The Camera That Surprised the Three of Us

By the time Laura left that morning, I had already been in front of the computer for two hours with the camera app open in a corner of the screen.

It was a precaution. That was all. My sister Sandra lived alone in an apartment fifteen minutes from the house, and since the incident with the broken intercom and the shadows in the hallway, the two of us had decided to install cross-linked cameras. She had access to the living room camera in my house; I had access to the cameras in her bedroom and her living room. Mutual security.

I repeated that to myself every time I opened the app.

That morning Sandra’s bedroom camera showed an empty, messy room: the bed unmade, clothes on the chair, a coffee cup on the nightstand. I waited for no particular reason. Ten minutes later she appeared, wrapped in a white towel that reached halfway down her thighs, her still-damp hair darkening her right shoulder. She walked with that calm, unhurried slowness of someone who doesn’t know she’s being watched.

She stopped in front of the full-length mirror on the side wall. She looked at herself in silence, turned slightly, looked again. Then she let the towel fall.

I’m thirty-four years old. I’ve known my sister since she was born. I had never seen her like that before.

I stayed still, coffee in hand, not noticing it was getting cold. She leaned toward the dresser drawer and looked for underwear. When she opened it, she bent forward with her legs stretched out, and the pose showed everything the towel had been covering: her heavy tits hanging forward, her ass spread and offered to the camera, her shaved cunt between her thighs, still wet from the shower. She had a body I’d never had any reason to imagine until that moment, and the brain doesn’t work well when something catches it by surprise.

Sandra took out a pair of panties and put them on. The fabric tugged a little at her hips and pressed into the slit of her cunt. She stood again in front of the mirror, turned, weighed what she was seeing. What she saw seemed to please her. She took her breasts in both hands, lifted them slightly, squeezed them until her nipples hardened, then tilted her head, stuck out her tongue, and ran the tip over her left nipple, slowly, first across the top and then circling around it. She sucked it for a few seconds, did the same with the right one, and one of her hands started sliding down her stomach until it slipped inside her panties.

I wasn’t watching for security anymore.

I closed my eyes for a second, opened them. The screen was still there. Sandra had her hand between her legs, moving in slow circles, and from the way her mouth opened I knew exactly what she was doing. I picked up the phone from the table and held it in my hand without dialing for maybe a minute. Then I dialed anyway.

—Hello —Sandra answered on the second ring. She sounded calm, knowing nothing.

—It’s me. I was around and wanted to see how you were doing.

—Fine. I just showered. Is something wrong?

—Nothing. I’m working from home and ended up alone. What are you doing?

On the screen I watched her sit on the edge of the bed, her legs still slightly parted.

—Getting dressed —she said—. More or less.

—What does “more or less” mean?

A pause. In the camera I saw her lean back with one hand resting on her stomach and her fingers brushing the waistband of her panties.

—It means I’m not finished yet —she answered, and there was something different in her tone. A tenth of a second lower. Maybe I was imagining it.

—Did I interrupt you doing something?

—Sometimes you’re pretty inconvenient, Rodrigo.

—Were you doing something you weren’t supposed to?

Five seconds of silence. In the camera I saw her press the palm of her hand over her panties, pressing her cunt through the fabric without moving yet.

—I don’t know if “weren’t supposed to” is right —she said—. I was doing something I usually do alone.

My mouth was dry.

—Do you mind if I keep talking? —I asked.

—Depends on what you tell me.

I pulled the pajama pants down to my ankles. There was no way to justify what I was about to do; I did it anyway. My cock was already hard before I touched it, pressed against my boxer briefs, with a wet spot at the tip.

—You turn me on, Sandra. I’ve had a hard cock since you dropped the towel.

She didn’t answer right away. On the screen I saw her slide her hand inside the fabric slowly, without rushing, and her fingers sank between her lower lips.

—That’s such a weird thing to tell me —she murmured, and her voice trembled a little.

—Weird or uncomfortable?

