I found the file on his old laptop while he was at work, buried in a folder labeled "old mixes." It was an audio file, twenty-three minutes long, dated two years ago. My finger hovered over play, heart already hammering because I knew my brother's voice anywhere. The first sound was his low chuckle, then a girl's breathy moan that made my stomach twist.
It was me. Not in the room, but on the other end of a phone call he had recorded without me knowing. I recognized the night: the one where we had both been drinking and the conversation slipped from jokes into something darker. His voice came through the speakers, rough and direct. "Tell me what you'd do if I was there right now, sis." My own recorded voice answered without hesitation, describing exactly how I'd climb into his lap and grind until he was hard against me.
The audio kept going. He told me to touch myself while we talked. I could hear the wet sounds of my fingers working between my legs on the recording, and the way my breathing changed when he ordered me to say his name. "Say it while you come," he demanded. I did, over and over, voice breaking as I told him I wished it was his cock instead of my hand.
Listening alone in his apartment, I felt my body react the same way now. Heat flooded between my thighs. I pressed my palm there through my jeans, rocking against it while the audio played. The next part was filthier. He described fucking me from behind while I was bent over the kitchen counter, how tight I'd feel around him, how he'd pull my hair and make me beg for more. My recorded self begged on cue, promising I'd be his good little sister if he just gave me his cum.
I unzipped my jeans and shoved my hand inside, fingers sliding through slick folds as the audio continued. His breathing on the recording grew ragged; he was jerking off while he talked to me that night. The sound of his fist working his cock was unmistakable, wet and steady. I matched the rhythm with my own fingers, circling my clit the way he told me to on the tape. When the recording reached the part where he came, groaning my name, I followed right after, thighs shaking, biting my lip to stay quiet even though no one else was home.
The file ended. I sat there catching my breath, then hit play again. This time I stripped completely, spreading my legs wide on his couch.
I fingered myself slower, listening to every filthy word, imagining him walking in and catching me. By the third playthrough I was using two fingers inside myself, pumping in time with his instructions, whispering "yes, brother" along with my past self.
When the door finally opened and he stepped inside, he stopped dead at the sound coming from his own speakers. His eyes locked on my naked body, fingers still working between my legs. Neither of us spoke for a long moment. Then he crossed the room, dropped to his knees in front of the couch, and replaced my hand with his mouth without asking permission. His tongue dragged through my folds exactly like he'd described on the recording, and I came again almost instantly, one hand fisted in his hair, the audio still playing in the background.
He stood, unzipped, and fed his cock into my mouth while the recorded version of himself kept talking dirty. I sucked him greedily, tasting salt and skin, knowing this was no longer just audio. When he pulled out and bent me over the arm of the couch, pushing inside me in one thrust, the real sounds we made drowned out the recording. But I left the file playing anyway. Hearing our past voices mixed with the wet slap of him fucking me now felt like the filthiest kind of completion.
We didn't stop until the audio had looped twice more. By the end my voice was hoarse from begging, his cum leaking down my thighs, and the laptop still open on the table beside us. He reached over, hit save on a new file, and said, "Next time we record the real thing." I nodded, already knowing I'd listen to it alone first, getting myself off to the sound of us before we made the next one.
