﻿Diet (Pan)

by Pan



Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2023-05-13
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:15:08
Chapters: 49
Words: 165,911
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/DietPan/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: Cynthia wants to lose weight, so her brother Daniel offers to hypnotize her.
Erotica Tags: in, mc, md, mf





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49



	Chapter 1

My sister isn’t fat.

I feel like I should mention that up front. You can call my sister many things—I have, over the years—but ‘fat’ isn’t one of them.

I can see why she feels that way though. In a word?

Tits.

It’s more complicated than that, obviously, but that’s got to be the main factor. Cynthia has some of THE largest tits you’ve ever seen. They’re magnificent. No matter what she’s wearing, no matter how much she tries to hide them (and god knows she tries to hide them), her huge tits are the first thing everyone notices about her.

Yes, even me.

Her tits came in almost the moment she hit puberty, and from the moment _I_ hit puberty I’ve been obsessed with them. It seriously feels like they haven’t stopped growing since she was twelve.

Cynthia probably can’t even see her feet. Again, just to be clear—not because she’s fat. Just because she’s hella busty.

My mother, on the other hand…look, she’s definitely _large_. I wouldn’t call her ‘fat’, but I also wouldn’t be able to argue that she’s not, y’know?

Ever since Dad died, Mom has really let herself go. Not the the point of being, like morbidly obese. Just…

Yeah. Large.

And here’s the thing: Mom had huge tits even _before_ she put on any weight. I found an old family photo-album and checked. But the advantage of getting bigger is that you get _bigger_.

My mother had huge tits to begin with, then she put on a bunch of weight and they got even larger.

And _still_ she’s not as big as my sister.

So Cynthia looks at Mom, she sees how much they physically have in common, looks down at her own enormous jugs, and assumes that she must be fat.

She’s not. She’s not, like, anorexic-thin, but she’s definitely not fat.

My name’s Daniel. I’m a teenager in my senior year at Yorkdale, and I spend _way_ too much time thinking about my sister’s tits.

I can’t believe she’s so shy about them. You’re given a gift like that, you don’t hide it away from the world; you show it off, right? Nope. Not my sister, anyway. Lumpy sweaters, loose pajamas, sweatshirts—anything she can do to pretend they’re not there.

Every day when I walk past the shower, I’m tempted to burst in, to ‘accidentally’ see my sister soaping up her naked body, rubbing suds into her full, round tits. Every night, I jerk off wondering what they look like. Does she have huge, dark, rubbery nipples? Or are they small and delicate, like little pink strawberries?

I’ve never so much as seen her in a swimsuit.

So look, maybe she secretly _is_ fat. Maybe she’s so good at hiding it that even me, her brother who’s obsessed with her body, hasn’t noticed.

But I’d be surprised—she’s got these long legs, she’s never out of breath, and even though I’ve not seen her naked (except in my imagination), unless she’s like world champion good at hiding it, there’s no way she’s overweight.

Doesn’t stop her from obsessing about it though. She’s diplomatic enough to avoid mentioning it when Mom is around, but whenever it’s just the two of us, she’s moaning about how she wants to lose weight, how she’s never going to fit into a size whatever, blah blah blah.

I mostly just tune her out, and check out her body whenever she’s not looking. Sometimes she’ll get so distracted, I can spend minutes feasting on her form with my eyes.

When that happens, I generally make an excuse and retreat to my room. With the door shut, if you know what I mean.

On the rare occasion I’m not thinking about Cynthia when I rub one out, I’m picturing my Mom. I bet their four tits combined are at least my body-weight. Sometimes I think about being smothered by them…god, what a way to die.

And yeah: I’ve accepted that I’m a perverted weirdo a long time ago.

I want to see them. I want to see them so fucking bad. Neither of them show so much as _cleavage_. Ever!

So that’s how I spend my life: surrounded by huge-titted prudes. It’s a curious mix of heaven and hell. I hate it and love it, both at the same time.

And that’s how I would have continued, stimulated and frustrated in equal measure.

But one day, my sister asked me a question.

“How can I lose weight?”

* * *

I was in the middle of buttering some toast. I turned to see my sister running her eyes up and down my body. Not in the way I check her out when she isn’t looking, but…well, I have an overactive imagination, and the thought of her leering at me immediately made my cock stiffen in my pants.

“Eat less,” I answered simply, and returned to making breakfast.

My sister’s body might be the focus of my every sexual fantasy, but I do what I can to hide my desires. As far as Cynthia—and Mom—are concerned, I’m just a regular teenager, not one who pictures their lips around my cock every time I cum.

“I’m serious,” Cynthia sighed, and I took a bite of my toast.

I run track, so I’m in fairly good shape. ‘Run track’ would have been my next snarky suggestion, but I realized that Cynthia was genuinely asking for my opinion—something that really didn’t happen much.

Like I said, she talks about her weight a lot, but that’s exactly what it is—talking. I’m an audience, not half of a conversation.

But for the first time I could remember, it seemed like she actually wanted to hear my take.

“Well,” I said after a few seconds of thought, “why do you want to lose weight?”

My sister rolled her eyes, and gestured to her body. I took the rare opportunity to ogle her without having to be subtle about it—for the next twenty seconds or so, I chewed my toast and checked out my sister’s body, enjoying the fact that she _knew_ I was doing it.

She was perfect.

Seriously. Even under her baggy pajamas, it was obvious that Cynthia’s bod was smoking hot. Long legs, a pert butt, and tits that deserved to win some kind of award. Top it off with long blonde hair and a cute face; I would have bet good money that I was far from the only one jerking off to her each night.

If I were a better brother, I would have told her that. Not the jerking off part, but the rest—that her body was perfect, and that she didn’t need to change a thing.

Instead, a wicked impulse entered my brain, and I couldn’t resist following it.

“Our coach uses hypnotherapy,” I replied slowly. “To keep some of the guys motivated. I’ve heard that’s good for weight-loss as well.”

All bullshit, of course. Our coach would have just yelled at anyone who lost motivation, and kicked them off the team if that didn’t work. But from my sister’s reaction, you’d think I’d just offered her the cure to cancer.

“Seriously??”

“Of course,” I nodded.

“Do you really think that would work?”

“Absolutely. Coach swears by it.”

“Wow.”

My sister’s eyes were sparkling, and she glanced down at her tits, then back at me.

I moved my final piece of toast into my mouth, chewed it, and then made the offer that I knew she was dying to hear.

“D’you wanna try it?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said, unperturbed by the crumbs that had flown out of my mouth as I asked. “Please!”

“Sure thing,” I said, wiping my hands on a napkin. “I’ll ask him how it works next week—how about we try Monday, after school?”

“Perfect,” my sister said, and practically skipped out of the room.

* * *

Now, I don’t know a thing about hypnosis. Seriously. It was just the first lie that popped into my head, and I’d never expected Cynthia to go along with it, let alone be _excited_ by the prospect. But I spent the entire weekend reading up about it, and what I found was pretty interesting.

See, when someone’s under, you can’t make them do what they don’t want to do. I couldn’t hypnotize my sister and say “Hey, you want to suck Daniel’s cock while topless, and take photos of the event for him to keep forever.”

Well, I _could_ , but unless my sister also happened to have an incest fetish, it wouldn’t _do_ anything but piss her off (and probably snap her out of it).

But the more I read, the more opportunities I saw. You couldn’t make someone do what they didn’t want to do, not directly, but—reading between the lines—it seemed that you could make them _want_ to do something they didn’t normally want to do, if you know what I mean.

I couldn’t say “Hey, Cynthia, take off your top and do some jumping jacks.” Unless Cynthia already wanted to do that, it wasn’t going to work.

But, if I could convince her that jumping jacks were the best way to lose weight, and that removing her top was the only way I could check her form…

Then, she might consider it.

By the time Monday afternoon came along, I’d spent more than twenty of the previous forty-eight hours reading up about hypnosis, and my mind was buzzing with ideas.

Best of all: Cynthia was just as excited as I was.

“Are you ready?” she said, the moment she walked through the door.

“Hmm?”

I’d decided to play it cool.

“Monday afternoon,,” she said, dropping her bag and sitting on the couch in front of me. “You were going to hypnotize me. Remember?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Yeah, Coach gave me some tips. You wanna do that now, or—…”

“Now,” she interrupted.

With a smile, I began.

I have no idea if I was any good at it, or if it was my sister’s enthusiasm, but within less than ten minutes, she was staring at me, glassy-eyed. I did all the tests that the website had recommended—snapping my fingers and seeing if she’d react, shining my phone’s flashlight in her eyes,

Sure enough, she seemed to be under. Like, for real. Totally out of it.

“Hey,” I started. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice ringing out firm and clear. I dunno what I was expecting—a soft whisper, or a monotone or something, maybe.

Nope. She just answered like she was awake.

“How do you feel?”

“Sleepy,” she said, in a voice that sounded anything but. “Relaxed.”

“Do you like this feeling?”

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because I know that while I feel like this, you’re helping me.”

I smiled.

“While I feel like this,” she continued, “you’re going to make sure I lose weight.”

“Exactly right. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

“Again.”

“I trust you.”

“Good.”

I paused. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning, overwhelmed by options. There was so much I could do…where to start?

“Why do you want to lose weight?”

“To be healthier,” Cynthia replied immediately. “And to feel more attractive.”

“You don’t feel attractive?”

“No,” my sister said, and a part of me wanted to slap her. She was the single most attractive person on the planet—what the hell was wrong with her?

“Why not?”

“I’m fat.”

_You’re not,_ I thought, but kept it to myself.

“What else?”

“My…”

Cynthia hesitated. I paused for a few seconds, but it quickly became clear that she wasn’t going to answer, not without some prompting.

“While you feel like this,” I said, “you can say anything. There’s no judgement here; you’re here so I can help you, so I can help you lose weight. Anything you say is just for me, and I’m here to help you.”

“Yes,” Cynthia said, and I told her to continue. “It’s my breasts.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell me that?”

“You’re my brother,” she said, staring blankly. “It’s weird to talk to your brother about this kind of thing.”

Well, that was something we’d have to fix sooner rather than later.

“When you’re under,” I said slowly, after a few moments of thought, “I don’t want you to think of me as your brother. Instead, I’m your trainer. I’m your trainer…Danny.”

No one has ever called me Danny. Hell, most people don’t even call me ‘Dan’. For whatever reason, I’ve always been ‘Daniel’.

“I’m not your brother…I’m not even a male. I’m just a trainer, Danny. Say it.”

“You’re not my brother,” Cynthia confidently repeated. “You’re not even a man. You’re just my trainer, Danny.”

“I’m here to help you lose weight. Say it.”

“You’re here to help me lose weight.”

“Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“One hundred percent.”

Like I said, Cynthia’s weight is sort of an obsession. She’d do anything to lose it.

I hoped.

“You trust your trainer Danny more than anyone in the world. Say it.”

“I trust my trainer Danny more than anything.”

“I only exist here, while you’re in this state, and I exist purely to help you out. Say it.”

“You only exist to help me out while I’m hypnotized.”

“I only exist to help you lose weight. Say it.”

“You’re only here to help me lose weight.”

“That’s the only reason I exist, and that’s all I can do. Say it.”

“You can’t do anything else, because that’s why you exist.”

“Because I can’t do anything else, everything I do is to help you lose weight. Say it.”

“Everything you do is to help me lose weight, because that’s all you can do.”

“Because that’s all I can do, you can trust me wholeheartedly. Say it.”

“I will trust you completely, because all you can do is help me lose weight.”

“Good.”

She wanted it so badly.

“When you’re under and you hear my voice, I want you to remember: I’m not your brother, I’m Danny.”

“You’re not my brother. You’re Danny.”

“You will always answer Danny’s questions without hesitation. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“My voice is Danny’s voice. While you’re in this state, I am Danny. Say it.”

“You are Danny. Your voice is Danny’s voice.”

“Is there anything you won’t tell your trainer?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he exists solely to help me lose weight.”

“If you lied to your trainer, what would happen?”

“He wouldn’t be able to help me lose weight.”

“Will you do what your trainer says?”

“Yes.”

“Why?’

“Because it will help me lose weight.”

“Good. Now, tell me, tell your trainer—why do you feel unattractive?”

“Because I’m fat,” Cynthia said without hesitation. “Because I’m fat, and my tits are too big.”

If I’d been drinking water, I swear I would have spat it out. _Too_ big?? What on earth was wrong with my sister?

“They’re…”

I hesitated.

My instinct was to correct her, to tell her that she was beautiful, that her tits were the perfect size. But then…

“You’re right,” I said, after a few moments of thought. “You’re fat, and your tits are too big.”

I watched her closely. No reaction.

“As your trainer,” I continued, “you know that I will never lie to you. You know that everything I say is the truth. Say it.”

“You’ll never lie to me. Everything you say is true.”

“You’re fat, and the only way you’re going to lose weight is if I help you. Say it.”

“I’m fat, and the I’ll only lose weight if you help me.”

“You will do everything I tell you. Say it.”

“I will do everything you say.”

“Good,” I said, a huge grin on my face.

* * *

I spent a few minutes reinforcing that Cynthia’s conscious mind wouldn’t remember anything about the trance, and woke her up. She slowly came to, looking—and sounding—more groggy than she had while she was under.

“How was that?” I asked, and she looked at me blearily.

“Good,” she said. “Did…did it work?”

“I think so,” I shrugged. “I dunno.”

We sat there in silence for a few minutes while my sister continued to wake up.

“Wow,” she eventually sighed. “I don’t remember _anything_. What did you even tell me?”

“Y’know,” I said casually. “Just what the coach taught me. Eat less, try to walk more. Use the stairs instead of the elevator. That kind of thing.”

“Oh, great,” she said. “Man, it’s so _weird_ that I don’t remember any of it. Do you think it worked?”

“Hard to say,” I mumbled. “Probably not.”

I may have pushed it too far—a sympathetic look came over my sister’s face, and she turned towards me.

“Little bro,” she said comfortingly, “you did great!”

She wrapped her arms around me, and pulled me towards her for a hug. I’ll tell you, having those huge hooters pressed against me wasn’t something I was going to complain about.

“I’m sure it worked,” she said. “I’m _sure_.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “Coach says it generally takes a few sessions to take effect.”

“Let’s try again on Wednesday,” she said, releasing me from the hug. “I mean, if that’s okay.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said warmly, and I rolled my eyes, barely managing to hide my grin.

* * *

I hypnotized Cynthia on Wednesday, and then again on Friday night. I made sure to wake her up each time well before there was any chance of Mom coming home from work and catching us.

On Monday, however, Cynthia refused to let me put her under.

“Sure,” I said, acting as disinterested as I possibly could.

“It’s not you,” she said earnestly. “Please, Daniel, don’t take it personally!”

“No skin off my back,” I grunted, turning back to my video game.

“Wait,” she said, trying to get me to look her in the eyes. “It’s just…”

There was a long silence, and I refused to break it.

“It’s just…don’t you think it’s a bit strange?”

Again, I didn’t respond.

“I mean, you put me under for what, half an hour? Forty minutes at a time? And I don’t remember _anything_. Nothing at all!”

“Whatever,” I grunted. “I was just trying to do you a favor.”

“And I really appreciate it,” Cynthia said emphatically. “Seriously! I’m really grateful.”

“It’s cool,” I said, making it clear that my attention was entirely on the game. “Gives me an extra ninety minutes each week to play video games.”

“You promise you’re not upset?”

“Whatever,” I repeated, and Cynthia dropped it.

For the next few days, my sister was a little awkward around me. It was obvious that she felt bad, like she’d asked me to go to the store with unclear instructions and gotten mad when I’d brought back the wrong type of bread.

My responses remained completely neutral, as though I genuinely didn’t care whether or not I ever hypnotized her again.

Finally, on Sunday morning, she broke.

“Hey,” she said, knocking on the open door of my bedroom. “You mind if I come in?”

“It’s a free country.”

She gave a little half-laugh in response, and sat on the end of my bed.

“I…”

Again, the long silence. Again, I completely refused to be the one to end it.

“Look…”

I turned the page of the cycling magazine I was reading, and Cynthia sighed.

“Look,” she said again. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but…do you think you could hypnotize me again?”

I dropped the magazine and stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

“I know,” she said. “I know, I know, I know. It’s just…”

She sighed once more.

“It wasn’t fair of me to freak out like that.”

“Seriously,” I said. “It’s fine. It’s really not a big deal to me either way.”

She continued as though I’d never spoken.

“I just got this weird thought, like…while I was under, you could be doing _anything_ to me. You could be getting me to tell you my facebook password, or set you up with my cute friends.”

“Or trying to help you lose weight,” I said sarcastically.

“Right,” she laughed. “I know. I know. It’s my fault. I was being weird.”

“Nothing new there.”

“So look, I’m sorry. You were only trying to help, and I was a prick.”

“Nothing new there, either.”

“Ha ha ha. Look, I apologized. Are you going to help me, or not?”

I paused, as though weighing up my options. Finally, when I felt like I couldn’t stretch it out any longer, I nodded.

“Sure,” I said, raising one hand dismissively. “Just…promise me you won’t get weird again, okay?”

“Of course,” my sister said, staring me in the eyes. “I trust you.”

* * *

“How do you feel?”

“Good,” Cynthia responded. Her voice was clear and confident, her eyes were glassy.

“Do you remember what we talked about last time you were under?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Tell me.”

“You gave me some instructions.”

“What were they?”

“You told me to be suspicious. You told me to realize—consciously realize—that I couldn’t remember what was happening in these sessions, that it could be anything. You told me to explore that feeling as much as possible.”

“Good,” I smiled. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” my sister responded. “You told me that every day I wasn’t hypnotized, I was going to eat more than I did the day before.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my trainer. Your role is to help me lose weight. That’s all you exist for. If I’m not letting you put me under, you’re not able to help me lose weight.”

“So?”

“So instead, I’ll gain weight.”

It was all I could do not to pump the air in triumph.

“You will answer all my questions honestly, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you.”

“You trust me, Danny?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about your brother, Daniel?”

“I trust him.”

“Why?”

“Because I spent a few days thinking about it, and there’s no reason not to. He’s my brother; he loves me, and he only wants what’s best for me.”

That wasn’t a suggestion from me; it was genuine. When I’d told her to explore her suspicions fully, I’d meant it—if this was going to work, if I was going to infiltrate my sister’s mind, and finally see those mouth-watering tits, I needed to make sure there wasn’t any doubt lurking in the back of her mind.

Apparently, the plan had worked. Cynthia spent a few days reflecting on it…and decided to trust me.

_She_ had decided to trust me. I hadn’t stopped reading about hypnosis over the past two weeks, and everything I could find suggested the same thing—if the idea came organically from the subject’s mind, they were more likely to accept it.

You can’t make people do what they don’t want to do…but you _can_ make them realize stuff they DO want to do. Even if it’s not something they would have realized without your help, y’know?

“And,” my sister continued, “when the sessions stopped, I started eating more.”

“That didn’t make you suspicious of your brother?”

“No,” Cynthia rang out brightly, her glazed-over eyes staring at me, expressionless. “No. It confirmed that he’d done exactly what he’d said—his hypnosis had been to help me to lose weight.”

“Perfect.”

I took a deep breath, and stared at my sister. She was sitting on the couch, her hands in her lap, her mind completely exposed, ready to do whatever I said.

She trusted me, completely.

Now,” I said softly, “the real work can begin.”

* * *

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	Chapter 2

“You are fat. Say it.”

“I’m fat.”

My sister isn’t fat. Not really. She’s busty, and she has a great ass, but that’s not what makes someone fat.

But the more fervently she believed she _was_ fat, the more fervently she was going to obey.

“You’re fat. Say it.”

“I’m fat.”

The repetition was something that about half the hypnosis sites agreed was useful. Admittedly, none of the sites were dedicated to brainwashing and fucking your sister, but…well, hats aren’t designed for killing, and that never stopped Oddjob.

Getting her to repeat the ideas did two things: firstly, it reinforced them. The more someone repeated something, the more it sank into their psyche.

And, just as helpfully, people don’t like to say stuff that isn’t true. You ask someone to declare something they don’t actually believe, they probably won’t do it. It made it a useful way of testing how effective the hypnosis was being - if Cynthia repeated it back to me, she believed it. If she refused, she probably didn’t.

“The only way to lose weight is to do as I say.”

“The only way I’ll lose weight is by following your instructions.”

“Good.”

I was playing it safe. In my reading, I’d found some horror stories. You can’t make someone do what they don’t want to do, and trying to force an idea can have some nasty results…for you, for the subject, or for both.

Most importantly, my sister couldn’t suspect a thing. If I told her the only way to lose weight was to ride my cock for an hour each morning, maybe she’d do it. But I’m sure that would make her question her sudden change in behavior…and then the whole thing would collapse.

No, better to take it slow. Steady. Sensible.

Safe.

“You trust me completely. Say it.”

“I trust you completely.”

Of course, slow didn’t necessarily mean _glacial_. Especially not when her willingness meant that I’d made such strides already…

“Is there any question you won’t answer?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my trainer. You only want information to help me lose weight.”

“You’ll do anything to lose weight, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I took a deep breath. Time for my first risky move.

“How often do you masturbate?”

Cynthia’s eyes widened, a pink tinge hit her cheeks.

But she didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment.

“A couple of times a week.”

“Do you know exactly how many times?”

“No.”

I pulled out some sheets I’d printed from the computer.

“Read these.”

My sister just continued to stare at me, blankly.

“Read these printouts,” I repeated, thrusting them in her direction.

She didn’t move.

Ah.

“Touch your nose,” I said.

Again, nothing.

Some of the guides had spoken about this. Everyone reacts to hypnosis differently - some people speak in a monotone, some people fall into a deep sleep and don’t even respond to questions.

And some people will answer questions but not move.

It was rare, but…well, apparently Cynthia was one of those people.

Shit.

At once, so many of my plans were dashed. I’d dreamt of having her test samples of a new ‘diet formula’ (my cum) or ride a new ‘exercise machine’ (my cock) or even just strip off to share her body with me (for ‘progress reports’).

Nope. Not while she was under, anyway.

Any changes I made would have to be made in the real world.

Still, the past week had made it clear: changes in the real world WERE possible.

It was all about how you presented them.

“These papers,” I continued, trying to make the best of a bad situation, “share exactly how many calories you lose from masturbating.”

My sister continued to stare blankly. I’d hoped that by reading them, they would come across as a sort of external authority, meaning that she’d trust them even more than she trusted ‘Danny’, her trainer.

“Do you want to know how many calories you burn when you masturbate?”

“No.”

I ran one hand through my hair. Things had sort of gone off-script, and I was struggling to adjust.

“Uh…”

My sister’s blank stare was starting to annoy me. This had suddenly gotten a whole lot harder.

“Um. Why not?”

“Because losing weight is about eighty percent diet.”

I sighed. It was true. In fact, I’d carefully edited that fact out of the printed sheets I held in my hand.

“Okay,” I said, trying to regroup. I had this. “Yes. That’s true. But every little bit counts, right?”

“Yes.”

“Losing weight is about eighty percent diet, and we’re going to start on that soon, okay?”

“Yes.”

“But most people struggle with diets.”

Another fact I’d learned during my research.

“Rather than start with something big that might fail, let’s start with something small that might succeed, okay?”

“Yes.”

“So masturbating burns more calories than you might expect. Do you believe me?”

“Of course,” Cynthia agreed. “You exist to help me lose weight. Everything you say is true.”

“Masturbating burns more calories than you might expect. As well as that, it’s fun. If something is fun, you’re more likely to do it, right?”

“Yes.”

“So to start your weight-loss regime, here’s what we’re going to do. Instead of masturbating a couple of times a week, you’re going to start masturbating once a day. Say it.”

“I’m going to start getting off once a day.”

“Do you normally use toys, or your fingers?”

“My fingers.”

Just hearing her say that was enough to make me hard as a rock.

“Knowing the specifics will help us work out how many calories you burn,” I said. Cynthia hadn’t shown any resistance to sharing details with me, Danny, her trainer…but I wanted to grease the path as much as possible. “Will you describe how you do it?”

“Yes,” my sister responded, and paused, waiting for further instructions.

My mouth was dry. For years, I’d been getting off while imagining my sister getting off…now, I’d get to know _exactly how she did it_.

God, I could see it so clearly. I wanted to see it. I _had_ to see it.

The words were out of my mouth before my brain could catch up.

“Would you record a video of yourself masturbating, so I could assess your technique, make sure you’re burning as many calories as possible?”

“Yes.”

“I…”

I paused.

It was tempting. It was _so_ tempting. A video, of my sister, masturbating. All I needed to do was say the word, and she’d do it. She’d go into her room, she’d get off, and she’d record the footage.

For me.

Well, for ‘Danny’. But since - spoiler alert! - _I am Danny_ , it was hard to care about the distinction at that moment.

Your busty sister, getting off on video, just for you. Isn’t that something every brother dreams of?

But it was risky.

No, more than risky. It was _stupid_. Stupid, risky…unsafe.

Like, sure, I could do it. And maybe it would work. Cynthia had been pretty fucking accommodating so far - she’d obeyed my every order, she’d told me every personal detail I’d asked for. Maybe she _would_ unquestioningly record the video, store it on her computer, and then tell me where to find it next time she was under.

But it was a pretty safe assumption that she’d never made an obscene video before now. When someone hates their body, it’s pretty unlikely that they’ll decide to record it for posterity, right?

Two weeks after being hypnotized for the first time, recording footage of your own masturbation session…that was sure to set off some alarm bells in her head.

So, no. As much as I wanted it - and _god_ did I want it - I knew that I couldn’t take advantage of my sister’s willingness to record herself.

I had to play it smart.

“Describe how you masturbate.”

If you’d told me a month ago, I absolutely would not have believed that ‘hearing your sister describe her masturbation technique’ was the _lesser_ of the two options, but here we were.

“I play with my nipples until I’m wet, then I rub my clit until I cum.”

“With your fingers?”

“Yes.”

“How do you rub your clit?”

“Softly, then with increasing pressure as I get more and more turned on.”

_I want you to record it for me,_ I didn’t say. _I want video of it. Lots of videos. Full-body shots, close-up, some of just your face. I want to see every step of it, from the moment you start touching your tits until you cum, nice and loudly, for the camera. I want to watch you cum_

With a sigh, I returned to my plan.

“Masturbation burns calories,” I said. “Say it.”

“Masturbation burns calories,” my sister repeated back to me.

“Masturbating more often means that you’ll burn more calories. Say it.”

“The more I masturbate, the more calories I’ll burn.”

“Unlike going to the gym, masturbating is fun, so it’s an exercise regime you’re more likely to stick to. Say it.”

“Masturbating is fun, so I’m more likely to keep doing it.”

“You will masturbate once a day. Say it.”

“I will masturbate once a day.”

“And as you do…”

I hesitated. This was the riskiest part of my plan.

But if this didn’t happen, none of my fantasies would.

“And as you do, you will think about being thin. Say it.”

“I will think about…”

My sister hesitated.

Crap.

I asked her a question before the pause turned into something more.

“What do you normally think about when you masturbate?”

“Boys,” she said without hesitation. “Cock. Sucking cock. Fucking. Boys touching me. Touching boys.”

God fucking damn. My sister was a _slut_.

“Why did you tell me that?”

“Because I trust you,” she said. “You are here to help me lose weight, and you can only do that if you have complete information.”

Look, maybe it was poking the bear, but I wanted to better understand how her mind worked.

“Why would know what you think about when you masturbate help me?”

My sister thought for a moment.

“Because,” she soon replied, “motivation is important. Knowing what motivates me will help you be a better trainer. The better a trainer you are, the more you’ll be able to help me lose weight.”

“Are you motivated by boys?”

“Yes.”

“Are you motivated by cock?”

“Yes.”

“Are you motivated by…sucking cock?”

“Yes.”

Not even a hint of hesitation. I couldn’t believe that my prudish sister had, just one room over, been such a slut this entire time. Amazing.

I also couldn’t believe that…she was right. Knowing what motivated her _was_ helpful to train her.

Just not the way she thought.

“Whenever you masturbate,” I said softly, “you’re going to think about being thin. You’re going to think about how much more boys will want you, how being thin will make you more attractive to them. You’re going to think about how if you’re thinner, they’re going to want you to suck their cock. You’re going to get off while picturing yourself thinner, on your knees, sucking cock. You’re going to masturbate while thinking about being thinner, because being thinner is going to get you more cock. Say it.”

As my sister confidently paraphrased what I’d just told her, my dick was throbbing.

“Losing weight is going to become an obsession,” I said. “The more focused you are on it, the easier it’ll be to achieve. You are obsessed with losing weight. Say it.”

“Losing weight is my obsession.”

“You will do _anything_ to lose weight. Say it.”

“There’s nothing I won’t do to lose weight.”

“What are you going to think about when you masturbate?”

“Being thin.”

“How often are you going to masturbate?”

“Every day.”

“What are you obsessed with?”

“Losing weight.”

“These sessions are vital to help you lose weight, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And since you’re obsessed with losing weight, you’ll never, ever miss a session, will you?”

“No.”

“Show me how you’re going to masturbate.”

Nothing.

Nothing.

Still. Worth a try. With a smile, I reminded my sister that all these thoughts will only exist in her subconscious mind, and brought her out of her trance.

* * *

For the next few days, I spent more time lurking outside my sister’s room than I did sleeping. I cursed myself the entire time - why hadn’t I asked _when_ she masturbated? Why hadn’t I inquired whether she checked outside the door first? She was willing to record a video of the event, I’m sure she would have shared this relatively innocuous information.

I was never caught, thank goodness, but I also never heard anything I could definitively say was the sound of my sister getting off. Maybe she’d gotten used to being quiet, maybe she did it first thing in the morning, when I was still asleep (exhausted from a long night of lurking outside her door), or maybe she made sure not to do anything while there was someone in the hallway.

Aside from what _could_ have been a cry of orgasmic pleasure (or could honestly have been literally any other noise), I didn’t hear anything of note.

On my way to the kitchen, after more than forty-five minutes of trying - and failing - to hear signs of my sister’s masturbation, I had a surprising conversation with my mother.

“Daniel,” she said, throwing me a winning smile.

Uh-oh.

My Mom grew up hot. And like, that’s not just my opinion; it’s an objective fact.

She’s still gorgeous, but ever since she put on a bunch of weight, I don’t think she counts as ‘hot’ any more. Although, y’know, hotness is in the eye of the beholder, and I’d behold her without hesitation.

Anyway, when you grow up hot, you get VERY used to people doing what you want. You throw them a smile, you pout, you tilt your head to the smile…most people are putty.

Now, obviously my Mom doesn’t use her body to get me to do stuff (though good god do I wish that were true). But it’s habit, y’know? You spend most of your life winning people other with a glance, you forget that it doesn’t work on everyone.

So when Mom shot me that look, I knew she wanted something.

“What?” I snarled, falling into the slouch I try to do around my family. It makes them think I’m a standard disinterested teen…and it helps hide my boners. Two birds and one stone and all that.

“Your sister…”

My heart started racing. Crap. Had Mom noticed something was up? Had she come home early and caught me hypnotizing Cynthia? What did she know?

“Cynthia,” I sarcastically prompted. I’d been doing the disaffected teen thing for so long, I didn’t even have to think about it.

“Yes,” Mom said patiently. “Cynthia. She, uh…”

She what? Told you that she was going to masturbate while thinking about being thin? Recorded a session and played it back to you? _What_?

I waited an infinitely long time while Mom got to her point, letting my impatience show on my face as boredom (instead of panic).

“She told me that you were helping her lose weight.”

“Sure,” I said. “I guess. It’s nothing, really.”

“Okay,” Mom said, throwing me another charming grin. “So…”

“ _What_?”

“Would you mind helping me, too?”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](http://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 3

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel?”

“Good,” Mom responded. “Nervous.”

I started with some basic stuff. Innocent questions, stuff I already knew. Mom was only the second person I’d ever hypnotized, and I didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.

After I was sure that she was safely under, I dove into it.

“Why did you ask me to hypnotize you?”

“Because I wanted to lose weight.”

“Why do you want to lose weight?”

“To be healthier.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Not gonna lie; I was fishing. After all, I’d discovered that my sister wanted to lose weight so that she could get more cock. Maybe our mother was secretly a huge cockslut underneath as well?

“No.”

“What are the other reasons?”

“To feel more attractive.”

“Why do you want to feel more attractive?” I asked, leaning forward slightly in my chair.

My Mom stared at me blankly, like she didn’t understand the question.

“To…to feel more attractive.”

She sounded confused, and I realized…my Mom really _didn’t_ understand the question.

“But…”

I was at a loss for words.

“But why do you want to feel more attractive? What does it get you?”

_Please say ‘cock’, please say ‘cock’…_

“It makes me feel better about myself.”

Damn.

Okay. So it turned out that my Mom wasn’t a cock-hungry slut like Cynthia. It was a little disappointing, but not the end of the world. I guess the odds of my Mom being as big a slut as my sister were pretty unlikely.

“Do you feel good about yourself now?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m fat.”

It also seemed like she was very aware of how large she’d gotten.

“How often do you think about your weight?”

“As little as possible.”

Well, my first task was obvious: I had to fix that.

* * *

“Have you been masturbating every day?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think about while you do?”

“Being thin.”

“What exactly have you been thinking about?”

“How attractive I’d be if I were thin.”

I paused, waiting for more, but it seemed that Cynthia was done.

“Be more specific,” I instructed.

“Thinking about how boys would look at me. How they’d want me. How they’d get hard for me. How they’d want me to drop to my knees, suck their dicks.”

“You want to suck their dicks, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

I don’t know what Mom did wrong, but she’d somehow managed to raise an incest-obsessed perv and a slut.

Not that I was complaining.

“How many dicks have you sucked?”

“None,” my sister said. If I’d been drinking milk, it would have come out my nose.

“What?”

“I’ve never sucked a dick.”

I paused. This was not what I’d been expecting.

“How many boyfriends have you had?”

“Eight.”

“And you never sucked any of their cocks?”

“No.”

I stared at her, confused.

“How many guys have you fucked?”

“None.”

I blinked twice.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Yes.”

My sister’s voice rang out confidently as I stared at her, agape.

“You’ve never had sex.”

“No.”

“What’s the furthest you’ve ever gone with a guy?”

“Making out.”

“You’ve never gone any further than making out?”

“No.”

“How about hands under the clothes?”

“No.”

“Hands _above_ the clothes?”

“No. A few guys have tried, but I’ve told them to stop.”

“You’ve never gone any further than making out, with anyone?”

“No.”

I took a deep breath, and asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

“Why not?”

“Because,” my sister replied, staring me in the eye. “I’m not attractive.”

Okay. So. Like I mentioned, I knew that my sister didn’t think she was hot. Her huge tits, her amazing ass. She obviously didn’t see them the way I did (or she’d never, ever put clothes on). I knew she had self-esteem issues.

But _jesus_. I had no idea it had gone this far.

No wonder she was so desperate to lose weight (again, just to emphasize— _not that she needed to_ ).

A part of me, if I’m being honest, was tempted to tell her the truth. That she was gorgeous; that she was a walking sexual fantasy.

That she was so fucking hot, her own _brother_ was attracted to her.

But if I did that, I knew that I’d lose her. She’d go out, find a guy she liked, fall in love. Have a nice, normal relationship. Be happy.

A part of me wanted that.

But the rest of me wanted her all to myself. No matter the cost…

“You’re not sexy,” I said.

“Okay.”

“You’re too fat to be sexy.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m not sexy. I’m not sexy, because of my weight. Because I’m fat.”

“I want you to think about that all the time. This will motivate you to lose weight. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Guys aren’t attracted to you.”

“Okay.”

“Say it.”

“Guys don’t think I’m sexy.”

“You’re too overweight to be attractive. Say it.”

“I’m too fat to be sexy.”

“Every time you masturbate this week, I want you to think about that.”

“About what?”

“About your body. About being fat.”

“Okay.”

“Say it.”

“Every time I get off this week, I’ll think about how fat I am, how unattractive.”

I smiled, picturing Cynthia rubbing herself in bed, her perfect body shaking with pleasure as my words further corrupted her self-esteem. Bringing her further and further under my control.

She would be mine.

* * *

“What have you mostly thought about since I last put you under?”

“My weight.”

Mom looked devastated.

“What about it?”

“I’m so fat. I’m so unattractive.”

“What do you need to do to fix that?”

“I need to lose weight.”

“How can you lose weight?”

“By letting you hypnotize me.”

Perfect.

* * *

“What have you been thinking about while you masturbate?”

“I’ve been thinking about being fat. About how guys don’t want me for my body.”

“How has it made you feel?”

“Worthless.”

“Has it been harder to get off?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re still doing it, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it will make me lose weight.”

“How do you know it’ll help you lose weight?”

“Because you said it will.”

“You’ll do anything I tell you to, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

Obviously it was tempting. I could have instructed Cynthia that…I dunno, I had magic cum, and the only way to lose weight was to suck it out of me.

But I had no idea if that would work. Maybe it would. But then maybe she’d wake up and remember everything I’d done, everything I’d said. I could go to prison, never see my family again.

Never get to take my sister’s virginity.

I’d spent a lot of time thinking about that since I’d last put her under. I’d always thought my sister was attractive, but…god. Knowing that she’d never been touched, that I could be her first.

That I was _going_ to be her first.

Tempting though the shortcut was, there was too much at stake. No—I had a plan. The beginning of one, anyway. It would take longer, but I knew it would be worth the wait.

“Do you know how much you weigh?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how much.”

She gave me the number. It was a little higher than you’d expect for a girl of her height, but my research had suggested that a pair of tits her size could account for more than twenty pounds. If anything, she was probably slightly _under_ her ideal BMI weight.

“Until I tell you to, you’re going to stop weighing yourself.”

Nothing.

“Do you know why?”

“No.”

The _real_ reason was that I wanted to control her perception of her weight. I wanted her to think that when she obeyed me, she lost weight, and if she ever did anything I didn’t like, she gained weight. I wanted complete control over her progress—over her obsession.

Controlling her perception of herself was the first step towards controlling her completely.

But, I mean, I obviously couldn’t tell _her_ that.

“Water weight means that day-to-day weighings can be very misleading. Even weighing yourself once a week or once a month can be a problem; if you pick the wrong day, you’ll think that you’re doing much better or worse than you actually are. But I’m an expert in your weight, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I only exist here, in these sessions, and I only exist for one reason: to help you lose weight. If I was created to help you lose weight, I must know everything about it, right?”

“…yes.”

“Why do I exist?”

“To help me lose weight.”

“So what do I know about your weight?”

“Everything.”

“That’s right. I’m an expert, so I’ll be able to tell you exactly how well you’re going, without you needing to weigh yourself. Say it.”

“Your expertise means that you’ll…that you’ll…”

My sister trailed off. Damn.

I tried again immediately, before her brain could spend too much time exploring why the reasons I’d just given made no sense.

“Why do you want to lose weight?”

“To be healthier, and to feel more attractive.”

“What would make you feel more attractive?”

“Losing weight.”

I sighed.

“Why,” I asked, trying a different angle, “do you want to be more attractive?”

“To feel better about myself.”

“Anything else?”

“To attract boys.”

“You want your body to make boys hard, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You want guys to look at you and be turned on, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want guys to get hard looking at me. I want them to be turned on by my body.”

“Again.”

“I want my body to make boys hard. I want them to be turned on when they look at me.”

“Scales can be faulty, can’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that muscle weighs more than fat?”

“No.”

“It does.” That was actually true. I’d been doing a _lot_ of research on topic related to weight-loss. “Water weight, faulty scales, building muscles—the number on the scales isn’t completely reliable when it comes to knowing whether you’re healthier and more attractive.”

“Right.”

“Even how you feel can be misleading. If you had a good night’s sleep, you’re going to be in a better mood, no matter what your weight. No, the only reliable way to know if you’re achieving your goals is to measure how attractive you are.”

“Okay.”

Cynthia sounded dubious, but I could tell I was getting somewhere here.

“Why do I exist?”

“To help me lose weight.”

“More than that. I exist to help you achieve your goals. What are your goals?”

“To lose weight, so I feel healthier and more attractive.”

“Exactly. I can’t tell how healthy you feel, but I can definitely assess how attractive you are.”

“Sure.”

The doubt was still there, but less so. I was definitely chipping away at it.

“Someone who sees you every day, sees you in different contexts—that’s not as helpful as someone like me, your trainer. Danny. Whenever I see you, it’s for the same reason. I don’t see you day-to-day, so changes are going to be more obvious to me.”

“Okay.”

“I should be in charge of measuring how attractive you are. Scales will just distract you, and reduce my ability to keep track of your progress. What do you think of this plan?”

“I like it,” she responded immediately, as if afraid of offending me. “But…”

This time, I waited the silence out.

“…isn’t it a little weird?”

“Why?”

“You’re seeing me through my brother’s eyes. He’s never going to find me attractive. He’s my brother.”

Damn it. I thought I’d dealt with this when we first started.

“I’m not your brother,” I reiterated. “I’m Danny. I’m your trainer.”

“…but you’re still using my brother’s eyes,” she said, and I sighed.

“Using a scale is an ineffective method of measuring weight loss,” I said. “Repeat that until I tell you to stop.”

“Scales are inefficient for measuring weight loss,” Cynthia said. “Scales are not efficient for measuring weight loss. Measuring weight loss using scales is inefficient…”

After several minutes, my sister’s voice was starting to grow a little hoarse, and I’d come up with a response.

“Stop,” I said, and she obeyed. “Judges need to be impartial, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So if I’m going to be judging how attractive you are, it’s important that I’m unbiased, right?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“To properly judge how attractive I am, you can’t be biased.”

“When a guy is at a bar with a woman, he’s going to be more attracted to her if she’s willing to go home with him, right?”

“Yes.”

“So using your brother’s eyes will make me _less_ biased, won’t it?”

There was a pause. I pressed on.

“You can’t fuck your brother.” _Not yet._ “So your brother is better able to assess how attractive you are. He’s unbiased.”

“Okay.”

“Say it.”

“Because I can’t have sex with my brother, he’s going to be a better judge.”

“Any questions?”

“What if he never finds me attractive?”

“He doesn’t need to find you attractive. He just needs to judge how attractive you are relative to where you started. Make sense?”

“Yes.”

“What would assess you better, me or a scale?”

“You,” she replied, without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because numbers can lie, but your judgement of how attractive I am is going to be unbiased.”

“Are you going to use scales any more?”

“No,” she said, and I lay back in relief.

I’d been a little worried that me being her brother would always be a sticking point. Like, sure, I’d invented ‘Danny’ to fix it, but that was only going to get me so far. If Danny wasn’t her brother, and I couldn’t get her to do anything while she was under, then…even if she was at the point of fucking Danny, it wouldn’t do anything for me, her brother.

But I felt like I’d opened the door. Not, like, kicked it open and stampeded in. But I’d opened the door, just a crack.

I told Cynthia’s conscious mind not to notice that she’d stopped obsessively weighing herself, and woke her up.

One step closer.

* * *

“How do you feel about your weight?”

“Terrible.”

“Why?”

“I used to be so thin. So hot. Now, I’m…”

She trailed off.

“How often do you think about it?”

“All the time.”

“How can we fix that?”

“By letting you hypnotize me.”

“What will you do, to lose weight?”

Mom bit her lip nervously.

“Anything…”

“Great,” I said with a grin. “Let’s get started…”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](http://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 4

Mom was sitting in front of me, a glassy look in her eyes, her voice confidently ringing out as she repeated how unattractive she was.

I held up a hand, and she stopped.

“In order for me to help you lose weight, you need to be completely honest with me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Your weight gain is probably due to a number of complex, intertwining factors. If you try to hide anything from me, I won’t be able to help. Say it.”

“My weight gain is probably due to a lot of things. If I try to hide anything from you, you won’t be able to help.”

“Is there anything you wouldn’t tell me?”

Mom thought for a moment, then shook her head.

“You trust me absolutely, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my son. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

“Is any part of your mind suspicious about me hypnotizing you?”

“No.”

Great. Already easier than Cynthia. I’d spent more than a week removing my sister’s suspicions; Mom, for whatever reason, didn’t seem to have any in the first place.

“Why not?”

“Because I asked you to hypnotize me. Because you’re hypnotizing your sister. Because you would never do anything to hurt your family.”

“Everything I do is to help the family, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Everything you do is to help the family.”

“Anything I ask you to do is to help you lose weight. Say it.”

“Anything you ask me to do is to help me lose weight.”

“Any questions I ask are to help you lose weight. Say it.”

“Any questions you ask are to help me lose weight.”

“While you’re hypnotized, you’ll do anything I say. Say it.”

“While I’m hypnotized, I’ll do anything you say.”

I smiled. She wasn’t hanging onto my every word like Cynthia did, but she didn’t seem to have any qualms about obeying me.

I wondered how far I could push it.

“Is there anything I’d tell you to do that would make you suspicious?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“What if I told you to take off your clothes?”

“Yes.”

My heart leapt. It couldn’t be this easy…could it?

“Yes what?”

“Yes, that would make me suspicious.”

Damn. I guess it’s true—nothing worth having comes easy.

Still, it was good to know that Mom had boundaries. I would just have to make sure I worked within them.

“What if I were to ask you about your sex life? Would that make you suspicious?”

There was a pause, as Mom chewed on her lip.

“I think so.”

Well, it wasn’t a yes. Sometimes a little wiggle-room is all you need.

“What do you know about Sigmund Freud?”

“Not much.”

I’d done a bunch of research on him for a paper, a few years back. Basically all of his theories were now debunked, but I was pretty sure that Mom didn’t know that.

“Freud believed that all subconscious desires were, on some level, sexual. To help fix your weight problem, we need to work out what the root cause is. According to Freud, there’s a good chance it has something to do with sex. If I can’t ask you about your sex life, I won’t be able to help you. Not really.”

Mom continued to stare blankly at me.

“I’m going to ask you about your sex life, and you’re not going to find it suspicious. Say it.”

“You’re going to ask me about my sex life, and I’m not going to find it suspicious.”

There was zero trace of hesitation in her voice.

“If I ask you about your sex life, will you find it suspicious?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re trying to get to the root of the issue.”

“Good. When was the last time you had sex?”

* * *

Just a few hours later, Cynthia was sitting in the exact same spot on the couch, an identically-blank look on her face.

I’d started getting hard just at the sight of that unfocused, compliant look.

“When did you last weigh yourself?”

“I don’t know.”

I smiled. My sister had been obsessively tracking her weight ever since her tits had come in. The fact that she couldn’t remember her last weighing was a _very_ good sign.

“Why haven’t you been weighing yourself?”

“It won’t help me lose weight.”

“Why not?”

“Because numbers can’t be trusted. They can be affected by too many factors.”

“What can be trusted?”

“You.”

“What specifically?”

“Your assessment of how attractive I am.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re an unbiased judge. Because you’re looking at me through my brother’s eyes, you can tell how attractive I am without desire getting in the way.”

“Why is that important?”

“Because if you desired me, you couldn’t be objective.”

“Why do you want to lose weight?”

“To be more attractive.”

“Who’s going to be the best judge of your attractiveness?”

“You are.”

Perfect.

My sister was wearing one of her typical baggy outfits—a big grey sweatshirt, a pair of loose-fitting jeans. God I wanted to know what was under that outfit. I’d pictured it in my minds eye, a thousand times, but to actually _see_ it…

I’d be able to die happy.

“Why do you dress like that?”

“To hide my body.”

“Why do you want to hide your body?”

“To hide how unattractive I am.”

“Do you think you should be hiding your body from me?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to assess how attractive you are, right?”

“Yes.”

“But if you’re hiding your body away, how am I meant to do that?”

“Because…”

My sister trailed off, staring at me blankly. Eventually, I broke the silence.

“Cynthia? How am I meant to objectively assess your attractiveness if your body is hidden away?”

“…you can’t.”

“Exactly. How can we fix this?”

“By letting you see more of my body.”

If my cock had hands, it would have given me a high-five. If my sister was the kind of person who moved when she was under, I bet I could have gotten my sister to remove some layers then and there.

She didn’t, and so I had to work with what I had.

“Before our next session, I want you to dress in something that doesn’t hide as much of your body.”

“Okay.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“I have a tank-top,” Cynthia responded. My cock throbbed just at the thought of it. Even around the house, even when it was just me and Mom, Cynthia _never_ wore a tank-top. The next time I put her under, I was going to see more of my sister’s skin than I’d seen since we were kids.

“Perfect. What else?”

“Shorts,” she responded. “I’ll wear a tank-top and shorts.”

I could have woken her up then and there, but I wanted more. I wanted to see how far I could push it.

“In order to properly assess you, you can’t hide your body, can you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“To judge how attractive I am, to see whether or not I’ve been losing weight, you need to see my body.”

“It’s important that my assessment is accurate. Repeat that for me.”

“You need to be accurate. It’s vital.”

“My assessment can’t be accurate if you’re hiding anything from me, can it?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t wear a corset, would you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because it would give you a misleading perception of my body. It would defeat the whole point.”

“…do you own a corset?”

“No.

“Bras change the shape of your figure, don’t they?”

“I…I guess.”

“I’m your trainer, and you trust me. Say it.”

“I trust you. You’re here to train me. You’re here to help me lose weight.”

“Bras change the shape of your figure. Say it.”

“Wearing a bra changes my figure.”

“Sort of like a corset.”

“Sort of like…a corset.”

Cynthia didn’t sound convinced, but she repeated the words nonetheless.

“Again.”

“Like a corset, wearing a bra changes how my body looks.”

“In order for me to accurately assess what you look like, you shouldn’t be wearing a bra. Say it.”

“I…I shouldn’t…”

She started to stammer her way through the sentence, but it was clear that her heart wasn’t in it. With a sigh, I stopped her.

Maybe I was pushing things too far.

But…I knew I was close. And if I could get this to work, I’d have a bra-less, tank-top wearing sister to look at during our next session.

Maybe for _all_ our future sessions.

It was definitely worth the risk.

“Do you ever go braless around the house?”

“Yes.”

My cock throbbed at her quick response.

“When?”

“When I’m going to sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s uncomfortable.”

“What is?”

“My bra. It’s uncomfortable to sleep in.”

I grinned. Bingo.

“Being hypnotized is sort of like sleeping, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Sort of.”

“It’s a period of time where you don’t remember what’s happening, where your conscious mind shuts off.”

“Right.”

“It’s almost exactly like sleeping, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“And these hypnotic sessions are important, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

Zero hesitation there.

“In order for your weight loss program to be as effective as possible, you need to be comfortable while I hypnotize you. Say it.”

“I should be comfortable when you put me under, so the weight loss program works as well as it can.”

“Again.”

“If I want to get as much as possible from these sessions, I need to be comfortable.”

“What would make you more comfortable?”

“Lying down when you hypnotize me.”

I hadn’t even thought of that.

“What else?”

“Being in my bed.”

Interesting.

“Anything else?”

“Soft music playing.”

I scrambled to grab a pen.

“Any other ideas?”

My sister listed several other items. When she eventually ran out of ideas, I gave my own suggestion.

“What if you weren’t wearing a bra? Do you think that would make you more comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“After I wake you up, I’m going to tell you some of the things you suggested to make the next time I hypnotize you more comfortable. We’re going to put you under in your own bed, while you’re lying down, with some soft music playing and a cup of chai tea on your bedside table.” Apparently the smell relaxed her. “What if you weren’t wearing panties? Would that make you more comfortable?”

“No.”

I left it there. I’d already been given far more than I’d hoped for.

“The next time I hypnotize you,” I summarized, “you’re going to be wearing a tank top, shorts, and no bra. You’re going to think that it’s your idea, to feel more comfortable. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat it back to me.”

“I’m going to wear a tank top, shorts, and no bra the next time you hypnotize me. I’m going to think it’s my idea.”

“Do you think you’ll find it suspicious, that you’re wearing such revealing clothes while your brother hypnotizes you?”

“No,” she said. “Not at all.”

“Perfect,” I replied, and woke her up.

* * *

The last time I’d put Mom under, she’d answered all my questions about her sex life.

Her answers hadn’t quite been what I expected.

My Dad had been my mother’s only sexual partner, but that wasn’t the part that surprised me.

Before getting married, Mom had masturbated. A _lot_. Like, almost-as-often-as-I-did a lot. And, uh, I jerk off a lot.

I’d always blamed Cynthia—specifically, her tits—for my constant arousal, but maybe it was just something I’d inherited from Mom.

But even _that_ hadn’t been the most shocking revelation.

You see, since Dad had died, Mom hadn’t gotten off.

Not even once.

The idea that I was asking about her sex life to work out why she’d put on so much weight had been an excuse to ask my Mom about sex. A pretty thin (no pun intended) excuse, at that.

But now…I was starting to wonder if there was something in it.

Mom had claimed not to know why her solo sex life had dried up (no pun intended), but it seemed pretty obvious to me. Right? Like, your husband dies, you stop pleasuring yourself, you gain a bunch of weight. There was a connection there, I was sure of it.

I was tempted to tell her to start up again, but I suspected a sudden end to a twelve-year dry spell _straight after_ her son started hypnotizing her was not going to go unnoticed.

But I had a plan. The trick with my mother was going to be doing it in the opposite order. First, help her lose weight. _Then_ , bring her libido back.

Like I said—my sister isn’t fat. She doesn’t actually _need_ to lose weight. My Mom…sort of does. And so since the last time I’d put her under, I’d done some actual research about the best ways to change your eating habits, to motivate yourself to exercise more.

I was _actually_ going to start using my Mom’s sessions to help her lose weight. It wasn’t going to be as much fun, not at first.

But I knew it would pay off in spades.

“Okay, Mom,” I said, all business. “Have you been tracking your calories since our last session?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Where’s your phone?”

“In my purse.”

“Okay, let’s have a look at these numbers…”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 5

The next time I was due to hypnotize my sister, it was a struggle not to react when she came to fetch me.

It took genuine effort not to let my cock burst through my clothes, my eyes fall out of my head, my mouth flood the house with drool.

I’ve seen my sister without a bra before. It’s not a common occurrence, but like she said in our previous session—she doesn’t wear a bra to bed.

The thing is, the clothes she wears—yes, even when she’s just around her family—are so unflattering, it’s impossible to see anything. I’ve seen her without a bra, but she’s always been wearing some kind of thick pajama top, or an ugly woolen sweater. She wasn’t exactly prancing around in a skimpy nightgown.

But that night, when she came to get me…

God.

I’d long suspected that my sister had a killer bod, but actually _seeing_ it was something else. Her arms were more slender than I’d ever realized, and her skin was pale white—probably because it hadn’t seen the sun since puberty.

And her tits.

Her _tits_.

They were even larger than I’d been imagining—each of them was a little bigger than her head. They were covered by the black tank-top she was wearing, of course, but it was slightly too small—probably altering her figure more than a bra would have, ironically.

The result was that her boobs were pressed together slightly. It created a nice little nest of cleavage that I could happily have spent the rest of my life swimming around in.

I have no idea how long she’d had that tank top, but not only was it a little snug, the material was thin enough to outline _everything_.

It. Was. Amazing. I could practically see where her areolae started and ended. If the tank-top had been any other color than black, I’d probably have been able to tell you the color of her nipples.

The tightness of the tank top combined with the ridiculous size of her boobs lifted everything up, revealing a surprisingly flat stomach. Like, I hadn’t exactly been expecting a beer gut, but I’d assumed my sister’s concerns about her weight had _some_ basis in reality.

Nope.

She had massive, gravity-defying tits, thin arms, and a completely flat stomach. I guess the size of her tits, combined with the shape of her ass (more on that in a second) had been enough to convince her that she was horrendously overweight.

She wasn’t.

Cynthia was perfect. _Perfect_. I was grateful that I’d been able to convince her to stop weighing herself, because even if I’d put her on the same routine as I’d started Mom on, I don’t think there was a healthy way she’d be able to shed more than a few pounds.

Not that I’d want her to. Like I said…there was nothing to change.

The one unusual thing about her body—aside from the sheer scale of those tits, especially when compared to the rest of her—was her ass. It wasn’t necessarily that it was huge (though it certainly wasn’t tiny), it was the way it jutted out from her backside. You know that picture of Kim Kardashian where there’s a champagne glass sitting on her butt?

Yeah. My sister had a _shelf_.

Maybe it was her posture, or maybe it was just the way she was built. Maybe it was because she was so short—it had the effect of making it look like her legs had just kept going a little longer than they should have.

Whatever it was, it resulted in her butt jutting out, just inviting anyone who saw it to touch it. Grab it.

Fuck it.

It was still hard for me to believe that my sister hid this insane body away from the world. It made zero sense that she was obsessed with her own _unattractiveness_. If you’ve got a body like that, you should split your time between flaunting it to the world and getting off while looking in the mirror.

Ah well. The world’s loss was my gain.

I didn’t see any of this when she approached me, of course. With all the willpower I could muster, I kept eye-contact when she came to talk to me. I let her go ahead of me down the hall, mostly just so she wouldn’t notice as I marveled at her magnificent caboose (seriously—pictures of this would do more than break the internet. They’d shut down all earthly communication for at least a month).

It wasn’t until she was under that I really let myself gawk. We were in her bedroom, chai tea at the ready. She stared at me blankly as my eyes devoured her body.

God damn. I’d always wanted, her but now…

I had no idea what she’d been hiding.

I _had_ to have her.

And I would.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay,” Cynthia responded. “Exposed.”

“Exposed? Why?”

“I’m not used to wearing so little clothing. I’m not used to being this…revealed.”

“What about when you shower?”

“That doesn’t count. That’s for a purpose.”

“This is for a purpose as well,” I reminded her. “You want to lose weight, don’t you?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“You strip down for a shower to get clean. You’re wearing this outfit to help you lose weight. That’s the purpose of this outfit, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Wearing these clothes will help me lose weight.”

“Again.”

“I’m dressed like this for a purpose. Dressing like this will help me lose weight.”

“Good. Does that make you feel any better about it?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“What else would make you feel better about dressing like this?”

“Nothing.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate my body.”

Again, and I really want to emphasize this—hearing these words come out of my sister’s mouth was like the Beatles complaining about how much they hated the White Album. It was like hearing Stanley Kubrick telling you that The Shining was a terrible film.

It was like hearing Jerry complain that Seinfeld was unfunny.

You might think that the obvious solution was to convince my sister not to hate her body. To tell her exactly how gorgeous she was, how incredible she looked. Persuade her of the truth—that any man who laid eyes on her and didn’t immediately get hard was either gay or dead.

But if I did that, she wouldn’t need me any more. If she was convinced of her own attractiveness, why would she keep on letting me hypnotize her?

No; my sister’s low self-esteem—idiotic and nonsensical though it was—was the key to everything. And there was no way I was going to give it up.

“I’m going to give you a rating out of ten,” I said. “Ten out of ten is a perfect score—it means that you couldn’t be more attractive, no matter what you did.” My sister was easily an eleven.

“Zero out of ten means that you’re actively repugnant, that people will probably gag when they look at you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“What would you give yourself now?”

“A three,” she responded, after a few minutes of thought. “Three out of ten.”

I nodded thoughtfully. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Yes,” I said. “That sounds about right. You’re currently a three.”

There was no change in my sister’s demeanor; she didn’t look shocked, she didn’t look relieved. She just silently absorbed the rating I’d given her.

“Over the coming weeks, I’m going to assess you every time I put you under. If you go above a three, that means you’ve lost weight, and the program is working. If you ever go under a three, that means that you’re doing something wrong. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“The only way to go above a three is to lose weight. I need to know that you’re dedicated to this.”

“I am.”

“I need to know that you’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I will.”

“If you lose confidence in what we’re doing, it’s not going to work. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“I need you to completely trust me, to do everything I say.”

“I trust you.”

“I need you to put your full faith in me. You need to trust me more than anything. More than anyone. Otherwise this isn’t going to work”

“I completely trust you. I promise.”

“Do you remember what happened when you wouldn’t let me hypnotize you?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I started putting on weight. It was scary.”

“You don’t want that to happen again, do you?”

“No.”

“If I ever stop hypnotizing you, what’s going to happen?”

“I’m going to get bigger.”

“You’re going to get less attractive. Say it.”

“I’ll get even more fat.”

“It’s important that I hypnotize you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath. Everything I’d been doing so far had been relatively (no pun intended) safe.

It was time to take a risk.

“You want me to keep hypnotizing you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You want your brother to keep putting you under, as often as he can. Why do you think he’s doing it?”

“To help me,” she replied, after a moment’s reflection. “Because he’s a good brother. He wants to help me lose weight.”

“That’s right. He’s a good brother. But what’s he getting out of it?”

There was a longer pause as Cynthia pondered my motivations. Eventually, she half-heartedly offered an answer.

“He’s just helping out his sister, I guess.”

“It’s a lot of work though, isn’t it? He’s been doing so much research, learning how to help you lose weight, learning how to put you under as best he can.”

“Yes. It’s a lot of work.”

“Would you do all that work, just to help your brother out?”

“Maybe.”

“But it’s not guaranteed, is it? If you got busy, it might fall by the wayside.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Your brother is putting so much time and effort into helping you. And you appreciate it, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“So much. More than anything.”

“You should show your appreciation.”

The size of the gap between my words and Cynthia agreeing made me breathe a sigh of relief. Zero hesitation.

It was working.

“How would you want him to show his appreciation, if the situation was reversed?”

We sat in silence as Cynthia thought. Eventually, I got impatient and made a suggestion.

“You could do some chores for him, couldn’t you?”

She leapt on my suggestion.

“Yes!”

“You could offer to do some of your brother’s chores around the house. That would show how much you appreciate him, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“It would show how much you appreciate him, and it would ensure that he was getting something out of helping you, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Your brother would be much more likely to keep helping out, wouldn’t he? He’d be less likely to be overwhelmed, if you were doing some of his chores for him.”

“Uh huh.”

“All of his chores for him.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to offer to do my brother’s chores for him. I’m going to tell him it’s to thank him for helping me lose weight.”

“Do you think there’s anything suspicious about this?”

“No.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied. “More than anything.”

* * *

Sure enough, the next day, Cynthia asked if she could help out with my chores. I acted surprised, and told her she didn’t need to, that I was happy to help out.

To my delight, she insisted.

Now that I’d seen a glimpse of what my sister was hiding under her baggy outfits, I couldn’t help but imagine it every time I saw her. Those huge, round tits. Her utterly bitable shoulders. And that ass…

It was almost impressive that she was able to hide that ass. Those tits. She was the master of long tops, baggy pants. But now that I knew what was there, I could see the outline of her curves every time she moved.

All day, I watched my sister as she did the chores that I’d let stack up. Cleaning out the fridge, folding the laundry. I used any excuse I could to be in whatever room she was in, picturing that body, enjoying her voluntary servitude.

Soon enough, she’d be doing more than just my chores. Soon enough, she’d be mine.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](http://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 6

As my Mom stared, glassy-eyed, I fished out her phone and opened her health app.

I did not like what I saw.

“Mom, you haven’t been sticking to your calorie limit.”

She didn’t say anything, just continued staring blankly. I kept scrolling.

“Jesus, Mom…what _happened_?”

No response.

“Oatmeal, two pieces of fruit, a salad…cake? Mom, when did you have cake?”

“For lunch.”

“Mom! You know that cake isn’t on the menu plan we put together.”

Silence.

“Mom. Answer me. Why did you have cake?”

There was a long pause before she replied. When she did, it was with in the guilty tone of a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

“…I was hungry.”

I threw my head back and sighed.

“Mom. You can’t have cake. Repeat it back to me.”

“I shouldn’t have cake.”

“No, you _can’t_ have cake. Say it.”

