Chapter 13: 🌶️ Games of Confessions

A few hours later...

The night is well underway when I find myself back in my room, alone with my turbulent thoughts. I can’t escape the spiral I’ve willingly thrown myself into. Images of Emma, the forbidden desire that overwhelmed me earlier in the living room, loop endlessly in my mind. I collapse onto my bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hoping the darkness in the room will swallow up my torment. But reality refuses to fade.

Then, my phone vibrates on the bedside table—a message from Emmy. A wave of stress washes over me. Normally, I’d rush to read her messages, eager to dive into that virtual world where I can be someone else. But tonight, I don’t have the strength. I tell myself I won’t respond, that I’ll ignore it for once, to hold onto whatever shred of sanity I have left.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, trying to convince myself to let it go. But the phone vibrates again, and my gaze is irresistibly drawn to the screen. I remember that Emma is just next door, separated from me by only a few meters and a thin wall. This proximity makes it even more disturbing, almost surreal. Against all reason, my fingers reach for the phone, and I grab it, unable to resist Emmy’s—Emma’s—call.

I unlock the screen, and Emma’s words appear before my eyes:

Emmy (message): “You’re a bit quiet tonight ... Everything okay?” My heart tightens as I read her words. She’s there, waiting for me, and I can’t simply ignore her. Yet, a wave of shame washes over me. How can I keep talking to her like this? She’s Emma—my sister, for God’s sake! But despite it all, I’m trapped, unable to pull away, like a moth drawn to a flame.

I’m torn between wanting to respond and wanting to escape from this situation that’s spiraling out of control. I should stop, end this game before it’s too late. But before I can decide, another message arrives.

Emmy (message): “I’ve got an idea ... We could play a little game, if you’re up for it.”

A game? What does she have in mind this time? Curiosity gets the better of me, and I end up typing a response.

Me (message): “A game? What kind of game?” Her reply comes quickly, and already I feel a familiar tension building inside me—a tension I know I shouldn’t be feeling.

Emmy (message): “A game where we share our deepest fantasies. You start, or should I? 😏”

A surge of heat floods my body, an almost instinctual reaction to her words. My heart races, and despite everything, I feel myself irresistibly drawn to this proposition. I know it’s dangerous, that it’ll only blur the lines further with Emma. A voice inside me—my reason—screams that I should end this conversation, that I need to pull back, that all of this is profoundly, desperately wrong. But another part of me, a darker part buried deep, can’t resist diving headfirst into the game she’s proposing, fully aware that each exchanged word is actually shared with Emma, just a few meters away in the next room.

Me (message): “Alright ... you start.” The response slips from my fingers before I fully realize what I’m doing. Immediately afterward, a wave of shame crashes over me. How could I agree to this? This is Emma—someone I’ve always protected, my beloved little sister, the one I share so many childhood memories with. And yet, I can’t stop myself from wanting to know what she’ll say, what she’ll reveal.

Emmy (message): “Alright ... if you insist 😏. I often fantasize about doing it somewhere public, where anyone could see. Just the thought drives me wild...” My mind instantly starts racing. I picture us together, in a public space, where the risk of being caught makes every second more intense. I type my reply, heart pounding.

Me (message): “The thrill of the risk ... I imagine in a dark alley, or even in an empty theater ... the idea is incredibly exciting.”

Emmy (message): “Exactly ... I imagine you taking me somewhere public, a place where everything could shift in an instant.”

My mind blurs, torn between reality and this engulfing fantasy. I can’t help but picture Emma in this scenario, her body so close to mine, every movement betraying the forbidden nature of what we’re doing. The forbidden desire—the thought of being exposed as siblings—burns with an intense heat.

Then, suddenly, a photo appears. It’s an image of Emma, her back to the camera, revealing the curve of her hip. Imagining her like this in a public setting stirs something intense within me.

Me (message): “You’re stunning ... For me, I’ve always been captivated by costumes and lingerie. Watching someone slowly reveal themselves, dressed in carefully chosen outfits, it drives me insane.”

