She resist until she doesn't - Valerie's POV

Chapter 10

Valerie POV

I went back to my room and closed the door.

Then I stood in the middle of the floor, in my maid outfit, with my hands hanging at my sides, shaking like I’d just run a hundred meters.

I can’t do it.

I can’t. I can’t go in there, I can’t ask him, I can’t stand in front of my brother and say “please can I touch myself.”

But if I don’t ask, I can’t touch myself. And I need to. I need to so badly I can’t think.

I paced. I sat on the bed and stood up again. The uniform itched. The collar, the ruffles, the stupid little apron, all of it smelled like furniture polish and sweat and him, and all at once I was so angry I could barely breathe.

The house is clean. He said all day. It’s over. I can take it off.

I reached back and yanked the zipper down so hard it caught. I dragged the dress over my hips and pulled the headband out of my hair, and I threw all of it on the floor. The headband skittered under the bed.

Then I stood there in my bra and thong and stockings, breathing hard, feeling better for about three seconds.

I opened my closet and closed it. I checked my reflection in the mirror, flushed face, tangled hair, black lace, and looked away.

In the end I did the thing I always did when I didn’t know what to do. I grabbed my phone.

Fifty-three unread messages. Group chat. Chloe, mostly.

Chloe: “VALERIE WHERE ARE U”

Chloe: “u disappeared. did u die. blink twice”

Yasmin: “She’s been refreshing your profile every ten minutes.”

Chloe: “im concerned. also are we still going to the mall tmrw or what”

Chloe: “I NEED A NEW JACKET AND YOU TWO NEED TO TELL ME WHICH ONE”

The mall. Tomorrow. Sunday. I’d said yes on Thursday, before any of this, before I knew—

And I realized, with a small, sick lurch in my stomach, that I couldn’t just go.

If I want to go shopping, I need to ask him.

I have to ask Brian for permission to go to the mall.

“Ughhh,” I said, out loud, to my empty room.

I typed fast, before I could think.

Valerie: “sorry!!! i was dead all day. had so much homework and then my mom had me helping with a ton of house stuff”

Valerie: “but yes im in for tmrw!!”

Chloe: “OK GOOD. wear something cute. i want to be seen with u”

Yasmin: “Homework and chores. You sound like a Victorian orphan.”

Valerie: “lol shut up”

I put the phone down and let out a long, shaky breath. My friends. The two people in my life who knew exactly who I was. The old Valerie. I’d just lied to them, easily, without even thinking about it.

And I’d said yes to something I couldn’t do without asking my brother.

Which left me exactly one thing to do.

I stood in front of his door, again.

The stripe of yellow light was still there under it. I could hear music now, low and electronic, from the other side.

I’m only going to ask about the mall.

That’s it. That’s all. Tomorrow. Shopping. With my friends. A normal, reasonable question. Nothing else.

I said it to myself three times. Then I knocked.

Nothing.

I waited. My heart was banging against my ribs. I knocked again, harder.

“Come in,” said Brian.

I turned the handle.

His room was dim and warm, lit by the glow of the monitors and a small lamp on the desk. He was sitting on the bed, propped against the headboard, shirtless, in a pair of gray sweatpants, with a laptop on his knees. He didn’t look surprised. He looked like he’d been expecting me for a while.

“Hey, Val.”

“Hi,” I said. My voice came out smaller than I’d planned. “I, um. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shut the door.”

I shut it. And the second the latch clicked, I remembered what I was wearing.

Black lace bra. Black lace thong. Thigh-high stockings. Nothing else. I had walked down the hall, knocked on my brother’s door, and walked into his room in lingerie.

Oh my God. He’s going to think I came here for—

I didn’t. I came to ask about the mall.

I crossed my arms over my chest, which helped about as much as you’d think. I stood there with my back against the door, like a kid in the principal’s office.

“Come sit,” he said, patting the mattress next to him.

I sat. On the very edge. He moved the laptop aside, closed it, and turned to look at me, and for a moment he didn’t say anything.

“You look good,” he said.

“I’m in my underwear.”

“You look really good,” he said. Soft, almost shy. And he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, very gently, with two fingers. “You did a great job today, you know. I looked around. The whole house. It’s the cleanest it’s ever been.”

I don’t know why that did it.

Out of everything, the nakedness and the plates and the yoga class and the pills in the bathroom. Out of all of it, that one sentence, in that quiet voice, made something go warm and fluttery and soft in my chest. Like I’d been holding my breath all day and someone had finally said it was okay to let it out.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“So,” said Brian. “What did you want to ask?”

“The mall. Tomorrow.” I was staring at my knees. “Chloe and Yas want to go shopping. Can I? Is that—okay?”

“Of course you can ask,” he said, kindly. “Let’s talk about it.”

He leaned back against the headboard and stretched his legs out along the mattress, one on either side of me. Then he put an arm around me and eased me back and down, until I was lying on my side between his knees, with my cheek on his bare chest and my legs curled up. He smelled like soap and warm skin.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Start at the beginning,” said Brian. His thumb was tracing slow circles on my arm. “Breakfast. What were you doing when Mom and I came down?”

