Doing Laundry

Gaslight - Chapter 2

I stare blankly at my sister’s computer screen trying to figure out what to type. She seems to have been in the middle of writing an essay so she has an article open on one side of the screen and her text editor on the other.

Seeing as she just woke up, I hope that her memory of what she learned last night is a little fuzzy. The AI did say he is “turning it on easy mode” so if this is real, this is like a freebie of sorts.

Tiffany hates stereotypes, but she’s Asian and she’s smart. Like most girls with her natural beauty, Tiffany likes to go out and party. However, the difference is that Tiffany still prioritizes her studies over her social life. Because Tiffany spends a considerable part of her day just studying, I’m hesitant to try and put something as obviously false as “the sky is green.”

I decided to start by writing the first fake fact that pops into my head; something that she could never prove one way or another while still being so absurd that I confirm my answer. I go into the middle of her notes and write:

“Until their eventual extinction in the 1900s, humanity’s greatest predator has been the Norwegian Asswhal – named as such due to their close resemblance to a Narwhal besides the fact that their horn protrudes from their rear. Using their **** strength and agility, the Asswhal is known to hunt fishermen using their spiky posterior.”

I got a little carried away with that. I intended to put something I could easily brush off as a joke but reading it sounds too silly for even that. Also, I can’t help but feel like I’d be wasting my freebie if I left it at that. I decide to stop being a baby and try something a little less dumb but more plausible. I look at the pirated PDF textbook open on the right side of her monitor and read the title: A History of Gender Studies 12th Edition.

Hmm… well the Asswal thing will definitely look out of place, but I opt to leave it to test the limits of this thing assuming it is real.

I also have a second idea: I could edit her essay to try and implant false ideas, but why not start at the source? She’d be way more likely to believe something written in her textbook as opposed to some random word document.

I open up a PDF editor, find the page she is on, and begin thinking. This is a risky game where I try to create a false fact that is a good balance between the believability of the lie, the positive benefits of the lie, and the consequence of what she’ll do if she figures it out.

I write: “Originating from the beginnings of early hunters and gatherers, it has become a societal norm for the older brother to be in charge of washing the lower garments of their younger siblings.”

I stick in some more supporting details to justify this, but that’s the gist of it. To make sure she reads it, I stick a digital bookmark on this page and save my changes.

This way, I get something to quench my sexual thirst while at the same time retaining some deniability: the perfect compromise. If this works, Tiffany would hand deliver her underwear to me so I can do as I please in the privacy of my room. Of course, I didn’t want to write “panties” in a scholarly textbook, so I did my best to make it sound as academic as possible.

I hear the water from Tiffany’s shower stop running, so I put her computer to sleep and run out the hall and wait around the corner.

I don’t keep track of her schedule minute by minute, but I can only hope she plans to resume her homework seeing as she left it open overnight. I wait for about 15 minutes until she finally dries back up and heads to her room. I know she should be getting back to work any second now, but I also know that nobody is perfect – Tiffany included. I listen for a few more minutes as she scrolls social media and procrastinates.

It seems like forever but eventually, I hear her sit at her desk, let out a heavy sigh, and begin to clack away at her keyboard. For a moment I worry; did I write in an area she even needs to look at?

Just as I begin to doubt myself, I hear my sister scream: “ADRIAN!”

She sounds pissed. With my best interest at heart, I slowly shuffle towards her door. With her being mad and all, it is natural that a part of me is thinking I already fucked up, but deep down I have a weird sense of faith in the situation. I have no reason to believe in anything that has happened so far, but I am cautiously hopeful.

“Yeah!” I call back from behind her door.

“DID YOU TOUCH MY COMPUTER!?” she screams to me.

“No!” I respond in a suspiciously quick manner. Fuck, if I want to gaslight her, I’m gonna have to do a better job than that.

“Then who the fuck did?!” she says as she swings the door open. She grabs my arm, drags me to her desk, and points to her monitor. “Or are you gonna tell me that Mom wrote that?”

My eyes crawl down her arms until I see what she is referring to: My little bit on Asswhals.

“Uhhh-” I stammer out. I slap myself on the wrist and try to pull myself together; I have to make her believe. “Yes?”

