"We've lost ninety percent of our viewers in two months!" Spencer shouted, waving the laptop screen in Carly's face so violently that the hinges creaked. "NINETY! That's like... more than half!"
Carly sighed and pushed the laptop away. Their apartment seemed emptier somehow, the colorful chaos of Spencer's sculptures doing little to brighten the mood. The rent notice on the fridge, highlighted in alarming yellow, seemed to glow with radioactive urgency.
"It's fine, Spencer. Really." Carly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice calmer than she felt. "We're already a month behind on rent, and iCarly just isn't pulling in the sponsors like it used to."
Spencer's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Not pulling in—? Carls, that's exactly why we need to double down! Maybe we could get Gibby to—"
"Times change," Carly interrupted, settling onto the couch. "Fans get older. We need to evolve."
"Evolve?" Spencer's face scrunched up like he'd bitten into a lemon wrapped in sandpaper. "What does that even mean? Like, grow extra arms? Because I tried that once with a radioactive smoothie and—"
"No, Spencer." Carly took a deep breath. "I'm talking about OF."
Spencer's face went blank. "OF? Is that like... a new social media thing? Oh! Old Friends! You want to reconnect with elderly people! Smart move, they have disposable income and love to see young people dance!"
Carly rolled her eyes. "No, it's OnlyFans."
The silence that followed was so complete they could hear Lewbert screaming at someone seventeen floors below.
"NO WAY!" Spencer's voice cracked like he was thirteen again. "Absolutely not! Definitely not! That's for... you know... people who show their... you know..."
"And what’s wrong with that?" Carly said, leaning forward with unexpected enthusiasm. "I'm actually excited about this. I've been the same 'good girl' for years, Spencer. My fans have grown up—they want to see a different side of me." Her eyes lit up as she gestured animatedly. "I can connect with them as an adult now, not just as that kid with the webshow."
"But people will think—"
"Let them. I was getting bored with the webshow anyway," Carly shrugged, looking down at her hands. "Plus..." She bit her lip and looked up at him. "You know I can’t do it alone. I’d need someone to… help me… with some scenes. Who better than you?"
Spencer's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish having an existential crisis. For once in his life, he had absolutely nothing to say…
"I—I—" Spencer sputtered, his arms flailing like he was trying to swim through air. "You want me to what now?"
Carly rolled her eyes and held up the professional camera she'd borrowed from Freddie. "Just take the photos, Spencer. It's not like I'm asking you to commit a felony." She paused. "Although after that thing with the ostrich and the congressman's toupee, I'm not sure what counts as a felony for you anymore."
Spencer's living room had been transformed. Carly had hung a white bedsheet against the wall, positioned some lamps at strategic angles, and scattered a few props around—mostly innocent things like flowers and a vintage fan.
"Can't you get, I don't know, literally anyone else to do this?" Spencer whined, holding the camera like it might bite him.
Carly adjusted her outfit—a tasteful but form-fitting dress—and sighed. "Who else am I going to trust? Freddie would have a heart attack, Gibby would make it weird, and Sam would just post them all over the internet for laughs."
"And I won't make it weird?" Spencer's voice cracked.
"You're my brother. You're supposed to support me." Carly struck a casual pose. "Besides, we're starting fully clothed. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."
Spencer grimaced. "Nothing about this is easy peasy OR lemon squeezy!"
But he raised the camera anyway, squinting through the viewfinder. "Okay, just... stand there and look... internet famous?"
"That's not a look, Spencer." Carly laughed, shifting her weight to one hip. "Just take the picture!"
CLICK.
"There! One photo! We're done!" Spencer lowered the camera triumphantly.
"We need at least fifty different shots," Carly corrected him. "Try a different angle."
Spencer groaned but moved to the side. "You know, when you were little, I took photos of you at the park. You were eating ice cream. It got all over your face. That was cute. This is... not that."
CLICK. CLICK.
"Less talking, more shooting," Carly directed, changing her pose. "And try to make me look good!"
"You always look good!" Spencer protested. "That's the problem!"
Twenty minutes and dozens of photos later, Carly nodded with satisfaction. "Great! Now for phase two."
Spencer's eyes widened. "There's a phase two? I don't like the sound of phase two."
