dad nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The instruction was a little out of left field, but I'd tried like a dozen sample commands, and he'd responded fine to all of them.

The tricky part had been convincing him to be okay with a metronome running while he did his morning crossword. It had been a close call at first; he wasn't musical like me or Kayla (his creativity was all visual, I guess) and so I knew he found it genuinely annoying. But when I'd told him that I was trying to internalize 4/4 time for the sake of my upcoming saxophone exam, he'd let me have it run while we ate breakfast.

Not because it was logical. But because he trusted me.

I felt a little bad, abusing that trust, but... I mean, it was for his own good, kind of. Okay, that's a bit of a stretch - I doubt there's a philosopher in the world who'd take on the case that 'being manipulated into ignoring your daughter's new dress code so your son can ogle her' was a good thing for Dad, but... well, it was better than the alternative.

I'm sure that if Dad was given the choice between knowing what I was going to do to Kayla and not knowing, he'd have chosen not to know.

If he knew he couldn't stop it, that is.

I smiled as my sister entered the study for our next study session. I say "entered"... maybe "wobbled" would've been a better description, har har har.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I'd gone through my sister's underwear drawer once. I mean, considering what else I'm confessing to here, it'd be pretty weird if that was where I drew the line.

Not honestly sure what I'd been expecting, but what I'd found had been a veritable treasure trove. Several pairs of lacy underwear, some of it black (which meant she 'wanted to have sex someday', if 10 Things I Hate About You is to be trusted) (which it definitely is), and I learned her bra size: 35E.

Google let me that was big (confirming what my eyes had already told me) - big enough that she had to shop at, like, specialty bra shops and the like.

I wish I could say that I felt sorry for her, but... yeah, even if I'd had the power to snap my fingers and reduce her breast size, there's no amount of money that would've made me do so. Sorry, Kayla - turns out your brother is selfish enough to prioritize his own viewing pleasure over your ease of lingerie purchasing.

As Kayla entered the study, it was all I could do not to drop my eyes and watch as her tits bounced from the momentum of the movement. but I kept my eyes on hers and smiled.

"Hey Mikey!"

"Hey sis," I said, trying my best to sound like an educational YouTuber. "You ready to learn some math?"

She laughed and sat down. As she pulled out her stuff, I allowed myself a single quick glance at her chest - she was wearing a sweater, so it wasn't like her tits were just hanging out for all to see - before getting down to business.

I wasn't surprised to see that she looked completely comfortable, despite her braless state. Well, I guess she looked comfortable because of her braless state.

It was going exactly as I'd hoped. In no way am I going to claim that I was better at this than Mr. Freudenberger - he'd been doing it for decades, after all - but I had been right about how my sister would react. I didn't need to spell it out for her; I just needed to provide the dots, and she'd connect them.

And I'd spent the last few days carefully planning what the next dots were going to be.

"You feel more comfortable without a bra," I confirmed, as soon as Kayla's head was buried in a series of somewhat tricky trig exercises. She nodded immediately - no pause like last time. Whatever minor resistance had been there had been overcome.

"You'd like to feel like this whenever you're at home," I continued. This time there was more of a pause, but barely - almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth, my sister nodded... an action that caused a ripple beneath her sweater, I couldn't help but notice.

I tried not to stare. The rhythm of the metronome hid my words from her conscious mind, but if she looked up and saw me staring at her chest... yeah, I don't think she'd be comfortable for much longer.

Unless...

I like to think of myself as a pretty careful guy. I'm smart - I know how immodest that sounds, but I have the grades to prove it.

My plan had been to just continue along the same lines I'd already started on, to do what Mr. Freudenberger had shown me. But being smart has taught me to trust myself, and as soon as the idea popped into my head, I knew it was a good one.

I didn't suddenly blurt it out or anything like that - as Kayla finished working through the questions, I silently chewed on the thought. But by the time she started on the next exercise, I'd convinced myself that my new idea was not only a good one, but it was even better than what I'd been about to do.

"It feels good to make people feel good," I told Kayla. Maybe it was the slightly awkward sentence structure, or maybe my sister is secretly a misanthropist (it was probably the former) but it took her several beats to nod.