“Cleaning the baseboard.” My face was already warm. “By the pantry.”

“On your knees?”

“…Yeah.”

“And then you looked up. What did you see?”

“Mom,” I said. “In that dress.”

“And then?”

I didn’t answer.

“Val.”

“You,” I said, very quietly. “You, with nothing on.”

“And you looked.” He sounded pleased. “For how long?”

“Not long.”

“How long, Val?”

“Two seconds. Maybe three.”

“What did you think?”

His hand had slid down to my hip. It was warm and steady against my bare skin, just above the lace.

“That it was… bigger than I thought it would be,” I whispered.

He laughed, and I felt the rumble of it through his chest. “Good girl. Honest. And what did you say to me?”

“In your dreams.”

“Do you want to know what I thought?”

“What?”

“I thought,” said Brian, “that you blushed all the way down to your neck.”

I squeezed my knees together.

Somewhere in there I had rolled, a little, from my side toward my back. It was my shoulder against his chest now, instead of my cheek.

“Okay. After breakfast. You swept, and then you did the shelves. Tell me about the stepstool.”

“You said I’d missed a spot.”

“Had you?”

“Yes.”

“And when you were up there. On your tiptoes. Reaching.” His fingers moved up my side, over my ribs. “Did you know I was looking?”

“Not until—” I swallowed. “Not until I looked back.”

“And what did you feel?”

“Hot,” I said. It scraped out of me. “Like everything inside me was melting. Like I’d swallowed something hot.”

“And then you went back to the shelf and dusted the same spot four times.”

“You counted?”

“I was watching,” he said, mildly.

I put my hand over my face.

“Then the cloth,” said Brian. “The one you dropped.”

“I didn’t drop it on purpose.”

“I know.” His voice was so gentle. “You picked it up, though. From the floor. In front of me. Slowly. With your legs straight.”

“It was—”

“How did it feel? Bending over for me like that?”

It felt right.

“It felt right,” I heard myself say.

“And when Mom told you she was the only one who got to show me her ass?”

“I thought she was wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because it was normal. Dressed like this, cleaning. Everybody does it.”

“Anything else?”

I bit my lip.

“Val.”

“I thought it was hot,” I whispered. “That she was jealous. Of me.”

“Mm-hm.”

I was lying on my back against his chest now, my head tipped onto the pillow beside his, and his lips were against my temple. I could feel his breath in my hair.

“And later. When Mom was in the squat, in the living room. When you stopped dusting. Where was your hand going?”

“I wasn’t touching.”

“I didn’t ask if you were touching. I asked where it was going.”

My whole body went tight and hot.

Something was pressed against my ass, hard and hot, through his sweatpants and my lace. I couldn’t have said when my hips had slid back far enough to find it.

“Between my legs,” I said.

“And why did you stop?”

“Because I couldn’t.” My voice shook. “You said not until the house was clean. I couldn’t.”

“I know you couldn’t.” He pressed a kiss to my hairline. “You were so good about it. You stood there, shaking, and you didn’t move. All afternoon. All through dinner. When I put the salt on the plates—”

“Don’t.”

“What sound did you make?”

“Brian.”

“What sound, Val?”

“A… a little squeak,” I mumbled, into my palm.

He was quiet for a second. Then he kissed the side of my neck, and I felt him smile against my skin.

“You know what I think?” he said, very quietly. “I think you’ve been like this since this morning.”

I went still.

“Since the stepstool. Every hour, a little worse. The cloth. Mom in the squat. The salt on the plates. You’ve been turned on all day, Val. Haven’t you?”

All day.

“…Yes,” I said, into my palm.

“And now it’s done,” said Brian, and his hand moved slowly on my hip, over the lace. “And you’re in my room. In your underwear. Shaking. I can feel the heat coming off you.”

My mouth was dry. I couldn’t answer.

“So,” said Brian, softly, turning my face toward his with one finger under my chin, until I was looking at him. “Did you really come here just to ask about the mall?”

I could have said yes.

I want that on the record. I could have. It would have been so easy. Yes, Brian, just the mall. He’d have said, okay, have fun, and I would have gone back to my room and been Valerie Hartley, and the world would have kept turning.

But he’d asked me a direct question. And I couldn’t lie to him.

“No,” I whispered.

“No?”

“I cleaned everything,” I said. It came out in a rush. “The whole house. Every room. Every floor. I did everything you said. I did it all. And I’m—can I—”

I couldn’t say it.

“Can you what?” said Brian, gentle as anything. His fingertips were drifting down my arm, from my shoulder to my wrist and back up again, so light it made my skin prickle.

“Can I touch myself?” I said, in a tiny voice. “Please.”

The silence went on for about a hundred years.

“Huh,” Brian said. He sounded thoughtful. “You know, that’s funny. Last night, I think you told me you weren’t an animal.”

My face burned.

“You told me you could wait,” he went on, almost kindly. “What was it you said? That you weren’t some pervert who couldn’t control herself? That you could last longer than a day?”

“I know what I said.”

“Did you mean it?”