Carly took a deep breath. "Okay, Spencer, breathe. It's time for the top to come off—"
"WHAT?" Spencer slapped his hands over his eyes, camera dangling precariously from its strap.
"—BUT," Carly continued loudly, "I'll position my hair very carefully to cover everything up. It'll be tasteful. Like art. You like art!"
"I like sculptures of robots made out of butter! That's different!" Spencer peeked through his fingers. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes! Now just take the pictures. I'll be covered the whole time."
Spencer reluctantly raised the camera again, his face scrunched up in discomfort. Carly had arranged her long hair strategically across her chest.
"See? Nothing showing. Totally PG-13."
CLICK.
"This is so weird," Spencer muttered.
"It's only weird if you make it weird," Carly replied, adjusting her pose slightly.
Just then, a gust of wind blew in from the window, sending Carly's carefully positioned hair flying.
"AHHH! I CAN'T SEE! I CAN'T SEE!" Spencer yelled, spinning around and crashing into the vintage fan, which clicked on at full blast, creating even more chaos.
"Spencer!" Carly scrambled to cover herself. "Turn that off!"
"I'm not looking! My eyes are closed!" Spencer stumbled backward, arms windmilling. "Where am I? Who am I? What is life?"
He backed into the couch and toppled over it, landing with a crash on the other side.
"Are you okay?" Carly called, clutching a pillow to her chest.
Spencer's hand appeared from behind the couch, giving a weak thumbs-up. "I think I broke my dignity. And possibly a rib."
"Maybe we should try a different approach," Carly suggested, reaching for her shirt.
"Ya think?" came Spencer's muffled reply from behind the couch. "I'm just gonna lie here until the memory of this fades. So... approximately until forever."
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Carly walked over to the couch and leaned over the back, looking down at her brother sprawled on the floor. "Spencer, we can't stop now."
"Watch me," Spencer mumbled into the carpet. "I'm very good at stopping. Gold medal in the Stopping Olympics."
"The rent is due in three days," Carly reminded him, her voice softening. "And we already have fifty subscribers who've paid for the premium content. They're expecting... more."
Spencer rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "Can't you just send them pictures of cats wearing tiny hats? People love that stuff."
"That's not how OnlyFans works." Carly walked around to face him properly. "Come on, I promise it won't be that bad. We've come this far."
Spencer groaned dramatically but finally stood up. "Fine. But I'm keeping my eyes half-closed the whole time. Like this." He demonstrated, squinting until his eyes were barely visible slits. "I look like I'm being blinded by the sun on a beach, but I can still see the camera buttons."
"Whatever works for you." Carly smiled and returned to her position by the makeshift backdrop.
Spencer picked up the camera, still squinting. "Ready when you—" His eyes flew open as Carly unbuttoned her jeans. "Whoa! What are you doing?"
"Taking it to the next level," she said casually, sliding her pants down to reveal a pair of simple white panties. "Just keep shooting."
Spencer made a sound like a deflating balloon. "This is not happening. This is not happening," he chanted, fumbling with the camera. "I'm just a photographer. A professional photographer. Taking professional photos. Of my professional sister. Who is professionally in her underwear. Professionally."
"You're saying 'professional' too much," Carly pointed out, striking a pose. "It's getting weird."
"I'M getting weird? You're the one in your—your—underthings!" Spencer held the camera up, his hands shaking. "This feels illegal!"
"It's not illegal, Spencer. I'm twenty-five."
"You're my sister - it's morally illegal! In the court of Spencer's brain!"
Carly rolled her eyes. "Just take the pictures. Think about the rent money."
"I'm thinking about the therapy money I'll need after this," Spencer muttered, taking a few reluctant shots. "Can you at least put on a parka? Or a hazmat suit? Or maybe we could wrap you in bubble wrap—"
"The lighting's off," Carly interrupted, examining the preview on the camera's screen. "Can you adjust it? The lamp on the left needs to be higher."
Spencer sighed dramatically and moved to fix the lamp, his back to Carly. "You know, when Mom and Dad left you in my care, I don't think 'OnlyFans photographer' was in the job description." He fiddled with the lamp's position. "There. How's that?"
When Spencer turned around, the camera clattered to the floor.
Carly stood there, completely nude.