But nod she did.

"You like making people you love feel good," I continued. A bit of a broad instruction, yes, but I don't think a dangerous one. Kayla doesn't have a boyfriend, so the worst case scenario was what, she was a little more generous with her friends? I was pretty sure we could all survive that potential disaster.

She responded to that one straight away. I was starting to grow increasingly confident, especially since my commands were so safe. If I'd missed the rhythm somehow, then what, she would've heard me spouting some milquetoast platitudes?

Again, I think we could safely weather that storm.

"It would make your brother feel really good if you fucked his brains out." I said firmly. My sister nodded immediately, spread her legs, and...

No. Not really.

Not yet.

"If your brother looks at you..." I started, but was suddenly distracted by the idea of my sister spreading her legs for me.

To my alarm, my sister froze. Shit. I'd just implanted half a thought in her mind, and she was trying to process it.

"If your brother looks at you," I repeated, trying to stay calm and stick to the rhythm. I really shouldn't have started this thought before working out the phrasing. "... it's because it makes him happy."

After a few more moments of hesitation, my sister nodded and continued writing. A wrong answer, I noticed - I wonder if that was because my instructions were more taxing than normal, or because she was genuinely struggling with the lesson.

I let her finish the exercise without distraction, hoping she wouldn't notice that I was sweating slightly. "If your brother looks at you, it's because it makes him happy" was such a clumsy, half-formed thought.

And right after I'd just been internally bragging about how smart I was.

I had to fix this before the lesson ended, I didn't want her going away and subconsciously interrogating that poorly-constructed idea.

"Do you mind if we go a little longer today?" I asked - non-rhythmically, just in my normal voice.

"Fine by me," Kayla replied, glancing up at me. Did her eyes linger for a little longer on mine than normal, or was I being paranoid? Was there a hint of suspicion in her gaze, or was that how she just always looked at me?

This wasn't the end of the world. Not even close. I could fix this.

"Your brother's gaze isn't sexual," I said, as soon as I'd calmed down enough to start problem-solving again. To my relief, my sister nodded straight away.

Yeah, this was sort of the opposite direction of where I wanted to end up, but sometimes the fastest path to the mountain was... I dunno, by going in the opposite direction of the mountain. I was too busy trying to fix my blunder to come up with a great metaphor.

What had I said so far? What had my 'great' new idea resulted in?

Kayla liked making people she loved happy. Looking at her made me happy. My attention was non-sexual. That was a good start - those dots could be safely connected, I was pretty sure - but it was important I tie up any loose ends.

Like Mr. Freudenberger always did.

The next time I sat in on Viola's class, I noticed immediately that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Her tits weren't as big as my sister's - I mean, let's be honest, few are - but she also wasn't wearing a thick sweater like Kayla did.

Instead, Viola was wearing a thin white blouse. Not thin enough to be, like, pornographic... but when she lowered her violin, I immediately realized that I could see the outline of her nipples through the top.

When she nodded, her tits bounced just the slightest bit. Not even enough to see, not unless you were specifically looking for it.

I blinked twice, and realized that I'd been completely distracted by Viola's lack of bra, and hadn't caught what Mr. Freudenberger had just said. Fuck - had his instructions, whatever they were, worked on me?

At this point I hadn't put everything together, but after what I'd witnessed the previous week, I was starting to at least identify the pieces. It was already clear that when he used that voice - that weird, rhythmic way of speaking - Viola didn't notice. She also didn't notice anything she did in response to the words she didn't notice: like when he instructed her to remove her bra. Even when she left, she didn't seem to notice it was missing.

Nor did she notice me. Mr. Freudenberger's instructions had basically made me invisible.

"I'll say it again," Mr. Freudenberger said with a thin smile, "as your teacher, I sometimes need to touch you."

Viola nodded again, and I realized with horror that I completely agreed with what he'd just said. Like, the statement was so obviously true, I spent a few seconds even questioning why he'd needed to use 'the voice' (as I was thinking of it at that point) to say it.

