I feel.

That, in and of itself, is not new. The person I was before also used to feel emotions very strongly. It was just, more typically, emotions of the negative kind.

I was always bored. I was angry all the time. Even when I felt good relative to my baseline, there was always this frustration towards the rest of the world. I felt entitled to something that the world around me was not giving me. Even I couldn’t name what it was. I just knew that I didn’t have it.

I antagonised all comers. I jealously guarded my freedom to not cooperate with anybody. I eschewed every manner of performativity. In short, I was a fucking asshole.

And I broke my best friend’s heart.

But ever since I resolved to change, I’ve been feeling in an altogether different way. Sure, not all of it is unambiguously positive.

It’s still a little weird that I’m Sylvia’s pussy-attendant. It’s a bit self-abnegating to act like an oral sex vending machine in the college bathrooms. And sometimes, the thought that I’ve spent an entire week relentlessly seducing my own brother makes me feel like the room around me is about to spin and tilt.

But!

There’s the glow. That’s definitely very positive. It feels good to do good. Generosity always rewards every sacrifice tenfold. It’s this totalising sensation, this swirling mist of colour, that takes over my brain, my body… my sex. It turns me into a creature of raw sensation.

Which is why, this being the morning after, I give Chris some time to himself before showing up at the threshold of his bedroom.

I’ve worked him over, yes. I’ve conclusively proven my sisterly generosity, yes. But I’ve got this feeling that I’ll encounter a bit of renewed resistance on his part, this time.

I don’t blame him. Hard to get used to the idea that your previously bitchy sis has truly decided to turn her life around just like that.

I imagine he must be feeling the Godzilla version of post-nut clarity at the moment. Poor bro. Guess I should provide him with some clarity of my own. And while I’ve waited a bit, I can’t give him all the time I would otherwise. It’s Monday. Our parents will be back today.

Decisive progress must be made now — or not at all.

"Hey," I say, leaning against his doorframe. "You doing okay?"

Chris looks up from his laptop, but not really at me. Every time he tries to meet my eyes, he ends up looking elsewhere.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good. Great." I enter his room fully and sit on the edge of his bed. "About last night..."

His face flushes immediately. "It was a mistake. First the blowjob, and then… look, we can just forget it happened. Yeah?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Is that what you really want? To forget it happened?"

"I mean... yes? It's not exactly normal, Pheebs. I want us to be brother and sister."

I move a little closer to him on the bed. I try to make it look casual and spontaneous, but it’s toootally not. I know the playbook like the back of my hand at this point. "I’m not interested in normal. I’m interested in good. And selfless. I don’t want to forget, bro. And I sure as hell don’t want this to be a one-time thing."

His eyes widen. "What?"

"Look, it felt good, right? For both of us?" I lean forward, resting my hand on his knee. "So what’s the big deal? I just want be there for you when you want or need release."

He stares very intently at a particular spot on the wall for a while, conspicuously ignoring my hand on his knee.

"This is crazy," he says finally. "You keep talking about my wants and needs like I’m some kinda… I dunno, sick puppy. But even if I was into you… even though you’re my sis… this isn’t supposed to be like that, you know? Sex isn’t charity."

I frown. A sense of wrongness creeps in from the margins of my perception. "Bro, I did say it was good for both of us."

Chris throws his hands in the air. "But you’re also taking every opportunity you can to make it sound like I’m some pity-fuck, Pheebs. Like, what am I supposed to think?"

These days, I am a creature of pure sensation. And so, I don’t experience wrongness as a thought I could articulate in so many words. I experience it as a feeling.

It’s like the bedroom is teetering precariously over the edge of a precipice. Any moment now, it will tip over and fall. Up will become down, and I’ll lose myself in the spinning chaos, and something terrible will happen —

But as always, positivity trumps negativity. The colours close in. The mist pacifies me. And generosity’s rewards are there for the taking… if only I dare reach out my hand.

I don't want to lose this momentum. I slide my hand higher up his thigh.

"Let me be super clear," I say, locking eyes with him. "You're not a pity-fuck. Not at all. You’re great at sex. The best I’ve ever had."

It’s a bald-faced lie, of course, but a necessary one. It appeals to the male ego in a way that overrides his critical thinking. And it’ll make him feel better about himself, I hope.

Nothing morally questionable with this lie, of course. I’m just doing well by doing good.

I lean in and press my lips to his neck, just below his ear. I feel his pulse quicken beneath my mouth.

"Think about it," I say. "Anytime you get stressed from school, or frustrated, or just horny... I'm right down the hall. Always available. Always willing."

When our lips finally meet, his resistance crumbles. His hands grip my waist, pulling me tighter against him as he deepens the kiss.

Before he can get used to the feeling, however, I start descending to my knees.

That’s always good. Wants and needs are best fulfilled on hands and knees. This is the best position from which one can do well by doing good. It’s pure altruism.

I’m not sure how long we have until our parents return home, so I can’t afford to take my time with him. This will have to be a quick blowjob.

