Brother Learns Discipline

Exploring some BDSM themes in this one.

All characters are 18+

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My sister is a bitch. A total bitch.

No really. Trust me.

I'm pretty sure her whole reason for being since we were kids was to terrorize me when no one was looking. When we were fighting in the back of the car, she started it. Well, *most* of the time she started it.

Rebecca would steal the homework out of my backpack, so it would be gone when I got to school that day.

She'd eat all of my favorite cereal, so I'd have to eat Dad's healthy cereal instead. Bran something or other. Gross.

I'm pretty sure she was the one who started some of the rumors about me at school. No, I don't dress up in pink dresses at home. I still hear people snickering about that years later, even though she and I are both 18 now.

She's 10 months younger than me. I'm 5'9" and have a few extra pounds I've been trying to work off. I got a fire in my belly about trying to get fit, so for the last six months I've been trying to do more sports and lift dad's weights a bit more. It's a slow process. I don't have much hair on my body, what little I have is pretty blond. I guess that's why people could believe I'd make a good girl.

Fuck 'em. Fuck everyone that believed her.

She's surprisingly fit for being more of the bookish type, closer to 5'6" with thick rimmed glasses and long brunette hair. She liked to wear eye-liner, and mom had let her for years. If someone forced me at gunpoint, I'd admit that it looked good on her. But *trust* me when I say I would never, ever compliment her willingly. I swear to god, she had embers of pure evil for eyes and a lump of coal for a heart.

She still managed to get presents, though. Santa/Dad never caught her. Hell, she got better grades than me and never had teachers writing home about she was distracted in class. A fucking saint by parental standards.

I suspected she was Mom's favorite, though I was never sure why. Mom's a lawyer, so maybe she loved the fact that her daughter had enough cunning to follow in her footsteps. I have no idea. *I'm* the one that had to put up with her as she learned how to do it.

Fuck her.

You know, I thought maybe... just maybe... that things would get a little better once I started my senior year. I don't know why I thought that. I'd heard of siblings actually becoming friends after a while. Ha! What a laugh. I'll get a pet viper while I'm at it. I'm sure it'd like a good cuddle.

Did I ever try to get revenge? I swear I tried. She was always one step ahead of me. One time I actually snuck into her room, took all of the underwear out of her drawer, and hid them under all the dirty laundry in the laundry room.

Did it even phase her? No. I'm pretty sure she went commando to school the next day. She probably enjoyed teasing boys at school, I dunno. But she knew it was me. Oh and she let me have it. *Somehow* my parents magically found out what the password was on my laptop and *somehow* knew to look at my search history. Grounded. For a month.

Bitch.

I didn't try anything for months after that, and still she'd pick at me.

Oh, and this one time, she actually told my then-girlfriend something bad enough to break up with me. My girlfriend didn't tell me what she'd said, or even who told her, only that "she had heard things" and she thought it was "time to see other people." I knew my sister's handiwork.

I tried to get revenge, but I couldn't. It was like she never dated anyone. It took me a while to figure it out. She was keeping whole chunks of her life private, so that none of us. Not me. Not Mom and Dad. None of us could stop her.

Once I realized what she was doing I followed her lead. I didn't talk about anyone I was going on a date with, I never talked about parties I was going to, or even what I was doing for homework. My parents just thought I was going through an extra surly phase, I'm sure, but for me it was survival.

Why was she such a bitch to me? I couldn't honestly say. Seriously, I don't know. One time when we were 5 or 6, I pulled the hair out of one of her dolls. Not one of my proudest moments in hindsight. Little did I know I'd probably fired the opening volley in a war that would last the next 12 years. She hated me. She clearly hated me. But she never did it overtly. Sure, when she was younger, she might whisper something to get me riled up, only to back away innocently. Nowadays, she didn't even do that, letting her actions do the talking.

The last five months or so had been pretty quiet. She'd done just enough to let me know she was still messing with me, but nothing big. I got the sense she was just waiting for the right time to strike.

She found it, too.

Let me set the scene.

I admit it, I masturbate. I firmly believe that people either masturbate or lie and say they don't. Even chicks do it. At least that's what some of my goth friends at school tell me. You know, the ones that aren't afraid to talk about sex bluntly to someone like me.

