Chapter 5

I was coming home after dance practice, legs heavy and every muscle screaming. Today I trained alone — Kurai twisted her ankle and stayed home. The coach had pushed us hard: lunges, pirouettes, endless combinations. In two months we had an important performance, so I gave everything I had. I was exhausted, but happy. This kind of tiredness felt like a reward.

Climbing the stairs, I fished for my keys. The apartment was strangely quiet. When I opened the door, Kurai’s bag was still sitting in the hallway. That was unusual. She always took it straight to our room.

Maybe she’s still upset about last night... I thought, remembering how I had accidentally walked in on her changing.

But something felt even more off. The apartment was too silent — no music, no lights, no usual evening sounds.

I kicked off my shoes and headed toward our room. As I passed the living room, I heard it.

A soft, barely audible moan.

It was so intimate that I froze mid-step. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I quietly set my bag down and crept toward our room on tiptoe. The door was slightly ajar.

I peeked inside.

Kurai was lying on my bed.

Completely naked.

Her body glowed in the soft light coming through the window. Her legs were bent and parted. In one hand she held my panties — the very ones I had hidden the night before. Her other hand moved slowly between her thighs.

I couldn’t breathe.

Her fingers gently parted her smooth folds, exploring, stroking. Every touch made her body twitch. Quiet, breathy sounds escaped her lips. Her cheeks were flushed dark red, her mouth slightly open.

I couldn’t look away.

Kurai was lying on my bed. Completely naked. Her legs were bent and parted. In one hand she held my panties. Her other hand moved slowly between her thighs.

I watched as her fingers carefully touched her folds, spreading them, studying every little crease. Her movements were sometimes hesitant, sometimes bolder. Each stroke drew a soft moan or a sharp intake of breath from her. Her face showed a mixture of concentration and pleasure, lips parted, cheeks burning.

When her fingers found her clit and began circling it, her hips jerked and a low moan slipped out.

My heart was pounding so hard I was terrified she would hear it.

I still couldn’t look away.

“What are you doing, Kuri...?” I whispered inside my head, not daring to move.

I felt a strange, hot wave rising inside me — exciting and terrifying at the same time. It spread low in my belly, reminding me that my own body was reacting to what I was seeing.

Kurai kept touching herself.

Her fingers slid lower, gliding between her wet folds, then returned to her clit. When she reached her entrance, she paused, pressing gently but not pushing inside. Her movements were still a little shy, as if she was afraid to cross that final line. Her hips rocked in time with her hand, and soft, breathy sounds escaped her lips. Her eyes were closed, but her face ... her face was so alive, so honest.

Inside me two feelings fought each other: the urge to step back and leave her alone, and a sharp, almost painful curiosity that kept me rooted to the spot.

Why are you holding my panties, Kurai...?

And then I understood.

She wasn’t just touching herself. She was doing it while holding my panties. Smelling them.

The realization hit me like lightning.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Heat flooded my face, my chest, my core. I felt my nipples tighten under my shirt and a warm wetness gather between my own legs.

What is happening to me? Why can’t I just walk away?

Her movements grew faster. Her hips started rolling against her hand, and she clutched my panties tighter. A quiet, desperate sound slipped from her mouth. Her body arched, thighs trembling, and I knew she was close.

My hands gripped the doorframe so hard my knuckles turned white.

Kurai came with a soft, broken moan, her whole body shuddering. But she didn’t stop.

Her fingers returned to her clit, now moving with more confidence, more hunger. She lay on my bed, completely lost in herself, legs spreading wider as if her body was begging for more.

I stood there, unable to move.

Inside me everything was burning: shame, desire, guilt ... and a strange, aching pull I couldn’t name.

My eyes kept returning to her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, her small breasts rising and falling with every ragged breath. She looked so beautiful. So open. So ... mine.

My hand slipped into my jacket pocket and pulled out my phone. My fingers were shaking as I turned on the camera.

Why are you doing this, Lissa? a voice inside me scolded.

But I didn’t stop.

I raised the phone and framed her.

On the screen Kurai looked even more unreal — glowing, naked, completely surrendered to her pleasure. Her fingers slid along her wet folds, circling her clit with steady, hungry movements. Soft, sensual moans spilled from her lips and echoed straight into my veins.

I couldn’t look away.

You’re her sister, the voice whispered again.

I didn’t listen.

My mind flooded with fantasies.

I imagined her fingers touching me the same way she was touching herself right now. I saw her eyes looking at me with the same hungry admiration I felt burning inside me. Reality and fantasy blurred together, pulling me into a world I had never known.

Every stroke of her hand, every soft moan echoed straight through my body.

Heat pooled low in my belly. My nipples tightened painfully against my bra. Without thinking, I pressed my thighs together, trying to ease the sweet, aching throb between my legs.

Lissa, you have to stop, a voice in my head warned.

I ignored it.

Kurai’s hand moved faster now. Her fingers slid down, parting her slick folds, then returned to her clit, circling it with growing confidence. When she slipped a finger inside herself, her back arched and a shaky moan escaped her lips.

I couldn’t breathe.

My own hand moved on its own. I unbuttoned my jacket, then the top button of my jeans. My fingers slipped under the waistband, beneath my panties, finding the same wet heat that was already soaking through the fabric.

I touched myself exactly the way she was touching herself.

My fingers circled my clit, slow at first, then faster, matching her rhythm. Pleasure surged through me like liquid fire. My breathing grew ragged. My hips rocked forward, chasing the sensation.

I kept my eyes glued to her — to the way her body trembled, to the way she clutched my panties like a lifeline, to the pure, shameless pleasure written all over her face.

It was too much.

And not enough.

I bit my lip hard to keep from moaning out loud, but a soft, desperate sound still slipped free.

Kurai looked so beautiful like this — lost in herself, completely open, completely hers.

And I couldn’t stop watching.

I couldn’t stop touching myself.

I bit my lip hard to keep from making a sound.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Kurai.

My fingers had frozen between my legs, my breath caught in my throat, as if any movement might shatter the fragile, electric atmosphere filling the room.

When she finally relaxed after the first wave, her movements slowed, but she didn’t stop. Her fingers kept gently stroking her clit, as though she wanted to stretch this moment out forever, to savor every last spark of pleasure.

I quietly turned off the camera. I couldn’t keep recording. I could only watch.