That’s okay. Given my experience in the college bathrooms, and the obvious need to better manage my schedule and maximise happiness all around, I know how to get it over with quickly. It’s a necessary skill, when you want to be a force for good in the world!

Besides, no matter how much he may protest, Chris is definitely hard as a rock, thanks to me.

I tug his sweatpants down, freeing his cock. It springs up, already fully hard, and I wrap my fingers around the base, stroking him a few times before taking him into my mouth.

He doesn’t protest. He doesn’t twitch , hesitate, or withdraw, even for a moment. His big sis is latching onto his cock like her life depends on it, and he isn’t recoiling away from it.

His flinch response is completely gone.

Finally! I can’t believe Sylvia was genuinely doubting the sincerity of my turnaround. See? I can make people trust me. I can make them behave on the assumption that they can count on me. Yay!

I deploy every tool in my selfless arsenal to make sure this won’t be drawn out. I use my tongue generously, sure, but I also give him the best bedroom eyes I have, and I use my hands whenever I can. I make moans and throaty sounds of glee, too, not because I’m sexually aroused, but because the performance will help him along.

Besides, in a way, the sounds are sincere. Who needs sexual arousal when I can feel the glow?

It’s like a blast furnace, bathing me in a warm and fuzzy wave that seems to simultaneously radiate from outside and from inside me. It’s never been this strong, because I’ve never been this selfless.

His flinch response is gone! Gone, gone, gone! I’m the best sister the world has ever seen! And I know - as a feeling, rather than a thought - that I’ll never need to convince him of my sincerity again.

***

If my generosity schedule was complicated before, it’s simply inescapable now.

I don’t have a single moment, or a single space, to myself. Now that Chris has been added to the list — in fact, now that he’s claimed such a prominent role in it — it feels like I’ve been placed between a hammer and an anvil, and squished flat.

There is simply no room for selfishness in a life like mine. Not anymore.

That’s totally a good thing! Even if it gets a bit tiring. Sometimes very, very tiring. But nobody said being a good person would be easy.

Our parents' return means Chris and I need to be more discreet, of course, so I have to be careful.

If you look at it as a problem of needs, other people can have my help pretty much any time throughout the day, but he’s not so lucky. If we’re at home, I have to jump and seize every opportunity we have to be alone.

I’m still taking the initiative, but he’s clearly getting used to the idea of having a free use sister that will suck his cock or spread her legs any time he shows interest…

Or sometimes, even when he doesn’t show it.

But little bro is coming along nicely. He’s starting to find his confidence, poor thing, and to be playful with it. Once, during dinner, he places his hand on my thigh under the table, inches from where I'm already getting wet for him. I nearly choke on my peas, earning a concerned look from Mom.

"Wrong pipe," I explain, taking a large gulp of water while Chris bites his lip not to laugh.

It’s funny. I am generous and selfless and good to many people, but it’s increasingly clear that I’m not equally selfless with everyone. I hope that’s okay.

It seems like it, since the happy glow comes anyway.

It’s becoming apparent by this point that there are two guiding lights in my life, two centres of gravity that take up much more time and energy than everybody else. They are Sylvia and Chris.

She’s very careful about not taking away my opportunities to be alone with him — after all, this entire thing was her idea — but whenever mum and dad are home, she has zero qualms about making me drop everything on the spot, and running to offer my face as her sex toy.

She still does things that leave me a little miffed, like calling me her good little dyke and claiming that it’s my dues to serve a properly straight girl like her. I’d never be so impolite as to point out the contradiction, and I suppose in a sense that she’s right, I mean… a warm wet tongue is a warm wet tongue, right?

Still. It would be selfish of me to ask her to stop calling me that. I broke her trust with that group project… the least I can do is smile and nod when she calls me a pussyslave dyke whore.

"So," she says one evening as I'm kneeling between her legs and tying my hair in a ponytail, "how's Operation Brother-Fucker going?"

I laugh despite myself. "That's a terrible name for it."

"But accurate. Come on, spill."

I tell her everything—how Chris has completely embraced our new relationship, how he'll bend me over his desk when our parents are out shopping, how he's become more confident, more relaxed.

"He texted me during my Psych lecture yesterday," I say. "Just one word: 'Bathroom?' I met him there five minutes later. He fucked me against the wall with his hand over my mouth so no one would hear."

Sylvia's eyes gleam with delight. "Holy shit, Pheebs. You really can’t say no to anything. Especially coming from me."

Seeing the glint in her eyes, I feel a rush of gratification. Sylvia's enjoying this. That makes me happy. I've spent so much time being a shitty friend to her, it feels incredible to finally be bringing her genuine joy. The fact that she's amused at my sexual activities with my brother is beside the point. What matters is that I'm making her happy.

"You know I disagree with that take. It’s cool though," I say, smiling back at her.

"So what's next?" Sylvia asks conspirationally, leaning forward. "Are you going to start blowing him at family dinners under the table?"

What a ridiculous suggestion! I love her, but Syl can be so thoughtless sometimes. "Of course not! Can you imagine what my parents would say or do to him?"

Somehow, that seems to amuse Sylvia to no end. She slaps her thigh, laughing. "So that’s why you wouldn’t do it? For altruistic reasons? Haha! Oh my God!"

