Chapter 35 : 🌶️🌶️Two-Faced
We’re sitting at the table. Warm light, steaming plates, cutlery clinking against the dishes.
My mom’s serving portions of gratin, my dad’s going on about work—some guy who fell off a scaffold on-site. The vibe is chill. A little too chill.
And right across from me, there’s Emma.
She’s eating like it’s just another evening. Calm. Casual.
But I can feel her feet moving under the table. Slow. Subtle.
And then it starts.
Her toes brush against my leg, creeping up slow, like some blind insect feeling its way. They climb. Higher. Until the sole of her foot presses against my thigh—warm, soft, unhurried. Then she pulls back. Playing. Fucking with me.
I tilt my head down a bit. I glance at her. She’s staring back, a bite of food halfway to her mouth, looking completely innocent.
But her feet? Still up to their filthy little game.
So I react. Cold. Loud. On purpose.
Me: “Jesus, Emma, get your nasty feet off me, this is getting annoying.”
Everyone turns to look at me.
She acts surprised. Gives a soft laugh.
Emma: “What? Not my fault if you’re invading my personal space…”
And then, like the smug little brat she is, she lifts one foot in my direction and wiggles her toes. I stare at her, heart pounding.
Mom: “Oh boy… feels like you two are ten years old again.”
Dad: “Ha! No kidding.”
Emma hides a crooked grin as she helps herself to another serving.
And me? I’m still putting on the whole annoyed big brother act—arms crossed, eyes sharp.
But under the table, her foot slides right back in.
Between my legs.
And she presses. Just enough.
Fuck… she’s gonna drive me insane.
Dinner goes on—between my mom’s stories, random comments about the gratin, weak laughs, soft chatter. Feels like a good mood.
And yet…
That knot comes back in my throat. Tight. Crushing.
Like a fucking weight pressing down.
And without warning, I blurt it out:
Me : “I got my results this morning.”
Silence.
All eyes on me. Even she stops moving under the table.
Me : “I fucked up.”
My mom puts her fork down. My dad goes quiet. The whole room freezes.
Dad : “What do you mean, you didn’t pass? You failed a class?”
I shake my head. I’m done hiding.
Me : “Not one. All of them. I haven’t done shit in months. I tanked the exams, the assignments—I turned in half-finished crap, or nothing at all. I’m totally fucked. I didn’t even hit the minimum average.”
Silence.
Heavy. Like something rotting in the air.
I keep going:
Me : “And the worst part? I know exactly why. It’s not the uni, not the teachers. It’s me. I let go, I checked out. And now I’m deep in the shit.”
I stare down at my plate. I can’t even lift my head anymore.
And that’s when the real talk begins.
My mom’s worried. Really worried. She asks how long it’s been going on, why I didn’t say anything.
She wants to know if it’s stress, a rough patch, if I want her to call someone—a teacher, a supervisor. She’s trying to understand. Her voice is soft, reassuring, but there’s a tremble underneath.
My dad stays calmer. He’s staring at me with that shut-off face—the “you’re pissing me off but I’m not letting go” kind of look.
He talks about repeating the year. Taking a break. Wants us to sit down, assess things properly.
And me, I’m just there. Empty. My stomach’s in knots. I feel sick. Ashamed.
Not because of them.
Because of me.
Emma hasn’t said a word since the start. She’s still sitting across from me, quiet, eyes a little low. She hasn’t touched me again.
But I know she’s burning up inside.
Then, right in the middle of all this, my dad turns to her—almost absentmindedly:
Dad : “Well… let’s hope things go better for you, sweetheart. Looks like we’ll be counting on you to make the family proud this year.”
She slowly lifts her head.
And smiles. That twisted fucking smile. The one she saves just for me.
Then she drops the line. Calm. Casual. But it’s a slap in disguise.
Emma : “Brice could always sell his body. I’m sure he’d do well.”
A small silence.
My mom lets out this nervous little laugh, the kind that says “she’s such a little idiot.” My dad cracks a grin too.
Mom : “Emma… come on now, not the time for jokes.”
But me… I’m staring at her.
And what I see isn’t a joke.
It’s something more like an invitation.
Her eyes are burning. That look—it’s only for me.
It says: “If you fall, I’ll be right there.”
And under the table, slowly, her toes find their way back to me…
A few hours later, the house is drowned in silence. Not a sound. Lights off. Doors closed. The parents are asleep.
I’m sitting at the edge of my bed, shirtless, belt already tossed to the side. Phone in hand, screen glowing.
I type without thinking—my dick’s been hard for ten minutes already.
Me (message) : “Come. Dress up nice. And not a word.”
Reply hits almost instantly.
Emma (message) : “Yes, Sir. I’m on my way.”
And I know it’s true. I know she’s already picked an outfit. Picked it for me. I know she’s wet just thinking about me giving her orders.
A few minutes later, the handle turns, slow and silent.
She walks in.
Fuck.
Black garter belt, thigh-highs, no panties under a half-transparent lace top.
Her nipples are poking through the fabric.
Her hair falling over her shoulders.
Her gaze, clear as crystal.
She shuts the door without a sound, walks toward me slowly, almost solemn.
I look up. Devour her with my eyes.
Me : “On your knees.”
She drops without hesitation. Her knees hit the floor softly. Head down for a second.
I lean toward her, eyes locked. She looks up—submissive, but there’s that fire burning behind her eyes.
Me : “So this is how you show up to your brother’s room now?”
She smirks. Slow. Way too confident. A brat’s grin—the kind that says she knows she’s breaking every rule… and she loves it.
Emma : “Would you rather I came in one of my little girly pajamas?”
I blink. My stomach tightens.
