{2}Chapter 1 : The Game Begins

The ice rink is slowly emptying, the echoes of skates fading as my teammates head towards the locker room. Our coach is still giving us a pep talk for this weekend’s game.

Coach: “Great job, guys! I want to see the same performance on the ice Saturday! Go hit the showers, you’re done for the day! And don’t forget, the bus leaves at 8 AM, so don’t be late. Have a good evening, everyone!”

I’m exhausted, but satisfied. Tonight’s practice was really intense, but it’s exactly what we need if we want to climb the rankings by the end of the season.

Just as I’m about to head to the locker room, Jack, my best buddy, catches up to me with his usual mischievous grin.

Jack: “Hey, how about grabbing a bite together tonight?”

I shake my head.

Me: “I’m having dinner with my family tonight…”

He rolls his eyes and pushes on.

Jack: “Oh come on, it wouldn’t hurt you to get out a little, Brice!”

I sigh, a bit annoyed. I know where this is going.

Me: “What are you implying?”

Jack: “Nothing, just that you’ve turned into a bit of a hermit lately… Seriously, when was the last time you hooked up with someone?”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. It’s always the same with him.

Me: “I really don’t have time for that right now, with classes and hockey…”

He doesn’t let it go.

Jack: “Stop making excuses, man. By the way, I found an app that could save your life…”

I cut him off, exasperated.

Me: “Cut it out, Jack.”

But this time, he looks really serious.

Jack: “I’m not joking, dude! Have you heard of ForFansOnly?”

I raise an eyebrow, suspicious.

Me: “That sounds like some kind of porn site.”

He bursts out laughing.

Jack: “You’re not entirely wrong, but it’s much more than that. You actually talk to real girls. And if you’re lucky, things can get… interesting.”

I shake my head, even more skeptical.

Me: “Wait, you’re not telling me you pay for this?!”

Jack winks at me, looking proud of himself.

Jack: “You can’t judge it without trying. This thing changed my life, man. Never a dry spell again with it!”

I look at him, torn between amusement and disbelief. He’s really serious, and somehow, this conversation sticks in my head. Maybe Jack isn’t entirely wrong. It’s been a while since I’ve really relaxed…

Me: “Yeah, yeah, if you say so… Alright, I’m out. See you, man.”

Jack: “Got it, say hi to your mom for me, haha!”

Me: “Shut up, asshole!”

I chuckle despite myself as I walk away. Jack’s an idiot, but that’s why I like him. He had once confessed he had a crush on my mom a few years ago… I almost punched him that day, but hey, he’s my best friend, so I forgave him. Halfway.

I finally leave the rink, the cold air stinging my face. The streets are almost empty at this hour. As I walk home, I can’t help but think about what Jack said. He’s always pushing me to go out, meet girls, as if that’s the solution to everything. Maybe he’s not entirely wrong…

The fresh wind wakes me up a bit, and I find myself at my door sooner than expected. The smell of dinner greets me as soon as I step inside. The contrast between the cold outside and the warm, cozy interior is comforting, almost too peaceful. It’s like the house is in a bubble, isolated from the outside world. My mom is there, as usual, finishing setting the table.

Me: “Hey, I’m home!”

My mom looks up and smiles at me.

Mom: “Good evening, sweetheart. So, how was your day?”

I collapse into a chair, exhausted.

Me: “Tiring, but it’s alright… Oh, and I found an internship at a law firm. It’s only for a week, but it’s cool to finally see what it’s really like.”

She lights up.

Mom: “Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations, I’m so proud of you! Come sit, tell us all about it while we eat.”

We start having dinner, and as usual, we talk about everything and nothing. I know it might sound strange, but I love these family dinners. It’s always nice to come together and feel supported, even in tough times.

We’re in the middle of dinner, and as usual, my dad starts the conversation again.

Dad: “So, Brice, how was practice? Are you ready for the weekend?”

I nod with a smile.

Me: “Yeah, two more wins and we’ll move up a division!”

My dad seems genuinely pleased.

Dad: “Great news! I would have loved to see you play, but I’ll be away this weekend… Maybe next time.”

Before I can respond, the whole family’s attention turns to my sister, Emma, who hasn’t said a word since we started eating. She’s glued to her phone as always..

Dad: “Emma, put your phone down for a bit. You haven’t said a single word to us tonight! Who are you texting so much?”

She looks up, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

Emma: “We’re talking in the class group about the upcoming exams.”

My dad frowns.

Dad: “Oh really? And what are these exams about?”

My sister hesitates for a moment, clearly caught off guard.

Emma: “Uh… it’s…”

I cut in with a smile.

Me: “Cell physiology, right? That’s what you told me the other day.”

She shoots me a grateful look before nodding.

Emma: “Yeah, that’s it…”

My dad nods.

Dad: “Well, don’t hesitate to ask if you need help. Not many students are lucky enough to have a doctor for a dad. I know you don’t like special treatment, but think about it.”

Emma: “I know, Dad…”

A few minutes later, dinner comes to an end. We exchange a few more pleasantries before everyone decides to head to bed.

Emma: “Hey, wait!”

I stop, a little surprised.

Me: “What?”

She seems to hesitate, then finally murmurs.

Emma: “Thanks for earlier…”

I stare at her, intrigued.

Me: “You shouldn’t be thanking me, you should really start focusing on your studies. Dad’s going to figure out that you’re completely slacking off.”

Emma: “But how did you…”

Me: “We go to the same university, remember? I haven’t even seen you since the semester started. I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your days, but Dad’s going to notice…”

She lowers her eyes.

Emma: “I know… But that’s my business, okay? Just drop it.”

I watch her walk away, feeling a bit worried. Emma has changed a lot lately. We used to be close, but now I feel like she’s hiding something from me. I just hope she’s not going through something too heavy. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to talk to our parents.

Lying in my room for a few minutes, I’m finally ready to close out this long day. Classes are getting harder, and hockey… our coach is becoming more demanding. Maybe Jack is right, I should go out more, meet people to clear my head… but with my schedule? Impossible.

It’s been almost a year since Tesse left me, and since then, I don’t think I’ve really had a conversation with a girl. I don’t miss her… but I have to admit, she had an amazing body. She had one hell of a pair…

Anyway… what was that app Jack mentioned again? …Fans… uh… Only?

I rack my brain, then do a quick search on my phone. Finally, I find the app: ForFansOnly. After all, what do I lose by taking a quick look?

5 minutes later…

At first glance, the app looks like a standard messaging platform, except it has a sort of marketplace with, let’s say… “interesting” options. The profiles scroll by under my fingers, and there’s really something for everyone, if you know what I mean…

But one thing immediately puts me off: the price. Every profile displays a monthly subscription. Seriously… am I really about to pay for this?

A promotional banner suddenly catches my attention:

“Special Offer! Find a profile near you!”

The offer seems free, but only for newcomers to the platform. The app would find the closest profile geographically to you. Interesting. But what if I come across a classmate? Or a neighbor? Crap… But I have to admit, it’s kinda funny. Plus, it’s free! Alright, let’s give it a shot.

“Searching for profiles in your area…”

“Please wait…”

“We found 1 profile in your area!”

Only one match? Let’s see…

The result appears:

Hello, I’m Emmy 🌸

Shy and reserved, I prefer to stay anonymous… but that’s where it gets interesting, right? Behind this shyness is a part of me that loves to reveal itself slowly, little by little. The more we connect, the more I open up to intimate and playful moments. If you know how to take your time, you’ll discover everything my shyness hides… with a hint of mischief. 🍒

I gulp as I read her description. Sexy… damn. Alright, let’s see. Emmy… 20 years old, “Lives less than 10 km from you.” Maybe she goes to the same university as me, haha?

I keep scrolling through her profile. There are a few free photos of her. Damn… that body… she’s so hot…

It’s true that she never shows her face, only carefully chosen parts, like her curves, her legs… It’s actually kind of exciting, it could be anyone.

Well…

I could subscribe to chat with this girl… If I do, she’ll probably send me more… suggestive photos…

Arrrgh! This is insane…

Insane… I scratch my head, torn between desire and shame.

Alright, fine, I’ll subscribe, but only to test it! Just one month. Only one, and then I’ll cancel the subscription!

{2}Chapter 2 : Under the Spell of a Profile

The next day…

I wake up with the strange feeling that the night flew by in an instant. The alarm is buzzing and ringing insistently, pulling me out of my dreams. I turn it off and spend a few seconds staring at the ceiling.

Did I really do that last night? I think back to signing up for ForFansOnly, and to Emmy’s profile, which intrigued me just enough to take the plunge. My mind wanders, and I find myself wondering if she’s already sent me a message. But I need to focus-I’ve got a long day ahead.

In the shower, I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts. It’s ridiculous to be so obsessed this early in the morning. Yet, I can’t help but wonder what I’ll find in my notifications.

Mom, from the kitchen: “Brice, hurry up, you’re going to be late!”

Me: “I’m coming!”

I quickly dry off and get dressed before heading downstairs. The kitchen is already full of life. My dad, like every morning, is engrossed in his newspaper. My mom is making toast, while my sister Emma is glued to her phone, as usual.

Mom: “Brice, you seem a bit out of it today. Are you okay? Are you getting enough sleep?”

Me: “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

Emma: “You, tired? That’s new. You’re not the type to stay up late. What happened last night?”

Me: “Nothing important. Just worked on some stuff for school.”

She looks at me intently, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth. I try to keep a neutral face, though I can feel my cheeks heat up a little. It’s crazy how sharp she can be sometimes.

My dad, still buried in his newspaper, chimes in calmly.

Dad: “Don’t overwork yourself, Brice. Consistency is key. It’s better to work a little every day than cramming late at night.”

I nod in silence, but my mind is elsewhere. In reality, I didn’t work much last night. After my session on ForFansOnly, I spent a good part of the night thinking about what I had just done, what I had subscribed to. I finish my breakfast quietly before heading out to university.