Nothing.

I stared at the phone, then at my mother. What the hell?

At least she’d logged her transgression.

“Okay Mom, let’s go over this again. How often do you think about your weight?”

“All the time.”

“What will you do to lose it?”

“Anything.”

“You’ll do anything I tell you, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“If I tell you not to eat cake, what will you do?”

To my frustration: again, she didn’t reply.

What the hell was going on?

* * *

“Doing your chores is helping me lose weight. It burns calories. It keeps you happy.”

I smiled at my sister’s answer.

“Keeping me happy means that I’ll keep on hypnotizing you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“For you to keep on hypnotizing me, I need to keep you happy.”

“Why?”

“Because if you’re stressed or unhappy, you might stop hypnotizing me. It might not be a priority any more.”

“That would be bad, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because if you stop hypnotizing me, I’m going to start gaining weight.”

“You’d do anything to avoid that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’d do anything to avoid making you unhappy. I’d do anything to avoid having you stop hypnotizing me.”

“Good girl.”

I loved watching my sister’s breathing as she lay down in front of me, braless, wearing a tank top and tiny shorts.

I loved watching everything about my sister while she was under hypnosis.

I loved pretty much everything about watching my sister.

“How often do you masturbate?”

“Every day.”

“What do you think about while you do?”

“How fat I am. How unattractive. How much I want to lose weight.”

“Keeping me happy is key to losing weight, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“How long does it take you to get off?”

“Twenty to thirty minutes.”

“That’s a long time, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You want to keep your brother happy, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“More than anything.”

“Did your brother ask you to do his chores?”

“No.”

“So that might not be the best way to keep him happy.”

There was a pause as my sister processed the idea. I pressed on.

“You might not be doing everything you can to keep him happy. If he’s not happy, he’s going to stop hypnotizing you. We don’t want that, do we?”

“No.”

“In order to keep your brother happy, you might need to do more than his chores, right?”

“Yes.”

“But if you try something he doesn’t like, you might risk making him unhappy.”

I swear, my sister paled slightly at the idea.

“You need to spend a lot of time thinking about what you could do to keep him happy. Say it.”

“I need to think a lot about what I could do to keep my brother happy.”

I licked my lips nervously. I was fairly confident I’d set up all the pieces—now it was time to make a bold move.

“When you’re masturbating, you’re going to use that time to think about what you could do to keep your brother happy.”

There was a long pause, as I let the instruction sink in.

“What are you going to think about while you’re masturbating?”

“What…what would…”

She hesitated.

“Thinking about it then,” I elaborated, “will mean that you think about it every day. It will reinforce how important it is, what we’re doing. It means that it won’t feel like a chore, it’ll be something to look forward to. It will help you lose weight. Say it.”

“It will help me lose weight.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes. Completely.”

“So what are you going to think about?”

“What would…what would make…”

She was hesitating again, but I decided to ride it out. This would work. I was sure of it.

After a few moments, I was rewarded by the remainder of the thought.

“…what would make my brother…happy.”

“Again.”

“What my brother needs to be happy.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to think…think about what I could do to make my…my brother happy.”

“When?”

“When I’m masturbating.”

“What will you think about?”

“What I can…do…to make my brother…happy.”

“Why?”

“Because…it’ll keep it at the forefront of my mind. It’ll remind me of how important our sessions are. It’ll help me lose weight.”

* * *

“Why didn’t you stick to your diet?”

“Because I was hungry,” my Mom said guiltily.

“You said you would do whatever I told you to do.”

“Yes.”

“I told you not to eat cake.”

“Yes.”

“So why did you eat the cake?”

No response. I sat back with a sigh.

We sat in silence for several moments as I pondered my next step. Then, to my surprise, my mother responded.

“…because it made me happy.”

I leaned forward. Interesting.

“Does it make you happy to break your diet?”

“No.”

“So why do it?”

Again, there was a long pause. This time, I waited…and, sure enough, Mom broke it once more.

“…because nothing else in my life makes me that happy.”

Damn.

We sat in silence for a few moments, as a wave of sympathy for Mom swept over me. I guess I’d never put too much thought into what my Dad’s passing had done to Mom. Left her alone, taking care of two kids.

She was lonely.

But the guilt passed quickly, as I realized how I could use this to my advantage.

“Before Dad died,” I asked gently, “what else made you happy?”

“Sex,” Mom responded immediately. Quicker than I’d expected, to be honest. “Sex, spending time with your father. Taking care of him. Masturbation. Road trips.”

“Anything else?”

Mom thought for a moment, then shook her head.

The silence stretched on as I considered my Mom’s life. Her entire identity, I was realizing, had been completely tied up in my father. Without him around, she had nothing left.

A smile slowly spread over my face.

Perfect.

“What about taking care of your kids?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “That helped. But you two are older now. You don’t need me any more.”

Oh, I could think of ways that Mom could ‘take care’ of me. And Cynthia, too.

But not yet. She wasn’t ready.

I had a few options ahead of me. I could pivot; instead of working on her diet first, I could get her to start masturbating again. If she was achieving pleasure that way, maybe she’d find it easier to lose weight. That would be the carrot.

I decided to go with the stick.

“Mom,” I said. “You trust your son to help you lose weight, right?”

“Yes,” she responded immediately. “Completely.”

“Your diet hasn’t been working, and it’s your fault.”

Mom nodded, her glassy eyes downcast.

“And so there’s only one solution. You need to be punished.”

Mom didn’t say anything in response.

“Say it back to me.”

“I need to be punished.”

“Again.”

“I need to be punished.”

“Repeat it until I tell you to stop.”

“I need to be punished,” Mom said. “I need to be punished. I need to be punished. I need to be punished…”

“That’s enough,” I said, holding up one hand. “You need to be punished, and as the person helping you lose weight, I need to be the one who administers it.”

Nod.

“If I punish you while you’re hypnotized, it will only affect your subconscious. That won’t be effective enough.”

Nod.

“I need to punish you while you’re awake, don’t I?”

“Yes.”

“You will let me punish you, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“More than just let me—you’ll welcome it. You’re too weak to keep to your diet, and you need a firm hand to discipline you. Say it.”

“I’m too weak to keep to my diet. I need a firm hand to discipline me.”

“What are you going to do when I offer to punish you?”

“Thank you.”

“Will you find it suspicious?”

“No.”

“Will you resist?”

“Not at all.”

* * *

“Did you know that I’m helping Mom lose weight as well?” I asked my sister in our next session.

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I think it’s great.”

“Why?”

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but my sister is actually quite sweet. Like, not always to me—she _is_ my older sister, after all—but in general. She always thinks the best of people, she’s never been short of friends, and she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

I remember when I was a kid, she used to sit on me until I was sobbing, begging her to get up…but flies? Flies were safe from Cynthia.

And so I wasn’t surprised when she started talking about Mom’s self-esteem and her health, how good it would be for her to lose some weight, and how lovely it was that I was helping her out.

“Do you think Mom is more or less overweight than you?”

“Less,” my sister responded. I almost laughed out loud—no wonder she only put herself as a three out of ten, if she thought she was in _worse_ shape than Mom.

“On the zero to ten scale, what would you put Mom at?”

“Five,” Cynthia said, after a few moments of thought.

For the record, Mom is about an eight or nine, while my sister is a solid ten. More than ten. Whenever I had to think during our sessions, I’d spend my time slowly running my eyes up and down her body.

I couldn’t wait for it to be mine. I couldn’t wait to have it.

“What have you been thinking about while you masturbate?” I asked, abruptly changing the topic.

My sister doesn’t ever move during our sessions. She just lays on her bed, staring at the ceiling, answering my questions firmly and confidently. She doesn’t nod her head, she doesn’t look around. It’s like talking to a mannequin.

So I was quite surprised when, in response to my question…she blushed.

“You,” she replied softly.

I grinned.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said. I could tell that she was mentally squirming with embarrassment at her admission, but her body remained completely immobile.

“What specifically?”

“What else I could do to please you.”

I’d told my sister to think about me while she masturbated. This was for two reasons—firstly, because the idea of my sister thinking about me while she got herself off was _really fucking hot_.

But secondly, more importantly…the mind goes to strange places when you’re getting off. Like, there’s stuff that I have _no_ interest in, but sometimes, when I’m about to cum, I think about it without meaning to. I have no attraction to feet, but one time I got off looking at a picture of my sister’s feet that she uploaded to Facebook.

So my thinking was: if Cynthia is thinking about me while she gets off, her thoughts are bound to start slipping. Maybe she’ll think of things she can do with her mouth…or with her hands…

Or hell, with her feet. I’m not particularly into it, but I wouldn’t say no if she offered.

“Did you come up with any ideas?”

“Yes,” my sister replied.

“Go on.”

“I thought…”

She hesitated, which seemed like a good sign.

“Yeah?”

“I thought I could set you up with one of my friends.”

Interesting. Not the goal, but not a terrible idea.

“Anything else?”

“I thought I could pay you.”

Pass. I mean, I like money, but I didn’t want my sister to think of this as transactional.

If she paid me, she’d think we were even.

I wanted her in my debt. I wanted her feeling like she _owed_ me.

“What else?”

“I thought…”

Again, that hesitation. I leaned forward, eager to hear what her lust-addled brain had come up with.

“…I thought I could help pick out some clothes for you.”

I sat back, confused and disappointed.

“Why?”

“A lot of the stuff you wear is…kind of lame.”

She was speaking so softly, it was almost a whisper.

Great. She wasn’t embarrassed that she’d decided to blow me as a thanks; she was reluctant to tell me that she didn’t like my fashion sense.

With a sigh, I told her that wasn’t going to work, to keep thinking of ideas about pleasing me while she got off, and woke her up.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” my mother insisted. “Please. I need this.”

“Okay,” I sighed, every inch of me the reluctant disciplinarian. I pulled out a pen and paper. “Two hundred lines. ‘I shall not cheat on my diet.’ Say each word out loud when you write it. Bring it to me when you’re done.”

My mother sighed, but—to my delight—didn’t object to my authoritarian tone, and sat down to begin writing.

“I…shall…not…cheat…on…my…diet.”

A fully-grown woman, willingly obeying her son’s order.

I doubt the sound of pen on paper had never gotten anyone so hard before, but I knew: this was only the first step…

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 7

“I need to take a photo of you, okay?”

“Uh…”

My sister’s face remained completely passive, but her voice revealed her doubt.

I put my phone down. None of the sites had detailed what would happen if I did something against her will, and I didn’t want to find out.

Frustrating though it was, I needed to ensure Cynthia was okay with this before I did it.

“Human memory can be fallible, can’t it?”

“Yes.”

“If I’m going to be assessing you, I can’t just rely on my memory. I need a record of what you look like each time, to compare it from session to session. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to take a photo of you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Cynthia, predictably, didn’t move as I stood up and took a photo. Actually, I took a bunch of photos, but I tried to make it look like I was only taking one.

I have no idea how strong my sister’s perception was when she was under, but I didn’t want to risk anything. Not when I was making this kind of progress.

She was wearing her only crop top—even laying down, it made her huge tits look even larger. She was showing a lot of skin, but I wanted to see more.

More.

One step at a time…

“I’d say you’re at a two point five out of ten,” I said, looking at the photo. “Would you agree?”

“Yes,” my sister answered. “That sounds right.”

“Why do you think you’ve gone down?”

There was a long pause, as my sister thought.

“I don’t know,” she eventually admitted.

“But you agree that I’m right?”

“Yes,” she responded without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because you are here to help me. You’re viewing me through neutral eyes. Numbers are unreliable, and your assessment of how attractive I am is much more trustworthy than a scale would be.”

Not even the slightest hint of suspicion.

Perfect.

“You’re going to have to work harder, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How often are you masturbating?”

“Once a day.”

My cock stirred at my sister’s words. I could picture it, oh so clearly.

“How long does it take you.”

“Forty to fifty minutes.”

I furrowed my brow. That didn’t sound right.

“Has it always taken that long?”

“No.”

“How long does it normally take?”

“About half that.”

I don’t like to think of myself as a panicky kind of guy, but whenever my sister said something under hypnosis that took me by surprise, my heart-rate would immediately double. I sometimes felt like I was playing a very dangerous game, and it would be easy for everything to just…crumble.

I made a mental note to save the picture of my sister into a private, password-protected folder. If anyone found it on my phone, I’d have way too many questions to answer.

“Why is it taking so long?”

“Because of what I’m thinking about.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“You. My brother. Ways I can help you.”

“And that’s making it harder to get off?”

“Yes.”

Ah. It seemed that my plan—Cynthia thinking about me while masturbating—wasn’t working exactly the way I’d planned. She wasn’t thinking about me sexually, she was just…thinking about me.

Still, this was something I could fix.

“Your masturbation is being extremely inefficient, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” my sister responded.

“This might be why you’re not making progress.”

That didn’t _really_ make sense, but I pressed on, hoping my sister wouldn’t question it.

“What thoughts get you off the fastest?”

“Thinking about boys,” my sister responded. “Thinking about cock.”

I loved what a slut my virginal older sister was.

“What about when you were thinking about how fat you were? How quickly did you get off then?”

“Pretty quickly.”

Weird. I made a mental note to investigate that further. But for now…

“Okay,” I said confidently. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Whenever you get off each day, you’re going to start by thinking about guys. Cock. You’re going to think about sucking dick, being fucked, being wanted. Repeat that back to me.”

“I’m going to think about being filled by dick when I start to masturbate each day,” my sister responded obediently. “I’m going to think about them wanting me.”

“Then, when you’re really turned on, when you’re just about to cum, you’re going to remember that you need to come up with a different way to please me. Say it.”

“When I’m approaching my orgasm, I’m going to think about what I can do to keep my brother happy, so he helps me lose weight.”

“You’re going to do this once a day, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat your instructions back.”

“Once a day, I’m going to get myself turned on thinking about sucking and fucking cocks, then when I’m reaching my crest, I’m going to start thinking about how I can please my brother.”

“You’re doing this to be more efficient, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So…”

I took a deep breath. This was going to be a little risky.

“So…you need to stay turned on, right?”

“Right…”

“Say it.”

“I need to make sure not to let my arousal drop.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to…”

There was a hesitance to her voice, but Cynthia pressed on.

“I’m going to…make sure to stay aroused until I cum.”

“Again.”

“I’m going to stay turned on until I get off.”

“What will you be thinking about?”

“Pleasing my brother.”

“Say it.”

“While thinking about keeping my brother happy, I’m going to keep on being aroused until I cum.”

“How often?”

“Every day.”

Hard as a rock, I woke my sister up.

* * *

A smile slowly grew as I looked through my mother’s diet log.

I’d been prepared for this. Truth be told, I’d been _hoping_ for it.

The original plan had been genuinely altruistic…well, to a point. Help Mom lose weight, reintroduce masturbation to her life once she was skinnier, make her into a sexual being once more, then fuck her.

The details of the plan were a little vague, but I would have worked them out.

But after learning that my mother was _genuinely terrible_ at sticking to a diet, I came up with a new plan.

“It didn’t work, did it?”

“No.”

My mother’s eyes were downturned, her voice thick with guilt.

“You completed your punishment, but you were still unable to stick to your diet. Say it.”

“I completed my punishment, but I was still unable to stick to my diet.”

“You’d do anything to lose weight, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You completely trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever I tell you to do, you’ll do, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“The punishment didn’t work.”

My mother nodded.

“So we’re going to have to step it up a notch, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“About an hour after I wake you up, you’re going to come to me and ask you to punish you again, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“The last punishment didn’t work, did it?”

“No.”

“So you’re going to beg me to punish you harder than I have been so far.”

My mother had written more than two thousand lines over the last week. No effect.

“Say it.”

“I’m going to beg you to punish me harder than you have been so far.”

“Again.”

“I’m going to beg you to punish me harder than you have been so far.”

“Are you going to find anything suspicious about this?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I trust you. Because you’re just trying to help. Because I’m the one who can’t stick to my diet.”

“What punishments would make you suspicious?”

“None,” my mother responded, and I smiled.

* * *

I didn’t take her at her word, of course. Sure, Mom thought there was nothing that would make her suspicious…but something told me a punishment of ‘suck your son’s cock for the next three hours’ wouldn’t go down too well.

Uh, no pun intended. You know what I mean.

So for the next week and a half, I experimented with as many non-sexual punishments as I could. At my instruction, Mom washed her mouth out with soap, sat in the corner and thought about what she’d done, and washed the dishes in cold water. (I was originally planning to make her have an ice-cold shower, but I chickened out at the last minute. I didn’t want to go in a direction that was even remotely sexual. Not yet.)

But, to my great frustration, it started to work.

Not completely. Mom didn’t magically start sticking to her diet and suddenly drop a bunch of pounds. She was still cheating—cake, brownies, cookies, ice-cream…but she was doing it less and less.

She even managed to go two days straight without exceeding her calorie limit. She then ate an entire packet of cookies in a single sitting, but it was still pretty impressive.

If I had been genuinely trying to help her lose weight, I would have been delighted. But while that was a _part_ of my plan, it wasn’t why I was doing it.

I was at a crossroads.

The option of going back to my original plan was still there, of course. Help Mom lose weight, then—once she was thinner—restart her sexual engine. I didn’t have a concrete direction from there, but I was fairly sure that once my mother was a sexual creature once more, there were all kinds of fun ways I could have her spend her newfound sexual energy…

On the other hand, I’d been looking forward to slowly increasing the intensity of my mother’s punishments. No matter what I did, she’d never resisted—she genuinely believed it when I told her that I was doing all of this for her, to help her.

I spent a lot of time and mental energy on working out the best direction to go with my mother’s…diet plan.

One day, as I was running track at school, it hit me. Like a small child in an El Paso commercial—why not have both?

* * *

“When was the last time you cheated on your diet?”

“Yesterday,” my mother replied, looking downtrodden.

“What did you eat?”

“I had a Red Vine.”

See what I mean? That’s not even that bad, compared to cakes or boxes of cookies. Two weeks ago, she would have cheated with, like…an entire tub of Ben & Jerry’s. Now it was a single Red Vine. She was definitely getting better at this.

Of course, I didn’t let her know that.

“That’s not acceptable, is it?”

“No.”

“Your punishments aren’t working, are they?”

“No.”

“Making you write lines didn’t work, did it?”

“No.”

“Washing your mouth out with soap didn’t work, did it?”

“No.”

“We need to work out a more extreme punishment, don’t we?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think would be more effective?”

My mother wrinkled her nose as she thought. After a long pause, she made a suggestion.

“Pain.”

My eyebrows shot up, and my dick perked up at the thought.

“Why pain?”

“I don’t like pain.”

“You won’t find it weird that your son is causing you pain?”

“No,” Mom responded. “Not at all.”

“If I tell you I’m going to punish you with something painful, how will you react?”

“I’ll accept the punishment.”

“Why?”

“Because I know I deserve it. I can’t stick to my diet. I need your help.”

“That’s right. Without my help, you’re not going to lose weight, are you?”

“No.”

“So when I offer to cause you pain, will you be grateful?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“When you offer to cause me pain, I’ll be grateful.”

“Will you be suspicious?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my son. You’re just helping me lose weight.”

“What about if I told you I was going to spank you?”

Mom had been so accepting, so willing to go along with anything—she’d told me on countless occasion that she’d accept whatever punishment I chose to dole out.

So it genuinely took me by surprise when my suggestion gave her pause.

“How would you react,” I broke in after a long pause, “if I told you that I needed to spank you as a punishment.”

“It’d be weird,” my mother replied.

“Why?” I asked, pretty sure I already know the answer.

In response, Mom’s face turned a beet red.

“…because your father used to spank me.”

Uh, wow. Wasn’t expecting _that_.

“Why did Dad spank you?”

“Because he thought it was sexy.”

Like father, like son, I suppose.

“Did you?”

“Yes,” my mother replied, so quietly I could barely hear it.

My eyes narrowed with confusion.

“I thought you didn’t like pain.”

Mom just stared forward, silently blushing.

“Why did you enjoy spanking if you don’t like pain?”

There was a long pause. When Mom finally responded, I had to lean forward to catch what she was saying.

“The arousal sort of countered the pain.”

I sat back, mouth agape. No one likes to think of their parents as _kinky_ , right?

Well, I guess I _liked_ to. But I’d never once imagined that my mother…that Dad…

I took a few moments to process what she’d said. And while I was processing…Mom continued.

“…and the pain sort of fed the arousal.”

To my surprise, I was blushing slightly as well. Mom had consistently been happy to answer every question about her sex life that I’d asked.

It seemed I just hadn’t been asking the right questions.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 8

Generally, I tried not to keep my family members under for too long. My biggest fear was that they’d get suspicious, stop trusting me to hypnotize them so often…or stop trusting me at all.

But in this case, I couldn’t resist. For the next twenty minutes, I asked Mom every sex-related question I could think of.

I was a little disappointed to discover that her and my father had never gone past spanking. Even that, I learned, had been a rare treat—once every month or two at most. Not the twenty-four hour spank-fest I’d envisioned when my mother had first mentioned it.

And I was more than a little excited to discover _why_ they’d never gone any further.

It seemed my father was the stumbling block on that front. Not that Mom had ever properly _asked_ though—I think she was a little intimidated by her own urges, and when she’d been met by Dad’s resistance, had done absolutely nothing to push past it.

My dear, sweet, insanely-hot mother…liked being spanked.

No wonder she’d find it a little weird if I asked her to bend over my knee and be punished by my hand.

A grin spread over my face as I realized something.

If I played my cards right…I wouldn’t need to be the one who asked.

* * *

“Do you have any ideas for how you can better please your brother?” I asked my sister, moments after her stare went blank.

Cynthia never moved while she was under, but—just like Mom—she was a blusher.

“No,” she mumbled.

“Really?” I asked. “Nothing?”

“No,” she repeated.

“How often have you been thinking about it?”

“Once a day.”

“What do you do while you’re thinking about it?”

“I play with myself,” she muttered.

“You play with yourself while you’re thinking about what you can do to please your brother?”

“Yes,” Cynthia responded.

“How long do you think about it?”

“Until I achieve orgasm.”

“How long does it take, from thinking about how you can please me to cumming?”

“A few minutes.”

The plan, it seemed, was working.

“Why do you think you haven’t come up with any ideas yet?”

There was a brief pause as Cynthia pondered. When she responded, her voice rang out confidently.

“For two reasons,” she said. “Because I only think about it for a few minutes a day, and because…I’m distracted when I am thinking about it.”

“Why are you distracted?”

“Because I’m so turned on. It’s hard to think about what would please Daniel.”

“You don’t have _any_ ideas?”

To my delight, my sister again hesitated. I jumped in.

“Remember, this is a safe space. Anything you say here is just to help you lose weight. You’re not even talking to your brother—I’m Danny, your trainer. I exist to help you lose weight. Say it.”

“Anything we discuss here is just to help me become more attractive. It’s safe. You’re not Daniel, you’re my trainer, Danny. You’re here to help me with my diet.”

“Exactly.”

It was hard to tell for sure, but I got the feeling my sister was a little more relaxed, so I tried again.

“Have you had any ideas at all?”

“Yes,” my sister responded reluctantly. “But no good ones.”

“Sometimes, when you’re brainstorming, sharing bad ideas can lead to coming up with good ones. Tell me what your ideas were.”

“I…”

In all the time I’d been putting my sister under, I’d never met such resistance.

It felt like a good sign, somehow.

“I…I could set him up on a blind date with one of my friends.”

I desperately wanted to explore the _other_ bad ideas, but maybe going through each one thoroughly would help lower her defenses.

“Why is that a bad idea?”

“I don’t want my friends dating my brother,” Cynthia responded without hesitation. Ouch. “Also, they’d be weirded out if I didn’t tell them ahead of time that it was you.”

“Why don’t you want your friends dating your brother?”

“It’s too messy. If they break up, I could lose a friend. Or make things super awkward.”

“Is it more important than losing weight?”

“No,” my sister replied immediately.

Now, truth be told, I didn’t really want to date any of Cynthia’s friends. Like, don’t get me wrong, she has some hot pals…but my eyes were focused on the prize. Prizes.

“So it might not be such a bad idea after all. I mean, you need your brother to be happy to keep losing weight, right?”

“Yes.”

“Would it be worth risking a friendship or two for that?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s not really a bad idea, is it?”

“…no.”

The power truly was intoxicating.

“What other ideas did you have?”

“I could, uh…uh…”

My sister’s stammer didn’t sound like she was trying to invent ideas on the spot; it sounded like she was trying to fight through her resistance to share them.

“…I could give him some tips.”

“What kind of tips?”

Last time, my sister had suggested fashion tips. She’d been embarrassed to share her negative opinion of my fashion sense.

I somehow got the impression that this time she was reluctant to share tips for a _different_ reason.

“Tips on…girls.”

Oh yes?

“What kinds of tips on girls?”

“Dating tips. Pick-up tips. Tips about what girls like, and what they don’t.”

I tilted my head to the side.

“…why is this such a bad idea?”

“Because my brother doesn’t really need them,” my sister admitted.

“Why not?”

“He’s cute. He’s sort of charming, when he’s not being a dick. I’ve had a few friends ask me if he’s single.”

Well, that was a delightful surprise. My sister thought I was cute! As did her friends, apparently.

And charming. No one’s ever called me charming before.

For a moment I was tempted to reconsider my dating policy, but I shook my head at the thought. No—gotta stay on track. The idea of experimenting with some of Cynthia’s friends certainly held its appeal, but…I had a plan.

I had a target, and I wasn’t going to lose focus.

“Is that every idea you had?”

My sister stayed silent, and I grinned. There was something else in there, something she wasn’t telling me.

Something she didn’t want to tell me.

“As your coach, it’s important that you share your thoughts with me. We need to build a plan together, and to do that, I need to know everything that’s going on in your head. Even if you think it’s a terrible idea, even if you only considered it for a _second_ , I need to know…

“…did you have any other ideas?”

“Yes,” my sister replied, quieter than even Mom had been during our last session. “One.”

“Tell me what it is.”

“It’s a bad idea,” she whispered gently enough. My ear was practically at her lips.

“We don’t know that,” I reminded her. “You thought your other idea was bad, but it was actually quite good, remember?”

“This one isn’t.”

“I should hear it anyway. It might inspire a good idea.”

There was a long silence, until I prompted Cynthia once more.

“What’s the idea, Cynthia? You have to tell me.”

“I thought…I thought…just for a second, I thought maybe I could…I could…”

The two final words were so soft, I wondered if I’d imagined them. Wishful thinking, y’know?

“Say that again.”

She repeated the idea, just as quietly.

“Louder, Cynthia. That’s an order.”

“…blow…him.”

I leaned back in the chair beside my sister’s bed, and pumped my fist in the air.

Just for a second, just for one single moment before she came…my sister had thought about giving me head.

This was going to work.

* * *

That Friday, in the kitchen, I was delighted to find my mother with her hand—literally—in the cookie jar.

I hid my glee, of course.

“Mom…” I said, as much disappointment in my voice as I could muster. “C’mon. Seriously?”

She looked at me with the expression of…well, of someone who’d been caught with their hand stuck in the cookie jar.

“Daniel!” she squeaked. “I, uh…”

“C’mon, Mom. You know what you were doing.”

“I…I…”

My mother trailed off, and I waited.

“…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to _me_ ,” I said, with a roll of my eyes. “You’re the one gaining weight.”

“I know, but…you’ve been working so hard.”

_Harder than you think_.

“You know what we have to do,” I said with a sigh.

Again, I waited.

And waited.

My mother licked her lips. Not in a like, sexy way (although basically anything my mother did with her tongue was sexy)—out of nervousness.

She was building up the courage, I could tell.

And so I waited.

“I’m worried the punishments aren’t working,” she finally squeaked. My mother, used to getting her way with a glance, was so nervous that her voice sounded like it was a full octave higher than normal.

“What do you mean?”

“No matter what I do,” she said. “I just…I can’t help myself.”

“Well,” I said slowly, as if thinking seriously about what she was saying. “I don’t know what else we can do. I’ve tried punishing you, and it doesn’t seem to help.”

“It does,” Mom said, saddened by the idea that I was losing confidence in myself. “Really, Daniel, it does.”

“What else can we do?”

There was a long silence, as Mom’s mind ticked over. I couldn’t see her thoughts, but I knew exactly what they were. Beat by beat, almost to the word.

After all, I’d placed them there.

“Maybe,” she replied slowly, as if spontaneously coming up with the idea, “…we could try a different kind of punishment.”

I wrinkled my nose.

“Like what?”

“Well, when you and Cynthia were little, if you misbehaved…and nothing else worked…”

Mom trailed off. I stared at her blankly, feigning complete ignorance.

“What?” I eventually asked, and Mom jumped at the crack of my voice breaking the silence.

“Well, I’d….you know.”

“No. What?” My voice had gained a hint of boredom.

“I’d…spank you.”

I blanched. “What??”

“Not often,” she said, as though my horror came from the idea of her being an abusive parent. “Just when absolutely nothing else would get through!”

“You want me to…”

Now it was my turn to trail off. I counted under my breath as Mom blushed. I was at twenty-seven when she finally mustered up the courage to respond.

“…sorry. It’s a dumb idea.”

I crossed the kitchen and gave Mom a hug, carefully making sure that there was no chance she’d make contact with my erection.

“It’s not a dumb idea,” I said, following the script that we’d talked through in our last session. “It’s just…weird.”

“This whole situation is weird,” she replied. I tried not to mouth along. “I mean, think about it—I’m your mother, but I’m the one needing to be disciplined. But if you think it’s too weird…”

“No,” I replied thoughtfully. “No, it’s…I mean, if you’re sure you’re okay with it.”

“I’m sure,” she smiled. “As long as you are.”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “If you think it’ll help.”

“I _know_ it will,” she answered, with a confidence that she rarely shows. A confidence that came from her subconscious diet coach telling her, in no uncertain terms, that it was okay…and then having her repeat it a hundred times before waking up. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “Let’s hope this works.”

“It will,” she beamed.

And she was right, in a sense. It _would_ work.

Until, suddenly, it didn’t any more.

* * *

“That’s a terrible idea,” I nodded. “You’re right.”

Again, I felt like I could see my sister oh-so-slightly relax.

“I don’t think any of these are good ideas, and you’re coming up with them too slowly. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“As well as that, you haven’t been losing weight, have you?”

“No.”

“Fortunately, I have a plan. I know how you can come up with new ideas twice as quickly, and lose weight faster. Do you want to hear it?”

“ _Yes._ ”

My sister’s fervency made me smile. I had her wrapped around my little finger—masturbating each day while thinking of me, completely trusting her trainer’s advice.

I was extremely happy with my progress.

“First we should take some pictures. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Cynthia didn’t move as I pulled out my camera, and took a few snaps of her prone form. I’d cum almost a dozen times while looking at the last batch of pictures, and I was excited to add more to my collection. This time, I was slightly more daring—a few different angles, including one that nicely highlighted her cleavage.

“You need to come up with more ideas,” I said, after taking as many photos as I thought I could get away with. “And you need to double your exercise routine. The answer is obvious—instead of masturbating once a day, I want you to start doing it twice a day. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“Yes.”

“Each time, you should think about whatever turns you on the most, right until you’re ready to cum. Then, you’re going to start thinking about your brother, and how to please him. Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to masturbate twice a day, thinking about sucking cock and being attractive. Then, when I’m approaching my orgasm, I’ll start thinking about how to please Daniel.”

“Will you think there’s anything suspicious about this?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s to help me lose weight. Everything I’m doing is to help me lose weight.”

“Will you question why you’re thinking about your brother when you’re about to cum?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m masturbating to lose weight, and thinking of how I can please my brother will help me lose weight.”

“You’re going to try really hard to think of ideas, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Remember—when you’re brainstorming, there’s no such thing as a bad idea. Allow your mind to go down any path. Say it.”

“I’m going to think of everything I can, because any idea is useful.”

With a grin, I put my phone away and woke my sister up.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 9

I’ll never forget the first time I spanked my mother.

It’s hard to say who was more nervous, me or her.

Before we began, I couldn’t even tell you exactly what I was afraid of. I mean, in the absolute worst-case scenario, I knew I could just slow things down, move back to non-physical punishments.

After all, it wasn’t like she’d stop wanting my help. By this point, Mom was just as obsessed with her weight as Cynthia—which was really saying something.

But where my nerves were a mystery, Mom’s fears were more obvious, even to me. A small part of her was probably afraid of the pain, but most of all, Mom was afraid…of enjoying it.

Or, worse: not being able to hide how much she loved it.

I know my Mom. She’s easily embarrassed. She once pronounced my third-grade teacher’s name wrong, and blushed every time she saw him for the next few _years_. If she trips on a stair while there are other people around, she blushes like a pro. Social norms are kind of a big deal to her, and she doesn’t really cope well with embarrassment.

Getting spanked by her son was obviously _way_ out of her comfort zone, but I’d managed to convince her that it was vital if she wanted to lose weight (which—thanks to me—she now did, more than anything).

If she accidentally moaned with pleasure or showed that she was enjoying herself, I knew she’d be so mortified—there was no way she’d let me spank her again.

A million thoughts were racing through my head as I sat on the kitchen chair.

This was a fantasy come true. The first of many, I hoped.

Mom stared at me, and for a moment I thought she wasn’t going to do it, that she was going to back out and make an excuse. But then her smile reappeared—that stunning, charming, utterly gorgeous smile—and she nodded.

“This is a good idea,” she said, and leaned across my lap.

I _wanted_ to go to town on her. I wanted to spank her, hard, again and again. I wanted to release years of pent-up frustration and lust, truly dominate her.

I wanted to spank her until she came, slapping her rear so hard that she couldn’t help but get off. I wanted to bring my mother to a screaming orgasm, right there in the kitchen.

But as much as I may have wanted these things, I’m no fool. I knew they weren’t a good idea—they wouldn’t get me closer to my goal.

They wouldn’t bring my mother under my permanent command.

And so I played the part of the reluctantly-spanking son, and gave her a few light taps.

“There,” I said sternly. “Let that be a lesson to you.”

I must have inherited my ability to hide my feelings from Dad, because I certainly didn’t get it from my mother. The look of disappointment in her eyes was obvious as she got up, awkwardly adjusting her skirt.

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” I said with a sigh. “Hopefully it works.”

“Yeah,” she said, a note of confusion in her voice. “Hopefully.”

But we both knew it wouldn’t.

* * *

“How often have you been masturbating?”

“Twice a day,” Cynthia replied, staring blankly at her ceiling.

“How long has it been taking you?”

“An hour.”

“Each time?”

“No. Total.”

Well, that was good. I’d been worried that further increasing her rate of masturbation would have made the whole process slower.

I tried not to tell myself that this was evidence of my sister being an insatiable slut, but I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

From a few times each week to twice a day. How far could I push it?

“What do you think about while you masturbate?”

“Boys. Cock. Sucking cock. Being thin.”

“What do you think about when you cum?”

“Pleasing my brother.”

“What specifically?”

I leaned forward with a grin. There it was—that pause. That beautiful, revealing pause.

“Remember,” I said softly, “there’s no such thing as a bad idea.”

“Nothing new,” my sister said. “Just…”

“What?”

“Setting him up with my friends. Giving him fashion tips.”

“What else?”

There was a pause, as though my sister was mustering up her courage.

“Tell me,” I wanted to say. “That’s an order.”

But I didn’t. We weren’t there—not yet.

Instead, I waited.

“…blowing him.”

“An important part of losing weight is changing your attitude towards weight-loss,” I said, not entirely dishonestly. “Repeat that back to me.”

“To lose weight, you have to adjust your attitude.”

“As your trainer, it’s important to me that I understand what you’re thinking. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Since you’re masturbating to lose calories, it’s a vital part of your weight-loss routine. Say it.”

“Masturbation is…an important part of losing weight.”

She paused briefly in the middle, but my sister managed to get through the thought without prompting. A good sign.

“Your attitudes and your masturbation are both important for me to understand, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So tell me—how many times in the last few days have you cum while thinking about blowing your brother?”

There was a brief pause, as Cynthia counted. Counted! That could only be good.

“Twice.”

Well, less than I would have hoped. But still—more times than the rest of her life put together.

“Have you thought about doing anything else sexual with your brother?”

“…yes.”

“Would you tell me what?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my coach. My diet coach. You need to know what I’m thinking, especially during my weight-loss routine.”

I bet my track coach wished his job involved learning about my sister’s most private sexual thoughts.

“What other sexual thoughts have you had about your brother?”

My sister’s eyes narrowed oh-so-slightly. If I hadn’t been staring intently at her face, I bet I wouldn’t even have noticed.

“What other ideas have you had,” I corrected myself, “about keeping your brother happy. Be specific.”

“I thought about giving him a hand-job,” Cynthia answered. “Then I thought about putting his…his cock between my tits, and letting him fuck them.”

“What else?”

Pause.

“Even if it was only for a fleeting second,” I pressed. “What other ideas have you thought about how you could please your brother?”

“I thought about letting him fuck me,” Cynthia reluctantly admitted. “I thought about his…his cock, between my legs. Inside me.

“I imagined my brother being my first.”

“Why?” I asked, harder than I think I’ve ever been.

“I didn’t mean to,” Cynthia said quickly. “I didn’t mean to think about any of these things. But when I’m so turned on, and trying to think of ways to please my brother, it’s…it’s…”

My sister trailed off, and I let her sit in silence for a few moments. My cock was throbbing, and all I wanted to do was pull it out, touch myself, spray my seed onto my sister’s entranced, scantily-clad form…

I didn’t, of course. I took a deep breath, and allowed myself a second to calm down.

Before I was ready to start again, Cynthia surprised me by finishing her thought.

“…it’s so hard. I can’t help it. I…I can’t help it.”

“Have you ever had thoughts like this before?”

“No,” Cynthia replied. “Never.”

“Never?”

There was a pause.

“Not that I can remember.”

“Do you find it at all suspicious?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my own fault,” my sister sighed. “Losing weight is such an obsession; it’s all I can think about. Since my brother is helping me, it makes sense that thoughts of him have been…caught up in it.”

Interesting. I’d always known that my sister was unnaturally obsessed with her own weight-loss, but I hadn’t realized she was self-aware enough to realize it.

“Do you like thinking about pleasing your brother when you get off?”

“No,” Cynthia replied, with zero hesitation.

“Why not?”

“He’s my _brother_ ,” she said, sounding disgusted. “That’s…yeah, that’s gross.”

“Then why do you think it gets you off?”

There was a pause. I seemed to have stumped my sister with that one.

“I don’t think it does,” she eventually replied. “I think I’m just…I’m getting off anyway, and that just happens to be what I’m thinking about.”

“But it keeps happening,” I said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

Again, the pause. Again, Cynthia replied dismissively.

“It’s just what’s on my mind,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay,” I said, not wanting to push it. “If you say so. Have you come up with any good ideas of how to keep your brother happy?”

“No,” my sister admitted.

“Well, keep thinking on it. Twice a day, just as you’re about to cum. Do you understand?”

“Of course.”

* * *

The next day, before I’d had a chance to put her under and see what she thought of the spanking, Mom approached me.

“Hey,” she said, a guilty look on her face. “I did it again.”

I gave an overly-exasperated sigh.

“Mom…”

“I know,” she said, staring at her feet. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“What?” I asked, no idea where she was going with this.

“…I don’t think that last punishment worked.”

“That’s okay,” I said, far too quickly. “We can go back to lines.”

“No,” she said, “those weren’t working either. I…I think that capital punishment was a good way to go.”

“Corporal punishment, Mom. Capital punishment is the death penalty.”

“Right. Yeah. I mean, I think the, uh…the…”

“Spanking?”

“Yeah.”

Mom was blushing so hard, you could have roasted marshmallows on her cheeks.

“I think the…— I think _that_ was the right way to go. I just don’t think it was, um…”

I wasn’t sure what to say. The last time we’d discussed spanking, I’d spent a week writing the script and memorizing it word-for-word.

We were in uncharted territory here, and I didn’t want to screw it up.

“What?” I said, warmly. My Mom was so nervous around her own son—it was cute. It was like she was talking to a guy she liked, not someone she gave birth too.

Cute but dangerous, like a kitten with a handgun.

“I don’t think it was hard enough,” she said, so softly I could barely hear her.

_Speak for yourself,_ I thought. _I was hard as a rock._

“Oh,” I said. “I mean…”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “I shouldn’t have…it was wrong of me to ask.”

“No, no,” I said slowly. “It’s okay. I mean, if that’s what you need to lose weight.”

“It is,” she said confidently. “I’m sure of it.”

Of course she was. I’d put a lot of effort into convincing her subconscious mind of that fact.

“Well,” I said, glancing around. Cynthia wasn’t due home for at least an hour—if she walked in on me spanking Mom, that was going to be a tricky one to explain. “If you need to be punished, we should…we should do this.”

“Okay,” Mom said quietly.

“Now,” I said, surprising myself with my own commanding tone.

“Okay,” she repeated. I saw a shiver go through her body.

Last time, I’d been afraid that Mom would freak out. That the feeling of my hand on her ass would suddenly make her realize that what we were doing was wrong, that a son shouldn’t be disciplining his mother like this.

But I’d laid the groundwork. I’d ensured that Mom thought that it was necessary…no, more than necessary. _Vital_.

And it had worked. When I hadn’t spanked her hard enough, she’d come back for more. _She’d_ come to _me_.

I was still nervous, but in a good way. Hopeful.

My mother was going to let me discipline her, and somehow, I knew she wasn’t going to freak out.

As she lay across my lap, I made sure that she couldn’t feel my erection. The kitchen chair meant that my legs could support her ample frame.

I looked down. There she was—my beautiful, buxom mother, laying prone, prepared for me to spank her. Excited for me to spank her.

Her ass was huge.

She was mine for the taking.

_SMACK._

This time, I didn’t hold back. My hand stung as it met with my mother’s rear padding—I couldn’t only imagine how it felt from her end.

Mom jumped as my hand made contact, but she didn’t make a sound. She didn’t resist.

_SMACK._

For the second slap, I aimed for her other cheek. My mother stiffened, and I could practically feel the wave of pain pass through her body.

Still, she remained silent.

_SMACK. SMACK. SMACK._

On the third smack, I heard it. A small whimper. It could have been pain, it could have been pleasure. Arousal.

My hand may have been have an effect on my mother.

The spanking might be turning my mother on.

_SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK._

The next four blows were rained down without pause. My mother was breathing heavily, practically panting…and as we sat there, I realized that I was as well.

I hoped my mother would think it was just the exertion, and not read anything more into it. Just as I’m sure she was hoping I thought the sound I’d heard was a cry of pain, not pleasure.

_SMACK._

“Let that be a lesson to you,” I said hoarsely. “Don’t do it again.”

“Thank you,” Mom said, wiggling to get off me.

There was a long, awkward pause. My mother’s face was as red as I had ever seen it, and all the while we stood there, her breathing remained ragged.

Finally, I gave her a nod, and she scampered off.

The first time I’d spanked my mother, I hadn’t known exactly what I was nervous about. After the second time, it was crystal clear:

Now, I was nervous I wouldn’t get to do it again.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 10

“Hey sis,” I said casually, leaning against the family car.

Cynthia was cleaning it out. That used to be one of my chores, but…well, ‘my chores’ wasn’t really a thing any more.

It wasn’t fucking my sister, but I’d take it. I mean, think about it: ‘servitude’ is half of ‘sexual servitude’.

Now I just had to accomplish the other half.

“Oh, hey,” she said, glancing up at me with a smile.

I suddenly realized that my sister and I hadn’t really been talking as much lately. I guess I was hypnotizing her a few times a week, but that wasn’t really ‘talking’. The change made sense, I guess—half of our conversations used to just be her complaining about her weight.

But that hadn’t really been ‘talking’ either.

The sight of her smile made me realize, I kind of missed hanging out with her. That was something we’d have to do more of.

Ideally while one or both of us was naked.

“How’s everything going?”

“Good,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “What’s up? I thought my next sesh was tomorrow night.”

“It is,” I said, slightly hurt that she didn’t want to talk to me just to talk to me. “Just thought I’d come say hi, see how you’re doing.”

“Yeah, good,” she said again. “Almost done with this, then I’m going to clean the fridge out.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Hey,” she said, a surprisingly earnest tone in her voice. “Thank you for helping me. Seriously—I really appreciate it.”

_I’d do anything to keep you happy_ wasn’t said, but it was there anyway, hanging in the air.

“It’s fine,” I said, waving off her words. “I just wanted to check in, make sure everything was okay.”

“Of course,” she said. Her eyes narrowed. “Why? Is something wrong?”

I could sense the hint of panic in her voice, like I was coming to tell her that I wasn’t going to help her any more.

“No, no,” I said, avoiding her eyes. “No. It’s…it’s nothing.”

Cynthia got out of the car and stood beside me. She was wearing a baggy outfit, hiding the killer body that I’d always suspected (and now knew) that she was hiding underneath. She stood in front of me, a foot shorter than I was.

“Seriously,” she said. “What’s up?”

“It’s just…”

I was still avoiding eye-contact, and my sister surprised me by grabbing my face and turning it to her. Her eyes were the same color as mine, but larger. Softer.

With a sigh, I reached up and moved my hand over hers, holding it to my cheek.

“You know I’ve been helping Mom lose weight, right?”

“Of course,” she said, scrunching up her nose in confusion.

“I’ve been helping you for longer, and you and I do more sessions each week.”

“Okay…”

“And it’s just…”

I sighed, and looked to the side. Maybe a little too dramatically, because when I glanced back at my sister, she was rolling her eyes.

“What?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but…it’s been working.”

It was true. It had been a little over a month since I’d started hypnotizing our mother, and the results were actually starting to show. My technique—immoral though you could claim it was—was really working

“Yeah.”

Cynthia was staring at me impatiently. I don’t even know if she noticed her foot jiggling nervously.

“And, well…

I gestured to my sister’s body. I didn’t have to say another word—I could practically hear her heart sink.

“Oh.”

“I mean, I don’t think you’ve _gained_ weight…”

My sister was blinking back tears as I continued.

“…but yeah. I don’t know why it’s working so well for her and not for you.”

“Well,” Cynthia said, “what are you doing differently for Mom?”

“Basically the same as what you and I are doing,” I lied.

“Maybe I can do more,” she said desperately. “Maybe I can try harder.”

The last time I’d put Cynthia under, I’d asked what her conscious mind thought we were doing. All of my instructions so far—the masturbation, the ‘thinking of what your brother would like’, wearing less clothing for our sessions—those had all been given directly to her subconscious.

Unlike our mother, I hadn’t actually done anything while she was awake—this was probably why we were hanging out less. I guess I’d been nervous about drawing attention to the fact that my ‘coaching’ wasn’t actually making her change her behavior.

Turned out, Cynthia had really embraced what I’d said about shifting her attitude. She’d figured that hypnosis was all about changing her subconscious drives, and that the results would just…happen.

I didn’t correct her, of course. Rather, I affirmed what she’d thought.

As far as my sister was concerned, weight-loss hypnosis was about ninety percent attitude changing, and we’d get to the bigger stuff later.

I could hardly wait.

“I mean, it’s not _exactly_ the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re different people. Different things work for different people.”

“Please,” Cynthia said, moving my hand to her chest. No, not the fun part—her collarbone. I could feel her bone, in a way that I don’t think I’d be able to if she was actually fat. “Please—whatever you’re doing with her, do it with me as well. Please?”

I sighed.

“Okay,” I replied, after a long pause. “If that’s what you really want.”

“It’s what I need,” my sister said. “Please.”

* * *

“How did you feel when I told you that Mom was losing weight faster than you?”

“Terrible,” my sister said. “I felt like a failure.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re working so hard. You’re working so hard, I can’t even think of a good way to thank you… _and_ it’s not even working on me.”

“Did you feel guilty?”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel inadequate?”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel worthless?”

There was a pause.

“Cynthia, did you feel worthless?”

“…a little, I guess.”

She sounded unsure.

“You should.”

My sister sat silently, absorbing my words.

“My technique is working for Mom, and she needs it less.” A lie, of course, but one that my sister already believed. “She needs it less, I’m doing fewer sessions with her, I’ve been working with you for longer…and yet, it’s working better on her than you.”

Cynthia didn’t move, but she was clearly hanging on my every word.

“My techniques are mostly the same, so what’s the difference?”

“Me.”

“Pardon?”

“Me,” Cynthia said, this time louder than a whisper.

“That’s right. You’ve failed, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the problem, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want most in the world?”

“To lose weight.”

“What are you working on, as hard as you can?”

“Losing weight.”

“You want to lose weight more than anything, and you’re working on it as hard as you can. But you’re not losing weight, are you?”

“No.”

“So what does that make you?”

A tear slowly slid down Cynthia’s face.

“Louder, Cynthia.”

“A failure,” she repeated.

“You’re worthless, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m worthless.”

“You’re a worthless failure. Say it.”

“I’m a worthless failure.”

“You’re not worth my time, are you?”

“No.”

“I exist purely to help you lose weight, and you’re _still_ not worth my time, are you?”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“You’re only here to help me, and I still don’t deserve you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a worthless failure.”

“That’s right.”

To my surprise, I was breathing heavily. My cock was always hard when I put my sister under—the combination of control and her bare skin is the sexiest thing in the world to me—but this time, I was positively throbbing.

Something about my sister berating herself at my command…it turned me on, more than I expected.

“Say it again.”

“I’m useless.”

“Again.”

“I’m a waste of space.”

“Correct.”

I smiled, and shook my head. This was fun—surprisingly so—but not the point of today’s session.

“What do you think you can do to improve?”

“I can try harder.”

“How?”

There was a long pause as Cynthia thought. I used the opportunity to stare at the wall and calm myself down a little.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted.

I sighed.

“You really are good for nothing, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

I resisted the temptation to have her say it a few more times, and pressed on.

“What have I instructed you to do so far?”

“Masturbate twice a day.”

“So maybe you could masturbate three times a day.”

“Okay,” my sister said expressionlessly.

_Insatiable slut._

“What else?”

“Think of ways that I can make my brother happy.”

“What have you come up with so far?”

“Pay him. Set him up with one of my friends. Offer him fashion advice.”

“What else?”

“…blow him. Give him a handjob. Let him fuck my tits.”

“What else?” I said, leaning forward.

“…let him fuck me. Let him fuck my ass.”

My eyebrows raised. That one was new.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

I left that train of thought alone for now. It seemed that my sister was doing a great job of pushing herself further on her own.

“What else have I instructed you to do?”

“Stop weighing myself.”

“What else?”

I could hardly tell her to weigh herself _less_.

“Prepare my room and change clothes before you hypnotize me.”

Bingo.

“Why did I have you change clothes?”

“So you could properly assess my attractiveness.”

My sister was laying in front of me wearing a tank top and a pair of boy-shorts. It was more revealing than anything I’d seen her in before I’d started hypnotizing her…but I wanted more.

More, more, more.

“What clothing do guys find attractive?”

“High heels. Yoga pants. Stockings. Sundresses. ”

“Do you own any of those?”

“I own high heels and stockings.”

“Next time we have a meeting, you should be wearing high heels and stockings. What else do men find attractive?”

“Boobs…—“

“Clothing,” I interrupted. “What other clothing do guys find attractive?”

“Short skirts. Bikinis. Lingerie.”

“Do you own any lingerie?”

“Yes,” my sister answered without hesitation.

“If Mom isn’t home, the next time I put you under, I want you wearing lingerie. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The pause was small, but it was enough to make me nervous.

“Is there a problem?”

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“Being around my brother wearing nothing but lingerie.”

“Why?”

“Because…he’s my brother.”

It was the same excuse she’d given for not liking getting off while thinking of me. I mean, it made sense…but it was something I was going to have to deal with eventually.

But not today.

“You want him to keep helping you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s going to keep helping you if you’re not doing everything you can?”

“No.”

“How could you do more to help him assess your attractiveness?”

“Dress more attractively.”

“Why?”

“So that he can tell if I’m losing weight.”

I smiled.

“So…what are you going to wear next time you have a session?”

“Stockings and high heels. If Mom isn’t home, lingerie.”

“And how many times are you going to get off each day?”

“Three,” my sister replied.

“Good,” I said with a nod.

I was about to wake her up, but a thought struck me.

“What do you think Mom is doing differently?”

It was poorly worded, but Cynthia answered immediately.

“Affirmations.”

I leaned forward.

“Affirmations?”

“Yeah,” Cynthia said. “Affirmations.”

“What are affirmations?”

“I found a list in Mom’s handwriting,” my sister said. “It just said ‘I shall not cheat on my diet’, hundreds of times. Affirmations are writing out your goals, over and over. It helps focus your mind on what you want.”

“Have you tried affirmations?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they work?”

“No.”

I mean, from my point of view, the reason was obvious. Cynthia didn’t really have any weight to lose. But I was curious.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m useless,” my sister said sadly, and my cock throbbed in response.

“Yes you are,” I said, and woke her up.

* * *

I tried. God knows I tried.

In all fairness, I’d been doing really well so far. _Really_ well. I mean, it’s been however many years, and neither my mother nor my sister have _any idea_ that I’m into them. I know—I searched their subconscious minds for evidence.

Nothing.

But when Cynthia approached me wearing a pair of red high heels, black stockings, and a set of white lingerie…I couldn’t help myself.

My eyes practically out of my head as she walked up to me, and for the first time in my life, I truly understood the expression ‘tongue-tied’.

“Hey,” Cynthia said, her cheeks burning.

“I…uh…the…”

“You were going to put me under, remember? It’s four o’clock.”

“You…can…”

My sister just waited patiently as I found my words, an odd expression on her face. Eventually, I gave up on speech and gestured to her bedroom.

She led the way and I followed, unable to tear my eyes away from her incredible butt.

I thought she’d looked good in revealing tops—in lingerie, she was perfect. Simply perfect. She could have been a model, if there were models with tits the size of Tokyo.

Which there definitely should be—if my sister had been advertising something, I would have bought it without a second thought. Whatever it was. I would have walked home with a set of golf clubs and a tub of crude oil if Cynthia had been on the poster.

But she wasn’t a model. She was mine. Her body, her perfect body—it was all mine.

And I didn’t intend to share it with anyone.

By the time she lay on the bed, I’d managed to regain the power of speech, and pretty soon she was under, breathing slowly, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Okay Cynthia,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Time to take some pictures.”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 11

“Count them,” I instructed. “Out loud.”

_SMACK._

“One!” my mother gasped.

_SMACK._

“Two!”

_SMACK. SMACK. SMACK._

“Three! Four! Ungh…five!”

“Not fast enough,” I said. “I’m adding another ten.”

“Yes,” Mom moaned. “Yes! Harder. Please, son…harder.”

* * *

“How did you feel the first time I spanked you?”

“Disappointed,” Mom answered.

“Why?”

“Because it didn’t hurt.”

“Why did you want it to hurt?”

“It’s a punishment,” my mother replied, crinkling her nose. “If it doesn’t hurt, it’s not going to work.”

“How did you feel the second time I spanked you?”

There was a pause as my mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” Mom replied without hesitation.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” Mom said, her voice low and soft.

“If I’m going to help you lose weight, I need to completely understand what’s going on in your head, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to ask you questions that may be uncomfortable, but if it has to do with your weight-loss regime, it’s important that you be honest. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mom said again.

“Will you be totally honest, no matter what I ask?”

“Yes.”

“The second time I spanked you…did it arouse you?”

“…yes.”

“Good job,” I said warmly. “Answering honestly is vital. You’re doing great.”

Mom smiled in response.

* * *

“Did you notice anything unusual when you came and got your brother today?” I asked my sister without preamble.

“Yes.”

“What did you notice?”

“My brother’s reaction.”

“How did he react?”

“He looked shocked.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because of what I was wearing. Because of how revealing it was.”

My heart sank. I was busted. My sister was going to piece together what I thought of her, what I was doing. She could wake up at any moment, from sheer suspicion. I was going to…—

“It showed off how unattractive my body is,” Cynthia added.

I swear, normally I’m better at controlling my expressions than this. Like I said—I’ve hidden my familial attractions for God knows how long.

But before I knew what was happening, a laugh had emerged from my mouth.

“Yes,” I said, when my giggles had subsided. “Yes, that’s exactly what it is. Your brother was disgusted by your body. What do you think you’re currently at, out of ten?”

“Two,” my sister whispered sadly; the lowest number she’d given yet.

“That’s right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Two. Where do you think Mom is.”

“Five point five?”

“Also correct. She’s improving, and you’re dropping. Have you been taking the actions we discussed last time?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said. “I’m masturbating three times a day, and I dressed more attractively.”

I took a moment to feast on my sister’s body with my eyes. I have no idea why she owned a set of lacy white lingerie without owning stockings to match, but it was hard to complain. She’d kept the heels on even as she lay down on the bed. She was typically so short—even with the heels, I was still probably a foot taller than her, but following her down the hall I’d _loved_ what it did to her legs and butt.

My sister, leading me to her room, dressed like a whore. _That_ was something I could get used to.

“What are you thinking about when you masturbate?”

“Boys,” Cynthia said. “Cock. Sucking cock. Fucking boys. Being thin enough to attract three boys at once, and taking one in each hole…”

I leaned back with a smile. It seemed that the more Cynthia got off, the more deviant her thoughts grew.

“What are you thinking about when you cum?”

“Fucking my brother,” Cynthia said without hesitation. My eyes widened. There was a slight huskiness to her voice. “Sucking his cock. Making him cum. Making him cum on my face.”

“You’re meant to be coming up with ways to please him,” I said.

“I know,” Cynthia said.

“Do you think those would be good ways to please your brother?”

“No.”

“Then…why is that what you’re thinking about?”

“It’s really hard to get off three times a day,” my sister said, her voice strained. “It’s really hard.”

Interesting. My impulses had been correct—instructing my sister to get herself off so much had forced her into darker fantasies.

“How long is it taking you?”

“Longer,” she said, after a brief pause. “Maybe forty minutes each time?”

Not ideal, but not the end of the world. If it went above an hour, that’s when I’d start to worry.

“Do you like thinking about your brother while you get off?”

“No,” Cynthia admitted. “I hate it.”

“Why?”

“It makes me feel so dirty. And…”

She trailed off. I’d learned this trick now, and waited patiently for her to put together the rest of the sentence.

“…it’s making me feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

“When I’m around my brother. Like he knows. Like he knows what I’m thinking.”

I scratched my nose thoughtfully.

“You mean…you’re having sexual thoughts about your brother while you’re around him?”

Cynthia’s response was barely loud enough to hear, but I was listening intently.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”

“I’m not thinking of him sexually,” she replied. “But I’m having sexual thoughts about him. About what I think about when I get off. About what I do to him in my fantasies.”

“But you’re not thinking of him sexually?”

“No.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I’m looking at him and thinking of sex, but…he’s not the sexual one. I am.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Gross,” she answered without hesitation. “Like there’s something wrong with me. It makes me feel completely disgusting. I hate it.”

I’d gone through a phase of that. When I’d first started jerking off, thinking about my Mom and sis, I’d despised myself for these disgusting, erotic thoughts that I couldn’t control.

Now…eh. I was pretty much okay with being a pervert.

“Any good ideas for how to keep your brother happy?”

“No. Except for keeping him from ever learning about my fucked-up fantasies.”

My ears perked up. ‘Fantasies’.

“Good idea,” I said with a nod. “That would definitely scare him off. Of course, you can safely tell me, can’t you?”

“Yes. You’re not my brother. You’re Danny, my trainer.”

I was suddenly very grateful to past-Daniel for setting _that_ up.

“I’ve been thinking about how we can help you lose weight,” I said, abruptly changing tack, “and I’ve come up with an idea.”

Despite the fact that she was staring ahead blank-eyed, completely unable to move, I swear my sister’s face lit up.

“What is it??” she said, even though I hadn’t asked her for a response.

“It’s something that I couldn’t get Mom to agree to,” I said. My sister has always had a competitive side. “But I think it’d work wonders.”

I paused. She wasn’t moving, but I could still feel my sister desperately straining to hear what my suggestion was.

“I’ve been reviewing your photos, and it’s going to be easier to tell how your weight-loss is going if you start dressing more skimpily around the house.”

My sister’s pupils narrowed in fear.

“That way, while I’m checking in every few days, seeing you as your trainer, your brother can assess you more frequently than that. Any questions?”

“How can my brother assess my attractiveness?”

I paused. Good question.

“How did your brother react when he saw you today?”

“He was repulsed.”

“So that’s what you’re looking for,” I said, leaning forward. “If he keeps on reacting like he did today, you’ll know you’re repulsive. If his reaction isn’t as strong, you’re less repulsive. Make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Any other questions?”

“Do I have to?” Cynthia asked quietly.

“If you want to lose weight, this may be the only way.”

There was a long pause.

“What do you say?”

“Okay,” Cynthia whispered.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll wear fewer clothes around the house.”

“Like what?”

“Tank tops. Shorts.”

“And I don’t want you wearing a bra. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I won’t wear a bra.”

“Your brother will need to assess how repulsive you are, so you need to wear fewer clothes. Sexier clothes.”

I paused. I couldn’t. Could I?

“Sluttier clothes.”

I held my breath as I watched Cynthia’s reaction.

Nothing.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say it back to me.”

“I need to dress like a slut.”

“Why?”

“To see how much it grosses out my brother.”

“How will you know if your weight-loss regime is working?”

“If he’s less repulsed.”

I smiled.

“Good.”

This was going so well, I couldn’t resist.

“That means heels, all the time. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to dress attractively around the house. I’m going to wear fewer clothes than normal. I’m going to wear heels.”

“Why?”

“So my brother can assess how attractive I am.”

I nodded.

“…and because Mom couldn’t,” my sister was unable to resist adding.

My smile quickly become a grin.

* * *

“How do you feel about being aroused while I spanked you?”

“Uncomfortable,” Mom answered. “It was weird.”

“Why do you think it was weird?”

“Mothers aren’t supposed to enjoy their son’s touch.”

“You enjoyed cuddling me when I was a baby, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So sometimes it’s okay for mothers to enjoy being touched by their son, isn’t it?”

“This is different,” Mom said.

“Why?”

“This was…sexual.”

“Why do you think it was sexual?”

“I was turned on,” my mother replied. “I was sexually…aroused.”

“Yes, but…—“

“So were you,” Mom said. My eyebrows shot up.

“What?”

“You were aroused as well. I could feel it.”

My immediate impulse was to deny it, but I knew that would be a bad idea. I was starting to get the hang of the ebb and flow of hypnosis, and directly contradicting someone…something told me that wouldn’t go well.

The trick, I’d learned, was not direct confrontation. It was ducking and weaving around the edges of an idea, changing someone’s perspective inch by inch.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I felt too uncomfortable,” Mom replied.

“Did it make you suspicious?”

“No.”

I could literally feel my individual muscles relaxing. It was like I’d grown entirely new parts of my body, just to tense them up.

“Why not?”

On one hand, it felt like I was playing with fire. On the other hand, if I was going to keep going with this—and now that I’d spanked Mom properly, I knew that I _had_ to continue—I needed to understand what was going on in her head.

“Getting aroused is a natural reaction,” Mom said. “I know you it didn’t mean anything. You aren’t attracted to me.”

“So why do you think I was aroused?”

“Because we were in a sexual situation,” Mom replied.

“You used to spank me and Cynthia when we were young, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Was that sexual?”

“No.”

“Why is this different?”

“Because of the arousal.”

I narrowed my eyes. There was something circular about this logic, and I wanted to see if I could break the cycle.

“I was only aroused because it was sexual, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But it was only sexual because we were aroused. Right?”

“No.”

There was a long pause, as I stared into my mother’s unblinking eyes.

