Livestreaming My Sister

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Part One: URL

I didn’t always think of my sister as content.

Before that she was my sister.

Which didn’t mean we always got along.

We cycled through the same seasons most siblings do.

Being gracious to one another, then fighting; tormenting one another, then fiercely protecting.

Sometimes in the space of a few hours.

And we could be competitive; often childishly so.

But I loved her like crazy.

And she loved me like mad.

And it turned out this was truer than either of us realized.

First Upload

It started when she bought me a WebCam for Christmas.

I was going to host a podcast on YouTube.

I set up a studio in my bedroom where I would livestream a weekly video show about skateboarding.

It would have 20 million followers.

It would grow to be an illustrious brand, and I would sell merchandise to a community of loyal fans who adored me.

Then I would retire as a billionaire, aged 27.

That was the plan.

But I was as deluded as most young people.

I had also been misled about the ease of social media celebrity.

After 5 months, I had 122 subscribers.

Most of these were friends and family; or random accounts I’d followed who were kind (or equally desperate enough) to follow me back.

Some of my videos had 50 views, and 30 of them had been me.

Apparently I was not a “good fit” in front of the camera. That’s what people said.

“You don’t have enough of a personality for on-screen,” a friend told me.

An insult along the lines of “you have a face for radio.”

But some thought I showed promise as a director.

I began to wonder if my skills might be better served behind the camera.

I started to take still photos, mostly of skateboards, and upload them to my Instagram page.

They got more ‘likes’ than my YouTube flops.

But I could never decide on an authentic subject matter or theme.

I would snap random moments and make them black and white, hoping they’d seem more intentional and artistic.

I secretly knew I had failed to capture anything compelling or real.

Until something wonderful happened one day to change all that…

It was early in summer vacation.

I was sitting on the floor of the living room taking auto-timed photos of a skateboard wheel – I know, pretentious and weird; but I told you, I had no subject matter and was desperate – when my sister rushed by in a long flowing dress.

She accidentally knocked my iPhone from its filming-post and it slid between her feet, exactly as a timed photo went off; lighting up the inside of her dress with a flash.

The resulting image was extraordinary.

I don’t mean artistically; it was a cheap, tabloid shot.

But the view of her body.

It depicted her long bare legs, slender thighs; and firm ass, barely concealed by a pair of white cotton panties.

The star of the show was a circle of moisture in the center of her pouched gusset.

It looked like the grease stain a donut leaves on the paper bag.

It was the one of the hottest things I’d seen in forever.

I figured it would also be of value to the internet.

So I uploaded it to the NestWork app in the NSFW section.

I created an account that nobody could trace back to me.

I wanted to make sure my sister remained anonymous, even though I knew I was behaving like a snake.

In a few short hours, the photo was the most ‘liked’ and shared piece of content I had posted in a year and 8 months of trying.

And I had posted far more elaborate and time-consuming productions previously.

This was a single photo, taken by mistake.

Unless it was taken by destiny.

Either way, I realized sex sells.

I know that’s not rocket science.

But I had spent too much time thinking about Playstation 5 to consider it before.

I came to understand that if the subject matter of my photos was sex, – and in particular, if they presented female nudity – people would probably ‘like’ them, and by extension, me.

I received dozens of new followers from the upskirt pic, as well as a bunch of warm comments and DMs.

Some were asking to see the face of the girl whose panties-clad ass was tantalizingly revealed in the shot.

A few asked if the wet patch was pee or cum.

Most just requested more pictures of her.

One piece of correspondence was unique.

It was a DM from a user named HomerZuckerman45.

He’d been a member for a few months but had no public history on the app.

He asked a simple question that opened a Pandora’s box:

“Who’s the girl?”

I fired off a quick private reply, without much thought:


“How old?” was his response.

“18,” I wrote, just as honestly.

I thought no more about it.

A few days later, I logged into the app and discovered a new DM from the same user:

“You want $$$? Contact me in Quiet.”

Quiet mode is a way to send sarışın gaziantep escort messages on NestWork that disappear moments after they’ve been read.

I wrote the user a reply in Quiet that said: “Hi. Would love to make some $$$.”