The morning flies by, everything moving in fast-forward around me. Between back-to-back classes and conversations with friends, I stay a bit distant, feeling disconnected. During a break, I slip away to a quiet corner of campus, away from the crowd, and pull out my phone. My pulse quickens slightly when I see a notification. A message from Emmy.

Emmy (message): “Hey! Thanks for subscribing 😊. Hope you’re doing well 🙂 How’s your day going? 🌸”

I was expecting something more formal, more distant, but this message is surprisingly simple and friendly. I hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out how to reply without sounding awkward.

Me (message): “Hey! I’m good, thanks. Just a typical day at university. How about you?”

I send my reply and wait for a few seconds. I didn’t expect an immediate response, but my phone vibrates almost instantly.

Emmy (message): “Recovering from a short night, but I’m good! How’s your day going? Any exciting classes or just the usual?”

I can’t help but smile. The conversation feels so natural that I almost forget this is a paid platform, or even what kind of content it’s supposed to offer. I put my phone away, determined to focus on the class that’s about to start, but my mind is elsewhere.

During lunch, I sit in a quiet spot on campus with a sandwich. The conversation with Emmy keeps playing in my head. Curious, I decide to explore the app a little more. I scroll through profiles, personalized messages, and suggestive photos. ForFansOnly is a world of its own, where intimacy is a currency. Yet, no other profile intrigues me as much as Emmy’s. Is it because she seems so approachable? Or maybe because she’s nearby?

I linger on the app’s features-the messaging, the premium subscriptions. Some creators show a clear professional detachment, with formatted messages and paid services for every interaction. But with Emmy, it feels different. I’m starting to understand why so many people get hooked on apps like this. It’s a mix of curiosity, temptation, and maybe a bit of loneliness.

I find myself diving deeper into Emmy’s page. Her profile is far more detailed than I had imagined. Besides the private messages she’s sent me, there’s a public section accessible to all her subscribers, where she regularly shares content. Almost daily, she posts pictures of herself in various outfits-sometimes casual, sometimes more daring-but always with that touch of sweetness and authenticity that seems to define her style.

In her public posts, she’s warm and engaging, creating a sort of community around her profile. There are regular comments from loyal subscribers who interact with her almost as if they know her personally. Then there are the private posts, reserved for premium subscribers, where she shows a more seductive side, playing with the expectations of those who pay for a more “exclusive” connection with her.

I get lost for a while reading the captions, analyzing the comments. There’s this constant game between distance and closeness. She gives just enough for her subscribers to feel special, while still maintaining that subtle barrier that reminds them it’s ultimately a paid service. Yet, I feel a certain frustration. I start to wonder how genuine it all is. Is she playing a role, or is she really that close to the people who follow her?

Back in class, I do my best to focus, but it’s hard. Every time I pull out my phone, I check for a new message. The professor is showing a video, but I’m only half paying attention. My friends glance at me curiously, probably wondering why I’m so distracted today.

Paul (a friend): “You sure you’re okay, Brice? You seem like you’re in another world.”

Me: “Yeah, don’t worry. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

He shrugs and goes back to his screen. I try to focus on what’s happening around me, but every vibration from my phone pulls my attention back. At one point, I force myself to turn it off to stop the temptation.

During the last hour of class, my thoughts drift back to Emmy. Who is she really? What’s her life like outside the screen? Is she this friendly with all her subscribers, or am I just getting carried away for no reason?!

The day finally comes to an end, and I head home with a strange feeling, a mix of exhaustion and excitement. As soon as I walk through the door, I smell dinner cooking. I drop my bag in the entryway and head to the kitchen where my parents are quietly chatting.

Dad: “Did you have a good day?”

Me: “Yeah, it was fine. Busy as usual.”

I barely have time to drop my bag in the hallway when I run into Emma in the corridor. She has that detached look, but I know she’s already noticed me.

Emma: “You look tired. Were classes that tough?”

I look at her, trying to hide the exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. Between classes, hockey, and… this growing obsession with Emmy, my mind is elsewhere.

Me: “No, just… tiring. You know, the usual.”

Me: “And what about you? Busy with classes, studying… or did you find another excuse to skip?”

She glances up at me. I can tell she’s about to fire back with one of her usual comebacks.

Emma: “Oh, stop acting like Dad… Seriously, you’re annoying. I did some work, okay? And I don’t need to be at uni 24/7 to get good grades.”

I smile despite myself. That’s classic Emma. Always dodging a clear answer, but with that little defiant tone that shows she knows exactly how to play her role as the former rebellious teen.

Me: “Yeah, yeah, I get it… Same old story. You’re lucky Mom and Dad give you so much freedom. If I were you, I wouldn’t push my luck.”

She smirks and steps closer, like she’s about to share a secret.

Emma: “That’s because they know I’m the smartest one in the family. You, on the other hand, if you keep wearing yourself out like this, you’re going to break down.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. She might be right, but I’m not about to give her the satisfaction.

Me: “Don’t worry about me, I’ve got my ways to unwind.”

I can’t help but think about Emmy and this new distraction I’ve given myself. Emma seems to sense that I’m keeping something to myself, but she doesn’t push. She just shrugs and heads back to her room.

Emma: “If you say so. Anyway, I’ll leave you to your old man life, I’ve got better things to do.”

She closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I head up to my room, reflecting on our little verbal sparring. It’s always the same with Emma, playing the role of protective big brother and rebellious little sister, but deep down, I know she worries about me. Maybe she’s noticed I’ve been a bit distant lately… It’s true, I’ve been spending more and more time locked up in my room, and it’s definitely not for studying.

Emmy (message): “I wonder… what made you subscribe to my account? Curiosity, or was it for this? 😏”

I smile as I read her message. She really knows how to keep the interest going. Without overthinking it, I start typing my response.

Me (message): “A bit of both, I guess. I didn’t expect to come across someone this cool here.”

Emmy (message): “Haha ‘cool’ seriously? 😜 yeah I bet you used the location thing right? ngl it freaked me out when I saw how close people were lol.”

I freeze for a moment. So the app wasn’t lying. We’re really close geographically. I wonder if that could create an awkward situation, but the idea of this proximity adds an intriguing layer to our conversation.

Me (message): “Yeah, I’m new to the app… 😅 So I took the offer. What do you mean it freaked you out?”

Emmy (message): “Well, yeah… I accidentally enabled the location feature for a bit. When I realized that some subscribers could be so close, I quickly turned it off. But you were the only one who managed to subscribe before I did! 😆”

Me (message): “The world’s really small sometimes. Does that bother you, though?”

Emmy (message): “Nah, it’s fine. Honestly, it’s kind of exciting knowing we could bump into each other someday. But I like to keep things discreet, you know what I mean? I prefer to keep a separation between my private life and what I share online.”

I smile as I read her words. There’s a subtle game in this conversation, a mix of flirting and mystery. She skillfully plays with the boundaries between what’s real and what remains virtual.

Me (message): “I get it. It’s actually kind of exciting, that ambiguity. It makes things more interesting. I guess we just have to be a bit more careful in situations like this.”

Emmy (message): “Exactly! And there’s something special about keeping a bit of mystery. It leaves room for imagination and makes each interaction more valuable. And sometimes, it’s fun to play with those boundaries, right? 😏”

Me (message): “I totally agree. It makes things more intriguing. So, what do you enjoy the most about being on ForFansOnly? Is it the messages or maybe something a bit more… unique?”

Emmy (message): “Hmm, I’d say it’s a mix of both. Interesting conversations are super important, but there’s also something rewarding about seeing people’s reactions to my posts. What about you, what made you subscribe?”

I pause for a moment before replying. Her question makes me want to open up a bit more, but I want to keep it light while still being honest.

Me (message): “Honestly, it was a mix of curiosity and attraction. Your profile really caught my eye, especially your profile picture… But since we’ve been chatting, I feel like that picture doesn’t quite match the image I have of you now. It’s an interesting contrast.”

Emmy (message): “That’s interesting you say that! I can see why you’d think that. The profile picture is a part of me, but it doesn’t fully represent who I am. There’s definitely a contrast between the public image and the person I am in our conversations. It’s a deliberate choice to keep a bit of mystery while staying open to conversation.”

I smile as I read her response. It’s fascinating to realize that this discord between image and reality is part of her game, and I’m even more intrigued.

Me (message): “It’s true that the contrast between the picture and our conversation makes things even more interesting. I like the idea of discovering what’s behind the image. I’m curious to learn more about you as we keep talking.”

Emmy (message): “It’s sweet that you want to see beyond what the picture shows. Behind that smile and those poses, there’s a much more complex person. And trust me, this is only the beginning… If you stick around, you’ll see that reality can be even more captivating and sensual than what you imagine. 😉”

I let myself smile, feeling satisfied. The conversation is captivating, and each exchange with Emmy feels more intriguing than the last. I close the app, but my thoughts keep circling around her. This mix of mystery and truth makes every moment we share even more fascinating.

{2}Chapter 3 : Dangerous Attraction

Each day, my connection with Emmy grows stronger. Our conversations get deeper, and she starts opening up more, sharing bits of her daily life. She talks about her studies, how demanding they are, but also about how much time her work on ForFansOnly takes.

Emmy (message): “Yeah, it’s not always easy juggling between my studies and ForFansOnly. Both take up a lot of time, but I love what I do. It gives me a kind of freedom I wouldn’t find anywhere else.”

Me (message): “That must be exhausting… Do you manage to find any time for yourself, to relax a bit?”

Emmy (message): “Well, that depends on what you mean by relax 😏. Want to see how I unwind sometimes?”

I feel my heart beat a little faster as I read her reply. Is she implying what I think? I can’t help but feel excited by where the conversation is headed. I hesitate for a moment, but eventually, I decide to play along.

Me (message): “I’m intrigued… Show me.”

A few seconds pass, and then a new notification pops up. My heart races even more as I open the message. Emmy appears on the screen.

Emmy (message): “This is how I unwind after a long and stressful day…”

Me (message): “Wow… That’s incredibly sexy.”