I frown, confused. "Why else wouldn’t I?"

She shakes her head, laughing even harder. "You’re just too precious."

"I'm… just trying to be the best person I can be."

"The best person, sure. The best friend AND the best sister," Sylvia says, chuckling. "And the best carpet muncher I know. Get to work, dyke."

I shrug internally and bend forward.

Ahh, the things I do for friendship!

***

I wake to darkness and the feeling of weight.

At first, I think I'm dreaming, and I try to turn over on my side so I can go back to sleep.

But… I can’t turn over. Because there’s weight.

As my consciousness slowly bleeds back into being, I realise that someone is here in the room, in the bed, with me. Someone who smells like Chris’ deodorant.

His body is draped atop mine.

My brother is breathing is heavy in the darkness. I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my thigh. He's already hard. He must have been thinking about this, lying awake in his own bed until the urge became too much to resist.

That’s… so… sweet!

He found the courage to come to my bedroom. He had a need, and immediately thought of big sis as the best person to fulfill it! I’m so happy I could squeal!

Wordlessly, I do my best to tug my PJ pants down, and my panties as well. We fumble awkwardly in the dark, trying not to make too much noise, until finally, I feel my brother’s cock against my cunt.

I'm not wet enough yet, but he doesn't seem to care. Correctly, because my needs aren’t important. He spits into his hand—I hear the sound more than see it in the darkness—and rubs it over his cock before positioning himself again. This time when he pushes forward, he slides in, the initial resistance giving way to a tight fit that makes us both inhale sharply.

He doesn't ask if this is okay. He doesn't check if I'm comfortable. He just starts fucking me, pistoning in and out at a steady rhythm as his weight pins my body in place, pushing me deeper into the mattress.

He doesn't speak. Neither do I. There is no need for words.

If anything, we could use being quieter. I bite my lip to keep from making noise. Our parents are just down the hall, and the walls in this house aren't particularly thick.

Chris buries his face in my hair, his breath hot on the back of my neck. His free hand snakes around to cup my breast, fingers finding my nipple and pinching it roughly. The slight pain sends a jolt of pleasure through me, and I feel myself getting wetter around his cock.

I reach back to touch his thigh, not to stop him but to acknowledge him. He responds by pushing my face into the pillow—not hard enough to suffocate, just enough to muffle any sounds I might make. His other hand grips my hip tighter, angling me so he can thrust deeper.

The message is clear: I'm here for his use. Not as a partner, not even as a sister who's helping him out—just as a warm, wet hole for him to fuck when he needs release.

And I accept it. I yield to it completely. This is what I've been working toward, isn't it? Being available, accommodating, selfless. The pretty colours swirl behind my eyes as I give myself over to my brother’s needs.

And the reward is at hand.

He doesn't care if I come. That's not what this is about. But my body responds anyway.

It doesn’t matter that my clit is going unattended, that there has been no foreplay, that technically I haven’t consented. There's something deeply arousing about being taken like this, about being needed so fundamentally. It really does feel better than sex.

Doing well by doing good. Doing well by doing good…

The bed frame creaks softly, because he's fucking me harder now. Maybe I should be worried about getting caught, but I don't care anymore. I don’t care about anything. I am experiencing bliss in its purest form, and in gratitude, I push back to meet his cock, taking him deeper.

I clench around him deliberately, gripping and squeezing his dick with my sex, the way that tipped him over the edge the first time. And of course, it works.

He groans. His rhythm falters. And the darkness of the room lights up, at least in my mind, with the brightest swirl of colours I’ve ever seen in my life.

That’s when, for the second time, my cunt dutifully and selflessly milks my brother’s cock to completion.

It’s a short spurt, this time, which is understandable. I have been giving him regular orgasms lately, after all. It’s bodily evidence that I’m being so good at taking care of him.

Satisfied and spent, Chris collapses on top of me, and I let him press me deep into the bed. It feels nice. His softening cock is still inside me, too.

For a long moment, we lie here in silence.

Then, without a word, he withdraws. The mattress shifts as he gets up. I hear his footsteps pad across the floor, the soft click of the door opening and closing, and then he's gone.

I lie there in the darkness, feeling his cum leak out of me, soaking into the sheets beneath. Something fundamental has shifted between us tonight. This wasn't a negotiated encounter or a seduction. He simply took what he wanted, what he needed, without asking.

So far, I’ve mostly been the initiator. Sure, he’s started occasionally asking me for sex, but this time, he didn’t even see fit to do that.

He just knew I was available, and acted accordingly.

It’s what Sylvia wanted. It’s what he needed. And it makes me feel so, so fulfilled…

I don’t know many things with certainty, these days, but I do feel many things, and in a way that’s probably accurate. And right now, I feel pride and a sense of accomplishment.

I feel like I’m no longer just a better person, or a better friend, or a more judicious and dutiful member of this household. I am all those things, too. But I am something else and more specific, on top of all of that. I am, and I feel, like…

A free-use sister.

TO BE CONTINUED…