FUCK! I’m such a bad liar.

“You twat!” she didn’t buy any of that. “Who said you could go into my room without my permission?”

“No one di- wait-... I didn’t go into your room!” I stumble.

“Why lie? You’re only making it worse!” she says.

I take a moment this time to think.

“Why would I even do that? Come into your room and just type on your computer?” I say a tiny bit more confidently.

“That’s what I wanna figure out!” she says, but it seems she has given up out of frustration. “Fine, whatever! I don’t even care anymore, just get out.”

See?! Even after provoking her, she feels the need to minimize any activity with me.

“Okay, that’s all?” I ask rhetorically as I head out the door.

“Wait! At least take my underwear while I’m here.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I didn’t think I’d get this far. I didn’t think Tony was telling the truth – not about my powers but my perversion. Yet, here I am, beating my dick to my sister’s used, slept-in panties. I practically sprinted out of her room after she handed them to me. I swerved into my room, slammed the door shut, and instantly started inhaling her nocturnal scents. It was a dullish smell – like pennies? – that sort of resonated at the back of my skull. Before I knew it and even before my hand was touching my dick, I opened my mouth to try and get a taste of her.

I’m not sure if I was imagining it, but I could almost swear I tasted the essence of her pussy. A little musk that has been accumulating throughout the night.

You see, I had all these perverted thoughts and didn’t think much of it. I thought they were just random things my brain came up with out of my control and as long as I didn’t do anything I was fine. However, no non-pervert would have zero self-restraint like this.

It’s not long before I wrap my dick in the red, silky fabric and start beating my dick some more. I’m so turned on that I fire load after load of my seed across her panties. I bunch it all up on the tip of my dick so I can soak each strand with my cum.

I feel the roller coaster coming to an end as I let out a sigh and practically fall backward into bed. As I sink into my mattress, my post-nut clarity hits me as I realize how gross it is to be holding what is essentially a wad of my own cum. I toss it into my laundry bin and use Tiffany’s shorts as a napkin before doing the same.

After this, I lay in bed for twenty minutes without thinking a single thought as my mind tries to catch up with reality.

Eventually, I get ahold of myself and decide I need to do something normal. Worried that someone will see what I did to Tiffany’s panites, I get up from bed, carry my hamper to the laundry room and begin loading it in.

Because I’ve had a sort of wild morning, I take the lazy route and don’t even bother separating my whites. I throw in the detergent and let it run while I think about what’s going on. I go back into a state of shock as a million thoughts flow through my mind. Minutes feel like seconds as I lean against the rumbling washing machine.

Obviously, this is all real. Tiffany would never hand me her used underwear for absolutely any reason. No one else in the world knew what I wrote in her textbook. She had to have read the passage I wrote and believed it. I mean, why wouldn’t you believe something in a textbook that straight out benefits you–that gets someone else to do your chores for you? The whole Asswhal thing was kind of sloppy but at least I know this whole thing won’t just be a walk in the park.

My train of thought is interrupted as I have to transfer the laundry to the dryer. Have I really been standing here that long? My heart is still pumping.

As I move my clothes to the dryer, I come up with an interesting point: if this is real, now what? I mean I know I used Tiffany’s underwear as a cum rag, but I was just being curious when my urges got the better of me. Can you blame me? It was still warm for crying out loud!

But now… now that I know it’s real… this is a whole ethical dilemma. Well, not like it’s justifiable to fuck your own sister, but more so if my morals are strong enough to give me some self-control.

Is my sister pretty? Yes–well,her face is at least but her body has more to be desired. It’s not like I would normally jerk off to my sister. But you wanna know what broke me? What made me instantly bolt out of her room with her panties in one hand and my cock in the other? Seeing her face so casual and mundane as she offered me a fresh pair of her underwear. Seeing this mysterious, stone-cold being offer me a part of herself like it was nothing. Yeah, that was hot.

I hear the dryer machine buzz, so I fill a basket and begin folding laundry on the couch. Still in a sort of shock, I fold laundry on autopilot mode for a good 10 minutes until I get to Tiffany’s pants and realize something: they shrunk… A LOT. Tiffany already has a pretty small butt so it’s not like she had massive pants or anything, but this looks comedic.

