Livestreaming My Sister by JakeLeBrux,JakeLeBrux

Part One: URL

I didn’t always think of my sister as content.

Before that she was my sister.

Which didn’t mean we always got along.

We cycled through the same seasons most siblings do.

Being gracious to one another, then fighting; tormenting one another, then fiercely protecting.

Sometimes in the space of a few hours.

And we could be competitive; often childishly so.

But I loved her like crazy.

And she loved me like mad.

And it turned out this was truer than either of us realized.

First Upload

It started when she bought me a WebCam for Christmas.

I was going to host a podcast on YouTube.

I set up a studio in my bedroom where I would livestream a weekly video show about skateboarding.

It would have 20 million followers.

It would grow to be an illustrious brand, and I would sell merchandise to a community of loyal fans who adored me.

Then I would retire as a billionaire, aged 27.

That was the plan.

But I was as deluded as most young people.

I had also been misled about the ease of social media celebrity.

After 5 months, I had 122 subscribers.

Most of these were friends and family; or random accounts I’d followed who were kind (or equally desperate enough) to follow me back.

Some of my videos had 50 views, and 30 of them had been me.

Apparently I was not a “good fit” in front of the camera. That’s what people said.

“You don’t have enough of a personality for on-screen,” a friend told me.

An insult along the lines of “you have a face for radio.”

But some thought I showed promise as a director.

I began to wonder if my skills might be better served behind the camera.

I started to take still photos, mostly of skateboards, and upload them to my Instagram page.

They got more ‘likes’ than my YouTube flops.

But I could never decide on an authentic subject matter or theme.

I would snap random moments and make them black and white, hoping they’d seem more intentional and artistic.

I secretly knew I had failed to capture anything compelling or real.

Until something wonderful happened one day to change all that…

It was early in summer vacation.

I was sitting on the floor of the living room taking auto-timed photos of a skateboard wheel – I know, pretentious and weird; but I told you, I had no subject matter and was desperate – when my sister rushed by in a long flowing dress.

She accidentally knocked my iPhone from its filming-post and it slid between her feet, exactly as a timed photo went off; lighting up the inside of her dress with a flash.

The resulting image was extraordinary.

I don’t mean artistically; it was a cheap, tabloid shot.

But the view of her body.

It depicted her long bare legs, slender thighs; and firm ass, barely concealed by a pair of white cotton panties.

The star of the show was a circle of moisture in the center of her pouched gusset.

It looked like the grease stain a donut leaves on the paper bag.

It was the one of the hottest things I’d seen in forever.

I figured it would also be of value to the internet.

So I uploaded it to the NestWork app in the NSFW section.

I created an account that nobody could trace back to me.

I wanted to make sure my sister remained anonymous, even though I knew I was behaving like a snake.

In a few short hours, the photo was the most ‘liked’ and shared piece of content I had posted in a year and 8 months of trying.

And I had posted far more elaborate and time-consuming productions previously.

This was a single photo, taken by mistake.

Unless it was taken by destiny.

Either way, I realized sex sells.

I know that’s not rocket science.

But I had spent too much time thinking about Playstation 5 to consider it before.

I came to understand that if the subject matter of my photos was sex, – and in particular, if they presented female nudity – people would probably ‘like’ them, and by extension, me.

I received dozens of new followers from the upskirt pic, as well as a bunch of warm comments and DMs.

Some were asking to see the face of the girl whose panties-clad ass was tantalizingly revealed in the shot.

A few asked if the wet patch was pee or cum.

Most just requested more pictures of her.

One piece of correspondence was unique.

It was a DM from a user named HomerZuckerman45.

He’d been a member for a few months but had no public history on the app.

He asked a simple question that opened a Pandora’s box:

“Who’s the girl?”

I fired off a quick private reply, without much thought:

“Sister.”

“How old?” was his response.

“18,” I wrote, just as honestly.

I thought no more about it.

A few days later, I logged into the app and discovered a new DM from the same user:

“You want $$$? Contact me in Quiet.”

Quiet mode is a way to send messages on NestWork that disappear moments after they’ve been read.

I wrote the user a reply in Quiet that said: “Hi. Would love to make some $$$.”

I turned on notifications and waited.

At some point that night, I was notified HomerZuckerman45 had sent a reply:

“Send a nude of your sister and I’ll transfer $500.”

I barely had time to absorb the offer before the words disappeared before my eyes.

Was there any chance he meant it?

$500 was decent money.

But why should I trust a faceless stranger on a shady adult internet platform?

I mean, I’m naïve; but I’m not glaringly naïve.

(Spoiler: I am glaringly naïve).

I was aware of scammers soliciting for money and porn. But for some reason my instincts about this guy were different.

My gut said there was a chance he might be serious; enough that I should put him to the test.

I had zero idea how to procure a naked photo of my sister, practically or ethically.

But I wrote back the following: “How do I know you’re good for the $$$?”

He replied immediately: “You want to be paid in tokens or crypto?”

Tokens can be sent through the NestWork app and transferred into your bank account as cash.

“Tokens,” I replied.

I waited a few minutes, checking my phone intermittently.

There was no reply.

I decided the guy was full of shit.

It was probably a relief given that I had no idea how to obtain the image he desired anyway.

But then my phone made the sound of a cash register’s ka-ching to signify that tokens had been transferred to my account.

I opened the app and saw that 50,000 tokens ($100) had been donated.

The sender?

HomerZuckerman45.

Okay… Now the guy had my attention.

He might have been a weirdo, but he was a weirdo with $100 to throw around.

It was more in one transaction than I’d received for any previous online endeavor.

And I hadn’t had to do anything for it.

After five minutes, he sent a follow-up message in Quiet mode:

“Consider that a deposit. Send the pic and I’ll transfer $400 more.”

***

I couldn’t sleep that night.

Where was I going to get a naked picture of my sister?

From her high school yearbook?

I hadn’t seen her without clothes since we were kids, let alone documented it photographically.

I wondered if I could mock something up in Photoshop.

But who was I kidding?

I can barely doodle a stickman, let alone CGI my sister’s ass.

And besides, HomerZuckerman45 had already seen her in a picture.

Half of her, at least; in auto-flash detail.

I would have to make the photos match.

Unless…

What if I opted for a topless picture?

He hadn’t seen her above the equator, and had no idea what to expect up there…

Let me take a quick moment to tell you about my sister’s body.

Charlotte and I are physically quite similar.

Apart from the boy and girl parts.

Hers especially.

We are approximately the same height – 5″10.

We are the same level of rib-visible lean.

Our hair is a similar dirty blonde; although Charlie’s is longer and highlighted.

We have the same hands and feet.

The toe on her left foot curls in, just like mine.

And we have identical asses.

The small tell is that hers has more of a teardrop shape.

Our shoulders and arms; our eyes, noses, jawlines and faces…

It’s almost like we are cloned.

Except for two mighty differences.

My sister has a really big pair of tits.

We often marvel in our family about how strange and improbable they are.

The rest of her is genetically bone-thin, but somehow these unlikely beach balls emerge from her tiny frame.

In hindsight, it is inevitable they would become part of her calling…

I was determined to send HomerZuckerman45 a picture of some tits to collect the remaining $400.

But I realized they didn’t necessarily have to be my sister’s.

I could find a lookalike online and pass it off as her.

As long as it was consistent with the half he’d already seen.

So I trawled the internet for pictures of topless blondes who might provide a convincing understudy for Charlotte’s upper half.

It took longer than expected.

Partly because it’s always distracting for a man to look at breasts.

But also because so many candidates had at least one giveaway – a tramp stamp, blemish or birthmark; or some other deal breaker, like an appendectomy scar or pierced nipple. Even a cock, in the case of one transgender girl who was otherwise a dead ringer for Charlotte.

Not that HomerZuckerman45 would know, of course, if my sister had two tattooed nipples, a pierced appendectomy scar, and dinosaur horns with cocks hanging off each of them.

He’d never seen her before.

But I felt a samurai-like obligation to honor the idea of her with something approaching the truth about her beauty.

It was the least I owed her if I was going to make a living selling fake nudes of her.

So I painstakingly searched for a pair of online tits that could compare with the majesty, if not the size, of her own.

Her breasts were not large in that fake-oversized, trashy way.

They were a natural wonder of the world.

They were big because God made it so.

Not because she knew a gifted surgeon in Beverly Hills.

I discovered a page on Tumblr imaginatively titled Cute Teen Titties.

One of the images on Page 4 reminded me somewhat of Charlie’s tits.

You couldn’t see the young woman’s face, which was ideal; but her two-tone bleached-blonde hair fell around her neck, with approximately the same length and cut as my sister’s.

The woman’s breasts themselves, which were large and firm – and delectable, by the way – seemed as though they might exist in the same universe as my sister’s tits; albeit on a smaller and more distant star.

Like most clueless brothers of the world, I had never stopped to think much about my sister as a sexual being.

I barely saw her as belonging to the same gender to whom I was attracted.

She was more like my brother with tits.

Our genes throw us off the scent of finding our siblings attractive. But the hardest thing to smell is often what is right in front of your nose.

I pulled up Charlotte’s Instagram page and looked at some of her own photos again.

It was strange considering her body with a new scrutiny.

I hadn’t paid much attention before – even to her clothes, or how she wore them.

But the more I scrolled through the near-endless mosaic of selfies, the more I began to learn how objectively hot she was.

For a start, she had an extremely beautiful face, with slightly chubby cheeks that had always embarrassed her, but contributed strongly to her sex appeal.

Her body was lean, with a boyish waist.

And a beautiful ass.

And her tits… I mean, talk about stealing the limelight/s.

Every photo on the page was about her tits, without her trying to make it so.

Even one where she was delivering a eulogy for a friend at a memorial.

She couldn’t hide them from any angle, however hard she tried.

In the few instances they were missing from a picture of her, even their absence would be the first thing you “saw.”

I returned to Cute Teen Titties.

I could have been looking at pictures of sneakers, by now; I was so bored of breasts.

I decided this one photo would have to do.

The hair was a good match, as well as the skin tone and overall proportions.

And the girl’s tits were superb; which was all that mattered.

I was sure my cyber-weirdo would dig them.

The only element that could have been a giveaway was a poster in the background that appeared to be in Polish. So I opened a window in Finder and trimmed it out of the shot.

It was 2AM by now.

I’d spent way too much time on this.

Even if I was going to earn $500.

I could have performed a shift of an actual job for the same time and money.

I decided what the hell.

It would hardly matter if the kook rejected it, or he didn’t cough up.

I had nothing to lose and I’d already pocketed $100.

So I sent it.

I waited twenty minutes to see if he opened the app.

When he didn’t, I put my phone on silent and went to sleep.

***

By the time I awoke the next morning there was a new notification.

I had received a transfer of $400 during the night from HomerZuckerman45.

I felt elated.

I was an arch-conspirator.

I had made $500 calling the bluff of an anonymous deviant with more money than sense.

And I hadn’t had to sell my sister out to do it.

I could persuade myself I would never have sent a real nude of Charlotte, and that this brilliant scheme had been my true motive all along.

But as I was brushing my teeth, another notification appeared.

It was a new DM from HomerZuckerman45:

“I paid out of goodwill but that wasn’t her. One more chance. Send a real nude of your sister and I’ll send another $500. But don’t play me again!”

Wow, was this perv trying to take the moral high ground?

I mean, yes I had deceived him. But was I supposed to feel guilty that I hadn’t prostituted my own sister for him?

Where did this creep get off judging me?

And how did he even find out?

Ugh. He probably reverse-searched the image on Google.

But he still paid me the $400.

Despite knowing that I’d deceived him.

I had successfully transferred it into my Bank of America account.

However much of a perv he might be, he was at least willing to put his money where his mouth was.

Or more accurately, where his dick was.

So I figured it seemed worth milking.

The situation, not his dick.

Though both were clearly entwined.

***

For the rest of the day I wondered, what if I did try and procure a nude of my sister for him?

As vast as the moral conundrum would be, how in a million years could I pull it off?

I didn’t know how to get even a glimpse of her naked.

She was very private.

Was I going to jump into the shower cubicle like a paparazzo?

It would be unforgivable.