“…well, yes,” she finally admitted.

“Why did I spank you?”

“Because I asked you to.”

“And why did you ask me to?”

“Because it’s the only way to ensure that I stick to my diet.”

“There’s nothing sexual about that, is there?”

“No.”

“So why was the spanking sexual?”

“Because…”

Mom squirmed on her seat again. Probably due to embarrassment, but I couldn’t help but hope that a part of it was arousal.

“…because of how much I enjoyed it.”

I sat back. Within the minute, I had an idea.

“Me spanking you was part of your weight-loss regime, yes?”

Mom nodded.

“Have you ever ridden a stationary bike?”

Mom shook her head. Figured.

“It’s an exhausting process. You end up covered in sweat, your heart racing, your skin flushed. Do you know what happens to some women while they’re on a stationary bike?”

“No.”

“They cum.”

Mom’s eyes widened at my crude language, but—to my great relief—she showed no signs of stirring, no indication that she was going to wake up.

“They cum,” I repeated, driving the point home. “Not because it’s sexual, just because of the physical stimulation. And you know what their coaches say?”

“No,” Mom replied, not even questioning who these women were (or why they needed coaches).

“They encourage it. If a woman has an orgasm while working out, she’s more likely to work out. Right?”

“…yes.”

Mom’s reply was slow—and reluctant—but it was affirmative, and that was good enough for me.

“If you cum while exercising, that’s not really sexual, is it?”

“N-no.”

“Say it.”

“If you…if you…cum…while exercising, that’s not really…sexual.”

“Again.”

“If you…cum while exercising, that’s not really…sexual.”

“Ten more times.”

“If you…cum…while exercising, that’s not really sexual. If you c-cum…”

By the time Mom reached the eleventh repetition (apparently losing count), she was no longer stammering out any of the words.

“Your punishments are part of your diet, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Without your punishments, you’re going to put on weight, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What will you do to avoid putting on weight?”

“Anything.”

“Say it.”

“I’ll do anything to avoid putting on weight.”

“What will you do to lose weight?”

“ _Anything._ ”

“Say it.”

“I’ll do anything to lose weight.”

“You need your punishments to lose weight, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“They’re part of your fitness regime, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“They’re just like exercise, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s okay to feel sexual pleasure while being punished, isn’t it?”

I was hoping for an immediate, enthusiastic yes. You can call me an optimist.

Instead, I got a long silence.

But then, just as I was starting to lose hope…Mom nodded.

“Say it,” I whispered.

“It’s…it’s okay to…”

“Say it,” I urged.

“It’s okay to…oh, god…”

“Mom,” I said, staring straight into her blank eyes. “If you want to lose weight, _say it_.”

“It’s okay to feel…”

The rest of the words were inaudible, but it was a start.

“Again,” I pressed.

Mom repeated her inaudible whisper.

“Again,” I said. “Twenty more times.

“It’s okay to…to feel…s-sexual…pleasure…while being p-p—…punished. It’s okay to feel..sexual p-pleasure…while…”

She never got to the point of loud and proud—even on her twenty-fourth repetition (keeping track of numbers is apparently not Mom’s strong suit) she was still stammering over the word ‘pleasure’.

But she said it, which mean that on some level, she believed it, and that was good enough.

“The next time you screw up on your diet, what are you going to do?”

Mom’s face was beet-red, and her blank eyes looked like they wanted to be looking anywhere but at me, her son.

“I’m going to come to you and let you know.”

“What are you going to ask me to do?”

“I’m…I’m going to ask you to punish me.”

“How?”

“With a…with a spanking.”

I smiled.

“One last thing,” I said. “Cynthia’s weight-loss journey is different to yours. She responds more to positive attention, so I’ve told her to start wearing less clothing around the house.”

Mom nodded.

“She’s going to be self-conscious if you say anything about it, so don’t say anything out loud. The best thing you can do is just stare at her whenever you see her wearing less, okay?”

“Okay,” Mom said reluctantly, and I woke her up.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 12

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I don’t have a _lot_ of sexual experience. So while I can’t be one hundred percent sure…I’m fairly sure Mom had an orgasm the next time I spanked her.

And the time after that. _And_ the time after that.

She didn’t announce it, of course. But when we were done, she didn’t thank me, she didn’t say anything. She just shuffled off, looking at the floor, her cheeks glowing red.

And I went back to my room and masturbated.

There was something so _hot_ about spanking my mother. Besides the fact it was something I’d dreamed about, besides the fact it was clearly getting her off—for the first time in _years_ —there was something more…

Look, I’ve known I’m a pervert for many years. I mean, what kind of sick fuck gets off thinking about his family members…let alone _acts_ on these desires?

But punishing my Mom, having her bent over my knee…that was something else. It made me feel in control. Powerful.

And I loved it. More than I’d expected.

I wanted more.

* * *

“The spankings aren’t working, are they?”

“No,” my Mom replied. Her blush was back, permeating the trance I’d put her in.

“You’re breaking your diet almost every day, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mom said, her blank gaze somehow avoiding my eyes.

In truth, it was every day. Believe me, I’d been keeping track. Each and every day for the past week, Mom had been coming to me, confessing her indulgences, and having me spank her to orgasm.

It had been the best week of my life.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m weak,” Mom muttered in response. Her tone reminded me of my sister, telling me how worthless she was, again and again.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to avoid distraction. There was work to be done.

“It’s because you’re enjoying your punishment,” I said. “A punishment doesn’t work if you enjoy it.”

Mom nodded.

“Every time I spank you, you cum.”

Another nod. My entire body twitched with arousal. God. I couldn’t believe it. She really was cumming, every time I spanked her.

My mother was cumming at my hand. Fuck.

I’d never been so turned on in my life.

“You love being punished, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I love being punished.”

“What could we do to fix the problem?”

There was a pause as Mom thought. Her eyes widened, as though she’d had an idea, but she didn’t say anything.

After almost a minute of silence, I pushed for a response.

“If we don’t fix this, you’re not going to lose weight. You want to lose weight, don’t you?”

“ _Yes_.”

“So, how can we fix this?”

Another long pause. This time, I rode it out until Mom finally spoke.

“…you could spank me as a reward.”

My eyes widened. This was a direction I hadn’t even _considered_. I’d been hoping she’d expect more extreme punishments. Pain that wouldn’t get her off; genuinely punishing acts.

I’d been expecting her to suggest the stick. That’s what I’d started to dream about.

Here’s the thing about achieving sexual fantasies: they stop being fantasies. Don’t get me wrong, my hand meeting my mother’s ass was still _amazing_ , but where just the idea of it would have been enough to have me shooting my load within minutes, now…

It had shifted my desires.

I’d started to have dark thoughts of tying my mother up, dripping hot wax onto her bare nipples, striking Mom’s ass with more than just my bare hand. For the last few days, I had been cumming with the image of Mom’s face, contorted in agony.

I wanted to hurt her.

I was getting hard just thinking about it.

But where I’d been expecting Mom to suggest the stick, it seemed she’d gone the other way. Spanking had become the carrot, and she didn’t want to give it up.

“Would you find that strange?”

“No,” Mom replied, much faster than I’d expected. “Getting spanked is a part of my diet routine. It’s not sexual.”

“Even though it makes you cum?”

“Yes.”

Even if her words hadn’t further confirmed my suspicions, the darkening of her cheeks would have.

“Do you like it when I spank you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you enjoy cumming when you feel my hand on your ass?”

“Yes.”

“Does it turn you on?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“It turns me on.”

“What does?”

“It turns me on when you spank me. It turns me on when your hand on my ass makes me cum.”

I wanted to hold Mom down on the bed and fuck her, right then and there, but I knew it wasn’t the time.

Not yet.

“So what do you propose?”

“On a day when I don’t cheat on my diet, you spank me as a reward.”

“And you won’t find this at all suspicious?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my son. It isn’t sexual. It’s to help me lose weight.”

* * *

During the week my mother had been enjoying being disciplined, Cynthia had followed my instructions and started wearing fewer clothes around the house.

Did I mention it had been the very best week of my life?

I knew that the trick to continued control over my sister was to reinforce her bizarrely-low self esteem, so whenever she entered the room, I’d always stop and stare, reenacting my reaction the first time I saw her in lingerie.

It wasn’t difficult—for the first few seconds of seeing her barely-clothed figure, it was like my brain switched off. There was just so _much_ of her, in a good way. Her tits were huge, her ass was so perfectly round, and her legs went on for weeks.

Feasting my eyes on my sister’s form would have been my absolute favorite thing in the world, if I hadn’t just discovered the joys of spanking my mother to orgasm.

Mom did her part too—whenever she was around Cynthia, she’d stare at her daughter, with what she probably thought was pride in her eyes.

That’s not how Cynthia saw it, of course.

“How does it make you feel when Mom stares at you?”

“Disgusting,” she said glumly. “Like an ugly hobbit. Like a fat, ugly hobbit.”

“Why?”

“Because why else would she stare at me? She must be so embarrassed, having a fatty like me for a daughter.”

It was hard not to laugh. Cynthia’s low self-esteem was almost cartoonish at times.

Instead, I nodded.

“You’re right,” I said earnestly. “In one of our sessions, Mom told me how disgusting she thinks you are.”

My sister didn’t respond.

“She thinks it’s embarrassing that you’re completely unable to lose weight. So do I.”

Nothing.

“What do you think when your brother looks at you?”

“It’s even worse,” she said with a sigh. “It’s like I’m a car accident, and he can’t look away.”

“What do you think he’s thinking?”

“He’s probably wondering if he should even keep helping me. It’s clearly not working.”

“What do you think you can do about that?”

“I don’t know,” Cynthia replied, a tear forming in her eye and slowly rolling down one cheek. Jesus. Maybe I was laying it on too thick. “I can’t think of a good way to thank him for helping me.”

“What have you come up with lately?”

“Nothing useful.”

“Tell me even the useless ideas.”

Cynthia kept staring straight ahead. She didn’t move in her seat, but I could tell that she wanted to squirm, to do anything to avoid answering the question.

But after a few minutes, like a good girl, she told me what I wanted to hear.

“Fucking him,” she replied. “Riding him, staring in his eyes, and thanking him for his help while he cums inside me.”

I raised my eyebrows as she continued with her list.

“Letting him fuck my ass, then licking his cock clean. Letting him cum on my face, then wearing it around the house. Wearing it around town.”

“Anything else?”

“Making out with another girl in front of him,” she said. Her cheeks were almost as red as Mom’s had been. “Going further with her than I want to. Doing stuff with her that I don’t want to do, just for him to watch.”

God. For a virgin, my sister was such a slut. Maybe these perverse thoughts ran in the family.

It seemed that cumming three times a day was having an effect on her, making her come up with dirtier and dirtier scenarios. I didn’t even have to do anything—I’d just wound her up, and now she was digging herself deeper into depravity.

“What do you think about when you masturbate, before you’re even going to cum?”

“Fucking boys,” my sister replied immediately. “Looking at their cocks. Sucking them. Letting them cum on my face.”

Nothing new there. I was just about to move on, when—to my surprise—she continued.

“Fucking my brother,” she said. The more sexual acts she described, the faster her breathing got. By this point, she was practically panting. “Sucking his dick. Letting him fuck my face. Letting him fuck my ass. And…”

I was surprised to find myself leaning forward. I don’t think I’d ever been so hard. My sister had moved her fantasies about me. They no longer only came into play when she was about to cum, when she _had_ to picture me. Now, she was using thoughts of me to turn herself on. To keep herself wet.

My cock was threatening to rip a hole in my pants.

“What?” I said, when the silence grew too long for me to bear.

“…I think about the look on his face when he stares at my body.”

My heart sank. Did she know how turned I was to look at her semi-naked form?

No. No, she’d told me—she thought I was disgusted by her. But that meant…

“You get turned on by how repulsive your brother finds you?”

“Yes,” Cynthia replied in a whisper. “Yes…”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her words spilling out so quickly, they were hard to understand. “It’s all getting mixed up in my brain. My diet, my brother, the hypnosis.”

Again, I could feel adrenaline filling my body. The last thing in the world I wanted was for Cynthia to get suspicious about the fact that I was hypnotizing her.

“What do you mean, the hypnosis?”

“I can’t work out how to thank my brother for hypnotizing me, for helping me lose weight,” my sister said. Her blush had spread across her entire body; I was tempted to pull the camera out and take a few snaps.

“So?”

“So that means he must be doing it out of…out of pity.”

“Okay…”

I wasn’t following. After a pause, Cynthia must have realized that.

“So I’m such a disgusting blob of lard, my brother feels sorry for me. He’s doing everything he can to help me, and it’s not working. I’m worthless.”

“And that turns you on?”

“…yes.”

Interesting.

* * *

“What about on days when you _do_ cheat on your diet?” I asked Mom.

That gave her pause. She clearly hadn’t considered it.

“I don’t get a spanking,” she eventually responded. Made sense, I guess.

But it wasn’t what I was looking for.

“Before I started helping you, you couldn’t stick to diets, could you?”

“No.”

“You were weak-willed, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So clearly, positive reinforcement wont be enough.”

Mom nodded. I had been prepared to prove that case a little more thoroughly, but it clearly wasn’t necessary; Mom was ready to believe almost anything I told her.

Good.

“Before you started enjoying them, the punishments were working, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“The problem was that they weren’t severe enough.”

Another nod.

“So on days when you stick to your diet, you’ll get rewarded. On days when you don’t, I’m going to punish you. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Any questions?”

“What sort of punishments.”

I grinned. I’d hoped Mom would ask that.

“You trust your son, don’t you?”

“Yes. More than anything.”

“Everything he’s doing is to help you lose weight, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You trust him absolutely to come up with the best possible punishments, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“If he suggests a punishment, you know for a fact that it’s the right thing to do, right?”

“…yes.”

“If he suggests it, it must be correct. Right?”

“…yes.”

She sounded reluctant, but she was still agreeing. I pressed on.

“He’s only here to help you lose weight, so if you disagree with a punishment, you’re standing in the way of progress.”

There was a long pause, followed by a single nod.

“So,” I concluded, “there’s no possible punishment that you would reject, is there?”

“…no,” my mother eventually responded. “I suppose not.”

“Say it.”

“There’s…there’s no possible punishment that I would reject.”

“Again.”

“There’s no possible punishment that I would reject.”

“You will accept any punishment I give you. Say it.”

“I will accept any punishment you give me.”

“Again.”

“I will accept any punishment you give me.”

“Again.”

I had my mother repeat it almost fifty times before I was eventually satisfied.

“So,” I said, “there’s no need to know what kind of punishment it will be, is there? Because no matter what it is, you’ll accept it. Right?”

“Yes,” my mother said firmly, and I woke her up with a smile.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 13

I spent the next few days excitedly waiting for my mother to screw up.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t going to be dumb about it. Like, “Let me cum inside your pussy” wasn’t on the list of potential suggestions—sure, she might have _agreed_ to accept any punishment, but I could be fairly confident that one would raise a few red flags.

But I’d been spending a lot of time on BDSM sites, and I had some ideas for painful punishments that I didn’t think would cross the line.

If Mom even _had_ a line any more.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what it felt like to punish my mother. Years ago, I’d read that everyone has a weird fetish, and you just might not have discovered yours yet. I guess I’d assumed mine was incest—this total obsession with my sister’s body.

Well, it turns out you can have more than one. Discipline and causing pain had been added to my list. They’d even started blending with my Oedipus complex.

Every day, I woke up excited to punish Mom. As well as my own enjoyment, I knew they’d also serve to slowly lower her exhibitions, shift her standards of what was acceptable to do with her son. I mean, more so than the daily orgasm I was giving her.

There was only one problem: Mom.

She wasn’t screwing up.

I’d thought she was being short-sighted when she hadn’t even considered what would happen on days when she _didn’t_ screw up. Turned out, she just knew herself better than I’d expected.

Since my Dad had died, Mom had neither had sex nor masturbated. Most pleasure from her life drained away, she’d turned to food—the burst of joy that a mouthful of calories brought her had been so powerful, she’d been able to resist.

Now, however, she was getting her joy elsewhere. From me.

From my hand on her ass.

Every evening, Mom was waiting until Cynthia went to bed, coming into my room, and blushingly telling me that she had stuck to her calorie limits. I believed her, too—Mom is many things, but she’s not a liar.

And as a reward, I’d lay her across my lap and spank her to orgasm.

The human mind is a funny thing. By giving Mom an absolute fixation on her weight, I’d been able to make her so pliable, so trusting, I’d been able to convince her to accept stuff you’d think was impossible.

Like that cumming by your son’s hand was not a sexual act.

This was just meant to be the first step—I’d planned to use it to move her towards more and more depraved acts. To eventually convince her that yeah, letting me cum inside her was not a sexual act.

But apparently the threat of not getting her daily orgasm was the incentive she’d needed for all these years. Mom had started counting calories obsessively, never even getting close to going over her daily quota.

It was impressive, to be honest…and I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

* * *

“I want you to do to me exactly what you’re doing to Mom.”

My cock rose at the idea, of course, but I hesitated. This could go in any number of different directions, and I knew caution was the best path forward.

“What do you mean?”

Cynthia had come into my room to made her demand.

“I mean whatever you’re doing to Mom, it’s working. I want you to do the same thing to me.”

I wanted to, of course. Like I said, ever since I started spanking Mom, it’s started worming its way into my fantasies. I still jerk off thinking about my sister, looking at her photos, but my thoughts had started to grow darker.

I don’t just imagine fucking her any more (though that fantasy is obviously still in the rotation). I imagine the stuff she’s talked about—making her wear my cum around the city, fucking her ass and having her lick it off.

Tying her up and whipping her.

“What do you think I’m doing to Mom?”

“I don’t know,” she responded immediately, throwing her hair back over her shoulder. “But whatever it is—I want in.”

Later that day, when Cynthia was hypnotized, I repeated the question.

“What do you think I’m doing to Mom?”

“I don’t know,” she said again, staring forward blankly.

“But what do you _think_ I’m doing?”

“Affirmations and diet,” Cynthia responded without hesitation. “I think you’re focusing more on her diet than you are with me.”

She was right, of course. My sister is a smart cookie. I’d avoided diet stuff with my sister, because the direction we’d been going had been _much_ more fun.

I sighed. Perhaps it was time to change that.

“Okay,” I said. “It’s time to start working on your diet.”

Cynthia never moved while she was under hypnosis, but I’d gotten good at reading her subtle non-movements. In that moment, she was practically glowing.

“I want you to start tracking your calories again,” I said. My sister had tracked calories before we started, but I’d made her stop, instead wanting her to rely entirely on me—not on external forces. “And if you fail…”

Again, that hesitation.

Like, it had _worked_ on Mom. I’d hardly had to do anything to make her agree to being spanked.

But something in my gut told me: Cynthia was different.

If nothing else, she’d _already_ started thinking about me in a sexual light. Convincing her that it was completely non-sexual for me to spank her…that was going to be an uphill battle.

A smile slowly spread across my face as I had what may be the greatest idea I’ve ever had.

“And if you fail,” I continued proudly, “Mom is going to spank you.”

* * *

“Will you help?”

“Of course,” my mother replied.

“Why?”

“Because it’s been so useful for me,” she said, a small smile appearing on her face. “I want to help my daughter in the same way.”

A thought struck me, something I’d never considered before.

“Do you think Cynthia is fat?”

“No,” Mom said, not even needing a moment to think it over. “Of course not.”

“So why do you want to help her lose weight?”

Now the pause arrived. There was a long silence as Mom pondered my question.

“Mom?”

“Sisterhood,” she eventually said.

I blinked twice, and shook my head.

Women. I don’t think I’d ever understand them.

“So when Cynthia explains that she’s broken her diet, what will you do?”

“I’ll lay her across my knees and I’ll spank her,” Mom answered.

“How hard?”

“As hard as you spank me.”

Just thinking about it was getting me hard.

“Do you think that will hurt her?”

Mom nodded.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course,” she responded, as though confused by the question. “Isn’t that the point?”

“I suppose it is,” I said with a grin.

When Cynthia broke her diet, I was going to have to make sure I was nearby.

I smiled at the thought, then took a deep breath.

Now that I’d gotten that out of the way, it was onto the main event.

I had a solution for the problem of Mom’s obedience.

“Are you a member of a gym?”

“No,” Mom said balefully.

“Why not?”

“I guess I never saw the point.”

“Don’t you want to lose weight?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t being a member of a gym help with that?”

“No,” Mom responded. “Not if you never go.”

I guess she had a point,.

“Why wouldn’t you go?”

“I don’t enjoy exercising.”

No, Mom. No one does. That’s not why we do it.

Well, after a few months of track, I’d started to understand what people meant by ’runners’ high’, but yeah. That still wasn’t why I did it.

“Why do I hypnotize you?”

“To help me lose weight.”

“Why do you need me to do it?”

“Because I can’t do it on my own.”

“You wouldn’t have kept to your calorie limits without my help, would you?”

“No.”

“So if I tell you to join a gym, what are you going to do?”

“Join a gym.”

“And if I tell you to start going regularly, what are you going to do?”

“Start going regularly.”

“And what should I do if you don’t?”

There was a brief pause. As soon as Mom realized I wasn’t going to let her off the hook without answering, she began to squirm in her seat.

“…punish me.”

“Exactly,” I said with a smile. “Now, let’s come up with a workout plan

* * *

Mom had never a regular gym-goer before, so she had no way of knowing—the fitness regime I’d set up with her was _impossible_.

Well, maybe not impossible. Like, I’m sure Arnold Schwarzenegger would have been able to manage it. As long as he wasn’t filming a movie or running for governer at the time.

But for a regular person, the list of classes I signed her up for (and the jogging I scheduled for her, for days when the gym was closed) was completely unreasonable.

And sure enough, it was less than twelve hours later when Mom shuffled into my room, a nervous look on her face.

“Hey Mom, what’s up?”

It was the time for our nightly spanking. I genuinely couldn’t tell you who looked forward to it more, me or her.

“I didn’t hit forty kilometers on the stationary bike,” she said, a dejected tone in her voice.

I’d used the metric system for all of her routines, to mask how challenging they were really going to be.

“Oh no,” I said, a stern look on my face. “That’s…disappointing.”

“Sorry,” she said, glancing at me shyly.

I didn’t say anything. Mom clearly had something she wanted to say, and I was curious to hear what it was.

“…but I stayed under my calorie limit. So…”

Except for when she was under, Mom _never_ used the S-word. I guess that being spanked to orgasm each night by her only son was enough for her; she didn’t want to _talk_ about it as well.

I couldn’t help but smile. Mom was worried that her punishment would be _not_ getting spanked.

I loved my life.

Honestly, it probably would have worked. After a decades-long drought, Mom had finally rejoined the land of the orgasmic, and I knew how desperately she didn’t want her nightly climax taken away from her. It motivated her to stick to her diet; it might have been enough to get her to stick to the impossible routine I’d given her.

But I wasn’t really here to help Mom lose weight.

I had my own motivations.

“You’ll get your reward as normal,” I smiled, my cock rising at the look of relief on Mom’s face. She was so desperate to be spanked. She needed it so much.

She needed _me_.

“But first, you’ll need to be punished for not sticking to the routine.”

Mom steeled herself up and nodded. I was almost…proud of her? Is that weird?

I mean, sure, the _last_ punishment had been turned into a reward. But still—she knew she’d done wrong, and she was prepared to take what was coming to her.

Despite the fact that she had no way of knowing what was coming to her.

I’d spent the last week on BDSM forums, soaking up as much knowledge as I could. Some of the suggested punishments had been interesting—kneeling on rice, or upward-facing bottle caps. Some of them I knew Mom wouldn’t go for, like ‘figging’ (inserting ginger into the genitals) or nipple clamps.

God, there was so much I wanted to do with my mother’s nipples. I couldn’t wait until we began exploring _that_ side of things.

But in the meantime, I knew where I wanted to start.

“Okay, Mom,” I said, trying to sound gentle-but-firm. “Kneel on the floor.”

Mom nodded, her eyes wide. One of the threads had suggested that if some of the other punishments weren’t severe enough, they could be done _while_ having her kneel on rice, but I figured we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.

“Hands behind your back.”

She obeyed, and I tied one cloth around her hands, another around her eyes. This wasn’t a vital part of the punishment—I just liked having Mom kneeling in front of me, bound and blindfolded.

“I’m going to take your shoes off now, okay?”

“Okay,” Mom said, the quiver in her voice betraying how nervous she was.

Or possibly aroused. It was too early to tell.

I took my mother’s shoes off, one by one, and placed them beside her. She wasn’t wearing socks underneath; I’m not really a foot person, but in that moment, they were the sexiest feet I’d ever seen.

In that moment, I probably would have found Mom’s ear-sweat erotic.

“Are you ready?” I asked, and Mom just nodded in response.

_Swish_. CRACK.

Mom gasped—a combination of shock and pain. I’d ordered an old TV antennae from the web; it was perfect for whipping the underside of Mom’s feet.

I’d spent a lot of time practicing in my room, waiting for this day.

_Swish_. CRACK.

Another gasp.

“Daniel!”

I grinned at Mom’s plea. When I spanked her, she was always quiet—except for soft moans and pants, and occasionally counting, she’d never cried out like this.

She’d certainly never cried out my name.

_Swish._ CRACK.

“Please!”

_Swish._ CRACK.

“Fuck!”

For some reason, that made me hardest of all. My Mom isn’t one to swear—it’s like hearing a teacher swear, you know? There’s just something so inherently _wrong_ about it.

_Swish._ CRACK.

_Swish._ CRACK.

_Swish._ CRACK.

“Daniel, please…”

I didn’t know if Mom was begging for me to stop or keep going, and I didn’t care.

_Swish._ CRACK.

“I can’t…—”

_Swish._ CRACK.

“You’ve got to…—”

_Swish._ CRACK.

“That’s ten,” I said, undoing my mother’s blindfold. She hadn’t moved; she was still kneeling in the exact same position as when we’d started.

“Are you ready for your reward?”

Mom’s big eyes were watering. I watched as she slowly blinked, causing a single tear to roll down her face.

After a long silence, she nodded. Without untying her hands, I helped her to her feet, then lay her across my lap.

“You did well today,” I said. I often said that to Mom, about her diet…but we both knew that wasn’t what I was referring to. Not today.

I lifted my hand, aware that Mom could feel my throbbing erection. Other than that one time under hypnosis, she’d never made reference to the fact that I was always hard when I spanked her.

For the next moments, we sat there—my hand raised, my hardness poking into Mom’s belly. I took a moment, enjoying what was happening; Mom squirming on my lap, hands tied behind her back, her bare feet presumably glowing with pain.

Was she squirming with anticipation, or arousal?

SMACK.

Typically, Mom reaches orgasm anywhere between the sixth and tenth stroke. On the rare occasion she hasn’t reached climax by the tenth, I’ll stop there, knowing that she’s going to be turned on all day.

That night, she came as soon as my hand hit her ass.

SMACK.

“Daniel,” she panted. “Oh, god…”

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

I liked it when my Mom came before I was done. It meant I got to spank her through the orgasm, watch her body twitch with pleasure as my hand rains down on her.

Clearly, her ‘punishment’ had worked her up.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

Mom never stopped shaking and gasping with pleasure as I spanked her. After the tenth blow landed, I sat there, once more letting the wonder that is my life soak in.

Maybe next time I’d try the rice.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 14

“How many times did you masturbate yesterday?”

“Three,” my sister answered softly.

“What did you think about when you came?”

“How I could please my brother.”

“Did you come up with anything new?”

There was a long pause. A slight pink tinge appeared on Cynthia’s face as she mentally relived the various fantasies that she’d unwillingly had the previous day.

“Yes,” she finally answered.

“What?”

“I could offer to be his slave.”

I perked up at that.

“What would that look like?”

“For twenty-four hours, he could…he could do whatever he liked with me.”

“Like what?”

“Like…anything.”

I grinned at the thought.

“What do you think your brother would do with you, if you were his slave for a day?”

“Nothing,” Cynthia said.

I raised one eyebrow.

“Nothing?”

“No,” Cynthia replied. ”I think that anything he wants, I already do.”

“Like what?”

“I do his chores.”

“You don’t think he’d want anything else from you?”

“No,” my sister said. “I don’t.”

* * *

After my Mom came down from her orgasm, things were…surprisingly cool.

She thanked me, like she does every night, and left the room as normal.

The next time I had her under, I asked her about it.

“Do you think the punishment worked?”

“Yes,” Mom said without hesitation. “That was the worst pain I’ve ever felt outside of childbirth.”

“Did it make you want to stick to your gym regime?”

“Yes,” Mom repeated. “Without a doubt.”

“Did it turn you on?”

There was a pause.

“No,” Mom eventually concluded.

Honestly, I don’t know what answer I was looking for. On one hand, knowing that my mother was a pain slut—and being the one to administer that pain—was _incredibly hot_.

On the other hand, I started to accept something I’d learned from the BDSM forums—that I was a sadist, and a sadist enjoys inflicting pain.

If the person you’re inflicting the pain on loves it, it’s not really pain, is it?

“If it didn’t turn you on, why do you think you achieved orgasm so fast?”

“I don’t know,” Mom admitted, after a long pause. “It was just…exciting.”

“Exciting?”

“Yes.”

“But not arousing?”

“No,” Mom said, and I decided to leave it at that.

* * *

“You don’t think your brother would do anything sexual with you, if you were his slave for a day?”

“No,” Cynthia responded. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s my brother. Plus, look at me.”

I did, happily.

“I’m disgusting.”

I narrowed my eyes. On one hand, the only reason Cynthia was okay with me hypnotizing her—and thinking about me while she came—was because from her point of view, I was doing this completely altruistically.

If I revealed my attraction to her, everything could collapse. I doubt she’d ever let me hypnotize her again, for one. But—just as importantly—if my sister’s self-worth improved, there went my ability to control her.

It was a hell of a conundrum.

My end goal, of course, was total domination. I wanted to own Cynthia—her mind, soul, and perfect body.

But to get there, I couldn’t even let her know I was interested.

I decided to set that aside for now.

“Have you been sticking to your calorie limit?”

“Yes.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You exist to help me lose weight. I want to lose weight more than anything else in the world. If I lie to you, I’m only hurting myself.”

Well, everything checked out. It seemed Cynthia really had been sticking to her calorie goal.

I was tempted to lower it, but I was nervous that she’d keep on sticking to it no matter how low I went—she really was obsessive about weight loss.

Considering how much she complained about dieting, my sister really did have impressive self-control.

My eyes lit up.

Self-control…

How deep did this hypnotically-induced self-control go?

I spent a moment rolling the idea around in my head. When I couldn’t find any obvious flaws, I began.

“How many times did you masturbate today?”

“Twice, so far,” my sister replied.

“How long did it take?”

“The first time took about twenty-five minutes. The second time took about forty.”

“What did you think about?”

The blush was back.

“Fucking my brother. Being his sex slave.”

“Did you come up with any good ideas on how to please him?”

“No.”

“How long have you been trying to come up with ideas now?”

“Weeks,” my sister said despondently.

“You still haven’t come up with anything, have you?”

“No.”

“At this point, it seems pretty unlikely that you will, right?”

“Right.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m stupid. Because I’m useless.”

My cock hardened at her self-deprecating words. I could have let Cynthia go on all day, but I was a man on a mission.

“So let’s try something new.”

My sister stared forward patiently, glassy-eyed.

“How long do you think your third orgasm of the day would take?”

“Forty minutes,” she said. “Maybe an hour.”

“Tonight, I want you to play with yourself as normal. I want you to think about everything you’d think about—sucking cock, touching cock. Your brother. Everything that you’ve been thinking about recently, I want you to think about while you play with yourself. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Tonight, I’m going to touch myself like I always do. I’m going to think about my brother, his cock, sucking it, touching it. I’m going to think about being his slave, about him cumming on my tits. I’m going to revisit all the fantasies I’ve been having lately as I pleasure myself.”

I nodded.

“When you find yourself getting close to cumming, you’re going to think about pleasing your brother. You’re going to try to brainstorm ways to please him, no matter how outrageous. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“When I find my climax approaching, I’m going to come up with ways to please my brother, no matter how wrong they are.”

“But you’re not allowed to cum.”

There was a long pause as I let my words sink in.

“Do you understand?”

“No.”

“You’re going to play with yourself, like you always do. You’re going to touch yourself as normal, and think about whatever you can to get yourself excited. When you feel your orgasm approaching, you’re going to start thinking about ways you could please your brother, but you’re not going to cum.”

Again, that lengthy silence.

“Do you understand?”

“…yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this.”

“The current system isn’t working,” I said. “Every time you cum, it’s like you’re rewarding yourself for not coming up with an idea. Right?”

“…I guess.”

“You’ve been doing this for weeks now, and it’s just been reinforcing the same thing, over and over again. We need to break the cycle—if you’re going to come up with a good idea, it’s going to be through doing something new. Does that make sense?”

“…yes.”

“Masturbate tonight, but don’t cum. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to touch myself like I always do, but…I’m not going to cum at the end of it.”

“To be safe, keep playing with yourself as always, but don’t cum until you’re next hypnotized, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep on touching myself like I always do, but I’m not going to cum until the next time you hypnotize me.”

“Any questions?”

Silence.

“Cynthia?”

“No,” she eventually responded, a thoughtful tone in her voice. “No questions.”

* * *

To my surprise, Mom stuck with her gym routine that night. And the next night, too.

I spanked her as normal, but…god. Remember what I was saying about your wildest fantasies becoming routine? Feeling my mother cum under my hand was great, but compared to making her cry in pain, it was like pasta without sauce.

Like, yeah, still better than nothing, but you really fucking miss the sauce.

Then, the third night, the baleful look was back. “I only went to the gym once today,” she said. “Spin class. I didn’t go to the second workout.”

I shook my head, trying desperately to hide my glee, trying to take on a disappointed demeanor.

“Well,” I said with a sigh. “You know what that means.”

“I know,” Mom said, kneeling.

I had decided against the rice. Last time had been so good—maybe after whipping Mom’s feet a few more times, I’d feel the need to increase the severity of the punishment, but for now I was pretty happy with how things had gone.

Besides, as I’d learned—there was no unringing that bell. I didn’t want ‘whipping Mom’s feet’ to feel tame. Not yet.

It went much the same way as last time. Mom was unable to stop herself crying out—my name, vague pleas for mercy. And then, when I was done, she came on the first stroke to her ample buttocks, just as before.

There was one difference, though; unlike normal, she didn’t leave as soon as her punishment was done.

After she came down from her orgasm, my mother didn’t scamper off to her room.

Instead, she stuck around, and started asking me about school, my friends.

I frankly wasn’t sure what to do at first. Like, before I’d started hypnotizing her, it wasn’t like Mom and I spent a huge amount of time together.

It wasn’t like we hated each other, but like…she was twenty years older than me. What did we have in common, y’know?

I answered her questions, but more just kept on coming, and after about fifteen minutes, it became obvious that she wasn’t leaving.

It was probably another ten minutes of awkward conversation before I realized what must have been happening.

My time on the BDSM forums had taught me a whole bunch of terms that I’d never encountered before. Pain slut, figging, munches.

Aftercare.

See, BDSM—hurting someone, or dominating them—is a really intense, emotional process. Like, it often brings up a lot of stuff for people, and the general rule of thumb is that you don’t just hit and split, y’know?

‘Aftercare’ is the term for…well, it’s pretty self-explanatory. Caring for them afterwards.

Whipping Mom’s feet, spanking her to orgasm, and then just turfing her…it was probably fucking with her head. I doubt she’s up to speed on modern BDSM parlance, but I’d bet that was what was happening—she was feeling that disconnect, that vacuum after we were done.

I know I’m a terrible person. I’ve spent the last few months messing with my sister’s head, my mother’s. I’ve been reinforcing their low self-esteem, reprogramming them to my whim.

But I still love ’em, y’know?

And so once it dawned on me what Mom was doing, I asked her if she wanted to cuddle.

I swear, I’ve never seen my mother move so fast. She came and joined me on the bed, and we spent the next half hour chatting, Mom curled up in my arms while I played with her hair.

It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t even romantic. It was just…nice.

And after a while, it was like I could _feel_ her relax. Shortly after that, she made her standard excuse and went back to her room, finally allowing me to tend to my erection.

* * *

The next morning, I entered Cynthia’s room for our usual session.

For the past few days, I’d been watching her closely, but I hadn’t been able to spot any difference at all. She still stiffened when I saw her, dressed in nothing but lingerie and heels. To her mind, my gaze was one of disgust.

I had been hoping that I’d be able to see a wet spot on her panties, or an indication that she was thrumming with lust. She’d already mentioned that she was having trouble spending time around me without thinking of me in a sexual light; I guess I’d wanted to see an extension of that.

Nope. Nada.

Just my normal, self-conscious, hotter-than-hell sister.

To make it worse, she hadn’t even cheated on her diet yet. Jesus; for all their complaining about how hard it was to lose weight, her and Mom really did have incredible self-control.

Or maybe my hypnosis really had been helping. The idea made me chuckle—I’d set out to bend their will to mine, and somehow increased their willpower in the process.

Cynthia sat on my bed, and as soon as she was under, it happened.

Her eyes widened, her skin flushed, her mouth dropped open, and she let out a long series of slow, guttural moans.

“Oh. Ohhhh. _Ohhhh_. Ohhhh. Ohhhh! OHHHH! Ohhhhh...ohhh…ohhh.”

I sat there, stunned, unable to move. What the hell was happening??

After about a minute, her grunting ceased, and she sat there, staring forward blanking.

“Uh…Cynthia?”

“Yes.”

“…are you okay?”

“Yes. I am now.”

“What just _happened_?”

“I came.”

My eyebrows shot up, and my dick immediately hardened.

Holy shit. I’d just…I’d just watched my sister cum.

How the fuck had _that_ happened?

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 15

“Cynthia?”

“Mmm?”

“When was the last time you orgasmed?”

“Just now.”

“Right. Yes. Before that?”

“A few days ago.”

I sat back, perplexed. Apparently my sister had followed my instructions. When I hadn’t seen any differences, a part of me had wondered if she’d just…failed. Like, if you’re masturbating for two hours each day, you’re _probably_ going to cum, even if you agree not to while hypnotized.

Nope. Cynthia had done exactly as she’d been told.

I was once more impressed by my sister’s level of self-control.

But…what had caused _that_?

There was an easy way to find out.

“Why did you just cum?”

“You told me to.”

I blinked twice. I certainly had not.

“When?”

“Last time.”

“…what?”

“The last time you hypnotized me, you told me not to cum until you put me under next.”

It took me a moment to put all the pieces together. When I did, I sat back, relief rushing through my body.

Don’t get me wrong—watching my sister cum had been, hands-down, one of the hottest experiences of my life. Spanking Mom to orgasm after whipping her to tears probably out-ranked it, but…jesus. Her face. The groaning sounds. The blank look on her face.

Cynthia, for whatever reason, refuses to move when she’s hypnotized. I could tell her to do cartwheels; no matter how much she _wanted_ to obey, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t move a muscle when she was under.

But apparently that wasn’t entirely true.

I don’t know _exactly_ how it works, but I’m pretty sure at least a few muscles are involved in the female orgasm.

“If I told you to cum, right now, would you?”

No answer. I tried to wait out the silence, but it was clear that this was a question that my sister simply wasn’t going to answer.

Was it because she didn’t know, or because she didn’t want to tell me, or…?

Telling her to cum—commanding it, seeing what happened. You’d better believe that was tempting.

But things had crossed some kind of threshold, and this wasn’t a video game. There were no save points; if I fucked this up, that was the end. Game over.

If Cynthia woke up and worked out what I’d been up to, I was finished.

Not just with my sister, either—probably with Mom, too. Hell, if the police got involved…my life as I knew it could be over.

So yeah, I was a little panicked when Cynthia sat down and immediately came, completely unprovoked. Completely unexpectedly.

I don’t like unexpected, especially when it pertains to my sister’s hypnosis.

“Tell me about the last few days,” I said, holding up one hand when Cynthia began prattling off the mundanities of her day-to-day life.

“No,” I clarified. “Sorry. Tell me about the last few days of masturbation. How’s that been going?”

Over the next few minutes, I sat transfixed as Cynthia told me what she’d been up to. Every day, she was masturbating. She was thinking of the sexiest, lustiest things that she could, and then—just as she was reaching orgasm—she’d swap over and start thinking about how she could please me.

I mentioned that I’d learned a few terms from BDSM sites. Well, I was surprised to learn a new term from my sister.

‘Edging’.

“It’s when you get right up to the edge of orgasm then back away,” she said. Honestly, I think I’d seen the term on the sites, but it had always referred to male subs, so I’d never bothered learning anything more about it. “It keeps you stimulated, keeps you horny, but it doesn’t let you cum. I’ve been using it to keep myself turned on without cumming.”

“How many times have you edged since our last session?” I asked, my eyebrows shooting up when Cynthia gave me an answer. “Wait. Really?”

“It’s hard to keep count exactly,” Cynthia said. “But yeah.”

I had to make sure I’d heard her correctly, so I asked her to repeat the answer.

“About fifty or sixty times. Maybe more.”

Wow. No wonder she’d exploded as soon as she went under—she must have been ready to burst for days.

“When you weren’t masturbating, how did you feel?”

“Sore,” she said, after a moment to think. “Throbby.”

“Sore?”

“Yeah. It’s like blue balls, but for women. My body wanted to cum, but I knew I wasn’t allowed to.”

_Wasn’t allowed to._ My dick literally couldn’t have been any harder.

“Throbby?”

“Yeah,” Cynthia said. “Tense. Like I was a kettle that had boiled over, but no one had turned me off.”

“Did it feel good?”

Cynthia spent a long while pondering the question before answering.

“Yes and no,” she eventually responded. “It’s not as good as an orgasm, but there’s something nice about being all built up like that. It’s like having a pimple that you _know_ you’re going to pop. It’s not fun to have, but the anticipation is nice.”

I was about to ask another follow-up question when a thought hit me, and made my blood ran cold.

“When you sat down for this session, did you know you were going to cum?”

“No,” Cynthia said. “You told me not to consciously remember what happens during these sessions, so I don’t.”

“So why did you think you hadn’t let yourself cum in so long?”

“You told me it was because orgasms were like little rewards.”

“Yeah…” I asked, not following. “So?”

“So I figured it was a punishment.”

“And you weren’t suspicious that your brother was giving you punishments?”

“No. I figured it was a punishment I’d given myself.”

A grin slowly spread across my face.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t deserve to cum. I needed to be punished.”

“Why did you need to be punished?”

“Because I haven’t been able to think of a way to please my brother. Because I haven’t been losing weight.”

The grin faded from my face as a thought hit me.

“When we finish today,” I asked slowly, “are you going to be able to tell that you’ve cum?”

“Yes,” my sister replied. “Straight away.”

I slumped back in the chair.

Bad news.

I’d never really put too much thought into why Cynthia _thought_ she was obeying my instructions. In retrospect, that was pretty dumb—one poorly-phrased command, and the whole thing could have blown up in my face.

Fortunately, my sister’s mind seemed to be able to twist her actions for me. I have no idea how she justified getting off three times a day, thinking about me as she did, but it had worked, so I didn’t really want to mess with it.

Similarly, she’d come up with a fairly sound reason to prevent herself from cumming. Sound to her, anyway—it tied directly into her low-self esteem, which was really my sister’s main driving force.

But this…

Something told me that going several days without cumming, then knowing that she came while she was hypnotized, while she was under my command…

That was going to be a problem.

“What will you think happened?”

For the second time in one day, my sister started twitching. Unlike the earlier convulsions, however, these clearly weren’t orgasmic.

These were something far worse.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Stop! Uh, uh…what foods are you relying on to prevent yourself going over your calorie limits?”

My sister’s twitching stopped, and she began reciting a list of filling, low-calorie food items. Oatmeal. Yoghurt. Legumes. All that jazz.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

I’d read about this. You ask someone the wrong question, their mind can’t handle it. Contradictions collide, they start to freak out.

They wake up.

They wake up, and they know _everything_.

I’d managed to avoid it with both my test subjects so far, by being very very careful. I’d never asked Mom, like, “Do you think your son is turned on by causing you pain?”—it would lead her down a train of thought that I was working hard to avoid, and would probably make her twitch and wake up.

As Cynthia told me about how surprisingly calorie-light sweet potato was, I ran my hand through my hair.

Okay.

Okay.

I had a problem.

My sister had gone three days without cumming. She’d edged and edged and edged, and when she woke up, she’d know that she’d found relief.

Problem.

And worst of all, I couldn’t wake her up. If I woke her up, she’d know.

She’d _know_.

Hell, she might know everything. She might know that I’d been taking photos of her while she was under, that I had been encouraging her to masturbate while thinking about pleasing me.

But at the very, very least, she’d know that she’d cum while I had her under, and that was bad enough.

Fuck.

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

My first instinct was to ask my sister for help, but I’d just seem what happened if I went down that path. No, I needed to work this out on my own.

If she woke up thinking that she’d cum while she was hypnotized, that would be bad. Duh.

So I needed to convince her that she hadn’t cum.

She’d said she’d know because of how it felt, how ‘throbby’ she’d been before going under.

So I needed to make her feel throbby again.

“I want you to play with yourself,” I said abruptly. Sure, Cynthia didn’t normally move while under hypnosis, but maybe this would be an exception. Her orgasm had been, after all.

Nothing.

“I want you to get turned on,” I said, leaning forward and watching her closely. Her large blue eyes were staring blankly, her tits were heaving as she breathed in and out.

One of my favorite things about hypnotizing my sister was the unrestricted view of her body that I got. On that day, she was wearing dark blue stockings, black panties, and a matching bra. I couldn’t see her nipples (even an outline) through the thick pads of the bra, but I would have bet anything that they were hard.

Her long blonde hair framed her face beautifully. Her lips were soft, pink, and looked like they were built to wrap around a cock. My cock. Her stomach had that pleasant bulge that all curvy chicks have—it was far from fat, but it wasn’t like she had a six-pack. It was just soft and curvaceous, like the rest of her.

Checking out my sister was one of my favorite things in the world. I couldn’t lose it.

I couldn’t.

“Get turned on,” I repeated. “That’s an order.”

My eyes wandered down to the black panties she was wearing. It burned me up inside to know that just underneath that thin piece of cloth was my sister’s glorious bare pussy. We’d never discussed the specifics of whether or not she shaved, but I’d never seen hairs poking out the side—either she was naturally sparse down there, or she shaved.

I couldn’t wait to find out.

As I watched, however, it became clear that the command wasn’t working. And even if it did, even if I got her turned on by talking dirty, or getting her to talk dirty to me…it wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t match days of edging herself, of playing with herself until she was on the cusp of orgasm and then forcing herself to stop.

Unless…

“When did you first start feeling throbby?”

“The first time I masturbated without cumming.”

“And was it very different to how you felt before I hypnotized you today?”

There was a pause as Cynthia considered my question.

“Not _very_ different,” she finally answered. “Just more intense.”

I took a deep breath. My next question was a risky one, but much less risky than letting her wake up, knowing everything.

“If you woke up today and you knew you’d cum, you wouldn’t let me hypnotize you again, would you?”

My sister immediately began to twitch, but I continued before she could get too far along.

“Answer me with a yes or no. Now.”

“No,” she said, the twitches subsiding.

“If I stop hypnotizing you, you’ll have no chance of losing weight, will you?”

“No.”

“It’s vital that you don’t know that you’ve cum when you wake up, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Cynthia,” I said, my heart pounding as I stared into her deep blue eyes. “There’s only one way that we can continue your sessions. As your trainer, there’s something I have to do so that I can keep hypnotizing you.”

My sister didn’t move a muscle, but I could all but feel her wanting to lean forward, desperately anticipating my next words.

“I need to touch you.”

* * *

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	Chapter 16

“Do you understand why?”

“…yes.” my sister reluctantly answered. “Yes.”

“Tell me why.”

“If I wake up right now, I’ll know that I’ve cum. If I know that I’ve cum, I won’t let you hypnotize me again. If I don’t let you hypnotize me again, I won’t be able to lose weight.”

Her voice trembled slightly, but I think it was out of fear. Cynthia had _started_ with a near-pathological obsession with losing weight, and my efforts had heightened it even further.

Mom’s weight-gain had largened her breasts, but they were still smaller than my sister’s. Her obsession was probably the same way—no matter what I did to enhance it, it could never reach the level of Cynthia’s.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Yes,” my sister said, blood rushing to her face.

In an instant, I was overcome with a feeling of relief. This was my way out—my way of correcting the dumb mistake that I’d made.

Then, just as quickly, it struck me.

I was going to touch my sister.

My hand was going to move between my sister’s legs, and I was…I was going to masturbate her.

The thing I’d been dreaming of for so long—it turned out I’d been even closer than I thought.

It was really happening.

“Cynthia,” I said, a huge shit-eating grin on my face. “I’m going to touch you.”

She didn’t reply, but I could see her breathing quicken.

“Is there a particular way that you touch yourself?”

My sister hesitated, and I quickly justified my question.

“As your trainer, it’s important that I know everything about your body. And if I’m going to do this, I need to do it as well as I possibly can.”

“Yes,” she breathily responded, after another brief pause. “I rub my clit.”

Oh, yeah—she’d told me this in one of our early sessions.

Your hot sister tells you how she masturbates. Not something you’d expect to forget, right?

“You normally play with your nipples first, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied, all but panting.

“I should play with your nipples then, shouldn’t I?”

I held my breath, hoping for a quick affirmative, but to my alarm she started twitching.

“Stop!” I shouted, panicked. I was _so close_ —I couldn’t have this snatched away from me. Not now. Not when I was _so close_. “I, uh, don’t need to do that. I can just touch you between your legs.”

“Okay,” Cynthia responded, and the twitching stopped.

“Should I go under your panties?”

“No,” she answered, faster than I would have liked. “I’m already very turned on—touching me over the top should be fine.”

I nodded. I wasn’t there—not yet—but I was closer than I’d ever been.

“I’m going to touch you now,” I said. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” my sister responded, her face burning red.

“I want you to tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable, or if I go too far. Okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

“And I want you to tell me what you like. What you want me to do more of. Okay?”

“Yes,” she said. If she wasn’t under, I guarantee she would have buried her head in her hands by now.

“I’m going to spread your legs now, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, god…”

“Only what you’re comfortable with,” I replied quickly. Cynthia waking up was always going to be bad, but waking up with my hand between her legs? I couldn’t imagine a worse possible scenario. “Remember, I’m your trainer. I need to know where you’re at, so I can help you lose weight more efficiently.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding immediately calmer. One-track mind, my sister. “I’m worried that you’re going to touch my legs and think that they’re gross. I’m worried that you’re going to be repulsed by my skin. I’m worried that…”

She trailed off. As she was speaking, I moved one hand onto each of her knees.

“I’m not grossed out by your legs,” I said soothingly. “I’m completely neutral, remember? I’m your completely neutral trainer.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“Tell me what else you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried that…I’m going to enjoy it. I’ve never been touched by a boy before, and I’m worried that I’m going to like it too much.”

“Are you worried that you’re a slut?” I said, slowly sliding my hands up my sister’s legs.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m worried that I’m a slut,” Cynthia said, her voice half a sigh of pleasure, half a whine. “I’m worried that I’m a slut who is going to enjoy my brother’s touch.”

“Are you enjoying it so far?”

“Yes…” she panted.

I swear, if I hadn’t jerked off that morning, I would have cum in my pants right then and there.

“I’m going to touch the outside of your panties now, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” she mumbled. “I mean, um…yes.”

God. I didn’t think my cock could _get_ any harder, but the slip-of-the-tongue ‘sir’?

It took all my self-control not to pull it out and fuck my sister on her bed then and there.

“Tell me what else you’re thinking,” I ordered, unable to help myself.

“I’m telling myself that you’re my trainer,” she panted. “You’re my trainer. You’re my trainer.”

My hands were now up against the black lace of my sister panties. I could feel the heat of her cunt. Her pussy.

I could feel my sister’s hot pussy, radiating heat.

For me.

“Why are you telling yourself that?” I asked. Kneeling at the end of the bed, I could smell my sister’s pussy.

I could smell my sister’s arousal.

“Because,” she gasped, as my first digit gently pressed down on the gusset of her panties. “You’re my trainer. You’re my trainer. And that means…oh, god.” A second finger joined the first. “…that means you’re not my _brother_.”

As she said ‘brother’, her entire body twitched. I almost yelped in shock—my sister, who couldn’t voluntarily move a muscle when she was hypnotized, _twitched_.

I did that.

I made her twitch.

My fingers made my sister twitch with arousal.

“Tell me where your clit is,” I said. Changing the subject was the last thing I wanted to do, but…well, she was wearing panties, and I wasn’t exactly experienced in this area.

“Up,” she gasped. “Yes. Yes, right there. Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. Yesssss…”

“Remember, you can’t cum. Promise me you won’t cum.”

“I won’t cum. I won’t cum. Oh god fuck me fuck me fuck me I won’t cum.”

Maybe it’s just that every male instinctively knows how to handle a woman’s parts, or maybe it’s the hours and hours of internet research I’d done, dreaming of this moment, but it was clear that my fingers were doing a good job.

“Tell me why it’s important that I’m not your brother,” I said, my fingers gently increasing the pleasure on her clit, exactly the way she’d described her masturbation technique to me.

By this point, Cynthia’s words were starting to get slurred. She sounded drunk.

Lust-drunk.

“You’re not my brother,” she moaned, my fingers working their magic through the black lace of her now soaking wet panties. “Can’t be my brother. Brother wouldn’t do this.”

“Why wouldn’t your brother do this?”

“Brother’s not a perv. Not a perv. Not like me.”

Oh, sis. If only you knew.

“Tell me when you’re about to cum,” I ordered. “I’ll back off, so you can edge.”

“Yessir,” she gasped. “Please…”

“Please what?”

“Please, don’t stop.”

I raised one eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“Wanna cum. Please. Wanna cum so bad.”

“You already came, remember?”

“More,” she begged. “Please. Please…”

“No,” I said, a cruel smile appearing on my face. “No—you’ll cum when I tell you to. And I’m telling you that you can’t.”

“Gonna cum,” she said quickly, her eyes watering. I could tell that she wanted nothing more than to close them, to lose herself in the moment.

But my sister, I was learning, was a very obedient young lady, and as soon as I heard her warning, I pulled my fingers back.

I spent the next thirty seconds watching my horny, gorgeous twitch and writhe on her bed, knowing that I’d done that. I’d done that to her—I’d turned her on, brought her to the brink of orgasm. Touched her until she was begging me to let her cum.

I’d done that.

Until then, spanking my mother to orgasm was the greatest feeling of sexual power I’d ever felt, but ho-ly shit, it paled in comparison to _almost_ making my sister cum. I drank it in—the sight, the smell, the tingling feeling on my fingers—and then, when she’d calmed down, I did it again.

And again, and again, and again.

I could happily have spent the rest of my life edging my sister, enjoying her increasingly flustered pleading, the way every inch of her exposed skin got red and sweaty. I’d never understood how people could find sweat sexy before, but watching Cynthia perspire—knowing that _I_ was doing that to her…

Holy shit.

“Beg,” I told her, pinching her clit lightly through her black panties. “Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please,” she mumbled, barely able to speak. “Please, Danny, please. Please let me cum. Please.”

“Tell me you’ll do anything.”

“Yesss,” she groaned. “Let me cum please I’ll do anything I’ll do anything you want.”

“Tell me why you want to cum.”

“Need it. Please. Need to cum. Need to cum so bad.”

“No,” I said, and grinned like Satan himself as she let out a long, frustrated moan.

Eventually, I knew we had to stop.

“Are you feeling throbby?” I asked, and Cynthia groaned that she was. “When I wake you up, are you going to feel like you did when I put you under?”

“Yes,” she panted. “Maybe even moreso.”

I’d managed to replicate several days of edging with a single half-hour session.

Not gonna lie; I was feeling pretty proud of myself.

“When you wake up, I don’t want you to consciously remember the orgasm you had. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she slurred in response. “Won’t ‘member orgasm.”

“But subconsciously, you will. Subconsciously, you’ll remember that getting hypnotized made you cum. From now on, you’re going to associate pleasure with me putting you under. Any fear or nervousness or worry that you ever have about being hypnotized—it’ll be replaced by this feeling, by the knowledge that being put under is pleasurable. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“One last thing—you’re not going to cum again until I explicitly tell you to. Say that back to me.”

“I won’t have an orgasm until you say I can.”

“Excellent,” I smiled, and woke her up.

* * *

“Did you enjoy your reward last night?”

“Yes,” Mom replied, her eyes staring blankly. “Very much.”

“What about your punishment? Did you enjoy that?”

“No,” she responded after a moment. “Of course not.”

I sat back, a gleam in my eye.

You know the story of the goose who laid golden eggs? A farmer has a goose that—and this may shock you—lays golden eggs. Every day, he gets a new golden egg, but he…I dunno, gets a bunch of credit cards or something, and goes into a bunch of debt. He could pay it back slowly with the daily egg, but he decides to speed up the process, and slaughters the goose.

I’m not really sure what he was expecting to find—surely farmers have killed geese before, and learned that they’re not just packed full of like a billion eggs. Anyway, he instead of a stash of secret goose-gold, he doesn’t find anything. And since he just killed his provider of golden eggs, he doesn’t have any way to pay off his credit cards. I think the story ends with them repossessing his farm or whatever.

The point is that if you’ve got a good thing going, don’t mess it up because of greed.

As a kid, that always seemed really obvious to me—like, a golden egg _each and every day_ is a pretty fucking good deal. Don’t fuck it up, farmer. Duh.

But as things were progressing with my sister and mother, I suddenly found myself empathizing for the first time with the farmer.

I could have safely continued the way things were going, spanking my mother to orgasm, rubbing my sister’s clit every time I put her under.

But, like the dumbass farmer…I wanted more.

More, more, more. Always more.

After jerking off a million times, I’d done some internet research. “Orgasm denial” was a pretty common fetish, especially within the kink community.

I added it to the list of things I was apparently into.

“You came much faster after your punishment,” I said.

Mom twitched, and for a moment, I could see it—goose guts everywhere, the end of the eggs.

But like the greedy farmer, I couldn’t help myself.

And so I waited, and after a few more seconds of twitching, she answered.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” she answered.

“But why do you _think_ that is?”

This time, she thought for a bit longer before answering.

“The stimulation,” she said. “It…heightens everything.”

“But you didn’t enjoy it?”

“No,” she said, and there it was again. The hesitation.

“I think you do enjoy it,” I posited. “I think you enjoy it, and you feel guilty about that because you know it’s meant to be a punishment.”

“I don’t enjoy it,” Mom said, a pleading tone to her voice. “I swear.”

“If I never did it again, would you be disappointed?”

After a long while, Mom sighed.

“…yes.”

“Then it’s not a punishment. I’m going to have to come up with something else for a punishment, aren’t I?”

“…yes.”

I smiled. The goose was still alive, and the eggs were getting bigger than ever.


	Chapter 17

“What kind of punishment do you think would be a good replacement?”

My mother was sitting in front of me, glassy-eyed, discussing ways that I could punish her. Every night, she came into my room and let me spank her until she climaxed. My sister had just let me rub her through the panties, bringing her to the edge of orgasm again and again and again.

It was hard to imagine my life could be any better, but I knew it could.

Could, and would.

“I don’t know,” Mom replied immediately. “I thought whipping my feet was very effective.”

“Why?”

“I don’t look forward to it. It makes me work harder to stick to my routine.”

“But it hasn’t worked, has it?”

Mom shook her head, and I deliberately failed to mention the fact that her schedule was actually impossible to stick to.

“So it’s not a good punishment.” A thought struck me. “Do you think it would work better as a reward?”

“No,” Mom said immediately.

I love my mother, but it’s hard to deny that she’s a very simple creature. Watching her develop this complex relationship with BDSM punishments was fascinating, to say the least.

Fascinating, and hot as hell.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, trying to act like I’d come up with this on the spot, like I hadn’t spent the entire session building up to the idea I was about to propose. “Do you remember how I told you that orgasms during rewards are good, because they reinforce good patterns of behavior?”

Mom nodded.

“On days when you don’t get punished, you’re going to be whipped as normal. And on top of that, you’re not going to be allowed to cum.”

Mom’s eyes widened as she processed what I said.

“Do you understand?”

“I…I…”

I watched her closely, but my mother showed no signs of twitching, nothing alarming. It looked like she was simply processing the new information.

“Do you understand?” I repeated, after about a minute had passed.

“…yes.”

“Tell me what’s going to happen.”

“On days when I don’t stick to my schedule, you’re going to whip my feet. Then, on top of that…I’m not allowed to cum.”

“Exactly,” I said with a smile. “Good girl.”

My cock ached at the sight of Mom’s smiling face as I woke her up.

* * *

The next time I put my sister under, she didn’t cum.

A part of me was disappointed, of course. If my sister had cum, I would have been forced to touch her again. Maybe I could have pushed things further, touched her breasts, touched her under the panties.

But she didn’t cum, and so I stuck to the plan.

The plan that would allow me to do so, so much more.

“How do you feel?”

“Throbby.”

Cynthia’s voice was thick with lust. I guess when she was under, she didn’t feel a need to hide her arousal from me.

After last time, after learning that my sister had spent the past few days almost bursting with arousal, I’d kept a lookout for it.

It wasn’t easy—my sister was way better at hiding it than I’d expected—but I could definitely see hints of how turned on she was. You know how people walk differently when they desperately need to go to the toilet? It was sort of like a must more subtle version of that.

Her walk was different, for sure. And she was more…I dunno, _heightened_ , to use Mom’s word. It was almost pornish, in a sense. Whenever she made those little noises that people always make—a grunt when you stand up, a small whine when you drop something—there was a, like, sexual bent to it.

Or maybe I was just imagining it.

Either way, when Cynthia admitted to feeling throbby, it felt good. It felt like I wasn’t crazy.

“Good girl,” I said, and there it was again. This like, _hint_ of a moan. Like when someone starts talking, and then cuts themself off. It was so subtle, maybe I imagined it…

But I don’t think I did.

“Did you stick to your calorie limit today?”

“Yessir.”

Fuck. She was so turned on, she was calling me ‘sir’, and not even correcting herself.

Amazing.

“What about yesterday? Did you stick to your calorie limit then?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever exceeded your calorie limit?”

“No.”

“Good girl.”

There it was again. Like a soft ‘mf’—the sound of pleasure, immediately stifled. My sister, I was reasonably sure, was a true submissive. The forums talked about this—most people do BDSM for fun, for the physical aspect, or like you’d have a hobby.

It’s not all like the film Secretary. Apparently a lot of powerful women—and men, for that matter—will go through their day, being dominant in their CEO jobs or whatever, and then come home and be submissive for an hour or three.

It’s a fun way to spend time, not a lifestyle, y’know?

And then there were full-time subs. True submissives. People who wanted every aspect of their life controlled by a master. People who wanted to be obedient full-time.

Maybe my sister was like that.

Or if she wasn’t, maybe she would be.

“Have you come up with any better ideas for how you can thank your brother?”

“No.”

I swear, my sister could have gotten a job as a phone sex operator. Her aroused rendition of the single-syllable, two-letter word…I bet a lot of people would have paid good money to hear just that one word.

“What ideas have you come up with?”

“Nothing good.”

“Any bad ideas?”

“Yes,” my sister groaned. “So many.”

“Tell me,” I ordered. “Tell me all the bad ideas.”

I cut her off after just ten minutes. Don’t get me wrong—I could have spent all day listening to my sister’s dark ideas, enjoying the sound of her plumbing the depths of depravity. Two more days of edging had started to really get to her, it seemed; her suggestions were more extreme, more hot than ever before.