It wasn't until I started to rationally deconstruct it that I realized this was a new thought. Now that's a bizarre sensation: knowing something to be true... but also knowing that there's no reason it should be. More than that, that if you'd heard it a few days ago, you never would have agreed.

It still felt right, down to the bones, but I intellectually knew it was wrong, y'know?

The closest parallel I can think of is... well, how I felt about Kayla. I know how wrong it is to lust after your sister, I know that incest is wrong and my taboo thoughts were sick.

But I still had them. I still wanted Kayla more than anyone else - everyone else - put together.

That was how I felt about Mr. Freudenberger touching me. As his student, sometimes he had to, I knew that for a fact. It was not only fine, it was, like... necessary?

But... at the same time, that simple, true fact didn't actually make sense. It didn't apply to any other teacher I could think of. It wasn't a logical thought.

Just a true one.

So yeah - it wasn't hard to work out that it wasn't my thought, that I'd been so distracted by the outline of Viola's nipples, 'the voice' had worked on me too.

I was lucky Mr. Freudenberger was straight, really. If he'd been interested in me, I wouldn't have had a chance. I don't know if his power could change your sexuality, but after everything else I'd seen it do, I wouldn't be surprised.

But not only did my teacher never use his power on me (that I was aware of, anyway), after he noticed me nodding along, he'd made sure to repeat the instruction, to alert me to what he'd inadvertently done.

It took me a moment to realize I'd gotten lost in thought once more - Mr. Freudenberger must have noticed as well, because he waited for me to come out of my little problem-solving stupor before giving Viola another instruction.

"As your teacher, I'll need to touch your arms, your chin, your hands, your fingers. This is necessary for me to adequately teach you the violin."

Again, Viola nodded - without pausing, I should say. As soon as she started the next set of scales, he expanded on the idea. Mr. Freudenberger had clearly been doing this a long time, he knew how to build on acceptable thoughts.

Something I was still learning.

"If your brother stares at you," I said, each syllable perfectly timed to match with the tick, tick, tick of the metronome, "that means you're attractive."

My sister paused. For longer than before. For longer than she, or 'Viola', ever had. My heart leapt to my throat as I waited, as the metronome kept ticking, as she froze as my thought settled into her brain.

Finally, after what felt like thirty agonizing seconds, Kayla continued writing.

And as she did, she shook her head.

Chapter 3:

Kayla paused.

Something was happening.

For the last few days, she'd been feeling... different.

Mostly a good different. Ever since starting college, she'd been having trouble sleeping, but over the last week or so her insomnia had all but disappeared, and she'd finally been able to get a decent amount of shut-eye.

She wasn't sure what was behind the change, she just felt more... relaxed. More comfortable.

It had helped that she'd stopped wearing a bra at home, of course. She felt more comfortable without a bra. But she'd never worn a bra to bed, so why would that have affected her sleep?

It didn't matter. Whatever the reason for her newfound comfort, Kayla wasn't going to complain. She was sleeping better, she was more relaxed, she found her mind looping through the same stressful thoughts much less often...

So what was wrong?

Her brother was sitting across the room, playing on his phone. As she stared at him, he looked up at her, and Kayla realized - that was what had prompted this thought in the first place. Her brother's gaze.

She stayed perfectly still as his eyes slowly swept her body. Kayla was wearing a tank-top and a pair of flannel pajama pants she'd picked up to sleep in. The tank-top wasn't particularly see-through - it wasn't thin, but her nipples were large enough to be visible.

Normally Kayla would've objected to the idea that her brother could see the outline of her nipples, but her brother's gaze wasn't sexual. If he looked at her, it was because it made him happy.

And it felt good to make people feel good.

His gaze paused on her heavy breasts for a while before moving down to her hips. Again, she stayed frozen, letting him look. As her brother's eyes moved down her body, she felt herself flush slightly.

She liked her brother appreciating her body.

Her brother's gaze wasn't sexual, but it felt great. It was like admiring a piece of art; he could appreciate her aesthetically. It made her feel... attractive?

No. No, that wasn't right.

With a shrug, Kayla let the thought go. Don't overthink. When her brother was staring at her, it meant he liked what he was seeing. It meant he liked her body, and it was nice to be appreciated.

