The taste of Nadia intoxicating kiss was still on my lips, a faint, sweet hint of tea and something uniquely her. The memory of her softness, her yielding warmth, the feel of her generous curves under my hands, was like a live wire under my skin, humming with a low, thrilling current. A giddy, almost disbelieving laugh bubbled in my chest as I walked out of the kitchen, the ghost of a possessive smirk playing on my mouth.
'Damn, that felt great…'. I've done it and I did not regret it a single bit at all. I feel liberated right now, like I have conquered an unconquerable mountain.
"Oh SHIT!!". I pulled up short, my heart giving a startled lurch, as I saw someone in the hallway.
It was Emily. She was standing just outside her bedroom door, one hand still on the knob, frozen in the act of either entering or exiting. She jumped back as if she'd been shocked, a guilty flush instantly painting her cheeks a bright, rosy pink. Her eyes, a stunning blue that matched the neon streaks in her hair, went wide for a fraction of a second before she tried to mask her surprise with a cool, practiced neutrality.
But I'd seen it. She'd been caught spying me and Grandma. The hallway was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to pass without turning sideways.
The air between us felt thick, charged with the unspoken energy of what had just happened in the kitchen and her obvious eavesdropping. I recovered first, forcing my own pulse to slow down. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, adopting a casual slouch I hoped looked natural on this scrawny frame.
"Hey, Em," I said, my voice sounding calmer than I felt.
"Didn't see you there… You lying in ambush or something?" I kept my tone light, teasing, trying to sand down the jagged edges of the moment.
She smoothed a hand down her top—a tight, cropped thing that left a tantalizing strip of toned stomach exposed—and let out a breathy little laugh that was entirely for show.
"Hey. No, just… taking a break. Stream was getting a little stale. Needed to hit the bathroom, maybe get a drink." Her eyes flicked past me, down the hall towards the kitchen, before snapping back to my face. The lie was so transparent it was almost cute. She'd been watching me. No doubt about it.
As she stood there, fabricating her excuse, I really looked at her. I mean, I really looked. The old Sael's memories had provided a data sheet: sister, streamer, blonde, pretty. Those memories were a pale, washed-out photograph compared to the 4K, high-fidelity, Dolby Atmos reality standing two feet away from me.
'Holy. Hell.' My little sister was a bombshell. A walking, breathing fantasy crafted in some celestial workshop dedicated to creating the perfect Instagram model.
She had the kind of face you'd see on a movie poster—a perfect golden ratio of sharp cheekbones, a small, straight nose, and a mouth with lips so full and naturally puckered they looked like she was in a permanent, kissable pout. Her eyes were large and luminous, framed by long lashes, and currently trying to look bored instead of intensely curious.
But her face was just the opening act.
My gaze traveled downward, and my brain short-circuited. She was wearing impossibly tight, faded jean shorts that were basically glorified pockets, and they strained to contain what had to be one of the most spectacular juicy asses I had ever seen in either of my lives. It was a perfect, round, bubbly shelf of flesh that jutted out proudly, promising a delightful jiggle with every step. Her thighs, thick and powerful, tapered down to slender calves.
My eyes snapped back up to her torso, and I swear my breath hitched. She had a slender, athletic build—I could see the faint definition of abs beneath her smooth skin—but that only served to emphasize the absolute audacity of her chest. Her breasts were… monumental. Giant, perfectly round, perky orbs that strained against the thin fabric of her crop top. They looked both soft and firm, defying gravity in a way that seemed like a middle finger to the laws of physics. They were the kind of breasts that launched a thousand OnlyFans subscriptions back on my old Earth.
A dizzying wave of cognitive dissonance washed over me. This wasn't just a pretty girl. This was a top-tier, centerfold-level, heart-stopping hot babe. And the database in my head was screaming one insane, undeniable fact: This is your sister. Your little sister. And she lives next door to you.
The proximity felt suddenly, electrifyingly different. The narrow hallway felt less like a passageway and more like a prelude.
She must have noticed my blatant appraisal because she shifted her weight, crossing her arms under her chest, which only served to push her magnificent breasts up and together, creating a cleavage that could easily qualify as a national landmark.
"So…" she said, dragging the word out, her voice pulling me from my stunned reverie. Her eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
"What was all that about? In the kitchen with Grandma?" She tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a tight wire of concern and intense curiosity running beneath her words.
"You both, Sounded… intense."