“Have him write ‘whore’ on every inch of my unexposed skin” was my favorite, I think. I could imagine Cynthia walking around, soaking wet at the knowledge that she was literally covered with degrading words.

But I had more to do today than just listen to my sister talk dirty.

“You think begging him to cum on your lips is a bad idea?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I have no idea why cumming on specifically Cynthia’s _lips_ was so hot to me, but her suggestion had stuck in my memory, and it was a useful segue to what I wanted to try next.

“Maybe it isn’t.”

My sister was silent. God, she was so turned on, so mixed up—if her trainer Danny had told her to do it, maybe she would have.

But sex slaves aren’t built on ‘maybes’.

“Not the cumming on your lips part, but the begging. Your brother is a man, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Cynthia moaned.

“Men are naturally dominant, aren’t they?”

I’d expected a pause there, to be honest. My sister isn’t a, like, die-hard feminist, but it wasn’t like she was going around trying to bring The Handmaid’s Tale into fruition.

“Yes,” she responded without hesitation. I don’t know if she truly believed it, or if the idea had just been such a prevalent part of her fantasies lately that she’d temporarily accepted it as reality, as the way the world was.

“Women are naturally submissive, aren’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So if you want to please your brother,”—there it was again, that delightful half moan—“you could make him feel dominant. Powerful. In control.”

“Yes…”

I’ve got to tell you, it was god damned tempting to take this to its logical extreme. My sister was so worked up, there was a pretty good chance I could have said “Suck his cock” right then and there, and she would have gone along with it.

But if there’s one thing that running has taught me, it’s to pace myself. This wasn’t a hundred-meter dash, it was a marathon.

And there was more than a trophy on the line here. I was competing to earn a reward I’d get to reap for the rest of my life.

“How could you make him feel dominant?”

My sister’s eyes fluttered in response. For a moment, I thought she was waking up. Then I realized…

She was getting off.

“Don’t cum,” I reminded her, and the fluttering stopped.

I couldn’t help but grin. I had my sister exactly where I wanted her. Horny, pliable, ready to pop just at the _thought_ of getting me off.

But she was clearly not firing on all cylinders at the moment, so I decided to help her out.

“To thank your brother for helping you out, you’ve been doing all his chores, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

How did she manage to make that simple, common word so damn _erotic_?

“And you’ve been trying not to bother him with anything else, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are there things that you’ve _wanted_ to ask his help with?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

A part of me was secretly hoping she’d say ‘getting off’, but of course she didn’t. Now _I_ was the one getting fantasy and reality confused.

“Like asking him when the last time he saw the remote was, or getting his opinion on stuff.”

I hadn’t even realized until she said it, but yeah. Cynthia used to always ask my opinion on the dumbest stuff—‘which of these pillow-cases should I buy?’ and junk like that. I have no idea why—I can’t imagine my take on one scarf vs another was particularly helpful—but she’d always asked, and I’d always sort of tried to help her out, I guess.

“Men like feeling useful. Maybe you could ask him his opinion on that kind of stuff, and thank him at the same time, make him feel dominant.”

No reaction.

“How could you do that?”

“Do what?”

“How could you make him feel dominant?”

Cynthia just continued to stare blankly.

“You could beg,” I said, helping her out once more. I think my sister’s brain was too fried to fill in the blanks herself. “Do you understand?”

“No.”

“Next time you want something from your brother, you should beg him. Get down on your knees and beg. It’ll remind him of how dominant he is. Wouldn’t that be a good way to thank him?”

“Yes,” she replied immediately, but I could tell she was holding something back.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” I asked. Again, my sister agreed immediately, but I didn’t quite buy it.

“What’s wrong?”

“If this is such a good idea,” Cynthia said reluctantly, “doesn’t that mean that I should stop withholding orgasms?”

Ah. Yes. I’d frankly forgotten why she wasn’t cumming in the first place, but she clearly hadn’t.

I guess if your arousal is dominating your thoughts, with no means of relief, you’re going to fixate on _why_ you’re not allowed to relieve yourself.

“No,” I said. “For two reasons. Firstly, because you didn’t think of this, I did.

“Secondly, because this isn’t _the_ great idea. You’re going to think of something to truly thank your brother, something that’s good enough to pay him back for all the time he’s spent hypnotizing you. This isn’t it—this is just a little thank you along the way. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Cynthia replied.

“What are you going to do, to thank your brother?”

“I’m going to beg him.”

My cock plumped up at the idea.

“What for?”

“For anything. For everything. Whenever I want something from him, I’m not just going to ask—I’m going to beg.”

“Why?”

“This will make him feel dominant, and serve as a little thank you for helping me lose weight.”

“Do you think he’ll be suspicious?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because men are naturally dominant. Because my brother is naturally dominant.”

I felt like patting myself on the back. I’d wound my sister up, and now…god damn was it a pleasure to watch her go.

“Good girl.”

“Mf.”

I barely restrained myself from coming up with a reason to touch her over her panties again, and woke her up.

* * *

That night, just a few hours later, Cynthia came into my room.

“Hey sis,” I said. When I wasn’t hypnotizing my sister, I tried to act like I always had around her—just a bratty, disinterested little brother. “You run out of trashy reality TV?”

Without a word, she got down on her knees in front of me.

Thank god I wasn’t wearing my running shorts. I went from zero to twenty in two seconds flat, if you know what I mean. I don’t think Cynthia noticed—if she had, I bet I would have heard an ‘mf’.

Or something more.

The sight of my sister kneeling in front of me…god, what a sight. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a purple bra, a pair of white panties, and a locket necklace.

And nothing else.

Her cleavage went on for days, and this was perhaps the best view I’d ever had of her huge, perfect tits.

This may have been the view I’d ever had of anything, period.

“Please, Daniel,” she said. “Can you…can you help me find the remote? _Please_?”

I swear to god, I completely lost my tongue.

Like, sure, I’d gotten my sister to start dressing sexy around the house. I’d convinced my mother to let me spank her to orgasm each night. While she was under, I’d touched my sister until she was panting, moaning, _begging_ me to let her cum.

And I’d convinced my sister to get herself off several times a day…and then the opposite, not get herself at all, until she was a walking ball of arousal, constantly on the edge of losing it.

But this.

_This_.

My sister was kneeling—literally _kneeling_ —in front of me, submissively begging me…to help her find the remote control.

Everything else had felt like shifts, like I was tweaking stuff that already existed.

This? This felt like a complete shift of power.

And best of all, I knew it was just the beginning.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 18

My cock thickened at the sight of Mom’s guilty look.

I mean, at this point there were very few things my family could do that wouldn’t make me hard. Cynthia was walking around constantly horny, barely clothed, and having increasingly sexual thoughts about me, her brother.

Mom was coming into my room every night and letting me spank her to orgasm. On top of that, her diet was actually starting to show results—she wasn’t like, back to her glory days overnight, but the diet and gym were actually making a difference.

I knew that weight loss could sometimes lead to a reduction in breast size. Mom honestly had size to spare, but I hoped that she would be the kind who lost weight everywhere else first.

As well as that, Cynthia was never allowed to orgasm, and my Mom was cumming by my hand each and every night. It was hard to say which one I was enjoying more.

The one thing I wasn’t enjoying was that I still wasn’t getting anything out of it. I mean, besides the sights, the sounds. Getting to rub my sister to near-orgasm had been pretty great. And spanking Mom was a lot of fun.

But I wasn’t getting release. I was escalating things with both the women in my family, but it was entirely one-sided, and I was starting to get frustrated.

I wanted to fuck them. Both of them. I wanted to feel Cynthia’s lips around my cock. I wanted to titty-fuck Mom and cum on her face.

I wanted to fill both of them with my cock. With my seed. I wanted to cum inside them, so so badly.

But my plan entirely relied on both of them seeing me as innocent. As safe. If they knew my true intentions, if they knew that I was manipulating them, if they knew how much I wanted them…

It would all explode.

I could lose everything.

And so for now, I needed to stay the ‘innocent’ one.

For now.

“What’s up?” I said, trying to adjust myself subtly at the sight of Mom’s ‘I need to be punished’ look. Her eyes flicked down to my pants as I did.

Shit. Had she seen that I was aroused?

I watched her carefully, but her expression didn’t change.

Maybe I was being overly cautious. Maybe it was time to start pushing things a little more. Mom knew that I was hard while I spanked her. Cynthia…well, Cynthia thought that I found her repulsive, but she weirdly got off on that. Maybe I could use that, somehow.

I tucked all these thoughts away, and focused on the guilty-looking woman standing in front of me.

“I only went to the gym twice today,” Mom replied, and I hid my smile. “I need to be punished.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “And did you stay under your calorie limit?”

Mom rattled off the numbers, I nodded, and a thought struck me. In our last session, I’d told her that her punishment would be that she wasn’t allowed to orgasm.

But we’d left it there.

Was she expecting me to bring it up? Should…should I acknowledge that Mom came every time I spanked her? She’d never even used the word ‘spanking’ when she wasn’t hypnotized; how would she react to me openly admitting that I knew she came as my hand made contact with her ass?

The silence stretched on as I mentally debated what to do. I didn’t want to mess everything up…but on the other hand, I desperately wanted to move things forward. To start being more overtly sexual with Mom. With Cynthia.

“Cynthia isn’t allowed to orgasm,” I said, hardly believing the words tumbling out of my mouth. “As a punishment. She’s not allowed to cum, not until she loses enough weight.”

Mom’s eyes widened. I could see every inch of her near-perfect body tense.

We weren’t really a ‘talking about sex’ kind of family. I assumed Mom knew I jerked off, of course. I was a teenage boy. It would have been weird if I hadn’t.

When I’d turned fifteen, she’d left a packet of condoms in the chest of drawers beside my bed. I mean, I assume it was her—the alternative was that I’d gotten a visit from the condom fairy.

That was her version of ‘The Talk’.

So yeah, it was a bit of a jump to suddenly talk about my sister’s orgasm. My face blushed red at my own audacity, at the risk I was taking.

But hell—in for a penny.

“It’s been very effective,” I said, my cheeks burning. “Do you want to try something like that?”

“Sure,” Mom said, looking everywhere in the room but at me. Her face was almost as red as mine.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s try that.”

The silence stretched on, and I realized we were done talking about it.

“Time for your reward,” I muttered, and Mom all but leapt into my lap.

I don’t know what I’d been expecting—some hesitance, I guess. We’d just talked about sex, as explicitly as we ever had. We’d just discussed Cynthia’s orgasms. Mom cumming.

And now I was going to spank her.

But she didn’t even hesitate.

“Don’t forget…” I started. “Uh…”

“I won’t,” Mom said, clearly desperate to avoid talking about it any more.

I took the hint, raised my hand, and brought it down on Mom’s ample ass. Hard.

SMACK.

Mom arched her back, and I heard—and felt—her breathing-rate increase.

SMACK.

A small groan left her mouth, like the kind Cynthia now made whenever she had to bend down to pick something up.

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

Mom was writhing on my lap, as she always did during her ‘reward’. I had learned not to wear jeans during Mom’s rewards—by wearing something silkier, I could enjoy her wriggling. My cock could enjoy her wriggling.

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

Now, I’m not an expert in the female orgasm. If you need a witness for a big court case, don’t call me. I only know what my Mom’s look like when I’m spanking her, or what Cynthia’s look like when she spontaneously cums after several days of edging.

I mean, I guess if that’s what the court case is about, bring me in. Because on those two types of orgasm, I was an expert.

And I would have bet my left ball that as I administered the tenth and final SMACK to Mom’s beautiful rump…she came.

“Ohhhhhhhhh.”

All the signs were there. The long, guttural groan. The tensing of her body as she did. The sudden slump at the end.

The look of bliss on her face as she got up and thanked me.

I just nodded. She didn’t look like she needed aftercare, and so I walked back to my room, my brain buzzing, my hand and cock throbbing.

* * *

“Did you cum when I spanked you last night?” I asked as soon as my mother was under.

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

I sat back.

Okay. I wasn’t crazy.

After getting off in my room, I’d mentally replayed what I’d seen, Mom’s actions, and no other explanation made sense to me. I’d seen Cynthia edging, and that wasn’t what it had looked like. Besides, I didn’t think Mom would even know what edging was, or have any idea how to do it.

Her and my father had barely gotten to spanking, in their exploration of BDSM. Besides, most of this stuff probably hadn’t even been invented back when they were doing it.

So yeah. The only conclusion I’d been able to reach was that Mom had, indeed, cum as I’d spanked her.

“Did you understand your punishment?”

“Yes,” Mom answered. I narrowed my eyes.

“Explain it to me.”

“My punishment for not going to the gym was that I wasn’t allowed to reach orgasm.”

“And…did you?”

“What?”

“Reach orgasm?”

“Yes.”

“Your punishment was that you weren’t allowed to cum, and then you came. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The silence stretched on, and I realized that it wasn’t going to end. Mom wasn’t thinking, she wasn’t silently struggle with whether or not to answer, she just…wasn’t answering.

God damn it.

“Do you feel bad about cumming when I spanked you last night?”

“A little,” Mom admitted.

“Why?”

“I knew that I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Right. It was a punishment.”

Mom nodded.

I waited for more, but nothing came.

“Why don’t you feel worse about cumming like that?”

“It’s perfectly natural,” Mom said. “Because of the stimulation. It’s not sexual.”

It took me a moment to realize that she was parotting my words back at me.

Ah. Yes.

In order to get Mom cumming at my hand in the first place, I’d had to convince her that there was nothing wrong with it. That it wasn’t a selfish thing.

Now, I was trying to use it as a punishment. Trying to deprive her of something that I’d talked her into seeing as natural and innocent and not sexual at all.

“If I told you not to cum next time I spanked you, what would you do?”

Mom stared forward blankly, her huge breasts rising and falling as she breathed.

Figured.

I tried again.

“Spanking you is your reward,” I reminded her. “Not the orgasm. If I tell you not to cum while I spank you, you’re not allowed to. Do you understand?”

She responded to my question with nothing but silence.

I sighed, and slumped back.

Really, I had no one but myself to blame. I’d known going in that Mom had terrible impulse control. Her inability to stay away from treats had proven that to both of us, again and again and again.

Mom came when she was spanked. It was one of the sexiest facts I knew, but it was still a fact. Expecting her to temper that was like expecting a kid to open a packet and only have a single M&M.

It was like expecting _Mom_ to only have one M&M.

It just wasn’t going to happen.

“So that’s not going to work as a punishment,” I said, thinking out loud, and Mom nodded her head in agreement.

My eyes widened.

Did…did Mom just…

I paused, my brain processing the magnitude of what I’d just seen.

“Mom,” I said, my voice no louder than a whisper. “…touch your nose.”

She did.

“Touch your forehead.”

She obeyed.

“Honk your boobs.”

God help me, she obeyed. Honking sound and everything.

What. The. Fuck.

I’d worked out very early that Cynthia didn’t move while she was under. I’d just…I’d assumed Mom was the same.

I’d made a huge, logical, idiotic, sensible, incredibly dumb assumption.

My voice was shaking as I asked my Mom some questions.

“Do you trust me, Mom?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

“Why are we doing this?”

“To help me lose weight.”

“I’m doing this to help you lose weight, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

She _nodded_.

“If I’m going to help you lose weight, it’s important that I assess your progress, isn’t it?”

My words were stumbling over each other as they urgently poured out of my mouth. I knew exactly where I wanted to get with this newfound knowledge, and I had to get there as quickly as I could.

I had to.

“Yes,” Mom answered without hesitation.

“I’m sort of like a doctor in that regard, aren’t I?”

“Sort of,” Mom said.

“In order to tell how your progress is going, I should see you naked, shouldn’t I?”

That one gave Mom pause.

“No,” she said eventually. “That would be weird.”

I took a deep breath and counted to ten.

“Why would that be weird?”

“Sons shouldn’t see their mothers naked,” Mom answered, scrunching up her nose.

“How much do you want to lose weight?”

Mom’s response was emphatic and immediate.

“So much.”

“I want to help you lose weight, but there’s only so much I can do without regularly checking progress.”

Mom nodded.

_She nodded._

“How do you think I should check your progress?”

“By having me weigh myself.”

I smiled. I’d been down this path before.

“Do you want to weigh yourself?”

“Not really.”

I gave Mom the spiel I’d given Cynthia—that weight fluctuated from day to day, that a number didn’t give you the full picture.

She nodded, convinced.

“How else could I check your progress?”

“By asking me how I feel.”

I told Mom about how mood could be altered by too many outside factors, and that an internal evaluation wasn’t ever going to be as accurate as someone assessing you from the outside.

She agreed with me once more, as I knew she would. I hadn’t intended for these conversations with Cynthia to be a practice run for Mom, but life can be funny like that.

“How else could I check your progress?”

This time, Mom was silent for a long while.

“You could look at me,” she finally admitted. “But I don’t need to be naked.”

“Why don’t you want to be naked?”

“Because,” she said, shifting in her chair. “That would be weird.”

“What if you were just in your underwear?”

There was a long pause, and my cock throbbed with each of the four words in Mom’s response.

“That,” she eventually said, making me happier than she ever would have guessed, “would be fine.”

* * *

“Did you like begging your brother for help?”

“Yes,” Cynthia whispered in response.

“Why?”

I could all but see her rolling the words around in her head before she responded.

“It was a good way to thank him.”

“Do you think it helped him feel dominant?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he liked that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“All men like to feel dominant.”

I swear, I didn’t go into this intending to turn my sister into a sexual parody of a fifties housewife.

It was just an unintentional side-effect of turning her into a submissive slave.

“Why else did you like it?”

Cynthia didn’t move—she never did, when she was under—but I could see that she had more she wanted to say.

“Why else did you like it, Cynthia? Tell me.”

“…it made me feel submissive.”

I grinned. Perfect.

“Why do you like feeling submissive?”

“It feels right.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a woman, I think.”

“Do you think all women are submissive?”

“Not all, no.”

“But you are?”

“Yes.”

A pink tinge appeared on each of Cynthia’s cheeks as she answered.

“What about Mom? Do you think she’s submissive?”

“Yeah,” Cynthia answered.

“How do you figure?”

“That’s probably where I got it from.”

“Do you want to do other submissive things with your brother?”

Cynthia’s entire body twitched at that, and I swear I almost came in my pants.

“No,” she eventually moaned.

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be…right.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s my brother. He’s just helping me out. It…it wouldn’t be right to involve him in these weird fantasies I’m having.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s my _brother_ ,” Cynthia answered, staring at me blankly.

“So?”

“So it would be wrong,” she said, her tone of voice suggesting that was the final word on the subject.

But I knew we were just getting started.

* * *

“Stand up,” I said throatily.

Mom obeyed.

“Strip down to your underwear.”

Her face was almost as red as it had been when I’d told her that she wasn’t allowed to cum the previous night, but she obeyed.

“You won’t remember doing this,” I instructed as she stripped. “You’ll remember me putting you under, you’ll subconsciously remember all the commands I’ll give you, but you won’t remember taking off your clothes for me, consciously or unconsciously. This is just to check progress—this isn’t a part of the session.”

“Okay,” Mom nodded, as she stepped out of her pants.

Ho. Lee. God.

Mom’s body was different to Cynthia’s, of course. She had twenty years on her, and twice that many pounds. Probably more.

Her stomach had some stretch marks—I remembered seeing them when Dad was alive, when we’d all gone to the beach together. He’d explained that her stomach had gotten really big from holding me and Cynthia inside, and stretched her skin.

That was the only time I could remember seeing Mom’s stomach, until now. I think me pointing and asking about them had made her self-conscious.

People got self-conscious about the weirdest things—especially women, in my very limited experience. There was nothing unappealing about her stretch marks, not to me. They were texture. History. They reminded me that she was a mother.

They reminded me that she was _my_ mother, and I couldn’t think of anything sexier.

Stretchmarks aside, her stomach was definitely more rounded than Cynthia’s, like a woman in a Greek painting. She was pudgy, but not fat.

She was perfect.

Her legs reminded me of Cynthia’s (not surprisingly)—they weren’t stick-thin like you see on models or whatever (neither Mom nor Cynthia had a ‘thigh gap’), but they weren’t huge. They were thick, and I could see that her time at the gym had started to give them a nice tone.

But if I’m being honest, I spent very little time looking at her legs OR her stomach.

Not when there was so much else to look at.

I’d been right when I’d guessed Cynthia’s tits were larger than Mom’s, but they were close. God, I couldn’t wait to line them up and compare them.

I couldn’t wait to line them up and do all sorts of things to them. Four perfect tits in a line, ready to obey my every command.

Mom’s bra left a lot to the imagination, but I had a lot of imagination. I could picture exactly what she’d look like when I finally got that bra off, exposed her nipples to the world, took them into my mouth and got to bite them, suck them, chew on them…

Her tits were huge and round and perfect. They had a little sag to them, more than Cynthia, but it was a perfect sag. I was practically drooling, imagining that sag. I wanted to taste the sag.

I shook my head, trying to focus.

Mom’s panties were black and red, and I could see tufts of hair poking out either side of the front. Unlike Cynthia, it looked like she didn’t shave.

I don’t know why _that_ made me hard, but it did.

The panties were too dark to see if she was wet. I wanted to lean forward and sniff her, smell Mom’s musk. I’d smelled hints of it before, when she came across my lap, but here it was. The source.

My source. I’d come out of that small patch of hair.

I planned on cumming inside it before the end of the year.

“Turn around,” I croaked, and Mom obeyed.

God, Mom’s ass.

Mom’s _ass_.

She obviously hadn’t been expecting me to evaluate her, because she was wearing…it wasn’t a thong, but it had ridden right up between her cheeks, exposing her ass. Again, it was slightly smaller than Cynthia’s, but I wasn’t complaining. Her cheeks were smooth and inviting.

I stared at her ass for minutes, drinking it in. I wanted to picture it exactly the next time I spanked her. I wanted to bend her over my lap and spank her right then and there.

But with a sigh, I instead told her to get dressed again.

We had a lot of work to do.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 19

“We need a new punishment,” I said, as I watched Mom wriggle her perfect butt back into her jeans. “Not being allowed to orgasm isn’t going to work.”

Mom nodded.

How did it take me so long to notice she could do that?

“The pain punishments were almost working, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“But they weren’t reliable, were they?”

“No.”

I wanted to take advantage of the fact that Mom _moved_ while _hypnotized_. I wanted to make her strip off again, take photos of her, pose her in every position I could imagine. I wanted to find her limits. Push her limits. Destroy them.

I wanted to work out how I could get her naked. I’m sure I could do it. Then I wanted to work out how I could convince her to let me jerk off in front of her. Onto her. I wanted to cover my mother’s naked body with cum. I wanted to fuck her face.

I wanted to fuck her. I’d made my mother orgasm, I knew what it felt like. I wanted to feel it from the inside. I wanted my bare cock to be deep inside her hairy pussy, cumming, pulsing with orgasm as I filled my mother with seed and her cunt came around me.

I wanted to fill my Mom with so much cum, she’d start gaining weight again.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

I’d been handed an incredible gift, and I needed time to think about it, to work out the best way to proceed.

If I took my time, if I was smart, the golden goose would be tripling its output.

If I screwed up, I’d have nothing but goose guts on my hands. I was so close—closer than I’d ever been—and I couldn’t risk messing up.

So Mom got dressed and I got back to work: solving the immediate problem.

“But that was a useful direction, wasn’t it? The fear of pain was making you to go the gym more regularly.”

“Yes,” Mom responded. My eyes roamed up and down her body, remembering what I’d just seen.

When I was done, she’d never wear clothes in my presence again. Neither would Cynthia. Both of them would be my naked, nubile sluts, eager to please, twenty-four seven. Eager to obey.

Eager to get punished.

I shook my head. I wasn’t there yet.

Yet.

“So maybe we just need to go further,” I posited. “Maybe pain wasn’t enough.”

Mom hesitated, but I pressed on.

“What kind of punishment do you think would motivate you?”

“Pain,” Mom answered, an uneasy tone in her voice.

“What else?”

Silence.

“Other than pain, what do you think would motivate you?”

“Fear,” Mom answered, though her tone suggested it was more of a question than a statement.

I decided to help her out.

“What about humiliation?”

I was starting to get good at reading the different flavors of silence. This one didn’t worry me—Mom wasn’t about to wake up, she wasn’t conflicted. She wasn’t fighting me, she wasn’t unsure.

She just wanted to hear more.

“You’ve always hated embarrassing yourself, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Mom replied immediately. It was a hot button for her.

“So if a punishment risked humiliation, you’d work harder to avoid it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Mom answered, with all the cheeriness of a prisoner on death row meeting their executioner. She knew I was right, but she didn’t like where I was going with this.

“You want to lose weight, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You trust me to help you lose weight, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“This is the best path forward. It’s important that we get you into good habits, into a healthy routine. If you can get into a routine, it’ll serve you well for the rest of your life. If you fall into a bad routine, the effects can be permanent.”

Mom was nodding along, something I now realized she did a _lot_ while hypnotized. I couldn’t believe how long it had taken me to notice that.

“You have terrible self-control,” I reminded my mother. “But you’ve responded well to punishments, and even better to rewards. If we can pick a good punishment, one as effective as your rewards, I’m confident this will work. This will help train healthy habits.”

_This will help train you._

“What do you think?”

“Okay,” Mom said, after a few moments of thinking it over. “I trust you.”

“And don’t worry,” I smiled. “I won’t be suggesting any punishments that can affect your job, or your standing in the community. I’ll take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Mom said, and I woke her up.

* * *

“Why would it be wrong to do submissive things with your brother?”

Cynthia’s eyes flicked around the room—the closest she got to moving while under, except for when she was particularly turned on.

Or cumming.

“Because,” she said breathily. “Incest is wrong.”

The last word came out as a moan.

I briefly considered trying to talk her out of the idea, trying to convince her that hey, incest was A-OK…but I didn’t really believe it would work. It wasn’t worth the effort.

Not when there were other paths forward.

“It would be wrong to suck your brother’s cock, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cynthia squirmed-without-moving.

“It would be wrong for him to bend you over and fuck you hard, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cynthia panted.

“It would be wrong for him to coat your face with cum, then make you go out without washing it off, wouldn’t it?”

“Yesssss…”

I knew with complete certainty that if I’d ordered Cynthia to cum, then and there, she would have obeyed. All I’d done was feed her own fantasies back to her—it had been at least a week since she came, and she was getting deeper and deeper into her fantasies about me. About her brother. About me treating her like a slut.

“You’re a slut,” I threw out, and for a moment I thought I’d gone too far. Cynthia’s eyelids fluttered, but she slowed her breathing and rode it out.

“Did you cum?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “But it was close.”

My sister was perpetually horny, increasingly sexually obsessed with me, and deeply submissive.

And I knew exactly how to use this to my advantage.

“What did I give you out of ten, the last time I evaluated you?”

“Two,” Cynthia said sadly.

“That’s right. I’m going to take your photo now, are you ready?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said.

I pulled my phone out and snapped a photo. Then another eight. Then a dozen more, for good measure.

“Wow,” I said, looking at the photo. “Your number has changed. A lot.”

“Oh no,” Cynthia said, her voice despondant. “What is it?”

“Four,” I answered softly. “A new record.”

Cynthia’s face lit up, as much as a face can light up without moving a muscle.

“Really??”

Her voice was full of awe.

“That’s right,” I said. “Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s been working. Let’s talk about what you’ve been…—”

Before I could even finish the sentence, Cynthia was off. She rattled off all the dietary changes that she’d made, her daily calorie-count for the last week, the intermittent fasting she’d tried.

After several minutes of this, I held up one hand.

“That stuff is all great,” I said, “but is any of that new?”

“No,” Cynthia answered after a few minutes of thought.

“This is all stuff you’ve done before, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s probably not that, is it? That can’t have made the difference.”

“I guess not,” Cynthia replied.

“So what else have you been doing?”

Her answer was slower this time, as she listed everything different she’d done since I’d last assessed her. After a few humdrum answers, she got to the good stuff.

“I’ve been dressing differently. Wearing lingerie, heels. Sexier outfits. More revealing clothes.”

I nodded.

“…but that couldn’t be it,” she continued. “Because you were assessing me in that kind of outfit anyway.”

“What else has changed?” I asked. This time, it took her a few minutes of listing minutiae to get to it.

“I’ve been edging,” she finally said. “I play with myself more, but I get off less.”

“Good girl,” I said, enjoying the twitch that passed through my sister’s entire, perfect body. “What else?”

She continued listing stuff, tiny changes to her life, to her lifestyle, until I prompted her.

“And you asked your brother to help you with the remote, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she answered, “but that isn’t different. The only difference was…”

I smiled as she worked it out.

“…the way I asked him.”

“That’s right,” I said, my voice suddenly all business. “Think about it. Women are at their most attractive when they’re being submissive, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Cynthia answered without hesitation. God, I’d really done a number on her.

Or had I? Maybe this was what she’d always thought, and I’d just brought it to the fore.

Just like the last few months had brought my own dominant, sadist tendencies out, maybe my sister was naturally submissive, had a naturally submissive worldview.

Or maybe I just wanted to think that, to make myself feel better.

Honestly, I couldn’t decide which was hotter—the idea that my sister was already like this, or the idea that I’d changed her to be that way.

It didn’t really matter. By the time we were done, she’d be exactly what I wanted her to be. A naked, submissive sister-slut, spending the rest of her days on her knees, serving her brother. Her master.

Me.

“So it makes sense that your attractiveness would increase by acting submissively, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” my sister said, a tremor of arousal in her voice.

You know how it’s much, much, much easier to convince someone of something if it benefits them? Like, you tell someone that cutting taxes for their specific income bracket will be good for the economy, they’re _way_ more likely to agree with you than if you told them the opposite.

Similarly, it’s super easy to persuade someone that the thing they already believe, deep down, is the way the world is. You tell a racist that most immigrants are bad hombres, you barely need to finish the sentence before they’ve voted you president.

My sister was convinced that women were submissive. She trusted ‘Danny’, her trainer, absolutely, but when he told her that women were more attractive when they acted submissively, and that was why she was suddenly more attractive…

Yeah. Convincing Cynthia of that was a very, very easy sell.

“You’ve been horny all the time lately, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” my sister said.

“Women who are aroused are going to be more attractive than women who don’t want sex, aren’t they?”

I had a whole supporting argument ready for that one, but I didn’t need it. Cynthia moaned her agreement immediately.

“So it makes sense that you’d be more attractive when you’re turned on, doesn’t it?”

“Yesssss.”

“You’ve been fantasizing about your brother, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” my sister replied throatily.

“You want your brother, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Cynthia blushed, even as she agreed without hesitation.

“You’re doing everything you can to hide your attraction to Daniel, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

I grinned. She’d never actually described it as an ‘attraction’ before—she’d dodged around the idea, claiming it was just sexual urges that _happened_ to be directed at me, nothing more.

I had her in the palm of my hands. Literally, soon enough.

“Do you think you’re able to hide your attraction completely?”

“Y-yes…”

“Really?” I pressed. “You think you can hide 100% of your attraction, that Daniel hasn’t detected _anything_ amiss.”

“I…”

My sister’s tone had changed. She’d gone from aroused to the edge of tears.

“I…thought so…”

“It’s okay,” I said soothingly. “It’s impossible to hide _everything_. I’m just saying, is there even a remote chance that Daniel has noticed you treating him even a little bit differently?”

“I…I guess.”

“It’s attractive when someone is attracted to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cynthia sniffed.

“So that might be a factor,” I said. I, uh, I hadn’t expected this to evoke such an emotional reaction. “I’m just saying, that might be a factor in why I found you more attractive.”

We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.

“Are you okay?” I eventually asked.

“Yeah,” Cynthia said.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just scared,” she said, her voice coming out in a shudder.

I sat up. This was important. I mean, even besides the fact that I loved my sister and she was upset.

No, this was what I was constantly trying to keep an eye on—any indication that she might suspect something.

“Why?”

She hesitated.

“You have to tell me,” I said. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Still nothing.

“That’s an order.”

Cynthia took a deep breath.

“I’m scared of my brother finding out how I feel about him,” she said.

I nodded.

“How do you feel about him?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted after long pause. “I mean, he’s my brother. I’m really grateful that he’s helping me out. But….god.”

We sat there for almost a minute, the silence stretching out between us. Like I said, I’ve gotten pretty good at reading these silences, and this is one that I knew Cynthia would end in her own time. When she was ready.

“…I’m so attracted to him,” she admitted. She’d implied it earlier, but I’m not gonna lie; it was real nice to hear her say it out loud. “I think he’s so sexy.”

“Why?” I asked quietly, unable to help myself. “What does your conscious brain think is the reason?”

“I don’t know,” she said, an urgent tone in her voice. “That’s what’s so weird. A few months ago, he was just my kid brother. Then he started helping me lose weight, and I started trying to think of how to help him while I was playing with myself, and then he sort of…took over my fantasies.

“I decided it was a bad idea to cum while I was thinking about him,”—it was interesting, seeing how my sister’s conscious brain twisted the commands I gave her. Not being allowed to cum had apparently shifted from a punishment to a moral choice—“but I started thinking about him every time I played with myself. Now it’s been days and days since I came, and he’s always on my mind, and I get turned on whenever I see him, so I play with myself, but I’m not allowed to cum…”

My sister’s tone had gone from tearful to turned on, just talking through the sexual loop she’d been cycling through over the past week.

She sighed, a long shudder that made her bra-clad breasts shimmy delightfully.

“I know it’s because he’s helping me lose weight. I can’t stop thinking about how sexy I’m going to be when I lose weight, which turns me on, and he’s responsible.”

My eyes widened.

“Do you think he’s responsible for you feeling this way? Like, your conscious mind—does it think he’s responsible for you finding him sexy?”

“No,” Cynthia replied immediately. “Not at all. I trust him, and he’d never do something like that. It’s all me. I just…I don’t know how to deal with it, and I’m so scared of him finding out.”

I paused. This was a lot, and I hadn’t been expecting any of it.

“Why?”

“Because,” Cynthia said weakly. “If he finds out how I feel, if he finds out what a pervert I am, he’ll never talk to me again. Or he’ll tell Mom. Or, I don’t know—the police. I’ll lose my family.

“I’ll lose everything.”

I couldn’t help but smile at how closely my sister’s panicked thought process mirrored my own. Everything she’d listed, every consequence she was afraid of—it was exactly what I was scared would happen, if my own incestuous desires came out.

Of course, unlike my sister…I’d acted on them.

A part of me wanted to assure Cynthia that she had nothing to worry about. That I was just like her, that she could be attracted to me without consequence.

But I had a goal, and I didn’t see how that would get me closer to my goal.

“You’re right,” I said. “If anyone ever found out what a freak you were, you’d be ostracized from society. No one would ever talk to you again. You’d lose your family. You’d lose your life as you know it. That can never happen, can it?”

“No,” Cynthia replied, her voice tinged with fear.

“I’m here to help you, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said. If she could move while she was under, I guarantee, her head would have been nodding eagerly.

“I’m mostly here to help you lose weight, but I can do so much more than that. I can help you improve your life. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Say it.”

“I trust you completely. I trust you absolutely.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re here to help me improve my life. You’re here to help me lose weight.”

“Will you do whatever I tell you to do?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to help you choose what to prioritise in your life. Because I’m outside, looking in, I know better than you. I’m going to tell you what’s the highest priority in your life, and you’re going to trust me absolutely. Okay?”

“Yes.”

Zero pause. Zero hesitation. None.

I had her.

“Say it.”

“You’re going to choose my priorities. You know better than me. You know what’s good for me.”

“My priorities are going to keep you safe, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“You’ll choose the order of my priorities. To protect me.”

“Good girl.”

Cynthia’s lip twitched, as though she wanted to smile, but she didn’t move.

God I wish she moved while she was under. I guarantee I’d have her on her knees within minutes, gratefully ‘thanking’ her ‘trainer’.

“Cynthia,” I said slowly, staring straight into her blank eyes. “The number one priority in your life, the thing that matters more than anything else…is obeying me. Say it.”

“My number one priority is obeying you.”

The words came out smoothly and quickly. It was a joy to listen to.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’re going to keep me safe. Because you know better than me. Because you’re going to help me improve my life.”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Your number two priority…”

I paused. Cynthia was staring at me, unblinking.

“Your number two priority is losing weight. Say it.”

“My second-highest priority, after obeying you, is becoming more attractive.”

“Yes. Do you know why?”

Cynthia opened her mouth (a movement apparently allowed when she was under) to answer, but closed it again almost immediately.

“No,” she said, after a long pause.

“Do you want to know why?”

“Yes.”

“Life is easier for attractive people. Everything you’re afraid of—it’ll go away if you’re attractive. If you’re attractive, truly attractive, you can get away with anything. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Cynthia replied. “I do.”

“Say it.”

“My second-highest priority is to be attractive. Because if you’re attractive…you have no fears.”

That obviously wasn’t true. But it had a ring of truth to it—like, being more attractive _undeniably_ makes life easier. A lot easier.

It doesn’t solve all your problems, but Cynthia’s obsession—combined with her utter trust in her trainer, Danny—meant that she was primed to believe it.

Like I said: you tell people something that will benefit you, something that lines up with their worldview, and they’ll buy in.

Cynthia had bought in, hard.

* * *

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	Chapter 20

“Why do I exist?”

“To help me lose weight,” Cynthia said. “To make me a better person.”

“That’s why listening to me is your highest priority,” I reminded her. “Because it’s the only way to work towards your other priority. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“There’s only one problem,” I said, then paused dramatically. While she was under, Cynthia couldn’t roll her eyes at my dramatics, so she just sat patiently, under my thrall. “Do you want to know what it is?”

“Yes,” she said, so sarcastically I was almost worried she was going to wake up.

“You were recently a two. That’s almost as unattractive as you can be.”

I paused again. Her staring eyes grew sad.

“You can still become attractive, but it’s going to be an uphill battle. Starting at a two means that it’s not good enough to just be attractive, you have to become _gorgeous_. You have to become an eight, a nine. A ten.”

I could sense that Cynthia was doubtful, but I pressed on.

“You can do it,” I said. “I believe you can. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe you can become a ten?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation. “I don’t.”

“Do you think I’m wrong?”

Cynthia didn’t respond.

“You can become a ten. I believe it, so it must be true. Say it.”

“You think I can…you think I can become a ten. So I must be…I must be able to.”

I was impressed. I hadn’t expected her to get through the entire thought without her bizarrely low self-esteem fighting her.

I say ‘bizarrely’. I guess that wasn’t really true any more. Maybe her self-esteem had started a little off-balance, but I’d done more than enough to push it in a particular direction.

“Again.”

“My trainer believes I can…I can hit a perfect score. So it must be true.”

“Again.”

“I must be able to become as…as attractive as possible. Danny believes it, so I _must_ be.”

“Again.”

I had Cynthia repeat it more than a dozen times before she was able to rattle it off without a pause.

“Do you know who Roy Disney is?”

“No.”

“He was Walt Disney’s brother. He helped Walt run all his companies.”

“Okay.”

My sister’s tone told me exactly how irrelevant she was finding this story.

“Do you trust me?” I asked sharply.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then shut up and listen.”

My sister’s eyes widened, just for a moment, and I swear I heard a soft ‘Mf’ escape her perfect pink lips.

God I loved my life.

“Walt was the ideas guy, Roy was in charge of money and business. Whenever Walt brought his brother a new idea, do you know what he told him?”

“No, sir.” Cynthia responded softly.

“He told him no. He told him to go back and work on the idea until it was better. Stronger. He didn’t want to sign off on anything that _might_ succeed—he only wanted the company, and his money, to be put towards the best ideas possible.

“Roy only wanted to sign off on ideas that were so good, he _couldn’t_ refuse them.”

I paused, enjoying the confused look in my sister’s eyes.

“You were a two, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A two is downright hideous, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“A two is hideous. _I_ was hideous.”

My dick throbbed at the sound of my sister debasing herself.

“So in order to hit a ten, you have to be even more attractive than most tens. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“You have further to go than most. In order to hit ten, you have to compensate for your starting point. In order to become a ten, you’ll need to be _so_ attractive, there’s literally no one who isn’t attracted to you.”

My sister responded with nothing but a blank stare.

“You have further to go than most people, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you need a Roy Disney. You can’t just be attractive, you have to be so hot that no one can reject you. You have to be hot even to people you shouldn’t normally be attractive to.”

A hint of pink appeared in my sister’s cheeks. I think she could see where I was going with this.

“Your brother is going to be your Roy Disney. You’ll only know that you’re truly attractive if Daniel is attracted to you.”

My sister didn’t say anything, she just let my words sink in.

“Say it.”

The pink spread. My sister was openly blushing now. Her mouth was slightly ajar, and I could see the swell of her breasts rising and falling as she understood the full meaning of my words.

“Say it,” I insisted.

“My brother,” she responded with a gasp.

“ _Say it._ ”

“I need my brother to be attracted to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I was a two. In order to reach a ten, I need to be more attractive than everyone else. I need to be so attractive, even…even my brother thinks I’m hot.”

“Again.”

“In order to reach ten, I need…I need my brother to be attracted to me.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because if I’m going to reach ten, I need to be _so_ attractive, even people who…who shouldn’t be attracted to me…are.”

“Again.”

“To go from a two to a ten, even my brother needs to be attracted to me.”

“Again.”

“I need to be attractive to everyone, even Daniel, if I’m going to become a ten.”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’ll do whatever I command, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll obey me without question.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think your brother thinks you’re hot now?”

“No.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I’m not,” she said sadly. “And because of the way he stares at me.”

“How does he stare at you?”

“Like I’m a freak.”

It was true. I did stare at her like she was a freak. Just at the other end of the scale than what she was imagining.

I took a deep breath. It felt like everything I’d been working towards was coming to a head.

And coming to head, if I played my cards right.

“What do you think your brother would do if he were attracted to you?”

“Nothing,” Cynthia responded after a few moments of thought. I stifled a chuckle. She could hardly have been more wrong. “He’s a good guy.”

“Then you’re not hot enough. If you can’t make your brother lose control, if you can’t make your brother make a move on you, you’re not attractive enough. Do you understand?”

“Yes. But…”

I waited out the silence, until I realized she wasn’t going to end it.

“But what?” I prompted.

“But I just don’t think he would.”

“Why don’t you think your brother would make a move on you?”

“Because I’m his sister. Because he’d be afraid of getting in trouble. Because…because it’s wrong.”

There it was again, that soft moan as she whispered the word ‘wrong’.

“If you’re really attractive,” I said again, “none of that will matter. That’s what you’ve got to do—you’ve got to become completely irresistable to him. You’ve got to be so tempting that he’ll risk getting in trouble, he’ll risk everything. You’ve got to be so fucking perfect, he can’t _not_ do something about it.”

I stared at my sister as my words soaked into her mind.

“Do you understand?” I asked, after a lengthy pause.

“Yes,” she said in a soft whisper.

“Do you have any ideas on how to do that?”

“No,” she said. I noticed a tear rolling down her cheek, but I didn’t pause. I was so close, I could feel it.

“You can’t scare him off,” I said. I needed to make sure that she didn’t suspect anything, or it wasn’t going to work. She had to believe she had a perfectly normal brother, instead of…I dunno, whatever I am. “If you move too fast, you’ll scare him off. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“But at the same time, it needs to be obvious to him that you want it. That’s the first step: there’s nothing more attractive than someone wanting you.”

“But…”

This time, waiting out the pause worked, and my sister eventually continued.

“…but he’ll think I’m a freak.”

“You are a freak,” I reminded her.

A second tear joined the first.

“You’re attracted to your brother. You’re sexually aroused by someone related to you, by your own flesh and blood. Right?”

“Yes,” Cynthia replied, her voice barely more than a whimper.

”You’re a freak…and that’s okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, the word coming out in a shudder.

“Say it.”

“I’m a freak,” she repeated, in a tone that was either arousal or sadness. “I’m a freak…and that’s okay.”

Maybe I should have been more worried about Cynthia’s reaction. More empathetic, or cautious. Maybe I should have slowed down, or dived deep into her feelings, why she was reacting this way.

But I didn’t.

I’d always known, on some level, that I’d need to break Cynthia to get what I wanted.

I’d need to break her so I could rebuild her how I wanted her.

“Your brother will think you’re a freak, but that doesn’t matter. What’s the most important thing in life?”

“Obeying you.”

“And after that?”

“Being attractive.”

“I’m telling you what to do, and you will obey me so that you can be attractive. Truly attractive. Is your brother’s opinion more important than that?”

“No,” she sniffed.

“Is your relationship with your brother more important than that?”

“No.”

“Is _anything_ more important than that?”

“No.”

I paused, and was rewarded for it.

“…sir.”

“Good girl.”

I smiled as my sister shuddered. Even when she was under, even when she was on the verge of tears, nothing could surpress her submissive nature.

God, I couldn’t wait to take her. To make her mine.

And I felt like I was closer than I’d ever been.

“You need to make it clear to him that you want him. Slowly, at first. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Zero pause. No hesitation.

I was so proud of her.

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to flirt,” she said quietly, her answer coming faster than I was expecting. Maybe this was something she’d been piecing together by herself. Maybe, while she’d been edging, she’d been assembling a plan for how to seduce me. Not to do it for real, but as a fantasy.

I was going to turn both of our fantasies into reality.

“Flirt how?”

“Casually. Subtlely. I’m going to touch him more than I normally would. I’m going to…I’m going to…”

I waited for her to collect herself.

“I’m going to show off my body,” she said. Her voice was getting louder now, and it was thick with arousal.

“How did your brother react when you begged him the other day?”

“He didn’t, really.”

“But when I assessed you earlier, it was a four, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m using your brother’s eyes to assess you, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“So that would indicate that your brother liked it, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Your brother is a man, and men are dominant.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Daniel is a man, and men are dominant.”

“Again.”

“My brother is a man, and men are dominant.”

“Good girl.”

“Mf.”

“If you want your brother to truly be attracted to you, if you want him to lose control and _take_ you —” my sister audibly moaned at ‘take’ “—you need to be submissive around him. You need to show him how submissive you are.”

“How?”

She was eating this up.

“Small things at first—again, you don’t want to scare him. Beg him for more things. And ask him to punish you.”

“For what?”

“For breaking your diet.”

“But…—”

I held up my hand, and Cynthia fell quiet.

“You will never lie to me, your trainer, but I’m giving you permission to lie to your brother. As part of the plan. To seduce him.”

My sister’s pupils dilated as I said ‘seduce him’.

“Tell him you’ve broken your diet. Tell him you need to be punished. But don’t go any further than that. Not until after I next put you under. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” my sister groaned, and I woke her up.

* * *

The next time my mother came to me for a punishment, I was ready.

I always set her schedule on a Sunday night, and this week’s workout that was literally impossible. Not just for Mom, for _anyone_. If the original inventor of the gym had tried to do this, he would have failed spectacularly.

I was ready.

“I couldn’t do it,” she said nervously. “I tried; I really did.”

Since our last session, my mother had been completing her tasks with an almost-terrifying success rate. I hadn’t underestimated how much she hated being embarrassed or humiliated—it was clearly a far, far greater motivator than pain.

That’s why I’d given her an impossible task.

“I’m sure you did,” I said calmly. “Do you want to skip the punishment?”

My mother’s eyes filled with hope, before she broke eye-contact and stared at the floor.

“No,” she said with a sigh. “If this is what needs to happen for me to lose weight…”

“It is,” I grinned, barely managing to hide my gleeful reaction as she looked back up at me again balefully. “It’s the best way.”

“What’s tonight’s punishment?”

“Well,” I said, dragging my answer out, enjoying having my mother’s full attention. “You’re pretty easily embarrassed, right?”

“Uh huh.”

I had given this punishment a lot of thought, and decided to play on the fact that Mom—despite letting me spank her, despite cumming as I did—still ultimately thought of me as a kid.

Eventually, I was going to change that, but for now…it was useful.

See, kids can get away with a lot that adults can’t.

“This is a dare I was given once,” I said, allowing the grin to return to my face. “It’s pretty embarrassing.”

“Uh huh…”

“You’re going to go into the attic, and you’re going to moon the street from that top window.”

Mom’s eyes widened, and her face immediately went red.

“Daniel!” she gasped. “I can’t!”

I shrugged, still grinning. “You have to. It’s your punishment.”

“Oh my god, Daniel, I _can’t_.”

“You have to,” I repeated. “But first, you can have your reward.”

Mom’s jaw was agape. Fortunately, she didn’t look suspicious—just shocked. Without a word, my punishment clearly racing around my head, she bent over my lap.

I loved the fact that Mom was so used to presenting herself to me for a spanking, she did it without thinking.

Unlike Cynthia, my Mom never masturbated. I had managed to change my sister’s turn-ons by controlling her arousal, by controlling her orgasm.

I had tried to control Mom’s orgasm, and I’d failed. Well, or _she’d_ failed, depending on which way you looked at it.

I couldn’t control Mom’s arousal by changing what she thought about while she played with herself.

But I could do the next best thing.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice low. “At this time of night, it’s not likely that there’s going to be anyone on the street anyway.”

SMACK. My hand made contact with my Mom’s perfect ass—the ass that would soon be poking out of our tiny attic window.

“And even if there was, it’s pretty dark outside.”

SMACK.

“I mean, I guess there’s the street lights. Maybe those will be enough to light up the front of the house.”

SMACK.

“But what are the odds that someone will be looking up at the exact moment you moon the street?”

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

My mother whimpered with arousal.

“Wouldn’t that be funny though, if someone looked up and saw your ass poking out of the window in the middle of the night?”

SMACK.

“Your bare butt, exposed to a stranger.”

SMACK.

“Or a neighbor. Someone we know.”

SMACK. Like I said, I’m not an expert in the female orgasm in _general_ , but I’m pretty good at spotting Mom’s, and I could tell it was coming up fast.

“Everyone we know, staring at your ass.”

The last line was delivered in a whisper, and with one final SMACK, Mom was cumming, shaking with orgasm on my lap.

I knew I’d never get sick of the feeling of my mother climaxing on my lap. Once she’d come down from her orgasm, I gently guided her to her feet.

“Go on,” I said with a smile, gesturing at the stairs. “You know where it is.”

* * *

“Did you really complete your punishment last night?”

“Yes,” Mom replied in a mortified whisper, her blank eyes staring forward.

I honestly wouldn’t have been shocked if she’d said no. Not even disappointed, either—it would have been a great excuse to punish her further.

Although really, I’d take _any_ excuse to punish Mom.

She’d come downstairs, and—beet red—confirmed that she’d done as she was told. I laughed, tried to play it off as a delightful sort of prank, masking the sexual undertones of what I’d had her do.

My mother had just cum at my hand, then flashed the neighborhood. It had taken all my willpower not to run outside to see the show.

“How did it make you feel?”

“Embarrassed,” Mom said, her cheeks turning crimson just at the memory of what she’d done. Of what I’d made her do.

“Did it make you suspicious of your son?”

“No.” She seemed confused by the question. Good.

“Did it make you want to stick to your schedule better?”

“Yes,” she said emphatically.

“Excellent. This punishment was so effective that moving forward, we’ll stick to humiliation.”

My mother nodded.

Which reminded me.

“I need to assess the punishment,” I said. My mother could move while she was hypnotized, and I was certain there was some way I could exploit that.

Maybe it was risky, but I had a hunch.

“I need to assess how your body reacted to it,” I said. “You know—make sure it was effective.”

Again, Mom nodded.

Perfect.

“Now, this is important: for me to make sure that this is the best path for you, I need you to flash me. Just like you flashed the street, okay?”

There was a long pause, and Mom started trembling. Shaking. A part of me wanted to stop the session, to wake her up. To make sure that everything I’d done so far was safe, that I wasn’t going to lose all the progress I’d made.

I ignored that instinct, and stayed silent, watching Mom shake.

I’d been doing this for months, and so far all I’d done was finger my sister and spank my Mom. And again, don’t get me wrong—that was great.

But I wanted more.

So much more.

And the thing about _more_ is that it has to start somewhere. You don’t reach _more_ without getting a _little_ , then a _lot_.

I’d had a little. I wanted a _lot_.

And so I sat in silence, waiting for Mom to stop shaking, to stop trembling. I waited for her eyes to return to their blank state.

After several minutes, they did, and I repeated the command.

“I need you to flash me,” I said calmly. “So I can assess the punishment. Okay?”

“Okay,” she responded, matching my tone.

“Now.”

To my great delight, Mom obeyed—she stood up and turned around, raising her dress and lowering her panties.

Then, she bent over.

“Stay like that,” I murmured. “Just like that.”

God. If I were to go blind in that moment, it would have been worth it. The sight of Mom’s round ass, her brown rosebud. Between her legs, I could see glimpses of her hairy pussy.

A part of me wanted to tell her that the next stage of dieting was to take a cock-shaped suppository, and that only I could deliver it, that I had to deliver it right then and there.

But while I wanted a _lot_ , I knew I couldn’t afford to be stupid about it, or I’d go straight back to _none_. No, worse that none—I’d keep the memories, the knowledge of what I could have had.

I couldn’t risk it.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have _more_.

“I need to test your reward, too.” I said. “I’m worried about the effect your rewards are having on your body—they might be rewiring your metabolism. You never know, with this sort of thing.”

Mom nodded, an action that made her ass jiggle. God, I wanted to bury my head between those cheeks—I’ve never had any interest in eating ass before, but something about Mom’s just looked so…delicious.

“I need to test your reward and punishment in combination,” I said raspily. “I’m thinking of combining the two—punishment and rewards are said to be much more effective when applied together—but I want to test it first. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mom said, a slight tremble in her voice.

“That means I need to spank your bare butt,” I said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Mom repeated. Was she breathing more heavily than normal, or was that just wishful thinking?”

“Lay on my lap,” I instructed. “Do you understand what I’m going to do?”

“I understand,” Mom said, and I smiled.

“Perfect.”

The feeling of Mom quivering with orgasm as my hand landed on her bare butt was…it was exquisite. She didn’t wake up—just like Cynthia, even an orgasm wasn’t enough to wake her up.

The only twitching she did for the rest of the session was with pleasure as I made her cum.

And I didn’t stop at one.

When Mom is awake, I only ever spank her to orgasm once, but while she was under? It wasn’t like she was going to get self-conscious, or need aftercare.

And so I made her cum again and again and again, my hand growing sore as I spanked her bare butt to orgasm after orgasm.

Finally, when I felt as though I’d had my fill, I made her cover up and wake up, then disappeared to my room to get off at the memory of what I’d just done.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 21

For the next two weeks, every one of Mom’s punishments involved exposing herself.

This may shock you, considering my apparently endless list of kinks, but exhibitionism isn’t really one of them. I mean, I guess the idea of Mom flashing the world was kind of hot, but mostly just because it was something she wouldn’t normally do. Something she _wouldn’t_ have done, without me pulling the strings.

It was hot because I made her do it; I didn’t make her do it because it was hot.

After spanking her bare butt, I gave her a break for a few days, to convince her that the punishment had worked. She found herself achieving her daily gym goals for three days straight…but after that, I was relentless.

Her next punishment was similar to the first—to flash the neighborhood from our attic. Except this time, instead of mooning them, she had to show off her tits.

When she returned, beet-red, I didn’t even need to put her under to check—I knew she’d done it.

I put her under anyway, of course. Just as before, she let me ‘examine’ her punishment. She dutifully obeyed as I ordered her to raise her top, lower her bra, and let me examine her bare breasts at length.

A few years ago, when I was bored, I checked online to see what the Bible had to say about breasts.

Turns out, quite a lot—there’s a whole chunk of the Bible that’s just about sex. More than just “thou shalt not fuck” though—it’s all sonnets and love poems about tits. The Song of Solomon, it’s called.

I guess King Solomon used to sing a lot of dirty songs.

The existence of all these boob-verses was my first surprise. My second surprise was how _weird_ they are.

> Your stature is like a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters. I say I will climb the palm tree and lay hold of its fruit. Oh may your breasts be like clusters of the vine, and the scent of your breath like apples
> 
> I was a wall, and my breasts were like towers
> 
> Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that graze among the lilies.

Mom’s breasts weren’t like the clusters of the palm tree, or towers, or like grazing fawns. They were just like…tits. Exactly like tits, even.

But holy crap, _what_ tits.

I’d seen boobs before. On the internet, and a couple of times in movies or dirty magazines.

But not in person. Like, I still hadn’t seen Cynthia’s boobs yet, not really. I’d seen them in lingerie, and through thin shirts, but I even though I’d jerked off to the idea a thousand times, I was still yet to see her bare tits.

So Mom’s boobs were the first pair that I’d seen in person since I was a kid…and the last set I’d seen _as_ a kid, now that I thought about it.

Mom’s tits were 100% of the tits I’d seen in my life in person.

And if I had to trade ‘everything else I’ve ever seen, ever’ with ‘seeing Mom’s tits’, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. After so many years of jerking off to the idea of them, there they were: these big, beautiful, natural tits, just begging for me to reach out and touch them.

Fawns run away when you reach out and touch them. Mom’s breasts were all but crying out for me to man-handle them.

Maybe it’s an evolutionary thing. You see your Mom’s tits, you wanna suck on them. Y’know, a way of making sure kids don’t starve to death.

God, as soon as I saw them, I wanted nothing more in life than to suck on Mom’s thick, dark nipples. I swear, she could have offered me the choice of fucking her or sucking dem titties, and I would have been latched before she finished the question.

They were amazing. Maybe that’s why God was constantly comparing boobs to towers, or fawns—not because of size or shape, just because of how awe-inspiring they were to look at.

I still didn’t get the palm tree cluster thing, though.

I probably spent twenty minutes just staring at them before making her lay over my knees, and spanking her to orgasm, her bare tits bouncing with every strike.

Mom’s next punishment was to take her top off completely and walk from our back door to the fence. It was the middle of the night, so it was pretty unlikely that anyone would see anything…but not impossible, something I’d emphasized to Mom as I made her cum.

The night after that, she had to walk from the _front_ door to the mailbox. This one was riskier, I’ll admit, but I cut her a break, and let her do it at like one in the morning, when pretty much everyone was asleep.

“ _Pretty much_ everyone,” I’d said, and with one final spank, Mom had orgasmed, imagining—I confirmed later, while she was under—someone catching her topless.

Someone she knew.

I expected more resistance, if I’m being honest. But maybe Mom already had an exhibitionist streak, and I was just augmenting it. Or maybe I really was getting better at this.

It had taken me months to implement ideas into Cynthia. Within like five sessions, Mom was creaming herself at the idea of someone peeking in on her getting changed.

(Not me. If she thought of me as sexual, I didn’t think she’d let me spank her any more, and I didn’t want to give that tool up. Not yet.)

So I accelerated things faster than I would have otherwise. By the end of the first week, Mom was walking completely naked from the front door to the mailbox. At ten pm, at that. She legit could have been seen.

So why was I having her take that risk, especially when I didn’t have an exhibitionist streak of my own?

Well, part of it was that I wanted to shift the window of what Mom was comfortable with. When I’d started ‘helping my family lose weight’, she never would have let me so much as _touch_ her butt—now, she happily let me spank her to orgasm each and every night.

Before her punishments began, there was basically no circumstance where she would have let me see her naked. But after her last punishment, it was child’s play to have her recreate it.

“Take your clothes off,” I said, the next time she was under. “I need to examine your punishment.”

Mom obeyed without hesitation.

“Walk around the room,” I instructed, and Mom did.

You know how peanut butter is great, and jelly is great, but when they’re mixed together, they’re just…something else? The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

That’s what Mom’s naked body was like. _Transcendent._

I’d seen her tits. I’d seen her bare ass, and glimpses of her pussy. And I’d had her strip down to her underwear for me before. You’d think from all that, I’d be able to piece it together, right?

Nope. There’s something about a naked woman…hell, maybe about Mom specifically. She’s gorgeous in any configuration, but when she’s totally naked, you just want to _fuck_ her.

Like her nipples were just _begging_ to be bitten. Her ass looked like it was yearning to bounce up and down, to clap as I fucked her. Her hips looked they were _made_ to grab onto, and her pussy…

God, the first time I saw Mom’s pussy in full, I swear I almost came in my pants.

It was obvious that she didn’t do any maintenance—I’d thought that would be a turnoff, but there was something so hot about it. Like, this wasn’t the shaved cunt of a slutty reddit model—this was a _real_ pussy. A mature, hairy pussy.

This was a pussy that was built to take cock.

Part of what made it so perfect was the realization that I’d come out of that pussy. Mom’s pussy, many years ago, had spread open to let me out.

Soon enough, it would spread open to let me in.

My voice was shaking as I gave my next command.

“Okay Mom,” I said. “I need to test what it’s like to combine this punishment with your reward.”

“Okay,” she said, and obediently lay down on my lap.

The temptation was to fondle her, of course. All of a sudden, there was so much flesh on my lap. So much of _Mom’s_ flesh, and it was mine for the taking. I could cup her ass, finger her pussy. I could tweak her nipples, or honk her boobs.

I could pull down my pants and fuck my own mother.

But I didn’t. I _couldn’t_. Not yet.

Instead, I spanked her.

Now, I knew that Mom cumming by my hand was hot. But spanking her naked body to orgasm…fuck me. It was the single hottest thing I’d ever experienced, no exceptions.

I knew Mom got flushed when I spanked her, but until that session, I’d had no idea how far the flush spread. By the time she cried out in orgasm, almost every inch of her visible skin was red, and she was covered in goosebumps.

I wanted to run my fingers up and down those goosebumps, but I managed to resist.

Barely.

When I was done, I spanked her to orgasm again. And again, and again, and again. By the time I was done, the room was filled with a heady scent—Mom’s orgasm had an odor, and I wanted to bottle it, and use it every day to remind me of what we’d just done.

But as incredible as it was to finally see Mom’s naked form, to spank her nude body, to be able to see in full what I’d been imagining for so long…these were merely side benefits.

No, the reason I’d pushed things in this direction was simple: the more waking hours Mom spent nude, the more her boundaries moved.

And the more I shifted her ideas of what was appropriate, the further I could take her punishments.

* * *

“Again??”

After all this performing for Cynthia and my Mom, I was starting to wonder if my time was wasted on track. Instead, maybe I should have become a theatre kid. I was clearly a born actor.

“Again,” Mom said glumly. I could tell that she was on the verge of tears—which, in itself, was becoming enough to turn me on. “I’m so sorry, Daniel—I’m trying…—”

I waved off her excuses.

“Trying isn’t good enough,” I said, trying to take on an authoritative tone. “It’s about so much more than trying—you have to move past trying, and _do_.”

Mom nodded, as though what I’d said hadn’t been nonsense, and I hid a grin.

It was time.

“The punishments have stopped working,” I said with a sigh.

“No,” Mom said earnestly. “I swear. I don’t…I don’t want to…”

I held up my hand, and Mom stopped talking. Her obedience made my cock twitch. She didn’t seem to be a true submissive—not like Cynthia—but if nothing else, she was a pain slut, and I was sure I could push her further down the road to submission.

I was increasingly certain I could mold her into anything I wanted.

“The pain punishments worked for a while,” I said, pretending that I was just thinking it through. Pretending I wasn’t finally enacting a scenario I’d tested almost a dozen times while Mom was under hypnosis. “And making you expose yourself worked for a while.”

“It can still work,” Mom begged. “I _know_ it…”

Again, she fell silent at my small gesture.

“So the only thing I can think to do is combine the two.”

There was a pause as Mom conciously processed what I’d just said. I suspect the pause was shorter than it would have been had she not subconsciously processed the suggestion over and over, as I had tried stuff out until finding a scenario I was certain would work.

