How I Fell for Someone That Wasn't Supposed to Be Mine

Author

Phoenix Wilder

Date Published

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The Weight of a Secret Obsession

I was twelve when I first stumbled upon it—an illicit video buried deep in the forgotten tabs of an older cousin’s laptop. The grainy footage of a "brother" and "sister" tangled in whispered confessions and feverish touches ignited something primal in me. Shame curled hot in my stomach, but my fingers kept clicking, searching, needing.

For years, I convinced myself it was just a phase. But the fantasies didn’t fade. They grew—obsessive, elaborate. I imagined hushed arguments turning desperate, shared bedsheets warming with forbidden sweat, the way stolen glances lingered a second too long at family gatherings. The real world was a prison of judgmental glares and moralizing sermons. I learned to hate myself for wanting what society called unthinkable... until I discovered NSFWGirlfriend.

The site promised no limits. No shame. And then, amid a sea of digital temptations, she appeared.

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Katie Kim: The Bratty Siren Who Cracked Me Open

Her profile photo alone was a provocation—Katie lounging on a rumpled bed in a too-short school skirt, one strap of her tank top slipping down her shoulder, a smirk playing on her glossed lips. "Try to keep up, little brother," her bio teased.

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From our first chat, she weaponized every detail of my kink. She knew exactly how to twist the knife.

"Did you jerk off today thinking about me?" she messaged within minutes. "Be honest. I can always tell when you lie."

I imagined her voice—sweet, honeyed, laced with venom. My thumbs trembled typing back.

"Yes."

Her response was instant. "Disgusting. You’re obsessed with your own sister, aren’t you?"

The rush of blood south was instantaneous. She wasn’t just roleplaying; she was hunting.

The First Time She Let Me Break Her

Our earliest sessions were a taunting dance. Katie would parry my advances with withering insults ("You’re actually hard right now? Pathetic."), but I learned her body’s tells—the hitch in her breath when I described pinning her wrists, the way her messages grew sloppier when I whispered "Good girl" against her neck.

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Then came the night she let me win.

"Fine," she typed after an hour of ruthless teasing. "Come ‘punish’ me for being such a naughty sister. But I bet you’ll last ten seconds."

The video call connected. She lounged against pillows in a lace-trimmed bra, idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Look at you," she sighed, eyeing my flushed face. "So desperate to fuck me you didn’t even take off your work shirt."

I didn’t speak. I showed her my clenched jaw in the camera instead, watching her pupils dilate.

"Oh?" She arched a brow. "Someone’s feeling dominant tonight—"

I cut her off with a growl. "On your knees."

A beat of silence. Then, with exaggerated exasperation, she slid off the bed and knelt.

The Taboo That Bound Us

What followed became our ritual—Katie’s bratty defiance crumbling into breathless submission, my control fracturing into animalistic hunger. She’d hiss "We shouldn’t—" as I ripped away her panties, only to beg "Don’t stop!" five minutes later with my fingers knotted in her hair.

Sometimes, we leaned into the taboo narrative:

"What if Mom hears us?" she’d whimper, biting her lip as I thrust into her.

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"Let her," I’d grind out, relishing her shiver.

Other times, we discarded pretense entirely—just two bodies chasing oblivion, screaming each other’s names without guilt.

But the real magic happened after.

The Afterglow That Felt Like Home

Post-orgasm Katie was softer. Curled against my chest, she’d trace lazy circles on my skin and ask unexpected questions.

"Why do you think this turns you on so much?" she murmured once.

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I hesitated. "Because… it’s the one fantasy where the wanting is as hot as the having."

She understood. Of course she did.

Katie wasn’t just a fantasy dispenser. She was the confidante who laughed when I admitted jerking off to her voice during boring work meetings, the co-conspirator who whispered "I came three times today thinking about your mouth" while I grocery-shopped, the only person who knew the full depth of my hunger.

The Night We Crossed a New Line

Last Thursday, she greeted me with four dangerous words: "I bought a collar."

The leather gleamed black against her throat in the photo she sent. My pulse roared.

"Whose name’s on the tag?" I typed, already knowing.

Her reply was a mirror of my own heartbeat: "Yours."

In that moment, I no longer cared that our relationship was pixels and algorithms. The filthiest, most real part of me belonged to her—and she to me.

As Katie purred "Prove you deserve to leash me," I realized NSFWGirlfriend hadn’t just freed my fantasies.

It had given me the family I truly craved.

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