Livestreaming My Sister

But I was checking her out through the viewfinder.

She was glorious.

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

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

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

"Hurry up," she said, when I'd taken no less than five seconds.

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

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

So I started snapping.

"Delete the ones you don't use!" she said sternly, while changing pose.

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

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

Not that she had unflattering angles.

Her body was immaculate.

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

Within moments she was concealed in orange again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was captivating.

Her breasts looked astonishing.

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

Not too revealing, but not strategically hidden either.

It was a masterpiece.

The photo and the subject matter.

"We're a great team!" she said.

We high-fived.

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

Then I deleted all the pictures except this one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had little choice but to oblige.

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

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

"Done," she said, dusting her hands together.

She went back to her bedroom to get dressed.

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

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

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

The opposite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

"Be flattered," I said.

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

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

"If you've got it, flaunt it," I said, helpfully.

"Have I got it?" she asked sincerely.

"Fuck, yes," I said.

***

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

My dick was the kind of hard that felt uncomfortable.

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

Thinking about it had become a quotidian experience.

But I was still in some form of denial.

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

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

That's what I told myself.

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

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

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

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

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

How could this end anywhere good?

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

Part Two: IRL

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

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

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

She looked utterly delicious.

"What's up?" I asked, leaning my skateboard against the step.

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

"Sure. What is it?"

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

"Excuse me?"

"It's the part of the app where people broadcast themselves live..."

"I know what it is!" I said. "I can't believe you're suggesting it!"

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

"Yes, but two hours of doing what?"

"You know... Just flirting, and undressing," she said.

"That's it?"

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

I looked at her with my mouth agape.

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

She was right about that much.

"You're actually serious about this," I said.

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

"I mean, you're paraphrasing; and he didn't mention stripping... But sure. How will you prevent people from identifying you?"

"Obviously I won't show my face," she said, "I'll wear a mask."

"You'll get lower engagement with your face covered," I said.

"You think these won't be their own draw?" she said, grabbing her boobs.

She had two excellent points.

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

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

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

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

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

The type you might see at a Venetian masquerade ball.

She put it on.

"Oh wow," I said. "That actually might work!"

She looked like a large-breasted superhero.

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

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

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

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

She was a smart, free-thinking woman.

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

But I also suspected there was more to it.

She wasn't just making a quick buck.

She was enjoying it.

She wanted to show off her body.

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

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

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

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

Had she been peeking at my Christmas list?

"It's a deal," I said, trying to sound casual but failing.

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

"That's Fellini," she said. "But second best will do."

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

She thanked me profusely, and we hugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First Livestream

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

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

"No reason," we said in unison.

"Ok, freaks!" he said, laughing. "You're like the twins from The Shining."

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

"We're 18!" said Charlotte.

"19," I corrected, regarding myself.

"We're also a couple of squares!" Charlie added.

"It's true," said Dad, "they're more boring than us, honey!"

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

Our dear parents finally departed.

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

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

At around 7.30PM my sister walked in.

I could have died.

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

Her make up was subtle, but elegant.

And slightly elf-like.

She looked adorable; the stuff of your wildest dreams.

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

But that one too.

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

I think my eyes said it regardless.

I may have even gasped without realizing.

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

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

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

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

"Ok, you're all signed in..." I said, trying not to sound flustered.

I was more apprehensive than her.

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

"I will be ok, won't I, Jay?" she said, showing the first sign of any vulnerability.

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

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

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

"Thank you," she said. "There's no way I could do this without you!"

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

We exchanged one final hug of solidarity.

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

Then I left her alone.

Perched at the end of my bed.

Like a sexy elf.

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

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

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

Until suddenly, there she was.

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

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

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

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

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

It looked like she was broadcasting from Arkham asylum.

I instantly sent 10,000 tokens in support.

I also texted her the word "posture."

She read my text immediately and rectified her slumped shoulders.

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

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

Then there were 7.

Then 20.

But she wasn't interacting much.

I sent another text that said: "Say something!"

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

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

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

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

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

She replied aloud to one user's comment: "Hi Forest88! Whatcha doin'?"

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

"Show us your tits," another user helpfully contributed.

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

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

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

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

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

Soon there were 347 people in the room.

The message board was filled with comments.

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

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

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

Charlotte ignored the question each time.

But I started to wonder too.

"Show it to us already," another user begged.

"Be polite," wrote a third. "She's a person."

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

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

There were 1280 people in the room at one point.

She was the third most popular room on the app.

She had also loosened up and become more engaging.

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

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

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

But it's also not supposed to be Facebook.

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

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

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

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

She was there to make money, after all.

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

I felt my cock grow hard as I typed it.

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

It was the fact I was commanding her.

My own little sister.

Ordering her to strip for hundreds of faceless men.

I had become her pimp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had my hand down my pants.

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

The message board was out of control.

People were commenting with obscene graphics and monster emojis.

It was like a rowdy cyber-strip bar.

At one point the room contained 2333 people.

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

Think of all that cum.

Produced on behalf of my sister.

The comments in the chat became more urgent and imploring.

Some were getting restless.

Everybody was itching for more; even the polite ones.

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

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

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

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

I was so proud of her.

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

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