His arms had closed all the way around me. One hand was cupped over my breast now, through the lace, and the other lay low on my stomach, just above my thong, and both of them were moving. Tiny, slow circles, with barely any pressure at all. It felt a little like being hugged. It felt a lot like something else. I could feel the heat of him all down my back.

“Brian,” I said. “Please.”

“Please what?”

Nobody tells me no. Not really. Not Mom, not Dad, not teachers, not guys. This is really my first time having to ask so much for something since I was five.

“Please let me,” I said. “Please. Please, please, please—”

“I don’t know, Val.” His hands kept moving, slow circles, the lower one drifting a little closer to my thong with every pass. “I really don’t know. That’s how it starts, you know. First you ask. Then you can’t stop asking. And people who can’t go a single day without it have a name.”

“Don’t,” I said.

“Valerie Hartley isn’t one of those. Is she?”

“I’m not,” I said.

I was moving, I realized. My hips were rocking. Little rolling motions, down against the hard length of him underneath me, in rhythm with his hands, and every time the lower one dipped toward the lace, I pushed back and down, and the wet lace between my legs dragged along his cock, and my thighs squeezed together around it, and I made a small, shaky noise that sounded like a plea.

“Brian, pleaaase,” I moaned.

He stopped stroking.

I whimpered.

“Then why are your hips moving?” he asked, mildly.

I froze. I hadn’t even noticed.

“This afternoon,” said Brian. “Why did you stop dusting? What were you looking at?”

“…Mom,” I whispered. “And you.”

“And how did it feel? Watching that?”

“Good.” It cracked in the middle. “Really good.”

“Is that how a normal girl feels?”

He’s right. I’m not like that. I’m not.

Then why did I look? Why did I stop dusting? Why am I grinding on my brother’s cock, begging him to let me?

Because I liked it.

“I am a pervert.” I whispered.

“I’m sorry?”

“I am a pervert,” I said. It came out in one long breath. The word tasted strange in my mouth, and wonderful. “I love watching you do it. I love watching Mom, and Dad, I love it, I love how you talk to them, and I love—” My voice broke. “I love it when you watch me clean.”

Brian smiled.

It wasn’t the smirk he’d been wearing all day. It was something warmer. Something soft and pleased and almost proud, like I’d just gotten an A.

“I always knew,” he said, “that you were the pervert of the two of us.”

And he kissed me. I twisted my neck around to reach his mouth, and he tipped his head down to meet me.

I should tell you what I was thinking.

This is my brother.

He was kissing me, and it was soft. It was slow. It was sideways, my neck craned back at an angle that should have hurt, and I didn’t feel it. His lips were warm and a little dry, and he tasted like mint and something sweet. His hand slid up into my hair and cradled the back of my head, holding me there. And I stayed still, for a second, my eyes wide open, my hands in fists.

Why does it feel good?

Why does it feel this good? What is wrong with me? Stop. Stop it. Stop—

Then he made a small sound against my mouth, a soft hum, like he was happy.

And I kissed him back.

Oh my God. I’m kissing him back.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. I reached back and tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled him closer, and I opened my mouth, and I kissed him like I’d been starving for it all day. For all my life. He made a surprised noise and then he laughed, a real laugh, against my lips, and kissed me harder. His tongue slid against mine. His hands were everywhere.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. My lips felt swollen. My whole face was burning. And I didn’t want to be facing the wrong way anymore.

So I turned. I pushed myself up, and swung one knee over his legs, and turned all the way around, until I was kneeling in front of him with my knees on either side of his thighs. He was looking at me, with his hair wild and his eyes dark and bright behind his glasses, and I’d never seen him look that way before.

Then I kissed him again. Properly, this time, with both hands on his face, and he made a low sound in his throat. His hands dropped to my ass and gripped it through the thin lace, squeezing, pulling me in against him, and I moaned into his mouth.

He broke it first. He sat up off the headboard, just a little, with his arms closing around me and one hand still kneading my ass, and rested his forehead against mine.

“I’m going to give you a choice,” he said.

“Okay.”

“You can go back to your room,” said Brian, “and you can touch yourself. I’ll let you. You’ve earned it.” His hand squeezed my ass, slowly, and stayed there.

My heart sank, just a little.

“Or,” he said, and his fingers tightened, “you can stay here. And I fuck you.”

The world stopped.

Fuck me.

My brother is going to fuck me. My BROTHER. The loser. The nerd. The one who’s been the butt of every joke Chloe ever made about him.

In my worst nightmares, in my darkest, weirdest, most shameful thoughts, I’d never once imagined this. Not once. It was unthinkable.

But I looked down. And through the thin gray fabric of his sweatpants, I could see him. The shape of him, thick and hard and straining, pressed against the inside of my thigh. A steady, throbbing heat.

“Take your time,” said Brian, in a voice that meant the opposite. His other hand slid between my legs, and he rubbed me, slowly, through the thin black lace. Two fingers. Firm, patient circles.

Say no.

Say something. Say you’re going back to your room. Say it. Say it.

It was making me insane. My lungs were empty. My head was spinning. His fingers pressed a little harder, and my hips jerked up to meet them, and a small, desperate sound came out of me.

I opened my mouth to say no.

“Fuck me,” I said.

He didn’t take his time.

