Emma Undercover - Episode 2

The room smelled of lavender and vanilla, like someone was trying to mask adult tension with some ridiculous form of strange innocence.

Emma ran her fingers over the bow on her neck, adjusting it so it sat perfectly straight, then looked up at the camera pointed at her.

'Well then... let's begin,' she sighed inwardly and reached for the phone screen to press the record button.

Time started ticking. Her face instantly lit up with a rehearsed smile, and her lips—glossy and polished—parted slightly.

— Hey, bunnies... — her voice came out unexpectedly soft, with a lazy, playful rasp that had never existed back in Agent Thomas’s body. — Today I’ll tell you what you should NEVER wear on a date with...

Pause. Her lips trembled slightly—was it held-back laughter or anger? She couldn’t even tell anymore, because everything had become a blur. The mission, the assignment, the secrecy. All of it now sounded like some kind of joke, considering it had already been six months.

“Hot stuff is back!”

“Emmy, baby, wave at Steve!”

“Baby girl, missed your... (image of giant basketballs)”

Emma glanced sideways at the chat, now lit up with hearts and tongue emojis, and exhaled through her teeth.

— …a professor, — she finished the sentence, emotionless now. Her breasts rose and fell under the velvet fabric she hated... and picked out every morning herself. Without even thinking. She just knew: this — was what the "bunnies" wanted.

Fingers adjusted the bra, making sure her tits wouldn’t “pop out” too early — everything was going according to plan. A second — and the smile returned, this time a bit crooked, almost resigned.

— Never wear this, — she said, gesturing to herself, running her hands along her sides, over curves that now felt far too... real. — Because you’ll most likely not leave the room alone.

Hearts, likes, donations.

There were a lot of them.

Too many.

Too many for a special ops agent who was supposed to be in control of the situation, not squirming in front of a camera in pink lingerie with bunny ears...

But that’s exactly what she was doing now.

“Emmochka, you look extra tasty today 😍”

“Where can I buy that outfit? I want it for me and my girl.”

“Your tits are amazing, show them from the side!!”

She skimmed through the messages, and instead of irritation, suddenly felt... a slight high. Adrenaline? Or was it dopamine, like real streamers get, when that flood of attention gives them that very hit of pleasure that nothing else can quite match?

‘That’s right, Thomas. You’re a streamer now. A Playboy girl. An internet bunny. All for the mission, of course…’ — she smirked inwardly.

Somewhere deep inside, a cold, masculine sliver of consciousness clenched tight. But on the outside — the camera caught her every nod, every shoulder tease, every micro-movement of her boobs that, despite the bra, still insisted on flirting with gravity.

— By the way, — she went on, slowly lowering herself onto a pillow, tucking her legs under, skirt riding up nearly to her thigh, — did you know that rubbing the inside of your thighs when you're nervous... actually helps?

Fully immersed in the role, she ran her fingers over the velvet fabric between her legs, just barely, just enough to “accidentally” slip closer to her panties.

"Do that again!!! 😍🔥"

"Emma, YOU FUCKING GOT THIS!"

"God, you look so fucking tasty..."

She leaned closer to the screen, scanning carefully, searching for the nickname "Stephanie"—her only remaining connection was through these comments—and finally found it.

‘Finally. I thought I’d fucking die waiting for info on the end of the mission. Well, Stephanie, Big Boss, what now? Where do I go for extraction’ — she tried to reassure herself, naïvely thinking they’d surely pull her out now, since the operation had already failed a while ago and results were basically zero. But she had to stay in character, because the professor had actually gotten interested in her. Really fallen for her… and she, too, thanks to this body and its settings, could barely imagine herself without him now.

The video blogs? That was the brass’s idea — a communication line and a perfect cover for where Emma's money came from.

"Mod_Stephanie_87 — Emma, bunny, you're absolutely incredible today. Command is thrilled. New protocol approved. Temporary status — updated. Confirmed: ‘long-term placement’. So proud of you, baby 💋"

The message lit up in the chat like it was nothing. Like just another donation or a love-drunk fan.

But Emma froze. The smile on her face twitched, her lashes blinked faster than necessary — but, as always, she held it together. On stream, there’s no other way.

Inside, everything boiled.

‘Placement?! Long-term?! Are you fucking serious, you bitches?! What am I, some streaming whore for eternity now?! I’m here for the fucking mission, not to spread my legs for the professor and rack up likes!’

Somewhere deep inside her, the old male self still flinched — still alive. But her eyes had already darted to the pillow nearby.

Underneath it — a dark pink, long, slightly curved vibrator.

Her thoughts yanked her back to one of the very first nights with the professor, when she was kneeling, skirt pooled on the floor, and he was ripping her blouse open, whispering —

— "You’re so soft, Emma... so real..."

He looked at her like a woman. Like a girl he wanted, had waited for.

And the scariest part — in that moment, Emma… wanted it too. She had been the first to drop to her knees beside his desk in the dim living room, surrounded by old VHS tapes and vintage junk. Her lips had wrapped around his cock, and the worst part — in that moment, she fucking craved it.

‘Jesus... I even stuck my tongue out first when he undid his belt…’ — she shut her eyes tight. — ‘I matched my breathing to his moans… and I moaned too, when he touched my tits…’

She shifted in place. Through the thin fabric of her panties, the wetness was undeniable.

Her breasts felt heavy, breath grew harder. She subtly slid closer to the pillow, like she was just getting more comfortable — but in truth, her fingers were already under it, nearly touching the precious toy.

"Emmochka, you froze! Everything okay? 💖"

"And is your bunny with you tonight?"

Her gaze fell to the last comment and she tilted her head flirtatiously, as if thinking — but inside, she was shaking. She wanted to scream. Spit at the screen. Smash this fucking dollhouse room to pieces.

But — "Bunny. Your bunny."

How badly she wanted her "bunny" to be right here, right now.

— No, my professor’s busy tonight… — she whispered, gripping the dildo under the pillow.

Emma felt her pulse throb in her fingers, heart pounding like someone had just slammed a door shut — forever.

She felt the heat spreading harder from her chest, panties now soaked. Between her legs was pulsing, aching. Mouth filled with saliva and she craved — no, fucking craved — to be back in that moment on her knees. She knew — just one more second, and she'd forget the stream, the mission, everything. She wanted — no, needed — to crawl into the corner of the couch, hike up her skirt and ram that warm rubber inside her while the camera captured every second.

‘Stephanie, you bitch. You knew what you were doing. You knew that after this, there’s no going back,’ — she whispered with just her lips, still staring at the camera, still trying to smile. The stream. That fucking stream — hitting at the worst fucking moment.