Chapter 3 : Dangerous Attraction
Each day, my connection with Emmy grows stronger. Our conversations get deeper, and she starts opening up more, sharing bits of her daily life. She talks about her studies, how demanding they are, but also about how much time her work on ForFansOnly takes.
Emmy (message): “Yeah, it’s not always easy juggling between my studies and ForFansOnly. Both take up a lot of time, but I love what I do. It gives me a kind of freedom I wouldn’t find anywhere else.”
Me (message): “That must be exhausting… Do you manage to find any time for yourself, to relax a bit?”
Emmy (message): “Well, that depends on what you mean by relax 😏. Want to see how I unwind sometimes?”
I feel my heart beat a little faster as I read her reply. Is she implying what I think? I can’t help but feel excited by where the conversation is headed. I hesitate for a moment, but eventually, I decide to play along.
- Me (message): “I’m intrigued… Show me.”
A few seconds pass, and then a new notification pops up. My heart races even more as I open the message. Emmy appears on the screen.
Emmy (message): “This is how I unwind after a long and stressful day…”
Me (message): “Wow… That’s incredibly sexy.”
Emmy (message): “I thought you’d like it. 😘”
I’m fascinated by this duality in her. On one hand, she’s this attractive, lively young woman, and on the other, someone who seems to carry a certain burden, juggling her responsibilities. The more she reveals, the more captivated I become. But one question burns on my lips.
- Me (message): “You’re so comfortable with your body… But I wonder, why don’t you ever show your face?”
There’s a pause, then she replies, her tone slightly more serious.
- Emmy (message): “It’s about control. I know some subscribers would pay more to see my face, but I keep control over what I show. And besides, I don’t want it to get too personal—it’s a balance. Keeping some mystery is also a way to protect a part of myself.”
Her answer impresses me. She’s found a way to own her body, using it to her advantage while maintaining a distance that protects her. This control she has over her image, revealing but never fully exposing herself, adds to her mystery and allure.
Our conversations slowly evolve into an exquisite game of seduction, where every word, every innuendo is carefully crafted to ignite a burning desire. Emmy masters the art of flirting with unsettling precision, always dancing on the edge between innocence and temptation. She creates a deliciously palpable tension, a teasing game that consumes me bit by bit.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Every buzz of my phone sends a rush of adrenaline through me, my mind racing at the thought that it might be a message from her… or better yet, a photo. Another image to fuel my fantasies, to feed this growing obsession. It’s as if she knows exactly how to unsettle me, how to awaken desires in me that I can no longer control.
Emmy (message): “Honestly, it’s rare to find people to talk to like this. Most ppl here are just looking for… you know, other stuff 🙄. But I like how you actually talk to me like a person. It’s refreshing ❤️.”
Me (message): “I feel the same way. You have something special… a mystery that makes me want to discover more every day.”
Emmy (message): “A mystery, huh? Maybe one day I’ll let you uncover a bit more… but not just yet. You have to learn to enjoy the wait 😏. For now, you’ll have to make do with this:”
- Me (message): “I might ruin my serious guy image here but… Your body is absolutely irresistible. Every curve is a work of art 🥵.”
- Emmy (message): “😘”
I realize I’m becoming completely addicted to these exchanges. With every new photo, every new pose she sends, my desire grows stronger. Her curves stay with me, like a melody stuck in my head. Each image is a temptation, a whisper urging me to cross a line I can’t uncross. Emmy knows exactly what she’s doing; she’s playing with my mind, with my fantasies.
Her body is a provocation, an invitation to completely surrender to this dangerous game. I’m captivated by every detail, by the way she subtly exposes her sensuality while keeping a part of herself hidden. She’s nothing like what I had imagined, and it’s precisely this unpredictability, this contrast between softness and seduction, that’s driving me crazy.
I’m sinking deeper and deeper into her world, a world where all I can think about is seeing more. My mind is clouded, my thoughts consumed by the image of her perfect body, a body that’s making me lose control. It’s no longer just about conversation or a virtual connection. It’s become a physical obsession, a need to feel, to touch, to taste what she’s hiding behind these mesmerizing photos.
One evening, during dinner, the atmosphere is relaxed. We’re talking about random things, the usual topics, until I decide to bring up school with Emma. It’s a subject I’ve been avoiding for a while, but something about her recent behavior has made me start to worry.
- Me: “So, Emma, how’s everything going at university? Still as much work as ever?”
She looks up from her plate, visibly tired, and lets out a sigh that says more than words could.
Emma: “Ugh… You have no idea. I’m struggling to keep up. Between classes and everything else, it’s tough…”
Mom: “Sweetie, you know you can always ask for help if you’re feeling overwhelmed. We’re here for you.”
Emma nods, but I can tell she’s not really receptive to the suggestion. Her gaze drifts off, and she seems distant.
- Dad: “If I made it through, Emma, you can too. We can help you, you know. I know medical school is a marathon, not a sprint. But you’re smart, you’re capable. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”
His tone is meant to be reassuring, but I can see in Emma’s eyes that these words only add to her stress. She lowers her head, playing with her fork without much enthusiasm.