I should have deleted HomerZuckerman45 and the NestWork app, there and then.

I should have gone back to photographing skateboards, and turning them black and white like a phony.

But I didn’t.

Later that night, when I was scrolling through Twitter I saw an actress had been involved in a Fappening-style leak of compromising nudes.

A new thought hit me.

Perhaps I didn’t have to catch Charlotte naked by creeping around like Michael Myers in the shadows.

She might already have a photo of herself nude – taken at the best angle, and in the most flattering light.

And all I would have to do is procure it from her phone.

If iCloud leaks had taught me anything it was that women like to photograph themselves naked – whether to send to partners, monitor the progress SoulCycle has on their ass; or just enjoy the fact they are generally much hotter than us.

I decided that if I was in possession of a naked photo that Charlotte had taken of herself, and I merely forwarded it to HomerZuckerman45, I would be guilty of a much more acceptable crime.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to justify any of this.

It was despicable of me.

But wait and see.

Second Upload

I read somewhere that the infamous celebrity photo leak known as ‘the Fappening’ occurred when somebody hacked into iCloud.

I wasn’t sure how to install a software update on my Mac, let alone hack into any clouds; so I figured the cyber-espionage route was probably shut down to me.

But I did know how to transfer files from one iPhone to another in a single click, using Airdrop.

I had done it recently when I sent holiday photos to my sister following our family vacation to Crete.

If I could gain access to her phone, it would take less than a minute to Airdrop the contents of her photo library to my own phone.

Then I could surf the pictures at leisure and take my pick from any nudes.

Once I decided I was going to do it, I felt physically sick.

Quite apart from the betrayal, it was super stressful to execute.

I saw her phone charging in the kitchen when she was sitting in the living room.

I should have made a move but I was too scared.

Later, we were watching TV and she went upstairs, leaving her phone on the arm of the couch.

I seized it in a frenzy, and quickly unlocked it.

(1404 – her birthday).

I turned on her Bluetooth, and checked ‘Select All’ for the contents of her photo library, and proceeded to transfer them to my own iPhone.

‘Accept 2,484 photos?’ it said on my phone’s screen.

Hell yeah.

I clicked ‘yes’ and the transfer began.

But it wasn’t instantaneous.

The icons appeared but they were grayed out, pending complete transfer of the files.

A rotating wheel showed on my sister’s phone, indicating the request was still in progress.

I heard her coming back down the stairs.

I panicked and was about to cancel the download, but she went into the kitchen.

“Do you want anything?” she called out.

“Er… YES,” I yelled back, needlessly aggressively. “I DO!”

Anything to delay her.

“What?” she asked.

My mind went blank… What was there?

The transfer was 84% complete.

I had to say something in case she came in to quiz me directly.

“Milk! MILK!” I shouted.

“Milk?” she called back in a weird tone. “Ok!”

I saw the thumbnails finally appear on my phone.

The transfer had been successful.

I breathed out for the first time in several minutes.

I restored the home screen of her iPhone and returned it to the arm of the couch.

She entered with a tall glass of milk.

“Milk,” she said, pulling a weird expression and handing it to me.

“Thank you,” I said.

I am extremely lactose intolerant.

“Ready,” she said, signaling for me to un-pause the movie; which I did.

I was pleased with my mission.

Not the invading-her-privacy part, that was still awful.

But how successfully I pulled off the deed.

I couldn’t wait to peruse the photos and discover what jewels I might have thieved.

I would delete any I didn’t need, to respect her privacy.

I actually had that sanctimonious thought.

Like something in my character could be redeemed by the fact I was only intending to sell the good ones.

I was pretty far gone.

And I had only just started.

***

By the time I got to review the photos in my bedroom that night, I had built up unrealistically high expectations.

In my inflated-imagining, I was to be spoiled by a cornucopia of soft and hardcore porn.

My sister in all guises of cosplay and undress – from lingerie and stilettos, to crotchless latex.

But half of the pictures were of her dog, Jump.

Some were the same apparent photo of him multiple times.

Without him doing anything new.

There were a lot of this dog.

I want to say 1000.

And bless my sister, but there were a lot of her without the dog too.

Some of these Charlotte-selfies had airbrushed filters added.

In others she was examining a pimple, testing makeup or hair; or trying to look cute, and always managing to.

It made me ashamed to witness such private moments.

But it was also mostly the same stuff she posted on Instagram every day.

It took several minutes of scrolling to get the gist. But it was pretty clear the photos were a picture of teenage innocence.

There wasn’t so much as a glimpse of flesh to fulfill the object of my search.

Her tits were prominent in every photo, of course, because they always were.

But there was no flesh revealed anywhere.

She did such a good job at covering them up; despite this being a sacrilege.

There were a few swimsuit pictures from the family vacation to Greece.

But I owned most of these already, and had taken many of them myself.

They also weren’t that flattering or revealing.

I had run out of options.

I could send the guy a picture of her dog?

That would be a great way to piss him off, when he was expecting a picture of her pussy.

As I was scrolling down, one of the thumbnails caught my eye for the first time.

It was darker than the others and not easy to decipher.

I clicked to open it and was shocked to discover it was the image of a cock.

A pretty nice one too.

Not hard, but en route.

There was no face; just abs and junk.

The owner was standing in what looked like a public bathroom, possibly at a gym.

He was taking a photo of his own reflection, pulling down the waistband of his jogging pants to let his thick cock flop out.

I recognized the owner immediately.

It was Brad, the guy from college my sister had dated recently.

I didn’t recognize him from the cock. But from his skin tone and physicality.

The picture was kind of hot. If you were an 18 year old girl and into that sort of thing.

It was fun to ponder why my sister would hang on to it.

She had no other pictures of Brad.

He had broken her heart, and she hated him.

But she’d hung on to this portrait of how hung he was.

I wondered why.

I swiped to the next image and my jaw dropped.

It had the same date, but had been taken a few minutes later.

It must have been the photo my sister sent Brad in response to his dick pic.

It didn’t reveal her fully naked, which was why I hadn’t noticed it from the thumbnail.

But it was phenomenal.

The view was from behind.

She was taking a selfie of her reflection in the cheval mirror of her pink bedroom; looking back at herself.

She wore a black and gold-print, loose fitting summer dress with no underwear; her hair, long and honey-colored, with blonde-white wisps.

She was lifting the dress up from behind to reveal her angelic naked bottom.

It was a heavenly image.

And precisely what I had been hunting for.

Up until this moment, the enterprise of selling her nudes online had been purely business.

There had been no boundary-crossing fantasies of consanguinity on my part, despite a newfound appreciation of my sister as a sexual entity.

But this photo was enough to change that.

Her legs were so long; her skin was so soft and smooth.

And her ass… oh my god; her ass was picture-perfect.

The photo managed to be more provocative than if it had depicted her with her legs wide open..

For the next 20 minutes my thoughts had nothing to do with the task at hand; and everything to do with the revelation that my younger sister had the most alluring bum I had ever seen on anyone; let alone a family member.

What is weird is that my own ass looked almost exactly the same. Why didn’t mine drive me this wild?

I guess it was a case of who wore it best.

As an indication of how hot the photo was, I felt certain it was going to get me paid.

Even if it didn’t contain any sexual organs or breasts.

HomerZuckerman45 hadn’t specifically asked to see her tits, or anything else for that matter.

He’d just ordered ‘a nude,’ which technically this was.

And Charlie’s divine ass was worth a dozen full-frontals of anybody else.

If it had half the effect on HomerZuckerman45 it was having on me, I might even get a tip.

So I decided fuck it, what harm could it do?

Even if the photo was displayed on a Times Square billboard, it couldn’t be traced back to my sister.

And if it leaked, she’d be convinced it was Brad who betrayed her.

So I sent HomerZuckerman45 the picture.

And hung on to a copy, of course.

I hung on to all of her pictures. Except the ones of Jump.

I waited 10 or 15 minutes to see if there was any response.

When there wasn’t, I went to bed.

For all I knew this dude was in a different time zone.

But I couldn’t sleep.

Not because I was waiting for a notification from HomerZ.

But because I kept re-opening my phone to look at the photo of her ass.

I zoomed in so that it filled the screen of my Pro Max.

It might have been the Platonic Form of a backside.

Or at least the finest human replica of one.

Like Christ was the earthly image of God

I had no idea that my younger sister had such a divine peach about her person. Or that her body wasn’t still the mirror image of mine that it had been for most of our childhood.

I swiped back-and-forth between Brad’s dick and my sister’s ass.

I imagined them getting up close and personal with each other.

I wondered if that had ever happened.

I felt my dick getting hard from thinking about my sister being fucked.

Not in the ass, I still had some respect for her.

But being made love to in a wholesome way.

I could suddenly understand why an oddball with more money than sense would pay for naked pictures of her.

I would pay for them too.

I must have fallen asleep.

It was growing light outside when I awoke to the ka-ching of the cash register sound.

$500 had been deposited in my account.

There was a new DM from HomerZuckerman45:

Excellent work. Now $1000 to see the front.

Third Upload

I awoke early the next morning and went back to looking at the photo of my sister’s ass.

It was still the most alluring thing I’d ever seen.

And now it was a five-hundred-dollar ass.

But I also realized I had reached the end of the road with this exploitation racket.

I had gone through Charlie’s photos twice with a fine tooth comb.

There were none in which she revealed any cleavage, let alone a full frontal.

And there was no realistic way I could take such a photo myself.

Was I going to hide in a tree outside her window like a peeping Tom?

Drill a hole through her wall?

Plant a camera in her teddy bear?

Each idea was more grotesque and far-fetched than the previous.

It would be a gross invasion of her privacy.

And this was coming from me – the person who had already happily grossly-invaded her privacy several times.

But then the most curious solution of all hit me:

What if I just asked her?

I mean, nobody likes to be pimped out without their knowledge, do they?

But some choose to make a living selling their body by choice.

What if I offered to cut her in on the deal?

It would be a super awkward conversation.

But it was my last hope.

***

In the meantime, something curious was happening to me.

My sister’s god-given, hot little body – which I’d barely noticed before – now seemed to tease me everywhere it went.

Like when you learn a new word and suddenly see that word everywhere.

That’s what my sister’s ass had become.

Whether she was standing at the basin washing dishes; or in her bathroom with the door ajar, electric toothbrush whirring in her mouth, lips overspilling with cum-white toothpaste…

My eyes were always aware of her ass.

In her tight leggings, in loose pajamas, hiding beneath her summer dress.

I only needed to see the barest hint to feel my blood begin to rise.

It was like I had an illicit new best friend.

The genie of that ass was not going back inside the bottle.

I longed to see it in real life.

In the flesh, that is.

I didn’t know what to do with these feelings, and I was way too scared to confess them.

I decided to keep my spiraling attraction separate from the business negotiations.

Or to put it another way, I had no time to get the hots for my sister while I was still busy trying to exploit her.

***

I waited until Friday night when she had returned home from a friend’s house.

She was a little high or tipsy on something.

If ever there is an ideal time to ask your sister to prostitute herself, this struck me as it.

I worked up the courage with a shot and a half of scotch.

The conversation went something like this:

“Hey Charlie. Do you remember a while back when my phone accidentally took a photo up your dress?”

“I do,” she said, “and you told me the picture didn’t come out.”

“I lied.”

“What? Show it to me!”

I showed her the photo.

She stared at it for a long time without speaking.

I thought she was going to feel humiliated, especially because of the wet patch.

But she wasn’t mad.

“This is kind of hot,” she said eventually. “Why didn’t you show it to me? It’s sexy and iconic.”

“Because I thought you wouldn’t let me post it.’

“Wait? Post it where?”

Now she was mad.

“On this app called NestWork. It’s an adult message board and livestream…”

“You posted a picture of me on a fucking porn site?”

“Anonymously. I made up an account. Nobody could trace it…”

“You fucking douche-head! I can’t believe you would do this to me!”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m the worst.”

“Did you show all your creepy friends?”

“No! I swear. Nobody I know has seen it, or could even know about it.”

Her tone shifted.

“Did it get any comments?”

“A lot!” I said.

“How many?”

“Over a hundred!”

Did her eyes light up?

“Can I see them?”