"SWEET MOTHER OF MONKEY MILK!" Spencer screamed, spinning around so fast he nearly fell over. "What happened to your—your—EVERYTHING?!"
"Spencer, it's art! Remember?" Carly said calmly from behind him. "Besides, I'm covering my breasts with my hair in the front. It's tasteful."
"Tasteful?! There's nothing tasteful about your little brother having a heart attack at age thirty-seven!" His voice had risen to a pitch only dogs could hear.
"You're my big brother, not my little—" Carly suddenly stopped. "Spencer?"
"What?" he squeaked, still facing the wall.
"What is THAT?"
Spencer looked down in horror to find an unmistakable bulge in his pants. "THAT is—is—is completely involuntary biological reaction that means NOTHING! NOTHING!"
"Oh my God!" Carly gasped, grabbing her shirt to cover herself. "Spencer! Have you been hiding that monster all this time? It's huge!"
"Stop looking at it!" Spencer yelled, grabbing a pillow from the couch and holding it in front of himself. "And stop talking about it! And stop existing in the same space as it!"
"I mean, no wonder you never had trouble getting dates," Carly continued, eyes wide. "That thing should have its own zip code!"
"CARLY!" Spencer wailed, his face turning the color of a fire truck. "This is inappropriate on SO many levels! I'm your brother!"
"I'm just saying, you've been holding out! Does Freddie know? We could have used this information for a bit on the show!"
"WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THIS!" Spencer shrieked, backing toward the door, pillow still firmly in place. "This photoshoot is OVER! DONE! FINITO!"
"But the subscribers—"
"I'll pay the rent myself!" Spencer declared, fumbling for the doorknob behind him. "I'll sell my sculptures! I'll sell my organs! I'll sell someone else's organs! But this—" he gestured wildly between them with his free hand, "—is NOT happening!"
"Wait, wait!" Carly called out, lunging forward to grab Spencer's arm before he could escape. "Okay, you're right. Maybe I went too far."
Spencer remained frozen at the door, pillow still clutched protectively in front of him. His face was a mixture of mortification and panic.
"What if we compromise?" she suggested, her voice softening as she quickly pulled her shirt back on. "See? I'm decent. Well, half-decent."
Spencer slowly turned his head, one eye squinted shut as if that would somehow filter what he might see. When he confirmed she had indeed put her shirt on, he exhaled dramatically.
"Half-decent is still half-indecent, Carly!"
She smoothed down the white camisole. "Look, just imagine you're only seeing me from the waist up. Like those news anchors who wear fancy tops with pajama bottoms."
"Except they're wearing pajama bottoms and you're wearing NOTHING!" Spencer's voice cracked again.
"You can't even tell!" Carly insisted, doing a little twirl that made Spencer slap his hand over his eyes again. "The shirt covers everything important. Come on, Spence. The rent notice is practically glowing in the dark now."
Spencer peeked through his fingers. "You promise to keep the shirt on?"
"Scout's honor." She held up her hand in what was definitely not the Scout salute.
"You were never a Scout," he pointed out.
"Girl Guide's honor?"
"Also no."
"Carly Shay's honor, then," she said with a winning smile. "Please? For me?"
Spencer's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. But I'm keeping this pillow with me at all times." He shuffled back toward the camera, pillow strategically positioned. "And we're taking these photos from very specific angles!"
"Whatever you say, Mr. Director," Carly agreed, resuming her pose by the backdrop.
Spencer picked up the camera, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Okay, tilt your head a little to the left. No, my left. Your right. Wait, that's too far—"
"Spencer, you're being weird again."
"I'm not being weird, you're being weird! This whole situation is weird!" He snapped a few photos in quick succession. "There. Got it. Next pose."
As Carly shifted positions, she couldn't help but notice the pillow Spencer was holding wasn't quite large enough to hide the evidence of his arousal. Every time he moved, the pillow shifted, giving her glimpses of the impressive bulge straining against his jeans. She found her eyes drawn to it repeatedly, her train of thought derailing each time.
"Carls? Hello? Earth to Carly?" Spencer waved his free hand. "I asked you to change poses."
"Oh! Right." She blinked rapidly and struck a new pose, trying to focus. "Like this?"
