Chapter 4: A Season of Change

To avoid confusion, this chapter begins from Niamh's perspective.

Over the next few weeks, I searched high and low for a new job. With a glut of unskilled workers, the even hospitality industry, with its bad hours, terrible conditions, and even worse pay was saturated. I'd ploughed through meagre savings, leaving me entirely at the mercy of my brother's admittedly impressive largesse. He'd tried putting in a good word for me at his University's labs, but my trial shift had been a disaster; I'd mixed the wrong chemicals together. Whilst fortunately what I'd done had been neither toxic nor explosive, it had been extremely expensive; I felt awful for having let Dylan down so badly, but there was really nothing for it.

Although Dylan gladly gave me a weekly stipend to entertain myself with, I tried to use it sparingly, accompanying him to the movies or buying a DVD we both liked. Left to my own devices all day, I had little better to do with my time than play with myself, each session my fantasies about my brother growing wilder and wilder. Eventually, even my imagination could come up with no more scenarios in which my brother would ravish me, and with great shame- and great care to hide my tracks- I used his laptop to surf the web for fodder. What I found astounded me- there were entire sites devoted to caches of stories involving brothers and sisters, mothers and sons, fathers and daughters, and every other familial combination I could come up with getting jiggy with it. I even managed to find some forums that had movies of people purporting to be brother and sister fucking, or audio stories of the same. It made me wet just thinking about it, and I was glad that my brother's chair was waxed wood, because if it were material or metal my sex would have stained it horribly. If Dylan noticed the sudden hike in his download usage, her was too kind to say anything about it; perhaps he assumed I spent all day on YouTube or chatting with friends.

Emboldened by my "research," I scanned some other adult sites. A pop-up window attracted my interest, my e-mail advising me of a post offering a position in a local nightclub. Praying that my pleas for a new job had been answered, I clicked on the link. Things looked good until I realised that the nightclub was in fact a strip club. I chewed on my lip, wrestling with my conscience over my ability to gyrate in front of strangers for money. Eventually I reasoned that any woman who spent her days accessing and pleasuring herself with incest porn- who had once, however unintentionally taken her brother inside herself and had him come there- should have little difficulty in shedding her clothes for a living. Besides, it was hardly as though jobs were plentiful. I made a note of the try-outs and copied the address into my mobile phone, returning to my room to pick out something to wear.

I wanted to look sexy, but not stripperific. My wardrobe yielded reasonable results, including my pleated cheerleader skirt. With a sudden flash of inspiration, I decided to pander to the inexplicable male fascination with the naughty schoolgirl. I further decided to enhance the effect by playing the part of every male high school student's holy grail, that of the slutty cheerleader. I began by laying out a top that matched the skirt but contained no school emblem, along with long white socks. A lightning raid on my lingerie drawer gave me a lacy pink push-up bra (not that my DD breasts needed the illusory volume) and a light purple satin g-string. Imagining Dylan was watching me through lust-glazed eyes, I shivered. Even through the bra, the clinging tightness of the shirt revealed the hard points of my nipples, and goose bumps sprang up over my skin. I could feel my lower lips thickening as blood rushed to them, dew lining the channel they concealed.

I checked the effect in my mirror, satisfied with my choice. Given the cold weather outside, I would be able to cover up the short skirt and light top with a trench coat, leaving casual observers none the wiser. Content with my appearance, I began some of my old gym and cheerleading routines. Though no longer as limber as I had been last year, I was still quite flexible. Pouting at my reflection, I swivelled my hips and leaned forward. My breasts, drawn up by the bra, threatened to escape; I figured I was on to a winner.

Sure enough, my audition for the job went well. Although my lithe, lush body drew venomous glares from some of the less physically fortunate applicants, Big Lou- as the club owner insisted "his girls" call him was visibly impressed. He put me through my paces in time to dance music, copying one of his more experienced- and he stressed the term- "hostesses." I was easily able to keep up, and when I dropped into the splits, my legs out to either side of my body and the tight V of my neon panties peeking out from my skirt, his eyes nearly fell out of his head. He hired me on the spot, asking if I could start immediately. Given my financial state, I agreed with great alacrity.