She spent the next few minutes scrolling up the photo’s comments on the app; often shrieking when she read aloud superlatives about how hot she was.

I had never seen her like this.

She was getting a visible thrill from the sexual compliments.

“Never do anything like this again without asking me,” she said, still reading them. But she was smiling now.

“Promise,” I said. “Which kind of brings me to what I wanted to tell you…”

“That wasn’t it?”

“No. That was the background… See, I got this random DM in Quiet mode from an anonymous user on the app…”

“Sounds legit so far,” she said.

“He must have really liked the photo because he made an indecent proposal…”

“Oh my god. What is it?”

“He said that if I sent him a nude of you, he will pay $1000 for it.”

“Jason, what the actual fuck? This is the shadiest bullshit I’ve ever heard. What is the guy’s name?”

“His username on the app is HomerZuckerman45.”

“Do you know who this creep is?”

“No. And he doesn’t know who I am. Or who you are. He’s just a random guy with money who saw your photo. You’re hot, Charlie!”

“You are so naïve,” she said. “It’s obviously a friend of yours who fancies me!”

“It can’t be! I used an anonymous account, and we have a vpn.”

“Well, there’s no way I can send a stranger a naked photo with my face in it. It will come back to bite me,” she said.

“It wouldn’t have to include your face,” I said.

“He only wants a picture of my body?”

“Yeah… But look, it’s super weird. I’m just the messenger. Obviously you aren’t gonna do it.”

“Why would you think he has the money? He’s not gonna pay $1000. He’s trying to extort you somehow… What kind of picture of my body?

“The kind every pervert is after.”

“My boobs?”

“Those would be a start,” I said.

“What else?”

“Just all the front parts, minus your face.”

She practically screamed. “Oh my god, this is the lamest thing you’ve ever done!”

“I’m only relaying what someone has offered!”

“Why do I feel like there’s more to it than this?”

“There isn’t! I was just thinking that if the guy is for real and he has money – and only if you were up for it – you could take a quick nude shot, with no face or anything that identifies you; I could send it to the weirdo, and you and I could split the money 50-50.”

“50-50?” she said. “I’d be sending a picture of my tits to a freak on the internet. What would you be doing for your half?”

“He’s my contact,” I said.

“Only because you posted a picture up my dress! Without asking!”

“Ok, maybe not 50-50. It could be on a commission basis.”

“Commission is 10%”

“Some agents charge as much as 30.”

“Ok,” she said, calling my bluff. “30%”

“Wait, you want to do this?”

“I mean, it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said. “But if you don’t need my face in the shot and you honestly believe he’ll pay, then it would take one second to snap a photo of my body. It’s right here, after all.”

She indicated herself with her hands.

“But to be clear, he would have to send the money up front.”

I worked hard not to show too much enthusiasm.

Enthusiasm for the photo, not the cash.

“Why don’t we send a picture of someone else’s tits and just say they are mine?” she asked.

Great siblings think alike.

“He won’t fall for it,” I said, dismissively. “He’ll reverse search the image on Google.”

“Are you sure you don’t know this guy? He’s not one of your weird skater friends?”

“None of my friends have $1000,” I said. “And for the last time, he can’t know who we are.”

HomerZuckerman45 had already shown up to the tune of $1000 in a few short days, much of it paid in advance.

And for little more than a photo of her bottom – albeit one of the most glorious photos and bottoms ever; as well as some random Polish girl’s tits from the internet.

So I opened up the app and wrote to him:

“Would need $500 deposit for full frontal.”

I clicked ‘send’ and was about to get on with some errands when I heard the cash register sound.

250,000 tokens ($500) had been deposited into my NestWork account.

“CHARLIE! CHARLIE!”

I bounded upstairs.

“The dude sent $500 as a deposit, like that!” I snapped my fingers.

“Bullshit!” she said. “Let me see…”

I showed her the app on my phone and she couldn’t deny it.

There was a $500 deposit from user HomerZuckerman45.

“This has to be some kind of scam, Jason. I don’t like it!”

“It’s not,” I said. “Look, I can do an instant transfer into my current account. It’s real money.”

“What the actual fuck?” she said, and got serious for a moment. “Who is this rich wacko?”

She picked up her phone and typed his username into the search engine.

“He’s hardly going to be using his real name,” I said.

“Wait,” she said. “Homer Zuckerman is the name of a character in a book… Oh my god! It’s Charlotte’s fucking Web! It’s the name of the farmer in Charlotte’s Web. That’s pretty weird, no?”

“Why?”

“Er… Hello? Because my name is Charlotte!”

“He doesn’t know that’s your name.”

“Clearly he does!”

“Nobody knows I am on this app! Why can’t you get that? I am using a fake name. Our vpn means we can’t even be traced to the US. Also look at the guy’s homepage… He’s been a member for months. He only just started sending these requests. How could he have known months in advance I was going to open an account and post a picture of you? Is he psychic too?”

“Requests? There was more than one request?”

“I just mean this one.”

“Ok, well shit. We have his money now – don’t forget to Venmo me by the way. I guess we need to send him the porn. How do we do this? Do I take a selfie in the bathroom?”

“I don’t think he cares where you are, it’s more about what you show…”

“I don’t have to spread my legs or anything gross, do I?”

“I doubt he’s expecting hardcore,” I said. “Just a tasteful full frontal, from neck to feet. With no background details that would help him identify you. And cover up any significant beauty spots!”

“What do you mean anyone else? Is he going to show it to other people?”

“In theory he can only view it on the app. But to be safe, hide any details that could provide clues to your identity…”

“Can’t you take the picture?” she asked.

“Me?”

I tried to conceal my everlasting delight.

“You’re the photographer in the family. I’m not going to get the right angle. And you’ll have to approve it anyway. Could you do it please? You’ll earn your commission more justifiably.”

There was a delicious irony to the idea that my sister was begging me to photograph her nude.

Especially since I had spent the better part of the last 72 hours staring at an image of her bare bottom and wishing I could be in a room somewhere with it.

“Ugh,” I said, playing along. “It’s a bit weird, but ok!”

“Sorry if it’s an ordeal,” she said, mildly insulted. “There’s at least one man out there who is willing to pay good money to see this weird body!”.

“You know what I mean,” I said, realizing my subterfuge was too extreme. “Your body is not weird, it’s smoking hot!”

She smiled. “That’s better.”

“You are one of the hottest girls on the planet,” I said. “But you’re also my sister, so I try not to think about it.”

“That’s a good thing,” she said. “I’ll go and get my robe on, and you’ll tell me where to stand. We’ll take the photo quickly and send it, then we can get back to our less squalid lives.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Let’s use this blank wall here. Nobody is getting any information from a blank white wall.”

“Apart from maybe Pink Floyd,” she said, and scooted off to her room.

Did I detect she was exhilarated about what we were about to do?

If so, it may have been more from the spirit of adventure than the erotica.

She took forever to return.

I figured she was doing some last-minute grooming; perhaps covering up birthmarks like I had suggested.

I sat there sipping on a cocktail of feelings.

My sister was about to deliberately show me her naked body.

I couldn’t have contrived such a thing in my wildest dreams.

When she returned, she was barefoot; and concealed in a large orange-toweling dressing gown.

She was surprisingly coquettish at first; teasing the unfastening of her robe, and then denying it at the last minute.

It was the opposite of a purely business approach to taking the picture.

She had styled her hair and added perfume; which was also curious, because neither would be captured by a photo.

Had she done these things for me?

Or perhaps she simply wanted to feel attractive and comfortable – a woman’s prerogative at all times, but especially when being photographed.

“Ok,” I said, trying to sound professional. “Let’s do this!”

“How should I pose?” she asked.

I loved the idea I was supposed to know.

I photographed skateboards.

Badly.

“I don’t think this dude is going to care if you’re hanging upside down, as long as he can see the good parts,” I said. “But just do a natural pose.”

She didn’t remove the dressing gown immediately, but loosened its tie.

I saw a bewitching glimpse of her naked thigh.

She took a deep breath, exhaled; and then dropped the robe to the floor.

It wasn’t easy to hold it together.

I made sure I was looking at her through the viewfinder of the iPhone like a professional photographer; rather than checking her out in the flesh.

But I was checking her out through the viewfinder.

She was glorious.

Her boundless tits were extraordinary. It was preternatural the way they emerged from her tiny frame. Her nipples like hard bullets against the soft Rings of Saturn that were her peach-colored areolae.

Her slender waist was divine; as were her long legs – achingly familiar from the photo of her ass that still haunted me.

And between her legs, the barest glimpse of her hairless pussy.

“Hurry up,” she said, when I’d taken no less than five seconds.

I wondered if I should compliment her, to try and relax her in front of the camera.

But our cyber-perv didn’t need to see a relaxed pair of tits, just a pair of tits.

So I started snapping.

“Delete the ones you don’t use!” she said sternly, while changing pose.

I say ‘pose’, but she wasn’t displaying her body like a fashion model or anything.

She was offering a couple of broadly different but flattering angles.

Not that she had unflattering angles.

Her body was immaculate.

After about ten seconds and a series of as many shutter clicks, she reached down to collect her dressing gown from the floor.

Within moments she was concealed in orange again.

“I want to select the one we send,” she said, authoritatively. “And I want to watch you delete the rest.”

We sat on the bed and surveyed the improbable series of stunning shots.

Her waist had no right being so small, nor her tits so big by comparison.

Even though I’d managed to control myself handsomely during the shoot, I felt my penis start to grow hard.

“My boob looks weird in that one,” she said, referencing the fact it was slightly squashed against her bicep in one shot.

It looked perfect to me, but I deleted the image and went on to the next.

The next few were almost identical, except for the fact that her thighs were partially crossed in one.

But by the time we reached the sixth picture we both knew this was the money shot.

It was captivating.

Her breasts looked astonishing.

There was a wonderful glimpse of her bald pussy, with a provocative thigh gap beneath.

Not too revealing, but not strategically hidden either.

It was a masterpiece.

The photo and the subject matter.

“We’re a great team!” she said.

We high-fived.

I added a filter that made the photo look even better.

Then I deleted all the pictures except this one.

I felt annoyed that she knew they also had to be deleted from the trash folder in my phone, in order to be gone forever.

But I showed her I was deleting them from this folder too.

Finally, I cropped her head out of the remaining shot and sent a high-res copy to HomerZuckerman45.

Charlie shrieked with excitement at the idea he had received it.

She then insisted on watching me go through the 2-step process of deleting this shot too.

Even though it meant we wouldn’t have a souvenir.

I had little choice but to oblige.

Now the only person on earth with access to the image was HomerZuckerman45.

Part of me wondered if I should ask him to send me a copy.

“Done,” she said, dusting her hands together.

She went back to her bedroom to get dressed.

Now that we’d taken care of business, I had more time to reflect on the personal aspect of the encounter.

I had never seen such a beautiful naked woman before, let alone stood that close to her.

And the fact that she was my sister had done nothing to lessen the attraction.

The opposite.

It was hard to pretend I didn’t want her.

I could imagine what her breasts would feel like in my hands. How delicious it would be to kiss my way down her stomach…

I wished I’d been smart or deceitful enough to make a secret copy of the pictures.

A couple of hours later, when we were having supper with Mom, we heard the cash register sound on my phone.

Charlie looked at me with wide eyes, but we kept quiet; not wanting to draw any scrutiny.

I opened the app clandestinely and saw that we’d been tipped an extra 250,000 tokens.

That was $2500 income now, in a few short days.

“Charlie!” I said, the moment we were alone. “He tipped another $500!”

“What?”

I could see the dollar signs in her eyes as she processed the news.

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or scared that someone is willing to pay this much to see my bits!”

“Be flattered,” I said.

I decided not to add that I would have donated all of my own share to see those bits again.

“It’s a little seductive though, isn’t it?” she said, more seriously. “To be able to earn silly money like this for doing nothing.”

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” I said, helpfully.

“Have I got it?” she asked sincerely.

“Fuck, yes,” I said.

***

That night while I was having a shower I became super horny.

My dick was the kind of hard that felt uncomfortable.

As I relieved myself with a soapy hand job, all I could think about was my sister’s unrivaled body.

Thinking about it had become a quotidian experience.

But I was still in some form of denial.

