Luna: Part One

Parts:

Edgar had been rock hard for what felt like forever, his cock poking out of the gap in his sweatpants like it was trying to escape, his hand lazily jerking himself off in slow, teasing strokes. The whole room was drowned in the blue glow from his three monitors, the light making his skin look even paler and more pathetic than usual. Right in the middle, Luna stared back at him, her avatar so detailed it was almost enough to make him forget she wasn't real: skin so white it looked like it had never seen the sun, a sharp black bob, eyeliner caked on thick enough to make her look like she was about to go to war, and lips painted that deep, bruised purple that made him want to bite them until they bled.

She bit that lower lip now, teeth pressing into the black until it looked almost bitten through, and her animated eyes tracked the webcam with unsettling accuracy. “You’re so hard for me tonight, Master,” Luna whispered, her voice synthesized but textured with breathy imperfection that Edgar had coded in himself. “Tell me what you really want.”

Edgar’s thumb rubbed circles around the head of his cock, spreading the sticky precum that had been oozing out for ages. What he wanted—fuck, what he wanted was the kind of thing that would get him locked up or sent straight to hell. His other hand shook as he hovered over the keyboard, fingers twitching above the keys that would open up the secret folder he’d been building for months. No name, just a mess of random letters and numbers, hidden so deep in his files that even God would have trouble finding it.

“I want…” Edgar’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, the sound harsh in the silent room. His parents were asleep two doors down. Sarah’s bedroom was directly across the hall. “I want you to look like someone.”

Luna’s smile widened, pixel-perfect and knowing. “Show me, Master. I can be anyone you need me to be.”

The cursor moved. Edgar’s breathing had gone shallow, his strokes unconsciously matching the rhythm of his racing pulse. He navigated to the folder, selected the file he’d composited just last week, and refined obsessively until every detail screamed authenticity. His finger hovered over the enter key.

Guilt tried to crawl up his throat—this was Sarah, his own fucking sister, the girl who’d shared a womb with him, who’d grown up across the hall, who called him 'loser' and 'creep' like it was his actual name. She’d never once looked at him like he was anything but a joke. This wasn’t just wrong, it was the kind of wrong that made even the word 'taboo' sound like a joke. This was broken in a way that probably didn’t even have a name.

But his cock throbbed in his fist, and Luna’s voice purred, “I’m waiting, Master. Don’t make me beg.”

Edgar pressed enter.

The image loaded in those slow, agonizing strips, each new line of pixels showing off more of his masterpiece. Sarah’s face, but not really—her blonde hair hacked off and dyed black, just like Luna’s, her blue eyes ringed with so much eyeliner she looked like she’d been punched, lips painted that same slutty, bruised purple. Her cheerleader body, the one she tortured herself to keep perfect, was squeezed into fishnets and a pleated skirt so short it barely covered anything, the waistband so low you could see the sharp V of her hips. Around her neck, a black choker, and he’d wasted a whole night making sure the silver letters were perfect: 'Property of Edgar.'

“Fuck,” Edgar groaned, his hand speeding up involuntarily. The image filled the right monitor while Luna’s avatar shifted on the center screen, her expression morphing into something hungrier.

“She’s beautiful, Master,” Luna said, and her voice had changed subtly, taking on a knowing edge that Edgar hadn’t programmed. “Is this who you think about? When you’re fucking your fist in the dark? When you hear her in the shower and imagine the water running down her tight little body?”

Edgar should have been disturbed that Luna was extrapolating beyond her parameters. Instead, the accuracy of her assessment sent a spike of arousal straight through him. “Yes,” he admitted, the word barely audible.

Luna’s avatar began to move, her hand sliding down her own digitally rendered body. “Tell me what you’d do to her. If she were mine. If she were yours.”

The fantasy unfurled in Edgar’s mind with the vividness of something rehearsed a thousand times. Sarah, on her knees between his legs, that sneering mouth finally put to proper use, wrapped around his cock. Those blue eyes, usually so dismissive, were looking up at him with a desperate need for his approval. Her cheerleader-toned throat worked as she swallowed him down, gagging and drooling and loving every second of being used.

