"Ugh," I grunted with frustration, blinking through the sweat in my eyes to check my form in the studio mirrors. Yup. Make that, my incorrect form.
I surrendered to my failure and allowed my upper body to rise out of the reclined thunderbolt pose I was attempting. That bitch Tammy McLough had spent the whole last dance class showing off the ease with which she could slip into it and hold it - indefinitely, to listen to her talk. I couldn't even hold it for five minutes.
Shit. I looked back at my obstinate body in the mirror. No matter how hard I worked to master the pieces, no matter my musicality and rhythm or how toned I was, or how late I stayed up in my private studio each night, I was never going to make principle dancer unless I sorted my flexibility. In the mirror, my chin wobbled for a moment.
"Bitch, if Tammy fucking McLough can do it, you have this," I started pep-talking my reflection. "You need to have this. This year is not going to be wasted, and the talent scouts are gonna be at this show so you have. to. make. it work." A beat passed and my pep collapsed.
"Oh, God, you idiot, what if you don't ever get it? Why the fuck didn't you take those flexibility classes more seriously a semester ago?!"
Next to me, the door swung open and I abruptly clamped down on my mini-breakdown. Luckily, it was only my step-brother and the false smile I'd conjured could drop.
He was smiling as he entered. He never knocked. "Talking to yourself again, Sis?"
What had started as a way to annoy each other as kids had become permanent, affectionate nicknames to us and despite my frustration, seeing Charlie lifted my mood instantly.
"Oh, nothing much," I sighed dramatically, putting a humorous spin on my breakdown. "Just realising the futility of my life dreams and deciding whether to quit dance now or wait til Dad's paid for next term's tuition just to annoy him."
Lounging in the doorway, Charlie grinned briefly and my stomach suddenly belly-flopped unrelated to my mid-mid-life crisis. I loved being able to amuse him.
"Come on, you can do better than that." He wagged his eyebrows playfully. "I hear Platinum is hiring - disappoint Dad, keep dancing, and fuck off Tammy. Holy trio."
"And how do you know that Platinum is hiring, O saintly Brother?" I arched my eyebrow even as my heartbeat picked up. He only smirked in return.
Platinum was a strip club in town. At Charlie's words, sudden visions had started rushing in of me, sexy lingerie clinging to every curve, dancing sensuously around a pole as Charlie watched me.
No - Charlie and his friends. The basketball team who always hung around ours through the summer, goofing and flirting with me to Charlie's reprimands. Jaws dropped as they saw the true form of the meek girl who they'd only known walking around in her step-bro's sweatpants and sports bras.
Oh God, I could tell already the fantasy I'd be masturbating to later: Charlie arranging to meet his friends at the strip club, walking in late to see me already performing for them, rubbing my hands up and down my body, seducing them from the stage. Stripper heels and blow-job lips and my distinctly non-dancer boobs framed in red lace. Grabbing me and pulling me off stage to discipline his slutty step-sister in a back room. Red hand prints on my ass to match the scarlet lingerie I hid at the back of my closet. Telling me if I wanted to act like a little whore, he'd treat me like one...
"You alright, Sis? You look seriously flushed."
My actual step-bro interrupted fantasy step-bro and I knew my face was burning in embarrassment. Or something else.
"Ah yeah. It's, um, hot," I weakly waved my hand in the direction of the sunlight streaming through the windows. "I gotta master these yoga positions for Miss Ella's extra credit class if I want to make principle for the upcoming show."
"You want some help?"
I smiled my thanks but shook my head. "Not sure what you could do, apart from instantaneously make my hips like 60% more flexible."
"Try me. What you trying to do?"
Charlie had seen me dance before loads. He was always coming by the studio in the basement my dad had fitted out for me to practise in. I wasn't sure why I was suddenly oddly nervous to push myself back into thunderbolt pose and then sink down into reclined thunderbolt, lying vulnerable and open to his gaze. It didn't help that it was a hot afternoon and I'd been practising a particularly grueling routine before this. My tights lay discarded in the corner and I'd rolled my leotard down below my sweat-darkened sports bra. It didn't leave a whole lot of skin covered.