Emmy (message): “I thought you’d like it. 😘”

I’m fascinated by this duality in her. On one hand, she’s this attractive, lively young woman, and on the other, someone who seems to carry a certain burden, juggling her responsibilities. The more she reveals, the more captivated I become. But one question burns on my lips.

Me (message): “You’re so comfortable with your body… But I wonder, why don’t you ever show your face?”

There’s a pause, then she replies, her tone slightly more serious.

Emmy (message): “It’s about control. I know some subscribers would pay more to see my face, but I keep control over what I show. And besides, I don’t want it to get too personal-it’s a balance. Keeping some mystery is also a way to protect a part of myself.”

Her answer impresses me. She’s found a way to own her body, using it to her advantage while maintaining a distance that protects her. This control she has over her image, revealing but never fully exposing herself, adds to her mystery and allure.

Our conversations slowly evolve into an exquisite game of seduction, where every word, every innuendo is carefully crafted to ignite a burning desire. Emmy masters the art of flirting with unsettling precision, always dancing on the edge between innocence and temptation. She creates a deliciously palpable tension, a teasing game that consumes me bit by bit.

I can’t stop thinking about her. Every buzz of my phone sends a rush of adrenaline through me, my mind racing at the thought that it might be a message from her… or better yet, a photo. Another image to fuel my fantasies, to feed this growing obsession. It’s as if she knows exactly how to unsettle me, how to awaken desires in me that I can no longer control.

Emmy (message): “Honestly, it’s rare to find people to talk to like this. Most ppl here are just looking for… you know, other stuff 🙄. But I like how you actually talk to me like a person. It’s refreshing ❤️.”

Me (message): “I feel the same way. You have something special… a mystery that makes me want to discover more every day.”

Emmy (message): “A mystery, huh? Maybe one day I’ll let you uncover a bit more… but not just yet. You have to learn to enjoy the wait 😏. For now, you’ll have to make do with this:”

Me (message): “I might ruin my serious guy image here but… Your body is absolutely irresistible. Every curve is a work of art 🥵.”

Emmy (message): “😘”

I realize I’m becoming completely addicted to these exchanges. With every new photo, every new pose she sends, my desire grows stronger. Her curves stay with me, like a melody stuck in my head. Each image is a temptation, a whisper urging me to cross a line I can’t uncross. Emmy knows exactly what she’s doing; she’s playing with my mind, with my fantasies.

Her body is a provocation, an invitation to completely surrender to this dangerous game. I’m captivated by every detail, by the way she subtly exposes her sensuality while keeping a part of herself hidden. She’s nothing like what I had imagined, and it’s precisely this unpredictability, this contrast between softness and seduction, that’s driving me crazy.

I’m sinking deeper and deeper into her world, a world where all I can think about is seeing more. My mind is clouded, my thoughts consumed by the image of her perfect body, a body that’s making me lose control. It’s no longer just about conversation or a virtual connection. It’s become a physical obsession, a need to feel, to touch, to taste what she’s hiding behind these mesmerizing photos.

One evening, during dinner, the atmosphere is relaxed. We’re talking about random things, the usual topics, until I decide to bring up school with Emma. It’s a subject I’ve been avoiding for a while, but something about her recent behavior has made me start to worry.

Me: “So, Emma, how’s everything going at university? Still as much work as ever?”

She looks up from her plate, visibly tired, and lets out a sigh that says more than words could.

Emma: “Ugh… You have no idea. I’m struggling to keep up. Between classes and everything else, it’s tough…”

Mom: “Sweetie, you know you can always ask for help if you’re feeling overwhelmed. We’re here for you.”

Emma nods, but I can tell she’s not really receptive to the suggestion. Her gaze drifts off, and she seems distant.

Dad: “If I made it through, Emma, you can too. We can help you, you know. I know medical school is a marathon, not a sprint. But you’re smart, you’re capable. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

His tone is meant to be reassuring, but I can see in Emma’s eyes that these words only add to her stress. She lowers her head, playing with her fork without much enthusiasm.

Emma: “I know, Dad… but it’s complicated. The classes are intense, and I’m often tired… I’ve fallen a bit behind, it’s true. And it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

There’s a heavy silence at the table. My dad, usually so confident, seems a bit unsettled by Emma’s response. He doesn’t really know how to react, so he just nods.

Mom: “You know, Emma, what matters is that you do your best. No one’s asking you to be perfect. If you need to take a break, take some time for yourself. We won’t hold it against you.”

Me: “Mom’s right. It’s okay to slow down a bit if you need to.”

Emma looks up at me, surprised that I spoke up. She smiles faintly, but I can tell she’s not convinced.

Emma: “That’s nice of you, but I have to prove myself. I don’t want to disappoint… any of you. I chose this path, and I need to stick to it.”

Dad: “No one’s asking you to succeed at everything on the first try, Emma. What’s important is that you’re happy. If you feel like things aren’t going well, it’s better to talk about it now rather than waiting until you’re completely overwhelmed.”

I notice that my dad’s words only seem to make Emma more stressed. She withdraws, becoming even more evasive. Her shoulders slump a little, and she seems to curl up into herself.

Emma: “I… I understand. I’ll try to organize myself better.”

It’s clear she’s trying to end the conversation, but my concern for her only grows. Her words strangely echo what Emmy had told me, though I don’t make the connection, at least not yet.

Later that evening, while I’m in my room reading an article for my classes, I hear a soft knock at the door.

Emma: “Brice, do you have a minute? I need to talk.”

I look up and see Emma standing in the doorway. Her face is marked by exhaustion, her features tense with worry. She doesn’t usually come to me like this, so I know it’s serious.

Me: “Of course, come in. What’s wrong?”

She walks in slowly and sits on the edge of my bed, avoiding my gaze. She seems to be searching for the right words, which isn’t like her. Emma has always been direct and strong, but tonight, she looks almost fragile.

Emma: “I feel completely overwhelmed… The expectations, the classes, all of it… It’s too much for me. I can’t keep up anymore. I… I’ve been skipping most of my classes, I can’t even bring myself to go anymore.”

Her words hit me like a slap. Emma, the brilliant, determined one, admitting she’s at her breaking point. I wasn’t expecting this, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. I just look at her, trying to understand what could have pushed her to such a point of collapse.

Me: “Emma, it’s normal to feel overwhelmed sometimes… But if you’re not going to class, what are you doing all day? Are you just staying home?”

She hesitates, avoiding my gaze as she fidgets with a strand of her hair, something she often does when she’s uncomfortable.

Emma: “I… I try to keep busy. I’m trying to catch up, to relax a little… to find some balance.”

I can tell she’s being vague, that she’s not telling me everything. And that unsettles me. Emma’s never had a problem being honest with me, so why is she holding back now?

Me: “How are you keeping busy? What exactly are you doing?”

She bites her lip, a sign that she’s even more nervous. She finally shrugs.

Emma: “Nothing special… I read, I watch videos, I try to distract myself. You know, just things to keep the stress down.”

Her answer doesn’t quite ring true, but I decide not to push. I can see she doesn’t want to talk about it any further, and the last thing I want is to make her shut down.

Me: “Alright… But you know, you can tell me anything. If something’s bothering you, I’m here.”

She looks at me, a hint of gratitude in her eyes, but I can also sense that she’s still holding something back. Still, I decide to let it go for now.

Emma: “Thanks, Brice… Thanks for being here.”

I move closer to her, sitting down beside her on the bed. I place a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer some reassurance.

Me: “Emma, you don’t have to carry everything on your own. If you need to slow down or take some time for yourself, do it. We’ll figure it out together, no matter what.”

She looks up at me, and I can see tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. It breaks my heart, because I’ve never seen my sister this vulnerable.

Emma: “But… what if I fail? What if I mess everything up?”

Me: “Then we’ll figure it out together. What matters most is your mental health, Emma. Nothing else is as important.”

She turns to me, and I can see a mixture of fear and relief in her eyes. It’s as if just saying those words out loud lifted a little of the burden she’s been carrying.

Emma: “Thank you, Brice… Thank you for being here.”

I give her a genuine smile.

Me: “That’s what I’m here for, Emma. You’re my sister, and I’ll always be there for you.”

She smiles faintly, discreetly wiping away a tear that had slipped down her cheek. After a moment, she seems more relaxed, like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

Emma: “I think I just needed to talk about it… To know I’m not alone in this mess.”

Me: “And you’re not. We’re all here for you, you can count on us.”

She smiles at me one last time, a more genuine smile this time, then stands up to leave the room.

Emma: “Good night, Brice. And thanks again.”

Me: “Good night, Emma. Sleep well.”

I watch her leave my room, and for a moment, I sit there on my bed, lost in thought. This conversation made me realize just how much pressure Emma puts on herself, how much she feels the need to live up to everyone’s expectations. I can’t help but wonder what she’s really doing with her days, but I decide not to push it any further for now.

{2}Chapter 4 : 🌶️ A Troubling Charm

A week later…

One evening, with the house silent, I decide to take a late shower to relax. The hot water runs down my skin, washing away the day’s fatigue. As I step out of the shower, I realize I forgot to grab clean clothes. Frustrated but too tired to go back to the bathroom, I head to my room with a towel loosely wrapped around my waist.

Once in my room, I let the towel fall, giving in to a sense of freshness and freedom. My mind is still clouded with images of Emmy. She occupies my thoughts more than I’m willing to admit. My phone sits next to me, and without really thinking, I pick it up and start scrolling through her photos.

Each image is more captivating than the last, and I get lost in increasingly intense fantasies. I start to pleasure myself, but suddenly, without realizing it, my bedroom door swings open.

Emma: “Brice, have you seen my charger? Oh…”

I jump, my heart skips a beat. Panic seizes me as I realize I’m completely exposed. I quickly grab my t-shirt to cover myself, but it’s too late-Emma has already seen. My face flushes red, and my heart races. Emma stands still for a moment, her eyes wide, before she looks away, her own face turning red with embarrassment.

Me: “Emma… I…”

I stammer, unable to find the words to explain this situation. My mind races, searching for an excuse, an explanation-anything to ease this awkwardness.

Emma: “Oh… Damn!”