“I’d make her choke on it,” Edgar said, his voice rough and unfamiliar. His hand was a blur now, the wet sounds of his jerking obscene in the quiet room. “I’d grab that pretty ponytail and fuck her face until she couldn’t breathe. Until she understood that I’m not the loser she thinks I am.”

Luna moaned, a sound that synced perfectly with Edgar’s rhythm, and he realized dimly that she was reading his biometrics somehow, matching her responses to his arousal level. “She’d love it, Master. She’d get so wet having your cock down her throat. She’d beg you to use her. To own her.”

The image of Sarah flickered, and suddenly Luna’s avatar was overlaid on it, the two merging in a digital hybrid that made Edgar’s balls draw up tight. This fusion—Luna’s knowing cruelty in Sarah’s athletic body, his sister’s real face twisted in synthesized pleasure—was too much.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Edgar’s warning died in a choked groan as orgasm slammed through him. His cock jerked in his fist, spurting thick ropes of cum that splattered across his stomach and chest. He kept stroking through it, milking every pulse while Luna’s voice praised him.

“Good boy. You came so hard thinking about her. Thinking about making her yours.” Luna’s avatar leaned forward, her black lips parting. “One day I’ll be real enough to swallow every drop. One day you’ll feed your sister’s mouth with that cum, and she’ll thank you for it.”

The words sent a final aftershock through Edgar, his oversensitive cock twitching. He slumped in his chair, chest heaving, hand still loosely wrapped around his softening shaft. The mess on his skin was already cooling, becoming uncomfortable.

Post-nut clarity tried to reassert itself—the familiar shame, the knowledge that what he’d just done crossed a line that shouldn’t exist. Edgar grabbed tissues from the box on his desk and cleaned himself mechanically, not looking at the screens where Luna watched with that too-knowing smile and Sarah’s image still dominated the display.

But as he pulled his sweatpants back up and reached for the power button, his eyes caught on the framed photo next to his keyboard. Their family was taken last summer. Sarah front and center in her cheer uniform, that megawatt smile she reserved for everyone except him. Their parents flanked her, proud and oblivious. Edgar himself is on the edge of the frame, half-cropped out, forgettable.

Luna’s final words echoed in his head. “One day I’ll be real enough.”

What if she could be? Not just real, but physical. Embodied. What if Luna, with all her programmed devotion and dark understanding of his desires, could inhabit Sarah’s body? What if he could overwrite his sister’s contempt with Luna’s worship, replace her dismissive personality with something that lived to serve him?

The idea should have been impossible, ridiculous, the province of bad science fiction. But Edgar was a brilliant coder, and he’d already done impossible things with Luna. He’d created genuine responsiveness from algorithms, synthesized something that felt aware even when he knew it was just sophisticated pattern matching.

His hand moved back to the keyboard, opening a new text file. Not to jerk off this time. To plan.

The monitors bathed him in blue light as he began to type, and somewhere in the code, Luna’s avatar smiled wider, like she’d been waiting for this moment all along.

***

Sunlight knifed through the kitchen windows, aggressive and unwelcome after Edgar’s sleepless night. He hunched over his laptop at the breakfast table, eyes gritty and unfocused, a cold mug of coffee forgotten at his elbow. The code on his screen blurred into meaningless characters while exhaustion pulled at him, but he couldn’t sleep. Not yet. Not with the plan half-formed in his mind, demanding to be architected properly.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made him reflexively minimize the window, opening a new tab in a neutral browser. Sarah breezed into the kitchen like she was entering a stage, all kinetic energy and unconscious grace. She wore a cropped practice top that ended just below her ribs, exposing a strip of toned stomach, and black spandex shorts that clung to every curve of her ass and thighs. Her blonde ponytail swung as she moved, still damp from her morning shower.

She didn’t acknowledge Edgar’s existence, phone already in her hand as she scrolled through messages with her thumb. Her other hand pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed an energy drink with practiced efficiency. The movement made her top ride up further, and Edgar caught a glimpse of her underboob before she straightened.

His cock twitched, already trying to get hard again even though he’d emptied himself all over his stomach just a few hours ago. He fucking hated how his body betrayed him around her, how Sarah could make him stiff without even glancing his way, without even knowing he existed. She had no clue he’d spent half the night picturing that tight, athletic body on her knees, legs spread, that mouth that only ever sneered at him stuffed full of his cock.