I had tried to convince myself it was the fantasy that was hot, not that it was something I actually wanted to do.

I wanted to cum for her; rather than ‘on’ or ‘in’ her.

That’s what I told myself.

But as I approached my orgasm, the distinction grew blurry.

And when I shot multiple arcs of cum up against the tiled wall, I imagined myself cumming deep inside her.

It was so intense that I sank to the floor of the tub.

I sat there for a few minutes, warm water gushing down on me.

In the sober clarity of my petite mort, I became aware of a new concern:

How could this end anywhere good?

And what difference did that make when I was powerless to stop it?

Part Two: IRL

About a week later I arrived home one day to find my sister waiting for me on the front porch.

It was a warm afternoon and she was wearing black leggings and a sports bra.

An irresistible bead of sweat sat at the summit of her cleavage, like a solitary raindrop waiting to dive down into the abyss of her breasts.

She looked utterly delicious.

“What’s up?” I asked, leaning my skateboard against the step.

“I need you to help me with a project,” she said with great excitement.

“Sure. What is it?”

“I want to go live on NestWork in a video chat room.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s the part of the app where people broadcast themselves live…”

“I know what it is!” I said. “I can’t believe you’re suggesting it!”

“I wouldn’t have believed it either a few days ago,” she said. “But I’ve been studying these livestreams and some of the top girls make like three grand in two hours!”

“Yes, but two hours of doing what?”

“You know… Just flirting, and undressing,” she said.

“That’s it?”

“And some fuck themselves with a huge dildo for a few minutes at the end.”

I looked at her with my mouth agape.

“But I wouldn’t have to do that part if I didn’t want to… I could just take my clothes off and let people ogle. Surely someone out there would want to look at this?”

She was right about that much.

“You’re actually serious about this,” I said.

“Show me an easier way to make money. Dad taught us the shortest route to wealth should always be taken.”

“I mean, you’re paraphrasing; and he didn’t mention stripping… But sure. How will you prevent people from identifying you?”

“Obviously I won’t show my face,” she said, “I’ll wear a mask.”

“You’ll get lower engagement with your face covered,” I said.

“You think these won’t be their own draw?” she said, grabbing her boobs.

She had two excellent points.

For some reason, when she suggested wearing a mask I could only picture two possibilities, neither of which seemed very sexy.

The first was an N-95, which of course she didn’t mean.

The second, equally absurdly, was a gimp-style balaclava that covered her head.

But the mask she took out of her bedside drawer made more sense than either of these.

It was an embroidered silver half-mask, which covered her eyes and most of her nose.

The type you might see at a Venetian masquerade ball.

She put it on.

“Oh wow,” I said. “That actually might work!”

She looked like a large-breasted superhero.

The mask concealed her identity well, but still allowed us to enjoy the shape of her face and exquisite lips; and the line of her cheekbones.

Once I had seen her posing in it, I didn’t have any further objections.

I could hardly start fighting for her dignity now, when I’d previously been willing to sell her to the world myself.

My sister was a grown up. She didn’t need me to police her behavior.

She was a smart, free-thinking woman.

If she had her heart set on online-stripping for cash, who was I to stop her?

But I also suspected there was more to it.

She wasn’t just making a quick buck.

She was enjoying it.

She wanted to show off her body.

She had caught a bug for it, and I suspected it was turning her on.

This idea might have been more intoxicating to me than anything else.

“I need you to set up the camera and show me how it works,” she said, “and then sign me up to an account and stuff… Oh and I want you to direct. For this I will pay the same 30% commission as before.”

She wanted me to direct her stripping for thousands of faceless strangers on a livestream?

Had she been peeking at my Christmas list?

“It’s a deal,” I said, trying to sound casual but failing.

We shook hands and I promised to be the greatest director ever.

“That’s Fellini,” she said. “But second best will do.”

I told her I would build a rig and set the ring-light to a color that best showed off the tone of her flawless skin.

She thanked me profusely, and we hugged.

We chose Friday night, when Mom and Dad were due to be at the theater.

We would launch my sister’s career with a two hour livestream.

When it was over, I would give any notes and we’d plan next steps from there.

I set up a NestWork account for her that night called Ursula_269, which was a random name that popped into my head.

Charlie was asleep at the time, or I would have asked her how she wished to be known as an e-stripper.

But in that moment, without either of us realizing, a star was born.

It was time for Ursula to show the world what she had.

First Livestream

Mom and Dad could sense our giddy excitement as they were getting ready to go out that Friday night.

“Why are you two in such a good mood?” Dad asked suspiciously.

“No reason,” we said in unison.

“Ok, freaks!” he said, laughing. “You’re like the twins from The Shining.”

“You aren’t planning to get into any trouble, are you?” asked Mom, who liked to worry in her spare time.

“We’re 18!” said Charlotte.

“19,” I corrected, regarding myself.

“We’re also a couple of squares!” Charlie added.

“It’s true,” said Dad, “they’re more boring than us, honey!”

“Speak for yourself!” said Mom. “Now let’s go Simon, or we’ll be late and they won’t let us in til the interval.”

Our dear parents finally departed.

My sister went to get changed while I prepared the performance area.

We’d decided to use my bedroom since it had the biggest plain wall (once I’d taken down a skateboarding poster), plus the WebCam rig on my desk was still set up from my failed podcast.

At around 7.30PM my sister walked in.

I could have died.

She was wearing a pair of knee-length, stripey-pastel, woolen socks; the most adorable lavender mini skirt that looked like it belonged to a fairy-cosplay; and a sheer, peach-colored chiffon blouse with a collar.

Her make up was subtle, but elegant.

And slightly elf-like.

She looked adorable; the stuff of your wildest dreams.

The girl you wanted to marry, not just one you were dying to fuck.

But that one too.

I wasn’t sure if I should tell her how hot she looked.

I think my eyes said it regardless.

I may have even gasped without realizing.

I was surprised by the amount of effort she’d put into being gawked at by random weirdos online.

Maybe vanity and exhibitionism have more in common than we think.

She’d taken the time to apply subtle eye make-up, despite the fact her eyes were going to be hidden.

Her stage fright was visible. But there was no doubt she was going ahead with it.

“Ok, you’re all signed in…” I said, trying not to sound flustered.

I was more apprehensive than her.

“When it’s go-live time, you’re gonna click that green button and see yourself on the left hand monitor.”

“I will be ok, won’t I, Jay?” she said, showing the first sign of any vulnerability.

“You don’t have to do this at all,” I reminded her, “and you can stop at any time by clicking that red button.”

“No, I’m going to do it,” she said. “I just need to know you’ll be there if I freeze up.”

“I’ll be here,” I promised. “I’m going to send you directions by text. So keep your phone by your side, but out of shot. We’ll pace the goals so you only have to be naked for the last twenty minutes.”

“Thank you,” she said. “There’s no way I could do this without you!”

I tried to ignore the fact that if true this would make me equally culpable.

We exchanged one final hug of solidarity.

It was like she was going off to fight in Afghanistan.

Then I left her alone.

Perched at the end of my bed.

Like a sexy elf.

I raced to her bedroom clutching my laptop as if it was treasure; and logged onto the website.

I needed to see her on something bigger than my iPhone.

I refreshed the screen a half-dozen times, but there was no sign of her on the feed.

Until suddenly, there she was.

A tiny, masked-face among a sea of thumbnails.

There were women of myriad ages and ethnicities on the platform at that time.

They were in every imaginable state of undress; and engaged in every pursuit – from chatting informally, to twerking while they danced, to fucking themselves in two holes at once with a double-edged butt plug while sucking on a rubber dildo.

My sister was at the more conservative end of this scale.

She cut an almost tragic figure against the clinical-looking white backdrop, staring out jitterily through her silver bat-mask.

It looked like she was broadcasting from Arkham asylum.

I instantly sent 10,000 tokens in support.

I also texted her the word “posture.”

She read my text immediately and rectified her slumped shoulders.

She looked fucking hot in 4k, regardless of what her shoulders were doing.

There were 3 visitors in the room, apart from Charlie and I.

Then there were 7.

Then 20.

But she wasn’t interacting much.

I sent another text that said: “Say something!”

I saw her read it off-camera and look panicked.

I wondered if it would help if she thought of it more like playing a character.

She could cultivate a persona for Ursula and play it like a role.

This would be the first directorial note I would give her later.

To my relief she was beginning to relax and get more chatty.

She replied aloud to one user’s comment: “Hi Forest88! Whatcha doin’?”

“Hi gorgeous,” he typed back. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Show us your tits,” another user helpfully contributed.

I wanted to ‘heart’ the tits comment, but I was there to support not troll my sister.

The blank white room I had created was a little soulless, and the mask she wore a little depersonalizing.

But it couldn’t be denied she looked amazing, or that the camera loved her.

The outline of her tits was teased perfectly through her delicate blouse.

For most of the deviants watching, the prospect of getting to see them in the flesh would be enough to stick around.

Soon there were 347 people in the room.

The message board was filled with comments.

Some users were introducing themselves; others asking questions or making dirty allusions.

It was such a popular room that some were even spamming; attempting to hock increase-your-cumshot pills.

One user asked, “Is your pussy wet baby?” every few seconds.

Charlotte ignored the question each time.

But I started to wonder too.

“Show it to us already,” another user begged.

“Be polite,” wrote a third. “She’s a person.”

There’s always someone like this in a porn chat room – believing they are morally superior, despite still being there in a porn chat room.

People showed patience for the next 20 minutes, tipping tokens that amounted to $400.

There were 1280 people in the room at one point.

She was the third most popular room on the app.

She had also loosened up and become more engaging.

She kept un-self-consciously breaking into a smile that was even more prominent because her eyes were concealed by the mask.

But I sensed a growing frustration among users that not enough was happening, and that the conversation was not even about sex.

There is no obligation for broadcasters to expose flesh on the NestWork platform, let alone talk dirty while they do so.

But it’s also not supposed to be Facebook.

You aren’t there to share pictures of your smoothie.

(Unless that’s a nickname for your bald lady garden).

I knew there would come a moment when more was expected of her.

And she would have to deliver, or the tips would stop flowing.

She was there to make money, after all.

So at the 30 minute mark, I sent her a text that said: “Time to take something off.”

I felt my cock grow hard as I typed it.

It wasn’t just the idea she was about to undress.

It was the fact I was commanding her.

My own little sister.

Ordering her to strip for hundreds of faceless men.

I had become her pimp.

From the lowly origins of taking an accidental snapshot up her skirt to this.

Watching on a computer screen as her trembling hand unfastened the clasps of her blouse.

The two halves of chiffon fell away like theater curtains, to reveal the insides of her breasts. But her nipples remained covered.

She stayed like this for a while, continuing to chat and answer questions.

Her blouse grew transparent whenever the light hit, and the irresistible outline of her nipples appeared like a fleeting revelation.

It was a genius move. Give the audience more, but don’t give them everything.

The tokens poured in. Like a broken slot machine paying out endless jackpots.

I had my hand down my pants.

Charlie was having an animated conversation about which Disney princess was her favorite and why.

The message board was out of control.

People were commenting with obscene graphics and monster emojis.

It was like a rowdy cyber-strip bar.

At one point the room contained 2333 people.

A mind-numbingly large percentage of them could have been jerking off.

Think of all that cum.

Produced on behalf of my sister.

The comments in the chat became more urgent and imploring.

Some were getting restless.

Everybody was itching for more; even the polite ones.

I sent Charlie a text suggesting that she set a new goal for the room: 100,000 tokens to take off the shirt.

It took an infuriating amount of time for her to read it, because she was showing off now, singing Peter Pan songs and shit.

But she eventually saw it and announced the target provocatively to her audience.

The goal was set and the tokens cascaded in to reach it, while the room’s inhabitants continued to swell.

I was so proud of her.

But like the other 2738 of us, I longed to see more of her.

I wondered if it would be weird for me to donate the 100,000 tokens myself.

Probably.

Soon enough a bell sounded to indicate the goal had been achieved.

Users posted hearts, exclamation-points, and vegetable emojis.

Charlie seemed shy again.

She wasn’t quite Madame O just yet.

But she kept her word, as well as her dignity.

