Chapter 8

When it was over, I didn’t know where to hide my face. I rolled to the side, covering it with my hands and laughing nervously. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and at the same time, as light as after a forbidden dive.

Juliette, on the other hand, was buzzing with energy. She laughed loudly while playfully smacking me, landing sharp slaps on my ass.

“Your slut! Whore! Bitch!” she yelled between bursts of laughter.

“Stop, that hurts!” I protested, laughing too, trying to curl up. “Cut it out, girl…”

“I can’t believe this! The little saint letting loose, oh my God!” She said it like she’d just witnessed a miracle.

“Sorry.” I murmured, half laughing, half embarrassed.

She lay on her side, still smiling, her eyes locked on mine.

“But it was good, right?”

I hesitated a bit before answering.

“Weird… but good.”

The confession came out easier than I expected.

I stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my breathing still uneven. My mind spun in circles, and then a thought slipped out.

“Jules… what if I cum live? Oh God, imagine?!”

She burst out laughing.

“I think that’s exactly what they expect, girl! If you don’t cum, you’ll have to fake it.”

And out of nowhere, she started moaning loudly, forced, theatrical.

“Ohhh… ohhhh… ohhh!”

“You idiot!” I said, throwing a pillow at her. “That doesn’t seem so hard!”

“Good for you, sis, that you’re loosening up!” she said, with a genuine smile on her face.

There was something sweet in that moment. A relief, maybe. Like, no matter how insane it all was, we were finally on the same team.

“So that’s it?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We just sit there, the guys send money and tell us to do stuff?”

“Exactly.” she answered, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face. “I’ll go first and you just watch. Get the hang of it. When I call you, sit next to me. Cool?”

I nodded slowly.

We had about two hours until the show started, and my body was already on high alert. Anxiety gnawed at me from the inside like an invisible beast, souring my stomach, making me run to the bathroom with nervous cramps.

There wasn’t an exact time to go live, but Juliette decided that from now on, it’d always be the same—a ritual, a commitment to the audience she wanted to keep loyal. It was strategy, according to Patricia.

Me, with nothing left to do but wait for the time to come, started getting everything ready.

I grabbed the vibrators and took them to the bathroom. I don’t trust her to even wash her own glass, let alone the toys. I’m sure that pig didn’t clean any after using them, and I didn’t want to risk an infection on live. I washed them all with neutral soap, dried them with paper towels, and laid them out on a folded cloth, all neat.

I put towels next to the couch, set out wet wipes within reach, adjusted the ring light, tested the camera, checked the audio, closed the windows, and even made sure the blinds were pulled tight—like my biggest problem was a neighbor peeking through a crack.

Deep down, I knew it was just a way to distract myself, to not overthink.

Juliette, of course, didn’t lift a finger.

She sat in the corner of the living room the whole time, legs crossed, phone glued to her face, laughing at something or sending dirty voice notes.

When everything was set and there was nothing left to fiddle with, I sat on the couch and stared at her.

“Don’t we have to do our makeup?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice shook just a little.

She looked up from her phone with a lazy smirk.

“They wanna see pussy, Justy. Not our faces.”

“So… we could wear masks, right?”

She arched an eyebrow, like she’d just heard the dumbest thing all day.

“And how are they gonna know we’re twins, dummy?”

I went quiet. Not because she was right—but because, deep down, she was right.
And that was that.

“I need a drink…” I said, already getting up.

“There’s some gin left in the fridge,” she replied without looking up from her phone.

“You want some?”

“Nah, stomach’s empty.” Then, raising an eyebrow with a mocking smile: “And since when do you drink?”

“I started now…” I murmured, opening the fridge door.

“Then drink up, because…” she lifted her wrist, checking the time “…look at the clock. Twenty minutes.”

The bottle was cold, sweating. The liquid burned down my throat, and for a few seconds, I just stood there in the kitchen, feeling the booze hit.

Anyone seeing Juliette in the living room, sprawled on the couch with her legs crossed, still in her old tank top and panties, texting on WhatsApp like nothing was about to go down, would think she was the most experienced in the world. Calm, professional, almost bored.

But I knew the act.

She was terrified.

All that calm was just her way of holding back her own panic. Juliette was a pro at hiding inside a castle she built herself—made of sarcasm, rudeness, and a cynical charm that fooled anyone.

But inside, I knew.

Her heart was racing as fast as mine.

“Go put on some clothes…” I said, coming back to the living room with the glass still in my hand.

“In a sec,” she answered without hurry, but her eyes gave it away. She was slipping into character.

She got up with a sigh and headed to the bedroom, and I stood there alone for a few seconds, staring at the couch.

As soon as she came back and sat down…

The show would start.

I walked to the living room and approached the computer. On the screen, the countdown said: “the show starts in five minutes.” There was already an auto-notification for the followers. My fingers trembled a bit as I adjusted the camera and checked the light. It was like prepping a stage. And the stage was our home.

Juliette came back like it was just another Tuesday. She walked with that lazy yet confident sway, still fiddling with her phone like she wasn’t about to expose herself to hundreds of strangers. She sat on the floor, crossing her legs, and kept typing in the platform’s chat.

“I’m opening it, okay?” she said, eyes still on her phone.

“Yeah… I’ll watch from here, just to see how people see us.” I said, sitting on the couch with my laptop on my lap.

“Good idea.”

The virtual room started slow, as always. Five people at most. Some came in, left random comments—almost always offensive—and bounced without waiting. It was a cycle. Enter, look, judge, leave.

“You should change the title,” I said. “It’s just ‘Juliette.’ Put ‘twins.’ That draws attention.”