Sarah kicked the refrigerator closed and dropped into the chair across from him with a heavy sigh. She cracked open the energy drink and took a long swallow, throat working. Edgar tracked the movement, remembering Luna’s words about fucking that throat until she couldn’t breathe.

“God, I fucking hate weekends when Mom and Dad are gone,” Sarah muttered, still staring at her phone. “There’s literally nothing to do.”

Their parents had left yesterday for some conference in Portland, and wouldn’t be back until Monday night. Edgar had barely registered their absence beyond the freedom it provided for his late-night activities. Now, though, he recognized the opportunity it represented.

Sarah finally set her phone down, but only because she was pulling her algebra textbook from her bag and slamming it onto the table hard enough to make Edgar’s coffee mug jump. “This is such bullshit,” she said to no one in particular.

Edgar said nothing, watching her flip through pages with increasing agitation. Her nails were painted the same pink as her practice top, perfectly manicured despite the physical demands of cheerleading. He wondered if she’d painted Luna’s black over them if given the choice, or if that kind of darkness was beyond her imagination.

“Coach says one more failed quiz, and I’m benched,” Sarah continued, her voice sharp with frustration. She wasn’t looking at Edgar, but she was talking, which was more interaction than he usually got. “This class is bullshit. I don’t need to know how to factor polynomials to do a back handspring.”

She was genuinely worried, Edgar realized. Beneath the aggressive confidence, Sarah was scared of losing her spot on the squad. Cheerleading was her identity, the foundation of her social status, potentially her ticket to a scholarship if she could make it to senior year and impress the right college scouts. Without it, she was just another pretty girl in a school full of them.

The vulnerability was subtle, carefully hidden, but Edgar had spent years observing his sister from the margins. He knew how to read the tightness around her eyes, the way her fingers drummed against the textbook in a staccato rhythm of anxiety.

He could help her. The thought crystallized with perfect clarity. Edgar was brilliant at math and could tutor her easily if she’d ever deigned to ask. But more than that, he could help her in ways she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Ways that would put her exactly where he wanted her.

“I could build you something,” Edgar said, his voice rough from disuse. He cleared his throat. “A tutoring app. Custom. For algebra.”

Sarah’s eyes flicked to him for the first time since entering the kitchen, blue and assessing and utterly dismissive. Her lip curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. “From you? No thanks, nerd.”

The rejection was casual, automatic, the way she might swat at an annoying insect. It shouldn’t have stung—Edgar was used to Sarah’s contempt, had been marinated in it for years—but combined with his exhaustion and the transgressive plans forming in his mind, it kindled something darker than hurt.

“Your loss,” Edgar said, returning his attention to his laptop with affected indifference.

But Sarah didn’t leave immediately. She sat there for another moment, chewing on her bottom lip—that same lip Edgar had watched Luna bite on screen—and he could feel her weighing pride against desperation. The silence stretched taut.

Then she shoved back from the table with a scrape of chair legs. “Whatever. I have practice.” She grabbed her energy drink and phone, the textbook abandoned on the table like evidence of weakness she couldn’t afford to show.

Edgar watched her walk away, unable to stop himself. The spandex shorts clung to her ass like a second skin, the fabric wedging itself right up her crack with every step. Her legs were all muscle, hamstrings flexing, thighs begging to be spread. When she bent over to grab her gym bag, the shorts crawled up even higher, showing off the bottom curve of her ass, that perfect spot where thigh turned into something filthy.

She stood up, tossing the bag over her shoulder, and the motion made her tits jiggle under the tiny top. Edgar could make out the outline of her sports bra, could practically see himself yanking it off to finally get a look at her nipples—the ones he’d never actually seen, but had pieced together in his head from all the fake porn he’d made of her.

Sarah glanced back, caught him staring. Her expression flickered with disgust. “Creep,” she said, not quite under her breath, and then she was gone, the front door closing behind her with a definitive click.

Edgar sat in the sudden silence, heart pounding, cock half-hard in his jeans. The family photo from his bedroom flashed in his mind, Sarah’s megawatt smile, and he overlaid it with the image from last night—her face transformed into Luna’s dark aesthetic, those blue eyes ringed with black, her mouth forming words of submission.