I shook my head slightly; trying to clear the image of her bang-able body from my mind and focus on the question she aired. I leaned a shoulder against the wall, trying to project an air of relaxed contrition.
"We were just talking… Finally clearing the air, you know?" I met her gaze, letting my own sincerity show.
"I've been a colossal dick to her… To… to everyone." The admission felt good. It was the truth.
"I'm done with that... I'm trying to set things right... you know, grow up properly…"
Her carefully constructed cool-girl facade cracked. Just a little. A flicker of surprise, then cautious hope in her eyes.
"For real?" she asked, her voice softer now, less performative.
"For real," I nodded. "It's about time, right?"
A wry, knowing smile touched her lips. "Yeah. It's about damn time."
There was no malice in it, just a simple, stark agreement that spoke volumes about the years of hurt I'd inflicted. I pushed off the wall, taking a half-step closer. The scent of her perfume—something sweet and vanilla-like—waffed over me.
"I wanted to make amends…And not just with Grandma," I said, my voice lowering slightly. "With everyone… With you, too."
That got a full reaction. Her eyes widened again, this time with genuine shock. The last vestiges of her streamer persona vanished, replaced by a vulnerable, almost shy young woman. She looked down for a second, then back up at me, her expression unguarded and hopeful. She nodded, a quick, jerky motion.
"Yeah," she whispered.
"You should.". Her words, simple and quiet, hung in the narrow space between us.
It was very clear to me, what she meant by that. it was an invitation. A door, left unlocked for years and now finally being pushed open. The hope in her blue eyes was a fragile thing, and it made the weight of what I had to do feel both heavier and more urgent.
Looking at her—really seeing the woman she'd become, standing there in the dim hall light—triggered a landslide in my mind. The old Sael's memories, previously just cold hate towards her. Right now, it was like a dam breaking, and I was flooded with the ghost of a past I'd never lived, yet one I was now wholly responsible for.
I saw us as kids, two little blonds with scraped knees and identical mischievous grins, tangled together on the same worn sofa, controllers in hand, screaming with laughter at some stupid game. I felt the memory of her small, warm body curled against mine in the same bed night after night, a fortress against the shadows in our small, crowded apartment. We'd been a unit. A team. Inseparable.
And then came the other memories. More intimate, more confusing. Puberty was a tremor that became an earthquake for the old Sael. As Emily began to blossom, so did a strange, obsessive fascination in him. My hands, these hands, remembered the feel of her first tentative curves. I remembered the shocking softness of her developing breasts under my curious, fumbling fingers. The memories were vivid and tactile. The old Sael hadn't just been curious; he'd been possessive. He'd treated her body like his personal discovery.
The most intense flashback hit me like a physical blow: the two of us, maybe thirteen and twelve, hidden away in her room. Her, shirtless, lying back on her bed with a trust so absolute, it now felt like a knife in my gut. Me, with my head on her chest, not just touching her breast, but suckling. Like an infant seeking comfort, but charged with a confusing, nascent hunger.
The memory was filled with the sound of her soft, rhythmic breathing, the feel of her small hands tentatively stroking my hair, the taste of her skin. He'd done it constantly, for years. And the memory provided a shocking, biological footnote: the constant stimulation was a direct contributor to her spectacular endowment. Her nipples, once small buds, had grown to the size of a man's thumb under his persistent attention. The old Sael had, in a very real sense, helped shape the incredible body now standing before me. The intimacy of that truth was staggering, and it completely redefined the word 'sister' in this world.
But then, the pendulum had swung. violently. The same puberty that gifted Emily her breathtaking femininity cursed the old Sael with a vicious insecurity. Her natural, effortless beauty became a mirror reflecting everything he felt he wasn't. His own journey into a more feminine presentation wasn't one of self-discovery; it was an act of spiteful, jealous rejection. He began to see her not as his other half, but as his rival. His opposite. The warmth and intimacy were replaced by a cold, calculated cruelty. He built a wall between them, brick by bitter brick.
And then came the memory that explained the lingering caution in her eyes now. The specific, brutal incident that shattered them completely.
I saw it play out in my mind like a horrific movie. Emily, sixteen, her face lit up with excitement. She'd gotten a new game and, trying desperately to bridge the gap, had invited him to co-stream it with her. She'd set up a second monitor in her room, her chat scrolling with excitement. For the first hour, it was magic. It was almost like old times. They were laughing, joking, falling back into their easy rhythm.
Then, he lost. A stupid, simple mistake in the game. His character died. On screen.