—Weird —she repeated—. Because you’re turning me on right now too. My cunt is soaked, Rodrigo. Since before you called.

I grabbed my cock with one hand and started moving slowly, my thumb gliding over the head every time I stroked upward. On the screen she took off her panties with her other hand, tossed them to the floor, and spread her legs until they were fully open on the bed. I watched two fingers slide into her cunt and come out shining.

—Tell me what you’re doing to yourself —I said.

—I’m putting two fingers in me. —She took a deep breath—. And you?

—I’m jerking off thinking about you.

—Say it right.

—I’m beating my cock thinking about fucking you.

I heard the moan on the other end, short, muffled into the pillow. In the camera I watched her speed up her fingers, pull one free hand to squeeze a breast, pinch her nipple between forefinger and thumb.

—Where would you put it in me? —she asked.

—In your cunt first. Nice and slow, all the way in. Then I’d turn you over and put it in your ass.

—Oh, you son of a bitch —she said, and I realized she was laughing and moaning at the same time—. Keep talking.

—I’d grab your hair and make you suck it first. All of it. Down to the back of your throat.

—I’d suck all of it —she replied, gasping—. I’d take it out of your mouth just to lick your balls.

I moved my hand faster and faster. On the screen she had three fingers inside herself, her thumb rubbing her clit, and the arch of her back grew more and more pronounced. Short, sharp moans slipped out of her, tightly held in.

—I’m going to come —she whispered.

—Come for me.

—Say something to me.

—You’re my sister and I’m listening to you come over the phone. Come, Sandra. Soak your fingers.

Once, she said my name in a way she had never said my name before. Then she made a short, sustained sound, tight in her throat, and in the camera I saw her hips convulse, saw her hold her fingers all the way in while her cunt clenched around them. A long shiver ran through her legs. It left me unable to think clearly.

When she finished, she hung up without saying anything else.

I was left with the phone in my hand, my cock hard against my stomach and a need that still wasn’t finished. Then Laura’s message came in.

Are you working, love?

I knew that tone, even in writing. Laura had access to the living room camera just like Sandra. She knew she might be watching at that very moment.

Working and thinking about you, I replied.

What are you thinking about me in?

I moved to the sofa with intent. I lay back, shirtless, in my boxer briefs, clearly visible to the living room camera. I stroked myself over the fabric, letting the bulge show.

About this morning, when we didn’t finish because you left in a hurry, I wrote with one hand.

That was your fault for falling asleep.

I’m wide awake now. I’ve got a hard-on thinking of you on your knees.

There was a long pause.

I can be home in an hour. Don’t touch yourself.

I dropped the phone on the cushion. I kept doing it anyway. I pictured Laura in the office with her phone in her hand and that serious face she wore when something excited her and she didn’t want it to show. I slipped my hand inside my boxers and took my cock out. The head peeked over the elastic waistband, shiny with pre-cum. I spit into my hand and started stroking slowly, squeezing hard at the base and easing up top.

I closed my eyes.

The sound of a key in the lock made me open them at once.

Sandra came in. She stopped in the living room doorway with one hand still on the doorknob and her eyes fixed on my cock, which I still had out, hard, my hand still wrapped around it. She was wearing gray sweatpants and a bra-less T-shirt, and she had that expression of someone arriving with a prepared speech and forgetting it the second they walk through the door.

—I... —she began.

—Sandra. What are you doing here?

—I have a key. —Pause—. I always have.

—I know, but Laura’s coming soon and I’m here...

—I can see how you are —she said, and she didn’t leave.

She stayed standing in front of the sofa. I didn’t cover myself. I don’t know why I didn’t cover myself; something in the situation overwhelmed me before I could decide anything. Sandra was looking at my cock without hiding it, her mouth slightly open, and under her shirt her nipples were hard.

—I came to talk about the call —she said at last—. I thought we needed to talk.

—Talk about what?

