Sister catches me taking creep shots of her

My family still goes on vacation together—me (Jake, 19), my big sister Amy (26), and our mom. It’s been like this forever, trips to beaches or cabins, Mom’s way of keeping us close. I’ve had a crush on Amy since I was a kid, watching her grow into this gorgeous woman. Tall, fit from yoga, curves that drive me wild. It’s wrong, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about her.

This time, we’re at a Gulf Coast motel. Waves crash outside, air smells like salt. Mom’s got her own room; Amy and I share one with two queen beds. It’s supposed to be chill—siblings hanging out, joking—but her in tiny shorts and tank tops makes it hard to focus.

Amy loves taking photos and always makes me her photographer. I snap dozens for her Instagram, but I sneak some for myself—her ass in a bikini when she bends over, or her chest when her top slips. I use them later, alone, when I can’t sleep.

That night, after a beach day, we’re back in the room. Amy’s sprawled on her bed in a crop top and denim shorts, scrolling her phone. “Jake, send me those pics from today,” she says, kicking her feet up.

I grab my phone, pick the folder, and hit send, not realizing I’ve mixed in some private shots. Her phone pings. She swipes through, smiling, then stops. “Ehh, Jake, what are these pictures with my butt and chest?”

“Fuck!” I blurt, heart dropping. “I’m sorry, my phone must’ve zoomed or something. I didn’t mean to send those. I’ll delete them now!”

“Bullshit,” she says, holding her phone up. “These are way too good to be accidental.”

I’m screwed. No way out but the truth. “Okay, fine. I’ve had a crush on you forever. I took those for… you know, stress relief later. You’re so beautiful, Amy. I’m sorry.”

She sits up, eyes narrowing. “You’re serious? You’ve been taking creepy pics of me for… what, jerking off?” Her voice is sharp, not yelling, but pissed.

“I know it’s bad,” I say, hands up. “I didn’t mean to cross a line. I just… you’re always there, looking like that, and I couldn’t help it. I’ll delete everything, I swear.”

She’s quiet, scrolling through the pics again. “These are… good shots, Jake. Like, you’ve got talent. But this is weird. We’re siblings. You get that, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, staring at the floor. “It’s fucked up. I didn’t want you to know. I’m sorry.”

She sighs, tossing her phone on the bed. “How long have you felt like this? Be honest.”

“Since I was, like, 13,” I admit. “That summer at the lake house, you in that blue swimsuit, diving off the dock? I couldn’t stop staring. Felt like a punch.”

She laughs, just a bit. “I remember that trip. You kept dropping your soda can when I walked by.” She leans back, thinking. “I noticed you looking, even back then. Thought it was just you being a goofy kid. But… I don’t know. It made me feel… seen.”

My head snaps up. “You felt that?”

“Don’t get excited,” she says quick, pointing at me. “It’s not like I was into you. Just… it was nice, okay? Knowing you thought I was hot. Boosted my ego.” She pauses, chewing her lip. “But this? Pics? That’s next-level.”

“I know,” I say. “I’ll stop. I don’t want to lose you, Amy. You’re my best friend—movie nights, sneaking beers at Thanksgiving. I fucked up.”

She softens, scooting closer on the bed. “You’re my best friend too. That’s why this is hard. I’m not grossed out, just… confused. I mean, I’ve had thoughts too. Late nights, wondering what it’d be like with you. But I pushed them away. It’s not normal.”

My heart jumps. “You’ve thought about me?”

“Don’t make it a thing,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, okay? You’re not ugly, Jake. You’re sweet, funny. That time you stayed up all night helping me with my portfolio? I kept thinking how… good you are. But this is a big deal. We can’t just jump into something crazy.”

“I get it,” I say. “We can pretend this never happened. Delete the pics, go back to normal.”

She picks up the phone, looks at them again. “These are really good, though. Like, you made me look… hot.” She smirks a little. “You got more of these? In your secret stash?”

I freeze, throat tight. “Uh… yeah. A few.”

“Show me,” she says, leaning forward. “Come on, I wanna see what else you’ve got.”

“No way,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s embarrassing. They’re private.”

“Jake, you already sent me three,” she says, half-laughing. “What’s a few more? I’m not gonna freak out. I just… I’m curious. What do you see when you look at me?”

I hesitate, palms sweaty. “It’s weird, Amy. You’ll think I’m a creep.”

“You’re already a creep,” she teases, nudging my leg with her foot. “But you’re my creep. Come on, show me. I’m not gonna run to Mom. Promise.”