No less than a bikini, I reasoned to myself to stop the blush I was sure was staining my cheeks, as it so often did around Charlie. And you've been on plenty of family holidays abroad. This is nothing new.
I held the pose for a minute, glad to avoid Charlie's gaze while I collected myself, before my aching hips and quads forced me to rise gracefully out of it.
Charlie's eyes followed the long length of my body as it pulled upright. Analyzing the stretch, I told myself sternly. Not drinking in the sight, or any other cliche line from the stupid romantic novels I read at night. Or any other cliche from the erotica I'd starting writing at night which may or may not feature a protagonist based heavily on my step-brother.
"So," I tried for flippant and just missed. "Any notes?"
He walked over to me and held out a hand to help me to my feet. He wasn't smiling, but there was a particular gleam in his eyes that made me gulp. "I have an idea. Trust me?"
I took his hand and he easily pulled my slight, lithe form up close to him. He didn't let go of my hand.
Trust you? With anything, Charlie.
I nodded weakly, trying to resolutely pretend I wasn't having a physical reaction to being so close to Charlie - to my step-brother, for gods' sake. But I was. I could smell his safe Charlie smell, wood and pine from helping Dad sort the logs this morning. His hand was rough from that manual labour, but the arms that had just pulled me up were toned and strong. I met his gaze; he was looking directly at me, watching every quirk of my face.
My mouth parted involuntarily, and he smiled.
"I'll be right back."
He dropped my hand and left the room suddenly. My head span and I walked to the barre to brace myself. Had the heat finally got to me and sent me round the bend? What the fuck was possessing my body, and why couldn't it do something useful like stretch out my hips rather than make me act like a skittish animal around my step-brother?
I pointed firmly at my reflection in the mirror. "Sort your shit, girl. Just because it's been three months since you dumped Jake doesn't mean you start drooling over any fucking man who touches you."
The message didn't reach my nipples, which, I suddenly noticed in the mirror, were poking brazenly through the thin cotton of my damp sports bra. They'd probably been like that since the moment Charlie had walked in, tight and hard and advertising my current sex desperation. I flushed hard with embarrassment and ignored the rush of heat between my legs at the thought of Charlie seeing them.
Cover up. Yes. First order of business. Then I'll just take myself straight to Hell and skip the waiting.
I walked to the corner of the room and rooted through the bags of random kit and crap I chucked in the corner of my studio after every practice. It had been a hot, dry summer and it took me a few moments of searching before I finally pulled a hoody from the bottom of the third bag (God knows how long it'd been there).
Was it stained? Last thing I wanted was to look even more like an idiot who couldn't even eat without spilling food in front of Charlie. Frowning, I turned round to hold it to the sunlight and quickly jumped back in shock.
The door was open; Charlie stood in the frame, watching me quietly. Crap. I'd flinched back physically, pushing up against the barre. My face was flushed and hot. How long had he been watching me?
"Ready?" He asked quietly. My mouth went dry but I nodded.
He slowly walked towards me.
"First things first," he started as he approached the corner where I stood tentatively. Trapping me in. "You have to stop clock-watching. I bet you can hold the stretch longer than you think, but you're used to only making it a minute and give up when the time's up."
He was right in front of me now. I'd tried to take an involuntary step back and now the barre was pressed against my back hard. I focused on the discomfort to clear the stupid nervousness suddenly flooding my body and answer my step-brother semi-intelligently.
He was probably right, I realised. "That's actually a really good point. In class there's no clock, we just have to go on the instructor's marks. So you're going to... take the clock down and time me instead?"
His mouth quirked into a smile. "Sort of."
He pulled from his pocket a blindfold and without waiting for me to react he reached up and tied it around my (hot, flushed) face as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
My brain went into meltdown. I couldn't say anything. I stood there dumb, heart racing and mind short-circuiting. The blindfold was black and silky - much nicer than the cloth ones Dad passed out when we had long-haul flights. Was it his personal one? Was it - my breath hitched - the one he used with girls?