—About the fact that what happened wasn’t normal. —She crossed her arms, and the gesture lifted her breasts beneath the fabric—. About how when I hung up I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Which also isn’t normal.

—No.

—Did the call turn you on?

The boxer briefs left no room for ambiguity. My cock outside left even less.

—Yes —I said.

Sandra dropped her arms. She looked around the living room as if searching for a place to rest her eyes that wasn’t me, and didn’t find one. She sat down on the big armchair in the corner, back straight, hands on her knees.

—When you hung up I still hadn’t finished —she said, her voice a shade lower—. I made myself come two more times thinking about what you were saying.

I sat better on the sofa, my cock pointing at the ceiling.

—Do you want to finish now? —I asked.

She didn’t answer with words. She lifted her hips, took her sweatpants by the waistband, and pulled them down to her knees in one deliberate motion. Underneath she was wearing that tight little pair of panties I’d seen on the camera, the ones that pulled a bit at her hips, and there was already a dark patch of wetness in the center. The image of the mirror and her hands on her breasts hit me again, harder this time.

She leaned forward on the armchair until she was almost on the edge. She spread her knees and ran a finger over the fabric, pressing into her clit.

—You too —she said—. Take it all off. I want to see it properly.

I pulled my boxer briefs down to my thighs. Sandra let out a long breath when she saw the full cock, hard, with my balls resting against the sofa. She licked her lips without noticing she was doing it.

—Stroke it for me —she said—. Like when I called you.

I spit into my hand and started moving it, slow, up and down. She pulled her panties aside. I saw her pink cunt, wet, with swollen lips. She slid two fingers in and pulled them out shining.

—Show me how wet you get —I told her.

She brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them. Then she lowered them again and started masturbating with two fingers going in and out, her palm hitting her clit every time she pushed inward. The room fell silent except for the two of us breathing and the wet sound of her hand slipping in and out. I watched her move; she watched my cock. Every so often she lifted her eyes and we looked at each other, and then the two of us sped up a little without meaning to.

She pushed the fabric all the way aside with those two fingers. I saw the wetness shining all the way to the crack of her ass.

—You were thinking about this since you hung up —I said.

—Since before —she replied, biting her lip—. Since you let your voice go when you called me. I thought: my brother is watching me.

—I was watching you.

—I knew that already.

She ran her free hand over her stomach, slipped it under her shirt, grabbed a breast and pulled it out through the neckline. Her nipple hardened immediately. I squeezed my cock harder, moved my hand faster, my teeth dug into my lower lip so I wouldn’t moan.

I didn’t move from the sofa. She didn’t move from the armchair. The two of us stayed in our places, three meters apart, watching what the other was doing with their hands. There was something about that distance that was almost more intense than if we had touched. I stayed still, letting myself be watched, letting her watch me, and that was enough for the tension to keep climbing without any contact.

Her fingers moved in small circles now, just over her clit, pressing. Sandra’s breathing grew more audible, broken into gasps.

—Don’t stop —she said softly, looking straight at me—. Don’t come yet. I want to see you finish when I finish.

I didn’t stop. I loosened my grip a little to hold out. She shoved three fingers in, pulled them out, shoved them back in, and the wet sound filled the living room. Her thighs began to tense.

—Come with me —she said—. Come on.

I squeezed harder and sped up. I felt the heat rising from my balls.

We’d been like that maybe ten minutes when we heard the lock.

Sandra didn’t cover herself. I didn’t cover myself. The two of us stayed exactly as we were when Laura came into the living room with her purse over her shoulder and her keys still in her hand: me with my cock out on the sofa, Sandra with her fingers buried in her cunt and one tit bare.

She stopped.

She looked at me. She looked at Sandra. She looked at me again.

She said nothing for several very long seconds.

Then she set the keys down on the entry table very carefully, as if suddenly that were the most important thing in the room. She stayed looking at them for a moment.

—Before we go any further with this —she said—, the three of us are going to talk.