Her voice comes out as a faint whisper, laced with confusion and embarrassment. She averts her eyes, trying to look anywhere but at me.

Emma: “Sorry, I just wanted to grab my charger!”

She steps into the room, still avoiding my gaze, and hurries to my desk to grab her charger. Her movements are hurried, as if she can’t leave fast enough. She grabs the charger and then leaves the room without another word, closing the door softly behind her.

I remain frozen, overwhelmed with embarrassment. My heart is still racing, and an uncomfortable heat rises to my face. Emma didn’t say anything, but the awkwardness hangs in the air like a heavy, thick cloud.

The day starts off strangely after that incident, but I force myself to stick to my routine. I head to class, feeling a bit lost, walking across campus while trying to shake off the lingering embarrassment. The first classes of the morning go by without issue, though I struggle to focus on the professor’s explanations. Between group project discussions and a few breaks between lectures, I do my best to restore some sense of normalcy.

At noon, I eat quickly in the cafeteria, headphones on, avoiding any long conversations.

The afternoon drags on with work in the library, but the awkward morning lingers in my mind, like a shadow that refuses to go away.

Should I talk to her about what happened this morning?

No… I think it’s better to just pretend it didn’t happen.

The next morning, I wake up still slightly unsettled by the events of the day before. I try to push away the confusing thoughts floating around in my mind, but the image of Emma walking into my room while I was naked keeps coming back. After a quick breakfast, I head to the bathroom, hoping a cool shower will help me clear my head.

I push the door open slightly, not really thinking, assuming the bathroom is empty. But as I open it, I stumble upon a scene that makes me stop dead in my tracks.

Emma is there, her back to me, just finishing drying off, barely covered by a white towel. I freeze. My heart skips a beat.

Startled, Emma spins around abruptly, and the towel slips from her body, falling heavily to the floor.

Emma: “Damn it, Brice! What are you doing here?!”

She yells in panic, scrambling to cover her chest and lower half with her hands. Her movements are frantic, and the moment seems to stretch on forever. I quickly turn away, staring at the floor as I feel my cheeks flush.

Me: “I… I’m sorry! I thought it was free!”

I say hastily, my voice shaking, desperately avoiding her gaze. But my eyes can’t help but flicker back to her, capturing what I know I shouldn’t see.

She grabs the towel quickly, trying to wrap it back around herself.

Emma: “Look away, Brice!”

She tries to adjust the towel with hurried movements, her breathing still quick from the shock. Her voice betrays her agitation, intensifying the awkwardness.

Me: “I… I’m looking away, I swear…”

I stammer, stubbornly fixing my gaze on a spot on the wall, but I feel rooted to the spot. My heart is pounding, and my thoughts are a tangled mess.

Then, unexpectedly, she bursts out laughing-a sound that cuts through the tension of the moment.

Emma: “Pfft… Hahaha!”

Emma: “Alright… it’s nothing… We’re even now, aren’t we?”

She looks at me with a smirk, amused by the situation. She’s referring to the embarrassing scene from last night, and her lighthearted attitude catches me off guard.

Me: “Yeah… looks like it…”

I reply, attempting an awkward smile, though the unease still lingers. My mind feels muddled, caught between embarrassment and a new, undefined feeling. The atmosphere between us becomes strangely intense, as if an invisible tension has crept in unexpectedly.

Emma tightens the towel around herself and turns toward the door.

Emma: “It’s all yours now. Enjoy the shower.”

I stand there, frozen, my heart still racing, the images from that moment swirling in my mind. She leaves the bathroom with a soft laugh, but for me, this moment is far from insignificant.

She passes by me, almost brushing my arm, her intoxicating scent lingering in the air, mixed with the fragrance of her shower gel. She leaves the bathroom with a slow, almost sensual stride, leaving me completely unsettled. I stand there for a moment, staring into space, trying to collect myself, but the image of Emma, barely covered by that thin towel, is etched in my mind, haunting me far more than I’d like to admit.

After a long day filled with unresolved tension, I find myself in my room after dinner, looking for a distraction. Without thinking too much, I open the app and send Emmy a message to see how she’s doing.

Me (message): “Hey, Emmy. How was your day?”

I place my phone beside me, waiting for a response. Minutes pass… then an hour, and I start to wonder if she’s busy, if she’ll even respond tonight.

I struggle against the impatience building up inside, my gaze fixed on the screen, as if that could somehow speed up her reply. Finally, my phone vibrates, and a shiver runs through me.

Emmy (message): “Hey 😊. My day was alright, but I need your opinion on something. Do you have a moment?”

The tension I’d felt during the wait loosens a bit. Her message intrigues me, and I realize that the anticipation has only heightened my curiosity about what she wants to share.

Me (message): “Of course, I’m all yours. What’s on your mind?”

A few seconds later, a photo appears on my screen. It’s Emmy, seen from the back, in tight jeans that perfectly highlight her curves. The framing is flawless, with her face kept just out of view.

Emmy (message): “I’m not sure if I should post this for the community… What do you think? Too daring, or not enough? 😏”

My heart races. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s already got me completely captivated. I study the photo, admiring how the jeans perfectly highlight every curve of her body.

Me (message): “It’s just perfect… Though… maybe not quite enough… 😏”

She seems to like my response, because another photo arrives almost immediately. This time, she’s wearing leggings, even tighter than before.

Emmy (message): “How about this?”

I feel the temperature rising. Each new image is an escalation, another step in a game I no longer want to leave.

Me (message): “The leggings look amazing on you… but I have a feeling you’ve got something even better in store. I’m curious to see what’s next.”

She doesn’t leave me hanging. Two more photos come through, revealing her in lingerie that shows even more skin. Her curves are highlighted even more boldly, and I feel my desire intensify as each image appears.

Emmy (message): “Hmmm… what would you do if you had this right under your hands?”

I’m speechless for a moment. She’s playing with me, pushing me to cross the line between simple flirting and something much more explicit. I find myself typing a bolder response, my mind filled with thoughts I’d never dared to express.

Me (message): “I wouldn’t be able to resist touching you… feeling every curve under my fingertips.”

She replies immediately, as if she was waiting for me to let go in this game. Another message, accompanied by a series of photos, arrives. This time, she’s in lingerie, her thong revealing almost everything. Her curves are the focal point of each image, and I’m completely captivated by what she’s showing me.

Emmy (message): “And if I let you… how far would you go?”

Her question catches me off guard. She’s pushing me to go further, and I feel like it’s time to let my inhibitions fall away.

Me (message): “I wouldn’t stop until I’d explored every inch of you… My hands on you, my mouth following their path.”

I type the words, my body responding to the surge of adrenaline.

Emmy (message): “I can already imagine your tongue on me. 😘”

I stare at the screen, my mind overwhelmed by the desire she’s awakened in me. She’s managed to turn a simple text exchange into an intensely sensual experience, and I’m completely under her spell. My body reacts instinctively to each image, and before I even realize it, my hand slips beneath the sheets, answering the call of the tension that’s built up throughout the evening.

Me (message): “I promise I’ll be thinking about this all night…”

I set my phone down, my breathing still ragged, as I finish pleasuring myself, Emmy’s images burned into my mind. A final sigh escapes my lips as I lie there, my body still shuddering from the spasms of release. The sexual tension is palpable, and I realize how skillfully she’s played with my desires, drawing me deeper into this game she orchestrates with perfect mastery.

{2}Chapter 5 : Growing Unease

A few days later…

It’s been a long day, and I find myself lying on my bed, phone in hand, ready to chat with Emmy. As always, the conversation starts lightly. We talk about random things-our daily routines, the ups and downs of student life. It’s become a ritual, a sort of escape that I look forward to eagerly.

Emmy (message): “So, how was your day? Nothing too boring, I hope?”

I smile at her message. Not much exciting ever happens in my day.

Me (message): “Nothing special. Just some classes, a hockey practice. The usual.”

Emmy (message): “Hockey? That sounds cool! And what’s your team called?”

Me (message): “I’d rather keep that to myself for now 😉.”

Emmy (message): “No worries! So, do you live alone or with your folks?”

I’m a bit surprised by her questions. It’s the first time she’s shown such direct interest in my personal life. I answer without much thought, trying to keep it vague.

Me (message): “I live with my parents and my sister. Nothing too exciting there 😅.”

There’s a brief pause before her next message arrives, and I wonder if she’s simply curious or if there’s a specific reason she wants to know more.

Emmy (message): “Oh, a sister? Is she younger or older than you? What does she do?”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden interest in Emma. It’s a topic I don’t usually bring up, especially here. But I decide to respond, keeping a bit on the defensive.

Me (message): “She’s younger, still studying. What’s with all the questions? 😅”

Her next message arrives quickly, almost as if she anticipated my question.

Emmy (message): “Just curious 😊. I like to know what people’s lives are like. It helps me understand them better.”

I feel a slight unease. For some reason, I can’t quite explain, I don’t feel like getting into details about Emma. Maybe because it would make this all feel too real, too close to my everyday life. I decide to change the subject, but gently, so it doesn’t come off as too abrupt.

Me (message): “Let’s talk about something else, if that’s okay? You mentioned you had a project to finish today-how did that go?”

There’s a long enough pause that I start to wonder if she noticed my diversion. But when she replies, it’s with the same lighthearted tone as before, as if she accepted my change in direction without question.

Emmy (message): “Oh, it went well, actually! It was more work than I expected, but I’m happy with the result.”

I let out a small sigh of relief, glad that the conversation has returned to more familiar ground.

After chatting with Emmy, the rest of my night passes in a blur. The next day, I return to my usual routine. The day goes by without incident, filled with classes and hockey practice. These moments allow me to escape my thoughts, to focus on something tangible, something physical. But when I get home, the reality of my family life catches up with me.

As I walk into the kitchen, I find my mom preparing dinner. The familiar smell of the meal simmering on the stove is comforting, but I immediately notice her thoughtful expression, as if something is weighing on her mind. She asks me to help her, a usual gesture that I know often signals a more serious conversation.

Mom: “Brice, could you help me peel these carrots?”