His hand was suddenly at mine and he led me out of the corner.
"Perfect. Just stand there for a moment."
He left me stranded and over the thrumming of my heart in my ears I could hear rustling. Despite the heat, goosebumps were prickling my bare legs and, god-forgive me, I was wet. I pushed my legs closer together, praying to any deity listening not to let my step-brother realise what a needy, horny mess his little step-sister was.
"Still trust me?" His voice, soft and familiar, came from right behind me and despite the little spasm that went through me, I nodded. Smiled even. Just a brother helping his sister.
"Go into the stretch."
Even in my state, I managed to sink to the ground with grace. Mainly because I was focusing every iota of my being into still being pretty in front of Charlie.
The move begins with the dancer sitting flat on her open knees. Flashes of pretty, submissive girls in the exact same position from countless porn videos suddenly jumped through my mind. The dancer then rises up on her knees before leaning back until she is flat against the floor. If I paused for a moment upright on my knees, face upturned and lips parted in perfect blow-job position, that remains between God and I.
I sank back into the position and stretched my arms above my head, leaving my stomach taunt and vulnerable. Every part of myself vulnerable with this blindfold on. I had no idea where Charlie was in the room, let alone if anything else was coming. Still, I thanked God I'd shaved that morning so no dusting of hairs would ruin the line of my leotard. Not that my step-brother would look there, you pervert.
"Secondly, you don't have the self-control to hold the stretch, so I'm going to give you a little something to help with that."
A beat, then.
"I'm going to touch your hands."
I felt his rough, calloused fingers sliding up my palms. Something clicked around my wrists and pulled slightly, holding my arms flat against the floor.
"Charlie?" I hated the note of panic in my voice. I wanted to get up, get out of this position but I suddenly couldn't. My hands were attached to something - handcuffed - my traitorous brain informed me happily - against the floor. Panic contorted my spine, warred with the deep-seated recognition, of the sudden memories rushing through my mind of nights spent staring at videos of girls tied up and ravished - or tortured - while I let my fingers drift down to my puss in the dark of the night.
"Sis - sis, relax."
Charlie had moved. He sounded close and in front of me.
A warm hand suddenly touched my thigh comfortingly. "It's OK. Breathe. Breathe. That's better. Say the word, Sis, and I'll undo it. But I really believe you can make five minutes, Sis. Show me that you can?"
The words fed right into the heat growing between my legs. Something about his slow, confident voice had made the warring panic and lust merge into one front, shorting all my synapses. I was so wet now I needed him to move from between my legs before he noticed.
My heartbeat was still erratic but I managed a short nod and pushed out a deep breath, relaxing back into the stretch and focusing on the burn in my quads. In and out deeply, ignoring the vulnerability of my position and the blindfold and Charlie - no. Stop that. In and out.
In and out.
Charlie hadn't moved his hand from my thigh.
In and out.
In and out.
I couldn't focus.
"How long?" I grit out.
Charlie sighed disappointingly and a sudden pain went through my chest. "I really thought you'd last a bit longer than that, Sis."
His thumb rubbed a comforting circle on my thigh.
"Third point, then. You get too into your head. You need to focus on something else."
His hand, already high up my thigh, was pushing slowly up.
"Let me see if I can think of something to take your mind off it. Remember, just say the safe word when you want to stop."
My breath caught at 'safe word' and I couldn't think or focus. Had he definitely said those words or was my lust-addled brain distorting actual reality?
Because 'safe word' could only refer to one thing. The bondage erotica I'd started writing on my laptop a couple days ago. On the laptop, we were currently sharing while his was broken. The laptop I'd left open in my bedroom earlier today.
As if in confirmation:
"I think you know what a safe word is, right?"
Over that delicate flesh, his fingers climbed slowly higher and higher as I went to pieces trying to make sense of the situation. This was still family helping family, surely - but suddenly, his fingers were dipping into those hollows at the apex of my thigh, tickling over my soft flesh to rest against the line of my leotard.