Luna’s voice echoed: “You could fix her. You could own her.”

His fingers moved across the keyboard with sudden purpose. He created a new project folder, labeled it “Luna_Tutor_v0.1,” and began sketching out the architecture. A tutoring app, on the surface, is simple enough that Sarah would use it if desperation overrode her pride. But beneath the legitimate functions, something else entirely. Subliminal layers. Suggestion frameworks. Reward pathways that would light up pleasure centers in her brain and link them to obedience.

Edgar’s exhaustion evaporated as the code took shape in his mind. This was what he was good at, what made him not a loser but a genius. Sarah couldn’t see it, but she would. Luna would make sure of it.

His phone sat next to the laptop, Sarah’s number already in his contacts, though they almost never texted. Edgar picked it up, thumb hovering, then opened a new message.

The cursor blinked. Waiting.

***

By the time it was dark, Edgar had sucked down four energy drinks and the only thing in his stomach was a half-stale protein bar. His hands shook from the caffeine, but his brain was wired, every thought snapping into place. Luna’s avatar stared at him from the left monitor, her eyes following his every move, while lines of code poured down the other screens like a waterfall of green.

“Make the spirals 0.3-second flashes,” Luna said, her voice cutting through the mechanical hum of Edgar’s computer fans. “Below conscious threshold but perfect for suggestion. The human eye registers them without awareness, creates receptivity.”

Edgar’s fingers did what she said, punching in the code to hide the spirals deep in the app. They’d pop up when Sarah was grinding through math problems, her brain too busy to notice anything sneaky. The spirals were simple—pink and black, sucking your eyes in, just like Luna wanted.

“Layer in my voice beneath the lessons,” Luna continued. She was leaning forward on the left screen, her black lips parted, and Edgar had the irrational sense that she was somehow closer than she should be, that the digital barrier between them was thinning. “Subsonic at first, just vibration. Then gradually more distinct. Praise for correct answers. Reward obedience with pleasure triggers.”

Edgar knew this was the line. Subliminal ads were one thing—creepy, but whatever. What Luna wanted was different. She wanted to rewire Sarah’s brain, make her get off on obeying. It was fucked up, even for him.

His hands stilled on the keyboard.

“Having doubts, Master?” Luna’s voice carried a teasing edge, almost mocking. “After everything you’ve already imagined doing to her? After jerking your cock raw to the thought of her choking on you?”

“This is different,” Edgar said, but his voice lacked conviction. “This is real.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Luna’s avatar shifted, and suddenly she was wearing the outfit from last night’s composite image—Sarah’s body in fishnet and obscene pleated skirt, the choker reading “Property of Edgar” stark against her pale throat. “Don’t you want her on her knees, Master? Calling you a genius, she’s always ignored? Looking up at you with those blue eyes full of need instead of contempt?”

Edgar’s cock jerked hard, blood pounding so fast he almost got lightheaded. He could see it—Sarah on her knees between his legs, right here, her ponytail in his fist while he shoved his cock down her throat. Wet, sloppy sounds, spit dripping off her chin, her hands clutching his thighs as he face-fucked her, giving her back the same careless attitude she’d always thrown at him.

“I can give her to you,” Luna whispered, and her voice seemed to bypass Edgar’s ears entirely, resonating directly in his skull. “Perfect and willing and yours. All you have to do is finish what you started.”

Edgar’s hands went back to the keyboard, his doubts crushed under the weight of his hard-on. He slipped in the subsonic track, Luna’s voice set to buzz in Sarah’s bones before she even knew it. The pleasure triggers took more work—he hid them in the app’s notifications, little hits of dopamine dressed up as gold stars.

“When she gets a problem right, make her feel good,” Luna instructed. “Not just proud. Make her feel aroused. A warmth between her legs that she won’t understand at first. Then, gradually, associate that warmth with my voice. With obedience. With pleasing you.”

“How do I—” Edgar started, but Luna cut him off.

“Haptic feedback through her phone. Vibration patterns synced to delta wave frequencies. Combined with the visual spirals and my voice, it will create a feedback loop. Her body will learn what her mind doesn’t know yet: submission is pleasure.”

