Tutor

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."