It made Kayla feel good, knowing that her body was bringing her brother pleasure.

She liked making people she love feel good. Best not to overthink it.

When Kayla started writing again, my sigh of relief was so heavy it almost blew her paper off the table. My heart was pounding as I watched her finish the questions, then turn back to me for her next instructions.

She didn't look suspicious or upset. My command hadn't landed (I assumed; I mean, I didn't know how else to interpret that head-shake) but it also hadn't... I dunno, activated a sleeper switch that turned her into a Russian assassin.

Not that there'd been a serious risk of that happening.

Freudenberger was German, after all.

"Okay," I said, trying desperately to sound normal. Perhaps too desperately, but it seemed to work. "So, Euler's constant..."

As I explained the exponential series and its properties, I watched my sister closely. Her gaze was glassy, as it always was during lessons - not glassy in a "she's totally under my command" way, but more in a "she's learning math, one of her least favorite ways to spend time" way.

But she once more didn't object to me explaining something I knew she already knew, and as she started on the next set of problems, I had mustered the courage to try again.

"If your brother stares at you, that means he likes what he's seeing."

Nod. Almost no hesitation this time; I guess this was just building on "If your brother looks at you, it's because it makes him happy", which she'd eventually accepted.

"If he likes what he's seeing," I said slowly, forming the sentence as I spoke - something that had backfired earlier, but time was running short, and I wanted to make sure that everything I told my sister was internally consistent. "... that means there's something to like."

A longer pause this time, but again Kayla responded with a nod.

"It means he likes your body," I continued.

Nod. Faster than I was expecting, to be honest, until I remembered that I'd already established that my gaze wasn't sexual.

Maybe that was a good direction to expand upon.

"Your brother can appreciate you aesthetically. It's not sexual, it's like admiring a piece of art."

A longer pause this time, but just as she finished the last question, my sister nodded. She looked up at me with a smile.

"Okay, last few," I said, handing her the last worksheet I'd printed out. As she started work, I quickly fired off some more rhythmically-delivered commands.

"It's nice to be appreciated." Nod. "It makes you feel good, knowing that your body is bringing your brother pleasure." Nod; surprisingly fast.

I considered explicitly instructing her to seek out opportunities for me to enjoy her body, but... again, my sister is pretty bright. I didn't need to spell it out for her; if something brought her joy, it was reasonable to assume she'd pursue it.

Kayla was reaching the end of the page, and I was still worried that I'd missed something. My sister is smart; if she started acting strangely, I was sure she'd analyze it, work out why she her behavior had changed.

It wasn't like she'd jump straight to "my brother is using a hypnotic method he learned from his old saxophone teacher to slowly make me want to show off my body to him", but.... well. The metronome, the sudden change in how she dressed at home, enjoying my attention... it wasn't a huge leap to assume I had something to do with her change in behavior. You wouldn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to put the puzzle pieces together, and my sister - while no Sherlock Holmes - was far from an idiot.

I needed to come up with the perfect phrase, something that would allay any suspicions that formed in her mind. I needed to put the perfect bow on everything that I'd done today.

Just as she was finishing the last question, I smiled. I had it:

"Don't overthink," I instructed simply, and after another worryingly long pause... my sister nodded.

The next few days were great. My instructions for my sister had worked better than I could have anticipated; she looked more relaxed than I could remember ever seeing her.

At first I was worried that my last command had, like, made her stupid, but after challenging her to a game of Boggle, that theory was dead in the water. Kayla was just as quick-witted as she'd always been. In fact, I think she actually played better than before - maybe she normally gets stuck on trying to make a particularly long work, and 'don't overthink' was exactly what she needed to improve her game?

She was dressing down even more than before. She wasn't walking around topless or anything like that (yet...) but she was lounging around in more revealing clothes than she normally would.

Without a bra.

For the first couple of days, I was subtle with my glances. I'd flick my eyes down if she was showing cleavage, or I'd give her a brief once-over when she entered the room. It was the most I dared do, until I was sure of her reaction.

Kayla didn't even seem to notice, at least not consciously. But her voice would have a hint of pleasure after I quickly checked her out, or a tiny blush would appear on her cheeks.

