Kennedy finished editing her advice video. This week's topic had been chivalry. How should a modern, independent woman react when a man opens a door for her? Should he always lead when dancing? Should the man ask for the date and pay for it? It had been a good video. Her followers were going to appreciate it.
One problem. She couldn't upload it. The wi-fi wasn't working. Damn it! Roosevelt must have changed the password. The neighbor had been logging in and her brother had gotten tired of it. Kennedy had known he was going to do it. She just hadn't expected it to happen so soon. Her brother was not very good at procrastination.
Roosevelt would be at work for another six hours. But Kennedy had waited long enough to upload. Unlike her brother, she was an expert at procrastinating. But this video had to be posted today. She'd promised her followers.
There was another option. Roosevelt had his laptop with him. But he had his desktop computer set up in his bedroom. She didn't feel comfortable going in there. The habits of childhood are hard to get past. She and her brother were both adults, both successful in their careers. They'd been roommates for the past year to save a little money. Yet she still felt like Roosevelt's little sister, who was going to get her ass whipped for going in his room. But she had no choice.
She gingerly opened his door and went inside. Her trepidation quickly turned to amusement. Her brother decorated like a teenage boy. Posters of nearly-naked women. A full shelf of pornographic DVDs. A stack of Mad Magazines. And some Dungeons and Dragons figurines on top of the bookcase.
Kennedy sat down at the computer. It was also password-protected, but she knew the solution to that. Her brother was immature, maybe, but he was well-organized and predictable. His passwords were all generated by using D & D dice. But she knew where he kept them. His wi-fi password he kept in his wallet, unfortunately. His e-mail passwords were on a card in the freezer. But the computer password...
"Garfield!" she called. A minute or two later, Roosevelt's cat came in curiously. She was one of the few cats Kennedy had ever known that actually came when called. As a matter of tradition, Roosevelt and Kennedy had carried on their parents' tradition of naming their children after former presidents by doing the same with their pets. And when Roosevelt had found this orange tabby kitten lapping at a puddle of rainwater in the backyard, looking just like the cartoon feline, both he and Kennedy knew that James Garfield was about to get a namesake.
And Roosevelt's computer password was on Garfield's collar.
She logged on, moved her video from her laptop to his desktop, and uploaded it. And then, sighing with relief and satisfaction, she began to snoop.
As expected, there was a lot of porn. Videos, images, stories, and X-rated games. It didn't bother her. Kennedy thought that guys probably benefited from watching porn. It kept their tempers from getting the better of them. But her brother's collection was excessive.
She looked through his files, found a few videos she liked, copied them to her laptop. Kennedy liked porn featuring rough sex, simulated rape, and bondage. Roosevelt's collection was a little light on those subjects, but bulging with creampie porn, where the guy came right inside the girl.
The one area where their interests really seemed to converge was in the unwanted creampies. Roosevelt had a folder full of videos where the girls begged the guy not to come inside them, only to be ignored. Some were clearly fake, just performances by professionals. But a few seemed genuine. Amateurs agreeing to get fucked, but not prepared for the ending.
After copying the ones she liked, Kennedy perused the still images. She scrolled down to the Kink folder, but her eyes were immediately drawn to her own name, alphabetically placed just in front. Why would her brother have a Kennedy folder in his collection of porn? Was there perhaps a porn star named Kennedy?
Whether there was or wasn't, that's not who Roosevelt was ogling. When she opened the folder, she found scores of pictures of herself sleeping. Her brother was obviously in the habit of taking photos of her as she slept. And this wasn't a one-time thing. Different nights, different nightwear. T-shirts, half-shirts, occasionally with no top at all. Her legs were always covered with blankets, so he had been denied any pussy or panty shots, but he'd seen plenty.
Kennedy's thoughts ranged from anger and betrayal to curiosity. Was her brother turned on by his little sister? Did he masturbate to these images of her? And how did he know she wouldn't wake up and catch him.