He shoved me down onto the Pokémon blanket and climbed over me, and his mouth was on mine again, hard and hungry, with no more patience in it than a slammed door. One hand knotted in my hair. The other found the clasp of my bra and got it open on the first try, and he dragged it down my arms and flung it somewhere behind him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you.”

He looked for exactly one second. Then his mouth closed over my nipple, and he sucked, hard, and I arched off the bed with a gasp that surprised both of us.

I tried to cover myself. I got about halfway before he caught both my wrists in one hand and pinned them to the mattress above my head.

“Don’t,” he said, rough. “I want to see all of it.”

He hooked his fingers in my thong and yanked it down my thighs, over the stockings, and shoved my knees apart. My face went hot, and my hips lifted anyway. His fingers drove between my folds, so wet that it made a sound.

“Jesus, Val. You’re fucking soaked.”

I was shaking. He rubbed my clit, hard and fast, with two fingers, no teasing, no mercy, and I came apart under his hand almost at once. I didn’t think about it. I just bucked and gasped and bit down on my own fist, and when the first wave hit, I made a sound I’d never made before in my entire life.

It was the first orgasm I’d had all day. All weekend. And it was so strong that it almost hurt.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Good girl. Now the real part.”

And before I’d even come down, he was up on his knees, shoving his sweatpants off, and his cock sprang free.

I’d seen it that morning. I’d stared at it for two or three seconds. But this was different. Up close, hard, flushed dark, a bead of wetness at the tip, it was a lot more cock than I’d expected.

He yanked open the drawer of his nightstand and took out a box. The box. Bright blue. Dad’s box.

“Dad’s,” he said, tearing open a foil square with his teeth. “Thanks, Dad.”

He rolled it on in two quick, rough strokes, not waiting for me to learn how. I couldn’t have looked away.

He grabbed my thighs and hauled me down the bed to him, and I felt the hot, blunt head of him pressing against me.

“Look at me,” he said.

I did.

“Keep looking.” And he pushed inside.

It stung.

A sharp, stretching, startled burn, as he drove in, one hard inch at a time. I gasped and grabbed the blanket in both fists, and he slowed, just slowed, not stopped, panting through his teeth.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t going to,” he said, and kissed me, hard, to shut me up.

I breathed. I was so wet, so ready, and the sting was already melting, like ice in hot water. It melted into fullness. It melted into pressure. And then it melted into something else entirely, something deep and radiating, like he’d found a button inside me I hadn’t known was there.

He drove in the rest of the way, until our hips were pressed together, and held there, with his teeth against my shoulder.

That’s it.

That’s the thing. The thing I was saving. That’s it. It’s gone, and it’s him.

And I don’t even care.

He started to move.

Not slowly. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, hard enough to rock me up the bed, hard enough that the headboard thumped against the wall. Every time he bottomed out, I felt it everywhere, in my stomach, in the back of my throat, in my toes.

Oh.

Oh, wow. Oh.

Nobody told me. Nobody said it felt like this.

One time, last year, I’d messed around with a guy from my chemistry class. Cute. Tall. We’d gotten as far as hands, in the back seat of his car, and I’d spent the whole time wondering when it would be over. I’d come home and thought: that’s it? That’s what all the fuss is about?

This wasn’t that. This wasn’t anything like that. This was a hot, slick, impossible fullness, hammering through me in waves, deeper each time, faster each time. My hips had started to meet his on their own. My legs had wrapped around his waist. I could hear the wet sounds we were making, and a high, breathy voice moaning somebody’s name, and it took me three whole seconds to realize that the voice was mine.

“Brian,” I gasped. “Brian, Brian—”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Say it again. Fuck, you feel good. You’re so fucking tight.”

He didn’t stop talking, and I didn’t want him to. Look how well you take it. Look at that. Take all of it. One hand clamped on my hip, hard enough to bruise. The other found my breast and squeezed. His mouth found my neck, and bit. And I was floating, I was drowning, I was going to come again, any second, I could feel it building at the base of my spine like a held breath.

And then he slowed down.

Not stopped. Slowed. Long, deep, grinding strokes, so slow I could feel every inch of him, with his whole body locked tight and trembling over mine.

“No,” I said. “No, no, why—faster, please—”

“Tomorrow,” said Brian, against my ear. “The mall.”

“W-what?”

“You want to go. With Chloe and Yas.” A long, slow stroke, all the way in. “You can go. But first you’re going to do something for me.”

His glasses were fogged. A drop of sweat fell from his temple onto my collarbone. I couldn’t seem to follow what he was saying. The words went in and slid right back out of me, like water off a hot pan.

“Anything,” I said. “Brian, anything, just—”

“Send them a video.”

“What… what video?”

“Mine. Your friends, Chloe and Yasmin. I’ll send you a link. You send it to them tonight, and they watch it.”

It didn’t land. It floated somewhere above me, and I couldn’t get my hands on it.

Videos. Mom. Dad. What did the videos—

I couldn’t finish the thought. There was only the slow drag of him, in and out, in and out, and the thing coiling tighter at the base of my spine.