I turned on notifications and waited.

At some point that night, I was notified HomerZuckerman45 had sent a reply:

“Send a nude of your sister and I’ll transfer $500.”

I barely had time to absorb the offer before the words disappeared before my eyes.

Was there any chance he meant it?

$500 was decent money.

But why should I trust a faceless stranger on a shady adult internet platform?

I mean, I’m naïve; but I’m not glaringly naïve.

(Spoiler: I am glaringly naïve).

I was aware of scammers soliciting for money and porn. But for some reason my instincts about this guy were different.

My gut said there was a chance he might be serious; enough that I should put him to the test.

I had zero idea how to procure a naked photo of my sister, practically or ethically.

But I wrote back the following: “How do I know you’re good for the $$$?”

He replied immediately: “You want to be paid in tokens or crypto?”

Tokens can be sent through the NestWork app and transferred into your bank account as cash.

“Tokens,” I replied.

I waited a few minutes, checking my phone intermittently.

There was no reply.

I decided the guy was full of shit.

It was probably a relief given that I had no idea how to obtain the image he desired anyway.

But then my phone made the sound of a cash register’s ka-ching to signify that tokens had been transferred to my account.

I opened the app and saw that 50,000 tokens ($100) had been donated.

The sender?


Okay… Now the guy had my attention.

He might have been a weirdo, but he was a weirdo with $100 to throw around.

It was more in one transaction than I’d received for any previous online endeavor.

And I hadn’t had to do anything for it.

After five minutes, he sent a follow-up message in Quiet mode:

“Consider that a deposit. Send the pic and I’ll transfer $400 more.”


I couldn’t sleep that night.

Where was I going to get a naked picture of my sister?

From her high school yearbook?

I hadn’t seen her without clothes since we were kids, let alone documented it photographically.

I wondered if I could mock something up in Photoshop.

But who was I kidding?

I can barely doodle a stickman, let alone CGI my sister’s ass.

And besides, HomerZuckerman45 had already seen her in a picture.

Half of her, at least; in auto-flash detail.

I would have to make the photos match.


What if I opted for a topless picture?

He hadn’t seen her above the equator, and had no idea what to expect up there…

Let me take a quick moment to tell you about my sister’s body.

Charlotte and I are physically quite similar.

Apart from the boy and girl parts.

Hers especially.

We are approximately the same height – 5″10.

We are the same level of rib-visible lean.

Our hair is a similar dirty blonde; although Charlie’s is longer and highlighted.

We have the same hands and feet.

The toe on her left foot curls in, just like mine.

And we have identical asses.

The small tell is that hers has more of a teardrop shape.

Our shoulders and arms; our eyes, noses, jawlines and faces…

It’s almost like we are cloned.

Except for two mighty differences.

My sister has a really big pair of tits.

We often marvel in our family about how strange and improbable they are.

The rest of her is genetically bone-thin, but somehow these unlikely beach balls emerge from her tiny frame.

In hindsight, it is inevitable they would become part of her calling…

I was determined to send HomerZuckerman45 a picture of some tits to collect the remaining $400.

But I realized they didn’t necessarily have to be my sister’s.

I could find a lookalike online and pass it off as her.

As long as it was consistent with the half he’d already seen.

So I trawled the internet for pictures of topless blondes who might provide a convincing understudy for Charlotte’s upper half.

It took longer than expected.

Partly because it’s always distracting for a man to look at breasts.

But also because so many candidates had at least one giveaway – a tramp stamp, blemish or birthmark; or some other deal breaker, like an appendectomy scar or pierced nipple. Even a cock, in the case of one transgender girl who was otherwise a dead ringer for Charlotte.

Not that HomerZuckerman45 would know, of course, if my sister had two tattooed nipples, a pierced appendectomy scar, and dinosaur horns with cocks hanging off each of them.

He’d never seen her before.

But I felt a samurai-like obligation to honor the gaziantep sarısın escort idea of her with something approaching the truth about her beauty.

It was the least I owed her if I was going to make a living selling fake nudes of her.