Second, my parents are religious. Crazy religious. On a bad day, it's fire and brimstone religious. On a good day, it's just a heavy dose of silent judgment. I've managed to survive it. Hell, if I can fight a war with my sister, I can put up with Mom and Dad and their church. I knew better to tell them I didn't believe in God. The whole thing just seemed so stupid. Something in the back of my head told me never to tell them. Maybe I thought they'd disown me, and I was holding out hope I could play along well enough they'd pay for college.

Masturbating, having religious parents, and having a spiteful sister meant that I was very, very careful when and where I did it. Very careful. If I did it in the room, my door was locked and sometimes I'd go as far as putting a heavy box in front of the door just in case. That would allow me the precious extra seconds I'd need if someone unlocked the door.

The shower? Well, sure, that sounds like a good idea, but there's still evidence if you're not careful.

I'm paranoid, in case that wasn't abundantly clear.

Porn? I didn't even watch porn at home. After getting caught, I was too scared. Instead, I watched what I could at a friend's house and tried to remember the scenes.

Yesterday, my sister walked in on me. But that's not all.

Sometimes, when I masturbate, I don't just masturbate. I do *extra* things with it.

Some people play with their nipples. Yeah, I do that sometimes. But I do more.

Oh god, I can't believe I'm admitting this.

I... play with my ass. With my finger. I swear I like girls, but just that extra feeling. Mmm, it makes the orgasm so much better. If you're going to take the risk to masturbate, you might as well really enjoy it.

So yeah. That's what she walked in on. Me. Playing with my self with one hand. My other hand knuckle-deep in my ass.

Why didn't she knock? Why didn't I put the box in front of the door? How could I have possibly left it unlocked? I don't know. I swear. I've been going over and over it in my head. I'm so careful, how could I forget.

When I heard her inhale sharply, I knew I had been caught. I spun around at the sound. It was like time totally stopped. I didn't know who had caught me, then I saw her. My sister's eyes were large.

Then, she just walked out and shut the door behind her.

I quickly pulled up my pants and chased after her. She'd shut herself in her room. I knocked, but she didn't answer. I could hear her moving around inside. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I knocked again, nothing.

The torture had already begun.

My heart was racing, trying to climb out of my throat. Answer the damn door.

I knocked again. Finally, she opened it enough to peek out.

"You are so busted."

I had to reason with her. "Look," I started but then dropped to a whisper. "Please. I don't know what you saw but it's easy to misunderstand..."

Why oh why did I even start like that.

"I thought it was *pretty* clear what you were doing." She waited a second to let me stew before her next zinger. "I think Mom and Dad would be very interested to hear that their son is gay."

"What?!" The only thing worse than being gay with religious parents is having an abortion, but it was a close second.

"Think of what it will put the family through. They might even send you to rehab."

Rehab is what my parents called conversion therapy. Because being gay is like being an alcoholic to them. You could be born an alcoholic because of your genes, but you didn't have to give into it.

There was one problem with her theory.

"I'm. not. gay." I spat, emphasizing each word, yet trying to keep my voice at a whisper.

She didn't budge. I'm not sure if her letting me into her room was going to help me win my case, but having to argue it from out in the hall definitely limited what I could say comfortably.

"I'm not one to judge," she replied, drilling into my face with her bespeckled eyes. "I'll just tell Mom and Dad what I saw. They can make up their own conclusions."

We both knew right where that would lead. I was firmly in her grasp at this point, and I struggled to think of something - anything - that would get me out of this pickle.

She watched me fidget, looking dumbfounded, then shut the door.

I knocked again. Luckily this time, she didn't make me wait.

"What?" she said, opening the door just enough to see me. "Oh, now that you're here." She shut the door again but then opened it a moment later. She handed me three movies our family had checked out from the library.

"I was trying to give these to you. Your turn to return them."

I looked down at the movies as she shut the door again. She was ready to ruin my life, but she wanted me to return some movies to the library first? You have to be kidding.

I tried knocking, but she was done opening the door. I didn't want to make a scene.

After pacing in my room, I texted her something of an apology at the off-chance she'd feel like chatting. She only text me back with:

"Did you return the movies, yet?"

