Eyes on Me: Part 1 – Chapter 3

I suppress a groan as I scroll through the various available sites. This is embarrassing…and I’m nearly drunk, hence why I’ve swallowed my pride and pulled up this search in the first place. I briefly considered grabbing a ride and going to the club to see if anything exciting is happening in the voyeur hall, but it’s not really couples and sex I want to see right now.

“Fuck, I’m pathetic,” I mutter to myself, before clicking on the first, least sleazy site. I’ve been on it before, when I was browsing for inspiration for the club. It wasn’t long before I shut down the idea, but for a moment, I briefly considered how one of these performances would translate to a live experience for our members, but the idea never really fleshed out correctly in my head. How would that even work? Put girls on stage with a bunch of vibrators and dildos and line up the audience like in a theater?

No, that sounds terrible. I’m sure someone else could make it work, but that person is not me.

Unlike last time, logging in today is for shameless entertainment and, hopefully, a hint of a human connection.

The app is more tasteful than I thought at first. It’s sleek and inviting. Not like some of those in-your-face, vulgar porn sites. In fact, it looks more like a regular social media app. Scrolling through the girls live online now, I click through a few different ones.

The first is a beautiful Asian woman in a gaming chair with large headphones around her ears and what looks like a video game controller in her hands. I can’t help but laugh. She has over ten thousand active viewers, and she’s fully clothed, playing video games.

Okay, next.

A busty redhead is cooking in her kitchen. This one is a bit sexier with the camera angle coming from somewhere low and a crisp HD view of her pushed-up tits, hanging out of the front of her low-cut tank. She makes small talk with the viewers while she cooks, periodically responding to posted questions and comments.

It’s appealing to observe her for a moment, lost in the delicate ministrations of her long, manicured nails as she dices vegetables and flicks her hair behind her shoulder.

But it loses its luster after a few minutes.

I’m cracking open my fifth beer of the night when I click onto a live profile, WickedKitten214. I drop back onto my couch as the video feed cuts to a close view of cute pink toes on a tile floor and a girl’s voice in the background.

“I like this shade more than the last one. What do you think?”

I pause with my drink halfway to my lips. That voice. It’s oddly familiar.

The camera view changes as the girl sets the phone down against something, giving me and seventeen thousand other people a view of her body—a yellow crop top and a black skirt with a span of soft pale white flesh in between.

My eyes catch up before my brain does, but that’s probably because of the beer. I can’t tear my gaze away from what I’m seeing right now. A very familiar outfit on a very familiar body with a very familiar voice.

“What…” I manage to mutter before long white hair drops into view followed by her face. That face. A cute dimpled chin, round cheeks that nearly swallow up her big blue eyes when she smiles, and supple apple-shaped lips currently covered in some coffee-colored lipstick.

My beer lands in my lap, splashing cold carbonated liquid all over my bare chest and flannel pajama pants.

“Fuck!” I bark, dropping my phone, grabbing the can from my couch and setting it on the coffee table. I run to the kitchen to grab a towel, drying myself off while gaping at my phone still playing from the floor and my fucking stepsister’s voice filling the room.

Mia? No.

Ignoring the mess seeping into the fabric of my sofa, I go back over to the phone on the floor, carefully glancing at the screen, as if she can see me, which she can’t, and waiting for my eyes to correct themselves because they must be wrong.

It’s just a woman who looks eerily similar to Mia.

But then she hangs her head back and laughs, a full cackle that always comes out just a little bit deeper than her speaking voice.

Yep, that’s Mia all right.

Finally gathering the courage to pick up my phone, I lift it from the floor and stare at my sister on the screen.

She’s not your sister, asshole.

I mean…what do I care if she’s flaunting her shit online? She’s a brat anyway, and it’s certainly none of my business.

Quickly, I click out of the live feed and scroll a few other camgirl options, but the nagging reminder that my twenty-three-year-old stepsister is putting herself on display in front of all those creeps, who are probably thinking and saying some pretty deplorable stuff to her, bothers me enough to click right back into her broadcast.

Mia is screwing on the cap of her soft pink nail polish while going on and on about how she considers herself more of a homebody than a club girl. Then she shows us the spiked seltzer she’s drinking and asks viewers to comment with what they’re drinking.