So I painstakingly searched for a pair of online tits that could compare with the majesty, if not the size, of her own.

Her breasts were not large in that fake-oversized, trashy way.

They were a natural wonder of the world.

They were big because God made it so.

Not because she knew a gifted surgeon in Beverly Hills.

I discovered a page on Tumblr imaginatively titled Cute Teen Titties.

One of the images on Page 4 reminded me somewhat of Charlie’s tits.

You couldn’t see the young woman’s face, which was ideal; but her two-tone bleached-blonde hair fell around her neck, with approximately the same length and cut as my sister’s.

The woman’s breasts themselves, which were large and firm – and delectable, by the way – seemed as though they might exist in the same universe as my sister’s tits; albeit on a smaller and more distant star.

Like most clueless brothers of the world, I had never stopped to think much about my sister as a sexual being.

I barely saw her as belonging to the same gender to whom I was attracted.

She was more like my brother with tits.

Our genes throw us off the scent of finding our siblings attractive. But the hardest thing to smell is often what is right in front of your nose.

I pulled up Charlotte’s Instagram page and looked at some of her own photos again.

It was strange considering her body with a new scrutiny.

I hadn’t paid much attention before – even to her clothes, or how she wore them.

But the more I scrolled through the near-endless mosaic of selfies, the more I began to learn how objectively hot she was.

For a start, she had an extremely beautiful face, with slightly chubby cheeks that had always embarrassed her, but contributed strongly to her sex appeal.

Her body was lean, with a boyish waist.

And a beautiful ass.

And her tits… I mean, talk about stealing the limelight/s.

Every photo on the page was about her tits, without her trying to make it so.

Even one where she was delivering a eulogy for a friend at a memorial.

She couldn’t hide them from any angle, however hard she tried.

In the few instances they were missing from a picture of her, even their absence would be the first thing you “saw.”

I returned to Cute Teen Titties.

I could have been looking at pictures of sneakers, by now; I was so bored of breasts.

I decided this one photo would have to do.

The hair was a good match, as well as the skin tone and overall proportions.

And the girl’s tits were superb; which was all that mattered.

I was sure my cyber-weirdo would dig them.

The only element that could have been a giveaway was a poster in the background that appeared to be in Polish. So I opened a window in Finder and trimmed it out of the shot.

It was 2AM by now.

I’d spent way too much time on this.

Even if I was going to earn $500.

I could have performed a shift of an actual job for the same time and money.

I decided what the hell.

It would hardly matter if the kook rejected it, or he didn’t cough up.

I had nothing to lose and I’d already pocketed $100.

So I sent it.

I waited twenty minutes to see if he opened the app.

When he didn’t, I put my phone on silent and went to sleep.


By the time I awoke the next morning there was a new notification.

I had received a transfer of $400 during the night from HomerZuckerman45.

I felt elated.

I was an arch-conspirator.

I had made $500 calling the bluff of an anonymous deviant with more money than sense.

And I hadn’t had to sell my sister out to do it.

I could persuade myself I would never have sent a real nude of Charlotte, and that this brilliant scheme had been my true motive all along.

But as I was brushing my teeth, another notification appeared.

It was a new DM from HomerZuckerman45:

“I paid out of goodwill but that wasn’t her. One more chance. Send a real nude of your sister and I’ll send another $500. But don’t play me again!”

Wow, was this perv trying to take the moral high ground?

I mean, yes I had deceived him. But was I supposed to feel guilty that I hadn’t prostituted my own sister for him?

Where did this creep get off judging me?

And how did he even find out?

Ugh. He probably reverse-searched the image on Google.

But he still paid me the $400.

Despite knowing that I’d deceived him.

I had successfully transferred it into my Bank of America account.

However much of a perv he might be, he was at least willing to put his money where his mouth was.

Or more accurately, where his dick was.

So I figured it seemed worth milking.

The gaziantep sarışın escort bayan situation, not his dick.

Though both were clearly entwined.


For the rest of the day I wondered, what if I did try and procure a nude of my sister for him?

As vast as the moral conundrum would be, how in a million years could I pull it off?

I didn’t know how to get even a glimpse of her naked.