She’s gonna be pissed. I quickly run back to the laundry room to try to fix this. I remember an old trick where you can soak something in fabric softener and stretch it back to its original size. Panicking, I grab a small bucket and begin soaking Tiffany’s pants. Once it has a good coat on it, I empty the bucket and begin stretching it apart. With my hands on opposite sides of her pants, I pull and feel the fabric slowly give away in sporadic rip-like bursts: it’s working! I keep stretching and pulling, being careful to not actually tear a hole. After a good 10 minutes of this, I throw it back into the wash for a rinse.

Once it’s done I pull it out and see… THE PANTS ARE DOUBLE THE SIZE THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE! I DIDN’T FIX IT, I JUST INVERTED MY PROBLEM AND SWUNG THE OTHER WAY LIKE A PENDULUM!

“Adrian!” I hear Tiffany call. “Did you finish washing my pants? Give them to me so I can air dry them. Otherwise they’ll shrink”

Shit! That would’ve been good to know 40 minutes ago.

“Uh yeah!” I respond, unsure of how to react. My best bet is that she doesn’t notice, but looking at her pants double the size that they should be makes me suddenly lose confidence in this plan. I walk out of the laundry room and hand it to her. “Here you go.”

She grabs it and begins to walk away without a question. Phe-

“Wait… what the fuck?” she says halfway across the room. “What did you do to my shorts?”

She unfolds the damp mess in her hands and stretches it into the air. Looking at her own waist side by side with the pants makes me realize that this is WAY worse than I made it out to be.

It seems like I especially stretched out the part of the fabric that holds her butt in. Normally, it wouldn’t be that bad on a normally proportioned person. However, Tiffany already has a smaller rear so there’s no amount of “oversized Ariana Grande aesthetic” that would make these pants look good on her.

“Nothing,” I say. When in doubt, deniability out! “I just threw them in the washer.”

“How did they get so big?” she says.

“What do you mean? How could I have made them bigger?” I ask.

“You didn’t put them in the dryer, did you?” she asks. I can tell she’s still figuring out if she should be mad at me or not.

“No, that’d make them smaller wouldn’t it?” I say with a smile on my face knowing I have a good alibi.

“You little twerp,” she says as she spins to look at me. “Then what did you do!? These are expensive!”

“Nothing…” I say, losing confidence in my ability to talk my way out. Just then, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching our front door.

“MOM!” Tiffany calls out.

“YES!” I hear my Mom call back followed by the jingle of keys unlocking the front door.

Shit…

Before we start, let me tell you something about my mom. Well, first of all, she’s hot – probably more so than Tiffany. She doesn’t have watermelons or anything, but she has just enough chest and ass to be respectable. However, combine this with the fact that she shares Tiffany’s stunning facial features and it’s pretty much a no contest if you don’t take age into account. In terms of being a mom, she’s on the younger side at 38. She does a lot of stereotypical MILF things like dying her hair with blond/brown highlights and getting acrylics. For her, looks and appearances are a big deal.

However, besides that, I wouldn’t say she’s a terrible mom. I know that sounds contradicting to what I said this morning, but let me explain. Yes, she seems to side and favor Tiffany more, but I wouldn’t call that explicit favoritism. Instead, Mom is pretty busy trying to take care of us on her own so she tends to go for the fastest and most convenient parenting option which usually favors Tiffany since she’s a girl and “delicate” according to society. She parents as if Tiffany needs extra protection.

So is she a great and fair mom? Nope. But do I hold it against her? I mean… I try not to since she’s doing her best, but I do have a tiny bit of resentment in the back of my head that I can’t help but feel guilty about.

Okay, here we go….

As soon as Mom walks into the room, she seems a little annoyed.

“Okay guys, what is it this time,” she says as she walks through the front door carrying a bag of groceries with her keys barely balancing on one of her fake nails.

She’s wearing a sports bra that leans more onto the conservative side, covering up more of her stomach and shoulders than a normal sports bra would. Judging by the fact that she’s pairing that with yoga pants and tennis shoes, it’s obvious Mom came from the gym and stopped by the store on the way home. This means she’s physically and mentally exhausted, which explains why she seems a little frustrated that we are fighting right as she arrives home.