I cannot tear my eyes away. It’s her…but it’s just a few shades off from being the real Mia. I just got off the phone with her a couple hours ago, and I try to remember how she sounded when she was talking to me compared to how she sounds now. With me, she was a little more agitated, defensive, and she chewed on the inside corner of her mouth when she wasn’t speaking.

The girl on the phone screen now isn’t quite Mia.

I see her bedroom in the lake house in the background. Where the hell is my mother and stepdad? She wouldn’t do this with them at home, would she?

Fuck! What the fuck is Mia doing on a webcam app?

Maybe she just does these livestreams for fun. To make a little side-hustle cash. It can’t be any more than that. She definitely doesn’t take her clothes off on camera or do any of the nasty, depraved things I’m sure these seventeen—nope, now twenty-one—thousand people want her to do.

At the bottom of the screen, the comments from other users scroll, and most of them are tame enough. They probably have filters in place to keep men from being predatory in the comments. There’s a space for me to leave one of my own, but I don’t. Along the side are more buttons, one to message her, for a fee, of course, and another to request a private video chat.

It’s just a default setting. Mia doesn’t do that.

No, no, no, no, no.

My drunk conscience is warring with this feeling of overprotectiveness because that’s my little sister. But there’s something else taking up space in my head too…something that doesn’t have a name, but it echoes in an unfamiliar cadence: mine, mine, mine.

It’s that nameless shade of testosterone-fueled possessiveness that drives me to punch my thumb against the Request a Private Room button.

What…am I doing?

A pop-up notification appears over Mia’s video, informing me that her private room rate is $450 an hour, and I barely blink an eye before hitting the green Proceed button.

The popup goes away, and I watch as Mia’s eyes on the camera slant down to the bottom of her screen, as if she’s reading a notification. A moment later, she addresses her viewers.

“All right guys, this polish is dried, so I’m gonna head to bed. Have a great night, babes! And don’t drink too much!”

A second later, my screen goes black.

Give camera access? No.

I really didn’t think this through. No. Mia can’t hear or see me. I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but I think when I requested this room, I did it thinking I could confront her about this. But is that what I want to do? Or do I want to see just how far she’s willing to go in these private chats?

Microphone access…no.

A moment later, she’s on the screen again, but instead of displaying the huge number of viewers in the top corner, it looks more like a regular video call. My username appears in the corner: Player428.

“Hello there,” she says in a flirty drawl. “Oh…you’re going to be shy, huh? That’s okay. Just send me messages in the chat box. I’ll get you to open up eventually. These private rooms can be intimidating at first.”

She’s carrying the phone through her bedroom, but I can’t see much more than her face and the top of her chest. For a minute, I just stare at her round cheeks and the contrast of her white teeth against her dark-stained lips. Why have I never noticed how flawless Mia’s skin is? Or how full her lips are?

“Why don’t you start by telling me your name?”

I hesitate with my fingers over the text box. What should I say? For some reason, the only other person I could see doing this, flirting with women so openly, comes to mind…

I watch her eyes read the message and a smirk pulls at her lips. “I like that name. Okay, Drake…it’s Friday night and you’re here chatting with me. Are you drinking anything?”

Fuck, that was lame. She laughs anyway, not the full-belly laugh I’m used to, but a simplified version that still manages to make me smile.

God, Mia…what the fuck are you doing? This can’t be real.

“No, you didn’t,” she replies playfully. She crawls into bed and puts her phone into some sort of holder, so she no longer has to keep it upright with her hands. This new position gives me a perfect view of her body nestled against crisp white pillows and a rustic wooden headboard.

That’s her fucking bed. I’ve seen it a hundred times from our summers at the lake.

My cock twitches in my pants. No. You shut the fuck up.

I haven’t seen Mia in person in six months. But even then, I never really noticed how grown up she’s gotten. There’s no denying that the bratty little kid I once knew grew into a beautiful woman, even if I’ve never bothered to look at her that way. She has exquisite curves and the confidence of someone comfortable in her own skin. Stepsister or not, that’s fucking sexy.

“Drake, I think I’m going to slip into my PJs. Do you want me to go off camera or stay where you can see me?” She bites her lower lip and gives me a flirty raised-brow expression.

My cock practically jumps this time.

Type off camera, asshole. Type it now.

And maybe if I wasn’t a little drunk, I would. But I tell myself I’m just doing this to test her, to make sure she’s not really getting naked for strangers on the internet.