She was very private.

Was I going to jump into the shower cubicle like a paparazzo?

It would be unforgivable.

I should have deleted HomerZuckerman45 and the NestWork app, there and then.

I should have gone back to photographing skateboards, and turning them black and white like a phony.

But I didn’t.

Later that night, when I was scrolling through Twitter I saw an actress had been involved in a Fappening-style leak of compromising nudes.

A new thought hit me.

Perhaps I didn’t have to catch Charlotte naked by creeping around like Michael Myers in the shadows.

She might already have a photo of herself nude – taken at the best angle, and in the most flattering light.

And all I would have to do is procure it from her phone.

If iCloud leaks had taught me anything it was that women like to photograph themselves naked – whether to send to partners, monitor the progress SoulCycle has on their ass; or just enjoy the fact they are generally much hotter than us.

I decided that if I was in possession of a naked photo that Charlotte had taken of herself, and I merely forwarded it to HomerZuckerman45, I would be guilty of a much more acceptable crime.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to justify any of this.

It was despicable of me.

But wait and see.

Second Upload

I read somewhere that the infamous celebrity photo leak known as ‘the Fappening’ occurred when somebody hacked into iCloud.

I wasn’t sure how to install a software update on my Mac, let alone hack into any clouds; so I figured the cyber-espionage route was probably shut down to me.

But I did know how to transfer files from one iPhone to another in a single click, using Airdrop.

I had done it recently when I sent holiday photos to my sister following our family vacation to Crete.

If I could gain access to her phone, it would take less than a minute to Airdrop the contents of her photo library to my own phone.

Then I could surf the pictures at leisure and take my pick from any nudes.

Once I decided I was going to do it, I felt physically sick.

Quite apart from the betrayal, it was super stressful to execute.

I saw her phone charging in the kitchen when she was sitting in the living room.

I should have made a move but I was too scared.

Later, we were watching TV and she went upstairs, leaving her phone on the arm of the couch.

I seized it in a frenzy, and quickly unlocked it.

(1404 – her birthday).

I turned on her Bluetooth, and checked ‘Select All’ for the contents of her photo library, and proceeded to transfer them to my own iPhone.

‘Accept 2,484 photos?’ it said on my phone’s screen.

Hell yeah.

I clicked ‘yes’ and the transfer began.

But it wasn’t instantaneous.

The icons appeared but they were grayed out, pending complete transfer of the files.

A rotating wheel showed on my sister’s phone, indicating the request was still in progress.

I heard her coming back down the stairs.

I panicked and was about to cancel the download, but she went into the kitchen.

“Do you want anything?” she called out.

“Er… YES,” I yelled back, needlessly aggressively. “I DO!”

Anything to delay her.

“What?” she asked.

My mind went blank… What was there?

The transfer was 84% complete.

I had to say something in case she came in to quiz me directly.

“Milk! MILK!” I shouted.

“Milk?” she called back in a weird tone. “Ok!”

I saw the thumbnails finally appear on my phone.

The transfer had been successful.

I breathed out for the first time in several minutes.

I restored the home screen of her iPhone and returned it to the arm of the couch.

She entered with a tall glass of milk.

“Milk,” she said, pulling a weird expression and handing it to me.

“Thank you,” I said.

I am extremely lactose intolerant.

“Ready,” she said, signaling for me to un-pause the movie; which I did.

I was pleased with my mission.

Not the invading-her-privacy part, that was still awful.

But how successfully I pulled off the deed.

I couldn’t wait to peruse the photos and discover what jewels I might have thieved.

I would delete any I didn’t need, to respect her privacy.

I actually had that sanctimonious thought.

Like something in my character could be redeemed by the fact I was only intending to sell the good ones.

I was pretty far gone.

And I had only just started.


By the time I got to review the photos in my bedroom that night, I had built up unrealistically high expectations.

In my inflated-imagining, I was to be spoiled by a cornucopia of soft and hardcore porn.

My sister in all guises of cosplay and undress – from lingerie and stilettos, to crotchless latex.

But half of the pictures were of her dog, Jump.

Some were the same apparent photo of him multiple times.

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