I logged into the chatroom like always, horny and anonymous, looking for some filthy talk to jerk off to. Username: BigBro88. The room was full of the usual pervs swapping stories about forbidden fucks, and one username kept popping up with the hottest posts: LittleSisSlut. Her stories were raw—describing how she wanted to ride her brother's cock while their parents were asleep, how she'd suck him off in the dark, swallowing every drop so no one would know. The details felt too specific, too real.
After a few nights of trading messages, I pushed for a private chat. She described her body exactly like my sister Emily's: perky tits, a tight shaved pussy, that birthmark on her inner thigh. I asked for a pic. She sent one, face cropped out, but the tattoo on her hip was unmistakable. It was Emily. My own sister was in here posting incest fantasies, getting off on the idea of fucking me.
I screenshotted everything—her stories, the pic, the chat logs where she admitted wanting "real brother dick" instead of just words. Then I messaged her from a new account: "I know who you are, Emily. Meet me in the garage tonight or these go to Mom and Dad."
She showed up at midnight, face pale, wearing a thin tank top and shorts. "Please don't," she whispered. I showed her the folder on my phone. "Strip," I said. She hesitated, then pulled off her top. Her nipples were hard already. "The shorts too." She stepped out of them, standing naked in the dim light. I grabbed her, spun her around, and bent her over the workbench. "You've been begging for this in the chatroom. Now take it."
I shoved two fingers into her pussy. She was soaking wet. "Fuck, you're dripping for your brother's cock," I growled, pumping them hard. She moaned despite herself. I pulled my dick out, thick and throbbing, and slammed it into her from behind. No slow start—just deep, rough thrusts that made her ass slap against me. "Tell me how it feels," I ordered.
"God, it's so big… bigger than I wrote about," she gasped. I fucked her harder, one hand yanking her hair, the other reaching around to rub her clit. She came fast, her cunt clenching around me, juices running down her thighs. I didn't stop. I flipped her onto the hood of the car, spread her legs wide, and drove back in. Her tits bounced with every thrust. "This is what you wanted in those stories—your brother pounding your slutty hole."
I made her suck me next, pushing her to her knees on the concrete. She took me deep, gagging but not stopping, her tongue working the underside like she'd practiced in her mind. I held her head and fucked her face until I was close, then pulled out and painted her tits with thick ropes of cum. "Lick it up," I said. She did, eyes locked on mine.
That night turned into more. Every time she tried to pull away, I'd flash a new screenshot. But the blackmail only fueled it. She started coming to my room after everyone was asleep, climbing into my bed and riding me reverse so I could watch her ass take my cock. In the chatroom, she still posted stories, but now they were real—updated with details like "he made me swallow after he blackmailed me into the garage fuck."
Weeks later, she confessed in whispers while I had her pinned against the shower wall, water running over us as I pounded her from behind: "I wanted this. The chatroom was me testing how bad I needed my brother to take me." I came inside her that time, filling her up while she begged for more.
The blackmail stayed our secret, turning every family dinner into a game of stolen glances and hidden touches.
She never stopped posting in the chatroom. Her stories just got dirtier, and every one ended with her getting exactly what she craved—raw, relentless incest, started by a single leaked screenshot and finished with her brother's cum dripping out of her. We kept it going, hotter each time, because the threat never faded and the need never did.