“They’re—” My voice broke on every stroke. “They’re my friends. They’ve been my—since we were fourteen. Brian, I can’t, I can’t do that to—”

“Do what?” said Brian. He rocked his hips, once, hard, and I gasped. “They’re going to love it. Same as you.”

“I—”

“Don’t make that face,” he said. “You know exactly what I’m going to do with them.”

He moved again. A long, hard thrust that made my eyes roll up.

“I’m going to take them, Val. Chloe and Yas. I’m going to put them on their knees, right here, and they’re going to do whatever I say.”

“Brian—”

“Imagine it.”

“Chloe,” he said, low, against my ear, in time with his strokes. “Bent over this bed. That red hair all over my sheets.”

“Brian—”

“And Yas. On her knees, right there.” A hard thrust. “That sharp mouth, finally good for something. Both of them looking up at me with big, wet eyes. Waiting for me to tell them what they’re allowed to do.”

“Stop—”

“No. Listen. They take turns. They thank me, every time.” His teeth grazed my ear. “They learn what they’re really for. And they’re so fucking grateful.”

“B-Brian…”

“And you’re right here. You get to watch, Val. Front row. They beg me in front of you.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“And they call me master. Just like you.”

No.

No, no, no, I can’t. They’re my friends.

But he was inside me, and his voice was inside my head, and the pictures were so vivid, so hot, so real. My brother, wanting them. My brother, taking them, owning them, the way he owned me. I could see it. I could see his hand in Chloe’s hair, and Yasmin’s dark eyes going wide—

It would be so hot.

God, it would be so hot.

I was clenching around him. I couldn’t stop it. I was so close. So close that nothing else was left, not Chloe, not Yas, not the word friends. Only the heat, and the next stroke, and the next.

“Say yes,” said my brother, and drove into me. “Say yes, Val.”

“Yes,” I gasped.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I’ll send it. I’ll send them the video. Yes, yes—”

He thrust, deep, and I screamed.

“Tell me what happens to them,” said Brian.

“They’ll—they’ll—” I had no air. “I’m going to sell them out, Brian, I’m going to sell my friends, and they’re going to be your slaves—your slaaaaves—”

He came the instant I said it.

I felt it, even through the latex, the sudden hot throb deep inside me, the way his whole body seized and his breath broke against my throat. And that was it. That was all it took. The orgasm tore through me like a freight train, starting low, in my pelvis, and exploding outward, down my legs and up my spine, a white-hot wave that made my back arch and my toes curl and my mouth open in a silent, endless cry.

We came together.

I’d never known that was a thing that could happen.

He didn’t let me rest.

I don’t know how long we lay there. A minute. Five. He pulled out, and I whimpered at the loss. I heard the rustle of the condom, and the soft thunk of a trash can. He kissed my shoulder. He stroked my hair. And then, in a voice gone low and rough, he said:

“There’s one more thing I want.”

I should have been exhausted. My whole body was jelly. But the sound of his voice, so rough, so sure, made something low in my stomach tighten all over again.

“Turn over,” said Brian.

He turned me over, with his hands on my hips, and I let him, boneless, my face in the Pokémon blanket. A click. Something cool and slippery between my cheeks. His fingers, slow, patient circles.

“Relax,” he said. “You were good all day. You get a reward.”

“Mm.”

“Breathe.”

One finger. Then two.

“You used one,” said Brian. “This afternoon. Nobody even told you to.”

“Mm-hm. The little… the…”

“Good girl.”

Oh. That’s what it was for. That’s why there were so many.

“Brian, it’s—it’s big—”

“I know. Just breathe. Let me in.”

“It—oh. Oh. Oh my God—”

“There you go. Almost.”

“It burns—”

“Good. It gets better. Push back for me.”

“Like—like this—oh—”

“Just like that. Fuck. Look at you.”

“Brian…”

“I’m here.”

“Everything’s—I can’t—my legs—”

“I know. You’re doing so good.”

The slap of his hand came out of nowhere. Crack. Hot and bright.

“Ah!”

“Okay?”

“Again,” I heard myself say. “Again, again, please—”

Crack.

“Good girl,” he groaned. “Look at this ass. God, Val. It’s so perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“Nobody ever—” My voice was somewhere far away. “Nobody ever said—”

“I’m saying it. Perfect. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” I said. “Yours, yours, yours—”

“Say it again.”

“Yours…”

Everything was warm and slow and far away. The blanket, the creak of the bed, the sound of him. I was floating. I was a cloud with a heartbeat.

“Come for me,” said Brian.

I didn’t decide anything. I just went.

“Good girl,” he said, from very far off. “Good girl. Good girl.”

I woke up alone.

First thing I noticed was that my face was wet. I’d been drooling, again. The pillow was soaked. The blanket under me was soaked too, in a big, dark, sticky patch, my own doing, and I was lying in it, naked except for my stockings, with my cheek stuck to the cotton and my ass in the air like I’d fallen asleep in the middle of something.

The room was dark. The monitors were off. Somewhere, a clock said 11:07.

Brian wasn’t there.

I lay still for a long time, listening to the quiet.

There had been something. Some words, from a long way off, murmured against my hair when I was half asleep, in a voice I couldn’t quite place. “You don’t need to clean up when you wake. Just rest.” Or something like that. I wasn’t sure I hadn’t dreamed it.