But it feels just a little too satisfying to type out the words:

Goddammit. Goddamn me. Goddamn my stupid cock and my fucking mom for marrying someone with such a stubborn, beautiful, brat of a daughter and goddamn Mia for doing this to me. And goddamn the world’s longest dry spell I’m currently in.

The camera must be on some sort of swiveling attachment because she rotates it around a bit, letting me watch her climb across the bed, crawling in such a way that I’m given a sneak peek of her cute ass beneath that black-pleated skirt.

God, I just looked at Mia’s ass.

I groan.

I’ve managed to contain the shameless monster in my pants to a minor chub up until this point, but when Mia smiles at the camera as she slips her skirt down, revealing a black thong and an ample, round ass, I really do try to look away.

I try.

“I hope you’re still there,” she says, turning around while she digs in her drawers for her pajamas. “Because I can’t see my messages from here.”

She pulls her yellow top over her head, and my gaze catches on the softness of her belly and the supple curves of her hips. And that gross big-brother brain kicks in with some sick satisfaction that she looks better than she did a few years ago when she was on that gymnastics team, and I was hounding her about her terrible eating habits and lack of nutritious calories. God, she got so mad at me for that, but she was too skinny, and her arguments about how skinny-shaming were the same as fat-shaming had little effect on me. I just wanted to see more flesh on her bones, and fuck me…she looks…better now.

“The blue or the red?” she asks, holding up two different silk pajama sets, both lacy and sexy, but I’m too busy staring at the cute dimples in her ass to care about color.

She leans forward to read the screen from across the room. Then her eyebrows shoot upward as she takes in my response.

“Oh. Want me to stay in this?” She models her lacy black thong and see-through bra for me.

Chubby no more, my cock is starting to strain against my boxers.

This feels wrong.

Okay…no, it doesn’t. But it fucking should. Because it is wrong.

Mia has no idea it’s me on the other end of this call. This is a major invasion of her privacy and crossing about a hundred bright, bold lines, surrounded by sirens and caution tape and Do Not Enter signs, but I ignore every single one of them. I can’t help it.

“Or would you like to see me in less?” she asks so quietly I almost don’t hear her. Stepping closer to the camera, she leans down and gives me a full view of her cleavage. As she stares into the lens, it almost feels as if, for a split second, she can actually see me and that, somehow, I’ve been caught, and she knows it’s her stepbrother watching.

“Okay, Drake. In order for you to see more of me, you’re going to have to show me more.”

My first thought is to swipe away right now.

Instead, I type:

She reads my message and smiles. “Rules say you have to keep your clothes on. But you don’t have to show me your face if you don’t want to.”

“I understand.” She gives me a sympathetic look while thinking for a moment. It’s strange to have Mia look at me without a disdainful expression. So this is what it’s like to speak to her like someone she doesn’t hate?

And I don’t miss the way she seems so much more human and relatable now than in the livestream. As if she’s really trying to connect to the man on the other end of the call. Knowing that it’s me she’s talking to feels good, but the reminder that it’s often other men she’s trying to relate to makes me want to hurt someone.

“Oh,” she replies, “are you in bed right now?”

I practically leap off the couch and run to my room. Dropping onto the mattress, I quickly type my response.

“Show me your bed, and I’ll show you something.”

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. When I hit the video button at the top corner of the screen, my finger is shaking. I angle the phone down, so only my bare chest and the top of my pajama bottoms are showing. The only light in the room is coming through the open door, so she gets a blurry, dark view of my abdomen on my black linen sheets.

I watch her expression change from anticipation to surprise. Her lips part just a hair and her eyes lose a little of their focus.

“Oh…Drake,” she whispers, “you have a great body.”

She smiles. “What would you like to see?”

Her head tilts to the side. “So predictable, Drake.”

I laugh because it’s her and it sounds like her giving me shit like she always does.

Her eyebrows rise. “Okay, then what’s it gonna be?”

My brain and all of its rational, appropriate functions are gone. They haven’t been running this show for a while, and if my cock could type, it would. Instead, I’m left to do all the typing for it.

Her gaze loses more of its focus.

“Everything? You really went for it.”

She laughs. “I think I’m going to need a little more for that view, Drake.”

With a bite of her bottom lip, she replies, “No. More of you.”

“I lied.”