I sigh, unlocking my phone. “Fine. But don’t hate me.” I open the hidden folder, pass it to her. There’s a dozen shots—her in a sundress from last summer, bending to grab a volleyball; her in a wet bikini at the pool, water dripping down her chest; her laughing on a hike, shorts riding up.

She swipes through, eyes wide. “Damn, Jake. You’re… thorough.” She pauses on one—her in a towel post-shower last trip, unaware I’d snapped it. “This one’s kinda hot. You’re sneaky.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again, reaching for the phone. “I’ll delete them.”

She pulls it back, grinning. “Hold up. I didn’t say that. It’s… kinda flattering, you know? Knowing you see me like this.” She hands the phone back. “What if we lean into it? Do another photoshoot. You and me. Right now.”

I’m stunned. “What kind of shoot?”

She stands, locks the door, and sits back down, posing—hand on her hip, back arched. “Just take the pics,” she says. I start snapping, hands shaky. Her poses get bolder—top riding up, showing her stomach.

“Like this?” she asks, glancing over.

“Yeah, perfect,” I say, voice shaky.

We keep going, her directing. “Get lower, catch my legs.” We joke about old trips. “That Colorado hat Mom made me wear? So dumb.”

“You made it hot,” I say, snapping.

Her poses shift. She pulls her top higher, showing more skin. “This okay?”

“Definitely,” I say, heart pounding.

She kneels, hands on her thighs. “You’ve stared before, right? Like at the pool last summer?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “Couldn’t help it.”

“I liked it,” she says softly. “Felt good.” She unties her top, letting it fall. No bra—her breasts are bare, nipples hard. “Keep shooting.”

I’m floored but snap. “You sure?”

“Yep,” she says, nervous smile. “That beach trip two years ago? Your stares? Kinda thrilling.” She unzips her shorts, slides them off, then her panties. She’s naked, lying back, legs slightly open. “Pose me. Touch if you need to.”

I set the phone down, hand on her thigh. She doesn’t pull away. “I’ve thought about you too,” she says. “Wondered what it’d be like. Scared it’d ruin us.”

“It won’t,” I say, hand higher. “We’re too close.”

She pulls me in, kissing me—soft, then deeper. “More?” she whispers.

I nod. She kneels between my legs, unzips my shorts. My cock’s out, hard. “Damn, Jake,” she says, stroking, then licking the tip.

I groan, start recording. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, sucking slow. It’s unreal. We talk. “How often you think of me?” she asks.

“Your grad party dress? All the time,” I say.

She grins, pulls off. “My turn.”

I lay her back, spread her thighs. She’s wet. I lick her, slow, then faster. “Jake, right there.” I add fingers. She comes hard, gripping my hair.

“Inside me?” she asks, eyes soft. “You got condoms?”

“Yeah, in my bag.” I grab one, hand it to her.

She tears it open, rolls it on my cock, hands steady. “Ready?”

“Film it?” I ask. She nods.

I prop the phone up, angle it to catch her face, breasts, pussy. I push in slow, condom slick. She’s tight, warm. We moan. “Go slow,” she says. I do, then speed up. The camera gets her moans, her tits bouncing, me sliding in.

“Harder, Jake,” she gasps. But after a bit, she frowns. “Wait, I’m not feeling it. Take it off.”

“You sure?” I ask, pausing.

“Yeah. I’m on the pill. I want you, not the rubber.” She helps me pull it off, tossing it aside.

I push back in, raw. It’s intense, her heat gripping me. “Fuck, Amy,” I groan, thrusting deeper. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” she moans, coming hard, squeezing me. I finish inside her, filling her up.

I film the last bit—my cum dripping from her—then stop and lie beside her. “I’m so glad you felt the same,” I say.

“Me too,” she says, winking. “We can do this a lot more.”

I cuddle her close. “Just the start.”

“No regrets?” she asks, snuggling in.

“None. You?”

“Same. Felt right.”

We talk about old times—how I’d stare at her at parties, how she’d catch me and feel a spark. “That camping trip when you fixed my tent? I wanted to hug you longer,” she says.

“Should’ve,” I say. “I’m here now.”

We laugh about my “secret stash.” Hunger hits. “Room service?” I ask.

“Eat in bed,” she says. We order pizza, eat on the sheets, sharing slices. She steals my pepperoni, grinning. “Tastes better after this.”

She reaches for me. “Round two? No camera.” She climbs on top, grinding, then slides down. We kiss, move slow. “Love this,” she says. We come quietly, holding tight.

We sleep tangled. Morning, we grab coffee, sit on the balcony. She’s in my shirt, I’m in boxers. Mom texts about breakfast; we reply, acting normal.

“Trips are gonna be fun,” she says, nudging me.

“Every night,” I say, smiling.