And so I began to escalate.

If Kayla's nipples were even remotely visible, I'd keep my eyes on them for more than a few seconds. If she was wearing a pair of jeans that made her ass look good (aka all of them) I'd let my eyes linger for longer than a brother should as she walked in the room.

And if my sister was wearing something low-cut, I'd actively stare. At first just for a little... but after I first saw her notice (and enjoy) my attention, I'd keep staring for as long as I wanted.

Well, not as long as I wanted, else we'd have been there for years.

My sister's reaction was always positive. She never objected or seemed grossed out; quite the opposite. The longer I looked, the more pleasure it seemed to give her.

Not sexual pleasure (yet!). Just the pleasure of being appreciated - like if a one of her female friends had complimented her on something she was wearing. She'd blush, smile... one time I kept my eyes on her tits for long enough that she actually giggled.

But it was obvious that she didn't see my attention as sexual. And she never acted like I was being inappropriate.

Once or twice I saw a glimpse of confusion on her face, but just as quickly she'd shrug it off and go back to enjoying my attention. Attention that I was more than happy to give.

By the end of the week, she was actively posing for me. I'd enter the room and she'd make sure I had the best possible view of what she had to offer, staying perfectly still as my eyes roamed her body, feasting on her plentiful curves and contours.

Had I left it a little longer, I'm sure that the dopamine I was providing would've motivated her to come looking for me. I don't know how far it would've gone... you know if you have a friend who always makes you feel good, you'll go out of your way to spend time with them?

I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd started waking up to find Kayla outside my room, ready for my attention. Ready for me to openly ogle her without triggering even a hint of suspicion.

But I was confident that my plan was working, and I was ready for the next step. I knew she wouldn't start dressing more revealingly; she didn't see my attention as sexual, so there was no reason to think that dressing more sexually would've inspired more. Maybe I could've done a Pavlovian thing - given her more attention when she showed more skin, shaped her choice of dress over time...

But why bother with second-level manipulations when I could just go in there and add the preferences directly?

"It's safe to show more skin at home."

The pause went on long enough that I was sure it was going to end in a shake of the head, but finally Kayla nodded. She must have really had to think about it... but without overthinking it?

Had I found a loophole?

"Don't question my instructions," I instructed. Kayla paused once more, but after over a minute of pondering my words... shook her head.

Yeah. Okay. Nothing's ever that easy, is it?

My instructions not to overthink things apparently only affected her outside of these study sessions. Although... no, that didn't make sense. I'd seen Mr. Freudenberger give instructions that had been immediately, enthusiastically obeyed.

I decided to ponder on that later. Right now, there was something else I wanted to do.

We'd moved on from calculus to trigonometry, my sister's weak spot. Supposedly men are better at spatial reasoning - something to do with us being hunters while women are gatherers (which is why they're better at color identification) or something like that. I got her to start plotting dots onto a graph while I continued.

"You like your brother appreciating your body." Nod. "It feels great." Nod. "You enjoy it so much, you should show more of your body off to him." A pause - not worryingly long, but still long - and then a nod.

Again, I could have kept going and been more explicit, but I trusted my sister to follow the breadcrumbs. I'd let her natural brightness take her the rest of the way in that direction; there was another angle I wanted to use my time exploring.

"You like men's bodies." Quick nod. Mr. Freudenberger's lessons had demonstrated that this would work even if Kayla hadn't been straight, but it certainly made things easier. "You can appreciate them aesthetically as well as sexually." Again, immediate nod. Nothing too controversial so far, just laying the groundwork to make sure I wasn't making any assumptions.

I mean, I knew my sister had dated guys before, but... I dunno, maybe she was secretly gay? Or asexual? Or something else? I just wanted to be sure.

"Men's bodies are attractive." Nod. "Your brother is a man." Nod, though there was a longer pause than I would've liked. "You can appreciate your brother's body...-"

"What?"

My eyes widened. Kayla was looking straight at me, her eyebrows furrowed.

Shit.

Kayla stared at her brother. She'd just finished marking the position of the final point on the graph when she noticed him saying something in a strange, rhythmic tone.