She slid the blouse off her shoulders, setting free her miraculous tits.

I could hear a collective gasp across America.

They were the most beautiful tits that I, and presumably anybody else, had ever seen.

Username_257 commented, “God is real.”

Flea5000 wrote simply, “Kill me now.”

She grew at ease again.

She still didn’t play with them, but seemed more aware of how they looked on the monitor.

She used her arm positions to enhance and accentuate them in creative ways.

She was adept at hiding-then-revealing them in mouthwatering glimpses that would never last long enough for us to believe what we’d just seen.

I had unbuttoned my pants, and taken out my stiff cock.

I was sitting there spellbound, jerking off in my sister’s pink bedroom.

I sent her a new text saying: “Set a goal of 100,000 for your ass.”

She read it almost immediately and announced the new goal to the room.

Donations poured in again.

The message board was filled with users creatively describing what they’d like to do to her, while others asked pop trivia questions, like who was her favorite Beatle.

(Dumb, because it was “obviously George”).

I donated another 25,000 tokens myself.

I don’t think she noticed because she was jabbering on.

I was lost among the crowd throwing their digital-dollar bills.

When the e-bell tolled to indicate the goal had been reached, she stood up from the bed and spun around.

For the first time the world saw her knee-length socks.

And nothing would ever be the same.

The message board lit up like a Christmas tree; users lost their collective minds over the new development.

Charlie turned away from the camera and unzipped her skirt.

She had to shimmy her hips to let it drop to the floor.

Beneath it she wore a pair of baby-blue cotton panties.

And now she was removing those.

She stuck her backside out towards us as she peeled them down.

For the next twenty transcendent seconds or so, we were treated to the heavenly object that is her bum.

She didn’t do much with it, but she didn’t have to; and what would she do?

She just let us bask in it from several delightful angles, before sitting back down and hiding it again.

It wasn’t that disappointing because we were rewarded with the return of her heavenly breasts.

Although she was still savvy enough to conceal these intermittently; as much of them as she could with her tiny wrists and arms.

I kept forgetting this was all going on next door.

I was so caught up in her on-screen persona, I had to remind myself she was also offscreen, just a few feet through the wall.

She had earned the equivalent of $1100 at this point and was even richer in meaningless tokens.

Her room hovered between 3rd and 5th most popular on the app for the entire second hour of broadcast.

She was a hit.

She announced the final goal of the room without me needing to text her.

It was to reveal her pussy.

She set the price at 250,000 tokens, which was higher than I would have suggested.

But I loved her self-confidence.

And I’d already decided I would pay it myself if donations faltered.

But donations didn’t falter.

Within 20 minutes the prize bell was ringing again.

She had made another $500.

I was clapping my hands together with glee.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Dozens of users replied with comments.

The general gist was: Fuck, yeah!

I had to stop jerking off to try and delay cumming.

The whole scenario was hotter than anything I’d ever seen on the internet.

And it was pretty softcore, as the internet goes.

“Just for you…” she said intimately to all of us.

She tilted the WebCam towards the floor, and got down onto her knees.

Then she leaned back against her heels; naked but for her long, stripey socks.

Her pussy was a vision to behold. (The lighting was a triumph).

It couldn’t have been more consummately presented, if it had been gift wrapped with a bow.

We had a glorious view of the delicate petals of its pursed entrance; like the gates to the garden of Babylon.

She looked like a million tokens.

I was drooling, from mouth and dick.

A riot of words broke out on the message board.

Comments poured in with such prevalence that it was impossible to read any of them.

They flew by faster than the credits of an action movie.

There were a lot of hearts, some prayer hands; several marriage proposals.

The room sounded like a Pachinko parlor from all the tokens being hurled at her.

Charlie remained on her knees for three or four minutes, letting us stare at whichever part of her body demanded the most of our attention.

For me it was split equally between her tits and her cunt.

She wasn’t doing anything, just kneeling there naked. And yet it was impossibly erotic and beguiling.

She looked about as fuckable as anybody ever can to anybody else.

And then it was time for goodbyes.

She leaned in close to the camera, and blew a thank you kiss to her legions of fans.

The last few tokens were spent.

The feed went dead.

Fin.

Her livestream virginity had been taken.

3000 more people had seen my sister’s vagina than 2 hours earlier.

I slammed my laptop shut, and stuffed my cock back into my pants.

Then I raced next door to congratulate her.

She shrieked as I charged into my own bedroom

“Wait!” she said. “I’m not dressed!”

I waited politely outside the door, not missing the irony.

A few seconds later she called, “come in!”

She was wearing her skirt and blouse again.

We embraced and started jumping up and down.

“$1800!” she said.

“For two hours of work!” I said, sharing her joy.

“Was it work? I feel like it was people complimenting my body while I took things off. It was so exciting! Tell me honestly – how did I do?”

She was so sweetly sincere.

“You were epic!” I said, holding her hands. “The way you teased your boobs with the shirt, and that move where you kneeled on the floor? Inspired!”

We had such a great time together for the next two hours.

It was a balmy summer’s night.

We drank beer and sat out on the porch, laughing and planning our empire based upon our newfound success in the adult entertainment industry.

We were only partly serious, I think.

My sister was genuinely thrilled that she’d made so much money.

But she also admitted she had enjoyed showing off her body.

“You would too,” she said, “if people said those sorts of things about you.”

“They were all true,” I said.

I felt closer to her than I had in years.

When Mom and Dad came home, I’m not sure they could understand what had got into us.

Dad grabbed a beer and sat with us on the porch.

“You seem cheerful!” he said.

“We were reminiscing,” said Charlie, giggling about everything and nothing.

“Ah yes,” said Dad. “Back when I didn’t have to work 17 hours a day!”

“Maybe you’re in the wrong line of business,” she said.

I clinked bottles with my sister.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Dad. “What are you two up to?”

Right on cue, Mom arrived.

“Hard work and discipline are the only secrets behind success,” she said, as she came out to join us. “Speaking of which, how are your searches for summer jobs going?”

I wanted to tell her that we’d earned more that night than she had in the last ten years.

Instead we made up bland responses about how we’d call and enquire about various positions later in the week.

My sister also lied and said she’d sold some vintage clothes.

“Classic Mom,” said Dad, “ruining the party before the first week of summer vacation is over.”

“Don’t blame me, Simon!” said Mom.

She went back inside with the empty bottles and a grumpy face.

“Now you’ve upset her,” said Dad.

But he was smiling in solidarity with us.

“I believe in you both,” he said. “You’re my offspring. You will discover your own unique abilities and make a fortune with them, just like I did.”

Charlie looked at me and smiled.

Second Livestream

The next morning I woke late with a headache.

Within minutes my sister had barged into my room.

She was wearing what I previously would have described as innocuous sleepwear, but which now struck me as a hot new stripper’s outfit for her show.

It consisted of a crop top that showed the outline of her nipples through the white cotton, and pajama-bottoms that were seductively tight around the curves of her buttocks.

“I want to do it again,” she said, starry-eyed. “But this time I want to go big!”

“Okay,” I said, trying to control my fluttering everything. “What do you have in mind? Are you gonna hire Coldplay?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, I was watching hours of girls in video chat rooms…”

Wow. My sister was up all night watching live porn. What had I done to her?

“For a start,” she said, “most of the women play with themselves. And they aren’t faking! At least not the successful ones. They’re masturbating on camera, and god, when they cum… Their bodies tremble; their eyes roll back. They lose control… It’s so hot. I want to go live again; but this time I want to get myself off.”

I honestly didn’t know what to say.

Holy shit or Hallelujah would have been appropriate.

But I erred on the side of finance and said:

“You’re gonna make so much cash!”

“We are,” she said, “I’m not cutting you out; you’re my director! Not to mention my partner in crime. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s an amazing idea!”

It was an idea that was starting to make me hard. I decided to remain horizontal, concealed by the bedsheets.

“When do you want to do this?”

“Mom and Dad have Paul’s birthday dinner on Saturday,” she said.

That was two night’s away

“Let’s do it,” I said.

I would have leapt up and entered it into the diary if I didn’t have a massive hard on.

“Do you need any toys for the show?” I asked.

“I’ve got a portable vibrator,” she said, “but a lot of the girls have these big rubber things, and vibrating balls…”

“We need to go shopping,” I said.

***

A few hours later we walked into a musty-smelling downtown adult bookstore called Kat_e’s Pleasu_e Trove.

The name wasn’t censored; the letters were missing from the sign.

It was a typically sordid store, exuding the grim side of carnal relations.

Why are these places always so shady?

It’s weird that we can’t honor the enjoyment of sex more authentically in our society.

At the same time I felt like a dumb tourist in a sweet shop.

I wanted to check out everything.

Every DVD and book; the entire range of toys and gizmos.

But everything I picked up then proceeded to gross me out.

Nothing left room for the imagination.

It was all sort of right there; in your face.

The woman who ran the place looked like an aging stripper herself.

She was unboxing cock-rings and displaying them at the cash register like they were Junior Mints.

My sister, like most women, was a better shopper than me.

She located her own area quickly, and began to pick up plastic-shaped things and brightly colored devices of varying sizes.

“Are they iPods?” I asked about one set of objects.

“Anal beads,” she said, matter of factly.

“Of course,” I said. Silly me.

I was curious to learn that so few of the toys intended for girls were shaped like cocks anymore.

Had women discovered there are better shaped things to stick inside themselves?

I mean, fair game, if they have.

But why hasn’t it been in the news?

Apparently it’s all discrete Bluetooth-controlled gadgets these days.

I was relieved to find one rack of traditional dildos and such, if only for nostalgia’s sake.

But a lot of these cocks were made out of strange materials.

Like glass; or rose quartz, in the case of one which claimed to “cleanse your chakras” at the same time as getting you off.

With remarkable speed my sister arrived at the counter with a basket full of playthings.

The one she was most excited about was a Bluetooth “Pleasure-Egg” she’d seen used in one of the livestreams.

On the drive home, she read aloud to me from the instruction manual:

“Warning: Do not leave egg in your vagina for longer than 30 mins… That doesn’t seem very long… Do not use egg in your anus… I feel like that’s just a disclaimer, they can’t really mean it’s not to go in there…”

My cock was straining to be freed from the prison of my jeans.

But I was also trying to concentrate on the road.

“Ok, this part is cool,” she said. “Download the app and allow your lover to control the egg from any distance via their own mobile device.”

I was dying to ask if I could watch her test drive it, but at least I’d get to see Saturday night’s livestream.

When we got home she disappeared into her bedroom with the bag of goodies.

“Wish me luck!” she said, with a salacious grin.

She turned on her stereo and for about an hour all I could hear was loud Dubstep.

I would have given anything to be a fly on the wall.

I pressed my ear against her door several times, imagining I could hear the sound of her cumming.

It could just as easily have been my imagination.

Eventually the pressure became so intense, my only solace was to jerk off.

I pulled out my cock and began to massage it.

I pictured my sister fucking herself in the room next door.

I shot a load over my t-shirt and threw it in the laundry.

A couple of hours later, Charlie tapped on my door.

“Come in,” I said.

Her eyes were alight; as if she’d spent time with Jesus and his angels.

“Well?”

“Everything has its charm,” she said, “especially the big dildo. But the egg is next level. It’s out of this world. You turn up the speed and it triggers these orgasms that can’t be stopped. It almost scares me… that I might lose control of myself on the internet!”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Within reason,” she said. “But not so I can’t stop.”

“You can always shut it down,” I said. “It’s not I, Robot.”

“It’s not that easy once I start cumming,” she said, “I got these all-body spasms. I couldn’t reach for my phone at one point, I was shaking so hard.”

Jesus, I thought, this sounds entertaining.

Perhaps I really had heard her through the door.

“What if I control the settings?” I suggested; as any noble director might. “We could have a signal that tells me if you need me to dial it back, or shut it off.”

“I love that idea!” she said. “You could also surprise me by raising the intensity unexpectedly. But how can we be sure the controls will work through the wall?”

“Let’s do a trial,” I said.

I downloaded the app and signed into her account.

The screen showed a cartoon vagina, next to 6 levels of intensity, ranging from mild to orgasmic.

“If you want to do a trial, you’ll have to put the egg in again,” I said.