The information was there, implanted by countless rehearsals; all her brain had to do was find it, not invent it.

“…okay,” she sighed. “Whatever you think is best.”

Again, she probably would have presented a little more resistance, except I’d spent close to two hours talking her unconscious mind through what we were going to do, running the hypothetical again and again.

I knew she’d agree. She already had, without knowing it.

But this wasn’t a hypothetical. This was really happening.

“Get some bulldog clips,” I instructed, and Mom obeyed without hestiation, opening the stationery drawer (where I’d ensured a box of large bulldog clips would be clearly visible in the top drawer).

Obviously, I wanted to do more than just put bulldog clips on her nipples. I wanted to suck them, or drip hot wax onto them. I wanted to buy nipple clamps and a chain, and make her wear them all day until she submitted.

But you need to walk before you can run (a little always precedes a _lot_ ), and I knew that when this punishment proved effective, it would be much easier for Mom to justify some of the purchases I’d already made in anticipation.

“Do you want your reward first, or your punishment?”

“Reward,” Mom squeaked, as I knew she would.

“Lay down.”

As I spanked Mom, I told her what her punishment was going to be. I told her that she was going to take her top off, and I was going to use the bulldog clips as nipple clamps. I told her that it was going to hurt—a lot—and that hopefully the pain, in combination with the humiliation of being topless in front of her son, would be an effective punishment. I told her she was going to have the clips on her nipples for five minutes, and that she was going to be in charge of watching the clock and counting down the minutes.

And then, just as I could feel she was about to cum…I stopped spanking her.

I stopped spanking her, and told her to remove her top.

Watching Cynthia spend the last few months in a state of near-orgasm had been quite an education, and it was funny to recognize some of the signs of need Mom immediately presented. The hungry look in her eyes. The way she moved a little slower than normal, like all her energy was in between her legs, unable to be used for other things. The way she twitched slightly.

The way she couldn’t completley stifle a moan as she removed her top.

Like I said, exhibitionism doesn’t really do much for me. But every night, as I was rewarding Mom with a spanking and an orgasm, I’d been talking to her about exposing herself, about revealing her body to the world.

And while she was under, as I was ‘testing’ punishments and rewards, I’d taken it one step further: I’d been talking to her about exposing her body to _me_.

So far, in her conscious state, she’d never done so much as let me see her in a bra and panties. I’d seen everything while she was under, but as far as Mom’s consciousness was concerned, the most recent time I’d seen a significant amount of her skin was over a decade ago, the last time she’d worn a bathing suit in public.

Or in private, for that matter.

My hope was that my words would seep into her subconscious, and that every time she came while talking about her son seeing her naked would create a Pavlovian link between the two.

I wasn’t expecting her to drop the floor and orgasm as soon as she undid her bra—although that would have been _awesome_ , if very risky—but I’d hoped that it would cause some kind of link between me seeing her bare skin and her pussy.

I tried to keep my face neutral as Mom’s huge tits came into view. I tried to hide the fact that all I wanted to do was suck them, fuck them. Chew on them, then cover them with my seed.

But instead, I acted in the most harmless way I could—like a kid. Like it was gross-funny, instead of perverted-hot.

I don’t know if it worked, but I do know I saw a tremor go through Mom’s body as soon as her thick, ruby-red nipples came into view.

“Come here,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t spoken out loud. My voice was husky. Lustful. Completely contradicting the playful persona I’d carefully chosen for my expressions.

Fortunately, Mom didn’t seem to notice anything. Or if she did, I hoped she’d chalk it up to an imagining spawned from her own arousal.

Mom stood in front of me—even when she was under, I still hadn’t done anything so risky as touching her tits. I had no idea what it would do, and had to let spanking her naked ass be enough.

God, the smell of Mom’s orgasm filling the room as she came. I knew I’d never get sick of it.

“Hands behind your back,” I said, doing a better—but still not great, if I’m being honest—job of hiding my arousal.

Mom obeyed.

“This is going to hurt,” I warned, my eyes flicking up to Mom’s face. She was red as a tomato, staring down at me, my head inches from her tits.

“I know,” she whimpered. “That’s the point.”

“Watch the cock,” I instructed. My eyes widened as I realized my verbal slip-up. “Clock! Watch the clock.”

Mom’s face was red, but she refused to react to what I’d just said. Thank Christ.

“Watching it,” she replied.

“As soon as the second-hand crosses twelve, I’m going to clamp these on your nipples. You’re going to count five minutes down, announcing each minute as it passes. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mom gulped. “I understand.”

“Good girl,” I said, and Mom’s eyes widened at my words.

Fuck! What was wrong with me? I had all but written a script for this, but I was apparently just too excited to follow it.

I paused, but Mom didn’t say anything in response to what I’d just said.

Her nipples were rock hard, which seemed to be a good sign. We were standing in the warm kitchen…although it was hard to tell if the kitchen really was warm, or if I was just flushed with excitement.

“Now,” I said, and affixed a bulldog clip to each of Mom’s nipples.

Her eyes widened in pain, but she didn’t cry out. Her breathing deepened, her back arched (which was a real treat for me), and she never stopped staring at the clock.

“One,” she said, after the first minute passed. Her cheeks were still flushed, her arms still behind her back, and her glassy eyes were staring at the clock like her life depended on it.

“Two,” she said, and I’m going to be honest for a moment here—I sort of wished I’d made the punishment go for like, three minutes. Not for Mom’s sake—from what I’d read, these were safe to go on the nipples for more than an hour. Just because not a whole lot changed between the first and second minute.

Mom was trembling in what I assumed was a mix of pain and excitement, her eyes never leaving the clock. Getting to see her bare breasts—especially with her back arched—was a treat, don’t get me wrong, but in that moment, I really just wanted to go and jerk off.

“Three,” she said. Two of her tears had actually formed, and started running down her cheeks. The internet had told me that these clips _really_ hurt, although the larger ones less than the smaller ones.

I’d gone with the larger ones. For now.

“Four.”

My mind had seriously started to wander by this point. I was plotting the next step, my eyes never leaving her huge, perfect tits.

God I wanted those tits. I wanted to do more than watch them, than punish them.

I wanted them.

“Five,” Mom said, and I think we both breathed a sigh of relief. Three minutes, next time, I told myself. A more intense punishment over a smaller amount of time.

“You ready?” I said gently, and Mom nodded, her watery eyes staring at me, begging for relief.

I managed to hide my grin. From what I’d read, taking the clips _off_ would cause a fresh burst of pain.

Sure enough, Mom winced as soon as I took the clips off. She must have been climbing the walls—denied her nightly orgasm, given a five-minute pain punishment, all while exposed to her son.

Her nipples were white, but even as I watched, I could see the blood beginning to return to them.

“Good job,” I nodded. “Do you think it worked?”

“Yes,” Mom nodded.

“Do you think you’re less likely to skip your next gym session?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mom replied.

Just as I was about to tell her to put her top back on, Cynthia entered.

“Hey you two,” she said, her eyes casually flicking down to Mom’s exposed nipples. “Punishment?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged in response. “Hoping that this one sticks.”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 22

Eleven days earlier, Cynthia had come to me with some news.

“I broke my diet,” she said, avoiding eye-contact.

Like I said, I’ve been surprised by my own acting ability. You know—when I remember to stick to my lines.

Similarly, I’ve been consistently impressed by how _bad_ Mom and Cynthia are at it.

I guess Cynthia’s caginess could have been put down to shame, but I think even if I hadn’t known she was lying, I would have known she was lying.

“Cynthia,” I said disappointingly. “That’s no good.”

“I know,” she said, doing her best to convince me of her guilt. “It’s really hard.”

I felt like I was a fully-grown adult who’d been cast in a school play.

“Well,” I said, shaking my head, “that excuse isn’t good enough. We need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“Okay,” my sister replied, far too quickly. “Maybe you could…punish me?”

“How?” I asked, feigning confusion. Pretty damn well, if I say so myself. “You’re already doing all my chores. What else could I do?”

Now that I knew the signs of my sister’s ongoing arousal, I sometimes wondered how I’d ever missed it. The catch in her breath, the fogginess in her eyes, the way she’s constantly fidgeting, like she can stop the orgasm from taking over her body if she just never stops moving.

“I dunno. Maybe…maybe you could spank me?” she said, holding her breath as she waited for my reaction.

I’d tried a few responses, the various times we’d tried this in hypothetical. They all worked—my sister _really_ wanted this—but the one I felt most confident in was a long, thoughtful pause.

Pauses are easy. You just…

…

…

…

…don’t say anything for a while. That’s it!

“I don’t think I’d feel comfortable with that,” I said. My sister exhaled with disappointment, as she had while she was under, but I wasn’t expecting the slump, the look of sadness in her eyes.

While she’s under, Cynthia can verbalize her reactions, but I’m never quite sure what she’s going to do physically. In this case, she looked like a marionette whose strings had just been cut.

It would have been sad, if I didn’t know it was the next step on the path to something so, so happy.

“But what about Mom?”

Cynthia wrinkled her nose.

“What _about_ Mom?”

“Mom used to spank us when we were kids,” I reminded her. “Maybe she’d be willing to do it again now. You know, to help you lose weight.”

“Oh,” Cynthia said, her voice heavy with disappointment. “I guess I can ask her.”

“You should,” I advised, knowing full well that she wouldn’t.

* * *

“How did you feel when your brother rejected your offer?”

“Terrible,” Cynthia said, her eyes staring forward.

“Why?”

“Because it means that he doesn’t want to dominate me. It means he’s not attracted to me. He’ll probably never be attracted to me.”

You might be wondering—why pass up on the opportunity to spank Cynthia? You’d think it would be the obvious next step towards dominating my sister.

Well, that’s not wrong. It was certainly _a_ next step.

But I wanted more than to just dominate Cynthia. I wanted to _own_ her.

I’d gone a long way in the previous session towards destroying her, but I wanted to go further. If I was to truly possess Cynthia, if she was to be one-hundred percent mine, I needed to have her submit to me physically. Sexually. Emotionally.

And to do that, she had to be completely desperate.

The first step had been successful—she was completely sexually obsessed with me. She thought about me sexually almost as often as I thought about her, something which I would have thought impossible. My sister all but worshipped me, and she would have done anything for some attention from me.

And so the last thing I could do was give it to her.

No, the next step was to leave her yearning for me, as I’d been yearning for her. Her subconscious already had a plan—to make me want her, to prove to herself that she could make _anyone_ want her.

If I gave her a cookie, she’d take more than a glass of milk—she’d start to build a healthy self-esteem.

Cynthia already thought she was fat. Under hypnosis, I’d convinced her that she was worthless.

All I needed to do was continue to withold, convince her that she wasn’t worth my time, and soon she’d be eating out of the palm of my hand, wanting absolutely nothing more than her brother’s attention.

Just as I’d spent so many years wanting hers.

And so, tempting though it was, I passed up on the opportunity to spank my sister.

But just because I wasn’t going to be the one doing, it didn’t mean my sister wouldn’t be spanked.

“You’re right,” I said. Even though she couldn’t move, now that I’d seen it, now that I’d seen her strings being cut, I could recognize the reaction when I told her the bad news. I could imagine the look of total dejection in her eyes.

It was hard to believe how much it turned me on.

“He’ll probably never be attracted to you,” I reiterated. “But if there’s even a chance, you have to try, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“If there’s even the slightest of slight chances that your brother will find you anything other than repulsive, it’s worth the attempt, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because being attractive is so important. I need to try.”

“Say it again.”

“I need to try.”

“What do men like?” I asked, abruptly changing tack.

“Boobs,” Cynthia answered without hesitation. “Legs. Butts.”

“What else?”

“Short skirts,” she informed me immediately. “Bikinis. Lingerie.”

“What else?”

“Head,” Cynthia moaned. This hadn’t been on any of the previous lists that she’d given me—it was clear where her mind was these days. “Getting off. Getting off on a woman’s face. In her ass. Making her wear it…”

I sat back for a while, my cock threatening to burst through my pants as my hypnotized sister continued to list everything she could think of that a man might enjoy. Everything she could do to pleasure a guy.

It was a long list.

“…seeing two women make out,” she said, and I held up one hand. I didn’t even have to say anything—Cynthia immediately stopped, and a small pulse rippled through her body, just from obeying my non-verbal command.

God my sister was submissive. I couldn’t wait until she was mine.

I couldn’t wait until both the women in my family were mine.

“Exactly,” I said. “Good girl.”

“Unf.”

“Men enjoy watching women together, don’t they?”

“Yes,” Cynthia responded, her voice soft and throaty.

“Your brother is a man, isn’t he?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her lustful response. I’m athletic, but I’m not like a muscle-bound jock. It was nice to see that in my sister’s mind, I’d been elevated to the epitome of manliness.

“Your brother probably isn’t attracted to you, is he?”

“No,” she gasped.

“But there’s still a chance.”

No response. If it had been Mom, I bet she would have nodded.

“Right?” I pressed.

“Riiiight,” Cynthia groaned. I mentally counted to ten—she was so constantly on the verge of orgasm, I couldn’t go too fast or it risked pushing her over the edge.

And don’t get me wrong—having to manually excite her once more was tempting, but I’d done that. Now, I had a longer-term goal, and I wanted to use our sessions as effectively as I could.

“If you’re going to succeed—if you’re going to be attractive—you need to do everything you can, no matter how unlikely. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

I probably didn’t need to explain it as much as I was—she’d already agreed that her number one priority in life was to follow my commands—but I didn’t want to screw up. There was too much on the line.

Measure twice, rewrite your sister’s mind once.

“So even though your brother finds you repulsive, seeing you with another woman might change his mind. Right?”

“Yes.”

Her breathing had gotten heavy again. She was constantly on the edge, a hair trigger from cumming.

But I pushed forward nonetheless.

“Do you remember what your brother said you should do if you screwed up your diet?”

“Yes,” Cynthia huffed. “He said I should get Mom to spank me.”

“So watching you get spanked might work,” I said. “Don’t you think?”

Cynthia trembled, but this time I knew it wasn’t because she was at risk of waking up.

This time, it was because her body wanted nothing more than to cum, to find sweet release, and the image of me watching her get spanked by Mom had turned her on so much that she was close.

Close, but obedient enough not to climax.

“Good girl,” I said, when she’d calmed down. A tremor of arousal passing through her body was the only response. “Now, tell me what you’re going to do…”

* * *

Sure enough, Cynthia obeyed. My sister was practically born to obey. Every inch of her, every fibre wanted nothing more than to obey.

That night, she went to my mother, and asked to be spanked. That night, I got to feast my eyes on my sister across my mother’s lap, Mom’s hand firmly spanking her.

She didn’t cum. Cynthia, that is. I mean, Mom didn’t cum either, but there wasn’t a real risk of that. But Cynthia? She got close.

After Mom made her count out a dozen sharp slaps across her pant-covered rump, Cynthia could barely string a sentence together. She tried to thank Mom, but got lost half a word in, finally stumbling back into her bedroom, her eyes glazed over with lust.

If Cynthia and our Mom were built the same way, it must have been one of the hardest things my sister had ever done, restraining herself from cumming at our mother’s hand. Especially with me watching—her brother, the subject of all her recent sexual fantasies.

I can tell you, I really pushed whatever acting talent I had to the limit—Cynthia made sure to ask my Mom while I was in the kitchen with her. I mean, to be fair, I made it pretty easy for my sister; ever since my sister had described her plan while she was under, I’d made a habit of spending all my spare time in the kitchen, doing my homework or just messing around on my laptop.

All she had to do was wait until Mom was in there with me, and then ask Mom if she’d ‘punish’ her for breaking her diet.

I pretended not to care, of course. I pretended that my focus was entirely on the math on the paper in front of me.

I acted as though I barely noticed my busty, beautiful sister being spanked by our mother until she almost came.

Mom was fine with it, of course. As far as she was concerned, this was just a standard dieting technique. She was so casual about orgasms while spanking, she probably wouldn’t even have cared if Cynthia had loudly cum with each stroke she’d administered to her daughter’s perfect ass.

As for Cynthia? Well, even though I was outwardly pretending not to care, I made sure that my sister would keep coming back for more.

* * *

“Four point one??”

My sister was so happy. I mean, I’d known she would be enthused, but god—the sheer joy eminating from her voice as I told her what was, essentially, a completely arbitrary, made-up number.

“That’s right,” I confirmed softly. “Four point one. A new record.”

Cynthia’s eyes were bright, and even though she was under, I could see the edges of her lips twitching as a smile threatening to make its way onto her mouth.

“Wow,” she replied breathlessly.

Not for the first time, I blessed my past self for coming up with the idea of hypnotizing my sister. Even six months ago, I would never have believed that she would be hanging on my every word like this, practically floating with joy that I’d given her a zero point one higher score than our previous session.

Of course, it wasn’t the number that had gotten her excited. I mean, it wasn’t _just_ the number.

It was the progress.

Being spanked by Mom had moved the needle, proving that it could be moved further. And further…and further…until finally, I was attracted to her.

My mental manipulations had established that to my sister, me being attracted to her would mean that she was attractive. That she wasn’t fat.

And my sister would do _anything_ to not be fat.

I was counting on it.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I said impulsively.

“Of course,” my sister responded immediately. “You can tell me anything.”

Dumb question, really. As far as my sister was concerned, I was ‘Danny’, a weight-loss trainer who existed only while she was hypnotized, to help her lose weight.

I was a trainer who she would obey unquestioningly.

“Because I’m using your brother’s eyes to assess you, I can tell what he likes.”

My sister’s eyes widened.

“Tell me,” she begged, unprompted. “Tell me what he likes.”

“Okay,” I said, but paused…

…

…

…for effect. “But you can’t let on that you know. It’s an invasion of privacy. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” my sister replied. “I’ll only use it to…”

She trailed off.

“To what?”

“To make myself more attractive to him,” Cynthia responded, her nose going pink at the admission.

“Okay,” I said. “But you can never reveal to him—or anyone—that you know this. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And you can’t judge him for it. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” my sister replied solemnly. “I promise I won’t.”

I hesitated. What was I doing? My plan had been to continue slowly escalating. Like I had with Mom—get Cynthia to accept spankings as a regular part of her weekly routine, then move onto whipping, stripping…

But things were going so well. Why drag it out?

“Your brother,” I said slowly. Cautiously. “…is a sadist.”

Cynthia didn’t respond. In truth, I didn’t even sense a difference in the speed of her breathing. For all the reaction I got, I could have told her that I was a cabbage.

No, that probably would have gotten more of a response.

“Do you know what that is?” I prompted.

“Yes,” Cynthia responded, her eyes glassy, her gaze straight ahead. “It means he gets off on causing pain.”

“Not just causing it,” I clarified. “Watching it, too.”

Again, zero response.

I was starting to get nervous. Maybe I should have just stuck to the plan. I had no idea what my sister was thinking.

Oh. Duh. That…that wasn’t a problem any more.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m processing,” Cynthia replied slowly.

“How do you feel about this news?”

“Excited,” she responded in a whisper. “Knowing Daniel is a sadist…it excites me.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I mean, I don’t really know what I was so worried about—the past few months had told me that I could mold my sister’s reaction to be anything I wanted it to be.

_Anything_.

“Why does it excite you?” I asked, feeling better. I guess if my sister had thought it was gross, that would have…hurt?

I know, it’s a weird reaction to have. But my sister’s opinion…fuck, it mattered to me. Dumb as that sounds, it did. It was nice to know that she didn’t think I was a freak.

It was even nicer to know that she was turned on by my admission.

“Because it gives me a window,” Cynthia replied thoughtfully.

“A window?”

“A way to turn him on,” she replied. “If I know what he likes, I can use that to arouse him. And if I can arouse him…he’ll be attracted to me.”

I grinned. Some risks were worth taking.

* * *

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	Chapter 23

“Grab me a cookie,” I asked, and my sister scurried to obey me.

It was movie night. About once a month, my sister, my Mom and I sat down to watch a movie. We’d done it since I was little.

Of course, things were a little different now.

Not as different as they’d eventually get, of course. I envisioned a future where movie night was naked night. Hell, where _every_ night was naked night. And while I was watching the movie, my mother and my sister would be on their knees, sharing my cock.

I’d tell them to keep it down, and they’d obey, sucking my cock as quietly as they could. Maybe one of them would moan a little too loudly, and I’d tell them to go over and make a mark on the board—this was something I’d read in some BDSM forums, the idea of having a prominently-displayed punishment board, where all infractions were recorded, so that punishments could be doled out fairly.

If they were good, maybe I’d reward them by letting them make out for a while…although that might be too distracting. No, better for them to keep all their attention on me, so that I could watch the film in peace.

They could make out while the credits rolled.

If they made me cum during the movie, I’d let loose all over their faces, make them lick it off. Or aim for Cynthia’s tits—those tits that I’d dreamed of for so long.

I’d coat my sister’s tits with cum, make her lick one off, make Mom clean up the other. It could be a race—whoever finished first got to fuck me.

Whoever finished second got to go down on whoever was fucking me. While I fucked them.

With a sigh, I returned my focus to the film. I wasn’t there yet.

_Yet_.

But even in the past few months, I’d made progress.

Cynthia returned with a cookie, practically bowing in submission as she gave it to me. To my delight, her eyes and Mom’s eyes both followed its journey from my hand to my mouth—Mom because she wanted to be me, enjoying the sweet treat…and Cynthia, because she wanted to be the cookie.

Like, I don’t mean that she wanted me to eat her. Cannibalism had never been one of the fetishes she’d mentioned. Although her sexual imagination was starting to get more and more perverse, so I absolutely wouldn’t have been surprised if that eventually popped up.

My sister was perpetually ready to burst—as the film started, sometimes I’d tear my eyes away from the film to watch her. Her hands had started doing this thing—when she wasn’t paying attention, they’d start softly stroking her exposed skin. Cynthia was so sex-starved, her body was clearly crying out for attention—and since no one else was giving it to her, she’d resorted to doing it herself.

Mom was less interesting, at least to watch. I couldn’t help but smile at the knowledge that even now, as we watched the film, she had a pair of nipple clamps on. It was her latest punishment—she’d been unable to complete her workout in less than half an hour, and so I’d made her wear nipple clamps for an entire twenty-four hours.

She hadn’t resisted. She was almost as obedient as Cynthia, at least when it came to punishment.

Of course, it had helped that I’d spanked her to near-orgasm, telling her that there was no way she could be _sure_ that no one could tell that she was wearing nipple clamps. Telling her that there was a chance—a very remote, but still real chance—that someone would be able to recognize the distinct shape through her clothes, and tell that she was a pervert.

She’d shivered as I’d put them on, biting her lip with a combination of pain and arousal.

Pain and arousal. I don’t even know if Mom could tell them apart any more.

When the movie was done, I knew she’d let me remove them. Taking off her top in front of me didn’t even register to Mom as weird, not anymore.

At least, not in the context of punishments.

It hard to deny—the plan was working. I mean, obviously _my_ plan was working; getting my Mom topless, my sister obedient and sexually-obsessed with me…but I mean beyond that.

My Mom’s diet plan.

She wasn’t at her absolute physical apex, but fuck—she wasn’t far off. When she wasn’t working, being spanked, or cheating on her diet, she spent every spare moment she had in the gym, and she was looking incredible. To my dismay, her tits _had_ shrunk, but not as much as I’d feared, and they were still bigger than her daughter’s.

And Cynthia’s were far from small.

I was hypnotizing both of them several times a week, and neither of them suspected a thing. I was spanking Mom to orgasm each night she completed her workouts (and refrained from cheating on her diet), and plumbing the depths of BDSM forums for punishments to give her on nights that she didn’t.

Cynthia, meanwhile, was obeying my every command, every hour of the day. I suspect I could have texted her in the middle of school and she would have come running. She was still edging for me, at least three times a day, playing with herself while imagining serving me, picturing me over her, fucking her, humiliating her, taking her however I wanted…but never cumming.

It had been several months now since she’d cum, and it was starting to melt her brain. She was constantly wet, constantly aroused, completely sexually obsessed with me, desperate to please me, to gain my interest.

She was almost ready. They both were.

As I settled back and watched the movie, I smiled. The next time we had a movie night, things would be much closer to my fantasies.

I just knew it.

* * *

“Your brother gets off on more than just pain,” I told my sister. She’d just learned that I was a sadist, and—to my great delight—she hadn’t gone running.

She’d been intrigued. Excited.

Aroused.

“He gets off on punishing people. Humiliating them. Finding out their greatest fears, and making them come true.”

As the words spilled out of my mouth, I was surprising even myself. It was all true, but…honestly, I’d never thought about it before, let alone said it out loud.

I was confessing stuff to my sister that I hadn’t even admitted to myself.

“How does that make you feel?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Excited,” my sister repeated.

“Aroused?”

“Yes.”

Again, an unexpected feeling of relief came across me. “Good,” I said with a nod. “As your trainer, I’m here to help. And it seems to me…”

I paused. Did I really want to do this?

The sight of Cynthia’s heaving bosom confirmed that I did. She was wearing blue panties, pale blue stockings, a white tank top, and no bra.

Her panties were soaked.

God, I couldn’t wait until I could tear them off her. Cut them off her.

Forbid her from ever wearing panties again.

“It seems to me,” I continued, “that the best chance we have is by playing to your brother’s desires. If you can humiliate yourself in front of him, that might arouse him. And if he’s aroused, he might be attracted to you. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” Cynthia responded, her voice a nervous squeak.

“So tell me,” I said, leaning forward. “What are your greatest fears?”

“Heights,” Cynthia replied immediately. “I’m terrified of heights.”

I rolled my eyes. Sure, I could have made her…I dunno, climb a ladder or whatever, but that wasn’t exactly filling my dick with blood.

“What else?” I sighed. “Dig a little deeper than that.”

My sister thought for a moment, before adding another cliché to the list. “Spiders,” she told me. “Don’t like spiders.”

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not claiming to have a deep and thorough knowledge of my own turn-ons. Like I said, I only really thought about them for the first time as I was sharing them with my sister. Like, I knew that I enjoyed spanking my mother, and whipping her feet. Giving her an exhibitionistic streak hadn’t done much to me, except for seeing how much it turned her on…and knowing that it terrified her, and that there was no way she would have done any of it without my influence.

But I can tell you, the idea of setting a bunch of spiders on my sister while she walked a rope bridge did absolutely nothing for me.

“Anything else?”

The pause was longer this time, as my sister really considered her own psyche. I think she could tell I was disappointed by her first two answers, and pleasing me had become my sister’s primary motivator.

“Rejection,” she finally said, making my ears perk up. My cock, too.

“Rejection?” I asked, and she confirmed her response. “What about rejection?”

Don’t get me wrong—even if I didn’t work out any of my sister’s psychological fears, I could quite happily continue down the pain route I was taking my mother. I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Mom’s new routine having results—my mother was over the moon with the return of her old form.

At this point, she would have obeyed my every command just as readily as Cynthia would, simply because she knew that it _worked_.

Cynthia had noticed too. I bet she would have spotted the changes even if she hadn’t been utterly obsessed with weight-loss, they were so striking.

Of course, she didn’t get to see Mom’s naked body like I did.

Not yet.

My mother and my sister were both onboard with my more-than-a-little unorthadox methods, and Mom really was a loving parent. If I’d told her that the only way to get Cynthia to the same level of fitness as her was to punish her, I knew she would have obeyed without question.

As would my sister.

But Cynthia was already hanging onto my every word, and so I figured I could try something a little different. A little bolder, perhaps.

And hey, if I discovered more things about my own sexuality on the way, so be it.

“I think I’m afraid of confirmation,” she finally said.

“Confirmation of what?”

“Confirmation that I’m worthless. Confirmation that I have absolutely nothing to offer, that I don’t contribute. Confirmation that I have absolutely no value as a woman. As a person.”

I swear, my dick couldn’t have been harder.

“Confirmation that I’m fat.”

If I were a better person (spoiler alert: I’m not), I probably should have metaphorically reached in and helped soothe my sister’s troubled psyche. Before our sessions, I had to wonder—had she always thought that a woman’s value as a person was directly tied to her weight, or was that a result of my hypnosis? Had that spawned from my insistence that she obsess over her weight, and train herself to be completely obsessed with sex?

It didn’t really matter, I guess. Either way, it was a tool that I could use.

“Tell your brother this,” I instructed her. “Tell him your greatest fears. Tell him how much the idea of being rejected like this terrifies you, how much it would destroy you.”

Cynthia had stopped breathing; she was hanging onto my every word.

“…and then tell him to use it to punish you. He might fight back, but you have to insist. Tell him it’s the only way you’ll really feel the consequences of cheating on your diet. Daniel is a sadist—he wants to make you suffer. He’ll get off on it.”

My sister let out a long, ragged sigh at my instructions. A part of me wanted to feel bad for how much I was messing with her head—like, her obsession with her weight had been fucked up when we’d started.

Now…it was something else.

I _wanted_ to feel bad, but I couldn’t. Because I knew this was all for a purpose—I wanted to turn my sister into my personal sex-slave, into my ideal sister slut….

And her obsession had given me a clear path.

* * *

It was less than twenty-four hours after I woke her up that Cynthia found me and began her confession.

While her subconscious knew of my sadistic tendencies, her conscious mind didn’t. I made a mental note to ask what she’d _thought_ she was doing when she admitted her fear of rejection, and then begged me to use it as a punishment next time she ‘screwed up’.

My tongue flicked across my lips before I answered—a single, beautiful word.

“No.”

God, I swear—I could have cum right then and there. The sight of my beautiful sister, begging for rejection— _and being rejected_ …I had been right, it really was as much of a turn-on as watching my mother get spanked.

My perverse tendencies would have been a problem…except for the fact that I was perfectly situated to take full advantage of them. I could be a sadist, and my mother and sister wouldn’t complain…they’d beg for more.

Cynthia’s face fell. You know that moment in The Simpsons where Bart freeze-frames the exact moment Ralph’s heart breaks? It was like the world’s sexiest version of that; my sister was wearing a light pink bra, a matching pair of panties, knee-high socks, and the world’s saddest look on her face.

“Please, Daniel,” she begged, getting down on her knees—a trick that had worked before. “Please…I need this.”

“No,” I repeated. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“It’s so right,” she moaned, inadvertently letting her lust show in her voice. “God, please…it’s so, so right.”

“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe Mom will do it,”

I turned back to the video game I’d been playing when Cynthia had interrupted me. It took her a few minutes to muster up the energy to get up and leave; in the meantime, she just sat there in dejected silence, completely crushed, while I finished solving the puzzle and collected another Korok Seed.

The next time I put Cynthia under, I confirmed that she hadn’t asked Mom—she’d been worried that Mom would find it a weird request.

Honestly, she was probably right. Mom was completely onboard with physical punishments, but I think she would’ve found the mental stuff a little uncomfortable.

“Why do you think your brother said no?” I asked, and Cynthia sighed in response.

“Because I think he’s a good guy,” she said sadly. “He doesn’t want to hurt me.”

“Even though he’s a sadist?”

“Yeah,” she said. “He might find it sexy, but he wouldn’t actually _do_ it. He wouldn’t do something to hurt his family.”

I raised one eyebrow. At this point, Cynthia had no idea about the punishments I was bestowing upon Mom every night.

That, I realized, had to change. I’d planned on my refusal making Cynthia want me more—if she was able to justify it away as her brother being a good guy, that wasn’t going to work.

A smile spread across my face. Besides, a little competition never hurt anyone.

“Mom has been losing weight, hasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said. “She’s been doing an amazing job at it.”

“Better than you.”

“Better than me.”

“After I wake you up, your brother going to mention the punishments I’ve been giving Mom. Once he does, I want you to go and ask Mom about them. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat it back to me.”

“After we’re done, Daniel is going to talk about how you’ve been punishing our mother. After that, I’m going to get more details from her.”

“Good girl.”

I smiled at Cynthia’s tremble of pleasure.

“Tell me about what you’ve been thinking about while you masturbate.”

“My brother,” she said without hesitation. “I’ve been…I’ve been imagining him hurting me.”

I leaned forward. Apparently while my sister was edging, her subconscious was more than happy to provide fuel for her arousal.

“Oh yeah?” I asked, my voice low. “How?”

“Physically,” Cynthia said with a soft moan. “I’ve been imagining him spanking me, like Mom did.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else,” she said, a confused tone in her voice.

I smiled. Once Mom told her the details of some of the punishments I’d been giving her, I was confident that would change.

“Have you been imagining him hurting you non-physically?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Cynthia replied reluctantly. “I’ve been imagining him spitting on me. Calling me a slut.”

This wasn’t new.

“…calling me fat.”

“Oh?”

That was.

“I’ve been imagining opening up to him, telling him my deepest fears and anxieties,” Cynthia continued. “And in response, he…he tells me that they’re right. That they’re all true.”

“What have you been imagining telling him?”

“I’m self-conscious about my knees,” she said, and I rolled my eyes. Women.

“What does he say in response to that?”

“He tells me that I should be. He tells me that they’re grandma knees.”

Honestly, sometimes I wish I could hypnotize myself. Not to change my behaviour particularly, just to _understand_ it.

‘Grandma knees’. Why did _that_ make my cock pulse?

“How would you react if your brother called your knees…grandma knees?”

“I’d hate it,” Cynthia whispered. “I’d hate it so much.”

“And?”

“And I’d get so, so wet.”

* * *

It was several days before I was next able to put Cynthia under. She’d been even…squirmier than normal, if that’s even a word.

She must have been starting to get the hang of a life without orgasms—I guess practice makes perfect. I knew for sure she was as turned-on as she’d ever been, but it had been a while since we’d had a close call.

I loved denying my sister orgasms almost as much as I loved giving them to my mother. Cynthia’s situation had started as a way to control her, to soften her thinking a little, make her easier to manipulate…but now, it was almost as much fun as watching her wear practically nothing around the house.

It was nowhere near as much fun as knowing I’d _made_ her wear practically nothing around the house. I couldn’t imagine anything would ever compete with that.

Maybe watching my sister lick out our mother while I fucked her from behind. Yeah, I could see that coming pretty close.

So even though it had been months and months since Cynthia last came, she was even more heightened after I casually mentioned that I was punishing Mom.

And after she went and asked Mom for details.

Mom told her everything, of course—as far as our mother was concerned, this was just a great way to lose weight.

She’s very trusting, our Mom.

Cynthia didn’t bring it up with me again; I don’t know if she was just processing it, or if she didn’t know how to broach the topic, or if she just didn’t want to discuss it.

But as soon as she was under, my sister was more than willing to talk about punishments.

“Why do you think Mom is losing weight faster than you?” I asked.

“Because she’s being punished,” Cynthia said. “Because my brother is punishing her when she screws up.”

“The only reason you’re not being punished is because you don’t screw up,” I pointed out. “Isn’t that better?”

“No.”

Her response was immediate. I stifled a laugh.

“Why?”

“Because…it’s not the same.”

There it was again. The squirminess. She wasn’t moving—my sister basically never moved while she was under—but it was still there, a feeling of restlessness. Unease.

“How do you feel about your brother punishing your mother?” I asked, and—to my great surprise—Cynthia’s eyelids began to flutter.

The moment passed, but it was a closer call than I could remember in weeks. Cynthia almost came at the _question_ …which also served as a pretty clear answer.

“Do you want your brother to punish you?”

“Yes,” Cynthia gasped. “Yes, yes, yes, yes…”

“Why?”

There was a pause.

“Because I’ll lose weight faster,” she responded, but I don’t think either of us believed her.

“Don’t lie to me,” I warned. “Why do you want your brother to punish you?”

“Because I want to feel him touch me,” Cynthia said throatily. “I want to feel his hand on my ass. I want him to strip me naked and put rings on my nipples, bulldog clips. I want his attention. I want him to get off on punishing me. I want…”

I held up my hand, and my sister fell silent.

“Do you think he’s getting off on punishing your mother?”

“Yesss,” Cynthia hissed.

“Why?”

I was concerned. If Mom had told her that, something had gone wrong, and I needed to…—

“Because he’s a sadist,” Cynthia responded. “He gets off on hurting people. I know he must be loving hurting Mom.”

“Do you think this consciously?”

“No,” Cynthia responded, and I relaxed.

“What does your conscious brain think?”

“Consciously, I think that my brother enjoys seeing Mom get healthier. I think that makes him happy.”

“But subconsciously?”

“Subconsciously, I know he must be getting hard every time he punishes her. He probably thinks about it while he—ungh!—jerks off..”

There was a pause, as my sister regathered her thoughts.

“…and I want that to be me.”

“What?”

“I want it to be me that he thinks of when he gets off.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

My sister floundered for a moment, before remembering the justification I’d spent so long setting up.

“…because then I’ll be attractive.”

I narrowed my eyes. It had worked before—I figured it was worth trying again.

“Don’t lie to me,” I said slowly. “Tell me the truth. Why do you want your brother to think of you when he gets off?”

There was a long pause before my sister replied.

“Because…” she said, a note of discomfort in her voice. “…because I think of him when I touch myself. He turns me on, and I want to turn him on as well.”

“Why?” I pushed.

“Ungh,” she moaned. My cock throbbed at the sexy sound coming out of her voice, at the way her body didn’t twitch, even though it clearly wanted to. “…because if I turn him on, maybe…m-maybe something could happen.”

I tried to hide the note of hope in my voice, but I’m not gonna lie—I did a pretty terrible job of it.

“Something like what?”

“Something…like…”

There was a long pause—the longest in a while—before my sister continued.

“…maybe he’d fuck me,” she said, shivering with pleasure. “Maybe he’d fuck his sister.”

“Would you want that?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Yes,” Cynthia replied, faster than I expected. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

* * *

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	Chapter 24

I jerk off a lot.

Or, I dunno, maybe I jerk off the normal amount. Once or twice a day, on average. It feels like a lot to me.

My all-time record was six times in a day. I had the house to myself, I had nothing else to do…the first three or four times were for fun—the last two were just to see if I could, y’know?

The night that Cynthia told me she wanted to fuck me, I jerked off again and again and again. I know I broke my record, but I honestly lost count…all I could think of was my sister sitting in front of me, glassy-eyed, reluctantly admitting that she wanted to fuck me.

Her black bra, straining to contain her huge tits. Her soaking wet black panties, her white ankle socks. I hadn’t even taken a photo—I didn’t need to. The sight of her in that outfit would be burned into my brain for the rest of my life.

When she was mine— _completely_ mine—I’d have her wear that outfit all the time. Maybe that would be her ‘around the house’ outfit.

Unlike the time I set the record, I didn’t jerk off to test my own limits. I jerked off because…fuck, because I _had_ to.

Imagine your celebrity crush. Scarlett Johannsen or Taylor Swift or whoever.

Now, imagine them sitting in front of you, hypnotized to share their deepest innermost thoughts. They part their lips, they open their mouth, and they say it.

“I want to fuck you.”

Yeah. I went at it so hard, I’m surprised nothing fell off.

The next morning, I woke up invigorated. Invigorated and with a sore cock.

Cynthia didn’t question me when I told her I wanted to put her under again. I don’t normally hypnotize my sister two days in a row, but this was a special occasion. I was closer than I’d ever been.

How close? Well, that’s what I needed to find out.

“What would you do if your brother said he wanted to fuck you?”

“I wouldn’t believe it.”

I narrowed my eyes. My sister was laying on her back, her arms resting on her stomach. She wasn’t wearing lingerie today, just normal underwear—a patterned pair of panties and a black sports-bra.

Oh, and stockings. Yesterday was one of the few days my sister _hadn’t_ been wearing stockings when I put her under.

I loved my life.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Cynthia replied sadly, “I’m only at four point one.”

“Maybe that’s enough,” I protested, already knowing that this argument wasn’t going to work. “Maybe your brother is as horny as you are, and he’d take anything he could get. Even a four.”

“Maybe,” Cynthia agreed. Even when she was arguing with me, her natural submissiveness came to the fore. “…if it was someone else. But he wouldn’t do that with his sister. He’s a good guy.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “So…what if you asked him?”

“Mmm?”

“What if you asked your brother if you could fuck him? What do you think would happen then?”

There was a brief pause as my sister considered the question.

“I think he’d be grossed out.”

Not an unreasonable guess, considering she still thought of me as a ‘good guy’.

“What if he wasn’t? What if it made you _more_ attractive in his eyes?”

The pause was longer this time.

“Then…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“It would be weird. I wouldn’t know what to think.”

Again, fair enough. From my sister’s point of view, I was a normal teenager. For a normal teenager to go from ‘not attracted to my sister’ to ‘more attracted because she’s a deviant’ was a bit of a stretch.

I sat back, disappointed. I’d been hoping for an easy path, but it was becoming obvious that wasn’t going to happen.

There was still a bit of work to do yet.

“Well then,” I said. “Let’s work on making you more attractive to your brother. Does that sound good?”

“Yes,” Cynthia moaned.

I smiled.

“Your brother found you more attractive after Mom spanked you, didn’t he?”

“Yessss…”

“He must find it hot to watch you get spanked, right?”

“Right.”

“Maybe he even jerked off thinking about it.”

My sister twitched with arousal. She can’t move a muscle when she’s under…not voluntarily, at least. But at the idea of me getting off while thinking about her…it made her twitch so hard, I half expected her to fall off the bed.

“Would you like that?”

“Mmm-hmm…”

Cynthia’s eyes were fluttering. It had been so long since she’d cum, she was so pent up…but her obedience was stronger than her arousal (unlike our Mom), and so I knew she wouldn’t climax.

She was my good girl.

“But he’s been spanking Mom for weeks now, hasn’t he?”

It was like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. My sister was instantly crestfallen, a sad look in her blank eyes.

“Yes.”

“So while it made you a _little_ more attractive to him, it isn’t enough, is it?”

“No.”

“What else has he been doing to Mom?”

“He’s whipped her feet. He’s made her kneel on rice. He’s made her moon the back yard, and the front yard, and…”

As my sister listed all the punishments I’d given our mother, my sore cock strained against my pants. Her listing them made me remember them, and remembering them made me think of what more there was to come…

“…and he’s made her wear nipple clamps for a full twenty-four hours.”

When she was done, I nodded.

“Compared to that, seeing you get spanked is pretty tame, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Again, her voice was dripping with disappointment. My cock was rock-hard.

“So to really get his attention, what will you need to do?”

Cynthia looked like she lost focus for a second, as she mentally ran through options. When you’re as turned-on as she was, I’m guessing you don’t jump straight to the most logical answer.

Eventually, I threw her a bone. Not the fun kind I’d eventually be throwing her; a hint.

“…you’ll have to match Mom, won’t you?”

My sister’s eyes widened.

“You’ll have to convince Mom that the spanking wasn’t enough. You’ll need to escalate, make sure that she’s putting you through as much pain as possible.”

In response, I was met with a blank, turned-on stare.

“You’ll need to make sure your brother sees you get whipped, kneel on rice, get clamps on your nipples…”

Cynthia was practically vibrating with arousal at the idea.

“That’ll help make sure he notices you, won’t it?”

“Yess…” she replied, her eyes rolling back in her head as her entire body trembled. After a few moments, her breathing calmed down once more.

So that was what it looked like when someone edged.

* * *

My sister isn’t a natural liar. But over the next few days, she definitely got better at it, convincing Mom that she’d ‘screwed up’ every day.

So that Mom would punish her.

I wasn’t always in the room when she told Mom. But my sister was doing this with a single, simple objective in mind—so I could watch her get punished—and so she always made sure that I was there when discipline was doled out.

You know how DVDs (remember back when we had DVDs?) used to come with, like, director’s commentary and deleted scenes and all that? One of the features built in—like, if you look at your remote, it probably has a dedicated button—was ‘angles’.

I was curious about what that meant, so one time I looked it up. It turns out that since they were able to store so much stuff on a single disc, the people who made DVD players thought that directors might want to include alternative angles of the scene. So when Batman is punching the Joker or whatever, you could hit the ‘angle’ button and instead of seeing it as a close-up from a low angle, you could see it from the Joker’s point of view or whatever.

I never saw a single DVD actually _use_ the feature; it turns out that directors put a lot of thought into which angle they choose in each moment, and people watching a movie never really wanted to see the angles that didn’t work as well.

Maybe it was more popular in porn? I could imagine wanting to switch to a POV angle during a blowjob or whatever.

And so while I never recorded my sister’s punishments (or my mother’s—I figured the risk of being caught WAY outweighed the reward) and put them on DVD, in my own way, I had access to a few different angles.

Each time Cynthia was punished, I’d be there in person. Pretending to go on my phone, or do homework, or make myself some toast or whatever. So I’d see it from the outside; I’d see the look on her face, I’d watch the way her body shook as Mom spanked her.

My cock would throb whenever a tear of pain rolled down her face.

And then afterwards, I’d get to “see” it twice more: once from Cynthia’s point of view, and once from Mom’s.

Mom’s description of what happened was always very matter of fact. She’d talk about how hard she’d spanked her daughter, and how she hoped it made her better at sticking to her diet. She genuinely didn’t think of it as sexual at all, no matter how many times Cynthia accidentally let out a moan as Mom’s hand struck her ass.

No matter how close Cynthia got to cumming from the feeling of our mother’s punishment.

My sister, however, was much more expressive.

“What did you think of the first time Mom spanked you?”

My eyebrows shot up at Cynthia’s response. She didn’t say a word…well, maybe it was technically a word. It certainly wasn’t a word that I’d ever seen in a dictionary.

In reply to my question, my sister just let out a single, long groan.

For a moment, I actually wondered if she was going to cum again. Aside from her creamy throat (god, that throat…I wanted to bite it. I wanted to mark it. I wanted to wrap a hand around it and choke my sister while I fucked her. Can you tell I spent a lot of time thinking about Cynthia’s throat?) she didn’t move a muscle.

She just say there, glassy-eyed, moaning loudly in pleasure at the memory of what had happened.

Don’t get me wrong; I’d known at the time she was enjoying it. The moans, the squeals, the noises she made each time Mom’s hand struck her rear.

I’d thought she was being pretty expressive. It wasn’t until I asked her under hypnosis that I realized how much she’d been trying to hide her true reaction.

My cock thickened as I waited for my sister’s long, loud moan to finish. When she was done, I tried again.

“How did it feel?” I asked, a huge grin on my face.

“It hurt,” Cynthia gasped. God damn it—I’d thought my cock couldn’t get any more erect, but hearing Cynthia practically cumming from the fact that Mom had caused her pain.

Turns out that was enough to get me to a whole new level of hardness.

“Did you like it?”

“No,” Cynthia replied immediately. I narrowed my eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like pain,” she admitted, her voice still thick with lust. “Mom didn’t go easy on me.”

She wasn’t lying about that—as far as our mother was concerned, the point of the spanking was to deter Cynthia from cheating on her diet. Pain was the point—and if she happened to cum along the way, well, that was just the body’s natural response to a spanking.

I mean, pain was the point for my sister, too, but not in the same way.

“So then…why did you…”

I trailed off, not quite sure how to continue. Fortunately, my sister understood exactly what I was getting at (like I said: she’s a true submissive) and answered the question I was _trying_ to ask.

“I don’t like pain,” she repeated. “I didn’t like being spanked. I hated how much it hurt. But…”

Even while hypnotized, even while completely under my thrall, under my control, even while being molded into exactly what I want her to be…Cynthia still had me wrapped around her little finger.

I leaned forward, desperate to hear the end of her thought.

“…but my brother might have liked it. My brother likes pain. If my brother liked watching me get punished, I’d do it a thousand times. I’d do anything to get his attention.”

My cock throbbed, my grin broadened, and I could feel a surge of power rush through my body.

“Damn straight,” I said simply.

Watching my mom spank my sister had been hot, in and of itself. I mean, the visuals alone—my mother wasn’t dressed as a dominatrix or anything like that, but as she’d started to lose weight, she’d definitely started dressing a little more sexy.

When I was done, my family members wouldn’t ever wear anything more than a bikini (and even that might only be for special occasions) but for now, seeing my mother wearing something other than “Mom jeans” and a baggy sweater was a treat.

So yeah—seeing my sister, knowing that she was practically throbbing with arousal, desperate for release, wearing nothing but a bra and a thong, while my mother (dressed in a tank top and no bra) put her over her knees and slapped her until Cynthia was crying with pain…

Well, I’m sure I don’t need to explain why _that’s_ hot.

But the icing on the cake was what I _couldn’t_ see.

I could hear my sister’s whimpers of pleasure, but I knew now that was just the tip of the iceberg; if she could, Cynthia would let out a long, loud groan like she had when I hypnotized her.

My sister would occasionally glance at me while Mom spanked her, but I knew now that every inch of her was aware of my presence; if she could, she’d stare straight at me and drink up every part of my reaction while the tears rolled down her face.

When Mom was done, Cynthia would collapse to the ground, gasping in pleasure and pain; if she could, she’d have crawled to me, unbuckled my jeans, pulled out my cock, and probably cum at the sight of how hard I was.

How hard her pain made me.

Unlike our mother, my sister wasn’t a painslut. She didn’t get off on being hurt. Cynthia said it herself—she hated it.

But she’d do it for me.

Which raised one important, simple question: what else could I make her do?

* * *

Over the next week, my sister barely went a single day without faking a slip-up. Fortunately for her, Mom was more than happy to help get her back on track…which is to say, punish her.

I barely needed to do anything to persuade her, either. I mean, Mom had _seen_ the results of the punishments I’d been giving her, and was more than happy to try to share those results with her daughter. She was the fittest she’d been in years, and I could tell that she loved it. She still occasionally sneaked snacks, but it has much less of an effect when you’re spending over two hours each day on the treadmill, y’know?

And Cynthia had been even easier to convince.

When I’d put her under and told her what the next steps were going to be, I’d been worried that I’d make her cum again. She’d edged at least once, I was sure of that.

God it was hot. My sister, mostly naked, her skin flushed, edging without touching herself (or even moving) just because I’d told her that Mom was going to punish her.

That Mom was going to cause pain. Not because she needed it. Not because she was going to enjoy it—neither of them would, in fact.

No, purely and simply because it would bring _me_ pleasure.

My sister would be putting her body through the kind of pain she’d never felt before, just for the chance that it would turn her brother on.

“Tell me again,” I said, my voice hoarse. It was Friday night, and my sister had just returned inside from her latest punishment.

“She spanked me,” she started. This was the third time I’d had Cynthia tell me the story. You ever have one of those movies that you just love more than anything else, that you can watch again and again and again and never get sick of?

I already knew that this story was going to be like that.

“How did you feel about your brother watching you get spanked?”

There it was again. That long, low moan. That sound of pure arousal. The sound of a woman who hasn’t gotten off in so long that arousal has pretty much taken over her brain. My sister wasn’t being piloted by reason any more—now, her pussy was in the driver’s seat.

“I loved it,” Cynthia finally panted. “Fuck. I loved it so much.”

“Why?”

“Because I know it turns him on. I know that he finds it attractive. I know that Daniel likes seeing me in pain. Even if he doesn’t realize it consciously…I know that my brother’s cock is reacting to what he sees. To what he hears.”

“Do you think he got hard?”

“I hope so,” my sister replied earnestly. “God, I hope so.”

“How did it feel to be spanked?”

“It hurt. My ass felt like it was burning. Mom wasn’t holding back—every strike, every blow was as hard as she could make it.”

“Did you enjoy the pain?”

“No,” Cynthia admitted. “I hated it. But I loved knowing that my brother loved it.”

“He probably loved that you hated it,” I said, as if I didn’t know for sure that was true.

In response, there it was again. That moan.

“Uh huh,” she eventually responded. “Hopefully.”

“Don’t you worry that your brother is a pervert? What kind of person gets off from seeing someone in pain? Especially his own family.”

The first time I’d asked this question, I don’t really know where it’d come from. Guilt, maybe? A need for reassurance? A sense of caution, perhaps? After all, if my sister was suspicious of me, that could be a problem.

“I wish he was a pervert,” Cynthia replied immediately, her eyes alight with passion. “God, I wish my brother was fucked up like me.”

Part of me was tempted to come clean. To tell my sister that hey, her brother was exactly as into her as she was into him. And there was a decent chance that it would work. She was so fired up by the idea, so turned on just thinking about the idea of me being as into her as she was into me…

It could have resulted in me waking her up, and fucking her right then and there. My cock finally tasting the forbidden fruit it had lusted after for so many years. Sliding in between my sister’s wet pussy-lips, cumming inside her. Cynthia’s body, available to me any time of the day or night. Not just for sex—for anything I wanted.

I could have spanked her to sleep each night, and woken her up with my cock each morning, in any hole I wanted.

_Maybe_.

But I couldn’t be sure. Maybe the opposite would happen—she’d piece everything together, realize that I had made her like this. Remember that she hadn’t formerly been into BDSM, that she hadn’t ever lusted after her little brother before I’d started hypnotizing her.

Maybe she’d tell Mom, and everything—all my plans that I’d been working so hard towards—would collapse.

The prize would be great, but the risk simply wasn’t worth it.

Besides…I was very, very happy with how things were currently going. I could spank my mother’s naked body to orgasm, any time I wanted. Cynthia was walking around the house, barely dressed, in a constant state of arousal.

And there was something insanely hot about the fact that she had no idea I was into her. Her desperate attempts to get my attention—wanting me so powerfully, while thinking her passion was unrequited.

I liked watching her suffer in the exact way that I had for so many years.

“Describe the pain to me.”

“It stung. Mom didn’t hesitate—each time she hit me, it felt like it was adding to the previous blow. Sharp, stinging pain that built and built until I felt like I was going to burst.”

“Did you want to cum?”

“I always want to cum.”

“Do you think you could have cum from Mom’s hand on your butt?”

“Probably,” Cynthia confessed.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m not allowed to. Not until I work out how to thank my brother.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” I replied, allowing myself a broad grin. “What happened next?”

“I think Mom decided that the spanking wasn’t enough.”

Correct. Although she may have been nudged slightly in that direction.

“So what did she do?”

“She told me to take my stockings off. She said she was going to whip my feet.”

“Did you like stripping down in front of your brother?”

Cynthia had been wearing a skirt, so I hadn’t seen anything of note. It had still been a delight, though—sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to be preoccupied by my laptop, while my panting, sore sister got even more naked for me.

While my horny sister, desperate for my attention, prepared to be tortured just in the hope it would turn me on.

“No.”

I barely managed to hold back a groan of my own at her response. Knowing that she hated getting naked in front of me, that she was only doing it because of my action. My manipulations.

Because of my control.

“Why not?” I asked, my voice raspy.

“Because I’m fat,” she said, and I managed to prevent myself from rolling my eyes. “If I’m going to turn my brother on, it’s not going to be because of my body.”

“So how _are_ you going to do it?”

“By letting him watch me suffer.”

“Good girl.”

Cynthia’s eyes twitched at that one, and I watched another near-orgasm roll across her body. I knew I’d have to wake her up before too much longer—this session had already gone much longer than normal—but I gave her a minute to calm down first.

Myself, too. I’d yet to blow my load in my shorts during one of these sessions, but I’ll tell you what…watching my sister get punished, then listening to her tell me about it again and again and again, breathy and aroused…I was getting pretty damn close.

“What did Mom do next?”

“She looked at me sadly, and warned me that this was going to hurt.”

“Were you excited?”

“Yesss,” Cynthia said immediately. “I wanted it to hurt. I wanted my brother to see how much it hurt.”

“Do you think Daniel likes watching you suffer?”

“I hope so,” she moaned. “God I hope so.”

“Do you think he likes watching Mom punish you?”

“I do. Even if he doesn’t realize it consciously. I think he subconsciously likes it. I think it turns him on, even if he doesn’t realize.”

“Do you think he wishes it was him, in Mom’s place?”

“Partially.”

“Why only partially?”

“Because he’s a straight guy,” Cynthia responded. She had no idea that she was just repeating ideas back that I’d implanted into her mind. She had no idea how much of what she felt and thought was because I’d put it into her head in the first place. “So I think he likes watching two women together.”

“Do you think he’d like watching you and Mom make love?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, her eyes fluttering at the thought. “He’d love to watch Mom touch me. Spank me while naked. He’d love to watch her bite my tit so hard it left a mark…”

This had been a recent addition to her ever-growing list of ideas. How could she repay me for helping her lose weight? Film a video of another woman brutalizing her body, and “accidentally” leave it somewhere that I could find it. I was half-tempted to let her carry it out, but it was too risky. I’m sure my sister _could_ recruit a sadistic lesbian to record her on tape, but that was a variable too far out of my control.

Besides, I wanted to be her first. She’d never been touched by another—I was going to be her first sexual experience. And her last. I was going to take her virginity, and never let her feel the touch of anyone else.

Besides our mother, of course.

All in good time.

“What did it feel like to have your feet whipped?”

“It hurt. More than the spanking. I didn’t realize the soles of my feet were so sensitive. But more than that…it was scary.”

“Why?” I asked, my breathing heavy. I felt like an energy vampire—leaning forward, hanging on my sister’s every word. This was better than the hottest porn I’d ever seen. Hearing my sister’s experiences, knowing that I caused them—not only the punishment, but all of it. Everything that had happened had been for my pleasure, and neither of the parties involved had any idea.

“I’ve been reading about foot whipping,” my sister said, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. Fuck—even _that_ admission was enough to send a surge of powerful arousal through my body. Just a few months ago, Cynthia wouldn’t have had any reason to give BDSM or foot torture a second thought…now, she was spending her spare time researching it, in the hope of turning me on.

I was so, so close to making her mine. I was training her into the perfect submissive masochist. Soon, my sister would exist purely for my pleasure.

“What did you learn?” I asked hoarsely.

“It can be dangerous. If it’s done wrong—you can break toes, or fracture bones.”

She was right, of course. I’d done a bunch of reading on it before doing it to Mom…and before letting Mom do it to Cynthia, I’d made sure that she did some research as well.

There was something darkly erotic about the idea of making my mother accidentally hobble my sister, but I also knew that would immediately put an end to our little games, so I’d made sure it was done right.

“Did you keep track of how many times Mom whipped you?”

“No,” Cynthia said softly. “I couldn’t. The pain was too much. It was too distracting.”

“Did you want to cum?”

“I always want to cum,” she echoed. “But I don’t think I could have, not from this.”

Mom had never come from having her feet whipped either. But it had always left her so worked up, it had been a cinch to make her cum straight afterwards.

“Do you want Mom to do it again?”

Cynthia hesitated.

“Be honest,” I said warningly. “Remember, I’m doing all this to help you.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and I curled my nails into the palms of my fists to stop myself from losing it. “I mean, no.”

“Which is it? Yes, or no?”

“Both, sir,” she said. Her skin was so flushed; reliving the experience had clearly turned her on as much as it had me. She’d slipped straight into sub mode—I hadn’t ordered her to call me ‘sir’. She was just doing it because it felt right.

Because it _was_ right. I’d never heard anything that felt so right.

“I hated it,” my sister continued. “I never, ever want to go through something like that again. I’d pay any amount of money to make sure that no one ever did that to me for the rest of my life.”

“Then why is it both?”

“Because…” Cynthia replied, her voice quivering with arousal. “It might have turned my brother on. So if I could, I’d do it again right now.”

Part of me wanted to wake her up. So that she wouldn’t suspect anything about this insanely long session, of course, but also so that I could go and jerk off before I burst.

But something she’d said had given me an idea…

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 25

My sister has always been creative. She’s not going to be the next Van Gogh or anything like that (which I’m sure her ears are grateful for) but she’s got good…I dunno, creative impulses. I could easily see her ending up as a graphic designer or something like that.

If I didn’t have very different plans for her future, of course.

But even knowing that my sister had a knack for the creative, I was still impressed when I walked past her bedroom the next day, and saw lego blocks strewn everywhere.

“What’s this about?” I asked, barely able to hide my grin.

The question was unnecessary, of course. I knew exactly what she was doing.

* * *

The previous night, my sister had recounted for me the spanking and foot whipping our mother had given her, in long and wonderful detail.

I could probably have recorded it without her noticing, but I didn’t need to. I’d had her tell me three times, and I’d savored every detail. When I got off later that night, I was able to recall everything she said, every sensation she described.

Every perverse thought she’d had while being punished.

I came quickly, remembering what I’d seen, what I’d heard. I’d witnessed my sister’s punishment at my mother’s hands, then heard her every inner thought afterwards.

The only thing that could have been better was administering it myself.

After the tale finished, I could have woken her up, but instead I had an idea.

“Why do you like getting punished in front of your brother?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Because,” my sister responded obediently, “it’s the only way I’m going to get his attention. It’s the only way I’m going to make him more attracted to me.

“It’s the only way I’m ever going to be a ten.”

I leaned forward. “Don’t lie to me, Cynthia. Why do you like getting punished in front of your brother?”

“…because I want him to want me. I want him to want me as much as I want him.”

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I have to try.”

I couldn’t help but grin at her response. She really had no idea how I felt about her.

Perfect.

“How much time do you and your brother spend around each other?”

“A few hours every day.”

“And how much of that time are you being punished?”

“Maybe half an hour?”

It was closer to ten minutes, actually. It probably felt like an eternity from her end, but as someone enjoying the show…trust me, it was all too brief.

“So only a small fraction of the time you spend together.”

“Yeah…”

My sister sounded nervous. I wasn’t sure if she didn’t understand where I was going…or if she’d already reached the conclusion I was carefully leading her towards.

“So you want your brother to be more attracted to you,” I said slowly, making sure my point was crystal clear. “But he only sees you in pain for a tiny amount of the time you spend together.”

“Yeah,” my sister said, and I could practically hear her heart sinking.

“You should probably do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” my sister replied, and the thoughtful face was still on her face when I woke her up.

“Hey bro,” Cynthia said, as I stared at the lego strewn around her room. When I’d been in here less than twelve hours earlier, it had been spotless. “I got the urge to, y’know, pull out some old…ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

This time, I really couldn’t help myself. A chuckle escaped my lips at the sight of my sister’s bare feet—which had been whipped just the previous night—coming into contact with almost every piece of lego they could as Cynthia walked towards me.

I had to give her credit for the creativity.

“Don’t laugh,” she pouted.

Despite the fact that I couldn’t hold back my laugh, I was still a hundred times better at putting on a poker face than my sister. Fortunately for her, her protestation made sense even if she _hadn’t been_ urgently lusting for me.

And as someone who knew exactly what she was thinking, it was obvious why she didn’t want me to laugh.

She wanted me to reveal that I was turned on. She wanted me to lose control, to ravage her right there.

Or, at the very least, to visibly get a boner.

Even as her eyes scrunched with pain and frustration, they never left my face—she was staring at me, hungrily scanning for a sign, any hint of attraction. I didn’t give her a thing, of course. I’d like to say that it was because I had a specific plan—that I’d mapped it out, worked out exactly when I was going to reveal each possible level of attraction.

But if I’m being honest, it was for one simple reason: denying my sister turned me on just as much as seeing her in pain.

As the day went on, I was very glad that I hadn’t given away the milk for free, as they say. If I had, maybe she would have concluded that the lego trick was enough for the day, that she’d accomplished her goal. But by not giving her even a modicum of feedback, I forced my sister to keep on going, to try harder and harder as the day went past.

The next few moves were a little more subtle than the lego trick. My sister continued her trend of barely wearing anything around the house…but I noticed that her bra wasn’t one I’d ever seen her in before. It wasn’t as sexy as her typical around-the-house wear, and it took me a few minutes to realize what it was.

Cynthia was wearing one of her old bras, from before her tits _really_ ballooned up. Back then, she hadn’t lounged around the house in lingerie, but she also hadn’t been as obsessed with her own unattractiveness, so I’d caught a glimpse of her changing a few times.