"Sure, whatever, let's just get this over with," Spencer muttered, taking more photos. "I'm going to need so much therapy after this. Maybe I should start a GoFundMe for my mental health bills."
"You're overreacting," Carly said, but her eyes drifted downward again when he shifted his stance.
"My eyes are up here, missy!" Spencer said indignantly, noticing her gaze.
"Sorry! I was just... thinking about the composition of the shot," she lied, feeling her cheeks flush.
Several awkward minutes passed as they continued the photoshoot, with Carly becoming increasingly distracted and Spencer growing more uncomfortable by the second.
"I need to check the lighting again," Carly finally said, pointing to the lamp behind Spencer. "Can you see if it's at the right angle?"
"Fine, but no funny business!" Spencer warned, turning to adjust the lamp.
When he turned back around, Carly had removed the shirt.
"CARLY!" he yelped, nearly dropping the camera again.
But before he could launch into another panicked tirade, she stepped forward, her expression suddenly serious.
"Please, Spencer?" Her voice was soft, vulnerable. "I need you right now. As my big brother." Her eyes drifted down to the pillow he was clutching, and she added with a small smirk, "My REALLY big brother."
Spencer's mouth opened and closed several times, no sound emerging. He looked like a man having an existential crisis in real-time.
"This is so wrong," he finally whispered, but he didn't turn away.
"It's just art, remember?" Carly said, stepping back into position. "And it's going to save us from being evicted."
Spencer stood frozen for several long seconds, visibly wrestling with himself. Finally, his shoulders slumped in resignation.
"Fine. FINE. But I'm doing this under extreme protest," he declared, raising the camera again. "And we are NEVER speaking of this again. EVER."
"Deal," Carly agreed, relief washing over her face.
The photoshoot continued with Carly completely nude, Spencer directing her with increasingly professional detachment as he forced himself to think of the situation as purely artistic. The camera's memory card filled up quickly.
"The battery's dying," Spencer announced after about twenty minutes, grateful for the excuse to pause. "I need to change it."
He sat down heavily on the couch, placing the pillow beside him as he fumbled with the camera's battery compartment. The tension in the room had become almost unbearable, and he was desperate to finish and put this bizarre experience behind them.
Suddenly, he felt a cool breeze on his most private area. He looked down in shock to find his jeans and boxers had been pulled open, his erection standing fully exposed. Carly was kneeling in front of him, her hand wrapped around his shaft.
"C-Carly!" he gasped, his entire body freezing in shock as she began to stroke him slowly. "What are you—we can't—this is—"
"Shh," she whispered, her hand continuing its gentle motion. "Just let me thank you properly."
Spencer's brain short-circuited, pleasure and panic battling for dominance as he remained paralyzed on the couch.
"But we're—I'm your—" His protests died in his throat as her grip tightened slightly.
"Family takes care of family, right?" Carly said, looking up at him with innocent eyes that contrasted sharply with her actions. "And we're going to make so much money with these photos."
"That's not—oh God—" Spencer's head fell back against the couch as his willpower crumbled. "This is so wrong..."
"Then why does it feel so right?" Carly whispered, increasing her pace.
Spencer couldn't form a coherent thought anymore, let alone a response. His hips involuntarily bucked upward as years of repressed desire suddenly broke free.
"I always wondered if you were hiding something special," Carly murmured, admiring his size. "Turns out my big brother is big in more ways than one."
"We shouldn't—" Spencer tried one last time, but his protest was weak and unconvincing even to his own ears.
"Probably not," Carly agreed with a mischievous smile. "But rent is due in three days."
And with that, she lowered her head, and Spencer's last shred of resistance evaporated completely.
Carly's tongue flicked against his tip, warm and teasing. Spencer's mind went completely blank, his entire universe narrowing down to the sensation of her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the head before taking him in deeper, her hand still working the shaft with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Oh my God," he gasped, his fingers digging into the couch cushions. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing ragged. The wrongness of the situation had completely evaporated, replaced by overwhelming pleasure that short-circuited all rational thought.
Carly pulled back slightly. "Spencer, the camera," she whispered, her lips glistening. "We're supposed to be filming this, remember?"
"Huh? Oh... right," he mumbled, blinking slowly like someone waking from a dream. "The camera. Yeah." He fumbled for it on the side table, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. "I'm kind of in a haze right now."