She looked at me with a strange expression.

Somewhere between bashful and guilty.

“Oh my god. It’s still inside you, isn’t it?” I said.

She nodded.

A little shame and a little smile.

“It’s on the lowest setting,” she said. “A background hum… It just feels wonderful, and I didn’t want to take it out yet. Don’t judge me, will you?”

“Charlie,” I said, “I do not judge you for any of this. I love that you didn’t take it out!”

“You do?”

“Yes. Because it means I can do this…”

Without warning I turned her up to setting 4.

She let out an involuntary shriek as the lower half of her body began to vibrate.

I returned her to the lowest setting immediately.

“Well, it seems to work fine on my phone,” I said, tongue-firmly-in-cheek.

She was out of breath, groin still convulsing.

“We should probably try it through the wall too,” she said.

I don’t think she appreciated how Bluetooth works.

But I wasn’t about to turn down the offer.

I hurried to her room, and sat on her bed.

I called out, “Are you ready?”

“Ready!” she replied. “But ease me up gently!”

“You got it!” I called back.

I felt less mischievous this time, and placed her on a more-humble setting 3.

I waited.

“Anything?” I called out.

There was zero response.

I tried pressing settings 4, 5, and 6 in quick succession.

I shouted again: “How about now?”

There was still no reply.

“Sis?” I called out. “I don’t think it’s working. I may need to be closer to you.”

I walked back to my room.

As I reached the doorway, I saw her body violently twitching on my bed.

It was like she was possessed by a demon trying to escape her. Her contorted mouth screamed but no sound came out.

She was simultaneously experiencing multiple, otherworldly orgasms that were debilitating

“Oh my God!” I said, realizing I had done this to her. “I’m so sorry!”

I turned off the device.

Her quivering limbs came to rest on my bed.

She opened her eyes and looked into my soul.

I think I fell in love with her.

It was the expression of a woman who had cum so hard she was prepared to offer you her life.

“I’m sorry, Charlie!” I said again.

“Never be sorry for that,” she said. She sounded drunk. “I have never… In all my life… Whoever invented this thing deserves a Nobel Prize!”

“I guess we proved it works through the wall,” I said.

She grinned and closed her eyes again, lying in a dreamy haze.

“I feel like I died and went to heaven.”

“All I want to do is let you sleep, but you’re kind of in my bed.”

Her limbs had collapsed like a folded string-puppet.

“I can’t move. But you can lie next to me,” she said.

I lay next to her on the bed.

There were no words exchanged.

But my feelings filled the air.

I wonder if she sensed them.

For the first time I worried this was all a bit reckless.

I don’t mean my sister’s corruption.

But what it was doing to me.

Where could I put these feelings I was developing for her?

I didn’t just want to fuck her anymore.

I wanted to be with her.

None of this had been part of the plan.

There were so many landmines on the road ahead.

I was stumbling toward them blindly.

***

By the time Saturday afternoon came around, the level of excitement was high.

We did some grocery shopping with Mom and Dad earlier in the day.

At around 6.15PM they departed for Paul’s surprise birthday party.

My sister and I kicked into gear.

I began by clearing the performance space for the show.

To counter the stark white backdrop in my bedroom, I hung a pale pink drape.

It added a nice bubble-gum warmth to the frame.

I attached a second spotlight to illuminate the carpet, in case she chose to get down on her knees again.

And we could only pray that she would.

I placed a new floor lamp off-camera to the left, to add another layer of clarity to my sister’s heavenly skin tone.

We waited until it got dark and did a partially clothed screen test.

She looked fantastic.

And the broadcast area looked so much better this time.

We raided our parents’ drinks cabinet, and downed neat, expensive Japanese malt whiskey; waiting for showtime.

Ursula had advertised that she would be online from 9PM CST.

It was getting close to 8.30PM.

Charlie was already dressed.

She wore an outfit I picked out for her.

It just happened to be the dress she wore in the divine photo of her ass that I’d stolen from her iPhone.

The dress teased her breasts perfectly.

Beneath it she wore a matching pale pink bra and panties set.

“I want to put the egg in now,” she said, “and do a quick pre-game test.”

This seemed like a wonderful idea.

She darted off to her room and returned a few minutes later, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“It’s in,” she said. “But it’s not turned on yet. It felt amazing though, just coming down the stairs!”

She sat on the sofa chair.

“Turn me on!” she said. “But keep me on low. This is just a test.”

“Promise,” I said.

Having seen the power of the egg firsthand, I had vowed never to abuse it again. Its power was some Indiana Jones level shit.

“You remember the sign for STOP?” I said.

We both did Star Trek fingers; aka the Vulcan Salute.

“Good,” I said. “I’ll be watching out for it.”

“Ok, then,” she said, taking a sip of whiskey. Fire me up!”

She clutched the arms of the chair as if she was about to be launched into the air.

I turned on the egg at setting 1.

“Already feels nice,” she said.

“Great! So it’s working. Shall I turn it off?”

“Leave it on, if you don’t mind,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt to start the show a little horny.”

“You’re the boss,” I said.

“You’re the boss,” she said.

“I’m the pimp,” I said guiltily.

“I like that even more.”

Maybe it was the drink, or the nature of her pre-show “foreplay,” but I could have sworn she was flirting with me.

She was high from the liquor, and perfectly limbered up from the egg in her snatch.

We were getting on so well, I wished she didn’t have to go and perform.

At 8.55 PM we hugged, and took our places in each other’s rooms.

I opened my laptop and went straight to Ursula’s homepage.

The livestream would be starting in 3, 2, 1…

She was instantly more at ease tonight.

She spent the first twenty minutes flirting and chatting with her fans.

She looked incredible, and clearly felt sexy.

But she kept schtum about the fact there was a sex toy implanted in her.

She didn’t talk much about sex at all.

She just basked in all the attention.

I could tell from the way she touched her hair that she was flirting with us.

All 1128 of us.

And that we each believed, equally unrealistically, that we had a chance.

But I was the only one with the keys to her vagina.

I could fire her up at any time if I wanted.

The app was open and ready on my phone.

I was determined to wait for the best moment.

I wanted to catch her off guard, but not interfere with her mojo.

She preempted me.

After about 15 minutes, she gave me the hand signal to turn her up.

I placed the device on setting 2, and tried to observe any visible changes in her body language.

She had definitely become more animated, which made her even more charming.

She responded to a few of the more sexual questions that had been posed; which made me suspect she was feeling more sensual and relaxed.

One user asked, What position makes you cum hardest?

She would never ordinarily read a question like this aloud, let alone answer it.

But she responded with a soliloquy that was as revealing as it was informative – supposing she was telling the truth:

“I know it’s boring, but I do love missionary,” she said. “I feel like God made it work best that way. My favorite is probably to sit on top. Facing him. I like to be able to control the pressure of his cock sliding in and out. And I want to be able to look into his eyes.”

I had never heard her say the word ‘cock’ before.

But apparently it was the magic word.

Because my own appendage of that name began to stiffen.

She set the first goal for the room at 50,000 tokens to reveal a secret.

This was a creative idea we hadn’t discussed in advance, and it caused a stir on the message board.

“She’s really a dude!” one user theorized.

“Can’t be. We’ve seen her pussy” said another.

“It’s fucking spectacular” a third observed.

“I bet she’s wearing no panties” was the warmest guess from someone.

I kept her egg simmering at setting 2 the whole time.

She was handling it well, but I noticed a few moments here and there where she would lose control of her limbs for a second.

Almost like she was glitching.

They were only small, involuntary jerks. But I’d seen something similar when we rehearsed and I knew them to be foreshocks.

When the goal of the room had been reached, a klaxon sounded.

Charlie leaned in to the camera and whispered her secret:

“Shh,” she said, one finger pressed against her adorable grin. “I have a remote-control vibrator inside me.”

She said it intimately, as if she was confiding it to one person only.

Not 2332.

The message board lit up in response to the revelation.

“Oh and another thing…” she said, “I’m not in charge of the controls… Someone else is…”

This created even more of a stir.

Users began to guess if it was her boyfriend, or her lesbian partner; or another NestWork performer currently on the platform in a different room…

She took it even further.

She said in a stage whisper: “it’s my brother who’s in charge of the controls!”

This created an even greater commotion than her first confession.

The irony, of course, was that nobody believed her.

I mean, they loved it.

But they doubted it.

The tokens poured in, and some played along with the fantasy for the sake of their own arousal.

I don’t think it crossed anyone’s mind that she was telling the truth.

Perhaps that’s why she felt comfortable enough to say it.

“Is your brother watching now?” one user asked.

“Oh yes,” she said.

“Is he in this room?” asked another.

“He might be,” she said with a wink.

“Ursula’s brother…” wrote a new user, “if you see this: turn up the speed on her bro!”

I saw it and immediately turned her up to setting 3.

Her face contorted with a convulsion of ungovernable pleasure.

Tokens ka-ching’ed in.

Her helpless breasts juddered and quaked within the slim confines of her tight dress.

The e-crowd went e-wild.

For the first time on camera, she started to play with her tits.

It was everything we’d ever dreamed of.

She squeezed them together; she mauled them through her dress.

She played with them in ways that everybody watching wanted to play with them.

The next goal she set for the room was to strip naked (apart from her socks) and reveal the device inside her.

The goal was achieved so quickly that she should have set the price higher.

She wasn’t acting with her usual entrepreneurial savvy tonight.

Maybe it’s not wise to be horny while prostituting yourself.

She peeled off my favorite dress, and kneeled on the floor with her thighs apart.

She leaned back onto her heels.

Her body looked like several gods had conspired to dream it up.

It was lit perfectly.

Shout out to the director.

Then her bra came off.

This alone was worth the price of admission.

Her tits were swollen with arousal.

She didn’t hide them tonight either.

She kept touching her nipples, seemingly unconsciously. It was apparent they had become an erogenous zone.

She was enjoying her exhibitionism more than ever.

But the true prize came when she peeled off her panties.

We were rewarded with an unhindered view of her sublime pussy; its pursed lips, soft and pink.

And the egg inside her. Its black antennae sticking out like she had a little silicon alien cock.

The audience loved it.

They couldn’t stop tipping appreciation, and posting pictures of their dicks.

Or someone’s dicks.

She was the second most watched female performer on the platform at that time.

The rules of the app state that members of a chat room are not permitted to give instructions to performers about what they would like them to do.

These privileges are reserved for a private video room, which costs several hundred thousand tokens to enter.

But Ursula’s fans had got so worked up tonight that they were ignoring the policy.

The feed became as rambunctious in chat-form as a horde of horny drunk men might be in a real world saloon.

She set the final goal for the room as involuntary orgasms.

She made the promise that once the goal had been reached, she would surrender her body to her brother’s command for the remainder of the show.

As a result, some of the users attempted to converse with me directly with their own recommendations.

They still didn’t believe I was a real sibling.

But many played along.

In about 20 minutes the goal was reached.

Even my sister’s dog, who was in her room with me, appeared to sense something momentous was about to occur.

Charlie could barely hide her own excitement. I like to think it was because she was handing her body over to me.

I increased the egg to setting 4.

Apart from a few facial contortions and knee-jerk yelps of pleasure, there was no new evidence of activity about her person; nor movement in the region of the device.

So I turned her up to setting 5 and now we could see her precious little pussy begin to tremble.

It was fantastic TV.

The new movement sent involuntary contractions out to her limbs like concentric ripples on a lake.

What the hell, I thought, and turned her up to setting 6.

Now her thighs began to wobble too.

Her vibrating body got stuck in cycles in which her limbs would shake uncontrollably.

The noises she made were primal; and utterly non-demonstrative.

They were reflexive cries from the depths of her orgasming soul.

I had no choice but to take my cock out and jerk off accordingly.

What can a man do?

It was the most erotic thing I’d ever known to exist.

I had to let go, or I would have ejaculated in a flash.

Charlotte stopped remembering to look at the camera.

Or she stopped caring.

She was lost to a series of labyrinthine orgasms that animated and exhausted her in turns.

And provided sublime entertainment for the rest of us.

She was cumming so hard, and yet it was clear the orgasms were still growing in strength.

Like smaller storms spiraling into a typhoon.