Then she whispers, lips curled.
Emma : “You’ll say I’m an annoying little sister again… but I’m the one making your cock hard like a fucking dog’s, aren’t I?”
I freeze.
And I break.
I stand. My eyes go dark.
Me : “Shut the fuck up.”
I grab the belt, move behind her, and tie her wrists tight—hard enough to make her whimper, tight enough to remind her who she belongs to.
She arches her back instantly. Obedient.
Begging to be punished.
I reach out, open my drawer. Grab it without even looking.
The ball gag.
The same one she slid into my bag two hours ago, tucked inside a little black pouch. No note.
I hold it up. Her eyes light up. Her lips part—hungry.
I slide it in slowly. She opens wide for me. I pull the straps tight, buckle it behind her head.
Drool’s already spilling from her mouth. Her eyes are begging me.
Not to stop.
To go further.
I grab her by the waist, lift her like a doll. She lets herself be moved—completely submissive. I set her down on the bed, on her knees, wrists still tied tight behind her back.
I position her. Knees spread. Ass up.
Her panties are still on, soaked, clinging to her swollen, shiny pussy.
I get behind her. Drop my pants just enough.
My cock’s throbbing. Ready to destroy her.
And I slide in.
She moans, back arching, neck tense.
Emma : “Hhh— hmmnnnn!”
I push harder. All the way in.
Still wearing those fucking lace panties.
I growl.
She’s breaking underneath me.
I slam into her ass, my hands gripping her hips hard.
Me : “So this is how you piss me off now? With those stupid little feet under the table?”
She tries to talk—her gagged mouth lets out a muffled moan.
I fuck her harder. She squirms, torn between shame and raw pleasure.
Me : “Look at you now. You’ve traded kicks for pussy. Traded yelling for whore moans.”
I lean over her, chest pressed to her back, hand on her neck, whispering in her ear as I fuck her deeper with every word:
Me : “What would mom say if she saw this? Her sweet daughter, tied up, ass in the air, pussy full of cum, mouth drooling and useless.”
She groans into the gag. Her whole body’s shaking.
Emma : “HNNNNGH—!”
Me : “Think she’d say we get along well? Huh?”
My hips pound faster. Relentless.
Me : “She thinks we’re cute when we bicker… I wonder what she’d think of this.”
I grab her hair, pull her head back a little to see her face—red, tense, fucking beautiful.
Me : “Admit it. You’ve never loved getting wrecked this much until it was your own brother doing it.”
And she cums. Violently. Out of control.
Emma : “HMMMMGH—!”
Her ass slams back into me. Her pussy clenches, legs twitching, her whole body spasming with each thrust.
She moans into the gag, her muffled cries tearing through me.
I grunt, jaw clenched, hands locked tight on her hips.
She’s gone.
Shaking. Panting. Half-collapsed onto the sheets. But I’m not done.
I keep going. Slower. Deeper.
So she feels every inch.
So I carve it into her.
So I break her.
I breathe against her neck, warm air on her sweaty skin.
Me : “You came for your brother, slut. And this is just the beginning.”
I slap her ass one last time—sharp and loud—and pull out slowly.
A thin stream of her cum trickles down her thighs.
She’s wrecked.
Ruined.
And me… I’m even harder than before.
I keep her kneeling in front of me. She’s trembling, legs spread, wrists still bound, her chest covered in sweat and pussy juice.
Her mouth’s still gagged, breath uneven, drool dripping down her chin, slow and steady.
I reach behind her head, unbuckle the strap, and pull the ball out of her mouth with a wet little “shllk…”
She opens wide instantly, tongue out, eyes locked on mine.
Me : “You want it, don’t you…?”
She nods.
Me : “Say it. Tell me you want your big brother’s cum.”
Emma : “Yes… I wanna eat it…”
I growl. My cock twitches. I step up in front of her. She straightens, pushes her chest forward, opens her mouth wider, tongue stretched out—ready.
Me : “Then open up that filthy little sister mouth.”
And I cum.
Hard.
Me : “Fuuuuck… Rhhaaa…”
The first shot slams into the back of her throat. She coughs a little, but keeps her mouth open, her eyes gleaming with pleasure.
The second splashes across her face, her lips, her cheek, sliding down her neck.
She moans, swallows greedily, slurping loud, mouth messy, covered in thick white strings she spreads with her tongue, scrapes up with her fingers, then swallows while staring at my still-hard dick.
Emma : “I want it all, Brice…”
Me : “Look at yourself… fuck.”
She licks her lips clean, swallows what’s left, then smears the cum over her chest with her palms—playing with it, rubbing it in, making it shine.
Emma : “I’m just a little sister to fuck. That’s all I am to you now, Brice. Your bitch. Your whore.”
She says it softly. But with this filthy pride. Almost tender.
Then she leans in, licking and sucking my cock again—slow, like she’s thanking it.
— schlrlrk… shlk… mmmmmnh…
She pants, resting her cheek against my thigh, breathless.
I stay there, watching her. This girl I’ve known my whole life.
I let out a breath, lean in slowly, and undo the belt. Her wrists are marked, red, still trembling. I rub them gently, then pull her into me.
I lay her down, settle beside her, slow and calm.
Our bodies, sticky, burning, soaked in sweat and cum.
I slide an arm under her head. She presses into me—bare legs against mine, tits still streaked with my load.
And with a sigh, I mutter:
Me : “Might start calling you annoying at dinner again…”
She chuckles—voice hoarse, soft, almost tender.
Emma : “As long as you keep hating me like this…”
I smile.
So does she.
I hold her gently.
And we stay like that—half dead, half blissful, filthy and twisted, like we were made for this.