“Adrian totally fucked up my pants!” Tiffany says as she holds it up in the air for mom to see.

“Language!” Mom yells. Though, she squints at the trousers as she sets the groceries on the table and starts to plan dinner. “Hmm… What’s wrong with it?”

“What do you mean?!” Tiffany responds with maximum snark. “He stretched it out! It’s literally double the size!”

“I mean, it looks fine to me,” Mom says, only half paying attention as she starts to rummage through the grocery bag.

Phew. It looks like Mom’s busyness is working on my side today.

“What do you mean? Are you serious? Look at it!” Tiffany pleads one more time as she shows it off, only this time she purposefully pushes it closer to Mom’s face.

“Why not try it on dear; I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you say. Maybe it’s all in your head? As I said, it looks fine to me,” Mom says in a surprisingly convincing tone while she unpacks.

Tiffany lets out a defeated groan as she rolls her eyes and walks up to her room. That was a close one. I breathe in a sigh of relief as I realize I completely got a way with nutting in Tiffany’s underwear with no consequences.

“Now,” Mom thinks out loud. “Where did I leave the dinner? I swear I picked up some meatloaf.”

Fuck, I hate meatloaf! Look, the idea of meatloaf is pretty gross as it is, but it doesn’t help that mom tries to feed us the cheap, freezer stuff from Walmart at least once a week – not to mention that we have to finish it as leftovers in the following days.

I peek into the bag and don’t see the usual container. Mom is pretty tired so I doubt she’ll head back out to buy more, however, the grocery store is close enough that Mom would ask me to go get it for her.

I have to think fast.

“Meatloaf? I uhh,” I think for a moment. “I thought you said we could order pizza today?”

“What? When’d I say that?” she asks as she pauses to think back.

“Last night right before bed,” I said.

“Hmm…” she says as she relaxes a bit. “Okay, pizza it is I guess.”

Did I… gaslight her? Well, I guess I did. What I should be asking is if I used the AI magic on her or if she is just too lazy to deal with the meatloaf.

I mean, her ordering pizza isn’t crazy so why should I use that as more evidence? But with the same logic, maybe ordering pizza is so mundane that it really was THAT easy to use the magic gaslight on her.

I think about this for the next 2 hours as I make small talk with my Mom.

Eventually, Mom gets to the phone and tells me to ask Tiffany what type of pizza we should get. I don’t think this is the best idea considering our recent fight, however, Mom insists – maybe it’s her way of forcing us to interact and make up. Plus, this lunch may double as our dinner so I guess I should get team input.

I head up the stairs and walk to Tiffany’s room. I know it’s been a few hours since our fight, so my plan is to go in and act like nothing happened–hopefully she has cooled off by now. I reach for the knob and confidently step into the room.

“Tiffa-” fuck. I am only halfway through opening her door, but even from my angle, I can see that she’s wearing the leggings that I stretched out. If she’s wearing them, there’s no way she’ll be over it! She’ll feel how much I fucked up her pants!

But there’s no turning back now… “Tiffany, we’re gonna order pizza. What do you want?”

After each word that falls out of my mouth, I see more and more of her leg appear from behind the door as I enter the room. She’s laying on her bed. First I see her foot, then her ankle, then her knee… yup, definitely the leggings I fucked up. When I get to her butt, I take an extra second to stare. I tell myself it’s so I can gauge how much I ruined her pants, but in reality, I just get distracted by the nice way her flesh fills up her leggings.

Wait… something’s not right here… the way her flesh fills up her leggings? The leggings that I stretched out? There’s no way it should fit that well and there’s even less of a chance that she reshrunk the pants in her room… and from the eye test, her butt is noticeably bigger. It’s not a dump truck or anything but it’s just enough to not be flat – an alarming improvement over what she was just a few hours ago.

Did she believe us? When Mom and I told her that the pants looked fine… she believed us? We gaslit her? And because of that, her ass grew… Meaning that this power is given not only to mold someone’s mind but also their body… This doesn’t seem possible given the fact that this is the work of science and not magic…

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