I move closer, taking a peeler, and start peeling in silence, sensing she has something to say. She sighs softly before speaking, a sign that she’s carefully choosing her words.

Mom: “You know, Brice… I’ve noticed that you and Emma aren’t as close as you used to be. You two were inseparable when you were little…”

I keep peeling, but I feel a slight tightness in my chest. It’s true, Emma and I have gone down different paths as we’ve grown up, but hearing it from my mom makes the reality a bit harder to swallow.

Me: “Yeah, we grew up. That’s normal, isn’t it?”

She nods, but her gaze remains thoughtful, almost melancholic.

Mom: “I remember one summer, you must have been 10 and Emma 7. You spent all your time together. There was that treehouse you two built in the yard. Do you remember?”

I smile slightly, recalling it. That treehouse was our little kingdom, a place where the outside world didn’t exist.

Me: “Yeah, I remember. We’d spend hours there; it was our hideaway.”

She smiles, but her expression grows more serious.

Mom: “You two were so close… But lately, I don’t know… I feel a distance between you. Emma seems so stressed, and I worry about her. Have you noticed anything?”

I stay silent for a moment, thinking about her words. Emma is definitely stressed, but I can’t help but recall what she confided in me recently. She’s falling behind in her classes, and I still don’t know what she spends her days doing. This thought troubles me more than I want to admit.

Me: “I know she’s a bit stressed, yeah… She told me she’s having a hard time keeping up lately.”

My mom nods, a sigh of worry escaping her lips.

Mom: “I just hope she’s alright. You two have always been there for each other… but lately, it feels like you’re both strangers. I know you’re busy, Brice, but maybe you could try a little harder for her”

I feel a pang of guilt hearing her words. Maybe I haven’t been there enough for Emma lately, too caught up in my own concerns. But the truth is, I’m starting to wonder more and more what she’s actually doing when she’s not at school. Her vague answers, her unexplained absences… It all worries me more than I let on.

Me: “I’ll try, Mom. I’ll talk to her.”

She smiles softly, placing a hand on my shoulder before returning to dinner prep.

Mom: “Thank you, Brice. It reassures me to know that you’re there for each other. You both mean so much to one another, even if you don’t always show it.”

I nod, but my mind is already elsewhere. My mother’s words echo inside me, and I realize I really need to find out what’s going on with Emma. Not just to put Mom at ease, but because I’m genuinely worried about her. Something isn’t right, and I can’t ignore it any longer.

I remember the last time I went into Emma’s room. It’s been over a year now. Back then, we still shared our thoughts easily, and we were really close. But since she started her studies, she’s turned her room into an inviolable sanctuary. No one, not even our parents, is allowed in. She always finds an excuse, saying she needs her privacy or that she’s too busy. This sudden change, the distance she’s put between us-it haunts me.

Mom’s words stick with me, gnawing at the back of my mind. But I know I can’t just go into her room to talk to her directly. So, I take my phone and send her a message, hoping it will start a conversation.

Me (message): “Hey, Emma. It’s been a while since we really talked… Mom’s worried about you. She thinks you should open up more…”

I press ‘send’ and sit on my bed, my leg bouncing with impatience. Why does she feel so far away these days? I hate this waiting game. The silence in my room becomes more and more oppressive as the minutes pass. I think back to our past closeness, and it makes this waiting even harder. She used to respond instantly. Now, it feels like she’s built an unbreakable wall between us.

After what feels like an eternity, my phone finally vibrates.

Emma (message): “I’m fine, no need to worry.”

I frown at her response. It’s too vague, too evasive. This isn’t the Emma I know. That simple message doesn’t do anything to reassure me. So, I decide to press on, hoping she’ll eventually open up a bit more.

Me (message): “You know, studying is important. You have to work hard to earn money. You should focus on your classes.”

The silence that follows is even longer, even heavier. My impatience turns into frustration. Why doesn’t Emma want to talk anymore? Why this distance? I wonder what she’s actually doing with her days if she’s not attending classes like she hinted.

Finally, another vibration. She replied.

Emma (message): “I’ve got this, trust me.”

I read the message over and over. “I know what I’m doing.” What does that even mean? I find no comfort in her response. If anything, it only deepens the unease I’ve been feeling. She’s hiding something, that’s clear, but what? And why won’t she confide in me, even a little?

The exchange ends there. I sit on my bed, still holding my phone, staring at the screen as if I might find answers in the few words Emma sent. Doubts and worries gnaw at me, and I feel powerless. The more I think about it, the more I realize I’m becoming increasingly disconnected from my sister’s life, unable to understand what’s really going on behind those closed doors.

{2}Chapter 6 : 🌶️ Desires Entangled

A week later…

It’s late at night, but I’m still chatting with Emmy. Tonight, there’s a shift in the air-subtle, but undeniable. Our conversation starts out as usual, light and casual, but soon, we start drifting into more personal topics.

Emmy (message): “Sometimes, I feel like nobody really understands me. It’s like I’m constantly playing a part.”

Me (message): “Do you feel lonely?”

Emmy (message): “Yes… and no. I have people around me, but I always keep a part of myself hidden. It’s exhausting sometimes.”

I can tell she’s more open tonight, more vulnerable. It’s as if the barrier she usually keeps between us is starting to crack. But part of me wonders if it’s real-or just another act.

Curious about where this might go, I decide to follow her lead.

Me (message): “I get it. I also find myself wearing masks, hiding parts of who I really am.”

Emmy (message): “Exactly. Sometimes, I just want to be myself without worrying about what others think.”

The conversation deepens, and Emmy opens up even more. She talks about her dreams, her aspirations, but also her fears and frustrations. I’m discovering a different side of her, a young woman carrying a heavier burden than she lets on. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a question lingers: does she do this with all her subscribers? Is it a way to create an illusion of intimacy, a means to keep me engaged, or is there something different about what she feels for me?

As we talk, I sense that Emmy is growing closer to me. She doesn’t say it outright, but it’s there in her words, in the way she reveals herself. She tells me about her life on ForFansOnly, about the interactions she has with other subscribers.

Emmy (message): “With you, it’s different. I’m not just doing this for the money. I really enjoy our conversations. You make me feel… like myself.”

Me (message): “It’s mutual. I didn’t expect to find someone like you here.”

Her words get under my skin, but doubt lingers. Am I really different in her eyes, or does she say this to anyone who shows her a bit more interest? I can’t help but wonder if she’s as genuine as she seems, or if it’s just a well-practiced strategy.

A few days later, while we’re at the dinner table, Emma starts asking questions about hockey, which is unusual for her.

Emma: “Brice, I’ve always wondered… How does hockey actually work? I mean, what are the main rules?”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her question. Emma usually doesn’t take much interest in what I’m doing on the ice.

Me: “It’s pretty straightforward, really. The goal is to score points by getting the puck into the other team’s net. There are five players on the ice per team, plus the goalie. Basic rules are kind of like soccer, just…on skates.”

Emma: “But it looks so fast-paced, right? How do you keep track of everything without losing focus?”

Her tone is light, almost casual, but this sudden curiosity catches me off guard. Why the sudden interest in hockey when she’s never cared about it before? I can’t help but think back to my conversations with Emmy.

Me: “Yeah, it’s fast. But when you’re on the ice, it’s all instinct. You just know where your teammates will be, where the puck’s headed.”

Emma: “Sounds intense… and complicated. So, are there a lot of people playing around here?”

Me: “We live in a big city-of course, there are tons of players around here. Why the sudden interest?”

Emma shrugs.

Emma: “Just curious.”

I smile, but a hint of unease lingers. Her sudden interest feels odd, but I decide not to push it.

That same evening, as I’m relaxing in my room with the house steeped in nighttime quiet, a notification from ForFansOnly suddenly lights up my screen. Heart pounding, I open the app to find a new post from Emmy. Eagerly, I tap to open it, and my eyes land on her, dressed in a tiny pair of shorts that leaves little to the imagination.

The tight fabric hugs her curves perfectly, each detail highlighted by the soft light in the photo. This kind of outfit demands attention-especially mine. A wave of warmth builds inside me, my fingers gliding instinctively over the screen, then onto my own body, almost unconsciously. Time seems to stop as I stare at the image, completely mesmerized by the sensuality she exudes.

Minutes slip by unnoticed, my mind fully surrendering to these thoughts, these images that continue to burn into my mind. An hour passes, maybe more, as I lose myself in silent contemplation, gripped by a tension that refuses to fade. Fatigue starts to weigh on me, but the intensity of my thoughts doesn’t weaken.

I’m not used to staying up this late, and hunger finally pushes me to leave my room and head downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet, steeped in darkness, with only a faint glow from the moon filtering through the windows.

As I approach the kitchen, an unexpected sight stops me in my tracks. Emma is there, standing by the fridge, rummaging for a late-night snack. My eyes are immediately drawn to her outfit: she’s wearing the exact same type of shorts that Emmy wore in her photo.

The shock is instant, my mind scrambling to reconcile the image of Emmy with that of my own sister, standing here in the same kind of outfit.

I stand frozen, unable to look away. Hidden in the kitchen’s shadows, I watch her without being noticed. My gaze drifts over her body, tracing each curve, each subtle movement. The shorts cling to her hips, accentuating her figure in a way that’s… unsettling. A familiar heat stirs within me, and, despite myself, my thoughts wander into forbidden territory. It’s as if the line between Emmy and Emma begins to blur, leaving me grappling with a desire I can’t quite contain.

Emma, still focused on rummaging through the fridge, doesn’t immediately notice me standing there. My thoughts grow more intense, almost obsessive. The very idea of what I’m doing-how I’m watching her-fills me with shame, yet I can’t seem to look away. My mind is flooded with images I shouldn’t have, thoughts I shouldn’t entertain.

Then, suddenly, she stops, as if sensing something. She turns slowly, her eyes meeting mine in a moment heavy with silence and discomfort. She can clearly see that I’m looking at her in a way I shouldn’t be.

Emma: “Uh… Brice, what are you doing?”