Ugh. How could she think about the movies at a time like this? "No."

"Gay and irresponsible. Nice." Her message made me groan. A minute later, I deleted the message, realizing that I was going to have to do that regularly. Hopefully... hopefully I could convince Mom and Dad. But if they found messages like that on my phone, it was just another tick in the "Jeff is gay" box.

She didn't respond to any of my other texts.

About an hour before Mom and Dad were due home, I finally heard Rebecca come out of her room and head to the bathroom. I exploded from my room and cut her off in the hall. She didn't push by me. She just leaned back on a heel and looked at me.

"Did you return the movies, yet?"

"What?! What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" I almost never swore, and she swore even less. It was too dangerous to do in our house.

"You need to learn how to follow directions."

I have to admit it, I can be pretty thick sometimes. This time in particular. "But..." I started.

"But what? Return the movies. It's your turn. If you can follow directions, I might not tell Mom and Dad... tonight."

It finally clicked. This was going to be her little game. If all it was would be things like returning movies - which admittedly I should already have done - that's fine. I could last through the rest of high school doing her little chores. Maybe by then it would blow over.

"Fine." I turned to leave.

"Uhn uh." she said.

I stopped.

"You don't get to give me any attitude. Is that clear?"

Oh I wanted to swing around. Hit her. Yell at her. My blood was ready to boil over at any moment, but the thought of our parents coming home less than an hour from now was barely keeping me in check.

"Yes."

"Good. Go on." With that, she gently pushed me against the wall and walked by me to the bathroom.

55 minutes to get to the library and back. I could make it - but only just - if I left now. Seconds later I was running for my car keys.

-=-=-

Rebecca didn't tell Mom and Dad that night, but it was touch and go. She would look over at me and get this funny look on her face. Then, she'd ask me to pass her something. If I delayed, she would say something to get everyone's attention. I got the hint faster this time.

She could say something at anytime, and I knew it.

I had to watch her and follow directions. Pass the salt, refill her glass... simple stuff. But if she was speaking to me, I had to hear what she was saying, otherwise I risked being outed.

She carried on the rest of the week like this, keeping me on edge every time we had a family meal.

That weekend, she asked me to come into her room and shut the door. I did as she said.

She was sitting at her study desk. "Look, you've done well. Mostly. If you keep this up, I don't see why Mom and Dad need to learn your little secret."

My heart skipped a beat, but she didn't seem to be threatening me just yet.

"I need to do some school work today. Unfortunately, it's my turn to pick up groceries. Can you pick them up for me?"

I started to open my mouth, but then shut it when she started to look up at me over her glasses.

"Look, I'm not doing this for fun. I don't want to work on homework, but it is what it is. I'm asking you because I can count on you."

I just stood at her. This was a little more than passing the salt.

She looked back down. "Thanks, Jeff."

Once I realized she wasn't going to say anything else I walked out of her room and shut the door behind me. Are you fucking kidding? Now I'm buying groceries when it's her turn. Sure, I'm using Mom's grocery account, but it's still my gas money, my weekend, my... way of getting out of an even worse personal hell. Fine. I'll do it.

That night, we ate a meal made from the groceries I bought. She didn't grief me too much that night.

Sunday was laundry day. I'd amassed an impressive pile over the last two weeks. As I was sorting my laundry by color, I saw Rebecca walk through my door with a small pile of her own dirty laundry.

"Throw these in with yours? You can bring them by when they're done."

I opened my mouth, but shut it when she gave me the same wilting look. "Sure."

Without a word, she left. I looked down at her laundry. She'd given me some of her used panties as well. Gross.

As I continued sorting, my mind drifted back to the panties. It'd been a long time since I had seen her panties. At Kevin's place, I'd read porn where the guys sniffed girl's panties.

The thought made my stomach turn. My sister was by far the least sexy thing in my mind. Why would I even remember that at a time like this?

I sorted her stuff into mine, being careful to only touch her used panties with the tips of my fingers.

As she requested, I swung by her room to drop her clean laundry off. She let me in, and I dropped the fresh clothes on her bed. Watching me do it, she closed the door before I could leave.