Call me dense, but it was probably fifteen minutes before I realized what she was doing. The bra was way, way too tight—I could see it really digging into her skin, and every time she moved, she winced with pain.

Maybe she was putting it on, but it _looked_ real…and I couldn’t look away. The sight of my sister putting herself through this low-level torture, the red marks that her too-tight bra left…it was so fucking hot. Cynthia even caught me staring, once or twice, until eventually I forced myself to stop.

As she left the room, she stubbed her toe. Again, it could have been an actual accident…but after the events of that morning, I suspect it wasn’t. Part of me—most of me—wanted to go to my room and rub one out, but there was a chance that Cynthia would follow me, press her ear against the wall and listen to the sounds of my self-pleasure.

And I didn’t want to give her that. I didn’t want to give her anything. Denying her was almost as hot as watching her put herself through hell for my entertainment.

When the family got together for dinner that night, Cynthia had changed out of the bra—maybe because she’d seen me reacting to it, maybe so that Mom wouldn’t get suspicious, maybe just because it had become too painful to bear—and was more dressed than she’d been in weeks. Jeans, a shirt (but no bra)…and a pair of Mom’s shoes.

“You don’t mind if I borrow these?” she’d asked casually, and Mom had shaken her head.

“Of course not, dear…but aren’t they way too small for you?”

“Yeah,” Cynthia admitted. “A little. But I’m tough. I can deal with it.”

That last remark had been said while looking straight at me, and despite there being no lego in sight, Cynthia winced with every step she made across the room.

My sexy, barely-dressed sister was all but torturing herself for my pleasure.

I loved it.

When she finally, painfully reached the table, Cynthia practically coated her food with hot sauce…and after almost two decades living with my sister, I’m yet to find anyone with a lower tolerance for spice.

She practically choked on the first bite, and it just got worse from there. With every taste, her eyes grew redder and redder, until she was openly crying at the table. I could tell that Mom wanted to say something, and I panicked.

“Oh hey,” I said approvingly, gesturing at my sister’s plate. “That’s a good idea.”

“What is?” Mom replied. Cynthia’s eyes, filled with concern, met mine. She was clearly worried that she was being too obvious…which, in all fairness, she was.

“It’s a great way to make sure you don’t overeat,” I said, impressed by my own quick thinking. “You cover your food in hot sauce. It speeds up your metabolism a little, too.”

That last part was true—I’d done a _lot_ of reading about diets. Even if were eating a bottle of hot sauce with every meal, it would barely have an effect…but hey, every little bit counts.

“Uh huh,” Cynthia said, her cheeks flushed. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Oh,” Mom said thoughtfully. “Huh!”

I swear, it took everything I had to hide my grin as Mom pulled out the bottle of hotsauce and covered her own food in spice. A few minutes later, both women were grimacing with every bite as they choked down their meals, practically sobbing as they did.

If this kept up, mealtimes were about to become my favorite part of the day.

Except for punishment hour, of course.

* * *

“Please,” Mom pleaded. “Please, Daniel. There must be something else.”

I paused, basking in the moment. Mom wasn’t literally on her knees, but she probably wouldn’t have hesitated if I’d ordered her drop before me and beg. She had a look of true fear in her eyes.

I’d never seen her look more attractive. Even when she’d been cumming, naked, bent over my knees.

“What’s wrong?” I answered, trying to play the part of a cheeky, mischievous son. From my mother’s point of view, my suggestion was meant to be embarrassing. Funny because it was inappropriate.

As far as Mom was concerned, it wasn’t even _remotely_ sexual.

“I’ve never…”

My mother hesitated, and a blush spread across her face. I’d made sure to wear pants that hid my erection. If Mom had noticed how hard I was, there’s no way she’d buy the ‘playful’ angle.

And my mother’s trembling lip, the way her hands were nervously playing with her dress…

I was hard as a rock.

“…I’ve never had anything _up there_ ,” she squeaked, and I rolled my eyes.

“Duh,” I said, as though my mother was the Virgin Mary. “That’s the _point_. Besides, this is your fault.”

“I know,” Mom replied, hanging her head in shame. She’d failed to run two kilometers in five minutes—y’know, basically an Olympic-level speed—for almost a week straight now. She hadn’t even come close.

And so she had to wear a butt plug as a punishment.

This hadn’t been something I’d come up with all on my own. Obviously I didn’t invent the butt plug, but you know what I mean.

No, this suggestion had come from Mom herself.

Well, kind of.

* * *

“What’s your greatest fear?” I’d asked. Just like I had with my sister.

I had been completely unsurprised to learn that my mother had almost no self-awareness on this front. She’d umm’d and ahh’d for a while, and come back with even more generic fears than my sister—public speaking, death, anything happening to her children.

And so I’d pushed.

“Why didn’t you go any further with Dad?” I’d asked. “You both liked it when he spanked you. Why stop there?”

“Your father hadn’t wanted to,” Mom replied, squirming at the question. From embarrassment, not arousal.

Probably.

“But you liked it. Right?”

“I did,” Mom admitted. When she was under, she knew that everything I asked was to help her lose weight. She wouldn’t hold anything back, even if I plumbed the depths of her sexual history.

Which I had. There just…wasn’t really much to plumb.

“So you could have asked him for more. Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Mom answered. I wasn’t surprised—she was perhaps the least self-aware person I’d ever met.

But I’d gotten pretty good at finding answers, despite my mother’s unhelpful responses.

“Were you afraid he’d be mad at you?”

“No,” she responded, after a few moments of thought.

“Were you afraid that you liked it more than him?”

Again, there was a pause, but she eventually shook her head. “No. I do think I liked it more than him, but it didn’t scare me.”

“Were you afraid he’d like it _too much_?”

“Yes,” she responded, surprisingly quickly. “I think that was it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” my mother said softly. “And if he liked it too much, maybe he’d ask for more.”

“More?”

“More. Stuff…that I didn’t want to do.”

I leaned forward, put the tips of my fingers together, and grinned.

“Like what?”

* * *

“Please,” Mom said again. “I’ll try harder. I’ll do better. I…I don’t want this.”

I knew she didn’t want it. For reasons that I hadn’t been able to pinpoint, Mom was terrified of having anything in her rear passage. She’d been afraid that if she asked my father to keep spanking her, it would somehow lead to anal play, and so the most powerful sexual experiences of her life had drifted away, without her doing anything about it.

“You’re not meant to want it,” I said patiently. “It’s a punishment.”

“I know,” Mom pleaded, To my delight, she actually did it—completely unprompted, she dropped to her knees. “I know, but…please, Daniel. Not this. Anything but this.”

“Anything?” I asked, and my mother nodded earnestly.

I’d tested the entire scenario in a hypothetical, and it had been quite surprising how far my mother was willing to go in order to stop me putting a toy up her ass. Not, I should be clear, because of the sexual nature of what I was proposing—I’d spent a lot of time laying the groundwork for that, making sure that she didn’t see any of these punishments as sexual.

Even a sex toy, inserted into her ass by her son.

No, the issue was just that she just didn’t want to.

When we’d tested this while Mom was hypnotized, she’d agreed to pretty much anything to avoid it. She wouldn’t, like, jerk me off—that crossed a line, as did anything that she saw as ‘sexual’; anything that made her suspect that I was into this, or into her.

But beyond that, the sky was the limit.

You might think, when pretty much everything is available, it might be hard to choose. But quite the contrary—it had made it very, very easy.

I put the butt-plug down on the kitchen table, and pulled Mom onto my lap for a spanking. We’d done this so many times, Mom didn’t even hesitate. As I lifted her dress, revealing her white cotton panties, I leaned forward and began whispering into my mother’s ear.

“Look at the toy,” I said, my voice a husky growl.

SMACK.

“You’re going to take that into your room tonight,” I continued.

SMACK.

“No,” she moaned. “Please, I…—“

“You’re going to take that into your room,” I repeated, cutting her off. “And put it on the table beside your bed.”

SMACK.

“You’re going to put it beside your bedside lamp…”

SMACK.

“…and you’re going to leave the lamp on all night.”

SMACK.

“That toy is going to be the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thing you see before you go to bed.”

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

“Whenever you enter your room, you’re going to look at it.”

SMACK.

“You’re not going to hide it, you’re not going to cover it up.”

SMACK. SMACK.

“Each and every time you look at it, you’re going to imagine using it.”

SMACK.

“You’re going to imagine putting it in your ass.”

SMACK.

“You’re going to visualize exactly what that would feel like.”

SMACK.

“Your heart is going to race. Your blood will go cold.”

SMACK. SMACK.

“You’re going to feel the terror that you feel now.”

SMACK.

“And if you don’t, if you don’t do _exactly_ as I say…”

SMACK.

“That toy is how I’ll punish you.”

SMACK.

“If you don’t look at it each and every day, that plug will go straight into your ass.”

SMACK.

“Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” my mother groaned. Her breathing was often ragged as I spanked her, but tonight it was different. The quiver in her voice sounded like true, genuine fear.

It was the hottest sound I’d ever heard my mother make.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take that toy into my room. I’m going to…to look at it every day.”

“And what are you going to think about while you do?”

“You…using it on me,” my mother gulped.

“Using it how?”

“Putting…putting it in my ass.”

“Exactly,” I said softly, before straightening up. “Are you going to obey?”

“Yes,” Mom groaned, and as my hand met her ass with a strong, powerful SMACK, she came, twitching on my lap, her eyes never once leaving the toy.

When she was done, I pushed her away. She left the room shakily, taking the butt-plug with her.

I knew she’d do as she was told. For the next little while, my mother was going to be living in fear. Marinating in it.

Which would make it so much more delicious when I made her take the toy inside her.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 26

When Cynthia first started escalating her punishments, Mom had only let me see her naked when she was hypnotized, so it made sense that she wasn’t comfortable letting me see my sister in any further states of undress.

I mean, as much sense as any part of my life made. Cynthia walked around every day wearing practically nothing, like she was my own personal sex doll. Whenever I put Mom under, it was child’s play (literally—I was her child, and I _loved_ playing with her) to get her to strip down and let me spank her to orgasm.

But the idea of seeing my sister without a bra on? That, in the twisted logic of Mom’s mind, was out.

And so while she had no issue letting me watch her whip Cynthia’s feet, or spank her panty-clad butt, or watch the tears slowly make their way down her blushing face as she kneeled on rice…if the punishment involved Cynthia undressing in any way, Mom would awkwardly ask me to leave the room.

I never asked her about it afterwards, of course. I mean, I guess I could have come up with some kind of justification—research into what was effective, in case I could apply it to _her_ regime, something like that…but I never bothered.

Instead, I’d just wait until she was next under.

When she was hypnotized, Mom would spill the beans like they were hotcakes going out of style, or however that saying goes.

“Do you think it worked?” I asked the night after Mom had put bulldog clips on Cynthia’s nipples for five minutes. After Cynthia had caught me doing it to Mom, she’d insisted she get the same treatment. It was punishment for eating a bag of potato chips or something. Some quickly-concocted excuse.

Mom hadn’t let me watch, of course, but I’d still gone to my room to get off. I’d been able to imagine it so clearly—Cynthia’s pain-stricken face as our busty mother punished her…I’d been getting off to similar images my whole life, but this one was _real_. It had really been happening, just a few rooms away.

“I don’t know,” Mom replied blankly. I sighed. It could be a real effort sometimes to get an opinion out of my mother…although in all fairness, that was also true when she _wasn’t_ in a trance. I guess she was afraid of being ‘wrong’, so whenever she could, she’d avoid answering with a clear yes or no.

“Do you think she’s more or less likely to cheat on her diet?”

“I don’t know,” Mom repeated.

“But if you had to _guess_ …” I said, through gritted teeth. There was a pause as Mom really considered the question.

“The same,” she eventually answered.

Interesting. “Why?”

“I don’t think they’re as effective on Cynthia as they are on me. I don’t…”

Mom trailed off, and I could tell she was deep in thought.

“…I don’t think she responds to pain like I do.”

I couldn’t help but grin at that. I mean, she was right—I don’t think _anyone_ responded to pain like my mother did.

But I knew what she meant.

“Are you sure you’re hurting her?”

“Yes,” Mom nodded insistently.

“How do you know?”

“I know,” she responded softly, and I dropped it. Say what you will about my Mom—she’s really gotten to know pain over the last few months, and I was inclined to trust her on this one.

“Okay,” I said, an idea slowly forming in my mind. “The punishments weren’t originally effective for you, were they?”

“No.”

“But we eventually found a good rhythm, didn’t we?”

Mom nodded.

“The trick,” I said, carefully thinking about each word as I said it, “was to mix pleasure _and_ pain.”

“Sure…”

“Do you think Cynthia’s doing that?”

I’d never explicitly asked, but if I had to guess, I’d say that Mom was completely straight. I mean, I heard somewhere that everyone is a _little_ bi, but I mean…she’d be right up at whatever end of the Kinsey Scale means that she exclusively loved dong.

So there was no reason for Mom to have any awareness of, y’know, how perpetually turned on her daugher was. I’d noticed, of course, but

a: I was way up at the “no dong thanks, not for me“ end of the Scale, and

b: I’d known to look for it.

(Also I guess c: I was completely obsessed with my sister, and stared at her every minute I could get away with it.)

“What do you mean?” Mom asked, her tone suggesting that she genuinely didn’t understand.

Whenever possible, I tended away from conversations with my mother getting _too_ explicit. She can be a little funny about putting labels on things, I guess.

Like, I spank her to orgasm each and every night, but we dance around the language when I do. Maybe it makes it too real for her? I dunno.

In this case, however, it seemed impossible to dodge.

“When you don’t follow your routine,” I said deliberately, staring straight into my mother’s entranced eyes, “I punish you. Right?”

Mom nodded.

“But as a reward, when you’ve been good, I spank you.”

Another nod.

“And it works as a reward because you cum. Right?”

A blush spread over my mother’s face, but she didn’t look away.

“Right,” she rasped, sounding as though she wanted to sink through the floor with embarrassment.

“The punishments don’t seem to be having much of an effect on Cynthia. And maybe…maybe that’s because they’re missing the other half of the equation.”

A look of confusion appeared. Crap. I’d forgotten how much my mother hated math.

“Maybe the punishments aren’t working,” I tried again, “because they need that contrast. Maybe pain isn’t enough, and your daughter needs pleasure as well.”

Mom narrowed her eyes.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

“You only really started to lose weight when you started getting orgasms as a reward,” I said, throwing caution to the wind. In for an ounce, in for a pound, after all. “I’m suggesting you offer the same thing to Cynthia.”

Mom stared blankly as she processed what I’d said. She didn’t look like she was going to wake up, which was a relief.

But she didn’t look happy, either.

After several minutes had passed, I couldn’t help myself.

“What do you think of that?” I asked.

“I don’t like it,” Mom said flatly, and I nodded. Like I said, definitely a dong-lover on the Kinsey Scale.

“Don’t you want to help your daughter?”

“Yes. But not like _that_.”

“Why not?”

“It would…it would be _wrong_.”

Maybe I should’ve backed off. Unpacking this, after all, could lead to her concluding the same thing about how _I_ helped _her_.

But over the last few months, I’d learned quite a lot about my dear sweet mother. I’d learned what she looked like when she came, for one. I’d all but memorized every inch of her beautiful, naked body. I’d learned that she loved pain…and I’d learned that when it came to pleasure, she had basically _zero_ self-control.

So while yeah, there was a risk of Mom concluding that if making Cynthia cum was wrong, me giving _her_ nightly orgasms was also wrong…but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t.

Because if she did, she’d be cutting off her source. And as we’d learned from the cookies, and the Red Vines, and the icecream, and the time she ate an entire cheesecake…Mom was a total sucker for pleasure.

You get enough dopamine into someone, they can morally justify anything. And this, fortunately for me, was more true of my mother than most.

And so I pressed on.

“It’s not sex,” I reminded her. “An orgasm is a completely natural thing. It’ll help Cynthia stay on track with her diet.”

“Yes,” Mom reluctantly agreed, “but…”

“But what?”

“But I can’t…I can’t help her like that.”

Mom was shifting uncomfortably in her seat…and not from arousal, I’m sorry to say.

“Why not?” I asked once more.

“Because I’m her _mother_.”

_And I’m your son,_ I could have reminded her, if I was a complete idiot.

“It’s not sexual,” I repeated. “Don’t you want to help your daughter?”

“Y-yes,” Mom said. “I mean, obviously. But…”

“What?”

“But it’s…it’s _wrong_.”

I sat back with a smile. This was the kind of fight I _knew_ I could win. Mom didn’t really have a leg to stand on, if you thought about it. She wasn’t resisting because she had some ironclad logical argument, she just didn’t _want_ to get Cynthia off.

I was filled with this feeling of real power—my mother didn’t want to get my sister off, but I knew she would. I knew I’d triumph here; my mom’s desires, ultimately, didn’t matter. Cynthia’s either; not really. What was important was what _I_ wanted, and both Cynthia and Mom would do whatever that was.

At the end of the day, my will would outweigh both of theirs, and there was nothing they could do about it.

They were mine. Both of them. Not all the way, and they didn’t know it, not yet, but they would. Before the year was out, Cynthia and Mom would both know that they belonged to me: mind, body and soul.

I didn’t know if they’d like it, but that wasn’t important. _I’d_ like it—that was all that mattered.

I opened my mouth to begin deconstructing Mom’s flimsy objections, but a thought struck me.

Mom didn’t want to get Cynthia off. She was her mother, she was straight…pretty good reasons, as far as these things went.

Mom didn’t _want_ to get Cynthia off. She would probably hate it, which frankly only made it hotter.

Mom would hate it.

“What if,” I said slowly, a smile creeping across my face, “I made you give Cynthia an orgasm.”

“I don’t want to,” Mom snapped, clearly done with the subject.

“Right,” I said, leaning forward and staring into Mom’s eyes. “So what if it was a punishment?”

* * *

“Do you think your brother has been enjoying watching you get punished?”

“Yesss,” Cynthia hissed, her body practically vibrating with excitement. It had been five days since I’d last put her under—between watching Cynthia writhe with pain under our mother’s hands, making time to punish and reward Mom, and getting off alone in my room…it had been difficult to find the time, frankly.

Someday soon, jerking off would be taken out of my hands (literally) and probably combined with the other tasks on that list, but for now it was taking up quite a lot of my time.

With everything going so smoothly, putting my sister under hadn’t been a huge priority, but I was ready to move things to the next level. The idea of Mom trying to make my sister cum while Cynthia obediently resisted…it was all I’d been able to think about lately, and I needed to make it happen, as soon as possible.

“Why?”

“Because he’s a sadist.” Cynthia responded immediately. “He likes watching me in pain. And because he’s a man.”

“What does that have to do with it?” I asked with a half-smile, already knowing what she was going to answer.

I just liked hearing her say it.

“Men are naturally aroused by obedient women,” she said, the hint of a smile on her otherwise-blank face. “It turns him on to see how obedient I can be.”

“Why else do you think he likes it?”

“Because of Mom. Because Mom is the one punishing me.”

“You think your brother is attracted to your mother?”

“No,” Cynthia replied immediately. Good. We’d get there eventually, but not yet. “I mean, I think he likes causing her pain, but I don’t think he’s attracted to her specifically.”

I sensed a but coming.

”…but she’s a woman,” my sister continued, and I smiled at how well I could read her. “Men like seeing two women together.”

It was true. I mean, I wasn’t a, like, expert in human sexuality, but yeah. I was pretty sure that was accepted as a universal fact.

“Good girl,” I said, enjoying the tremor of pleasure that passed through Cynthia’s body at my words.

We sat there in silence for a few seconds. My sister was wearing stockings, as usual. Black heels, too, and some pink lingerie that I couldn’t remember seeing before.

My cock throbbed at the realization that Cynthia was now buying new sexy outfits to wear around the house.

I opened my mouth to begin the next steps, when my sister surprised me by saying something.

“I…”

She cut herself off immediately, but I sat forward, immediately suspicious. Cynthia had _never_ been the first to speak while she was under—Mom, either. They only ever responded to my direct inquiries, or instructions.

What was going on?

“What?” I asked gently. You catch more bees with honey, y’know?

“I…I have a question.”

“Go on,” I said, my heart racing. Had she worked out something was up? I’d put her under the same way as always, but had she somehow…woken up?

“My brother…”

“Yeah?”

“…how attractive does he find me now?”

My fear turned into a grin, and the grin quickly turned into laughter.

God, my sister really was something. She was _so desperate_ for my approval, she’d somehow managed to break through her trance to ask me a question.

Before I answered, I spent a few minutes making sure that she was really under, that her intense curiosity hadn’t really managed to wake her up.

When I was confident she was truly, deeply hypnotized, I relaxed a little.

“So you definitely want to know how attractive your brother finds you?” I asked teasingly.

“ _Yes_.”

I chuckled, and decided to be nice. After all, she’d been working so hard to turn me on. To please me. She’d gone through so much pain, for my pleasure.

“Six,” I said thoughtfully. “Six out of ten.”

Cynthia didn’t say anything. Instead, to my shock, her entire body began twitching, and her face contorted in what I recognized as a powerful orgasm.

Fuck.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 27

“These sessions have helped you lose weight, haven’t they?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

My mother’s hum of agreement made my dick hard.

Shit, at this point _everything_ about my Mom made my dick hard. She was the fittest she’d ever been, but despite her recent weight-loss, each of her tits were still bigger than my head. And whenever I put her under, she’d strip for me at a snap of my fingers, bend over my knees, and let me spank her naked body to orgasm after orgasm.

And when she _wasn’t_ under hypnosis, she was happily—and enthusiastically—punishing my sister. Her daughter. Mom had reached a point where she was completely comfortable putting nipple clamps on her daughter’s tits, then spanking her bare ass hard enough to leave a bruise.

So, so many of my wildest fantasies had come true. Six months ago I never would have believed any of this would even be _possible_ , let alone a standard part of my daily routine.

But there were still so many fantasies left on my bucket-list, so I pressed on.

“If I were to stop hypnotizing you, you’d probably regress, wouldn’t you?”

Mom’s eyes widened. She obviously hadn’t considered the possibility of our sessions ending.

“Yes,” she said, her voice wavering slightly at the idea.

“If I were to stop punishing you, stop rewarding you, stop putting you under—you’d probably put all that weight back on, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” she repeated, the sad tone in her voice making me throb with arousal.

“Why do you think I’ve been helping you?”

I’d gone down this road with Cynthia, but not with Mom, so I gave her a few moments to ponder the question.

“Because you’re a good son,” she said. I couldn’t help but smirk at the level of trust my family had in me. “Because you want me to be as healthy as I can.”

“What do you think I’ve been getting out of it?”

I’d worked out, from my various questions over the past few months, that Mom had an extremely deliberate blind spot when it came to me and sex. She’d never talk about it directly, of course, but I knew that she knew that _I_ knew she was getting off when I spanked her.

But how I felt about my own mother cumming at my hand each night? That was a topic that she steadfastly refused to consider, even on a subconscious level.

“I don’t know,” she eventually responded. She sounded nervous.

Good.

“You haven’t really thought about it, have you?”

Mom shook her head.

“You’ve never even considered what your son is getting out of all the work he does for you, have you?”

My tone was firm. Steely. Hard. Cold as ice.

Just like my cock. Well, except the last part.

“No.”

“I want you to imagine what would happen if Daniel stopped hypnotizing you.”

There was a scared look in her eyes.

Good.

“I want you to picture it—all your weight coming back. Probably more than before; that’s how diets often work.”

Fact. It was called yo-yo dieting. I’d had that card in my hand for a while, ready to play if either of my women got out of line.

The threat of me leaving would be more than enough to scare them straight, of that I was sure.

Straight…or the opposite.

My mother nodded in response to my instruction, clearly terrified.

“You’ll be more overweight than you were to begin with, and your son won’t help you again. You don’t have the willpower to lose that weight again on your own, do you?”

“No,” Mom whimpered.

“You need me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mom begged.

“You’ve been pretty selfish, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Mom whispered.

“For the past few months, you’ve only thought of yourself. You’ve never even considered what your son gets out of spending so much time and energy helping you get fit. Am I right?”

“You’re right.”

“What does that make you?”

“Selfish?”

“What else?”

“I…I…”

Mom stammered, and I leaned forward, drinking it in. I loved my family, of course, but I couldn’t deny it—even more than that, I loved seeing them suffer.

After almost a minute of watching my Mom fail to come up with an answer, I decided to help her out.

“It makes you a bad mother. Say it.”

“I’m a bad mother.”

“It makes you a terrible person. Say it.”

“I’m…I’m a terrible person.”

“What do we do with terrible people?”

Mom’s eyes glistened with tears as she stared at me, desperate to know the right answer.

“It’s very simple,” I smiled. “We punish them.”

* * *

As Cynthia’s aftershocks died down, I stared at her, a worried look on my face.

“Cynthia?”

“Mmm?” she purred.

“Are you okay?”

“Yesss,” she said, sounding like a balloon having the air let out of it.

I had gotten so used to it, but for the past…god, I didn’t even know _how_ long, my sister had been a living example of _tense_. Perpetually aroused, almost beyond breaking point…now that she’d cum, she looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen her.

This was bad.

Or was it?

A smile slowly crept across my face. After all, last time she’d cum while under, I’d had to…help her.

“Do you think you’ll suspect something is up if you wake up right now?”

“Yes,” she said, as if starting to pay attention once more.

“We need to fix that, don’t we?”

“Yes.”

“If we don’t fix it, you’ll be suspicious, and I won’t be able to keep on hypnotizing you.”

Fear flitted over her face, very briefly. My cock stood to attention.

I loved my family.

“We need to get you back to how you were before I put you under, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Cynthia gulped.

“I’ll need to finger you, won’t I?”

I was already standing up, moving towards my sister on the bed. Her pink panties were soaked; the wet spot spread right to her waist, and disappeared between her perfect ass-cheeks.

But my sister didn’t give the answer I’d expected.

“…no.”

“What?”

“No,” she repeated.

I squinted at her.

“No what?”

“No,” Cynthia said for a third time. “Fingering me won’t help.”

“…why not?”

“It’s been almost two months since I came,” she responded. “I’ve been so turned on for so long…it’s felt like my entire body was throbbing, every hour of the day.”

“So what?” I interrupted. “Why does that mean I shouldn’t touch you?”

“It won’t be enough,” my sister said sadly. “Seven weeks of edging, of constantly being turned on…having you touch me won’t be enough to recreate that level of arousal.”

My face dropped. Fuck.

_Fuck._

I sat back down in the seat beside my sister’s bed. My heart was racing—everything I’d worked at, everything I’d put so much time and energy into for so long…it was all about to be undone.

And it wasn’t even my fault! I hadn’t screwed up this time; Cynthia had cum spontaneously. It had been completely outside of my control.

It was ironic, really—I was never going to get to fuck my sister, because she’d been so turned on by the idea that I wanted to fuck her.

Fuck!

After several minutes of deep, panicked breathing, I turned back to my sister.

“Are…are you sure you’ll be able to tell that you’ve cum, when you wake up?”

“Yes,” she said, in a tone of voice I was very familiar with. It was the ‘what a stupid question’ intonation that she’d been using for my entire life.

And, like, she wasn’t wrong to use that tone. It was blatantly obvious—even to me—that something was different. All her tension had dissolved. She was so chill, she could’ve been the lovechild of Mr. Freeze and the Dalai Lama.

“And your conscious mind will definitely be suspicious?”

“I’m sure.”

“Why?”

All I needed was a hole. A gap. Anything that I could use to salvage the situation.

“Because you told me to believe we were only talking about diet stuff. Health stuff. Not attraction.”

Right. Yeah, I’d been very clear about that.

_Fuck._

“What if I were to finger you for, like…an hour? Would that be enough?”

“No,” Cynthia responded, after taking a moment to think about it. “I was really, really worked up when I went under. Also, I’d probably wonder why this session had taken so much longer than the others.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It was so _unfair_. I’d done everything right!

Not morally, sure, but…like, it had all been _working_. And then my plans had been undone by the very thing I’d been building towards—my sister’s attraction to me.

My sister’s attraction to me.

“Cynthia,” I said, stumbling over my words in a rush to get them out. “Why wouldn’t it work if I finger you?”

“Because I touch myself like that every night. Sometimes for more than an hour. It just won’t be enough”

I remembered her words the last time we’d had a similar problem, when I’d touched her. When I’d rubbed her wet pussy through her panties, she’d been repeating it over and over, trying desperately to convince herself:

_“You’re my trainer. You’re my trainer.”_

It had been important for her to think of me as her trainer, not her brother Daniel—she’d still been in denial about how attracted to me she was.

She’d tried desperately to pretend that I wasn’t me.

But now…

“I’ll be using your brother’s fingers…” I said, enjoying the flush that passed over her body as she took in my words. “Wouldn’t that make it hotter?”

“Uh huh,” she replied dreamily. “That would be so hot…”

To my dismay, her voice snapped back to normal as she continued.

“…but it still won’t be enough.”

I threw my head back in frustration.

“What _would_ be hot enough?” I asked, more to myself than to my sister.

To my surprise, Cynthia answered, her voice confident and clear.

“You could fuck me.”

My eyes grew so wide, I wouldn’t have been surprised if my eyeballs had fallen out. “What!?”

“You could…you could fuck me,” she repeated. “You could fuck me with my brother’s cock.”

* * *

“Do you agree? Do you need to be punished?”

Mom’s mouth fell open—for a moment, she looked like a fish, flapping her jaw without any words coming out.

Eventually she responded, exactly as I’d hoped she would.

“…yes,” she said, resigned. “I need to be punished.”

“Good,” I grinned. “But this won’t be like the other punishments, will it?”

She threw me a look, her eyes still glazed over even as her mouth curled in confusion.

“The other punishments were for things that you knew you’d done, choices that you consciously made. When you snacked on those peanut butter M&M’s, or tore through an entire bag of easter eggs…you knew you’d done something wrong, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Mom agreed. Her tone told me that she still wasn’t following.

“But taking your son for granted, being such a bad mother, such a terrible person—that was unconscious, wasn’t it?”

“I guess so?”

“You didn’t even notice what you’d done, did you? You had to be told.”

Mom nodded.

“So this punishment is going to be different. This isn’t going to be a punishment I give you while you’re awake. This is something I’m going to give you now, subconsciously. You won’t even know why you’re doing it, but you won’t question it. Say it.”

“I won’t even know why I’m doing it, but I won’t question it.”

“You’ll do exactly as I command, without even knowing why. Say it.”

“I’ll do exactly as you command, without even knowing why.”

“You won’t let yourself think about it consciously, will you?”

“No.”

“It’ll be like thinking about how your son feels about spanking you—it’s not something you’ll allow yourself to reflect on, not even for a moment. Say it.”

“It’s not something I’ll let myself reflect on, not even for a moment.”

“You will obey unquestioningly. Say it.”

“I will obey unquestioningly.”

I literally don’t think my cock could have been harder.

“You will complete your punishment because you know you’ve been a bad person. It’s the only way that you’ll improve. Say it.”

“I will complete my punishment because I…I know I’ve been a bad person. It’s the only way that I’ll improve.”

“And if you don’t improve…your son might stop helping you.”

My mother’s face went white at the idea.

“What will you do?”

“Whatever punishment you give me,” she said. “Without question.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

* * *

“W-what?” I said, staring at my sister, refusing to believe I’d heard her correctly.

“You could fuck me,” she said again, with an undercurrent of lust in her words. “My brother’s cock inside me, taking my virginity, showing how attracted he is to me…that would turn me on more than anything.”

“Yeah, but I…I…”

You know how sometimes you go in to see your doctor, and even though _you’re_ on time for your appointment, you see the waiting room full of people and you figure it must be one of those days? So you pull out your phone, load up a game or whatever and prepare to spend the rest of your day in the waiting room.

And then like two or three minutes after you sit down, you hear your name. Maybe the other people were walk-ins, or here to see someone else or whatever, but you’d resigned yourself to a loooonnng wait and suddenly…you’re done. You’re in, you’re out, far faster than you’d expected.

Yeah. It was like that.

Fucking my sister had always been part of the plan, of course. I mean, that shouldn’t be a surprise. I hadn’t been doing all this so we could start a family band.

I’d been slowly building towards getting between my sister’s legs, taking her virginity, being the first cock she ever felt inside her…but the emphasis had been on _slowly_.

I’d thought I was on, like, level six out of ten, but suddenly I’d finished the game.

I’d finished the game.

A huge grin spread across my face.

I was there. I’d done it.

I was going to fuck my sister.

_I was going to fuck my sister._

“Great,” I said, my smile so bright that it could probably be seen from space. “Let’s…uh, let’s do that.”

“Okay,” Cynthia replied, like she didn’t quite believe what I was saying.

I didn’t really believe it either.

“Do you need me to warm you up, or are you wet enough already?”

“I’m wet enough already,” she said firmly. “I’m so, so wet.”

“Great,” I said again.

I hadn’t planned for this—at _all_ —but the clock was ticking, and so without much in the way of ceremony, I undid my fly and pulled my cock out.

I’d thought my sister had looked turned-on just at the idea of me fucking her, but when my erection came into view, her expression changed to one of pure lust. Want.

Need.

As you can imagine, I don’t spend a huge amount of time looking at other dude’s cocks. I’ve often wondered how mine compared…based on my sister’s reaction, I was pretty sure I didn’t have much to worry about in that area.

She didn’t move, of course, but something told me that she wanted to—that she wanted to gravitate towards my dick.

Touch it. Taste it. Feel it inside her.

“Are you ready?” I asked again. My voice was raspy. Nervous.

I’d dreamed of it for so long, and it was finally happening.

“Uh huh,” she replied dreamily. “Please…”

“I’m going to do it,” I warned, and my sister’s entire body twitched at the idea. “Is that okay?”

“Do it,” she moaned. “Fuck me. I want to feel my brother’s cock inside me. Please…”

I probably could have stripped her naked. I’d _still_ never seen my sister’s bare tits, and this was probably the best opportunity I’d ever had.

After all, if she woke up, it’s not like ‘Oh hey I’m topless’ would be her top concern.

But as you can imagine, I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, so the thought never even occurred to me.

I was still wearing a polo shirt and my unbuckled jeans…I could have taken them off, felt my sister’s skin against mine, but I was nervous and harried enough that I just kept them on.

I ran my hand down my sister’s half-naked body, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin, loving the gasps and panting moans she let out as I did. When I reached her panties, I moved them aside.

The last time I’d touched my sister’s panties, I’d done nothing more than touch them. I’d rubbed her gusset until she was ‘squirmy’ once more; she hadn’t been comfortable going any further than that.

Now, I could see it. I could see my sister’s quivering quim. Hairless. Pink. Perfect.

It looked so beautiful; I could only imagine how it would feel.

Except I didn’t have to imagine. Not any more. Positioned my cock at her entrance, I gently thrust forward.

Oh. My. God.

As I’ve said before, I’m no stranger to jerking off.

This is probably obvious by now, but I’m actually a virgin. Yeah, me and my sister both. I’ve fooled around with girls before, a little—my last girlfriend, Erin Murphy, had even gone down on me once or twice.

It had felt good, but fuck. _Fuck_. It didn’t hold a candle to the feeling of my bare cock slipping between my sister’s wet pussy-lips.

Cynthia was twitching as I slowly moved into her, inch by inch. “Don’t cum,” I grunted.

“Don’t cum…” she echoed in response.

“I’m fucking you,” I panted.

“Don’t cum…” she repeated with a long groan.

The sensation of my sister’s cunt opening to allow my cock access—she was tight, soft, hot, and _extremely_ wet—was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I could feel her insides twitch with arousal as I entered her; her open mouth was letting out constant grunts, moans, and squeaks, and I knew for sure that if I ordered her to cum, she’d be squeezing me in orgasm as soon as the words left my mouth.

“Don’t cum,” I gasped once again. Her eyes were completely unfocused, and her skin was flushed as I felt the last inch of my bare cock slide inside her.

“Don’t cum,” she said back to me. I couldn’t help but smile—apparently my cock had completely melted her brain, and all she could do was repeat my own words back to me.

As my pubic hair pressed up against my sister’s bare pussy, I paused for a moment to savor my victory.

I’d done it. I’d taken my sister’s virginity. It was real; it was finally happening. I was inside her—something I’d fantasized about for as long as I’d been having fantasies.

I was fucking my sister.

Well…not yet.

Without warning, I pulled out slowly; the sensation was exquisite, almost as good as it had been to enter her. Cynthia’s back arched with arousal, pushing her bra-clad tits against my shirt. The most movement she’d ever made while under.

I thrust inside her again, hard, enjoying her shudders of pleasure.

_Now_ I was fucking my sister.

Even though I’d only jerked off a few hours ago, I knew it wouldn’t be long until I unloaded inside her, coating the walls of her cunt with my seed.

“Don’t cum,” she squeaked, presumably reminding herself of my instructions. “Don’t cum don’t cum _don’t cum_ …”

I was moments away, and her tone got more desperate.

“Don’t cum! Don’t cum don’t cum don’t _cum_ …”

I paused; it sounded like Cynthia was about to disobey, like she was going to get off at the sensation of my dick inside her…but as her blank eyes suddenly met mine, those two words pleadingly leaving her mouth over and over again, I suddenly realized she wan’t talking to herself.

She wasn’t mindlessly repeating what I’d said, she was begging me not to cum inside her.

My eyes widened. If I came inside her, it would be obvious what we’d done. What I’d done…

“Don’t cum,” she gasped once more, before her eyes began to roll back in pleasure. The walls of her pussy were vibrating against my cock—she was either cumming herself or edging; I couldn’t tell which.

I pulled my cock out from between my sister’s legs, just in time.

“Nooooo…” she moaned; her hips thrust, trying to chase my cock as it left her.

As soon as I was clear, I felt a churning in my balls, and watched with a combination of shock and pleasure as my cock pulsed, shooting its load over my sister’s prone body.

I sat there for almost a minute, breathing heavily.

I’d done it. I’d just…I’d fucked my sister.

I’d fucked my sister. And if I hadn’t been worried about waking her up, I could’ve cum inside her.

Cynthia’s virginity was mine. _Cynthia_ was mine.

I’d taken my sister’s virginity. I’d fucked her until I came.

In that moment, I knew: there was nothing I couldn’t do.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I said with a satisfied smile, after I’d come down from my orgasm. “Do you feel throbby enough, or should we do that again?”

“Again…” Cynthia moaned. “Again, and again, and again, and again…”

* * *

New chapters of Diet appear on my [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else.


	Chapter 28

“How do you feel?”

“Gooooood,” my sister replied breathlessly. Her eyes were glazed, as they alway were when I hypnotized her, but…even moreso than usual.

Whenever I put my sister under, it’s like she’s not there. Well, in that moment she wasn’t even wherever she normally went.

She was somewhere else entirely.

“Do you feel throbby?”

“Mm-hmm,” my sister groaned, her voice thick with arousal.

“Do you feel like you did when we started the session?”

“No,” she replied, and my heart skipped a beat.

“Why not?”

“I feel better,” she sighed.

“Better how?”

“That was everything I’ve been fantasizing about. And more.”

“But you won’t consciously remember it, will you?”

“Mmm-mm,” my sister replied. “I won’t. It’ll be like a dream. Like a dream I never want to wake up from.”

“And…do you feel like you’ve been edging for two months? Like you did before I told you that you were a six?”

“Uh-huh,” my sister sighed blissfully.

“When I wake you up, will you be suspicious that anything happened?”

“Probably.”

I blinked twice. “What??”

“I’ll probably be suspicious,” Cynthia replied, as though she were just casually telling me that she was going to the store.

I forced myself to take a deep breath.

“Why?”

I was trying to stay calm, telling myself that we could fix this. I knew we could fix this.

“Because I’m coated in cum, for one.” Cynthia replied dreamily, and my eyes flicked down to her seed-covered belly.

Oh. Right.

I grabbed some tissues and wiped my sister’s body clean. She shivered as I did, as though she wanted my semen to stay on her skin for as long as possible.

Cynthia had shared more than a few of her cum-based fantasies. It was a real fixation for her, made all the more hot by the fact that it wasn’t one that I’d implanted. She’d breathily told me about how she wanted my cum on her face while she went shopping, or to have me cum in her hair and see how the hairdresser reacted when she went in for a wash.

She wanted me to cum on her belly, tell her it was a punishment for being so overweight, then not let her clean it off for a week. A new load every day, causing her shirt stick to her skin as she went to work, to school.

Living her normal daily life while covered in her brother’s seed.

The first two were too risky…but the third? Maybe I was being unrealistic, but I felt like that one was doable.

Once my sister was completely mine.

Despite having just had one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever experienced, my cock twitched at the thought. Cynthia’s obsession with being marked by me had started to turn me on, too.

_Soon_ , I reminded myself. _Soon._

“When you wake up, you’ll think that you’re imagining the smell of my cum,” I instructed. “You’ll think that you’re so turned on, you’ve started to have olfactory hallucinations. Say it.”

“After we’re done, I’ll think I’m hallucinating the scent of semen,” my sister dutifully replied. “Because of how horny I am.”

“Good girl.”

“Mf.”

I looked down at my sister’s prone body. It was back—the tension that she’d held for the last two months.

The arousal.

I couldn’t believe that I’d made Cynthia cum with nothing but my words. She’d gotten off, just from knowing I thought she was a more-than-average level of attractiveness.

And then I’d fucked her.

I’d done it. I’d fucked my sister.

Everything I’d been working towards. I’d…god, I was there. I’d taken my sister’s virginity. I’d been her first.

But still I hadn’t seen her tits…

Cynthia’s eyes were bloodshot with need. Her skin was flushed, but I couldn’t see anything that would give away what had just happened.

“When I wake you up,” I asked again, “will you be suspicious that anything happened?”

“Probably.”

My eyes widened at my sister’s response. Fuck. What now?

“Why?”

“I feel different,” she said.

“Better?”

“Yesss,” she replied with a soft sigh.

“And that will make you suspicious?”

“No,” my sister replied.

“Then what will?”

“My pussy,” she replied simply, and I looked down.

Cynthia was wearing stockings, black heels, and a set of pink lingerie. The pink panties had white lace, and a little black bow at the top, which looked like a little X.

On some level, every time I saw that X, I’d thought of it as a barrier. Y’know, like…”No entry.”

But now that I’d entered, it felt like it was trying to tell me something different entirely.

I smiled at the thought. “X marks the spot.” It was telling me where I could find the greatest treasure I’d ever encountered.

“Is your pussy sore?”

“No.”

“Does it feel different?”

I was suddenly more than a little worried. God, I’d just taken my sister’s virginity…without even stopping to think about it. This hadn’t been part of the plan.

Well, it had been part of the plan. Eventually. But not like this.

I’d just...done it. Nike would be proud.

“Yes,” she answered immediately. “It feels different.”

“Different how?”

There was a pause as she considered the question.

“Stretched,” she finally answered. “ _Used_. In a good way.”

My cock twitched, and I wanted to tell it to calm down.

We had a situation to deal with. And if we didn’t fix this, it’d never get to experience what had just happened again.

“When you wake up, what will you think has happened?”

I hadn’t thought my heart could race any faster, but as Cynthia began to twitch, I suddenly felt like it was going to burst out of my chest with panic.

“Tell me your fantasies,” I instructed quickly. “Tell me what you thought about the last time you edged.”

“My brother using me as a fleshlight,” Cynthia replied immediately. “Him being so attracted to me, he fucks me over the table while Mom serves dinner. Him jerking off in the corner of my room while Mom spanks me, whips me, figs me…”

I forced myself to take several deep breaths.

This was bad.

I didn’t know a whole lot about female biology, but I knew that the first time was a big deal. I hadn’t felt any resistance, been stopped by my sister’s hymen or anything like that. There hadn’t even been any blood…but before now, Cynthia had never had so much as a toy inside her.

I’d just spent the better part of five minutes with my hard cock as the first ever intruder into my sister’s wetness.

I’d taken my sister’s virginity. Of course she was going to notice something was up.

How the hell was I going to get out of this one?

* * *

“You’re going to make your daughter cum,” I told my mother firmly.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped, but she didn’t say anything.

And, to my great relief, she didn’t start twitching.

“This is your punishment for not appreciating your son’s efforts. You’re going to make Cynthia cum. Do you understand?”

“…yes,” she replied quickly. Quietly.

Obediently.

I’d told my mother that she wasn’t going to question the punishment I gave her for being ungrateful, that no matter what it was, she was going to do it without thinking…and to my great relief, it seemed that had worked.

She was onboard.

My mother was going to make her own daughter cum.

“How are you going to do it?” I asked, and my mother blinked twice as she thought.

“…with my hand,” she eventually said.

My cock swelled at her response. Fuck yes.

I’d long imagined my mother’s hand between Cynthia’s legs, and I felt closer than I’d ever been.

My mother was going to touch my sister’s pussy. No, more than that. She was going to rub it. Maybe insert some digits.

She was going to play with Cynthia’s wetness until she came.

Mom was going to make my sister cum.

The first time of many, I hoped.

“Where are you going to do it?”

“Probably in her bedroom,” Mom replied, after a few moments of thought.

I’d been hoping she’d say the kitchen, of course, where I could watch…but considering Mom didn’t even want me to see her clamp Cynthia’s nipples, it made sense that she wasn’t going to invite me to the show.

“Good idea,” I said, and a small smile appeared on my mother’s nervous face.

* * *

“When you wake up, you’ll think the feeling in your pussy is just your imagination.”

I held my breath, and was met with…nothing. Silence.

I couldn’t even remember the last time my sister had rejected a suggestion so thoroughly.

She was normally so obedient. It was quickly becoming her defining charactaristic.

But I guess she spent so much time thinking about her arousal, she wasn’t going to just…ignore such a major change.

“You’ll think that you’re just so turned on,” I tried again, “it’s started to affect you in a new way. As a feeling of being stretched out.”

Nope. Nothing.

She didn’t even twitch.

I sighed. There had to be a way out of this. Otherwise everything I’d been doing, everything I’d worked towards…I’d lose it all. My mother, my sister.

My many months of progress.

No, I couldn’t. I was so close. My dick was still wet with my sister’s juices.

I couldn’t give up now. I wanted to experience that again. And again. Hundreds of times. Thousands.

There had to be a solution.

“When I wake you up, will you be suspicious?”

“Probably,” my sister replied, her voice still dreamy, her eyes still distant.

“Why?”

“Because of how my pussy feels.”

“How does your pussy feel? Be specific.”

“Awake,” she replied thoughtfully. “Active. Like I’ve finally used it. Like I’m no longer a virgin.”

“Okay. Okay. Anything else?”

“Tingly,” she replied with a smile in her voice. “So _good_.”

“No,” I snapped, a little frustrated. “I mean…will anything else make you suspicious?”

Cynthia thought for a moment. “No,” she finally answered. “Just the feeling.”

I sighed, and sat back.

Fuck. I had to fix this. This was fixable. There had to be something I could do.

What we’d just done had been the single best experience of my life. Feeling my dick slide into Cynthia’s wetness, feeling her cunt-muscles contract around my hardness, feeling her soft body against mine, fucking her, being her first…

It was everything I’d dreamed of. Everything I’d been working towards. Just at the memory of it, my cock was already hard again.

I glanced at my sister’s almost-naked form.

If I’d really ruined everything…I mean, what was stopping me from taking her again? It wasn’t like her pussy was going to be _more_ stretched out if I went a second time, right?

I had no idea how to get out of this one. No solution, no way of explaining to her why she was sore.

Nothing that would stop my sister from realizing everything as soon as she woke up, and pieced it all together.

If this was it, if this was the last time we were going to be able to do this…might as well fuck the golden goose, right?

I mean…what was the harm?

“What would you say if I told you I was going to fuck you again, right now?” I asked, and a sparkle appeared in my sister’s eyes.

“Yesss…”

I didn’t even need to offer a justification for it. My sister was just so turned by the idea, she had agreed without going through any of the usual mental gymnastics.

“Would you consciously remember it, when you woke up?”

“No,” she replied. “Not if you told me not to.”

“Do you think it’d stretch you out even more?”

“No,” she answered without hestitation.

And so…

Look, it was a bad idea.

It had been a bad idea the first time. Diving in without a plan like that? Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Amazing, but dumb.

Well, it was an even worse idea the second time.

But I didn’t know what else to do. There was nothing else I _could_ do.

Well, okay, there were a lot of things I could’ve done. Just…nothing that would get me out of the situation.

And so just a few seconds later, I slowly slid my hard cock into my sister’s warm cunt for the second time in fifteen minutes. She was even more wet than the first time, and I could feel tremors running through her entire body as I fucked her again.

The first time, I’d been in control. It had been calculated. Part of a plan.

The second time…I was just an animal. The second time, it was for me.

For need.

“Don’t cum,” I warned, and she gasped.

“Yes, sir. Don’t cum. Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cu-umm-mmmm…”

Despite having just shot my load over my sister’s body a few minutes earlier, it wasn’t long before I was pulling out and doing it again. My load splashed onto her naked belly, exactly where I’d just cleaned.

God it felt good. Fucking my sister felt so, so good.

Why did treasure like this always come with a price?

The two of us sat in the room, panting loudly, my sister’s body twitching as my wet cum slowly slid down her belly and onto her bedsheets.

I’d worked towards this for so long. I’d dreamed of fucking my sister ever since I’d known that was a possibility…not that I’d ever really considered it a possibility.

And now, I’d done it.

Twice.

I propped myself on my elbows, and stared at Cynthia’s exposed pussy. Her pink pussy lips were swollen and slightly parted, as though they were still adjusting to my cock leaving. I could see inside my sister, into the passage where my cock had just been. The passage I’d dreamed of for so long.

The passage that was soon going to be my undoing.

I let out a long, frustrated sigh.

Poorly-thought-out though it had been, emptying my balls again had at least helped clear my mind slightly, and I started searching it for solutions.

Maybe I didn’t need to wake her up. Maybe I could keep my sister under for the rest of her life. Tell her to act normal, to pretend that nothing had happened. Tell her that if she _really_ wanted to lose weight, she just had to stay hypnotized forever, so that she’d never be tempted.

So she could obey me forever.

I could tell my cock wanted to reharden at the thought, but it only managed to twitch slightly. Twice in half an hour was pushing it.

It _felt_ like a good plan…until I realized the fatal flaw.

My sister couldn’t move when she was hypnotized. Aside from the occasional orgasm or back-arch, she was completely immobile.

So, yeah. No one would suspect a thing…until they realized Cynthia couldn’t do anything but lay glassy-eyed on the bed, answering questions.

I glanced at her. My sister had shown incredible self-restraint, and hadn’t cum either time I’d fucked her. I could tell that she was even more worked up than she’d been when the session started. There was no risk of her wondering where the buildup of arousal had gone.

So, great. I’d solved _that_ problem.

Good job, Daniel.

But in the process, I’d managed to leave myself with a problem that was so much worse…

Who could’ve known that fucking your sister could cause such a mess?

Another long sigh left my mouth. Cynthia looked like she was starting to come down a little. Her pussy was still twitching.

“I should take a photo of you,” I said softly. “To document your progress.”

“Okay,” she said dreamily, as though I’d fucked her brains out. Fucked away the last of her resistance. While she was hypnotized, she was so under my spell that she would have agreed to anything.

She’d let me fuck her twice, and now she was going to let me take a photo of her bare pussy, of my cum dripping from her stomach.

All I needed to do was transfer this obedience to her waking state. All I needed to do was convince her to act like this all the time.

Forever.

My sister was right on the edge of becoming my sexual slave. I just needed to work out how to get her there.

Without losing everything in the process.

* * *

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else.


	Chapter 29

I took a few photos—at the sound of the camera’s app clicking, Cynthia let out a small gasp of arousal. She was so worked up, like the slightest thing would be enough push her over the edge.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Good,” she moaned. “Stretched.”

“Do you think you’ll notice it when you wake up?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied. “Once I’m less distracted.”

I froze, tissue in-hand. I’d been about to clean her up.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so turned on,” she said in a moan. “That’s the first thing I’ll notice.”

“And that’ll distract you from how stretched-out you feel?”

“Yeah. For a bit.”

“How long?”

“Not long,” she said. It was funny—despite the fact that she couldn’t move, I could tell that she wanted to stretch out like a cat.

Maybe that’s just the energy of a very well-fucked woman.

“In just a few moments, probably,” she continued. “I’ve already calmed down a lot since…we finished.”

The last word was delivered in a breathy sigh. To her subconscious mind, it was her trainer Danny who’d fucked her, who’d cum on her stomach…but he’d used her brother’s cock to do so.

“But…won’t you be suspicious that you’ve woken up so horny?”

“No,” my sister said immediately. “I often wake up really turned on from our sessions. Sometimes I edge as soon as you leave.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“So what you’re saying,” I replied thoughtfully, “is that if I were to wake you up immediately after fucking you, you wouldn’t be suspicious of the way you feel for at least a minute or two.”

“Yeah,” my sister replied. “Maybe longer.”

“And you wouldn’t question why you woke up so horny?”

“No.” Cynthia’s voice was light, cheerful. Satisfied.

Well-fucked.

“I get horny from being in the same room with you all the time. This has been a long session, so it would make total sense for me to be dripping wet.”

A huge grin slowly spread across my face.

“Cynthia,” I said firmly as I lowered my pants. “I need to fuck you again.”

“Yes, sir,” she moaned. “Please. Anytime. Fuck me whenever you want.”

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, I couldn’t stop staring at my sister.

I must have had the biggest, dumbest grin on my face.

I’d been inside her. I’d done it. I’d fucked my sister. I’d slid my cock inside her, pounded Cynthia until I was ready to blow, then pulled out and cum on her waiting stomach.

Not once. Not twice. _Three times_ , all in less than an hour.

And as if that wasn’t good enough…I could do it all again.

Any time I wanted.

“What?” Cynthia said, and I blinked twice. Shit. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts, I hadn’t noticed my sister staring back.

“Have you lost weight?” I asked casually. “You look…I dunno, different. I like it.”

My sister took a sharp breath, and her eyes fluttered.

Even at the breakfast table, even with our Mom standing a few feet away, frying up bacon…Cynthia had almost cum.

Just from a compliment. At the knowledge her brother thought she was attractive.

The dumb grin returned to my face, and I tried to smother it.

I could probably make her cum, if I wanted to. I could keep on complimenting her…her self-worth, her arousal, my opinion of her—the months of hypnosis had so thoroughly mixed the thoughts together, I could probably give my sister a spontaneous orgasm in the middle of the kitchen, just from telling her I thought she looked good.

Just a few words from me, and Cynthia would be cumming, having a knee-shaking orgasm without anyone touching her. Without even needing to touch herself.

But I didn’t.

Firstly, because while my mother was distracted by her latest punishment, she was still right there. If her daughter started cumming in the middle of breakfast, I was pretty sure she’d notice.

And secondly, because it was just so _delicious_ watching my sister suffer.

She wanted to cum so bad, but she couldn’t. As far as Cynthia was concerned, it’d been months since her last climax.

And she wouldn’t have another, not until the next time I put her under. I’d get to watch my sister find unconscious release…then fuck the arousal back into her.

It was all I could do not to groan aloud at the thought.

I couldn’t wait.

“Bacon’s ready,” Mom gasped, drawing my gaze away from my sister’s lip-bite.

“Are you going to serve it for us?” I asked in a slow drawl, enjoying the power I had over her.

Mom’s face turned red. “Daniel…”

“Mmm?”

“You know I…”

“Mom,” I said with a heavy sigh. “It’ll ruin the punishment if we have to help you. You cheat on your diet, you get punished—you know this!”

My mother squirmed (unknowingly mirroring Cynthia’s expression from just a few moments ago) and turned back to the pan, being very careful not to get any grease on her bare tits.

She really had cheated on her diet the previous night, for the first time in a while. After I’d finished with Cynthia, she’d come to me to confess.

Normally Mom’s punishment for cheating on her diet would be missing a spanking…but I’d just fucked my sister three times. I was feeling magnaminous.

So instead, I used the opportunity to introduce a new punishment, one that I’d been researching for a while:

Breast bondage. Ropes.

Tying rope around each of her breasts, tight enough that it hurt.

Her eyes widened when I told her, but she didn’t object. She had long since accepted that I was in charge of her punishments, that my job was to devise them…and hers was to accept them.

And so when I’d told her exactly what we were going to do, Mom had just nodded.

She was probably just happy it didn’t have anything to do with the anal toy sitting beside her bed.

I’d spanked Mom to orgasm, whispering in her ear about how embarrassing it would be, how painful. Just like when I’d clamped her nipples, it would require exposing her breasts, showing them off to me, and to Cynthia. I’d warned her that it was going to hurt, maybe more than any punishment that she’d endured so far.

And just as she was about to cum, I casually mentioned that I’d have to be the one who tied them. That her own son would have to put his hands on her tits for as long as it took.

That was the image in my mother’s head as she came. Her only son manhandling her tits, tying the rope, making sure that everything was safe and secure.

Spanking my mother as I informed her about the latest punishment she’d earned…even though I’d gotten off three times just an hour earlier, it was enough to make my dick begin to harden again.

I’d stopped hiding it from Mom. She knew I was turned on when I spanked her. But if she started really putting thought into the fact that her son had a boner while he spanked her to orgasm each night…well, then she’d probably have to stop letting me.

And neither of us wanted that.

After Mom came, I gave her a few minutes to calm down, then pulled out the ropes. I’d ordered them online a few weeks earlier, and been practicing with them ever since.

That night was just a…I guess a rehearsal, of sorts. No matter how much you practice tying up pillows with bondage ropes, you don’t know for sure if it’s going to work until you have access to your mother’s tits.

God, Mom’s tits. It was the first time I’d touched them. As I moved the rope around each tit, I firmly grabbed it, lifting it to make sure I could get the rope in place.

My ex-girlfriend, Erin Murphy, had let me touch her boobs once or twice. Always over the shirt, and after a few minutes of my clumsy pawing, she’d swatted my hands away.

I think she’d liked it, though. Being around my perpetually-aroused sister, and getting my mother off each night had taught me more than a little about female arousal, and looking back, I could recognize some of the signs that Erin had been turned on by what I’d done.

Not as much as Cynthia, of course. I doubt I’d ever turn anyone on as much as my sister. Just the truth of that statement was so incredibly hot.

If Mom was turned on by the feeling of me grabbing her huge tits, she did a good job of hiding it. I think she barely even noticed, to be honest; her entire attention seemed to be on the black rope I was carefully wrapping around her breasts.

Erin had just been a teenage girl. Not exceptional, like my sister…just a regular girl, with regular tits.

But Mom’s? God, Mom’s were out of this world. They were so _big_ , so heavy—lifting them and holding them so I could navigate the rope took real effort.

I loved every minute of it.

“How does that feel?” I asked, my nervousness evident in my voice. I hadn’t gone as tight as I’d seen in some of the videos, but I knew for it to work, they had to be at least a little tight. Each of my mother’s massive jugs were now wrapped in rope, making them look…even bigger, somehow. Like two huge orbs, tapered at the base.

“Good,” my mother murmured. “Tight.”

A shudder of arousal went through my body as I imagined my mother completely restrained—her arms tied behind her back, her feet bound together, her tits bouncing as I fucked her from behind, as I came inside her…

God I wanted her. I wanted to fuck my mother, just like I’d fucked my sister earlier that night. I wanted to fill her with my seed, feel her cum—not just from the outside, as I had so many times, but feel her cunt contracting around my cock as we climaxed simultaneously, again and again and again…

I swallowed, and tried to make my nod as professional as possible.

“Excellent,” I said, gently untying her. Her nipples looked like they were rock-hard…from the pain? From arousal? Or was that just a side-effect of tying up her boobs? They’d felt so good under my palms, so spongey.

I couldn’t wait to get them in my mouth.

“Come find me me before breakfast tomorrow and I’ll tie them up. That’ll be your punishment; you’ll have to have them bound until we’re all done eating.”

I’m not gonna lie—I may have really taken my time with Mom’s bacon. Savored the meal. I mean, after all, she’d worked so hard on it…

But once everyone’s plates were empty, I kept my promise and removed the ropes.

I’d tied them slightly tighter that morning than I had the night before, and of course they were on for longer—almost forty minutes, in total. A lot for a first time, from what I’d read…but a fraction of the times I knew we’d eventually hit.

Mom’s eyes widened as the blood rushed back into her tits. As I watched my mother try to subdue her groans of pain, I wanted to know what it would be like to constrain them even more firmly, for a shorter amount of time.

If you didn’t keep them on for as long, apparently you could go much, much tighter…

I’m sure it wouldn’t be long before she screwed up again and I got to find out. Maybe a new workout routine was in order, just to help…speed things along a bit.

When her tits were released and I’d reluctantly let go of them, Mom put her pajama top back on, buttoning it up and hiding her enormous breasts from view.

I couldn’t wait until they were on display every breakfast. Every meal.

Every moment they possibly could be.

“Thanks for this, Mom,” Cynthia said, her voice slightly strained. I could tell that the sight of me handling our mother’s breasts, clearly reveling in her pain…it had only served to deepen my sister’s arousal.

Based on what she’d said the night before, I expected her to find an excuse to leave the room. It seemed that edging when she got turned on was the only way she could keep a handle on it.

Sure enough, Cynthia stood and made her way out of the kitchen as quickly as possible. Without a word, to my amusement: she didn’t even bother coming up with a reason.

I watched her walk out of the room with a smile. Not just because I got to see my lingerie-clad sister walk away, but because I knew exactly why she was walking funny…

* * *

The third time I’d fucked my sister the previous night, it had lasted almost as long as the first two put together.

Partially because of…just biology, I guess. You cum twice, the third time is going to take a little longer.

Another factor was my previous load. Since I was about to get off again in the exact same spot, I hadn’t bothered to clean it up. As I pounded into my sister’s sopping wetness, I could feel my own warm cum against my stomach.

It wasn’t bad, exactly. There was something almost…kind of hot about it, honestly, if a little distracting.

But the main reason was just that I couldn’t switch my mind off as I rammed my dick into my sister. The first two times I’d been entirely focused on the sensations, the new experience.

The third time?

Look, I don’t want to sound like I’m ungrateful. Believe me, fucking my sister was…god, it was everything I’d ever wanted. The feeling of her twitching pussy around my cock, the way her bra-covered tits bounced with every thrust.

The knowledge that I was finally doing it, that I was finally balls-deep inside my sister Cynthia, the girl I’d incestuously lusted after ever since I’d hit puberty.

But as great as it was (and believe me, it was fucking _great_ —and great fucking, too) there was something missing.

I don’t know exactly why my sister was unable to move when she was hypnotized, even though my mother could. I didn’t know why Cynthia was able to talk, able to cum—like, surely both of those involve moving—but nothing else.

And so while I could feel the spasms of her vaginal walls as they tried to grip my cock as tightly as they could, I wanted more.

The small groans of lust emerging from her mouth were great, but her eyes were glazed over, her face was blank. I wanted her to stare at me wantingly, to worship me with her entire face. I wanted her hands to run across my body, her legs to wrap around me and pull me in.

I wanted her to push back against my every thrust, not just lie there.

Again, I’m not trying to complain. My sister was essentially a human sex-doll with a perfect body. She was my obedient slave in mind, if not yet in body.

But as I drove into her for that third, passionate fucking, as I pounded into my sister’s wetness again and again, I couldn’t help but think about how much hotter it would be when she was fully responsive.

When she was completely mine: mind, body, and soul.

“You’re my fuckdoll,” I muttered under my breath, as I slid my throbbing cock inside my sister. I knew I could fuck my bed-bound sister as hard as I wanted.

Now that I had a plan.

“Yesss, just lie there,” I said, trying to pretend I was ordering her to be as still as she could, like I was in full control of the situtation. “You’re my perfect…little…oh!”