The amount of time between them grew smaller, and the contractions grew more intense.

Until soon she was having an apocalyptic climax that made the previous ones seem like foreshadowing.

We were watching a naked woman in a mask who was completely out of control.

She thrashed around like an in-patient that should have been strapped to the bed.

She was no longer able to triangulate with the idea of her own exhibition.

Or her own existence.

She wasn’t performing anymore, she was a writhing ball of sex.

She was going through an erotic acid trip before our eyes.

It blew my mind thinking how much cum her audience must have spilled.

And I could no longer hold back mine.

It wasn’t the most tasteful move, but I ejaculated all over her bed.

Long powerful streams of sperm that graffitied her bedspread.

It was like I was painting the outline of a tree in winter.

The force was so strong, I almost stumbled and fell into the sea of it.

But then my attention caught the screen.

My sister was frantically doing Star Trek fingers.

Or at least trying to while she violently orgasmed.

It was the signal for me to stop the device.

Fuck!

I turned the egg off quickly and watched her collapse on the bed.

She lay for a while silently.

Some on the message board speculated she was dead.

“Where’s her brother now?” asked one user.

“He’s got blood on his hands,” said another.

“She’s still breathing,” a wiser person observed.

By the time she came back around, Charlie was physically drained.

A little shy, but pleased with herself.

Her followers were delighted by the resurrection.

More tokens arrived, like endless wise men with gifts.

I noticed the total had jumped higher than ever since I last looked at it.

One user had tipped 500,000 tokens in one go, around the time of her volcanic orgasm.

This amounted to a $1000 gift.

And it hadn’t even been connected to a goal or incentive in the room.

She had been cumming for free at that point.

Who gives a hot woman that they don’t know $1000 for cumming?

I’ll tell you exactly who.

A certain high-stakes donor who goes by the username HomerZuckerman45.

Third Livestream

By the time the epic livestream was over, my sister was shattered.

I felt irrationally disappointed that she was re-wearing her dress when she emerged from my room. And I was even more disappointed to learn she had taken the egg out.

But what had I been expecting?

A private aftershow?

I was no better than all the other horny men watching her online; falsely believing I had a hope in hell.

Everyone wants to fuck someone off the TV.

Since I was her own brother, I probably had the least chance of anyone.

It was a tough pill to swallow.

Charlie had accepted me as her director and producer.

She had shown such comfort and familiarity with me.

But there was no indication she felt any attraction.

Why would she?

She was my sister.

She might have become an overnight digital stripper, but that didn’t mean she was suddenly into incest.

Besides, she had something more urgent on her mind.

She had noticed that HomerZuckerman45 donated 500,000 tokens at the end of her livestream.

But there was more.

Apparently he had followed it up with a DM that contained a new proposal.

“Listen to this,” she said, reading: “1 million tokens for a private solo room, you and me. 30 minutes. LMK.”

“One million tokens?” I said. “That’s nuts! Are you gonna do it?”

“Of course!” she said. “That’s two thousand dollars for half an hour’s work! And that’s the admission fee. He’ll probably tip more during the show.”

“It doesn’t freak you out going one on one with this guy?” I said.

“Why is it any different than 2000 people? It’s still just me and a camera.”

“You might have to look at his cock,” I said.

“Sure, but I won’t have to touch it!”

She stuck her tongue out at me.

She sensed my caution and I don’t think it made much sense to her.

It didn’t make that much sense to me.

Was I jealous?

I decided the best move was just to support her.

I encouraged her to write back and schedule a time with him for the show.

It was set for Tuesday at 8PM CST, which was when Dad took Mom to her weekly dance class.

Charlie said she’d need to warm-up beforehand, so that she felt suitably turned on for whatever he wanted her to do.

“You seem to like the idea of being ordered around,” I said.

“I am pretty stoked,” she admitted.

Then she said something that blew me away.

“I want you to be there.”

“What?”

“In the room.”

“While you…?”

“Not so he knows, of course. You’d sit off camera. But yes, as my safety net.”

I managed to refrain from my instinct, which was to do a dance of gratitude to the Lord.

I tried to adopt a professional tone instead:

“Ok. I think it’s probably a good idea, just to be safe,” I said. “And at least I’m your brother, so it won’t be weird.”

I don’t know why I felt the need to add this nonsense.

“It’ll be the opposite,” she said. “Having you in the room will keep me calm.”

“I got you,” I assured her.

And I really did.

“Thank you, Jay,” she said, giving me a hug.

She nestled her head in my neck, and pressed her flattened palm against my heart. “Best big brother ever!”

“Hardly,” I said.

I was unable to enjoy the compliment when I was guilty of an increasing number of crimes against her; many just fantasies about what I’d like to do to her.

I broke off our embrace.

I kissed her goodnight on the forehead.

I tried hard not to watch the outline of her ass retreat down the hallway.

***

So our friendly cyber-hood pervert was back.

And apparently he was still a big spender.

In hindsight, I felt silly for not inviting him to the party before, knowing how much cash he appeared to have on hand for this type of affair.

But he was here now, and his arrival had already proven lucrative.

He was getting his own private sex show with my sister.

By the time Tuesday night came around, I felt overexcited.

Our parents were dancing around the living room, preparing for Mom’s class.

My sister and I exchanged intense wordless glances about our own night ahead.

We decided she would lay out all of her toys; egg included, but not inserted.

She would let the wealthy weirdo choose his preferred weapon to molest her with virtually.

Fifteen minutes before the digital curtain went up, we repeated our ritual of drinking a shot of liquor.

We chose tequila tonight, worrying that Dad would notice if the level went too low on any individual bottle. He allowed us to drink beer, but didn’t love us touching his spirits.

Choosing my sister’s outfit wasn’t easy without knowing what particular fetish HomerZuckerman45 was into.

But my sister looked hot in anything; including (probably) a trash bag.

We brainstormed some entertaining suggestions.

“Flight Attendant,” I said.

“Pilot,” she replied.

“Coast guard!” I countered.

We laughed.

“Maybe something a bit less employment-related…”

“School uniform,” I said with a leer.

“Freddie Krueger,” she said.

Eventually we decided she’d go with understated, but sexy.

A simple black dress that clung to her like I wanted to.

With nothing underneath.

Her tits looked so good it almost didn’t matter they were covered up. The reward to a person’s life was the same.

She surprised me by announcing that she’d inserted the egg, as part of her getting-in-the-mood.

She kept herself on a low hum of setting 2, the way you keep champagne on ice.

Together with the liquor, it had the desired effect of getting her into the right headspace for what lay ahead.

She told me it was important to be warmed up in case he wanted her to fuck herself with something “especially violently.”

I might have audibly gulped.

She also said I was the puppet master in all of this.

When the truth was I was the puppet.

I would have done anything she told me.

I don’t think she had any idea how true this was.

And I was far too scared to tell her.

So where did that leave us?

As we drew closer to showtime, she asked me to raise the egg to setting 4.

She proceeded to squirm helplessly on the couch and have a mini orgasm for me.

Then she shut her thighs with a clap, reached beneath her dress and pulled out the device that was nestled inside her.

It was enticingly coated in a film of nectar, like a twinkie glazed in sugar syrup.

She downed the rest of her mezcal, took a deep breath and said, “Come on then…”

She took my hand and led me upstairs to my own room.

I sat in the corner, up against the wall.

I was tucked behind the WebCam so that I wouldn’t be seen in frame. But I did still have a view of one of the monitors.

If she chose to get down on the floor, I would be able to remain out of sight.

My heart was pounding, as if it was me who was about to fuck myself with an object for a stranger.

“Wish me luck,” she said.

I gave her a way-too enthusiastic thumbs-up.

The next moment she was live.

HomerZuckerman45 was online and asking to be let into the room.

She clicked the button to admit him.

He had disabled his camera.

All we saw was a blank screen with his username.

I wondered if it might be easier than having to look into his eyes.

Especially if he’d been some creepy slimeball in a darkened room, fapping his tiny dick.

Forgive me if I’m pervert-profiling.

The guy’s camera may have been shut off, but his microphone was active.

We had no idea if he would speak or type his commands.

But within moments of the green light appearing, we heard a voice.

Except it wasn’t quite his voice.

He was speaking through some sort of voice-alteration app.

It distorted his words in real time to sound like an elderly person.

More weirdly, to sound like an elderly woman.

Either that or HomerZuckerman45 actually was an elderly woman.

It was as disarming as it was amusing when we heard him/her politely say:

“Hello Ursula. I’m Homer. Thank you for this opportunity to spend some time with you!”

He sounded like a gracious old lady getting some help with her groceries.

“Thank you too,” my sister said, bashfully; and with a smile that could melt any red blooded male.

Or elderly woman, for that matter.

“How are you today, Homer Zuckerman Forty-Five?”

She enunciated the syllables as though they were the name of a robot; which was apt, since that was effectively what HomerZuckerman45 was to us.

She might as well have been doing a private sex show for R2-D2.

You can imagine what a surreal experience it was for me.

Sitting four feet away, while my sister perched on my bed talking lasciviously to a robot old woman on my Mac.

I was going to need men in white coats to carry me away if she actually stripped off.

“I am quite well, thank you for asking,” said the polite old lady. “How has your day been?”

“I’m sorry,” said Charlie, screwing up her nose. “Is there any chance you use a different voice? It sounds like I’m talking to my grandma!”

The woman laughed. “Really? Ok, hang on…”

“How’s this?” a dashing male voice now replied with a British accent. “Any better?”

“Oh wow,” said Charlie. “That’s wonderful. But you could always talk to me with your real voice.”

“Sure,” he said, “and you could take off your mask.”

“Touché,” she replied.

“You were telling me about your day?”

“Oh yeah. I did some sunbathing in my bikini,” she said.

This was untrue. My sister hated sunbathing and kept out of the sun for the sake of her flawless skin.

“What were you really doing?” HomerZuckerman45 asked.

“I was sunbathing!” she said, with a mock affront. “I just told you!”

But realizing this was intended as play, she course-corrected:

“What do you think I was doing?”

“I think you were doing something naughty,” came his banal reply.

Perverts can be so cliché.

“What might that be?” she asked, chewing softly on her lip.

“I think you were playing with yourself, am I right?”

“You know me too well!” she said, smiling. “I couldn’t stop playing with myself thinking about meeting you.”

“Oh angel,” he said, flattered.

“What would you like me to do for you?” she asked innocently.

“Take off your dress,” he said.

There was something more serious about his tone.

As if he meant business.

I hoped so, as the VIP audience member.

“Yes sir,” she said obediently and stood up.

Most of her body – head to knee, was still in frame on the monitor.

She sensually slipped off her tight dress.

It slid from her body while still clinging to her, like a reptilian skin she was shedding – an act I suspect she’d practiced before because she performed it so elegantly.

(A dress rehearsal?).

I was speechless and transfixed.

“Such a good girl,” purred the voyeur. “Such a sweet angel.”

Seeing her in the flesh was far hotter than through a laptop screen.

Her darling little pussy, peeking out from between her thighs like the eye of a hidden jewel.

She adopted a pose that accentuated the curves of her figure, and stuck her little bum out.

Then she tilted the WebCam towards the carpet, and took her regular position on the floor; legs open and exquisite slit on display.

Her pussy was close enough that I could have reached out a leg and dipped my toe inside.

For the first time HomerZuckerman45 saw the assortment of toys laid out.

“Well, what do we have here?” he said, happily.

“My toys,” she said. “Which one shall I use?”

“Let’s try the cock,” he said, referring to the fat, 8 inch silicone dildo that was the most clearly identifiable of the candy-colored gadgets.

Apparently he was old school, like me.

“Do you think I will get it in?” she asked. Not as a real question, but as a part of her P.T. Barnum schtick.

“It doesn’t look possible,” said HomerZ, playing along. “But be gentle as you try!”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I better get myself ready for it.”

She formed two fingers into an upside down peace sign and used them to part the lips of her snatch.

It was pink as a watermelon.

Jesus Christ, I wanted to say out loud.

Homer stepped in with his own exclamation:

“Princess,” he said, practically purring. “Such a darling little cunt.”

But the princess was concentrating too hard to reply.

Bless her – by the way, for making such an admirably earnest attempt to fuck herself with something so oversized for the task.