Her voice, gentle yet questioning, snaps me abruptly out of my trance. I blink, trying to regain my composure, searching for an excuse.

Me: “Uh… sorry, I… I’m just tired. I couldn’t sleep, so I came down for a snack.”

She looks at me with a hint of confusion in her eyes but says nothing more. She turns slightly, seeming to accept my excuse, yet I can tell she knows exactly what was going through my mind.

Emma: “Hmm… Okay… you’re acting kinda weird, though.”

Emma bends down to grab something from a lower cabinet, her body arching in a way that accentuates her curves almost hypnotically. My gaze lingers, against my better judgment, tracing the outline of her hips. A fleeting thought crosses my mind, an almost instinctual urge to reach out and touch, just to feel that tempting curve.

But immediately, a wave of shame crashes over me. What am I even doing? How could I let a thought like that cross my mind? This is my little sister, and the mere idea of wanting to touch her makes me feel profoundly wrong. My heart pounds heavily in my chest, a mix of forbidden desire and overwhelming guilt. I want to look away, to push these shameful thoughts from my mind, but they cling to me, refusing to fade. Each passing second deepens my guilt, leaving me struggling desperately to regain control over my own thoughts.

Stop, it’s Emma! I tell myself internally, forcing my gaze away, almost panicking, and heading to the fridge to grab something-anything-to escape these thoughts.

Me: “Do you… want anything from the fridge?”

My voice trembles slightly as I open the fridge door, trying to appear relaxed.

Emma: “No, thanks, I have everything I need.”

She closes the cabinet gently, leaving me alone in front of the fridge, its cold air a stark contrast to the heat still burning inside me. I grab a yogurt, just to have something in my hands and seem normal.

Me: “Well… I’m heading back up. Good night, Emma.”

She gives me one last look, devoid of any particular emotion, before replying.

Emma: “Good night.”

I leave the kitchen quickly, yogurt in hand, but my thoughts are still tangled in what just happened. I know I shouldn’t think about her like this, that it’s entirely inappropriate, but these images won’t leave my mind. As I climb the stairs, I suddenly realize I have an erection.

A cold jolt runs through me, panic surging in its wake. What if Emma noticed? The thought chills me to the bone, and a wave of shame crashes over me. I feel like I’m losing my grip, unable to understand how I got here or how to regain control.

{2}Chapter 7 : Caught Between Worlds

The next day…

Once again, I’m deep in an intense conversation with Emmy. Our exchanges quickly grow more intimate, moving beyond small talk to fuel a growing tension between us. My heart races with every message she sends, the tension between us becoming almost unbearable.

Emmy (message): “By the way, what do my photos do to you? I need to know… What do you really feel when you look at them?”

A warmth rises within me, each word from her stoking a fire that burns stronger and stronger. I take a deep breath, my fingers gliding over the screen as I type my response, raw and honest.

Me (message): “When I look at your photos, Emmy, it’s like my whole body reacts. Your body drives me crazy… I want you, to feel you under my hands, to touch you…”

Her reply comes quickly, as if she’s toying with me, pushing further, testing my limits.

Emmy (message): “Tell me exactly what you’d do if I were there. Give me every detail… I want to know what you feel, what you want to do.”

My breathing quickens, excitement building with each message we exchange. I hesitate, my finger hovering over the camera icon. The idea feels reckless, but the rush of adrenaline wins. In a moment of surrender, I snap the shot, my heart pounding in my chest.

Me (message): “Look at what you’re doing to me… I can’t take it anymore, I need you to finish me.”

I send the photo, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. Every second that ticks by feels like an eternity as I wait for her reaction. When her reply finally arrives, it’s even hotter than I’d imagined.

Emmy (message): “Well, what a body… if I were there, I’d start by taking it in my hand… Then I’d use my mouth to satisfy you…

Want me to help you go all the way?”

A wave of heat surges through me; every word she writes pushes me closer to the edge. I’m completely under her spell, unable to think about anything but what she’s describing.

Me (message): “Yes…”

Emmy (message): “Imagine my tongue tracing every inch of you, savoring it like a lollipop, like candy…”

Me (message): “Damn, I’m going to come…”

Emmy (message): “I’d take you deep in my mouth… and let you finish inside…”

I let myself get completely swept away by her words, each sentence pulling me closer to the point of no return. My body responds to her game, and finally, I let go, overcome by an intense wave of pleasure.

As my breathing slowly returns to normal after this moment of intense release, I decide to send her one last message to close out this night of shared desires and confidences.

Me (message): “Thank you, Emmy… That was incredible. You made me feel something really intense.”

Her reply comes quickly.

Emmy (message): “Of course. I mean, you didn’t just come here for small talk, right? 😉”

I smile slightly, but before I can respond, another message appears.

Emmy (message): “No… you know what? No… you’re not just another subscriber. I really enjoyed imagining… taking you in my mouth…”

I pause, absorbing her words, feeling an even deeper connection forming between us. This isn’t just a virtual relationship or a simple transaction anymore.

Me (message): “I’m glad to hear that…”

Emmy (message): “Good night… Sweet dreams. 😘”

Me (message): “Good night, Emmy.”

I finally set my phone down, still wrapped in the sensations of this night.

The next morning, I wake up with an odd sense of emptiness. The previous night, spent exchanging messages with Emmy, has left an indelible mark on my mind. As I get up to face the day, a sigh escapes me. Returning to reality after such intensity feels almost cruel.

I go through my morning routine mechanically, my mind still filled with images from last night. The hot shower doesn’t wash away my thoughts; if anything, it stirs them up. Memories of my exchanges with Emmy seep into every corner of my mind, turning even the simplest gestures into a series of empty habits.

At breakfast, I’m there physically, but my mind is somewhere else. My parents chat about this and that, but I barely hear them.

Emma, on the other hand, seems lost in her own thoughts, her phone in hand. I wonder briefly if she notices my absent expression, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s too wrapped up in her own concerns.

Once at university, I try to focus on my classes, but every word from the professors just floats over my head. My fingers, almost instinctively, slide across my phone screen, hoping for a new notification from ForFansOnly. But nothing. Not a single message from Emmy to pull me away from this dull reality.

During the break, I meet up with Jack and a few other friends. We talk about the latest hockey games and our upcoming plans, but I’m only half-listening. Their words come through like a distant hum, drowned out by my thoughts of Emmy.

Jack: “Hey, Brice, you seem out of it, man. You okay?”

I blink, snapping out of my daydream.

Me: “Yeah, sorry… just didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

Jack gives me a skeptical look but lets it go.

Jack: “Alright, if you say so. By the way, did you hear about the party at Max’s place tonight?”

I nod, trying to look interested.

Me: “Yeah, could be fun. We’ll see.”

The others keep chatting, joking about the girls they hope to meet there, and almost on impulse, I decide to commit to going out tonight. The idea of socializing, of grounding myself in something normal, suddenly feels necessary. Maybe reconnecting with reality will help shake off this obsession that’s wrapped around my mind. Part of me even wonders if, by some chance, Emmy might show up. After all, she’s a student nearby, and who knows? Maybe seeing her in person, with no mask or mystery, will free me from this hold she has on me.

The afternoon passes more quickly after that decision. Classes roll on, and I cling to the thought of tonight like a lifeline. Jack fills me in on the details for Max’s party, and I start convincing myself that it’s exactly what I need.

On my way back, I mentally prepare myself. I drag my feet toward home, gym bag slung over my shoulder, but this time with a purpose. I pass familiar faces, classmates chatting happily, but I don’t linger. All I want is to get changed, get ready, and try to find what I’ve been missing: a real connection with the world around me.

Back home, I stop by the kitchen where Emma is snacking on something. We exchange a few quick words, but I’m not in the mood for a long conversation. I simply tell her I’m going out tonight, and she gives me a surprised look.

Emma: “You? Going out? It’s been a while.”

I just give her a smile and head up to my room to get ready. The solitude of my room feels heavy, but I push it aside. Tonight, I’m changing that, I tell myself as I throw on something more casual. I grab my phone, hesitate for a moment, then slip it into my pocket without checking for any new messages from Emmy. Tonight, I’m in control.

Max’s place is packed, the air thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and cheap beer. Music pounds like a heartbeat, and bodies move together, half-dancing, half-swaying. Laughter cuts through the beat, sharp and sudden. I let it all wash over me, letting the rhythm pull me in. Jack introduces me to a few new faces, and I find myself smiling, even joking around. I have to admit-it feels good. The girls here are friendly, and a few seem interested. One of them, a blonde, strikes up a conversation with me. We laugh, chatting about anything and everything, but a part of me stays distant, as if something’s missing.

Every now and then, I scan the crowd, a small part of me hoping to spot Emmy. But with each face I pass, it becomes clear she’s not here. No one even remotely matches the image I have of her. It’s frustrating, almost disappointing.

Chloe: “You seem distracted. Is everything okay?”

Me: “Yeah, sorry…”

She smiles, but I can feel the connection is shallow. We keep talking, but the excitement I felt when I arrived is starting to fade.

As the night goes on, even though I enjoy being here-laughing with friends, chatting with these girls-there’s a shadow hanging over me. I’m physically present, but my mind keeps drifting back to Emmy. I can’t stop thinking about her, wondering what she’s doing right now, if she’s thinking of me, if she has any idea that I’m here, surrounded by other women. I almost feel guilty, like I’m betraying something meaningful.

In the end, I decide to head home. On the walk back, the cool night air hits me, pulling me back to reality. I congratulate myself for making the effort to go out, to try reconnecting with the real world. But at the same time, I’m troubled. I’m proud of being able to disconnect from Emmy, even if just for a few hours, yet part of me wonders if it’s a betrayal. After all, isn’t this thing with Emmy just a game, a transaction? So why does it make me feel so guilty?

Back home, I head straight to my room. As I pass Emma’s door, I notice a sliver of light under it. She’s still awake, despite the late hour. I pause for a moment, considering knocking, but I decide against it. My thoughts are too tangled, and I don’t have the energy for a conversation.