"Go back."

I looked at her. What now?

"Is that a nice folded pile of clean laundry or a crumpled mess?"

Ahh, okay. But... I'd never folded laundry. Not like Mom used to. I guess that's why my t-shirts always looked a bit wrinkled.

"Well?" her sharp voice startled me out of my reverie. She watched as I walked back to her bed and proceeded to try to fold some of her laundry.

"No, like this." She showed me how to pick up a t-shirt, and in one motion fold it in thirds and then half again. I tried to follow her lead. She'd made it look effortless, but none of my attempts looked as good as hers.

"Socks and underwear, too." She did one of each then expected me to follow what she did. She didn't say anything as I touched her underwear, but to be honest at this point I just wanted to fold it to her liking and then get the hell out of there.

She seemed satisfied, mostly. "You'll do better next time."

Next time? Whatever. She can do her own laundry.

She must have sensed my attitude welling inside me. "Jeff," her voice again got my attention. "Next time you're doing your laundry you can come get mine, too. Since you're already doing yours, it shouldn't be much trouble and it would sure be a help."

She sat back at her study desk and went back to work. Then, she looked back up at me over her glasses, watching my reaction.

Sure, I guess doing an extra load of laundry wasn't terrible. As long as she was nice about it, it wasn't a big deal.

-=-=-

The next week went by without much trouble. I almost slipped up not refilling her glass on Wednesday, but managed to do it in time before any major catastrophe. The reminder left me on edge the rest of the week.

That Saturday, she knocked on my door. When I opened, she said, "Wrap up what you're doing and come by my room with your laptop when you're done."

"Sure, I can do that," I replied.

I finished checking my email. I'd lucked out. One of the girls at school and written me back. She was not bad looking and seemed nice. The chance I might get some dating back into my life gave me a rush. I must have carried that smile with me to my sister's room. When she opened the door for me, she gave me a quizzical look.

"Tell me."

"Oh it's nothing. I just got an email I'd been looking forward to."

"Tell me about it."

I looked at her. Her tone was somewhere between a command and a curious sister. She just sat and watched me.

We'd been keeping all romantic interests private from each other for so long that it felt weird admitting it. But what would she do if I lied and she found out? I'd be done for.

"It was an email from a girl at school." Luckily, that seemed enough to satisfy her.

"Have a seat."

I walked over and sat on her bed, the only other free place to sit in her room short of just sitting on her floor.

"Jeff, I'm starting to feel guilty about not telling Mom and Dad what I saw. What I'm doing isn't right. They need to know that you're gay."

My face went dark crimson. I tried not to lose my temper. "But... I'm... not... gay. I just told you about a girl I'm interested in." I forced my voice to be even knowing that if she sensed I was copping an attitude with me, she'd let me have it.

She was unmoved. "Let's just say that there's a very, very small chance that there's another explanation for what you were doing."

Did I have a chance out of this? I almost didn't want to risk that hope.

She continued. "The only way out that I can see here is for you to prove to me that you're not gay."

What. the. fuck. I tried to think about what she might mean by this, but nothing I imagined could possibly be what she meant.

"How?"

She didn't say anything. It almost felt like she wanted me to guess what she meant.

"You want me to do something for you?" I hazarded.

"Don't be disgusting," she replied. Funny, she didn't *sound* disgusted. "Look, this will be very simple. You've been doing well so far."

I couldn't help but have a little tingle run down my neck when she said that. The "good job" chill you sometimes get when a teacher compliments you. Except, I was getting this from my sister.

"I've decided that once a week, you can show me that you're not gay."

But how?

She pointed at my laptop. "When we've picked a time that week, you're allowed to bring your laptop in her and watch 10 minutes of adult videos."

Wait what, she wants me to watch porn... in her room?

"I'll check to make sure what you're watching is not homosexual in nature."

I was dumbfounded. Speechless.

"I'm offering you a chance to redeem yourself."

Watch porn with my sister, or live under the threat of her telling Mom and Dad I'm gay. There could be worse things. I mean, as long as she didn't do anything, I could mostly ignore her.

"But there are some ground rules.

Rule #1: we stop when I say stop. That means you might not get the full 10 minutes."