I barely managed to pull my cock out before I started cumming.

The thought of Cynthia as nothing but a fleshlight, a warm body for me to fuck, just like she’d been fantasizing about.

Knowing that I’d made her this way, that the only thing that could turn her on as much as two months of edging was my cock inside her…it brought my orgasm on faster than I’d expected, and my new load joined the sticky substance our tryst had smeared all over her stomach.

As quickly as I could, I pulled my pants up, put my shirt back on, and began to clean up my sister’s mostly-naked body.

“As soon as you wake up,” I instructed, as I used tissue after tissue to mop up my own cum, “I’m going to leave. When I do, you’re going to realize you’re so worked up, you need to edge. Straight away. But you’re going to do it differently. You’re going to take…”

I glanced around her room. She had a thin pink can of deodorant beside her bed.

Perfect.

“…your deodorant, and you’re going to fuck yourself with it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

As I spoke, I quickly cleaned off the deodorant.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to realize the session has made me so horny, I need to play with myself. To edge. I’m going to use the can of deodorant, and I’m going to…to…”

My eyes widened. We didn’t have much time; my plan relied on her being so distracted by her own arousal, Cynthia wouldn’t even notice her soreness until she’d done something that could plausibly have caused it.

But after a few moments of silence, she swallowed loudly and continued, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“…I’m going to put it inside me. I’m going to fuck myself with the deodorant can, and pretend it’s my brother.”

“What will you think the smell filling the room is?”

“Cum,” my sister replied confidently. “But I’ll think I’m just imagining it. I’ll think it’s a projection because of how turned on I am.”

“And that won’t make you suspicious?”

“No.”

“After you edge, you’ll think that’s what caused the feeling of being stretched. Say it.”

“I’ll think I feel stretched because of the can of deodorant.”

“Again.”

“I’ll think putting the can inside me and fucking it is what has made me feel so stretched.”

“Will you be suspicious of anything else?”

“No,” Cynthia replied firmly.

“Will you be suspicious?”

“No.”

I pocketed the cum-soaked tissues and glanced around the room. I couldn’t see anything that would indicate I’d just taken my sister’s virginity.

“Good girl,” I said, enjoying her involuntary shiver of pleasure at my words. “Okay, sis. Time to wake up.”

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Chapter 30

“Tell me,” I ordered, not even trying to hide the lust in my voice. “Tell me what happened.”

My mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes staring vacantly. As soon as I’d put her under, I’d started interrogating her.

“Well…” she began. “Cynthia didn’t seem surprised when I told her I was going to give her a…give her an…”

I waited. My mother sometimes stumbled on the word, but she always got there in the end.

“…give her an orgasm.”

* * *

Over the next two weeks, I fucked my sister more times than I could count.

Each and every time I put her under, I’d use my sister’s body to get off at least once or twice.

The first few times, I ordered her to cum first. Not just because watching my sister’s normally-stationary body shudder in orgasm was fun (and believe me, I could think of few things I’d rather watch), but to provide justification for what I was going to do to her next.

After she came, her entire body relaxed, free of the sexual tension she’d been building up since…well, since the last time I’d made her cum.

If she woke up like that, she’d be suspicious. The only solution was to fuck her, right?

Well…as it turned out, I didn’t need to be quite so elaborate.

My sister would take pretty much any excuse to let me fuck her.

She wanted my cock inside her as much as I did.

“You’ve woken up feeling pretty stretched the last few times I’ve put you under, haven’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” my sister moaned impatiently. This was getting more and more common when I put her under, like she was annoyed that we had to talk at all.

Like all she wanted was to feel my cock inside her. To feel my cum landing upon her skin.

Like everything else was just foreplay.

“So you might be suspicious if you don’t wake up feeling a little stretched, right?”

“Uh huh,” she gasped.

“What could we do to fix that?”

“Fuck me,” she pleaded.

They were quickly becoming my two favorite words in the English language. “Fuck me.” Sometimes with a plaintive “Please…” added to the start or end.

Cynthia was so desperate to offer it as a solution to most anything. It felt like I could have told her that the bathroom upstairs needed painting, and she would have told me that the only thing to do was stick my cock inside her.

When I’d started hypnotizing my sister, it had sometimes felt like an uphill battle, like I needed to find the exact right path through the labyrinth. Now, it was like the maze was begging, just yearning for me to get through it, reshaping around me with every step I took. If I turned left, the labyrinth would completely restructure itself so that was the exit.

All my sister wanted was to feel me throb with arousal inside her recently-deflowered pussy.

“Right now. Please. _Please_. Fuck me with my brother’s cock.”

Yeah. Like I said, she wasn’t exactly struggling to find a reason.

And so I’d give her what she wanted. The maze wanted me to fuck it, and so I did. Every time I put my sister under, I fucked her, pulled out, came on her belly…

And then, if we had time, I’d fuck her again.

But everything comes with a price. In this case, we were paying an opportunity cost. We were spending so much time rutting, we weren’t really getting anything else done.

I still felt like it was too risky to put Cynthia under for more than half an hour…and I wanted to take full advantage of when she _was_ under, so I generally fucked her twice.

Although even if we’d had twice as much time, I probably would have used it to fuck her again.

The experience. The sights. The smells. The sensations. Having sex with my sister was…

It was everything I’d wanted it to be.

Almost.

Nothing’s perfect, I guess, but in this case the issues were pretty clear. Specifically, three things about the experience were less than ideal.

The first was the fact that I couldn’t cum in her. If she woke up and discovered my cum dripping out of her…yeah, that was going to be hard to explain. And honestly, I didn’t know what happened after you came inside someone. Did it just get…absorbed by the body? Did it drip out afterwards? Our school’s biology lessons hadn’t exactly been specific on this point, and online searching hadn’t provided me with a clear answer.

So when I felt my orgasm approaching, I’d pull out and shoot my load onto her flushed, mostly-naked body. Sometimes I’d clean up the mess as my cock was recovering, sometimes I’d just watch as my seed dried on her skin.

Sometimes, the sight of my seed drying on her skin was all I needed to get hard again.

But I wanted to get off inside her. I dunno, maybe it’s a primal thing. Evolution programmed men to wanna cum inside women, y’know? You could make the case that something went a little wrong in this specific sitch—I’m pretty sure “your own sister” isn’t the woman you’re meant to want to fill with your seed, but whatever the cause…there was nothing I wanted more.

I wanted to cum inside Cynthia, instead of pulling out when I peaked. It sort of felt like I was spending the whole day hyping my cock up for Disneyland, and then leaving it in the car as soon as we got there.

My cock deserved to go to Disneyland. Especially because in this case, I knew Disneyland wanted nothing more than to enjoy the company of my cock.

I could have used a condom, I guess, but…I mean, was it worth trading the rest of the experience for a slightly better orgasm? Plus if my sister turned out to have a latex allergy or something and woke up with a rash…

Yeah, it just wasn’t worth the risk.

The second problem was that while Cynthia was under, she didn’t move. So whenever I was pounding into her, even though my sister would be vocally responsive, and her pussy was having a little party around my intruding member…

Starfishing is the term, I think. Just, y’know, lying there.

I don’t want to sound like taking my sis wasn’t the hottest thing I’d ever, ever done. Whenever I wanted, I could knock on her door, spend a few minutes hypnotizing her, and then fuck her until I got off. I could use her glass-eyed body for my pleasure, pound her for as long as I needed until I came.

Best of all…I knew that she wanted it as much as I did. That’s why she was letting me; because I’d hypnotized her into wanting my cock as much as my cock wanted her.

She spent all day thinking about it. She was constantly edging, imagining me taking her. My sister was just as obsessed with me as I was with her.

And lest we forget, Cynthia walked around the house dressed like a porn star. I mean, I guess porn stars don’t really wear that much, but you know what I mean. Like a lingerie model. Like a busty, lusty lingerie model.

I could have told her to wear pretty much anything, and I doubt she would’ve objected. If I’d even hinted to Cynthia that her brother was into, I dunno, fur bikinis…I can basically guarantee she would’ve been wearing one the next day.

So, yeah. I was fucking my sister each and every night, as she wore the sexiest outfits I’d ever seen. Her perfect body was mine. Her pussy was mine. Her _mind_ was mine.

But she never moved.

I tried to make the most of it. Thinking of her as a literal sex doll worked for a while, but after a week I felt like I’d started to burn out on that fantasy. I tried pretending she was asleep once, which was kind of hot in concept, but…I dunno. It made me feel like a creep.

Yeah yeah, I know. Fucking my hypnotized sister didn’t bother me, but pretending she was asleep? For all my kinks, that just isn’t something I was into.

So that was issue number two.

The third one took me by surprise: she wouldn’t let me see her tits.

Like, it just didn’t make sense. My sister would let me fuck her, she’d let me look at her bare pussy. She’d let me hypnotize her every night, fuck her as hard as I wanted, finish on her stomach…but no matter what I did, I couldn’t get her to let me even take her bra off.

Believe me, I tried everything. I told her that I was worried I’d get cum on it, that I had to take it off to avoid that.

Nope. She started twitching, and I had to abandon that line of thinking and distract her.

I tried telling her that it would help me cum faster (true!) but she didn’t believe me.

I reminded her that I’d seen Mom’s tits, that I’d touched them when I was tying the rope.

Nothing.

I knew my sister had weird body issues, but I had completely underestimated how much she hated her tits. It was so dumb! Imagine if Eminem was too nervous to let anyone hear him rap, or if John Mulaney was too embarrassed to tell jokes. If God gives you a gift, I feel like you basically have an obligation to share it with the world.

Not my sister. She’d happily let her own brother fuck her again and again, but there was nothing I could do to persuade Cynthia to let me remove her bra and watch her huge melons bounce as I pounded into her.

Instead, I had to settle with watching her huge _bra-clad_ melons bounce as I fucked her.

It’s a hard life, right?

But aside from those three issues, everything else about it was amazing. More than amazing. Bliss. Heaven.

Three small steps away from perfect.

As soon as I’d started fucking my sister each day, I’d completely stopped jerking off—my cum belonged on my sister’s incredibly body.

For now, on. Soon enough: inside.

So while I was spending my time taking my sister night after night…we weren’t really making any progress with anything else. I’d put Cynthia under, fuck her until I blew my load onto her, fuck her again, clean her off, then wake her up.

It was amazing. Hot as hell. But yeah, not particularly productive.

Things with Mom, meanwhile, had been going great.

Maybe because I’d made such incredible progress with my sister, I’d gained a lot of confidence. Cynthia had always felt like the slower path; Mom’s cycle of punishment-reward had been fairly consistent, and now that I’d gotten so far with my sister, I felt like Mom wouldn’t be far behind.

And so I’d spent almost two weeks focused on her new punishment.

Not the ropes—though I’d made use of those a few times. If you’d come over to my house unannounced in those two weeks, there was a good chance that you would’ve walked in to find Mom’s tits on display, surrounded by ropes and purple with pain.

It was great for so many reasons. It was pushing her boundaries, making her more comfortable with nudity, and best of all—she was building up tolerance for even greater levels of pain.

Tolerance…and hunger.

My sister wanted my cock inside her as much as I did. But Mom…I sometimes wondered if Mom’s desire for pain actually outpaced how much I wanted to give it to her.

And believe me: I really, really wanted to give it to her.

But for now, that wasn’t where I’d been focusing. Instead, I’d spent the last two weeks working on Mom’s other punishment: making her daughter cum.

It had been easy enough to get her to agree to it, but I’d spent a few more of our sessions reinforcing the ideas I’d set up. Why it was going to happen, why it was a punishment, and why it would ultimately be good for her daughter.

(It would ultimately be _great_ for her son, too, but I skipped that part.)

Whenever Mom wavered, whenever I thought there was a chance she was going to push back, I reminded her of two things:

Firstly, why she was being punished like this. She deserved it, I told her, because she had done nothing to reward her son for all his hard work. Because she was a terrible person.

My cock throbbed every time Mom repeated that back to me. “I’m a terrible person. I deserve to be punished.”

“I will take whatever punishment my son gives me.”

And secondly, because I made it very clear that the only alternative was the Toy. The anal plug I’d bought for her a few weeks earlier. For whatever reason, Mom was utterly terrified of having anything up her ass, and so I’d placed it beside her bed. The Toy was the first thing she saw when she woke up each morning, and the last thing she saw when she went to bed.

It was the perfect tool to bend her to my will.

If she didn’t agree to get Cynthia off…well, that was okay. An alternative punishment was readily available. One that Mom would do anything to avoid.

There was only one problem.

I was stuck.

Everything was in place—Mom’s punishment would be a huge step forward in my plan. If I could pull it off, my mother and sister would start seeing each other in a sexual light. And the next steps I had planned were so twisted, so devious…

God, I got hard just thinking about it.

So what was the issue? Well, I couldn’t work out how to…’activate’ the punishment, I guess.

See, I didn’t want this one to come from me. I didn’t want to wake her up and say “Hey Mom, just so you know, you’re a garbage person for not appreciating me, and as punishment you have to get your own daughter off.”

My sister had taught me that the human brain has an incredible capacity for justifying subconscious thoughts. I had planted all kinds of stuff in her mind—“masturbate each night thinking of your brother but never cum” seems like a pretty good example—and she’d filled in the gaps herself, coming up unprompted with all kinds of ridiculous reasons that was a completely logical thing to do.

But this one was a little different. Mom had accepted every punishment I’d given her…but, y’know. First I’d had to give them to her.

I sometimes couldn’t believe it, when I considered how far I’d come. A year ago, I would’ve described my Mom as conservative. Now, she’d kneel on rice and let me truss her naked body up like a turkey, then spank her to orgasm.

I’d helped her lose weight. Just for that, she probably would have let me do anything I wanted. The fact that she was secretly a painslut, and craved the stimulation that my punishments brought…

Yeah. Mom was putty, and I was the sculptor.

But bringing her own daughter to orgasm…that was basically the hottest thing I could imagine, but I it wouldn’t be a suggestion that went down well. I’d even tried a hypothetical or two in case I was wrong…

Nope. No dice.

Mom’s subconscious was a bit more of a black box than my sister’s. Cynthia was always happy to explain how she’d reached certain conclusions…when I asked my mother, it was like she didn’t even understand the question.

So yeah. While Mom had theoretically agreed to a punishment where she got her own daughter off…I had no way of getting it to happen. It wouldn’t fly if I suggested it, and since every punishment so far had come from me, I was feeling pretty stuck.

Until one night, when an epiphany struck me as I was fucking my sister.

* * *

“Tell me what you thought about when you touched yourself today,” I grunted. My cock was hard as a rock, and buried deep inside my sister’s wet pussy. I’d already fucked her once this session, so I could feel my jizz on our stomachs.

The sticky sensation was a little offputting, to be honest—as was my sister’s complete immobility—so I’d hoped that hearing what she fantasized about would be a great way to take my mind off the distractions.

“This,” she groaned. “This, this, this.”

“Be more specific,” I ordered, my eyes narrowing in worry. If Cynthia was thinking about what happened when she was hypnotized, even if it was while she was edging…that could be a problem. What happened while she was under was meant to stay deep in her subconscious.

I guess it made sense that it would bubble up when she was close to orgasm, but it still made me nervous. If thoughts started crossing that divide, it could open up a whole world of trouble.

“My brother fucking me,” she panted. “My brother using me like a sex doll. My brother’s cock, deep inside me. Making him cum. Making my brother—oh!—cummmm…“

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was fine. If she’d responded something like “My brother hypnotizing me and using my unconscious body for sex,” I’d have had to do some damage control, but using the individual elements as inspiration while she edged?

Nothing to worry about.

“What else?”

“Asking him if a corset would be a good weight-loss device,” she moaned.

That was new. Although in fairness, it had been a while since I’d checked in on my sister’s fantasies.

“…why?”

“Because then he might make me wear one,” she moaned. “He might make me wear one and then make it too tight. Make it so tight I can barely breathe. Make it so tight I’m in pain. And if I’m in pain, he might—ohhhh—he might find that hottt…”

“Don’t cum,” I ordered. Even while she was under, even while she was completely immobile, I’d gotten pretty good at working out when my sister was getting close to cumming.

Once or twice I hadn’t caught it in time. I’ll tell you what—the feeling of Cynthia’s pussy clenching around me in an uncontrollable orgasm…that was as close as I’d ever gotten to losing control myself.

“Don’t cum,” she repeated, her glazed eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. “Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum…”

My sister continued repeating her mantra as I refocused my efforts on fucking her. We only had a few minutes before I got uncomfortably close to going over time, so I wanted to get off sooner rather than later.

“Don’t cum,” she moaned, and I suddenly realized what she’d just said.

She’d wanted to ask me for permission to wear a corset, as a way of appealing to my sadistic tendencies. She’d come up with her own punishment, and brought it to me as a dieting technique.

My eyes widened in excitement as I pulled out of my sister’s tight lovehole. “I’m gonna cum,” I grunted, and began spurting my seed onto Cynthia’s bare stomach, where it met my previous offering of the night.

Her eyes lit up, as they always did when I came. Even though her own orgasm was denied, Cynthia got so much damn pleasure from getting me off.

And in news that will surprise no one, I also got a lot of pleasure out of it.

As I cleaned up the mess I’d made on Cynthia’s bare skin, I had the biggest smile on my face.

My sister had no idea what a gift she’d just given me.

* * *

“You deserve to be punished,” I told my mother. She nodded. “Say it.”

“I deserve to be punished.”

“Why?”

“Because I was not considerate enough to my son. He’s done so much to help me, and I’ve done nothing to thank him.”

“How should you be punished?”

“I should make…I should make my daughter…”

Mom’s face went red, but she pressed on.

“I should make my daughter…orgasm,” she finally said.

I leaned forward, excited. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for your son to tell you to do that, would it?”

“No,” my mother agreed, as I knew she would. As she had in every hypothetical I’d tried. Mom’s standards had slipped a lot since I’d started hypnotizing her, but she still wasn’t onboard with me doing anything sexual with Cynthia.

Which was why she had to be the one to do it.

“But we agree: that would be the best punishment, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” my mother nodded, her glazed eyes cast downward.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, not even trying to hide the glee in my voice. “Tonight, when you come in for your reward, you’re going to suggest it to me. You’re going to suggest it because it’ll help Cynthia lose weight.”

We’d spent the first half of the session discussing that at length. Making Mom get Cynthia off was a punishment for my mother…but a weight loss tool for my sister.

After all, orgasm incentives had worked for Mom.

“Okay…” she replied, sounding dubious.

“Your conscious mind is going to think that’s why you’re suggesting it. But your subconscious will know the truth: that this is a punishment. That this is what you deserve, for not being grateful to your son. That you deserve this punishment, because you’re a terrible person. Say it.”

“I deserve this punishment, because I’m a terrible person.”

My cock throbbed at Mom’s words. I’d already fucked Cynthia twice that day, but I swear…I could have gone again.

When I had both the women in my family at my sexual beck and call, my cock would never go wanting again. Each and every time I got hard, one of my busty family members would be there to take it for me.

I couldn’t wait.

“Who chooses your punishments?”

“You do.”

“So by suggesting this to me, your subconscious mind is looking for permission. You need me to punish you, and this is the most appropriate punishment. Isn’t it?”

“Y-yes.”

“The only other punishment that would work is the Toy, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Again, my hardness got even harder at the sound of fear in Mom’s voice.

“Of those two punishments, which would you prefer?”

“Making Cynthia…making m-my daughter…making her…”

I waited.

“…orgasm.”

“So you need me to give you this punishment, but I can’t. The only way to get around this is if you suggest it. If you suggest it and I agree, then you can finally be punished, can’t you?’

“Yes.”

“You want to be punished, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want to be punished.”

“Why?”

“Because I deserve it.”

* * *

“Tell me what happened,” I said. I wanted nothing more than to reach into my pants, pull out my cock, and stroke myself while Mom told me the story. But I couldn’t. Even when she was under, I couldn’t risk that.

I’d just have to wait until Cynthia told me the story. When my sister told me the story of how our mother gave her an orgasm, I wouldn’t have to resort to touching myself.

I could have her tell me the story while I fucked her.

“I told Cynthia that I needed to make her or-orgasm,” Mom replied, before hesitating.

“I want to hear everything. Tell me the story, in detail. In great detail.”

“She didn’t seem surprised,” Mom started. I smiled. Good.

After I’d finally managed to find a way to get Mom over the hump, I’d started work on Cynthia. Some nights, that had meant I’d only been able to fuck her _once_ —a travesty, I know, but sometimes you need to make short-term sacrifices for long-term gains.

And in the end, I knew it would all be worth it.

Convincing my sister had been easier than I’d expected, to be honest. I’d stopped making Cynthia cum before fucking her, so it had been almost a week since her last orgasm. Almost a week of having her brother’s cock—the cock she fantasized about almost every minute of the day—inside her, night after night…and never being able to find relief.

She edged during the day, I fucked her during our nightly session, and then she’d often edge herself into the night as well. One time, she’d told me (while hypnotized, of course) that she’d woken up in the middle of the night to find herself edging.

She was so turned on, she’d do practically anything I asked. Except show me her tits, apparently.

And she’d believe anything I told her.

“Mom has noticed you haven’t cum in months,” I’d told my sister, watching her reaction closely. She couldn’t move, but I’d started to get good at reading her non-moving state.

She was worried.

In fact, my sister had cum just a few days earlier…but only while under. It really had been months since her last conscious orgasm.

“She’s worried about you,” I said, my eyes not leaving her face for a second. If she started twitching, I knew I had to reverse course straight away.

Nope. Nothing.

I breathed a sigh of relief. This had been a risky one. You’ve got to remember, my mother wasn’t the kind of person who would ever ask her kids about their sex life. Cynthia and I could’ve been married (to other people, I mean) and gone to her for advice and she still wouldn’t have said anything.

Six months earlier, there was no way my sister would’ve bought this line. But she was in such a frenzied state—constantly thinking about sex. Constantly thinking about sex with me, her brother. Constantly edging, constantly working herself up…

And of course, Mom had started regularly walking around the house tied up in ropes with her tits on display.

Yeah. A lot had changed in the last six months. Enough that Cynthia didn’t even question my claim for a second.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m hoping that Mom hasn’t noticed my attraction to my brother,” Cynthia replied immediately. I blinked twice. Not honestly sure how she made that leap, but…whatever. Any port in a storm, I guess.

“Yeah,” I nodded, as if that response followed from what I’d just said. “If you do anything suspicious, that’s exactly what might happen.”

_For some reason. I guess._

“But I know how to help. Do you want my help?’

“Yes,” Cynthia replied immediately.

“Will you do what I say?”

“Yes,” my sister replied again. “Anything.”

“Good,” I said, and laid out exactly how she was going to react.

“Any questions?”

“No,” Cynthia said.

“Does what I’ve told you make you at all suspicious?”

“No,” my sister repeated.

“Good girl,” I said, and god…my sister’s twitch. Her moan. Her beautiful, cum-coated body. I glanced at the clock. Damn it—we were too close to the half-hour mark for me to fuck her again.

I continued talking as I began to clean her up. I started every session by fucking her—it was just too hard to get her to focus on anything else until I did.

“One more thing,” I said, running a cloth over my sister’s skin. “No matter what you do, you can’t cum. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Cynthia replied, as I wiped the last of my cum off.

“Say it.”

“When Mom is trying to get me off, no matter what else happens…I can’t climax.”

“Good girl,” I said, and woke her up mid-shiver.

* * *

“Cynthia didn’t seem surprised when I told her I was going to give her a…give her an…”

Mom gulped, finally finishing the sentence.

“…give her an orgasm.”

“No?” I asked, trying to sound confused. “What did she say?”

“She told me that she understood,” Mom replied. “She told me that she appreciated me looking out for her. She told me that she’d return the favor if I ever needed it.”

I smiled, as the words I’d planted directly into my sister’s mind were parroted back to me by my mother.

“What do you think she meant by that?”

“That she understood that an orgasm can be a valuable dieting tool.”

“That sounds right,” I said.

It hadn’t been easy, getting my Mom and sister to talk at cross purposes. There had been a risk that one of them would go off-script, and say something that didn’t make sense with the other person’s interpretation.

Mom thought she was getting Cynthia off to help her lose weight. Cynthia thought that Mom had noticed how long it’d been since she came, and wanted to save her daughter from sexual repression.

I’d told her to agree, or Mom might start probing deeper, or send her to a psychiatrist. Something that could uncover Cynthia’s lustful thoughts for her brother.

I’d told her that the best way to avoid that was to let Mom try to get her off. And fail, of course…the rest of my plan depended on it.

“So what happened next?’

“I tried to make her org—…orgasm.”

“And did you?” I prompted.

“Yes,” Mom said, sounding pained. “Yes I did.”

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Chapter 31

I blinked at my Mom’s words.

“W-what?”

“I made her orgasm,” Mom gulped, as trying to swallow down her shame.

I stared at her blankly.

“Uh…”

This hadn’t been the plan.

The plan had been for Mom to fail. To _try_ and get her daughter off, but not be able to.

“You made her…”

I trailed off.

“Orgasm,” Mom supplied helpfully.

Great. This was the moment she’d suddenly become comfortable with the word.

I sat back, stunned. I’d planned on spending the first half of this session hearing the sordid details of my mother touching my sister, then the second half making her feel guilty. Like a failure.

Worthless.

My head was spinning. Not only was my plan shot, my Mom had…she’d…

A smile slowly spread over my face as I realized what my mother had done to Cynthia.

I leaned forward.

“Tell me what happened,” I asked again. “In full, excrutiating detail.”

* * *

“Mom ran her finger down my side,” my sister said, her eyes staring at the ceiling, her tits bouncing as I fucked her.

This was either the sixth or seventh time I’d heard the story—I’d lost count.

After finally getting the details out of Mom, I’d gone straight into my sister’s room, and (breaking my own rule) put her under for the second time that day.

Then had her to tell me exactly what happened.

Twice.

My sister is a much, much better storyteller than Mom is. Though that’s not exactly a high bar, if I’m being honest.

I’d woken her up after the second telling, gone back to my room, and despite what we’d just been doing, jerked off. For the first time in weeks.

The next morning, I’d found my sister, put her under, and had her tell me the story again. Just like the previous night, I’d fucked her while she did.

Twice.

“How did it feel?”

I couldn’t imagine ever getting sick of hearing about it. Every hot, sordid detail.

“Strange,” my sister admitted. This was the part of the story that sometimes shifted. Once she’d said it was nice. Tingly. The first time, she’d said it was hot…although that had been as I was about to cum onto her stomach, so she might have been playing to the audience. Y’know, saying whatever she needed to just to get me off.

It had worked.

But every other time, she’d said it just felt strange.

“Why strange?” I probed.

“Because it was Mom,” Cynthia admitted. “And she was touching me…”

“Mom touches you all the time.”

“Not like this. This was…sexual.”

I groaned. I wanted to try to get through my sister’s entire telling of the story before cumming.

In my previous attempts, I hadn’t even gotten close.

“Why is that strange?”

“Because she’s my Mom,” Cynthia said with a shiver. “She’s not meant to touch me like that.”

“What happened next?”

“She moved in close and put her other hand on my other side.”

I couldn’t believe it when Cynthia had first told me this. Mom had somehow missed that from her telling of the story.

Why had she done it? I couldn’t wait to put my mother under again and find out. In the meantime, my brain was bursting with theories. To make sure that her daughter felt comfortable. To make the moment more intimate.

Because Mom hadn’t been with anyone since our father, and she was just following old patterns…

“Did she kiss you?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“No,” Cynthia replied.

“Would you have been surprised if she had?”

“No.” Her voice was slightly softer that time.

“Did you want her to?’

“Yes,” Cynthia said, barely louder than a whisper.

“Say it again.”

“I wanted Mom to kiss me.”

“Oh, god…”

I pulled out just in time for my cock to begin pulsing, spraying my seed all over my sister’s stomach.

God damn it. That was one of the fastest yet.

* * *

“I was looking into her eyes,” Mom said, her own eyes glazed over. ”I was sort of checking to see if she was okay, but without using words.”

“Was she okay?”

“I think so,” Mom said, a worried crease appearing on her forehead. “I hope so.”

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Because…”

Mom shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“…I’m her mother. I’m not meant to…to touch her like that.”

“Touch her how?” I asked, leaning forward. “Tell me how you touched her.”

“I reached down and touched the front of her panties,” Mom admitted, her voice shaky.

God. I don’t know what was hotter—the story she was telling, or the utter fear with which she told it.

The combination was electric. If I didn’t live a life where I regularly fucked my sister and spanked my naked mother to orgasm, I would’ve said it was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced.

As it was…even with some pretty fierce competition, it was right up there. Top six, at least.

“Were they wet?”

“Yes,” Mom admitted.

“Say it.”

“The front of Cynthia’s panties were wet.”

“What do you think that meant?”

“Nothing,” Mom said quickly. “Sometimes women experience vaginal discharge. It doesn’t always mean anything.”

Uh-huh. Sure thing, Mom. Whatever lets you get to sleep at night.

I had a vision of my mother laying in her bed, unable to get to sleep, traumatized by the fact that she’d touched her daughter sexually.

Traumatized by the fact that _I’d made her_ touch her daughter sexually.

Maybe I could add that to the carousel of images my sister imagined while she was edging. There was something so hot about the idea of making my sister fantasize about her mother being traumatized by the fact that she’d touched her.

God. There was so little about my life that _wasn’t_ hot, these days.

“What did you do next?”

“I...”

Mom trailed off.

“Be very specific,” I reminded her. “Tell me exactly what you did next.”

“I used my middle finger and my pointer finger,” Mom said slowly, trying not to miss anything. “And I rubbed them up and down the front of her gusset.”

“Whose gusset?’

“Cynthia’s panties’.”

“What were you trying to do?”

“I was…I was trying to make her feel good.”

“Why did you think that would make her feel good?”

“Because it felt good when your father did it to me,” my mother admitted. Her face was bright red.

Mom had told me about how much she’d masturbated before getting married. More than I’d expected, to be honest. More than I knew any woman ever masturbated.

But once she’d married Dad, she’d stopped. Partially out of shame, mostly because…well, Dad catered for her sexual needs. It’s weird to think about your parents’ sex life. Probably more so if your father’s dead, and you’re most of the way towards turning your mother into your own personal sex slave.

After Dad passed, Mom hadn’t started masturbating again. Until I’d started spanking her, she hadn’t had an orgasm. Almost twenty years without getting off once…god, I couldn’t imagine it.

(Although after her own recent dry spell, I’d bet Cynthia could.)

So thinking of getting Cynthia off more in the terms of what Dad did to her, instead of what she’d done to herself…it made sense.

And, like so much of my life, was so wonderfully hot to think about.

“Do you think it worked?” I asked, and Mom nodded. “Why?”

“Because of the look on her face,” she said nervously, like the child protection agency was going to burst in at any moment.

Cynthia is eighteen, but yeah. I understand why she was worried. If anyone found out what she’d done to her daughter, they probably would’ve taken her away.

The look of terror on her face was like chocolate sauce on icecream. I reveled in it for a moment before continuing.

“You were looking at her face?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“So I could see what she liked.”

Made sense.

It made sense, and was so. Fucking. Hot.

“What did you do next?”

“Once I thought that she was ready, I…I lifted my hand up a little, and put two fingers inside her panties.”

“Which fingers?”

“My pointer finger and my middle finger.”

“Why those?”

“Because that’s what your father used to use.”

Mom was beet-red. You know how parents sometimes dive into the most unnecessary details when telling a story? Like, I don’t need to know the kind of food the person next to you ordered at the restaurant if the anecdote is about something you found in in the carpark later.

In this situation, I was happy to go into everything in excruciating detail.

Excruciating for Mom, that is. It was incredible for me.

Incredible.

“What did you do with the fingers? Be specific.”

“I…I…”

After a moment or two, my mother overcame her nervousness, and continued.

“I moved them up and down her…labia.”

I don’t know if Mom did research on anatomy before approaching Cynthia, or if she’s just better educated than I am, but I almost felt like I needed a diagram to follow along.

“Why?”

“Because if I felt her lips parting, I’d know that it was working.”

I grinned.

“Working how?”

“I’d know that she was…she was g-getting turned on.”

“Which is what you were trying to do, right?”

“Right.”

“Say it.”

“I was trying to…to…”

I knew this one would be worth waiting for.

“…to turn her on.”

“Who?”

“Cynthia”

“What’s her relationship to you?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“Say it like that.”

“I was trying to turn my d-daughter on.”

“How?”

“With my hands.”

* * *

“And was it working?”

“Yessss,” Cynthia hissed, her eyes fluttering at the memory.

Wow. Mom must have been pretty good with her hands. No wonder she managed to get my sister off.

“What did it feel like?”

“Incredible. No one had ever touched me like that…”

Oh, yeah. Before I’d started fucking my sister, I’d fingered her…but only once, and she’d been under at the time.

As far as my sister’s waking mind was concerned, she was still a virgin. Untouched.

My cock throbbed at the thought. Cynthia thought that the first person to ever touch her pussy was our Mom. The first person to get her off.

Mom would be the first person to make her cum. And I’d be the first person to fuck her.

I was going to get to take my sister’s virginity _twice_.

My life was perfect. I’d reached perfection…and I still had so far to go.

“Were you wet?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Were you throbbing?”

“Yesss.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“You,” she answered, and I couldn’t help but grin. Even as my sister was losing her digital virginity to our mother, she was thinking of me.

“What about me?”

“I was imagining you watching,” Cynthia panted. “I was picturing you sitting in the kitchen chair, watching as Mom touched me. I was thinking about how hot you’d find it. I was imagining you jerking off afterwards, thinking about it.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. Except instead of jerking off, I was fucking her. And I wasn’t just thinking about it—I was having her give me a play-by-play.

Her pussy clenched around my thrusting cock. God it felt good. Everything about fucking my sister felt so fucking _good_.

“What happened next?”

“Mom dipped two fingers into my…into my opening.”

To get her fingers wet, Mom had told me. And apparently that part, the opening— _that_ is technically the “vagina”.

It turns out when you get your mother to detail the process of fingering your sister, you inadvertently get an anatomy lesson along the way.

“How did that feel?”

“Funny,” Cynthia admitted with a gasp. “But nice. It made me want more. It made me want your cock there, too.”

I smiled down at my sister. As she told me the story of Mom fingering her, my cock _was_ inside her.

It was a helluva way to hear a story, I’ll tell you that. I know I would’ve paid a lot more attention in history class if we’d learned about the World Wars while fucking the teacher.

Well, not Mr. Markson. I probably would have skipped that class.

“Is that how you touch yourself?”

“No,” Cynthia said, biting her lip as I drove myself into her. “I just touch my clit. But…”

“But what?” I prompted.

“…I might start masturbating that way in future. Every time I do, I’ll be reminded of Mom touching me…”

With a gasp I pulled out as quickly as I could. My cock was barely clear of Cynthia’s pussy when it started spewing cum, spraying it all over my sister’s bare stomach. Some of it landed on her bra…and to my surprise and delight, a drop or two on her face, which twitched in nervous delight at the feeling.

Damn. That had been a close one.

* * *

“What did you do next?”

“Once my fingers were wet, I moved them up and began slowly, softly rubbing her…her clitoris.”

Clitoris. That was one I _did_ know.

“Why softly?”

I knew enough about Cynthia’s masturbation habit that I could have written a book on the subject. She was doing it so much, her clit was almost rubbed raw. She probably needed more than a slow, soft rub just to _feel_ it.

But Mom had managed to make her cum, so I could hardly criticize. If anything, maybe I could learn from what she’d done.

Something other than the Latin names for lady parts.

“How did she respond?”

“It looked like she liked it. Her eyes went a little soft, she bit her lip, and she let out a gentle moan.”

Ah, yes. It was a look I knew well. Whenever Cynthia was awake and I found an excuse to call her a ‘good girl’ (or once, when I’d been feeling particularly bold, _my_ good girl), she went soft-eyed, lip bitey, and gave me a moan.

It was pretty much the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Well, aside from my mother’s naked body cumming across my lap. Or Cynthia’s bra-clad tits as they bounced when I fucked her. Or…

Huh. My life was so good, there was a lot of competition for the top spot.

What a wonderful problem to have.

“How do you think she felt about the fact that it was her mother touching her like that?”

Mom’s eyes began to focus, and her body started twitching.

Oh, fuck.

“Uh…umm…tell me what tomorrow’s exercises are!”

Mom began listing the impossible routine I had lined up for her (I’d been alternating ‘challenging-but-possible’ and ‘literally no one could ever do this’ workout days, just to keep her offguard) and once I felt like she’d calmed down enough, I returned to the story.

“What did you do next?”

“While my pointer finger was stroking light circles around her clitoris, my middle finger moved down and gently entered her vaginal opening.”

My mother wouldn’t be starting a career as an erotica author any time soon, I can tell you that.

“Go on.”

“My middle finger began slowly moving in and out, at the same rhythm as I was touching her clit.”

“Did she like it?”

“Uh huh.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels good. It simulates the same nerves as, uhm…i-intercourse.”

I smiled.

“Do you like it when someone does that to you?”

“Yes,” my mother admitted in a hushed whisper. “Very much so.”

“How did you feel while you were doing it?”

“Terrible,” she replied, with zero hesitation. “Horrible.”

I leaned in. “Why?”

“I felt so guilty. I felt like I was abusing my own child. I _was_ abusing my own child. I was touching my little girl sexually. My gut was twisted, and I wanted to die. I felt like at any moment the police were going to run in and arrest me. I’ve never felt so sick and anxious and stressed and worried in all my life.”

I swear my eyes glinted as I let all that sink in. But then, my Mom’s next words surprised me.

“…and worst of all,” she said, her voice a gentle sob. “I was turned on.”

* * *

“How did you feel?”

“So gooood,” my sister moaned. “Oh god, so good. So fucking good.”

She’d timed her responses to my thrusts.

“Why?”

“Because I was being touched. I’ve wanted it for so long, and I was…I was being _touched_.”

“But you’re not gay,” I reminded her.

“No,” my sister agreed. “But it was easy to pretend that it was my brother touching me.”

“Do you think my hands feel like Mom’s?”

“Yessss,” Cynthia said with a long, lustful sigh. I froze, not sure whether or not I should be hurt by that. It wasn’t a question I’d ever asked before, and I hadn’t expected that response.

“…why?”

“Because her hands felt so good,” Cynthia panted. “Because my brother’s hands will feel that good. He’ll be so talented. So hot, and skilled, and…”

“Don’t cum!” I reminded her.

“Don’t cum,” she repeated back. “Don’t cum. Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum…”

“What happened next?”

“She increased her pressure slightly, don’t cum don’t cum,” my sister said with a soft groan. “She increased her pressure—don’t cum!—and she increased her speed.”

“And then what?”

I was holding my breath. This was the furthest I’d ever gotten through the story without cumming.

“And then don’t cum,” my sister gulped, her voice getting higher and higher as she continued. “…I came don’t cum. Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cuuuum…”

But much like in the story, I could feel it. The increasingly-familiar feeling of Cynthia’s orgasm: her pussy clenching rhythmically, accompanied by a fresh wave of lubrication. It felt so good. It felt so fucking good.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” I groaned, pulling out of my sister and shooting my load onto her stomach, before collapsing back onto her bed.

We both lay there for a minute, breathing heavily, before I got up and moved back into the chair beside her bed. My cock was still out, but I knew she wouldn’t mind.

If anything, she’d be disappointed if I put it away.

This was the most confusing part of the story. Mom wasn’t doing anything fancy. She wasn’t pulling Cynthia’s nipples and calling her a slut. She wasn’t leaning in and whispering “I bet you wish this was your brother.” She wasn’t spanking her, or tying her up, or…I dunno, threatening to brand her.

She was just slowly stroking her clit, gently fingering her, and my sister—who could, nine times out of ten, resist cumming as I fucked her, as the cock she obsessed about each and every day drove itself into her…

My sister had cum.

“What were you thinking about when you came?” I asked, as I always did.

“My brother,” Cynthia said dreamily. After she came, it was like she was floating above the clouds. On cloud nine, whatever that means. What were the first eight clouds? Practice runs? Or is nine just an important number in cloud culture?

“What specifically?”

“I was picturing him touching me like that. Or watching while Mom did.”

“You know you weren’t allowed to cum, right?”

“I know,” Cynthia said, my admonishment bringing her back to reality.

“You weren’t meant to cum, but you came anyway. Right?”

“Yes sir,” she responded immediately.

I sighed.

My sister had been doing such a good job for so long. I really thought she’d mastered not cumming.

Nope. Turns out she’d only mastered avoiding orgasm by her own hand. Almost as soon as Mom had touched her, she’d climaxed.

It was two parts hot, one part frustrating. And if it happened again, that balance was going to shift.

“Well, sis,” I said with a sigh. “If you’re not going to follow orders, there _will_ be punishments…”

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Chapter 32

The next time my mother got my sister off, I was watching.

It hadn’t been easy to set up. Cynthia had agreed to it immediately, of course. My sister was past the point of needing much justification.

She was so beautifully pliant in everything that you’d expect her to resist, commands like ‘your brother needs to be in the room while your mother touches you’. But even though she was completely sexually obsessed with me, even though she wanted nothing more than to turn me on…she still wouldn’t let me see her tits.

In case I’ve not yet mentioned: I desperately wanted to see her tits.

But this was pretty great too.

No, the real struggle had been getting our mother to agree with it. Her internal logic was almost as skewed: Mom would let me tie her breasts up, she’d serve breakfast to us topless, she’d show me her butt and (when she was under) let me spank her to orgasm while she was completely naked…but if there was a chance of seeing my sister in the nude, that was a no-go.

At least she’d let me watch as she spanked Cynthia, so long as my sister was fully-clothed. As soon as there was nudity involved, it was completely off the table.

Even though I’d seen every part of my mother’s body. Even though Cynthia walked around in nothing but underwear all day every day.

I tried a few different approaches before I finally made some traction. I’d reminded her that it wasn’t sexual, that it was a woman helping another woman out with weight-loss. That making my mother cum when I spanked her wasn’t sexual, so neither was this. If it was wrong, Mom wouldn’t have been doing it. There was nothing wrong with me being there while it happened.

But I finally pinpointed the problem. It wasn’t me seeing her get Cynthia off…it was the nudity, pure and simple.

Yeah, that’s right. Watching my Mom get my sister off was okay, so long as no panties were removed. If Cynthia didn’t take off her panties, I wouldn’t see anything inappropriate.

Even then, she didn’t want to do it. I could get her to agree in the abstract that it would be okay, but whenever I suggested it actually happen, Mom would push back.

Fortunately, I had ways of getting my relatives to do…well, almost anything.

All I had to do was remind them of what would happen if they didn’t.

* * *

“What’s your greatest fear?” I asked my mother, leaning forward. I was staring at her face with laser-focus, enjoying the show. I only wished it was possible to bottle her reaction, so I could have it any time I wanted.

The first time I’d asked my mother this, she’d answered vaguely, like it was an intellectual episode.

Since then, we’d been training. I’d probed and we’d practiced this again and again; now Mom was able to leap straight to her most visceral fears.

And my mother is a transparent woman. She showed those fears on her face.

“The Toy,” she answered with a gulp. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks had paled, and the vein on her neck told me that her pulse had quickened.

Fear. Don’t they say that’s the greatest aphrodisiac? Maybe after oysters.

“Why?” I asked, smiling in anticipation.

When we’d been a little younger, I’d never been able to understand how Cynthia could watch the same movie again and again and again. “You already know what’s going to happen,” I’d whine.

By now, I’d probably heard the tale of Mom getting my sister off more times than she’d ever watched that stupid horse movie she loved so much. I got it—when you really connect with a story, you can hear it any number of times without ever tiring of it.

And Mom telling me why she was so afraid of the huge anal Toy that I’d put on her dresser was something I’d really connected with, believe me.

“Because I’ve never…” she squirmed, as she always did. Not from arousal, but from fear.

Well, maybe a little from arousal.

“…I’ve never had anything up there.”

“Why does that scare you?”

“Because I don’t know if it’ll hurt.”

I nodded. I’d been doing some reading on the subject…a _lot_ of reading, in fact. If done right, anal shouldn’t hurt. If you took it slow, used lots of lube, and built up to it, pain was relatively rare.

The first time my mother did anal, I was going to be careful. I was going to make sure not to damage her, not to do anything that could cause any damage.

But I was going to make sure that it hurt.

“I thought you liked pain,” I said.

“No,” Mom replied, shaking her head. “I don’t.”

Another thing my mother was in denial about. Pain turned her on, pain got her off. But she still claimed not to _like_ it.

“What else?”

“I don’t know if it’ll fit,” Mom said, her face pale. “What if it’s too big?”

“How about if you built up to it?” I asked gently. “Started with fingers, or a smaller toy. Something to ensure that you were able to safely take the Toy?”

“Well…yeah, I suppose that would make it less scary.”

“That’s what I thought,” I nodded.

It wasn’t going to happen like that, of course. The first thing my mother would take up her ass was the Toy.

The second would be my cock.

“Anything else?”

“It would make me feel dirty,” Mom said. It was odd; she only seemed to feel this way about her ass. Specifically, stuff going _into_ her ass. Me spanking her ass, no issue. Hell, me making her cum with my hand didn’t make her feel “dirty”.

But putting something in her butt? That was what did it.

“What else?”

“I don’t…”

Mom trailed off, and I waited. My mother described her fears half a dozen times already, but I could be patient if there was a chance she would add something new.

“…yes,” she said, and I smiled a wicked smile.

“What?”

“I’m afraid I would enjoy it,” she admitted.

I raised one eyebrow.

“Why does that scare you?”

“Because…” Mom thought for a moment, before taking a shuddering breath and continuing. “…if I really, really liked it, what if that was the only way I could…y’know.”

“Orgasm,” I said helpfully, and my mother nodded.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, clearly uncomfortable. “Right.”

“Why is that a problem?” I asked, even as I worked out the answer out for myself.

What can I say? I wanted to hear her say it.

“Because…that’s an important part of my motivation,” Mom continued, putting a heavy emphasis on ‘that’. “And if I needed something…y’know. Then I would need you to, um…”

I licked my lips, revelling in my mother’s uncomfortableness. Not only was she afraid of the Toy, she was afraid of building up a dependence on it. She’d gotten so used to her daily orgasm, delivered by her son, she was worried that the only way I’d be able to get her off was by sticking something in her ass.

It was such an absurd, improbable fear. My mother has always been an anxious woman, but this was a whole new level. She was afraid both that she’d hate it and that she’d love it.

Of course, it was perfectly in line with her other reactions to pain.

“That’s a very real possibility,” I replied, my voice level, staring straight into my mother’s glazed-over eyes. “Anything else?”

After a few more moments of thought, Mom shook her head.

“Getting your daughter off is your punishment, remember?”

“I remember,” Mom replied, her voice dull. God, my cock couldn’t have been harder—she had completely accepted that she needed to be punished, and that getting Cynthia off was the best way to do so.

“But it sounds like making you use the Toy would be a more effective punishment, doesn’t it?”

“N-no,” Mom began to stammer. I held up one hand, and she fell silent.

“Maybe we don’t have to go quite that far,” I replied, trying to sound like I was thinking it over. “Maybe there’s something we can add to your existing punishment instead.”

Mom didn’t say anything. She just stared into nothingness, her eyes wide. “So here’s what we’re going to do,” I began, and my mother obediently listened.

* * *

Less than a week later, I was sitting in the living-room when it happened.

A few years earlier, I’d helped out with the school play. Not as an actor or anything like that; I was backstage, making sure that all the props were in the right place at the right time, all that stuff. I got to make a fake gun, that’d been fun.

Because of my role, I’d spent a lot of time watching rehearsals. For the final play I was backstage the whole time, but for weeks I’d sat in the audience, watching everyone stumble over their lines as the director told them where to go and how to say it. ’Blocking’, that was called.

The part that really stuck me was how sincerely they had to say something completely artificial. Like, we all knew it was a play. The lines the actors were saying had been written by someone who’d died twenty years ago; it wasn’t like they were spontaneous thoughts they’d come up with in the moment.

But we had to pretend they were. Well, not me, the actors. They had to pretend that when they claimed to be a good, proper girl who never sold themselves, they meant it. That it came from a genuine impulse to say those words to that person at that time, and that they weren’t just reading a line from a script that had been written decades before they were born.

Everything about the experience was artificial, but in the moment they had to pretend it was completely real.

Watching my mother and sister interact in the living-room was like that. But unlike the play, I was the only one who knew how artificial the process was. The actors didn’t know they were acting, reading lines that I’d fed them.

And the show was a whole lot better than one I’d made props for, I can tell you that.

“Oh, hey,” Mom said, as Cynthia entered the room. It was all I could do not to mouth along with the dialogue; I’d run this with her at least a dozen times, the threat of the Toy hanging over her.

She had no conscious idea that’s why she was doing what she was doing, of course. That made it more hot, honestly. Mom wasn’t just a puppet to my manipulations: she was an unknowing puppet. She had no idea that she was following my commands.

“Hey Mom,” Cynthia sang back.

She was wearing a white bra and white panties—they were lacy, and transparent enough to be alluring, but just opaque enough to hide her nipples.

God I wanted to see my sister’s nipples. I was fucking her two, three, sometimes four times a day, and I still couldn’t have told you what her nipples looked like. Or what they tasted like.

She was also wearing white stockings, with a matching lacy top. While she was wonder, Cynthia had told me once that she hated the way her skin bulged out around the top of the stockings, like a little muffin top. It was completely in her head—despite what her self-image suggested, my sister was not even approaching fat, and I couldn’t see anything.

But I’d used it as an excuse to stare at those creamy thighs whenever they were on display. My sister thought I was transfixed in disgust, and I got to check her out without her having even the slightest clue how I felt.

I’d enjoyed the sight of those thighs before, but now that I got to pump my cock between them, and then pull out and come all over them…yeah, I liked ’em even more. Funny how these things work, isn’t it?

Threats hadn’t been needed, to get my sister to agree. Her greatest fear was already that I wouldn’t be attracted to her; anything that moved things in that direction, she was more than motivated to do.

Part of me wanted to threaten her anyway, to dive into those fears…but when the choice was to spend my time doing that or fucking her, well. It wasn’t much of a choice, y’know?

Cynthia plopped down beside our mother on the couch. I was in the far corner of the room, where I’d deliberately planted myself. I wasn’t hiding, not really—they both knew I was there. But I was just far enough away that I’m sure they found it easy to pretend I wasn’t there, y’know? I wasn’t in their faces.

Also, my head was buried in a comic. I’d picked a comic for a two reasons: firstly, because I’d worked out the best way to make Mom comfortable with me seeing this kind of thing was, unintuitively enough, when she saw me as a kid. Like, if I’d been reading 50 Shades of Grey or…I dunno, some advanced sociology textbook, that might have been a reminder that I was an adult. By picking a comic, it highlighted my youth, helped emphasize the ‘this is not sexual’ angle I’d leaned on so heavily.

And secondly, because I’d just bought it and wanted to read it. I had no idea how long it would be until the show started, so I figured I’d have something to occupy myself with in the meantime.

Not long, it turned out. My sister was excited; I’d told her subconscious mind that if she acted strangely about me being in the room, watching her get off, that Mom would start to suspect how Cynthia felt about her brother.

So she’d readily agreed to do it in front of me next time. And now that it was happening, that (as far as she was concerned) her brother was going to—for the first time—see her do something sexual, she clearly couldn’t wait.

Not to mention, of course, the fact that as far as my sister was concerned, she’d only cum once in the last few months. I imagine the prospect of a second orgasm was pretty exciting to her as well.

“Mom,” Cynthia said breathily. “You remember what you…helped me out with the other day?”

Our mother froze, just as she had each and every time we’d rehearsed this. “Y-yes,” she said, her eyes flicking to me in the corner of the room. I made sure my head was buried in the comic. Mom gulped.

“I need your help again,” Cynthia said firmly, and I couldn’t help but smile, hoping that neither of the women in my family were looking in my direction.

From Cynthia’s point of view, she was asking for help cumming because Mom had noticed she’d stopped masturbating. From Mom’s perspective, her daughter was asking for help with her weight-loss program. You can see why I made sure each and every line was scripted and rehearsed, right?

But despite that, to each of the girls—to both of them—this was real. As far as they were concerned, they were genuinely asking their family/being asked for an orgasm. Like the ideal form of a high-school play, this was a genuine, spontaneous request.

If every high-school play involved two busty women asking to get each other off, I guarantee the audience would enjoy them more. On the other hand, you’d probably get a lot more complaints.

“Of…of course,” Mom said, so softly I could barely hear her.

Not that I needed to, of course. She was saying the words I’d drilled into her. And Cynthia’s lines had, of course, literally been drilled into her.

I don’t know if you have a bucket list, but if that’s your kind of thing, I have some suggestions for you: spanking your naked mother to orgasm. Fucking your entranced, busty sister. Fucking your _un_ entranced, busty sister—I was yet to cross that one off the list.

And, of course, the bucket list item I was able to scratch off that night: watching your mother bring your sister to orgasm.

It went down much the same as it had in the re-tellings. Mom put two hands on Cynthia’s waist, and sure enough, there was this weird moment where I really thought they were going to kiss. There was an intense energy between them, it was hot as hell.

The whole situation was hot as hell. I couldn’t wait to fuck my sister later while she recounted it to me.

Mom used her fingers on Cynthia’s gusset, staring at her all the while. It might have been a bit risky, but I wasn’t just watching them out of my peripheral—I was looking straight at Mom as she stimulated the front of my sister’s panties, flicking my eyes between her and Cynthia as she bit her lip and trembled. If either of them had looked over at me, they would’ve seen me watching…but I think I would’ve gotten away with it. Like, they were the ones touching each other in front of _me_. It wasn’t crazy unbelievable that I’d at least look up to see what was happening.

Despite the fact that their eyes were firmly affixed to the other’s face, I knew they were aware I was there. It had Mom had never grown entirely comfortable with the idea that I’d be there; she was doing it under duress.

That just made it hotter. Mom was letting it happen because if she didn’t, I’d punish her. If she didn’t, I’d force her to use a toy where no toy had ever gone before.

Even better: Mom wasn’t just letting it happen; she was _making_ it happen. My mother wasn’t an inactive participant, like Cynthia was when I fucked her. Mom was tremblingly touching her own daughter while I watched.

She’d go through with it, but I knew that she’d be aware of my presence with every movement.

And my sister…yeah, I would have bet my right nut that this was the sexual highlight of my sister’s life. She was standing in front of me, her younger brother, someone she’d been completely sexually obsessed with for months, and letting him watch her be touched.

There was absolutely no chance that Cynthia wasn’t acutely aware of my presence.

Mom’s fingers deftly moved Cynthia’s panties to the side, and she began stroking her daughter’s labia. Just as she’d described: soft gentle movements, then dipping her fingers briefly inside my sister (where my cock, I gleefully reminded myself, had been just a few hours earlier).

I couldn’t see it, but I could tell that was what was happening.

Next, I knew my mother would have begun stroking Cynthia’s clitoris, doing all she could to bring her own daughter to orgasm. Y’know, as part of her weight-loss routine.

But we never got to that part.

* * *

“Well, sis,” I said with a sigh. “If you’re not going to follow orders, there _will_ be punishments…”

My sister’s eyes widened. When she’s under, she can’t make any conscious movements. It was a serious impediment to our sexual progress; if I could have just ordered her to suck my cock, I knew she would have obeyed in a heartbeat.

I’d considered ordering her let me fuck her mouth anyway, but I was pretty sure sticking one’s cock into the mouth of someone with no ability to control their motion wasn’t going to be a good time.

And so instead, all I could do was fuck her wet, waiting pussy. It’s a hard life, being me.

But there were a few things she could do, even while hypnotized. Widening her eyes, occasionally twitching, and—of course—cumming.

There were probably others as well, but those were the key ones. She could cum, but she couldn’t suck my cock. There truly is no justice in the universe.

“Y-yes, sir,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

My sister had been punished before, many times. But always by Mom. I’d never actually administered a punishment to my sister.

I mean, I couldn’t make it _too_ easy, could I?

But the previous night, Cynthia had cum at our mother’s hand.

Mom hadn’t even gotten to my sister’s clitoris before Cynthia was trembling in orgasm, gasping softly as she came.

Despite me being very, very clear about the fact that she wasn’t allowed to.

Cynthia had always been so good. So obedient.

No matter what I did, Mom was unable to edge the way her daughter could. I could have told Mom that she’d be sold into slavery and it wouldn’t make a difference: when my mother was being spanked, she came. It was just basic cause-and-effect; she just couldn’t seem to control it.

But Cynthia had become the master of controlling her conscious orgasm. Sometimes she came when she was under and I was fucking her, but I figured that was…forgiveable.

When my sister’s busty body was trembling with orgasm around my cock, I found it pretty easy to forgive her of most anything.

But the rest of the time? She didn’t cum. Especially when she was awake; her self-control was phenomenal. If she didn’t want to cum, she simply didn’t.

Until Mom had fingered her, that is.

Now, maybe Mom was just, like, a world-expert. But considering that she’d never been with another woman and hadn’t even touched _herself_ for more than twenty, I somehow doubted that was the issue here.

For whatever reason, Cynthia had lost control. She’d disobeyed a direct order, and—in perhaps the sexiest way possible—completely thrown my plans off-course.

So yeah; there was only one thing to be done about it.

My sister needed to be punished.

But I didn’t want to punish her while she was awake. There was nothing Cynthia craved more than my attention, and I wanted to keep her hungry. If I’d said “Okay sis, time for your spanking,” that would’ve been closer to a reward—and I really didn’t want to incentivize further disobedience.

By the time this was done, both Cynthia and my mother were going to be my slaves. I’d still punish them, of course, but just for my own pleasure. If all went to plan, they would never disobey me again. Maybe I could even train Mom to control her orgasms.

So no, Cynthia’s punishment couldn’t be a conscious one.

“What are you most afraid of?” I asked Cynthia, and she answered immediately.

“Confirmation that I’m fat. Being rejected by my brother. Heights. Spiders. Mom finding out what a pervert I am. Anyone finding out how I feel about Daniel.”

I paused, but the list ended there. Unlike with Mom, we were yet to find a single consuming terror that we could dive into. I could have asked her to stop and think about it, really plumb the depths of her soul…but we were running out of time, and I wanted to fuck my sister again before the session ended.

Even though she didn’t move, even though she just stared blankly at the ceiling, it was still the most incredible sexual experience of my life. Like cheap popcorn: it left a lot to be desired, but I wanted as much of it as I could get my hands on.

“Here’s your homework,” I said, a cruel smile curling the edges of my mouth. “Next time you’re edging, that’s what I want you to think about: your greatest, truest fears. Think about that for a full hour, and report back to me the next time you’re under.”

“Yes, sir,” my sister said with a shiver, as I got into position to fuck her again. “Whatever you say, sir.”

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Chapter 33

The morning after I watched Mom get my sister off, she was surprisingly…normal.

It had taken so much effort to convince my mother, I guess I expected that afterwards she’d be at least a little awkward afterwards.

Nope! When I came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, there was no weirdness at all.

As I munched on the crepes my mother had prepared, my mind was whirring. It had been a recurring pattern with Mom, really: she’d refuse to do something, she’d get through it blushingly, but once it was done…

It was like it flipped a switch in her mind or someting. Spanking was the obvious example: once she’d accepted that there was nothing sexual about it, that it was just a motivational tool, she’d been happy for me to spank her to orgasm every night.

More than happy, really.

Similarly, even after getting her own daughter off, she hadn’t let it faze her. Twice now, Cynthia had tremblingly cum at her own mother’s hands, and Mom hadn’t shown even a trace of awkwardness.

So now that Mom had gotten her daughter off—and let her son watch—and subsequently seen that the world hadn’t ended…

As I dutifully moved my plate to the kitchen, I wondered what I could do with that.

* * *

The next evening, I put my sister under again and asked her to report back.

“What did you think of the last time you masturbated?” I asked, and she shivered at the question.

Shivering. That’s another thing Cynthia can do while she’s under. Shiver, widen her eyes, and cum. If she could also transform into a magical warrior, you could cast her as an anime girl.

“My greatest fears,” she replied demurely.

Sometimes we’d have these conversations as I fucked her. You know, for efficiency. Sure, we’d both be a little distracted (her more than me, actually) but it meant that we could get more in.

More sex, that is. Not nearly as much in the way of actual progress.

But as amazing as I knew it would’ve been to listen to the list as I came inside Cynthia, I wanted us both to be fully focused on it. Ignoring the voice in my head screaming “ _You have the opportunity to fuck your sister and you’re choosing NOT to?_ ”, I licked my lips.

I was sitting beside Cynthia’s bed, my eyes roaming over her exposed body. She had a sort of strappy pair of black panties on—like, as well as the normal material, there were a bunch of bands going around her stomach and thighs. I don’t claim to understand women’s underwear, but it looked good on her.

Admittedly, I’d yet to see Cynthia in any underwear I didn’t like.

Her bra matched, too, with some extra straps hugging the breasts. I don’t think they did anything, they just…looked good.

My hands itched with the urge to rip them off her. I’d thought I was as obsessed with Cynthia’s boobs as one could possibly be, but the more I fucked her, the more I got to stare at her pussy, what I could see of her ass (I didn’t feel game to roll her over, in case it woke her up) and the constant stream of lingerie she paraded throughout the house, the more I wanted to know what her tits looked like.

Her bare, naked tits. I wanted to see them. Touch them. Taste them. Fuck them.

That’s what I told the voice in my head. “ _I can fuck my sister now, or I can get complete control and fuck her whenever I like. Constantly. Looking at her tits as I do._ ”

That shut it up.

“What are your greatest fears? Besides heights and spiders.”

“Getting caught,” Cynthia replied. “Anyone working out how I feel about Daniel, or what a pervert I am. Rejection. Daniel not feeling the same wayabout me as I do about him.”

“What else?”

“Never getting to a ten,” she said, her voice trembling. “Never getting to be with my brother.”

Not a particularly fertile area. “What else?”

Cynthia took a deep breath, and I leaned forward, eager to hear what she had to say.

“Showing my breasts,” she said meekly, and my eyebrows shot through the ceiling.

Jackpot.

“Go on,” I said, pulling my erection out of my pants. A strangled noise of arousal left my sister’s mouth—I hadn’t thought she could see me from there, but something—her hearing, perhaps, or her peripheral vision—had alerted her to what was happening. “What about showing your breasts scares you?”

“They’re too big,” she said, panting slightly as I began slowly stroking myself.

I wasn’t going to cum, not from touching myself. Not when my sister was right there, and I could pull her panties to the side and fuck her. But touching my dick felt good (it had been a wonderful day, when I’d worked that one out) and the fear in my sister’s voice was turning me on like nothing else.

“Yes they are,” I confirmed. Y’know, because it was clearly Opposite Day. “What would happen if someone saw them?”

“They’d think I was disgusting.”

“You are disgusting,” I said, unable to help my self. “Say it.”

“I am disgusting,” my sister repeated back. As the words left her mouth, my cock released a small wave of pre-cum.

“Say it again.”

“I am disgusting.”

“What if your brother were to see your tits?”

“Then he’d never be attracted to me. Never.”

“He’s going to have to see them eventually, isn’t he?”

“Y-yes,” my sister replied, her voice a sexy combination of morose and turned-on. Part of me wished I’d been recording; it was one of the hottest sounds I’d ever heard. Right after the sound of my mother muffling her orgasm, or the rhythmic sound of my cock entering Cynthia’s wetness.