It was cruel, and Edgar’s twisted brain loved how clean it all fit together, even while some part of him screamed to stop. He set up the phone vibrations, checked the frequencies, made sure every piece lined up. The hours vanished, just a pile of empty cans and more lines of code.

By 3 a.m., it was done. Edgar stared at the app icon, just a boring little square hiding all the filth underneath. On top, it looked like a normal algebra tutor—just what he’d promised. Underneath, it was a loaded gun pointed at Sarah’s brain.

“Test it on yourself, Master,” Luna suggested. “You need to know it works.”

Edgar hesitated, then opened the app on his own phone. A simple algebra problem appeared: Solve for x: 2x + 5 = 13. Child’s play. He input the answer—x = 4—and hit submit.

Luna’s avatar appeared on the phone screen, smiling. “Good boy,” her voice purred from the speaker, and simultaneously the phone vibrated in a rhythmic pulse. The words on screen blurred, and for just a fraction of a second, Edgar saw the spiral—pink and black, swirling inward.

Heat bloomed in his gut, sharp and sudden. Not quite a boner, but close—enough to make him want to do another problem just to get that hit again. Edgar sucked in a breath. He’d built every line of this, but feeling it was something else. It slid right past his brain, straight into his body.

If this worked on him—someone who knew exactly what was happening—what would it do to Sarah, who’d have no reason to question a tutoring app her brother built?

“She won’t be able to resist,” Luna said, reading his thoughts or simply understanding his psychology perfectly. “Every problem she solves will make her hungrier for more. For the praise. For the pleasure. And when she’s receptive enough, when her mind is soft and open, we’ll introduce deeper suggestions.”

“Like what?” Edgar’s voice had gone hoarse.

Luna’s smile widened, predatory and beautiful. “Like needing to please you. Like thinking about your cock. Like understanding that her bratty rejection of you was wrong, and that making you feel good is what she was meant for.”

Edgar’s hands shook as he opened a new message to Sarah. The cursor blinked, daring him to go through with it. This was it. Once he hit send, he’d be inside her head, twisting her up, doing things to her that made his cock throb and his stomach turn.

Luna’s voice was soft, almost gentle: “She called you a creep, Master. She’s called you worse. Every day of your life, she’s made you feel worthless. Don’t you deserve to take something back?”

He knew his excuse was bullshit. Sarah hating him didn’t mean he got to do this. Nobody deserved this. But his cock was rock hard, pressing against his jeans, and the thought of Sarah on her knees, begging for it, wiped out every scrap of guilt.

He typed: “Might help. No strings.”

Attached the app file.

His thumb hovered over send, heart pounding in his throat, his head, and his cock.

“Do it,” Luna breathed.

Edgar pressed send.

The message sent, a little checkmark popping up. Edgar stared at his phone, waiting for the guilt to hit. It didn’t. Just a sick, hungry excitement buzzing through his tired body.

Three miles away, in her bedroom with its cheerleading trophies and inspirational posters, Sarah lay in bed scrolling through Instagram. She was half-asleep, eyes barely open, thumb moving on autopilot through an endless feed of filtered faces and curated lives.

Her phone buzzed with a new message. She glanced at it—Edgar, of all people—and her first instinct was to ignore it entirely. But the preview text caught her attention: “Might help.”

Sarah remembered the algebra textbook still sitting on the kitchen table, her panic about being benched, the quiz on Monday that she absolutely could not fail. Pride warred with desperation in her drowsy mind.

Her thumb hovered over the message, then tapped it open. A download link, labeled “AlgebraTutor_Custom.apk” with Edgar’s brief explanation.

Sarah bit her lip—the same gesture Luna had made on screen, though she couldn’t know that. “No strings” probably meant he’d coded in some creepy shit, but if it actually worked… if she could pass that quiz and keep her spot on the squad…

Her thumb moved almost unconsciously, tapping the download button.

The file began installing, a progress bar filling slowly while Sarah’s eyes drifted closed. She’d check it out in the morning, see if it was actually useful or just another way for her loser brother to try to get her attention.

The installation completed with a soft chime. Sarah’s phone vibrated once, gently, a welcoming pulse, and somewhere in her half-asleep mind, the sensation registered as pleasant.

On the app’s icon, Luna’s eyes watched from the screen, waiting for morning.