She smiled and returned to her task, taking him deeper this time. Spencer's head fell back as he tried to hold the camera steady, but his hands were trembling. Her mouth was hot, wet, perfect – but she could only take about half of him before having to pull back.
"It's just... so big," she murmured, looking up at him through her lashes. "I don't think I can—"
Something primal took over Spencer then. He dropped the camera onto the cushion beside him and tangled his fingers in her hair. With a single fluid motion, he pushed her head down, his hips rising simultaneously.
Carly's eyes widened as all eleven inches disappeared into her mouth and throat. Her lips stretched around the base, nose pressed against his abdomen. She gagged, her throat constricting around him, but he held her there for a long moment before releasing his grip slightly.
Instead of pulling away, she began to move up and down, taking him completely each time. Tears streamed from her eyes, saliva dripped from her chin, but she didn't stop. The wet, choking sounds filled the apartment as Spencer lost himself in ecstasy.
"Jesus... Christ..." he panted, his entire body shuddering. "I've never... this is... oh God..."
When she finally pulled away, gasping for breath, Spencer could only stare at her, mouth hanging open. His brain had completely short-circuited, leaving him dazed and speechless.
"You okay there, big brother?" Carly asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I think... I died," he slurred. "Am I dead? Is this heaven? Or hell? Heavell?"
"Not dead," she laughed. "Just thoroughly blown."
"My brain is... mush. Complete mush. I think I forgot how to... what's that thing? With the feet? Walking! That's it."
"Well, you won't need to walk for what comes next," Carly said with a grin.
Before she could react, Spencer had grabbed her by the waist. In one swift movement, he flipped her onto her back on the couch, maneuvering her so her head hung slightly over the edge and her legs were up against the wall.
"Whoa!" she gasped. "What are you—"
"My turn," Spencer growled, a new intensity in his eyes. He quickly set up the camera on the tripod, positioning it for the perfect angle.
He straddled her face, his massive erection hovering just above her lips. "Open," he commanded, his voice barely recognizable.
Carly obliged, and Spencer lowered himself, pushing into her mouth from above. The position gave him complete control as he began thrusting, watching as his shaft disappeared between her lips over and over.
He started slowly, but his pace quickly increased as his restraint crumbled. Carly's face soon became a mess of saliva as she struggled to accommodate him, her makeup running as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
"Take it all," Spencer groaned, his hips moving faster. "Take every fucking inch."
The camera captured everything as he lost control completely, fucking her face with abandon. Carly's hands gripped his thighs, not pushing him away but pulling him closer, encouraging his loss of control.
But for the climax, he wanted to his sister sucking him again, so he stopped, sat back on the couch and she began to suck him again on her knees, her face a ruin of spit, cum, and tears.
When his climax hit, it was like nothing he'd ever experienced. He roared as his release came in powerful surges, the cum spurting out of her mouth and nostrils at the same time.
Carly sat there gasping, her face glistening with the evidence of what they'd done. She swallowed what she could, licking her lips with a satisfied smile.
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"Holy shit Spencer, I can't believe you've been holding out on me all these years," Carly said, cum leaking out of her mouth. "Let's just say that was definitely worth the rent money."
"Worth selling my soul," he corrected, staring at the ceiling. "I think you broke me. Permanently."
"Well," Carly said, reaching for the camera to check the footage, "our subscribers are going to lose their minds when they see this."
Spencer sat up suddenly. "Wait, we're actually posting this? I thought this was just for us!"
Carly raised an eyebrow. "Of course we're posting it. That's the whole point, remember? To pay the rent?"
"But... but..." Spencer stammered, his post-orgasmic bliss quickly evaporating. "People will see us... together... doing... that!"
"Relax," Carly said, patting his knee. "We'll pretend you're some other guy. No one will know it's actually us. Anyway, relax while I edit this. Cause after this, we need the missionary sex scene!"
Spencer's mouth dropped open like a fish, "The... what?"
"You get to fill my pussy with your hot brotherly love juice!" she gave him a quick kiss on the nose and went upstairs to edit the video.
Spencer was left staring into space, before falling sideways onto the couch, eyes open, mumbling incoherently about what his life had become.