She was getting near-permanent tokens tipped for the effort.

She placed the fat dildo between her legs and rubbed its silicone glans over her lips, coating it in a clear liquid. After a few moments of preparing herself like this, she tried to ease the colossal thing inside.

It looked like it would be impossible.

But before long, somehow – some crazy David Blaine shit – a third of it had been consumed by her hole.

The whole time she couldn’t avoid making noises that illustrated how difficult it was to accommodate, but how sublime it felt to try.

HomerZuckerman45 may have been watching in 4k, but I was observing from 4 feet away.

I could literally smell the delicious scent of her pussy.

He was paying 4 figures for some priceless video entertainment, but I was at the forefront of the action.

Absurdly, I was earning while I sat there.

The digitally-altered British voice kept saying things like, “tell me how it feels?” and, “is that a tight squeeze for you honey?”

I wanted to be like, “dude, can’t you see she’s busy?”

I was pretty much in awe, watching her insert the humongous dildo into the depths of herself and then attempt, foolhardily, to maneuver it back-and-forth, while it more or less refused to budge.

“Get onto all fours,” said HomerZuckerman45, “try it from behind.”

I wanted to send him a DM that said “thank you bro. I owe you for these wonderful suggestions.”

She clambered onto all fours on my bed.

“Oh sweet girl,” said HomerZuckerman45. “Look at your precious little ass!”

Glancing back to ensure she was still in frame, she took the silicon dong into her fist and re-eased it into her slick hole.

Whether it was a more agreeable angle, or she was just better lubricated by now, it disappeared much quicker and more effortlessly.

Within moments she was able to manipulate it back and forth, albeit with a limited range of motion.

The whole time she emitted captivating moans that told us in audio more or less what it must have felt like in vivo.

I suspected she was about to cum.

I’d grown familiar with the noises my sister makes when an orgasm is approaching.

“Stick a finger in your ass, honey,” said HomerZuckerman45.

I hadn’t thought to ask Charlie about rules on ass play.

But it seemed there weren’t any.

She pressed her wet middle finger against the snowflake of her asshole; and then squeezed it inside.

My cock was so hard.

I longed to pull it out and jerk off.

It went against my instinct to be in the presence of something so overtly sexual, and not be able to participate. Or at least express myself.

It’s not like she could have done anything if I did pull my dick out.

But I wasn’t that out of control yet.

So I just tried to record everything in my mind for posterity.

I promised my cock we’d have a good debrief about it later that night.

She was 21 minutes into the livestream by now.

I wondered if she would feel any pressure to provide a final act.

After all, the biggest explosions come at the end of the movie.

As luck would have it, her body produced both – a final act and an explosion.

She started to have a violent orgasm.

It was unclear if the primary cause had been the finger in her ass, or the polymer cock in her uterus. But neither would she surrender an inch, so it also didn’t matter.

Her thighs were shaking.

Her big hanging tits billowing like laundry in a storm.

She looked like an alien undergoing a metamorphosis.

It was impressively realistic if she was faking.

I watched her pert little ass cheeks tremble as the dildo became gridlocked inside her, and the stretched petals of her labia clenched around it in twitches.

It was quite something to be-holed.

I could literally see the mechanism of her body orgasming.

Her finger was still faithfully inside her asshole to the knuckle.

HomerZuckerman45 couldn’t find enough nice things to say or do.

A flurry of balloon hearts rose up. Tokens cascaded in, multiple times.

I couldn’t see the amounts, but I knew he would be spoiling her.

Because she was spoiling him.

The only downside for me was that since she’d moved a little further back on my bed, I didn’t have the best view of the action anymore.

And I don’t know about you, but I really like to see my sister when she cums.

So I got up carefully and shifted onto my knees, because… well, you would too.

From this new angle I had a gloriously unfettered view of the erotic details.

I saw for the first time how soaking wet both the dildo and my own bed sheets were.

A fitting revenge for my recent ejaculation on her bed.

But then…

Calamity struck!

In my overzealous attempt to get a better view of her cumming from two holes at the same time, I got my elbow tangled in the USB cord.

I went to kneel back down, but the next thing I knew I had pulled the WebCam off the top of the monitor, and it was bouncing its way along the desk towards the floor.

It took Charlotte a moment longer than me to register what was happening.

We looked at each other in horror.

When it finally came to rest on the carpet, the lens of the camera was pointing directly at me.

I was looking into its green light.

Which meant…

HomerZuckerman45 was looking at me.

Fuck!

He quickly ended the chat.

Then he was no longer online.

“Shit!” I said.

“Fuck!” said Charlie.

“I’m so sorry!”

“What were you doing?”

“My leg went dead. I had to switch positions,” I lied.

“Oh my god!” she said, tearing her mask off.

I was mortified.

But then she began to laugh.

So I began to laugh.

And before long we were both howling with laughter.

“I hope he doesn’t try to get his money back,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“No way!” I said. “He got the show of his dreams, and it was like 26 minutes or something… How much did you make?””

“A couple of grand!” she said, grinning.

To my dismay she was getting dressed.

“Was I any good?” she asked.

I didn’t plan to say, but I blurted out:

“You were incredible. But I wanted to touch you so badly.”

Oops.

Did I just make everything weird?

The two of us froze for what felt like a century-long moment.

“Mom and Dad’ll be home soon,” she said, “I better get dressed.”

On the whole it had been a successful evening.

Only marginally tarnished by me being a clumsy fuck, and saying something careless at the end.

Mom and Dad brought pizza home and we had a few hours of relaxed family time.

My sister was wearing a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that at every moment I knew what her body was doing.

I was acutely aware of it.

Our connection had always been strong, but this was a whole new dimension.

It was the only way we’d never connected before, and the only way I wanted to now.

Was there any chance she wanted it too?

Later that night, I watched her read something on her phone and gasp in shock.

She was dying to tell me, but Dad was sitting between us playing a game on his iPad.

When he got up to leave, she shuffled over and said: “Look!”

It was a message from HomerZuckerman45:

“You and your brother together. 5 million tokens. 60 minutes. LMK.”

“Holy shit!” I said. “What is he even suggesting?”

I was so freaked out that I needed my asthma inhaler.

“How does he know you are my brother?” she asked.

“Because you told everyone your brother was the one controlling the egg during your livestream!”

I was being a little sneaky here, given that I too had once told HomerZuckerman45 she was my sister.

But whatever.

“Oh shit,” she said. “I did… Well, he wants brother and sister together now.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t think it’s singing a duet,” she said.

“Does he want us to… fuck?”.

She shrugged. “Probably! A lot of people are into that fantasy. Brother and sister-fucking. So what? Why do we care?”

She showed no concern about the incestuous part.

Nor did she appear to question her own ability (or preparedness) to participate in such a show.

She just said, “5 million credits, Jason. That’s $10,000 for an hour’s work. Obviously we’d split it 50-50.”

“You actually want to do it?” I asked.

“Don’t you? It’s 10k!”

“But what about the fact you’re my sister?”

“That’s why it’s so easy! We know each other. We can keep a secret. Plus, you’re already the director, why can’t you be the co-star? It’s perfect. It happens in the porn world all the time.”

I needed someone to slap me to make sure I was awake.

Was she just a full blown whore now?

Why did I feel so defensive about this?

Wasn’t this exactly what I’d wanted?

I guess I’d had something more romantic in mind.

But who was I kidding?

Romantic love with my sister was the most unrealistic fantasy of all.

If I was going to have a chance to fuck her, this was it.

“I’m not totally against the idea,” I said.

“There is one more thing though,” she said. “He made a request… No masks!”

“You’re kidding?”

“Well, he’s already seen your face,” she said, smiling, “so it would mainly be my sacrifice. But I’m prepared to make it.”

“You would do this without a mask?”

“Why not? she said, “a private show for one rich man, who’s already proved himself? It’s kind of hot. He might be a billionaire.”

“What has happened to you?” I asked, incredulously.

And how was I suddenly so jealous of HomerZuckerman45?

“Look, I’m making good money here, you are too” she said, “I wouldn’t do this for anyone. But we’ve got history with him now. He must have power or profile to have this kind of disposable income. He’s not going to want to risk exposure for a private fetish any more than we do. It’s a mutual benefit thing.”

“You don’t think it’s weird a successful rich guy wants to pay to watch a brother and sister fool around?”

“No,” she said, “Let me show you something.”

She sat me down, placing her iPad on my lap.

She logged onto a porn site she had bookmarked, and searched for the term stepsister.

A gallery of video thumbnails appeared, several hundred pages long.

“See?” she said. “This shit is big. It’s a popular kink.”

She began scrolling through the titles.

“Wow,” I said, “I had no idea everyone wanted to fuck their sister.”

“People add the word stepbrother or stepsister to the title of any random video these days, just to get more clicks,” she said. “That’s how popular the genre is.”

She clicked on a video titled Stepbrother plugs his stepsister.

The ‘stepbrother’ in the video was old enough to be his ‘stepsister’s’ father.

In the comments section, somebody had written: “there’s no way this guy is her stepbrother.”

Another user had replied: “you do realize none of this is real, right?”

Charlie clicked on a different thumbnail.

This one was a video of two people in their 40s banging.

It was called My Little Stepsister Fucks.

“See, they never really are related,” she said. “They’re rarely even the same age.”

She clicked on a third one.

This video did at least have a contemporary-aged, twentysomething boy and girl.

But they looked nothing like each other.

The scene was kind of hot though, and so were they.

The poorly-acted plot involved the ‘stepsister’ making an unsuccessful attempt to fuck her own boyfriend. When he fails to perform, she tiptoes to her stepbrother’s room whose door is ajar while he strokes his elephantine dick.

Charlie and I watched in silence.

I wondered if she was thinking what I was thinking.

Was she turned on?

And if so, was it because we were watching two hot people fucking?

Or was it made hotter by the conceit they were related?

And how did these thoughts translate to any of her feelings about us?

“The guy’s got a really nice dick,” she said.

Ok… So that’s where her head was at.

“Why are we watching these clips again?” I asked impatiently.

“I’m just trying to show you that sibling-themed porn is not a niche thing. It’s the most on-trend fetish of all.”

“What if we have to do something like this?” I said, as the stepbrother character began to doggie-fuck his co-star.

“You don’t think that looks fun?” she asked, flashing me a smile.

God I was in love with her.

“When you put it like that…” I said.

“We’ll drink a shot. It’ll be a wild adventure. No-one will ever need to know. I mean, how many secrets do we already have, Jay-Jay? Things we’ll take to the grave?”

“A lot,” I said.

“So let’s add one more!”

She put her arms around my neck and embraced me.

“I will owe you for a long time if you do this with me,” she said. “What do you say?”

“I’ll do it,” I said. Not especially confidently, but with commitment.

“Yay!” she said, shrieking with delight. “I’m buying that DKNY jacket baby! I’ll write him back to book a time. Do we know when the folks will be out again?”

“Let’s check the kitchen calendar,” I said.

Mom was in the kitchen as Charlie checked the wall calendar.

“What’s this?” she asked about an entry for the upcoming Saturday night.

“It’s the gala for your Dad’s employees,” said Mom. “The annual charity auction.”

“Oh yeah… Do we have to come?” she asked.

It was clear she had a complaint at the ready if the answer was going to be yes.

“I don’t think so,” said Mom. “Simon?” she called into the living room, “are we taking the kids to the gala?”

“Not if they don’t want to come,” said Dad. “But would love to have them if they do!”

“Is it alright if we don’t?” asked Charlotte.

“Got something better planned?” said Mom.

“We’re taking part in a live online show,” she said.

I looked at her in alarm.

“It’s a digital escape room some friends invited us to play,” she said, winking at me.

I stuck my tongue out at her.

“Whatever you like, sweetheart,” said Mom.

She was massaging kale. She didn’t care.

She’d probably taken a Xanax.

The night was set.

The only remaining question was whether our rich benefactor would be free.

I was lying in bed when my sister’s text arrived.

“We’re on. Saturday 9PM.”

I couldn’t work out if the butterflies in my stomach were the good or the bad ones.

Are the bad ones moths?

I’d spent days fantasizing about touching my sister’s body.