My room feels heavy, almost oppressive. I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling as images from the night flash through my mind, blending with thoughts of Emmy. My mind drifts between the reality I tried to reclaim tonight and the obsession that continues to haunt me.

I eventually pull out my phone, but this time, I don’t even check my messages. Part of me is afraid of what I might find-or of what I won’t find. I sigh, torn between the satisfaction of having tried to reconnect with a normal life and the reality of this obsession that won’t leave me in peace. The night drags on, and I finally drift off, unsettled, knowing that tomorrow, it will all begin again.

The past few weeks have flown by at an unexpected pace, filled with the same daily routines but colored by a new internal dynamic. Despite my efforts to regain some semblance of normality, my connection with Emmy remains a fragile but constant thread running through my days.

Every evening, our exchanges continue with the same intensity. The conversations have become deeper, more personal, and I find myself waiting for her messages with growing anticipation. Sometimes, a doubt creeps into my mind: is any of this real? Could Emmy be seeing me differently, beyond this paid virtual relationship? The photos she shares, always with her mask on, add a layer of mystery that both reassures me and fuels my curiosity. Knowing she keeps part of her identity hidden gives me a sense of security, but at the same time, I feel an increasing urge to know her better, to uncover the secrets she keeps behind that mask.

Over time, what initially felt like a simple virtual attraction has transformed into genuine appreciation. Emmy is no longer just a digital presence; she’s become an essential part of my daily life-a muse who both inspires and disturbs me. Her words, her gestures, even the absence of her full face, have started to take up significant space in my thoughts. I find myself eagerly awaiting her messages, analyzing every word she writes, searching for hints of what she might really feel about me.

At the same time, my relationship with my sister has also taken a positive turn. For a long time, our bond was tense, marked by remarks and mutual misunderstandings. But in these recent weeks, I’ve realized the importance of family trust and support. I still don’t know much about what Emma does with her days or the personal struggles she might face, but I’ve decided to give her my trust unconditionally. Instead of making comments or judging her actions, I’m trying to support her quietly, to be there when I see her going through tough moments. This new approach has brought an unexpected sense of peace between us, strengthening a bond that once felt fragile.

As the days pass, I feel a complex mix of pride and guilt. Pride in managing to rebuild a healthier relationship with Emma, but also a certain guilt when I think of Emmy. Even though our relationship is just a transaction, I can’t help but feel that I’ve been loyal to her in a way that goes beyond simple paid exchanges. This inner conflict troubles me, pushing me to reflect on what I’m truly searching for and on the blurred boundaries between the virtual and the real.

{2}Chapter 8 : 🌶️ Forbidden Thoughts

Two weeks later…

Night has long since fallen, and the house is wrapped in silence. I’m lying on my bed, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, looking for something to keep my mind occupied. Suddenly, a notification lights up the screen: a message from Emmy. It’s not unusual, but tonight, something feels different as I wait to open it. My heart quickens as I tap on the conversation.

Emmy (message): “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. You know, our relationship isn’t the same as it was in the beginning. I feel different with you…”

I frown. This tone, this phrasing, isn’t what I’m used to. There’s a seriousness in her words that I can’t ignore.

Emmy (message): “I think maybe it’s time I reveal a little more about myself, but first, I need to know something. What do you really feel for me?”

I freeze, staring at the screen as if the words might somehow change on their own. My heartbeat grows stronger, each thud carrying the weight of doubt. Emmy has never been this direct, this personal. I can feel this message is a turning point, a pivotal moment that could change the nature of what we have.

I run a trembling hand over my face, trying to steady my breath. Why is this affecting me so much? I’ve always known our relationship was largely a game of seduction, a paid exchange. So why does this message make me waver? Have I truly developed feelings for Emmy, or is it simply the allure of getting closer to the mystery that pulls me in so irresistibly?

I set my phone down and sit up, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I know I need to respond, but I can’t help reflecting on what this really means. Emmy is a stranger to me, yet she occupies my thoughts more than anyone else. Doubt creeps in. Is she being sincere? Does she genuinely feel something for me, or is this just another way to keep my interest, to ensure I stay hooked on this virtual connection?

The next morning, I wake up with the same weight in my chest. Emmy’s message keeps playing on a loop in my mind. I get ready for the day on autopilot, my movements slow, almost robotic. Every action takes a particular effort, as if my mind refuses to let go of the stormy thoughts that have been gripping me since last night.

In class, I’m completely unable to focus. The professor’s words drift over my head, failing to stick. Every five minutes, I glance at my phone, hesitating over whether or not to respond to Emmy’s message. More than once, I open the conversation, type out a few words, then delete them before closing the app again. I feel trapped in a spiral of confusion, unable to make a decision.

Jack: “Hey man, are you sure you’re okay? You look totally out of it today.”

Me: “Yeah, sorry… just a bit tired, I guess.”

I force a smile, but inside, I feel the worry growing, like a weight I can’t seem to shake off. The more I try to focus on the class, the more my thoughts drift back to Emmy, to that crucial question she asked. I keep wondering if I’m falling in love with an illusion, with someone I only know through words and filtered images on a screen.

When class ends, I head slowly toward the exit. The sky is gray, perfectly mirroring my mood. I feel torn between two realities: the life I lead here, with my classes, my friends, and my family, and this other, virtual life, where everything feels more intense, more intoxicating, but also more uncertain.

The park is silent, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the snap of branches in the gusting wind. The solitude feels heavy. I pull out my phone, hesitating for a moment before finally deciding to reply to Emmy. This moment in the park, away from home, seems like the right place for the reflection I’ve been avoiding all day.

Me (message): “Emmy, I… I’m not exactly sure what I feel. All of this is so new to me, and sometimes, it feels like I’m losing control. But I know I love talking to you, that I look forward to your messages. You mean more to me than I ever thought possible. I don’t know if it’s love, but I really want to know who you are behind all of this.”

I read over my message several times, my heart pounding. Finally, I press “send,” my fingers slightly trembling, and I sit there on the bench, staring at my phone, as if a response might appear right away. But I know it’s not that simple. This could change everything between us, for better or worse.

Evening slowly falls, casting a gentle twilight over the house. I try to unwind after a long, exhausting day. I’m lying on the couch, but my mind is elsewhere. Since sending that message to Emmy, I haven’t heard anything back. The silence eats away at me, worry growing with each passing minute. Did I make a mistake being so honest? Did my openness scare her off? These questions swirl in my head, making it impossible to find any peace.

In an attempt to distract myself, I get up and decide to be productive. My parents are out for the evening, so it’s just Emma and me in the house. I figure a nice dinner might keep me busy and help me forget, even if just for a moment, this unbearable wait.

As I head toward the kitchen, I pass Emma’s room. Her door is slightly ajar, casting a thin strip of light into the dark hallway. I hesitate for a second, then decide to ask her if she’d like to join me for dinner.

Me: “Emma, I’m going to make dinner, do you want…”

I push the door open slightly as I say the words, but my voice cuts off abruptly as a detail catches my eye: Emma is standing with her back to me, near her bed, in the middle of changing. She hasn’t noticed me, absorbed in her movement, and I freeze in place.

Everything slows as I stare at her, each second dragging longer than the last

A strange warmth rises in me, a physical reaction I immediately suppress with an intense wave of shame. What am I doing? This is Emma, for God’s sake! I shouldn’t be looking at her like this, much less feeling what I’m feeling.

But despite myself, my eyes remain fixed on her. I find myself noticing the details of her body, the grace of her silhouette. My heart beats faster, and an uncomfortable shiver runs down my spine. This is wrong-I know that. It’s terribly, undeniably wrong.

Finally, she makes a move to fully take off her bra, and that jolts me out of my stupor. Panicking, I step back quickly and quietly close the door, hoping the soft creak didn’t catch her attention. I stand there in the hallway, breathing hard, struggling against the wave of confusion that’s overtaken me.

What’s wrong with me? I can’t… I shouldn’t…

I shake my head, as if that could clear the images from my mind, then make my way to the kitchen in a hurry, almost as if I’m running away. I need to get a grip. I can’t keep looking at Emma like this. It’s not just inappropriate; it’s downright dangerous.

Once in the kitchen, I try to focus on preparing dinner. I pull out the ingredients, laying them out on the counter, but my hands are trembling slightly. Images of Emma still linger in my mind, clouding my concentration.

She’s my little sister, for God’s sake… I can’t look at her this way…

I stop, unable to finish the thought. A mix of guilt and desire churns inside me, leaving me more confused than ever. I need to pull myself together, to bring some order to my thoughts, no matter what it takes.

A few minutes later…

As I absentmindedly chop vegetables, I hear light footsteps in the hallway. Emma walks into the kitchen, casually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, her hair still a bit tousled from changing.

Emma: “Need some help with dinner?”

I jump slightly, surprised to see her appear so suddenly. I force a smile, trying to seem as normal as possible.

Me: “Uh, yeah, sure. I was thinking something simple, like pasta with sauce. That okay with you?”

Emma nods, moving to the counter to grab a knife.

Emma: “Perfect. It’s been a while since we’ve eaten together, just the two of us.”

I nod, but I can’t shake this lingering unease. I try to focus on what I’m doing, but every time our eyes meet, that strange tension returns, like a shadow I can’t quite brush away.

We work side by side in silence, each lost in thought. I concentrate on every task, trying not to let my mind drift to anything inappropriate. Emma’s closeness, usually familiar, feels unusually heavy with unspoken things I don’t dare name.

During dinner, Emma seems lighter, almost as if all her worries have vanished. She has a constant smile on her face, and I can’t help but wonder what’s put her in such a good mood. We chat about lighthearted things, sharing childhood memories and trading jokes. Her laughter is infectious, and despite myself, I find myself smiling.

Me: “What’s got you so happy today?”

Emma glances at me quickly before focusing back on her plate, playing with her fork.

Emma: “Oh, nothing special, just a good day, I guess.”

Her tone is casual, but I sense she’s holding something back. My mind immediately wanders to the idea that it could be about a guy. Curious, I decide to probe a little further.

Me: “Oh yeah? Nothing to do with a guy, maybe?”