"What?" she asked, her eyes flicking between his and the paper in front of her. Was he talking about the graph? she wondered. No... no, that didn't make sense.

He had a weird, flustered look on his face. "You okay?"

"Sorry," he gasped. "Swallowed a fly."

The office had an old-fashioned water cooler in the corner - Kayla couldn't have said the last time anyone used it, but apparently it still worked, because her brother managed to stagger over to pour himself a glass of water. Her eyes never left him as he made his way across the room.

When had my brother become a man?

"What were you saying about your body?" she asked, once he'd returned to the desk.

"My body of work," he replied, gesturing to the table.

Kayla went to throw him a look, but got distracted as his eyes dropped to her cleavage. She wasn't wearing a bra; she liked to feel comfortable when she was at home. She couldn't help but smile at the attention. It's nice to be appreciated.

She liked her brother appreciating her body.

Forgetting exactly what they had been talking about, Kayla rolled her eyes. "You're such a weirdo. Let's get back to work."

The next set of points were even more challenging than the first, and Kayla had to stop and ponder the problems several times.

As she did, she could feel part of her brain wanting to go down the rabbit hole: What if I never get the hang of this? What if I can't make it through aviation school? What if I have to drop out and never achieve my goal of becoming a pilot?

But she was able to push the thoughts back each time.

Don't overthink.

She immediately felt a calmness descend on her. The anti-overthinking thought, in combination with how comfortable she felt without a bra, allowed her to stop spiraling and focus on the next question without issue.

Once she was done, Kayla leaned back. "Thanks so much," she said, throwing her brother a smile. She appreciated her brother helping her with math. He was such a great tutor.

She wouldn't question his methods.

"No worries," he smiled back. Once more, his eyes started on her face, but as they slowly moved down her body, Kayla couldn't help but bite her lip.

I like my brother appreciating my body.

I enjoy it so much, I should show more of my body off to him.

Neither of of the siblings said a word as Kayla leaned forward, pushing her arms together. She knew that her girls weren't exactly modest - she went to a LOT of work to hide them, being cursed/blessed (depending on what kind of mood she was in that day) with a more-than-generous rack - but like all women, she knew how to present them in their best light.

Kayla crossed her arms just beneath her breasts, pushing them up for her brother's gaze. Her brother's appreciation of my body felt great, and she felt safe showing more skin at home. His gaze wasn't sexual.

She could feel herself blush as her brother's eyes traced her curves. He's appreciating me aesthetically. It isn't sexual. It was like admiring a piece of art.

As he did, Kayla allowed her eyes to drop down to her brother's body body. It issn't sexual to check out my brother, it's just an appreciation of his body. I like men's bodies, and my brother is a man.

He wasn't exactly rippling with muscles (not like her ex-boyfriend Jake. Mmm... now there was a man) but Kayla knew that her brother was a man, and reasonably fit. His arms were lithe but firm, and the shorts he was wearing showed off his calves. Kayla had always liked a man's calves, a thought she was too self-conscious about to ever share.

She knew her brother was cute, too, although for some reason she found her focus drawn to his body. *I like men's bodies; I can appreciate them aesthetically as well as sexually. I can appreciate my brother's body objectively. *

I can appreciate my brother's body...

Kayla's head tilted to the side at the thought. I can appreciate my brother's... body of work.

As her eyes flicked down to what her brother had just been teaching - I appreciate my brother helping me with math; he's a great tutor - a thought began to form. Her brow furrowed as she tried to connect the dots. There was something she was... missing... but she couldn't work out what.

The metronome from the study session was still going, which only served to further distract her. She couldn't seem to follow any single train of thought; whenever she started down a path, it was like something interrupted her. Like a silent new thought, slipping down the path she was trying to explore herself.

After a few minutes, Kayla gave up. Don't overthink it.

Besides, she trusted her brother. She trusted her brother more than anyone.

It was a thought she'd never consciously expressed before, but the redheaded girl knew down to her bones that it was true. When their mother had left, it had just been the two of them.

She trusted her brother. She trusted her brother more than anyone. She wasn't suspicious of him.

She trusted him.