That mischievous grin I know so well comes into view, and I falter, almost accidentally letting my camera pan up to my face. Instead, I pull my arm a little farther away, showing her my full body, still clothed from the waist down. The dim light makes the bulge in my pants hard to see, so I dip my hand under the waistband and take a hold of my cock.

The warm, tight grip of my hand makes my spine light up with sensation and my chest sucks in a desperate breath.

“Whatcha got there to show me, Drake?” she asks in a breathy plea.

Still holding my cock in one hand and the phone in the other, I awkwardly work my erection out of its confines and angle the camera, so she can see it. Just knowing Mia is staring at my swollen dick has my heart pounding in my chest.

“Oh, God…” She moans, and I have to bite my lip. It doesn’t sound porn-star fake. It sounds completely fucking real. “You’ve earned this.”

Keeping the camera angled toward my cock, I watch as she does as I said. Turning around, she hinges at the hips and bends slowly, giving me a delicious view of her ass. The black fabric of her bra and panties contrast against her pale flesh as she slides her thong down her legs.

My hand strokes my cock on its own as I stare at the perfection of her tight puckered hole, just above the glistening skin of her moist folds. She’s wet. Does she always get wet on these calls?

Nope. It’s for me, I chant in my head as my stroking picks up speed.

“Drake, you better not come without letting me watch,” she says sweetly.

Typing with one hand isn’t easy, but I manage a reply—thanks to autocorrect.

She hums in delight. Standing upright, she sits on her bed and turns the phone to face her again. “I’m going to need something from you then.”

“Turn on your audio. I want to hear the sounds you make when you come.”

Fuck, I could come right now. Just the filthy words coming out of her mouth have me ready to spill.

She unclasps her bra from somewhere between her breasts and they spring free. Suddenly, my feisty stepsister is splayed out on her pretty white bed, naked and perfect, all for me. I drink up the sight as I will myself not to blow. Not yet.

“I’m waiting, Drake…” she teases as she casually strokes her cunt.

Oh, what the fuck… Without another thought, I hit the microphone button and stay silent, letting the smacking of my flesh as I stroke myself be the only sound heard through the line.

“Much better,” she replies. With a slight angle of her phone, she aims it toward the apex of her thighs as she moves her middle finger in tight circles around her clit. God, she’s good at this. The camera angles and dirty talk. Too fucking good at this.

On one hand, I cannot fucking believe she does this.

And yet, here I am…really fucking enjoying it.

“Now, let me hear you, Drake.” She moans as she watches the screen and keeps up her circular stroking.

I let out a heavy grunt, a few octaves deeper, trying to mask the sound of my voice.

“Yes,” she pants. She’s watching me beat my cock like it’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen, and maybe it’s what all men tell themselves when they watch her do this, but I swear she’s actually enjoying it. Her cheeks are turning pink and her legs are fidgeting, and the pleasurable sounds seeping through her lips sound genuine. And I should know. It’s literally my job to know what sounds real and what sounds fake, and fuck me…this is real.

Another one of my grunts echoes through my empty room, and she answers with her own breathy cry. “I’m gonna come,” she says, her voice strained. “Stroke harder, Drake.”

And I do. I’m handling my cock so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t break.

“Finger yourself,” I tell her, and she gasps for a minute at the sound of my voice.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.

My own words replay in my head as I try to decide if that really sounded like me or if it was just strained enough to pass for someone else.

“I wish you were here to do it for me,” she replies, clearly not recognizing my voice, but even as she says that, one of her fingers curls between her folds, disappearing inside her as she cries out. Then she looks back at the phone and pumps at the same rhythm that I am.

“Come with me, Drake.” She moans loudly.

“I’m coming,” I whisper in a deep raspy voice.

Her eyes don’t leave the screen as I unload all over my own chest. Her attention is rapt on the seed I’m spilling, and then a moment later, I watch her abs contract, her eyes squeeze shut, and her thighs close around her hand as she lets out a cry of pleasure that makes me want to come again.

The only sound for a few long minutes is our heavy breathing, the camera still focused on the pools of cum on my chest.

When Mia does finally open her eyes, she looks momentarily affected, as if this was as strange for her as it was for me.

“Wow, Drake…that was…a good way to end my day.”

As she sits up, I can see her attempt to reclaim her composure. A feeling of intense shame washes over me, practically knocking the wind out of me. What the fuck have I just done? Before I can even give myself a chance to reply, I swipe the app closed.