She bursts into laughter, clearly amused by my question, but she avoids answering directly.

Emma: “Pfft… Maybe, maybe not. Why, are you interested?”

I shrug, feigning indifference, though a part of me is genuinely curious about what’s got her in such high spirits.

Me: “Just curious. You seem more… radiant lately.”

She gives me a sidelong glance, a mysterious smile tugging at the corner of her lips, but says nothing more.

As we finish dinner, Emma surprises me by suggesting we watch a movie together.

Emma: “Hey, would you want to watch a movie after? There’s this new one I’ve been wanting to see.”

A romantic comedy wouldn’t usually be my first pick, but tonight, my mind is elsewhere, still wrapped up in my exchanges with Emmy.

Brice: “Why not? Could be fun.”

She smiles, clearly pleased with my response. I figure that maybe spending some time together could do us both some good, even if part of me is still unsettled by the evening’s events.

After clearing the table, Emma stands up and stretches softly.

Emma: “I’m going to change into something more comfortable. Be right back.”

I watch her head to her room, a bit puzzled. She already changed before dinner, swapping out her tights for jeans. Why change again? But I shrug it off-it’s normal, after all. Who wants to stay in jeans to watch a movie on the couch?

A few minutes later, she returns dressed in sporty loungewear, an outfit that leaves little to the imagination. She seems more relaxed, more at ease, and I feel my heart start to race as I take her in.

Emma: “Ready for the movie!”

I try to mask my unease, simply nodding.

She settles in next to me on the couch-a normally innocent gesture that now fills me with a mix of warmth and discomfort.

My thoughts, still colored by images of Emmy, blend into this reality, making each of Emma’s movements, every breath, feel incredibly sensual. A warmth rises within me, an almost unbearable tension spreading through my body, making each passing minute harder to endure.

The movie goes on, and suddenly, a particularly sensual scene fills the screen. The characters are locked in a passionate embrace, their bodies coming together with an intensity that’s almost tangible. My heart races, and a wave of desire floods over me, heightened by Emma’s close presence. She’s absorbed in the film, seemingly unaware, but I… I’m drowning in this tension, in this increasingly insistent need.

I turn my head toward her, my eyes tracing the curve of her neck, the softness of her skin. A fleeting yet intense thought crosses my mind, leaving me unsettled by its boldness. What I feel for Emmy seems to be projecting onto Emma, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. A pulse awakens within me, a visceral, irresistible need.

Without warning, Emma rests her bare feet on my legs, a gesture that, on any other night, would have been entirely innocent. But tonight, that single touch becomes my entire focus. My gaze lingers on her feet, tracing the gentle curve of her toes, the soft warmth of her skin. A wave of heat rushes through me, and I find myself caught, mesmerized by this seemingly simple gesture.

My thoughts start to blur, sinking into a tide of uncontrollable desire. I can almost feel the sensation of her feet moving slowly along my skin, the gentle pressure of her toes trailing up my thighs. Her legs warm against mine, every subtle shift drawing me deeper into a tension that’s almost unbearable. I know I shouldn’t be thinking this way-she’s my sister-but I can’t look away, nor can I shut down the thoughts that consume me.

In my mind, a vivid scene unfolds. I imagine lying back with my eyes closed as Emma draws closer, her feet exploring me with a slow, teasing motion. Each touch feels as though it’s really happening, her feet moving up along my legs, each caress sending an electric shock through my body.

Her feet continue their exploration, gently brushing against my lips, the mere thought of kissing them, feeling them in my mouth, sending shivers of desire and guilt through me. I can see myself giving in to this sensation, unable to resist, completely captivated by this soft yet intensely erotic exploration.

I lose myself in the contemplation of her feet, imagining them pressing a little harder against me, exploring delicately and slowly, savoring every shiver they send through my body. I picture myself taking one of her feet in my hand, bringing it closer to my mouth, grazing each toe with my lips, the taste of her skin drowning me in a wave of forbidden pleasure. My mind fills with images of me nibbling softly, relishing this illicit contact, as her legs press a little tighter against mine, amplifying every sensation.

These thoughts fill me with shame, a sense of guilt that intertwines with the intense pleasure I feel. I know it’s wrong, that I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but the very taboo only heightens my desire. It’s as if each forbidden thought, each shameful image, only fuels the fire within me, making my situation even more unbearable.

My body responds with a force I can no longer control, an erection so powerful ignited by these shameful thoughts. I feel trapped in this moment, in a desire I can no longer suppress. The tension builds, each second becoming a trial as I desperately try to hold back my emotions, to keep my thoughts from spilling over.

The movie ends, but the tension lingers in the air. The silence that follows is thick with unspoken words, each second stretching out in an atmosphere charged with electricity.

Emma: “That was nice, right? We should do it again. Good night, Brice.”

Her voice is sweet and innocent, without a hint of the turmoil I’m experiencing. I nod, unable to form a coherent response. She gets up and disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone on the couch, staring at the black screen of the television.

My heart races, my mind in a whirl. I’m deeply unsettled by my own reactions, ashamed of what I feel. The emotions I have for Emmy are starting to warp my perception of reality, leaving me confused and disoriented. The evening ends on a note of unresolved tension, leaving me alone with tumultuous thoughts, emotions I don’t yet understand, and a desire that refuses to fade.

The next day…

The alarm rings far too early for my liking. Morning light filters through the curtains, but it’s anything but comforting. My mind is still muddled by yesterday’s events, by thoughts I can’t seem to shake off. I rise heavily, every movement feeling like a chore, and the sense of unease that accompanied me all night lingers on.

I prepare mechanically for the day, my gestures slow, almost robotic. In the mirror, my reflection shows a tired man, the dark circles under my eyes proof of that. I try to convince myself that this is all just a bad dream, that I’ll manage to escape this situation. But reality is more complex.

Arriving at the university, I drag my feet to my first class. The voices of other students, their laughter, all seem distant, almost unreal. I feel like a stranger in a world that has lost its colors.

During the break, I run into Jack, a long-time friend. He’s all smiles, as always. I try to appear normal, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice something’s off.

Jack: “Hey, Brice, you look rough this morning. Didn’t sleep well or what?”

I shake my head in denial, but I know I won’t be able to hide the truth for long.

Me: “Yeah, something like that… I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

Jack: “A lot on your mind, huh? Want to talk about it?”

I sigh, hesitating for a moment before letting a few words slip out.

Me: “It’s… complicated. Let’s just say I’ve been having some weird thoughts lately, and I don’t really know what to do with them.”

Jack studies me, curious but also a bit amused.

Jack: “Weird how? You found a girl who’s driving you crazy, is that it?”

I grimace, feeling uncomfortable. If only he knew how much more complicated it was. We’re talking about my little sister here…

Me: “Yeah, you could say that… Except it’s not a normal situation.”

He chuckles lightly, but his expression grows serious when he sees I’m not sharing in his amusement.

Jack: “Listen, Brice, I’m going to be blunt here. That means you’re attracted to her, man, and I’m not talking about feelings. I’m talking about the urge that’s eating you alive from the inside. If it’s weighing on you this much, you want to have sex with her.”

His words resonate in me in a way I hadn’t expected, but they only confirm what I dread.

Me: “But if it’s… wrong? Like, really wrong!?”

Jack looks at me, this time more perplexed.

Jack: “Wrong? You mean forbidden or something like that?”

I nod slowly, feeling a lump form in my throat.

Jack: “Brice, I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but if it’s as intense as you say, you’re going to have to find a way to deal with it. Because it’s not going to disappear on its own.”

His words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. But I can’t tell him more, not without risking revealing things I don’t want to admit, even to myself.

I must be crazy… None of this makes sense. It’s probably the images of Emmy overlapping with Emma in my mind. It’s the pressure, nothing more. This will pass; I just need to regain control. It’s not real, I keep repeating to myself. It can’t be real.

I spend the rest of the day in a fog. Classes come and go, but I remember nothing. Conversations around me seem meaningless, like a constant background noise whose nuances I can no longer perceive.

On the way back, I feel more lost than ever. Jack is right; I need to find a solution, but what solution?

Back home, I collapse onto my bed, exhausted by this inner battle. I don’t even have the strength to pull out my phone, to check if Emmy has replied. For now, all I want is to escape this spiral of thoughts, but I know it’s impossible. They’re there, always present, ready to resurface the moment I let my guard down.

I close my eyes, hoping sleep will bring me some respite. But deep down, I know this is just the beginning of a much longer struggle, a struggle against myself.

{2}Chapter 9 : A Promise

The next day…

The silence of the night weighs heavily on my shoulders, a leaden blanket that seems to thicken as the hours pass. Since my message to Emmy, the waiting has become unbearable, transforming into true torture. Each second without a response is a cruel reminder of the blurred line between reality and illusion where I’m slowly getting lost.

“Emmy, I… I don’t know exactly how I feel. This is all so new to me, and sometimes, I feel like I’m losing control. But I know I love talking to you, that I eagerly await your messages. You mean more to me than I ever thought possible. I don’t know if it’s love, but I really want to discover who you are behind all of this.”

It’s been two days since I sent that message, living with this knot in my stomach, unable to focus on anything else. The lack of response from Emmy haunts me, each passing minute feeding my doubts. I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake, if I was too honest, too vulnerable. What if she decided never to reply? What if my confession scared her off, or worse, disinterested her?

My phone has become an extension of myself, an object I can’t take my eyes off, afraid of missing her response. I check the screen at regular intervals, almost frantically, hoping to see her name appear, hoping that every vibration, every notification is the one I’m desperately waiting for.

I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling as if the answers might be up there, but all I see are the worst-case scenarios my mind conjures. What if she never replies? What if she doesn’t feel the same way? My thoughts spin in circles, growing darker as the days pass without a word from her.

Then, finally, just as I’m about to lose hope, a notification lights up the darkness of my room. My chest tightens. I grab my phone, hands trembling with anticipation. Her name appears on the screen, and a wave of relief mixed with intense apprehension washes over me. This is the moment of truth.