I sat up. Slowly. Everything hurt, in a deep, satisfied, throbbing way.

Oh my God.

I had sex.

I lost my virginity.

I lost my virginity to my brother.

The words sat there in my head like rocks. I turned them over, one at a time. My brother. My loser brother. The nerd. The hermit. And I loved it.

That last thought was the one I was most afraid of.

I loved every single second.

Does it always feel like that? Is sex always like that? Because that guy last year—the one with the car, the cute one—we’d barely done anything, and it had been nothing like this. And I’d actually liked that guy. I’d thought he was hot.

And Brian is… Brian.

What the hell happened?

I need to tell someone.

I needed it so badly I thought I’d burst. Right now, tonight, this second.

I grabbed the bra and the thong off the floor, and I held them in front of me like a shield, and I slipped out of his room and down the hall to mine. My parents’ door was closed. I could hear the soft murmur of the TV inside, and the quiet, steady rhythm of breathing. I ran the last few steps.

I closed my door. I sat on the bed. I picked up my phone.

Who do you tell?

Yas. Obviously. Yas, who’d say something dry and perfect, and who wouldn’t judge. Or Chloe, who’d scream, and demand every detail, and who’d spend the next hour on the phone with me.

My thumb hovered over the group chat.

And then I thought about what came next.

Who?

That would be the first thing either of them asked. Not how was it, not are you okay. Who. Chloe would never let it go. She’d pry, and guess, and make lists, and she wouldn’t stop until she had a name. And Yas wouldn’t pry, but she’d just look at me, with those dark, patient eyes, and wait, and I had never once been able to lie to her face.

I can’t tell them. Not unless I’m ready to tell them everything.

I closed the chat.

There was another notification, farther down. A message from this morning, at 9:12. I’d missed it.

Stephany: “hi val. are you free to talk later? no rush!! i’ll be around all weekend if you want. love you”

I stared at it.

Stephany.

My big sister.

I typed it before I could think.

Valerie: “hey. are you up”

The reply came almost immediately. It was a little past eleven.

Stephany: “hi. yeah, i’m up. what’s going on?”

Valerie: “i have to tell u something”

Valerie: “i lost my virginity”

I sent it, and put the phone face-down on my knee. My heart was going a mile a minute. I didn’t even know what I wanted her to say. I wanted her to ask if I was okay. I wanted her to be shocked, and then kind, and then to say that it was okay. I wanted my sister to tell me what to feel.

The phone buzzed.

The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared.

It was a long time before the message came.

Stephany: “wow. um. that’s… wow. that’s really cool, i think?? congrats?”

I read it three times.

That’s… what?

That wasn’t what Stephany would say. Stephany would say oh, Val. She’d say how are you feeling? She’d say do you want to talk about it? She’d have asked if I was okay, if it was consensual, if it had been safe, in that calm, careful, annoyingly responsible voice. She would never, ever have answered with “congrats?” and a question mark, like she’d borrowed the word from somebody else.

Okay. That’s weird.

Maybe she’s just distracted.

The phone buzzed again.

Stephany: “wait. who with?? sorry. you don’t have to say. you don’t have to tell me anything. i’m just. curious. sorry”

My whole body went rigid.

I sat there, with my thumbs over the screen, and the words with Brian sitting in my mouth like a swallowed stone. I couldn’t type them. I could not type them. It wasn’t that I wasn’t allowed. It was just… I couldn’t.

Valerie: “a guy”

Stephany: “oh. ok. a guy. is he… nice? to you i mean”

Valerie: “an older guy”

Stephany: “older like how much older?? sorry. that’s a weird thing to ask. it’s kind of cool, though. i think. but also, um. be careful?? older guys can be… i don’t know. sorry. was it good?”

Valerie: “it was amazing”

Stephany: “ok. wow. ok. i’m happy for you. i think i’m happy for you?? did you use protection?? sorry. that’s such a big sister thing to ask. i just. yeah.”

Valerie: “yes. a condom”

Stephany: “ok good. that’s good. always, ok?? …i’m kind of jealous, honestly”

I looked at the screen for a while. She kept typing, and deleting, and typing. I could almost picture her, curled up on the couch in her tiny studio, with her phone close to her face and that vape pen between her fingers. I couldn’t picture her face.

Stephany: “i should go. sorry. is that ok?? we can talk more later. whenever you want. love you”

Valerie: “love you too”

I put the phone down.

Stephany had sounded—I don’t know. Younger. Smaller. Like she’d been afraid of getting an answer wrong, so she’d apologized for everything. Like me at fourteen, talking to a teacher.

It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s just weird talking about this with your sister.

The phone buzzed on the bed beside me.

Brian.

Brian: “Two videos. First one is for Chloe and Yas. Send it tonight. Second one is for you. Watch it before you sleep.”

Two links. Two thumbnails. The first was a pastel pink tutorial, with a girl in a denim jacket and a glittery caption. The second was a swirl of colors that I recognized at once.

I sat with my thumb over the first link for a long, long time.

I can’t.

I can’t not.