She looked at me like she’d already thought of it and typed. Changed the title. “Justy & Jules – Twin Spectacle.”

And something shifted.

5… 10… 15… 35…

The room started filling up at a pace even she didn’t expect. Comments came in waves. Couldn’t respond to them all. Emojis, questions, tips, demands. A nonstop flow.

Juliette, always quick, slipped into character.

“My sister’s shy. She only comes if we hit 300 bucks here,” she said with a teasing smile, slowly pulling up her tank top, showing off her hard nipples with ease, like baring her body was as casual as flashing a grin.

I stood behind the camera, but curiosity won. I ran over to her and gave a little wave to the lens, with a half-smiling, half-freaked expression. The reaction was instant: the room exploded.

Tips started pouring in nonstop. Comments flooded the chat, begging for more, complimenting, pleading.

And then it popped up:

[Visitante346]: Come to private, both of you!

Juliette said without missing a beat:

“Just call!”

The screen changed. The general chat vanished. Just him now. And us.

My heart pounded in my chest.

“Come on, Justy,” she called, grabbing a pillow. “Sit here and drop that panicked look.”

“Can he hear us?”

“Yeah. We just can’t hear him, unless he wants.”

I sat down slowly, almost dragging myself. I tried to keep my legs closed, hands over my lap. As if that ridiculously polite move could protect me from anything.

[Visitante346]: And what does this show have for me?

“Whatever you want!” Juliette said, with that fake, perfect smile of someone owning the stage.

She lifted her top again, eyes fixed on the camera, tits fully out. She looked stunning. And she knew it. Knew how to use every part of her body on purpose.

That’s when he typed:

[Visitante346]: Is your sister retarded? What’s her problem?

The words hit me like a knife. The kind of humiliation that catches you off guard. Outwardly, I was quiet. Inside, I wanted to vanish.

“She’s shy! Go easy on her!” Juliette replied, keeping the flow.

[Visitante346]: Hurry up, you sluts. I wanna cum and this shit costs me by the minute.

I swallowed hard.

I tried to smile, like Juliette. Tried.

But my face was stiff, my whole body on edge. I was a flesh puppet trying to look sexy. Then Juliette grabbed my hair, hard. Kissed me with tongue, aggressive, like she was forcing something awake in me. One of her hands squeezed my tit, hot, firm.

Every cell in me shook.

It wasn’t pleasure. It was terror.

“Kiss me, fuck… claw my tit, damn it,” she whispered low in my ear, like giving an order through gritted teeth.

[Visitante346]: Holy shit, I’m rock hard, wanna see?

“Show us, come on!”

He turned on his cam. And I swear I wished he hadn’t.

On the screen, there was this gross old fat guy, all hunched over. His dick… pathetic. Half-hard, with a crooked, weird tip, almost comical.

“Oh God, what a tasty cock, right Justy?” she tossed it to me, and all I could say, with a frozen smile, was:

“Wow, that’s amazing… so hot.”

[Visitante346]: I wanna put it in your asses. Show that ass, come on.

Juliette leaned into my ear, close like a kiss. Her voice low but firm:
“Justy, get on all fours, but keep the panties on. Twerk… hook him. Panties are the last thing. If he cums, he bails.”

I watched how she did it, and stood up slowly, copying the moves. I felt ridiculous. Every curve of my body felt like a badly rehearsed act, and everything inside me screamed: “What the fuck am I doing?”

I looked at her—so comfortable, so at ease in all that absurdity—and started laughing. Couldn’t hold it. She was ridiculous. And there I was, twerking along.

“What are you laughing at?” she asked, without stopping the show.

“I dunno… this whole thing is funny.”

“Twerking with your sister for some random old dude online?”

“Right? Did you imagine doing this 10 years ago?”

“Hell no.”

[Visitante346]: Fuck, I can’t hear what you’re saying, damn it!

“We’re prepping a surprise for you. Send a tip, and we’ll show more. Double. Deal?”

[Visitante346]: Fuck you both up the ass. Shitty as hell. Don’t show shit. And the one on the left looks retarded!

Transmission ended.

Juliette’s eyes went wide, in disbelief.

“Damn… he really didn’t like it.”

“Let’s take a break, Jules?”

“Fuck it, yeah.”

The room was still full, but we made a quick announcement, saying we’d be out for a few minutes. We turned off the camera and I sat there, watching other camgirls. Each with her style, her way of seducing. Some over-the-top, others more shy. They all seemed to know what they were doing. Us…

“Sis, I think our prices are too high.”

“But that’s the point,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Nobody does what we do.”

“But we don’t even know how to do it yet… we’re kinda weird at this.”

“It’s weird doing it with you,” she huffed. “Alone, I’m way better.”

“Doesn’t Patricia help us?”

“I called her. Coming tomorrow afternoon. Asked her to help record something more… professional.”

The truth was, that guy’s comment had gotten to both of us. I already felt like trash for exposing myself like that. Juliette, who always got off on showing off, was hurt. Pride wounded, maybe. Or just the humiliation of being called bad by some old wanker.

She, as usual, reacted with anger. Cursed, complained, said she was done for the night.

Me, on the other hand, wanted to try a little more.

I waited for her to leave, sat alone, and changed the room title. Something softer, more me. I started just chatting, without showing anything, responding with good humor to the obvious harassment. And without realizing, I started having fun.

Little by little, I built a persona. A looser, more teasing version of me, that laughed with the guys without stripping. It was weird, but it made me feel in control.

That’s the night I met him: [VitorinoS].