Actually, the answer to that was fairly obvious. Kennedy liked her brandy. A couple of glasses made her pleasantly buzzed, and then it took a great effort to wake her once she drifted off.
It gave her an idea. There was an experiment she decided to try. It wasn't even an experiment really. There was nothing she expected to learn from this. But calling it an experiment made her feel less creepy and perverted than her brother.
She decided to give him a treat, then monitor what he did with it. Kennedy logged into her cloud storage account, and gave permissions to access Roosevelt's porn collection. And the Kennedy folder, she set to backup automatically. Her brother would never know it, but she could now view his porn from her own devices, and any pictures he took of her would be copied. Then she went to the liquor store.
That night, after she and Roosevelt shared some Chinese food, Kennedy got herself wonderfully tipsy, indulging in three glasses of brandy mixed with peppermint Schnapps. She made certain Roosevelt knew how inebriated she was, then she went to bed.
Even with all the alcohol, it was difficult to get to sleep. She was too excited. Kennedy tried to convince herself it was just the curiosity, but it was more than that. She loved erotic violations. Rape and bondage fantasies were incredibly arousing. To actually set up her own violation was thrilling.
And in a weird way, she and her brother were violating each other. She was secretly inviting him to come spy on her. And he didn't know that she was manipulating him for her own pleasure. It was both fair and perverse. With that thought, she started rubbing her clit until the third orgasm finally knocked her out.
Kennedy seldom dreamt when she'd been drinking. This was no exception. And she woke with a slight hangover, the headache and nausea annoying but manageable. She heard Roosevelt moving around in the kitchen and picked up her phone from the night table to have him bring her some broth.
She lounged in bed, nursing her faint ailments, until Roosevelt left for work. Then she jumped out of bed and went to her laptop. She opened Roosevelt's Kennedy folder, and there she was. Several new photos had been posted in the last ten hours.
Kennedy had deliberately gone to bed naked and had slept on top of the blankets instead of under them. She'd taken some time to groom herself for this photoshoot, shaping her pubic hair into a tiny little thatch just above her clit but leaving the lips of her sex bare.
She assumed Roosevelt had gotten hard looking at her pussy. Men stiffened up at that sight instinctively. He couldn't have helped it if he tried. It was always arousing to Kennedy to know that she caused such reactions.
Until yesterday, she'd never imagined that her own brother was reacting to her. On the one hand, she was furious with him. But mixed with the fury was the erotic sense of helplessness she'd been craving for years. She was not going to confront him over these photos. Not yet. She wanted to get her own pleasures out of this perverse, incestuous voyeurism.
It was both creepy and exciting to imagine any man standing over while she was helpless and exposed. The taboo of it being her own brother added a hell of a lot of spice.
His behavior was absolutely inappropriate. It was sick and disturbing. But worst of all, for a pervert, Roosevelt had been far too respectful. Kennedy decided she needed to do more on her part. She wasn't sure exactly what she wanted her brother to do, but that was part of the point. Not knowing increased the sense of helplessness she found so erotic.
It took her some time. Several days of research and setup. But a week later, she was ready. When Roosevelt returned home from work, she set to work.
"Hey, brother. I made us some lasagna. But then I'm going to bed. I've been having trouble sleeping so I bought these powerful sleeping pills. One knocks you out for ten hours. Five will kill you. I'm taking two. There could be a hurricane, an earthquake, and a war going on and it wouldn't wake me up."
"Wow. Are you sure it's safe?"
"I'm sure. I checked with a doctor. I'll be out maybe twelve--fourteen hours, but it will be a very, very deep sleep. Absolutely nothing's gonna wake me up."
Roosevelt nodded grimly, but Kennedy saw a spark of excitement in his eyes. What would he do? Would he touch her? Would he jerk off on her face, maybe? "All right. If that will help."
"You're not even gonna ask why I've been sleeping badly? What kind of brother are you?"
"I didn't want to pry. But since you brought it up, I am concerned."