- Emma: “I know, Dad… but it’s complicated. The classes are intense, and I’m often tired… I’ve fallen a bit behind, it’s true. And it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
There’s a heavy silence at the table. My dad, usually so confident, seems a bit unsettled by Emma’s response. He doesn’t really know how to react, so he just nods.
Mom: “You know, Emma, what matters is that you do your best. No one’s asking you to be perfect. If you need to take a break, take some time for yourself. We won’t hold it against you.”
Me: “Mom’s right. It’s okay to slow down a bit if you need to.”
Emma looks up at me, surprised that I spoke up. She smiles faintly, but I can tell she’s not convinced.
Emma: “That’s nice of you, but I have to prove myself. I don’t want to disappoint… any of you. I chose this path, and I need to stick to it.”
Dad: “No one’s asking you to succeed at everything on the first try, Emma. What’s important is that you’re happy. If you feel like things aren’t going well, it’s better to talk about it now rather than waiting until you’re completely overwhelmed.”
I notice that my dad’s words only seem to make Emma more stressed. She withdraws, becoming even more evasive. Her shoulders slump a little, and she seems to curl up into herself.
- Emma: “I… I understand. I’ll try to organize myself better.”
It’s clear she’s trying to end the conversation, but my concern for her only grows. Her words strangely echo what Emmy had told me, though I don’t make the connection, at least not yet.
Later that evening, while I’m in my room reading an article for my classes, I hear a soft knock at the door.
- Emma: “Brice, do you have a minute? I need to talk.”
I look up and see Emma standing in the doorway. Her face is marked by exhaustion, her features tense with worry. She doesn’t usually come to me like this, so I know it’s serious.
- Me: “Of course, come in. What’s wrong?”
She walks in slowly and sits on the edge of my bed, avoiding my gaze. She seems to be searching for the right words, which isn’t like her. Emma has always been direct and strong, but tonight, she looks almost fragile.
- Emma: “I feel completely overwhelmed… The expectations, the classes, all of it… It’s too much for me. I can’t keep up anymore. I… I’ve been skipping most of my classes, I can’t even bring myself to go anymore.”
Her words hit me like a slap. Emma, the brilliant, determined one, admitting she’s at her breaking point. I wasn’t expecting this, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. I just look at her, trying to understand what could have pushed her to such a point of collapse.
- Me: “Emma, it’s normal to feel overwhelmed sometimes… But if you’re not going to class, what are you doing all day? Are you just staying home?”
She hesitates, avoiding my gaze as she fidgets with a strand of her hair, something she often does when she’s uncomfortable.
- Emma: “I… I try to keep busy. I’m trying to catch up, to relax a little… to find some balance.”
I can tell she’s being vague, that she’s not telling me everything. And that unsettles me. Emma’s never had a problem being honest with me, so why is she holding back now?
- Me: “How are you keeping busy? What exactly are you doing?”
She bites her lip, a sign that she’s even more nervous. She finally shrugs.
- Emma: “Nothing special… I read, I watch videos, I try to distract myself. You know, just things to keep the stress down.”
Her answer doesn’t quite ring true, but I decide not to push. I can see she doesn’t want to talk about it any further, and the last thing I want is to make her shut down.
- Me: “Alright… But you know, you can tell me anything. If something’s bothering you, I’m here.”
She looks at me, a hint of gratitude in her eyes, but I can also sense that she’s still holding something back. Still, I decide to let it go for now.
- Emma: “Thanks, Brice… Thanks for being here.”
I move closer to her, sitting down beside her on the bed. I place a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer some reassurance.
- Me: “Emma, you don’t have to carry everything on your own. If you need to slow down or take some time for yourself, do it. We’ll figure it out together, no matter what.”
She looks up at me, and I can see tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. It breaks my heart, because I’ve never seen my sister this vulnerable.
Emma: “But… what if I fail? What if I mess everything up?”
Me: “Then we’ll figure it out together. What matters most is your mental health, Emma. Nothing else is as important.”
She turns to me, and I can see a mixture of fear and relief in her eyes. It’s as if just saying those words out loud lifted a little of the burden she’s been carrying.
- Emma: “Thank you, Brice… Thank you for being here.”
I give her a genuine smile.
- Me: “That’s what I’m here for, Emma. You’re my sister, and I’ll always be there for you.”
She smiles faintly, discreetly wiping away a tear that had slipped down her cheek. After a moment, she seems more relaxed, like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.
Emma: “I think I just needed to talk about it… To know I’m not alone in this mess.”
Me: “And you’re not. We’re all here for you, you can count on us.”
She smiles at me one last time, a more genuine smile this time, then stands up to leave the room.
Emma: “Good night, Brice. And thanks again.”
Me: “Good night, Emma. Sleep well.”
I watch her leave my room, and for a moment, I sit there on my bed, lost in thought. This conversation made me realize just how much pressure Emma puts on herself, how much she feels the need to live up to everyone’s expectations. I can’t help but wonder what she’s really doing with her days, but I decide not to push it any further for now.