They’re my friends. They trust me. They’re the only two people in my whole life who’ve always, always known who I was.

I’m going to be a traitor.

A tear ran down my cheek. It surprised me. I wiped it with my wrist.

And then, without meaning to, I remembered his voice. Low, against my ear, with him still inside me. Chloe on her knees. Yasmin looking up with those big, grateful eyes. Both of them calling him master.

Heat rolled through me, low and sudden. I was still sore. I was still wet. My thighs pressed together on their own, and the picture wouldn’t go away: my brother, in his room, in his glasses, with his hand in Chloe’s hair, telling Yasmin to come here. Telling her what to do. Taking them the way he’d taken me.

It would be so hot.

The tear dried on my cheek. My thumbs were already moving.

Valerie: “ok girls omg. found this look tutorial for tmrw”

Valerie: “watch it tonight!! so we can plan outfits ”

Valerie: [link]

I hit send.

The messages sat there, with two little gray check marks. Then two little blue ones. Delivered. It was done.

I put the phone down. I wiped my face. Then, because I couldn’t stand the thought of lying in the dark, thinking about what I’d done, I picked up my phone again, and I opened the second link, and put my earbuds in.

Just to stop thinking.

It won’t work on me anyway.

The colors began…

I woke up late.

Gray light through the curtains. A pile of dead bees where my brain should be. My phone was buzzing against my cheek like an angry insect, and when I finally dragged it up to look at it, the clock said 10:41.

The group chat had forty-two new messages.

Chloe: “OK WHAT IS THAT VIDEO”

Chloe: “where did u find it. i watched it like 4 times”

Chloe: “idk why but i literally cannot stop thinking about it”

Yasmin: “It was… unexpectedly good. I watched it twice. Don’t read into that.”

Chloe: “YAS WATCHED IT TWICE”

Yasmin: “I’m an insomniac. It was past midnight.”

The timestamps said they’d sent them around half past midnight.

I lay there, staring at the screen, with something cold and heavy turning over in my stomach.

They watched it.

They both watched it. Whatever it does—whatever he does with them—they did it. I made them.

I waited for the guilt to hit, full force, like a truck. It came, sort of. It came like a bruise, a dull, aching tenderness when you pressed on it. But underneath it, much deeper, there was something warm and drowsy and satisfied that wouldn’t go away.

They’re fine. They sound fine. They’re happy. They liked it.

And I’m fine too. I watched mine, and I’m totally normal. It doesn’t work on me.

There was a later message, from this morning, at 9:50.

Chloe: “wake up!!! we leave at 12. wear something cute”

Yasmin: “Wear something ugly so I look better.”

I smiled in spite of myself. Then I got up, and my legs nearly gave out.

The shower was heaven.

I stood under the water for twenty minutes, with the heat pounding the aches out of my muscles, and I let myself think about it. Not all of it. Just pieces. His hands. His voice in my ear. You’re perfect. I was sore in places I hadn’t known could be sore. There was a bruise on my hip, a pale-pink handprint on my left cheek, and a faint red mark on my neck.

I touched it, and smiled.

Nobody can see that under a collar.

I washed my hair, and shaved, and moisturized, and picked out an outfit. A short pleated skirt. A cropped white top. Little gold earrings. I didn’t think about why I’d picked the skirt. I just wanted to look good.

Chloe said cute. This is cute.

I put on the black lace thong. The same one. I knew it was a little silly, but I liked the way it felt.

I could hear it before I got to the kitchen.

I mean, I could hear something. A quiet, wet, regular sound, and the clink of cutlery. Brian’s voice, calm. Dad’s voice, calmer.

I came in, and froze in the doorway.

Brian was at the head of the table, in his boxers, eating a stack of pancakes with syrup, scrolling through his phone with one hand. Dad was standing at his shoulder in the heart apron, pouring coffee into a mug that said WORLD’S OKAYEST BOSS, never once glancing down.

Because of the tablecloth.

The tablecloth hung down to the floor, on Brian’s side. And there was a shape under it, between his knees. A shape that bobbed. Slowly, steadily, and with enormous dedication.

The wet sound was coming from there.

I didn’t have to look under the table to know who it was.

Of course. Why not. It’s Sunday.

“Morning, Val,” said Brian.

“Morning,” I said, in the tone of a person commenting on the weather.

I sat down. Dad poured me coffee without being asked. A plate of pancakes appeared at my elbow. Under the table, something moaned, a low, muffled, happy sound, and Brian’s knee twitched against my leg.

“Sleep well?” said Brian.

I took a long, careful sip of coffee. I couldn’t lie to him, so I said the only true thing I could say with Dad standing right there. “Really well.”

“Good,” said Brian, pleasantly, cutting a piece of pancake. He didn’t look up. “You earned it.”

My face went up in flames. Dad didn’t so much as blink. He just topped off Brian’s coffee.

“Thanks,” I said, with great dignity, to my pancake.

Brian chuckled. It was a warm, comfortable, I-know-exactly-how-you-slept kind of chuckle.

I ate fast.

It was one of the best nights of my life.

I’m never going to say that out loud, ever. But it was. It was the best night I’ve ever had.