The change was instantaneous and terrifying. His face, usually so carefully composed with makeup, contorted into an ugly mask of pure, unadulterated rage. The old Sael, felt humiliated in front of her audience, completely snapped.
"You fucking set me up!" he'd screamed, his voice cracking, spittle flying from his lips. He ripped the headset off and threw it across her desk. "You just wanted to make me look like an idiot on stream! That's all you ever want! To profit off me! To use me for your fucking content, you pathetic attention whore!"
The vile words echoed in my skull. I saw the look on her face—the bright excitement shattering into utter devastation. The raw, gut-wrenching hurt. The stream had cut out abruptly, but the damage was done. Clips of his meltdown spread like wildfire. The internet, being the internet, turned on her. She was blamed for "triggering" him, for "exploiting" her brother. The backlash was so severe her MeTube channel was temporarily banned for "fostering a toxic environment."
He hadn't just insulted her. He'd torpedoed her passion, her budding career, and then locked himself in his room, leaving her to face the storm alone. The memory was so acutely shameful I had to physically fight the urge to look away from her now.
The weight of it all settled on me, crushing the last of the giddy arousal from my encounter with Nadia. This wasn't just about general dickishness. This was a specific, deep, and personal betrayal. The apology I'd given Nadia was for a pattern of behavior. The apology Emily deserved was for a targeted act of emotional annihilation.
I took a deep breath, the air in the hall feeling suddenly thin. The playful tease was gone from my voice, replaced by a raw, gravelly seriousness.
"Emily," I began, my voice low.
"What I did… on your stream…" I had to force the words out.
"The things I said to you... The way I acted…" I shook my head, the shame a hot coal in my stomach. "There's no excuse for it… It was the worst kind of betrayal… I was jealous... I was insecure. And I took it out on you in the most vicious way I could." I finally met her eyes, letting her see the full depth of my remorse. "I am so sorry… I don't expect you to just forget it… But I need you to know that I am sorry… Truly."
She listened, her expression unreadable. The hope was still there, but it was guarded now, tempered by the fresh memory of that pain. She looked down for a moment, studying the worn pattern on the hallway carpet, before looking back up at me. Her smile was small, a little sad, but genuine.
"Sure," she said, her voice soft.
"Water under the bridge, I guess." She shrugged one shoulder, a gesture meant to seem casual that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Let's just… start anew, okay?". Emily said with the same familiar smile that was in my memory when I think about her.
It was more than I deserved. So much more. Then, she did something that stole the air from my lungs. She opened her arms. It was a tentative offer, her elbows tucked close to her body, her hands held up as if expecting to be rejected.
I didn't hesitate. I stepped forward into the space she offered and wrapped my arms around her.
The second I made contact, the intellectual understanding of her body was replaced by a shocking, visceral reality. She was softer than I could have ever imagined. My arms encircled her slender waist, and she felt impossibly delicate. But as she relaxed into the hug, her own arms coming up around my neck, the rest of her made itself known.
Her giant, pillowy breasts pressed firmly against my chest, their soft weight a stunning contrast to the firm muscle of her torso beneath. My face was nestled against the side of her neck, and I was engulfed by the scent of her—vanilla, sugar, and something uniquely, intoxicatingly her. Her hair tickled my cheek. I could feel the steady, rapid beat of her heart against my own, although we just started, we made the first step, I made the correct step to apologize, and she accepted it.
But as the seconds stretched, something shifted. The warmth of her body, the dizzying scent, the memory of our shared, intimate past—it all coalesced into a wave of pure, undiluted heat that washed over me. The horniness I'd felt with Nadia, never fully banked, roared back to life, intensified by Emily's breathtaking proximity.
My body reacted before my mind could caution it. The hands that had been resting politely on the small of her back began to move. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, my right hand trailed downward, following the incredible, dramatic curve of her hip.
My palm slid over the tight, rough denim of her shorts, over the most perfect, rounded, fleshy ass I had ever encountered, and my fingers curled, giving it a firm, deliberate, and unmistakably possessive squeeze. I felt her entire body jolt in my arms.
"Ahhh~". A sharp, quiet gasp escaped her lips, hot against my ear. Her heartbeat, which had been steady against my chest, suddenly kicked into a frantic, hammering rhythm. But she didn't pull away. She didn't stiffen. Instead, after that initial shocked second, she melted even deeper into the embrace, her hold around my neck tightening almost desperately.