Emmy (message): “Lingerie, hmm? I think I’ve got just the thing.”

Moments later, another photo flashes onto my screen. This time, she’s in garters, all in black and seductively revealing. My breath catches.

Emmy (message): “Do you like it? 😉 I love slipping into outfits like this, especially when I know they’ll turn heads...” My thoughts spin out of control. I picture my sister, right next door, in her room, only a few steps away. This proximity makes the fantasy all the more intense, more real. It’s as if every boundary, every moral line, collapses under the weight of this desire I should never feel. Seeing her like this, ready to provoke, to test the limits, makes the situation intolerable—but I can’t pull away.

I swallow, feeling the tension building inside me, and decide to reply with another fantasy.

Me (message): “You’re perfect ... And I have to admit, I’ve always been intrigued by the idea of a threesome. Two women ... I wonder what that would be like.”

Emmy (message): “A threesome? You’re more adventurous than I thought ... I have to admit, it crosses my mind too. The sensation of multiple hands on me, lips exploring every inch of my skin...”

Another message arrives, followed by a photo. This time, Emma is lying on her bed, one hand gently caressing herself, the other holding her phone. The idea of a threesome adds an even more provocative edge to the image, making it impossible to ignore.

Me (message): “You’re giving me ideas ... You’re irresistible. I have to admit, I have a bit of a thing for feet. Massaging them, kissing them, worshipping them ... It’s a recent fantasy.”

Emmy (message): “Really? Feet ... I like that. Maybe one day you could give mine a massage ... Who knows what it might do to you? 💦”

Another photo appears, this time showing her delicate feet, slightly veiled by sheer stockings, resting on the edge of the bed.

The sight of her feet like this reminds me of a fantasy I’ve kept secret, those moments where I’ve let myself get lost in the thought of touching, kissing, exploring every curve and softness of her skin. I can’t help but bite my lip, desire surging in me like a relentless wave. Heat spreads through my lower abdomen, and I feel increasingly consumed by this forbidden thought.

Me (message): “You know exactly how to stir my deepest desires ... Have you ever thought about being blindfolded, letting your other senses guide you?”

Emmy (message): “Oh yes ... The idea of not seeing, of letting my other senses take over ... just thinking about it excites me.”

The next photo is even more provocative: she’s on her knees, wearing a blindfold, like a promise of an even more intense game. Seeing her like this, a wave of nearly unbearable desire overwhelms me. I find myself staring at the wall of my room, in the direction of hers, as if I could see her through the walls. The image of her body, on her knees and blindfolded, blurs the line between our private spaces entirely, making it feel as though the boundary between us has dissolved completely.

Me (message): “That turns me on ... I’ve always dreamed of doing it in front of a mirror or a camera. Watching every expression, every movement—it’s so thrilling.”

Emmy (message): “I love that ... it makes each moment feel even more real. I already record myself sometimes, so I know exactly what you mean. 😜”

I lose myself in intense thought, hesitation washing over me. Sharing a fantasy is one thing, but sharing it with Emma feels both inappropriate and overwhelmingly exciting. Desire, however, outweighs reason. I decide not to let guilt suppress what I feel.

Me (message): “And to finish ... there’s domination. Guiding someone, having them follow my desires...” A slight pause follows, each passing second feeling endless, charged with anticipation. My heart pounds as I wonder how Emma will react to this confession, if she’ll understand the weight of what I just revealed.

Finally, a new message appears on the screen.

Emmy (message): “I thought so ... that really turns me on too. And actually, I haven’t told you everything ... there’s one more fantasy I need to confess, and I think this one is the most intense of them all... 😈” Her message leaves me stunned. The most intense of all? I’m consumed by curiosity and excitement. The thought of discovering this hidden fantasy, the one she’s kept secret, intoxicates me. My mind races, imagining what ultimate desire could surpass everything we’ve already shared.