And it would have been even better if he’d stayed. If I’d woken up with his arm over me, instead of alone in the dark.

Wait. No. Why would I want that? That’s not—I don’t. I don’t want that.

I stood up, rinsed my plate, and picked up my bag. At the door I heard my brother’s voice.

“Hey, Val.”

I turned around. He hadn’t looked up from his phone. His other hand, under the table, was pressed to the back of someone’s head.

“Did your friends see the video?”

A small, cold drop of something slid down my spine.

“Yes,” I said. “They said it was amazing. Both of them.”

Brian smiled, and went back to his pancakes.

“Good,” he said. “Have fun at the mall.”

The mall was exactly the same.

That’s what I couldn’t get over. Same fluorescent lights, same tinny pop music, same smell of cinnamon and floor cleaner, same crowd of Sunday families and teenagers in matching hoodies. Chloe in the middle of a jacket rack, holding two identical black coats against her chest and demanding a verdict. Yasmin, with her arms folded and her boots planted, looking bored in a way that I knew meant she was having a good time.

“The left one,” said Yasmin.

“The right one,” I said, at the same time.

“You two are useless,” said Chloe.

We got lunch. We got lattes. We tried on sunglasses and made faces at ourselves in the mirrors, and Chloe bought the left coat, and Yasmin bought a pair of boots she didn’t need, and I bought a lip gloss I did. And it was normal. It was ridiculously, comfortably normal. We talked about midterms, and our swim times, and a guy in Chloe’s criminal law class who chewed pens.

For about three hours, I forgot.

They’re normal.

They watched the video. Both of them. And they’re completely normal. They’re laughing, and joking, and Chloe’s making fun of my sunglasses. They’re exactly the same.

Maybe they’re immune too. Maybe it doesn’t work on anyone like us. Maybe it only worked on Mom and Dad because they’re old.

I let out a breath I’d been holding since the night before.

I was laughing when a boy walked by our table, tall, dark-haired, carrying two bags from the sneaker store. I watched Chloe glance at him, the way she always did, and look away.

That was it. That was all.

She’d spent the better part of September pointing at every attractive guy we passed. Him. Him. Him. Oh, that one. She’d done it so often it was practically a nervous tic.

Nothing. Not even a comment.

I waited for Yasmin to say something dry. She didn’t. She was looking at her phone.

“Hey,” I said, casually, stirring my tea. “Did Ryan ever text you back?”

Chloe made a face. “He texted. Like, three times.”

“And?”

“I left him on read.”

I stared at her. “You left Ryan on read?”

“I know, I know.” She picked at her fries. “It’s weird. I just—I don’t know. I looked at his message this morning, and I thought, meh.”

“Meh,” said Yasmin, to her phone, in a low, dry voice. “That’s my read, too.”

My heart gave a funny little thump.

“Is it—did something happen? At the party, or—”

“No,” said Chloe. “No, nothing happened. It’s just that—” She frowned, searching for the word. “He’s kind of… you know. He’s not…”

“He has no big dick energy,” said Yasmin.

“YES,” said Chloe, pointing a fry at her. “That’s it. That’s exactly it. He’s got zero big dick energy.”

I choked on my tea.

“What?”

“I know, I know, it’s a stupid phrase.” Chloe shrugged. “But it’s true. Some guys just have it, and some don’t. Ryan doesn’t. You can tell. Like—” She waved her fry in the air. “Like, for example. Your brother, Brian.”

I stopped breathing.

“He’s a creep,” Chloe added, quickly, like she didn’t want me to get the wrong idea. “He is. I stand by that. But he has it. Big dick energy. I don’t know how, or why, but he has it.”

“Unfortunately, she’s right,” said Yasmin. She sounded almost sad. “I don’t like it. But I can’t deny it.”

They looked at each other. They both nodded. Like it was a scientific finding.

I stared at them.

Wait a second. They both agree on something, and it’s my brother having big dick energy?

That 's weird. That 's so weird.

But they are definitely right.

“He does have a big dick,” I murmured.

It was supposed to be a thought. It came out as a whisper.

“What did you say?” said Chloe.

“Nothing,” I said, in a squeaky voice, and took a very large gulp of tea, and tried to will my face to go back to its normal color.

I got home around five.

The sun was low, and golden, and the whole street smelled like cut grass. I stood on the porch for a moment with my shopping bag in my hand, watching a neighbor’s kid chase a ball down the sidewalk, and I thought, with a strange, aching tenderness, that this was probably the last time I’d ever feel quite like this. Like the girl I’d been on Thursday morning.

Then I took out my key, and opened the front door.

There was someone standing in the entryway.

“Stephany?” I said.

Author’s note

Thank you so much for reading, liking, and commenting on Brian’s Brain! It really means a lot, and your comments are a big part of what keeps this story moving.

A quick heads-up: I’ve been making some small touch-ups to the earlier Diana chapters to keep the continuity tight as the story grows. Nothing major changes plot-wise, but a few details, timelines, and small beats have been smoothed out, so it might be worth a quick skim if you’re rereading.

Next up: Stephany. Stay tuned, and keep the feedback coming. I read every comment!