I barely had time to ponder whether I should release an album when my sister continued. “But by then, hopefully he’ll already be attracted enough to me that it won’t matter.”

“As your trainer, it should be safe for me to see them.” I’d tried this line of thinking before, but to no avail. But I figured it was worth another try, now that she was more cognizent of exactly how she felt about it. “It would help with your weight-loss program.”

“No,” Cynthia said flatly.

“Why not?”

“You’d be looking through my brother’s eyes. It wouldn’t work.”

“I need to see them,” I said insistently.

“No,” my sister said, more desperately.

I stood up, bringing my hard cock into my sister’s field of view. A wave of pleasure visibly spread across her body, just at the sight of my dick—her collarbone grew flushed, her stomach tensed in anticipation, and her pussy pulsed.

“You disobeyed a direct order, Cynthia.” I said. “You were told not to let your mother make you cum, but you did anyway.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Cynthia said, sounding as though she was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. I need to make sure you won’t do it again.”

“Please, sir.” A sob left my sister’s mouth. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Not good enough,” I replied coldly. “You need to be punished.”

“Yes, s-sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

“Your punishment will be to show me your boobs. Show your brother your boobs. That’s an order.”

For a moment, I felt powerful. Like it was finally going to happen. Like those tits I’d fantasized about for so long were finally going to come into view.

But the feeling faded as I watched my sister begin to twitch uncontrollably as her unconscious mind fought back against my command.

Just as I thought I was getting the hang of this…

* * *

“How do you feel about your son seeing you get Cynthia off?”

Mom squirmed at the question.

Ah. Not completely okay with it after all.

“Fine,” she finally answered.

“Fine?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mom said, using the tone I’d heard so many times in my life. That clear, firm, ’I don’t want to talk about it’ tone.

Well, Mom wasn’t in control here. I was, and I wanted to talk about it.

“How does it make you feel, knowing that you’ve made your daughter cum?”

“Fine,” Mom repeated.

“You don’t feel guilty about it?”

Mom shook her head, wide-eyed. I stared at her for a moment, trying to work out if she was lying to me (or to herself) before realizing that it didn’t matter.

I was speaking directly to her subconscious. Even if she wasn’t speaking the truth, it was what—on some level—she believed.

“So if it was fine,” I said slowly, “then it’s not much of a punishment, is it?”

Mom’s eyes widened as she realized what I was saying. But rather than change her opinion, she jus tshook her head.

“I guess not,” she said slowly. Sadly.

She sounded just as morose as her daughter had, and it was very nearly as hot.

“So we’ll have to come up with something else, won’t we?”

“Yes,” Mom nodded. “I suppose we will.”

* * *

“Stop!” I yelped. “Uh, um…tell me how it felt when Mom made you cum?”

My sister’s eyes glazed over, and her entire body relaxed.

“Warm,” she said, her voice thick with lust. “Hot. I felt like I was doing something naughty, but something that my brother would approve of. Something that would get him hard. I want him to see me. I want to make him hard…”

I breathed a sigh of relief as she continued. God, Cynthia and her boobs…it was pathological. It was like she was as obsessed with them as I was, but in reverse.

No. No, that was impossible. No one could possibly be as obsessed with my sister’s boobs as I was.

But she certainly got close.

Clearly, this wasn’t a fear I could defeat with brute strength. But there was no way in hell I was giving up. I’d have to work at it, get her used to the idea.

And I felt like I’d have more luck if she was…distracted.

Four minutes later, my pants were around my ankles, Cynthia’s panties were pushed to the side, and we were both panting as I pounded into her.

“Why,” I asked, “are you so afraid of your brother seeing your boobs?”

“Because—don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum—if he sees them, it ruins my chances with him forever.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Don’t cum,” my sister replied pleadingly. “Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum. Because…don’t cum, don’tcumdon’tcum, they’re, oh _god_ don’t cum don’t cum, don’t cum don’t cum…groteseque.”

I glanced down at the bouncing bra-clad bosoms. They were many things, but “grotesque” absolutely wasn’t one of them.

There were two clear paths ahead of me. On one hand, I could work on improving my sister’s self-esteem, teach her to accept her breasts the way they were, understand exactly how beautiful and attractive and sexy she was—and how much I loved the way she looked, boobs and all.

_Especially_ boobs.

It was not only the safer path (my sister’s twitches when I’d ordered her to show me her tits had genuinely alarmed me) but clearly the moral one. By the end of it, Cynthia would have a better relationship with her body; she’d be a healtheir and more well-rounded person.

“You’re right,” I said without hesitation, panting as I drove myself into my sister’s wet, willing cunt. “They’re grotesque. If you show them to your brother, he’ll be disgusted. But…he’s going to see them eventually, isn’t he?”

“Y-yes,” my sister said. “Oh _fuck_ , don’t cum don’t cum…”

“And if he orders you to show him your tits, you can’t disobey him, can you?”

The answer came as a strangled cry, a mixture of horror and wanton lust.

“No! Can’t…disobey him…”

“No _sir_ ,” I reminded her, and my sister’s eyes rolled back in her head. “Don’t cum!”

“Don’t cum, sir, sir don’t cum, sir sir sir, sir sir don’t—oh god oh fuck oh fuck me—don’t cum _sir_.”

I knew my sister’s anguished pleas were directed at herself, but (perhaps it’s the defiant side of me?) they had the opposite effect. I pulled out of my sister, and with a bellow (Mom was out—at the gym, attempting another impossible routine) shot my load all over her various straps.

To my great pleasure, Cynthia hadn’t cum.

I cleaned up my seed, then sat beside her and leaned in close. I had a plan.

“You’re going to ask Mom to touch you again,” I ordered.

“Y-yes, sir,” my sister said. Her eyes were watering. Even though she couldn’t move, I could tell that every inch of her, every pore wanted to cum.

“And if she does, and you cum, you’re going to get punished.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your punishment is going to be to show your tits to Danny. To your trainer.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. Nor, to my relief, did she begin to twitch.

“Say it.”

As my sister stammered through her rephrasing of my command, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I’d tried to move too fast. Things had been going so smoothly with my sister, I’d tried to force my through her resistance. It had been clumsy. Dangerous.

But I was confident I could get there. Within a few sessions, Cynthia would be agreeing that if she couldn’t stop herself from cumming when Mom touched her, she’d show me her tits.

The next steps of my plan were all predicated on Mom being unable to make Cynthia cum. That would open up the perfect opportunities for my mother, for my sister. I could see it all so clearly.

Either Cynthia would be able to resist Mom’s touch…or I’d get to see her tits.

In that moment, I honestly couldn’t tell you which I wanted more.

* * *

“What do you think would be a suitable punishment?” I asked, enjoying the shiver of discomfort that went through Mom’s body at the question.

Direct access to someone’s subconscious gives you a pretty good idea of what they’re thinking, and I was completely certain what punishment had immediately sprung to my mother’s mind:

The Toy.

But there was no way she’d ever suggest it. Nothing scared my mother more than the prospect of that huge plug entering her rear passage.

She couldn’t suggest it, but it was filling her mind to the point she couldn’t think of anything else.

“What about doing something humiliating?” I prompted.

“Y-yes,” Mom replied reluctantly. “I…I suppose that would work.”

So far I’d had Mom walk outside naked. I’d had her moon the street from our attic window. I’d had her do so much that she would never have done without my influence.

It had been a while since I’d done anything like that. We’d both been enjoying her recent punishments so much, and while the idea of making my mother humiliate herself was hot, the actual acts themselves did nothing for me, y’know?

See, that’s the thing about being a sadist: if the other person _enjoys_ their punishment, it doesn’t push all your buttons.

Don’t get me wrong: tieing Mom up or making her cry in pain pushed a lot of buttons. Watching her get my sister off, even more.

But it had been a while since Mom had truly _suffered_. If she’s going to be “fine” with getting Cynthia off, then I needed something more creative.

And I had an idea.

As I’d been getting Mom ready to finger Cynthia in front of me, we’d continued playing with bondage. I’d taken an online course on ropeplay, and both of us were delighted to try it out.

Not that either of us were going to admit that to the other, of course. I knew Mom was just as excited as I was, but—for very different reasons—we each had to completely mask our pleasure.

Well, I guess I didn’t have to hide mine entirely.

I’d worked out that as long as my glee came across as immature, I could be as excited about punishing my mother as I liked. When I’d told her to flash the neighborhood, it had been in the tone of a schoolboy suggesting a hilarious prank.

Later, when I’d had my mother flash her ass to _me_ , it had similarly been framed as silliness, fun and games.

And so despite the fact that I’d had to put down some serious cash for the ropes, for the online course, despite the hours of practice each day I’d had to do (to minimize the risk of any permanent damage)—I still had to play the part of an excited kid.

Just, y’know. An excited kid who was tying his half-naked mother up in all kinds of compromising positions.

Like I said, Mom subconsciously loved it. I don’t know exactly why—yeah, I had access to her unconscious mind…but it didn’t know exactly why either, so it was just a mystery. I think these had been the next steps she’d always wanted to take with my father. She was getting to live out the fantasies she’d had to abandon when he died.

Just…with her son, instead of her husband.

But that really was a guess. It could have just as easily been a desire even she didn’t know she had, and the excitement came from getting to explore it with someone she loved. Someone who took care of her, who only wanted what was best.

Someone who spanked her to orgasm, each and every night.

And so what if that person was her son, right?

A few weeks back, we’d started with some relatively simple stuff. I tied her hands behind her back (while she was fully clothed, sigh) and made her spend an entire Saturday like that. She blushed so hard every time Cynthia or I came into the room to find her trying to eat an apple, or get something out of a drawer.

I’d untied her when she needed the bathroom…but had been tempted not to. The idea of my mother, pantless, struggling to wipe herself after peeing.

I don’t think even my own subconscious could tell you what about that appealed to me so.

The next time she was tied up for a day, I’d left her wrists free and tied her arms to her side. It was this cool rope setup that went over and under her breasts, and only allowed her to move her hands at the elbows. Not quite as restrictive, but somehow way hotter—probably because of the way it framed her tits, or the fact that it traversed (and trussed) her entire torso.

Or maybe because for that one, I didn’t let her wear a top.

For a full day, Mom had walked around the house with her tits on full display, forced to use her hands like a T. Rex. I don’t mean, uh violently. I mean…she couldn’t reach much. Tiny arms.

But the best was what we did the night before she got Cynthia off in front of me. It was so simple, and perfectly sexy: I tied her ankles together, tied her wrists together, and then tied them to each other.

Mom was completely trussed up, kneeling on the kitchen floor, unable to move her limbs. Any of them. Obviously I couldn’t leave her like this for an entire day; as I pulled the final rope, her eyes wide as she realized that she was completely restrained, that anyone could do anything to her.

God, the things I wanted to do to her. Again, I let her keep all her clothes on for this one—I figured she was vulnerable enough. Her arms behind her back like that meant that her chest was thrust forward. If I’d decided to start groping her, just openly touching my Mom’s tits, there’s nothing she could’ve done about it.

Her body was under my complete control. And, though she didn’t know it, her mind was getting there too.

I mean, just the fact that she was tied up like that was a tribute to how much I’d affected her. Even just two months earlier, there’s no way that Mom would’ve anyone tie her up, even her own son. _Especially_ her own son.

Now? Not only did Mom not even question it, she came to me to share her transgressions (“not being able to do five push-ups in twenty seconds”) knowing that I was going to punish her. Knowing that I was going to punish her with ropes.

Honestly, there was something…I dunno, flattering about it. Mom trusted me. If it hadn’t been enough to know that groping her breasts while she was constrained would ruin my chances of doing _so much more_ later, the trust itself would’ve been enough to stop me.

Mom trusted me, and I didn’t want to do anything to break that trust.

Except hypnotize her into being my sex slave, I guess. But that doesn’t count.

“I’m going to tie you up,” I said, a smile on my face.

“Okay,” Mom said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

“I’m going to tie you up,” I repeated. “And then we’re going to go shopping.”

I watched with glee as my mother’s eyes widened in pure fear. My cock hardened as she twitched—not enough for me to be worried, but enough to know that she didn’t want this. That she would have done anything to get out of it.

That she was going to do it anyway.

My mother was under my complete control, and she’d do whatever I told her. Even if it terrified her.

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Chapter 34

“You came again,” I accused Cynthia.

It was the day after my mother had once more gotten my sister off, almost a week since I’d almost woken her. I’d spent the rest of that session fucking her, while getting her to tell me exactly why she hated her breasts so much.

The answer was a whole soup of trauma—childhood bullying, being the first kid to get tits, seeing Mom’s large tits and out-of-shape body, and particularly harsh comments from a few people she respected...including, I was surprised to discover: me. Apparently I’d teased her for having huge ‘bobs’ (as I’d called them) when she was younger, and told her that they meant no one would ever love her. Kids can be so cruel...probably budding sadists more than most.

Hearing my sister unpack her breast-related trauma while I fucked her was an experience like no other. I came hard and fast, unloading onto her stomach with a moan.

I knew we’d be doing _that_ more than once.

“You came again,” I repeated.

If Cynthia could have moved, I know she would have nodded. But without that as an option, she had to answer verbally—though she did so as quietly as possible.

“Yes,” she replied, so softly I could barely hear her.

“You were given a direct order not to cum, but when Mom touched you, you came again.”

This time, she didn’t say anything at all.

“You failed,” I said, my voice trhumming with disappointment. “You were given a very simple command, and you couldn’t even obey that.”

No response. You could practically taste the tension in the air.

Despite having just cum, I was once more hard as a rock.

“You’re worthless,” I spat.

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“I’m worthless.”

“You need to be punished.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“I need to be punished.”

“You don’t deserve my attention. You don’t deserve my punishment.”

“No, sir. I don’t.”

“But I’m going to give it to you anyway.”

My sister’s stationary body crumpled with relief.

“Yes, sir.”

“What will your punishment be?”

“You’re…you’re going to look at my boobs, sir.”

All the while I’d been persuading my mother to let me watch her touch Cynthia, I’d been working on getting my sister to agree to this punishment.

Remember, I’d genuinely wanted my sister to resist Mom’s fingers. When she’d cum again, it had honestly shocked me. The next part of my plan had relied on my mother failing to make Cynthia cum.

But so far she was two for two, and there was no reason to think she wouldn’t succeed again the next time they tried.

I needed to fix that. I had every intent of finishing that. But I’d figured that as I worked on that, getting to see my sister’s breasts was a pretty sweet consolation prize.

“I’m going to take your bra off now.”.

“Yes, sir,” Cynthia replied. I’d been listening for hesitation, fear—anything that told me that I should hold back, that I had more work to do. Any indication that moving forward would make her freak out and wake up.

I didn’t know exactly what would happen if someone involuntarily came out of hypnosis, but all the forums had agreed on one point: it would be bad. And something told me that coming to and seeing your younger brother holding your bra wouldn’t make things better.

But my sister’s response had been strong and sure.

“I’m doing it,” I said, giving her one last chance to voice her disapproval.

Nothing. It was the sexiest silence of my life.

I moved my hand beneath my sister’s back. After watching her orgasm the previous night, I’d known this was coming, and had spent the morning training on a bra I’d stolen from Mom’s closet.

It seemed pretty easy—you squeeze in the right way and it comes undone. Putting it back on was a bit more challenging, and that’s where most of my practice had gone; once Cynthia’s bra was off, it _had_ to be fastened again before she awoke, or else…

Yeah. It would be bad.

So I’d spent like four hours taking the bra off and putting it back on, again and again and again. I don’t know how competitive the field is, but if America decided to field an Olympic bra removal team, I’m pretty sure I would at least have made the finals.

The only thing I hadn’t factored in was that—unlike the chair I’d put Mom’s bra on—Cynthia was lying on her clasp bra. It definitely made it a little more difficult, but after a few awkward minutes, I breathed a sigh of relief.

My sister’s bra was undone. I pulled it off, and gawked at what I saw.

I’ve seen my fair share of porn, and one thing I’ve noticed is that when a woman is laying on her back, it’s like her tits lose half their size. They’ll go from ‘busty’ to ‘oh yeah those are breasts’.

By this point, I’d seen my mother’s breasts…god, a few hundred times? And I knew from going through their underwear drawers that my sister, despite her best efforts to hide them, has larger tits than Mom.

But I hadn’t expected my sisters tits to be so huge that even when she was on her back, they were still _massive_.

As I removed her underwear, I gasped at the sight of my sister’s breasts falling to the side, hypnoticlaly jiggling as they settled. They were just as creamy-white as the rest of her skin, with two small, delicate, strawberry-pink nipples.

Mom’s nipples were exquisite: thick, dark, and ruby-red. They looked like they were made to be sucked on. (Which, I guess, they were. Specifically by me, at that.)

By contrast, Cynthia’s nipples looked like they’d rub off if you stroked them too hard. Part of me wondered how they’d survived the bulldog clip punishment. My sister’s nipples called out to my mouth, just as my mother’s had, but they somehow seemed like more of a forbidden treat, like sucking on them would probably remove them.

No, Cynthia’s tits were made for biting. Small, gentle bites, followed by plenty of tongue…and then when they were engorged with blood and excitement, they’d be ready to suck. I could already imagine the sounds my sister would make as I sucked her nipples, the gasps, the soft moans.

Cynthia’s breasts were so big, so fucking _juicy_. I wanted to run my hands all over them. I wanted to touch them and taste them and stick my dick between them, cover it in lube, and fuck my sister’s tits until I came all over her face.

I’d wanted so desperately to see them...but now that I had, I realized that was a mistake.

Now that I’d seen them, I _had_ to touch them. And not like I had my mother’s, adjusting them to get a rope in place. Cynthia’s jugs were made to be abused, played with, manhandled—and I was the man who wanted to handle them.

Why had I opened myself up to such frustration?

I let out a long sigh, and in response, my sister…she didn’t _wince_ , not exactly, but her eyes definitely took on a despondent expression.

“They’re everything I expected them to be,” I said honestly, and Cynthia—as I knew she would—took that in the worst possible way.

“I wish I’d never seen them,” I said, continuing to be candid. “They’re not like any other boobs I’ve ever seen.”

“W-what’s my score, sir?” my sister asked, sounding like a broken woman.

The last time I’d assessed my sister, I’d given her a six. It had been a new high, and had excited her so much that she’d cum just from hearing it.

“Three point five,” I told her immediately, having anticipated the question. That wasn’t the lowest score she’d ever gotten—that had been a two point five, according to my notes (although I couldn’t remember what had inspired it)—but it was a distinct drop from the last time she’d asked. “But just because of your tits.”

In physics class, we’d been shown a video of an empty can in a vacuum tube. Over the course of a minute or two, they’d just kept on pumping more and more air into the tube, increasing the pressure, until the whole thing just suddenly…crumpled in on itself.

That was what it was like, watching my sister learn her new rating. It was like she silently imploded, but without moving a muscle.

“W-why?” she croaked, and I sat back.

“Because you disobeyed an instruction,” I said, my voice calm. “You were given a direct order, and you didn’t obey. Women are meant to be submissive—it’s a complete turn-off to be defied. Say it.”

“Women should obey,” my sister intoned. “I should be submissive. I need to do as you say. I need to follow your orders.”

As she spoke, Cynthia continued staring blankly up at the ceiling. I, meanwhile, was happily staring at her tits. I’d been wanting to see them for so long, and now here they were, mine for the taking.

Speaking of which…

“I need to take a photo,” I said softly. Perhaps because of what the conversation we’d just had about defiance, my sister didn’t react. She didn’t start shaking or freaking out; just kept staring silently at the ceiling.

A few minutes later, I’d taken so many photos of Cynthia’s bare tits that I was at risk of hitting my phone’s storage cap. Even if I somehow lost control of my sister and mother, I knew that I’d have these photos for the rest of my life, each of them a small masterpiece.

Her breasts were so big and soft and round and perfect—I wanted to bury my face in her cleavage and lick them all over, suck on them until Cynthia begged me for mercy.

When I finally decided that I’d taken enough pictures (as though I could ever take enough) I put my phone away and turned to face my sister. She was still lying there, looking up, her tits jiggling hypnotically as she breathed.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, rock hard once more.

“That you’re right,” she said, her voice flat. “I was disobedient. I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have cum. I should have obeyed you.”

“You’re right,” I nodded. “You’re a worthless failure. You should have obeyed me. Say it.”

“I’m worthless,’ Cynthia agreed. “A failure. And I should have obeyed you. I should always obey you.”

“So,” I said softly, lowering my pants and positioning myself above my sister. “What are you going to do about it?”

Cynthia’s response was a little distracted when it came. “Um, I…I don’t know.”

We both groaned as I moved her gusset to the side, and slowly penetrated her. It wasn’t until I was halfway in that I realized—I hadn’t asked, checked if it was okay, or even let my sister know I was doing it.

I’d just taken her. And she’d done nothing to resist.

As my cock slid all the way inside my sister, I realized something else: she was soaked. I mean, my sister is always wet, but even for her this was striking.

“Are you turned on?” I asked. “I mean, more so than usual?”

“Yes, sir,” Cynthia responded.

“Why?”

“I’m…I’m so worthless,” she gasped, and I could feel her cunt clench at the words. “And my tits are...grotesque. I’m a failure. I’m—ohgod, don’t cum—a three…a three…point five!”

As my sister had been speaking, I’d been slowly pumping in and out of her, but at her last word (or number, I guess) I froze. I recognized the signs of my sister’s impending orgasm, and if I didn’t stop moving, I knew it was going to arrive..

When I’d told my sister she was at a six, it had been enough to make her cum without _any_ physical stimulation. So I hadn’t expected having her rating dropped to a three point five to have almost the exact same effect.

“Don’t cum,” I growled.

“Yessir,” my sister frantically responded. “Yessir don’t cum yes don’t cum yes.”

We sat there for several minutes, my hard cock inside my sister’s twitching cunt. Mom was home, but ever since I’d started fucking Cynthia, I’d made it very clear to her subconscious mind that she wasn’t allowed to come anywhere near her daughter’s room, especially not while I was in there.

I’d checked, and even when we sometimes got a little loud, Mom had never heard any of it. As long as we didn’t do anything dumb, I figured I was safe to fuck my sister without risk of being interrupted.

Like, if Mom had walked in at that point, I don’t think there’s any amount of hypnosis that could have saved me. Having my dick deep in my sister’s almost-naked body would have been bad enough, but Cynthia’s blank stare and total immobility?

Yeah, there was no way I was getting out of that one.

Finally, I could feel the muscles of my sister’s vaginal walls stop twitching, and I started slowly pumping in and out of her once more. Even though I’d just cum, I was desperate for relief. All of it—my sister’s huge breasts bouncing against my chest, how wet she’d gotten at her new rating, the fact that I hadn’t even had to ask before starting to fuck her...it was driving me wild. Like my sister, I felt like I could have exploded with orgasm at any moment.

“Even after seeing Mom get you off, even after watching you cum, your disobedience dropped you all the way to a three point five,” I reminded my sister.

“Yesdon’tcum, sirdon’tcum,” she responded.

“And your breasts, of course,” I added. “Those lowered your rating as well.”

“Mmmm—don’tcum!—hmmmm…” Cynthia purred. Her arousal was contagious, and I knew I couldn’t hold back..

“I’m going to cum,” I groaned. “You’re going to make me cum.”

“Oh, god, don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum…” my sister breathily told herself. “Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum…”

“You mustn’t cum,” I confirmed with a grunt. “If you disobey me again, it’ll lower my opinion of you even further.”

“Of course don’t cum sir,” Cynthia gasped. “I won’t cum don’t cum sir don’t cum.”

“You’d better not,” I said, increasing my pace. My sister’s eyes were staring blankly, but her forehead was knotted in concentration. As I felt my orgasm beginning to swell, I started gasping stacatto phrases, one after another.

“Failure,” I grunted. “Worthless! Grotesque. Disgusting. Useless. Nothing.”

In response, my sister just kept repeating the same two words again and again: “Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum don’t…—“

As my sister did all she could not to cum, I pulled out of her wetness and—for the first time—began spewing my seed all over her naked, far-from-grotesque tits. As soon as my spunk began coating her body, I delivered what I was certain would be the coup de grace: three simple words:

“Three…point…five…”

Sure enough, my sister tensed up. I watched as her already-hard nipples tightened, becoming two perfect crinkled points.

When we’d both calmed down, I smiled down at her.

“Did you cum?”

To my surprise, a smug tone left my sister’s mouth.

“No, sir. I edged.”

Raising one eyebrow, I reached for the box of tissues.

“Really?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because, sir. You told me not to.”

I tilted my head to the side. What was I missing?

As I cleaned my sister up, my brain was going a million miles an hour. I’d assumed that being fucked by my cock, the thing Cynthia lusted after all day every day, was the greatest sexual stimulation my sister could feel, but…well, she’d just managed to avoid cumming, from sheer willpower.

She’d slipped in the past, but when she truly focused on it, she was able to stop herself from cumming.

But even with the threat of having her tits exposed, Cynthia had cum at our mother’s hands.

Twice.

Putting the tissues to the side, I realized I was already hard once more. Positioning myself at my sister’s glistening entrance, I again didn’t ask for permission, just pushed until I was inside her.

Perhaps I’d been a bit hasty to dismiss my mother’s skills with her hands.

“Okay, Cynthia,” I said thoughtfully, as I began to fuck her. “Tell me again what Mom did. And this time, be _very_ specific.”

When I was a kid, Mom would sometimes accuse me of not listening. It always seemed deeply unfair to me at the time—of course I was listening! I got good at that trick where you repeat the words directly back to the other person; y’know, as proof that you’re listening.

But it wasn’t until I fucked my entranced sister as she described our mother’s touch that I finally understood what Mom had meant.

I hadn’t been listening before. Not really. I’d heard the words, but not the meaning.

When Cynthia had talked about Mom’s soft touch, how gentle she’d been, I’d…look, this is embarrassing.

I’d been judgmental about it.

Like “Oh Mom, she’s trying so hard, but she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

Nope. Mom, it turned out, had known _exactly_ what she was doing. Far, far more than I.

Now, in my defense, my sexual experience up to that point had been _pretty specific_. I’d made Mom cum by spanking her, I’d made my sister cum using my words, and then by crudely rubbing her clit. And almost every time after that, Cynthia had cum while I was pounding into her as roughly as I could.

So yeah, I think it made sense that I’d concluded, women came the way I did. When I want to get off, I wrap my hand around my cock and roughly tug at it until I cum. (Well, unless my sister was available. But you know what I mean.)

Mom had cum by having my hand rain blows down upon her ass, and Cynthia…yeah at no point had ‘gentleness’ entered the equation.

But as I slowly fucked my sister and listened to her explain the softness of Mom’s fingers, the tender way she’d touched her side, her labia, before gently dipping two fingers inside her…

Yeah. I got it.

Mom hadn’t gotten lucky, touching her softly and only managing to get her off because Cynthia was so horny. She’d touched her daughter the way only another woman knew how. She’d stimulated her in ways…ugh, it really sucks to admit this: she’d stimulated my sister in ways that I’d never even considered as an option.

And so when Cynthia had cum, it hadn’t been because of the situation, or because of how she knew I’d react when I saw it (and in fact, had reacted when I’d seen it).

It had been because Mom was really damn good at what she did.

Before I came, I put Cynthia’s bra back on. I wasn’t sure how long it would take, and didn’t want to risk cumming on her tits and then not being able to clean her off and put it back on in time.

There’s a line from a Muppet song: _Saying goodbye, why is it sad? Think you’d remember the good times we had._

As I reaffixed my sister’s bra, the words sprung into my head. I’d finally, finally gotten to see the pair of tits I’d been lusting after for as long as I’d known how wonderful tits were—you’d think I’d be happy for the experience, but all I could feel was sadness that they were going away.

At least I’d been able to cum on them. The Muppets never even got that.

After cleaning and waking my sister up, I went back to my room and started doing something that maybe I should’ve done earlier: googling how to please a woman.

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Chapter 35

About ten years ago, I’d been shopping with Mom when she’d dropped a jar of candy. You know those red round jawbreakers? We’d been picking some up as a gift for a distant aunt or someone, and Mom had been distracted by something and lost her grip on it.

The jar dropped to the ground, spilling its contents all over the grocery store floor. It had been so loud, and made such a mess; everyone in the building must have heard it, and all the other shoppers in our aisle had turned and stared at her.

Mom had been mortified. She’d gone bright red, apologized profusely to the cashier (who, of course, didn’t care) and pulled me out of the store as quickly as she possibly could . I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen her so embarrassed in my life.

It’s the kind of thing that I’m sure most people would look back and laugh at, but not Mom. Cynthia and I would bring it up every now and again, just to see our mother’s face turn just as red as it had so many years ago.

Since then, Mom had been driving across town to do her shopping. Like, I don’t think anyone outside of our family would even remember it happening, but that didn’t matter to Mom. As far as she was concerned, the incident may as well have happened yesterday, or been the most significant event of the decade.

So, you can guess where I decided to take her.

Mom gasped just at the sight of the store, and I saw a familiar flush begin to creep up her neck. The thought of what we were about to do to—what Mom was going to do—had left me was hard as a rock.

This was my first time doing anything publicly with Mom or Cynthia. Or anyone else, I guess.

I mean, properly public, beyond having Mom just run outside naked. There were risks, of course, but they were pretty minor; it wasn’t like I was going to bend her over and spank her in the middle of the store. No matter how much my cock twitched at the thought. It was just going to be a small trip, to humiliate my mother.

To demonstrate my power over her. If I could make Mom do this, I knew that I could make her do anything.

I parked around the block from teh store, and let Mom lead the way. Her hands were tied behind her back—just a simple black rope around her wrists. If you weren’t looking closely, you’d just think she was holding her hands behind her, or perhaps carrying a scarf.

If you did look, however, it wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening. That this shy-looking middle-aged woman was...well, kinky. Submissive. Tied up in public. Unwittingly involving every stranger in the store in her sexy game of rope play.

Of course, they wouldn’t know she was doing it for her son. At her son’s command. That was a little bonus just for me.

Mom walked quickly, fuelled by adrenaline. This was probably the most embarrassing thing that she’d ever done. I couldn’t help but check her out her as I stayed ten feet behind, following along.

She looked so hot. My mother had been attractive even before I’d helped her get back into shape. Now, she was one of the sexiest people in town. My Mom was a hot bitch.

And she was all mine.

I followed Mom up to the front of the store. Her instructions had been very clear—we were going to spend twenty minutes in the store, she was going to do at least two laps, and only when I gave the signal was she allowed to leave.

The grocery store was crowded, which made things even hotter. Anyone we encountered could glance down and notice the black rope binding Mom’s wrists together. Each and every person there could have spotted my mother’s bondage, and worked out who she really was.

What I’d made her into.

I watched as my mother wandered through the store, eyes darting everywhere. Her face was red as a beet, which only drew more attention to her. Mom tried her best not to make eye contact with any of the other shoppers, to blend into the background. And for the most part, it was working.

Until she entered the produce section.

As the strange man approached her, my mother’s eyes filled with panic. she looked like she was hiding from the Nazis, not standing in the middle of a store. As Mom glanced over at me, I pretended not to be paying attention, diverting my focus to a display of pastries.

When I turned back to them, the guy was smiling at her. I was too far away to hear what he said, but I’m sure I could guess. “What’s a nice lady like you doing surrounded by vegetables like these?", or some other corny pickup line.

Mom stammered some response; she looked like she was about to have a heart attack—which, again, just made her seem more suspicious.

Even from across the store, I could see her nipples, clearly visible through the fabric of her shirt. My cock twitched as I realized what was happening—my once-prudish, uptight mother was standing in the middle of the grocery store, hands tied behind her back, not wearing any underwear, being ogled at by anyone who wanted to look at her.

Store members. Strangers. And, of course, me. Her own son.

And worse than that: one of the strangers was talking to her. It must have been her worst nightmare.

I was loving every second of it.

I watched as the strange man reached out to touch Mom’s arm. She instinctively jerked it away, almost falling over in the process. Without the ability to put an arm out to steady herself, it took her a moment to regain her balance. And that’s when he noticed—I saw his eyes glance down at my mother’s wrists, then do a double take as he realized what he was looking at.

A sly look appeared on his face, and he moved closer to her. He put his hand on her arm again, but Mom didn’t pull back this time.

Instead, to my horror, she smiled back at him.

The man leaned in and started talking directly into her ear. I had no idea what he was saying, but Mom was obviously listening intently. My jaw dropped as a look appeared on her face—a look I recognized from when she approached me each night for her spanking.

Mom was interested. Turned on, even. My mother was flirting with a man at the grocery store.

No. _No._ This was a disaster.

Before I knew what was happening, I was marching towards the two of them. I had absolutely no interest in letting my mother be seduced by a stranger.

She was mine.

“Excuse me,” I said, reaching them. The man turned to face me, clearly irritated by the interruption.

“Daniel,” my mother said, trying to maintain her composure. “I’m in the middle of a conversation. Why don’t you—”

“We have to go,” I responded firmly ” _Now._ ”

My Mom looked between us in confusion. In an instant, I could see my future: Everything falling apart. Everything I’d worked so hard to accomplish. I could see my mother giving the strange man her number, beginning to date him. Telling him about her nightly spanking, her punishments, and the way her son hypnotized her at every opportunity. It wouldn’t take much for him to put it together. It wouldn’t take a master detective to realize that my mom was so hot, even her son would certainly want her.

Maybe he was a cop. Maybe he was going to arrest me right now. Maybe I’d never see Cynthia again. I’d never again get to see her tits, instead going straight to jail without passing Go, without collecting two hundred dollars...

Before my imagination could completely get away from me, Mom nodded.

“Okay, Daniel,” she said, glancing at the man and giving him a smile. “You’re right.”

The relief must have been spelled out all over my face as I took Mom’s arm and steered her out of the store, I glanced back at the guy, who was staring daggers in my direction. I couldn’t blame him; from his perspective, he must’ve thought he’d found a sure thing, until some teenager had popped up out of nowhere and sniped her right out from under him.

As we left, I could sense Mom’s relief at being out of the public eye, trussed up like a turkey. Normally I would have been walking on air at how little my mother had enjoyed the experience, but all I could think about was the stranger, flirting with my mother.

And my mother flirting back.

We drove home in silence, Mom sitting in the passenger seat, me fuming behind the wheel. As soon as we got through the door and I’d checked that Cynthia wasn’t home, I put Mom under. I didn’t even untie her hands, just put her into a trance. In less than five minutes, my mother was laying on the couch, slack-jawed, eyes glazed, completely under my control.

The moment I was sure she was under, I unloaded on her.

“What,” I asked, my voice cold with fury, “the _hell_ were you thinking?“

“About what?” Mom asked. I couldn’t tell if the nervousness in her voice was because she could sense my anger or because she knew exactly what I was asking about.

“The man at the store,” I spat. “The man you were just talking to. You...you _flirted_ with him. Why?“

Mom blushed, and squirmed in her seat, which just made me angrier. I didn’t want to see my Mom having this reaction to anyone but me. She was mine. Just mine.

“...he thought I was cute,” she finally admitted, a slight catch in her voice. “No one has...no one has hit on me like that in a long time.”

Like I said, Mom had been attractive in her youth—and she’d known it. But since Dad left, since she’d put on so much weight, she…

Well, she hadn’t been hideous. I mean, I’d still been _very_ into her. But she definitely wasn’t “approach in the grocery store” hot.

“You’re not attractive,” I said flatly, and Mom’s eyes went wide. “Do you understand?”

“I-I...”

“Yes, you’ve lost weight. But you’re never going to be as attractive as you once were. Say it.”

“But...”

Mom trailed off, and I raised one eyebrow. It had been a while since I’d run into this much resistance in my mother. It was my own fault, really—where I’d been focusing Cynthia’s programming on reinforcing her low self-esteem, Mom had been much more punishment-focused.

So as she’d been losing weight, she must have been able to see her looks returning. She’d watched the pounds melt away, her old figure reappear.

And today, the attention of the strange man must have confirmed it for her.

My mother was a babe. And she knew it.

I couldn’t have that.

“You might be superficially attractive,” I began, before my Mom could begin to build any kind of defense. “But you’re not a young woman anymore. You’re in your forties. You’re all dried up. Past your prime. Say it.”

“I...I’m past my prime,” my mother agreed, her face red with shame.

“Again,” I demanded.

“I’m past my prime,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “Young men won’t be interested in me.”

“ _No one_ will be interested in you,” I specified, my eyes flashing. “You’re an old woman. Just because you’ve managed to lose a bit of weight doesn’t mean that anyone will be able to look past your age. Say it.“

“I...I’m an old woman,” she said, her voice cracking with humiliation. “I’m past my prime. I’m all dried up. And no one will be able to look past that.”

I nodded, but I still wasn’t satisfied. My mother belonged to me, and me alone. I needed to make sure no one else would ever have the opportunity to touch her again.

“Again!” I ordered.

Mom’s eyes widened in fear at the intensity in my voice, but she dutifully repeated what I’d told her.

“You are a dried up, wrinkled old hag,” I hissed. “No one will want you. Losing weight hasn’t made you sexy. Nothing will. No matter how hard you try, how much you work out, you’ll never be attractive again. _Ever._ ”

Mom nodded, her eyes filling with tears as she listened. I knew that my harsh words were playing into some of her deepest fears. That was why I’d chosen them.

But I wasn’t done yet.

“And even if you were young again,” I continued, my voice filling the room. “Even if you managed to turn back the clock and become nineteen, people would still find you repulsive. Do you know why?”

“No,” Mom replied hollowly, a single tear running down the bridge of her nose. “Why?”

“Because of who you are inside. Say it.”

“B-because of w-who I am inside...”

Mom paused, and I realized that I needed to be more explicit. My cock was throbbing at the mix of emotions visible on her hypnotized face; sadness, terror, self-loathing—what a delicious cocktail of feelings to have produced.

“You’re selfish,” I reminded her. “You need me—you need your son—to lose weight, but you’ve never considered how much effort I’m putting in. You’re a cruel, self-centered, terrible person. And it shows.”

Tears were openly streaming down my mother’s face now, but they didn’t slow me down.

“You’re ugly inside. You’re ugly inside, and everyone can see it. Everyone can tell, just by looking at you, what kind of person you are. What kind of person you _really_ are.“

Mom didn’t say anything as she lay on the couch, absorbing my words directly into her subconscious. Listening to her son tell her that no one would ever want her, that no matter what she did, she’d always be alone. Unattractive. Unloved.

“You’re a horrible mother,” I said calmly. “You’re an ugly cow. Say it.”

“I’m a horrible mother,” my mom agreed, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m an ugly cow.”

“No one will ever be attracted to you. You will _never_ be attractive. Say it.“

“I...I will never be attractive. No one will be attracted to me. I’m not beautiful, and I never will be. I-I’m a horrible mother. I’m an ugly cow.”

She was sobbing, her shoulders shaking as she spoke.

“The man at the grocery store felt sorry for you. He thought you looked lonely. Pathetic. You shouldn’t have let him touch your arm. You shouldn’t have flirted with someone like that. You don’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it. No one deserves the punishment of having to touch someone as hideous as you. Say it.”

“I...don’t deserve to be touched,” my mother said, her voice breaking. Her eyes were puffy and red, and snot was pouring out of her mouth. “I’m a horrible mother. I’m hideous.”

“Unlovable,” I prompted.

“Unlovable,” my mother agreed. “No one will ever want me. No one will...no one will ever love me again.”

“That’s right,” I replied. My cock was so hard; the moment my sister got home, I was going to put her under and fuck her silly. But until then...

“You need to be punished,” I concluded.. “For thinking such vain thoughts. For thinking anyone would ever want you. For being so selfish, so arrogant: you need to be punished. Say it.”

My mother took a deep breath, and for a moment I wondered if she was going to resist. But as soon as she had air in her lungs, she repeated my words back to me, her voice flat and emotionless.

“I’m going to spank you,” I told her. “Tell me why you deserve it.”

“Because of my vanity,” Mom said. Her tears had dried up, and her shoulders had stopped heaving. She wasn’t fighting my aspersions any more, not even a little. She’d accepted them.

I’d broken her.

“Strip,” I ordered, untying my mother’s hands. “I’m going to punish your naked, disgusting body.

I watched with glee as Mom removed her dress, then reached behind herself and unclasped her bra. It fell away, her large breasts wobbling free. Normally I had to get here in parts; telling her I was “inspecting” a punishment to get her naked, then claim to be testing a combination of punishments.

But something told me that I’d had a breakthrough. We’d entered new territory. Just like Cynthia didn’t need explanation for me to fuck her, my mother no longer needed further reasoning to be punished naked.

“You’re worthless,” I said hoarsely as my mother lowered her panties, revealing the thick bush between her legs. “You’re disgusting.”

Mom nodded, causing her breasts to jiggle slightly. When we’d first started, her stomach would have done the same, but after months of working out, her gut was almost entirely gone.

“Come here,” I ordered, my breath catching in my throat as Mom obediently positioned her naked body over my lap. “As I punish you, you’re going to tell me why you deserve it. Who you really are.”

My hand landed on my mother’s bare ass and she whimpered. I knew she could feel my erection poking against her stomach.

“You’re a horrible, selfish, ugly woman,” I spat, my voice ragged with anger and lust. “Selfish and cruel. You need to be punished for being a horrible, ugly cow. Say it.”

Before she had time to recover from my first blow, I smacked her again, and again, and again, a dark thrill running through me as she cried out in pain.

“I’m unlovable,” Mom gasped as my hand relentlessly rained down on her bare ass. “I’m disgusting. I’m pathetic. I’m—oh!—worthless...”

As she continued, her voice grew higher, louder, breathier.

“Keep going,” I growled, and she obeyed.

“No one will ever -oh, Daniel!—find me desirable. I will..oh, god, I’ll never attract anyone. I’ll never— _ungh!_ —be loved. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life alone, and—and—no one will care!“

I’d brought her to orgasm so many times in the past, I was able to play her like a musical instrument. As the last words left her mouth, I landed my hand on Mom’s ample ass with an almighty SMACK, and I could feel her begin to twitch and spasm in orgasm.

“Good girl,” I moaned, my cock throbbing in my pants as it pressed against my mother’s bare belly. She was sobbing as she came, her entire body heaving in the throes of pleasure.

“I’m hideous...disgusting...repulsive,” my mother continued to mutter, and I smiled down at her.

“Worthless,” I added, and Mom nodded desperately.

I knew that I would never tire of the sight of mom’s naked orgasms. Contrary to the sentiment I’d just had her repeat for almost a quarter of an hour, she was absolutely stunning. Even after losing weight, her body was full-figured and curvy; her breasts were huge and heavy, her hips wide and thick, and her thighs firm from the months of exercise. Her hips flared outwards, and she had a round, firm butt.

As she lay on my lap, cumming, her soft skin flushed with arousal, she looked like a fertility goddess. I wanted nothing more than to fuck her—and I knew I was getting close.

“I’m worthless...” As the words left her mouth, she began sobbing once more. I took my hand off her ass and reached for her. Mom took my hand and cuddled against me, sobbing in my arms as I stroked her hair.

“Sshhh,” I said comfortingly. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

Mom said nothing in response, just silently continuing to weep as I held her tight.

For almost fifteen minutes, I stroked my mother’s hair, whispering into her ears.. She didn’t say anything in response, just trembled in my arms, occasionally nodding as I told her that she wasn’t allowed to talk to other men, that anyone who seemed to be interested in her secretly thought she was pathetic. Disgusting. Worthless

I told her that I was her son and that she could trust me. Only me. That no one else would be honest with her, that I was the only one with her best interests at heart.

I normally didn’t touch my mother, except for when I was spanking her, but as I whispered corruptive thoughts into her ear, my hands travelled up and down her bare back, gently stroking her as she shivered. She didn’t resist; I don’t even know if she noticed. She just sat there, taking my words in, slowly calming down as I reminded her that I was there to help. That I was her trainer.

That she had to obey me, above all else.

When she was done, I had her put her clothes back on, clean herself up, and slowly woke her up. As Mom blinkingly came to, I was smiling at her.

“That was a lot of fun,” I said, nodding at her wrists (which I’d retied before returning her to consciousness). “We should do that again sometime.”

“Of course,” Mom said, giving me a watery smile. “Whatever you say.”

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Chapter 36

For the next ten days, Mom completely went off her diet.

It didn’t even surprise me, to be honest. Everyone has different reasons for losing weight (like I said, I’d done a _lot_ of reading on the subject) and Mom had always been very clear about hers: she wanted to feel more attractive. She wanted to look good, to feel good, to try to recapture her glory days.

And our last session had made it clear that was never, ever happening. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, she was never going to be attractive again.

She’d internalized it. She’d fully accepted her own inevitable, unending ugliness.

God it made me hard.

Obviously there was a risk that Mom would start gaining all her weight back, but I was confident that I could step in and get her back in line.

After our trip to the grocery store, I was confident I could get my mother to do anything.

Perhaps because of how strongly I’d reinforced her duty to obey me, Mom continued to tell me every time she ate something she shouldn’t. She even kept on working out—I think she’d grown accustomed to the routine. I stopped giving her impossible workouts. It didn’t feel necessary, since I was punishing her so much for breaking her diet.

I was punishing her a _lot_.

At first, I jut tied her up in different ways, in different places. I tied her to her bed—then my bed—then to the chair in the living room where I’d sat, watching her make my sister cum.

I even tied her to my old play equipment in the back yard. We have a tall enough fence that I wasn’t worried about anyone seeing her…but of course, that’s not what I old her. Instead, I’d reminded her that anyone could see, anyone could glance into the yard and see her tied to the swingset, immediately realizing how kinky she was.

One time I tied her to the slide and had her wear a blindfold. For the next fifteen minutes, she didn’t even know if anyone was looking at her.

She told me later how much she’d hated the experience…which only made me love it all the more. Mom said those fifteen minutes had felt like an hour.

Aside from how embarrassed she was, I knew Mom was enjoying the punishments. Even as they escalated, it was hard to really consider them “punishments”, but that was partially why I was doing them.

I’d knocked Mom’s legs out from under her; after that, I figured she deserved a break. A sort of emotional aftercare, in a sense.

Plus, since she wasn’t sticking to her diet, she wasn’t getting her daily reward. While she was conscious, at least, Mom wasn’t cumming. And I knew that she was starting to feel it—she’d gone several decades without a single orgasm, then I’d turned on the faucet…and now, by her own actions, they’d dried up again.

I was a little surprised she didn’t masturbate. I mean, it’s the obvious solution, right? You want to get off, you just take care of it yourself. But I honestly just don’t think it occurred to her. She’d never done it in the past; why start now?

Plus, she _was_ getting off quite a lot. Just not while she was awake.

So yeah. On one hand, Mom’s “punishments” were—for the most part—stuff that we could both enjoy. On the other hand, not getting her daily spanking was a punishment itself—for both of us, really.

Watching Cynthia walk around the house increasingly turned on had sort of tuned me into what it looked like, and I could very much see it in Mom. Even though she was getting regular unconscious orgasms, her conscious mind thought that she was getting all this stimulation and no satisfaction, and so I started to notice a lot of the same signs of pent-up frustration. The way she’d squeeze her thighs together, or blush (and sometimes gasp slightly) whenever anyone said anything sexual.

It was amazing.

But the reason I was tying my mother up wasn’t kindness (I am a sadist, after all)—it was to experiment with pushing her boundaries as far as I could. Three days after Mom went off her diet, I tied her ankles to her wrists again, but this time on the kitchen floor—with a ball-gag in her mouth.

It was so much more demeaning; Cynthia and I had to step over her for the two hours I had her restrained like that. When I finally knelt down to untie her, I was delighted to find a small puddle of drool beneath her mouth.

The next day, I tied her hands behind her back and bound her boobs as well. Really tight, like I’d been fantasizing about. It was everything I’d hoped it would be—as her tits turned red, and then purple, Mom grew more and more flushed...and there was nothing she could do about it. If I’d decided to walk away, she couldn’t stop me. I was in complete control.

The power was intoxicating, but not as much as the gasp of pain she let out as the blood returned to her breasts.

The one I was proudest of was a full body restraint. I made Mom lie face-down on the floor, tied her arms behind her back, and—this was the best part—had her bend her legs back, and tied her ankles to the strap of the ball-gag, behind her head. She was completely trussed up like a turkey; she literally couldn’t move at all. I only kept her in that one for forty-five minutes, her head folded back, her tits pressed against the floor.

Even before she told me, I knew it was incredibly uncomfortable…but not nearly as uncomfortable as the last one.

See, Mom had grown pretty used to showing me her tits, but as far as she knew, I’d never seen her ass, or her pussy. She’d flashed the street as a punishment, but she’d never shown anything inappropriate to her son.

While she was under, I’d seen her ass more times than I could count, but never when she was conscious.

And so after Mom had glumly informed me that she’d eaten an entire block of chocolate between meals, I’d gleefully told her that as punishment, I was going to tie her up naked.

My mother’s eyes had widened, her nostrils had flared in panic, but she hadn’t even offered a token resistance.

She’d just slowly, awkwardly stripped off in front of me, and let me tie her up on her bed.

I tried not to make it sexual, of course. As she stripped, I was playing the part of a giggling mischievous teenager. Like, oh my _god_ , tying your mother up _naked_? What a hoot!

But I think she was almost as aware of my erection as I was. I think she knew how fundamentally sexual it was.

And she didn’t seem to care.

There was no fancy knotwork or anything—I just tied each of her wrists and ankles to a bedpost and left her like that for an hour. Spreadeagled on her bed, her hairy cunt not just exposed to her son, but spread wide, revealing her pink tunnel. I glanced at it once or twice while I was tying her up, as I imagined any teenager would upon seeing a naked woman for the first time (even his own Mom) but I didn’t do anything more than that. When the timer ran out, I came back, untied her, and told her that she’d taken it so well, she was going to get a reward.

That one was a bit of a risk—I’d only thought of it while in the other room, fucking my sister as I thought about Mom just two rooms over, naked on the bed. But ever since our trip to the grocery store, Mom had been so acquiescent, I was confident she wouldn’t resist.

And since it had been almost a week since her last reward, I suspected she’d be desperate for a good, hard spanking...and the orgasm which accompanied it.

“Come here,” I instructed, and it was a real effort to contain my smile when she obeyed without hesitation.

I’d spanked my naked mother to orgasm dozens of times while she was hypnotized, but this was the first time doing it while she was conscious.

As Mom walked towards me, I could see the look in her eye—arousal, mixed with embarrassment and fear. A week without cumming, a week of tying her up, exciting her daily without release...

In that moment, I knew that she wanted it almost as much as I did.

As Mom lay across my lap, she was trembling. Her breasts swung free, and the smell of her pussy filled the room. I’d made sure that Cynthia wouldn’t interrupt us, but I don’t think it would’ve mattered if she had. She knew I spanked Mom, and she’d seen Mom topless or tied up on many occasions.

The only negative reaction she’d have to seeing Mom naked on my lap would be jealousy.

As I often did, I recounted my mother’s punishment to her as I spanked her. “I can’t believe you did that,” I murmured. “You let your own son tie you up naked.”

_SMACK._

Mom gasped at the sound of my hand hitting her bare ass, whimpered in pain and pleasure, but didn’t say a word.

“What if Cynthia’s friends had come round? Anyone could have seen you, naked on the bed—how do you think they’d react?”

_SMACK._

“What do you think they’d think of you, exposed like that? Not just your body, but your kinks; laid bare for all to see.”

_SMACK._

Mom gasped. I’d only struck her three times, but I could tell she was getting close. The humiliation, the stimulation, the seven-day spanking fast being broken—my mother’s body was reacting strongly, quivering and shaking with every blow.

“How would they judge you? How do you think your son judges you, seeing your naked body like that? Knowing what a deviant you are?”

_SMACK, SMACK, SMACK._

That was a risky one. I normally played off her punishments as normal, natural. But even though I’d just cum twice in my sister’s room, I was so excited, I just let the words fall from my mouth.

And I knew that my Mom was excited too. Even if I hadn’t been able to read her like a book, the pants and moans coming from her mouth were enough to tell anyone exactly how she felt about the crude accusations spilling from my mouth.

I raised my hand, feeling my mother’s body tense up, but instead of bringing my hand down on her ass (which I was confident would have brought her to orgasm) I gently rubbed it across her exposed cheeks, making her shudder. Her pussy was glistening with arousal and wetness, and I don’t know what was hotter: seeing my mother like this, or the knowledge that my mother was fully aware I was seeing her like this.

“No son should see his mother naked,” I whispered, and Mom made a strangled noise of agreement.

“Please...” she said, breaking the silence. “I...”

I smiled a cruel smile. Mom was so turned on, so out of it—she didn’t care that I was her son. She didn’t care that she was naked on my lap, my erection poking into her stomach. She didn’t care that I could smell her arousal, see her wetness, feel her frustration and neediness.

In that moment, all she cared about was cumming.

_SMACK._

I slapped my mother’s bare ass, harder than before. Her body jerked in response—I could tell she was close, but she didn’t cum.

_SMACK._

“You deserve to be punished,” I reminded her. “You deserve this.”

“I deserve this,” Mom groaned, her pussy clenching as my hand hit the right spot.

“And,” I said magnanimously, “you deserve _this_.“

_SMACK. SMACK. SMACK._

With three expertly-delivered blows, my mother began to cum. It was something I’d seen a hundred times before, but never like this. Never while she was naked _and_ conscious, laying across my lap, fully aware that her own teenage son was watching her orgasm. Watching the orgasm that he’d caused.

She twitched and moaned, and I felt her entire body quake as her climax began.

_SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!_

I continued spanking her as my mother came, my cock hard and throbbing as the naked woman on my lap shook with a powerful orgasm, amplified by the merciles ass-beating. She looked like she was having the most intense experience of her life—despite being completely conscious her eyes were wide and unfocused as she gasped and moaned uncontrollably. Her ass was red and clenching repeatedly, her breasts swinging free, and her hands clutching at the bedsheets but making no efforts to cover herself. She quivered and shook and I knew that she was enjoying every moment; a week of orgasms, all combined into one.

I knew that she would remember this for the rest of her life. That we both would.

“How was that?”

I had to ask twice, because Mom was too busy gasping and moaning and trembling and...well, cumming.

“Good,” she finally gasped, collapsing onto my lap in exhaustion. “Oh, Daniel, I...”

Mom trailed off, and I decided not to push it. Just as I had after her last spanking, when she’d been under, I casually ran the tips of my fingers up and down her back. She trembled and shivered but did nothing to stop me.

“Good work,” I smiled down at her. “Would you like me to hypnotize you?”

“Yes, please” Mom said, without even a trace of suspicion in her eyes. “I’d like that very much.”

* * *

“Do you want to cum?”

“Yessss,” my sister groaned as two of my fingers lightly dipped into her vagina, moistening my fingertips.

“Are you going to cum?”

“Nooooo. Gonna try not to. Gotta be a—oh!—good...girl...for my brother. For Daniel. Gotta be Daniel’s good girl.”

“Good girl,” I said, smiling as my sister twitched at my words.

The last ten days had basically been a crash course in female pleasure. I guess it had been arrogance on my part, but I’d just figured...y’know, men and women evolved to be with each other. You get a dude and a chick, you put their bits together, bam! Sexual pleasure.

Like, that’s how it worked from my end. I was pretty confident that Cynthia and Mom could’ve done pretty much _anything_ to my dick and I would’ve gotten off on it. Just the feeling of Cynthia’s cunt around my cock was basically enough to make me cum in and of itself. She didn’t even have to do anything!

But while I’d made my sister cum dozens of times, she was still able to resist me when she concentrated.

But not Mom. For some reason, she was able to resist Mom’s touch…but not mine.

So I’d studied up.

The internet is a beautiful and terrifying thing. While there are no specific guides on how to get your sister off, there’s a wealth of knowledge on how to...well, fingering women. Whether or not you’re related to them.

The first tip had simply been that everyone was different. Some women wanted very specific foreplay, some wanted to be lightly touched everywhere except the clit before you even went near it, some needed to be kissed and fondled and teased until they were begging for more.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, but there were _plenty_ of diagrams and instructional videos. Some were just porn (which I enjoyed on their own merits) but others really effectively demonstrated how to give a woman pleasure.

And it helped, of course, that I had an eager participant in my studies. One who would not only submit herself to my touch, but offer a constant, running commentary on what she did or didn’t like.

My hand was already wet, but I added more lube. It felt so hot as my fingers slid inside my sister.

“I like that,” she said with a moan. “Oh god, sir, yes, please...I like that so much.”

Sometimes her comments would be a little, y’know, unspecific. But all it took was a reminder that her role was to help me learn, and she’d happily go into detail.

“I like the contrast between the warmth of your fingers and the cold lube,” she elaborated. “I like the way you’re stretching me out slowly. And I like that—oh!—I like that you’re my brother. I like that my brother is touching me, that I’m being your good girl, your obedient little sex doll, here for you to fuck and touch and...—

“Don’t cum,” I reminded her sternly. If Cynthia could have nodded, I know she would have. A tremor ran through her body, making her naked tits bounce gently as she panted.

My fingers began to move faster, and—when I could tell that she was ready—my thumb moved to her clit.

“Do you want to cum?” I asked again, a smug smile on my face.

“Oh, God, please,” my sister moaned desperately. “I want to cum, Daniel. Please let me cum.”

“Are you going to cum?”

“No! No!” Cynthia said quickly, but her pussy was clenching and twitching. “Please don’t stop. Please...please...”

Making my sister cum accidentally had been incredible. Watching her unwillingly climax as I fucked her, even as she tried to resist—that had been so hot.

But there was something about being good at what I did that brought the entire experience to a new level. Knowing that I was in control of her pleasure—skilfully able to bring my sister close to orgasm at any time...it was hotter than almost anything else we’d done. My cock throbbed as I continued to finger-fuck my sister, moving two fingers in and out of her tight hole.

“Are you going to cum?” I repeated. My voice had gone from teasing to demanding.

Cynthia’s eyes fluttered, and I felt her muscles tense around my fingers.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she gasped, her hips thrusting slightly.

I smiled down at her.

“Did you cum?”

“No, sir,” she said with a gulp, staring blankly at the ceiling. “I edged.”

With a nod, I withdrew my fingers.

She was ready.

“You’re such a good girl,” I told her, watching her tits jiggle as she breathed heavily. “Such a good, obedient, little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Cynthia replied breathlessly.

“And as a reward, I’m going to fuck you.”

“ _Yes_ , sir,” my sister moaned.

I never had to justify it any more. So long as she was under, Cynthia would let me fuck her whenever I wanted. Well, more than just “let me”—she’d all but beg for it. I knew that her conscious mind wouldn’t allow me to try anything in real life, wouldn’t believe that I wanted to, but while she was under, anything was fair game.

I reached up, grabbing a handful of hair as I positioned the head of my erection at her entrance. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp as I pushed my dick inside her.

“Ooooooohhh,” she groaned, her legs quivering beneath my weight.

“As a reward,” I continued, my voice hoarse. “You’re allowed to cum. While I fuck you, you’re allowed to cum as often as you want. Again, and again, and again...”

Cynthia’s eyes opened wide as my words sank in.

“You can cum a hundred times if you like,” I grunted. “You can cum until you pass out...”

I paused. Could she even pass out, while she was under? And if she did, would she come to still hypnotized, or would she wake up?

Before I could follow that train of thought any further, my sister began to moan. I could feel her cunt tightening around me, her body tensing and shaking. She was cumming.

“Oh, fuck,” my sister cried, her hands twitching, her entire body spasming. It felt amazing—fucking my sister always felt amazing, but this was something else. I pulled out and slammed back into her as hard as I could..

“Again,” I demanded. As soon as the word left my mouth, Cynthia’s pussy clenched tightly around me, her juices flowing freely. I watched, mesmerized, as her body shook and trembled as she came for the second time.

“Again,” I growled, my cock throbbing. I was close to cumming myself, and I wasn’t about to stop now. “Cum again.”

“Ohhhhh, fuuuuck,” my sister moaned loudly, her pussy clenching around me once more.

“Do you want to cum?” I said.

“Yesssss...” she whimpered. “Please, please let—”

“You can cum,” I ordered, delighting in the sensation of her body shuddering as she came. “Cum for me. Cum around your brother’s cock.”

She gasped and thrashed as I fucked her. The pleasure was so intense—I couldn’t hold on much longer. But I didn’t stop, not even when I felt my balls tighten.

“Good girl,” I whispered, fucking her as she found relief again and again, cumming more in this single session of sex than she had over the last few months combined. Possibly more than she had in her entire life up until this point.

“Fuck!” I shouted as I pulled out. The first shot of my cum splattered against her tits and face, before dribbling down onto her stomach and exposed pussy. I collapsed onto her chest as we both panted heavily.

“Good girl,” I said again, and my sister simply shivered in pleasure at my words. “Are you ready for more?”

“Y-yes, sir,” she said hesitantly, as if not sure what to make of the situation.

I didn’t blame her. For months I’d been depriving her of orgasms, and I’d spent the past ten days building up my talents, touching her as skilfully as I was able, forbidding her from cumming all the while. To suddenly insist on a stream of non-stop orgasms...it was quite an about-face.

But it was all for a reason.

Cynthia moaned as I pulled my softening cock out of her. I pulled out my phone and snapped a few pics—there was something so beautiful about seeing my cum smeared across my sister’s naked tits.

I stroked my fingers through the thick, sticky mess that coated her breasts and belly, making Cynthia gasp and moan in pleasure. I moved my hand down between her legs, coating my palm with the juice that leaked out of her pussy.

“You’re my good girl,” I repeated softly. “Now, cum for me.”

I fingered my sister to orgasm after orgasm until I was hard enough to enter her once more. I fucked her as deeply as I could, both of us moaning loudly as my cock slid into her tight cunt.

I began to move slowly in and out of her pussy, watching as Cynthia’s body tensed and shook. Her orgasms were regular, but less frequent. Having just cum, both of us were able to last longer, so I continued to pump her as she came.

“You’re my good slut,” I told her. “My obedient little cumslut sister. You’ll do whatever I say. Whatever I want.”

Her eyes fluttered. “I’m your bitch,” my sister replied, her voice a soft gasp.

I laughed aloud. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m your cumdumpster,” she added.

“You are,” I agreed.

My sister came, her body tensing and shaking. “I’m your whore,” she moaned, when she’d recovered from the orgasm.

“My cumwhore,” I corrected her.

“Your cumwhore,” she agreed. “I’m my little brother’s cumwhore. My little brother’s—oh!”

“Cum for me,” I ordered.

She whimpered as she came a third time. It took longer than the others, but was just as powerful.

It took almost twenty minutes before she began struggling to cum on command. Even after months of edging, my sister was starting to reach her limit.

My sister was all cummed out.

I pulled out and knelt above her, my cock still semi-hard, glistening with my sister’s juices. “Cum for me,” I ordered, putting one hand between my sister’s legs, touching her in the exact way I knew she most loved.

Cynthia gasped and panted, my cock filling the field of vision of her glazed-over, unfocused eyes. But even as I rubbed her clit, even as I rubbed the combination of our fluids into her, she couldn’t.

“You’re a bad girl,” I said. “A dirty, nasty, cum-loving slut.”

She groaned in response, her body writhing beneath me. She looked so helpless, so submissive. She made me so hard.

“You’re my good girl,” I said, pulling on my cock, listening to her desperately try to obey. “You’re my good little sister slut. Now cum for me.”

I felt my balls tighten. Her pussy spasmed around my fingers, but I knew she wasn’t cumming. I knew that she couldn’t.

“Ohhhhh, fuuuuck,” she cried, her body twitching and shuddering as I fucked her with two fingers. “P-please...please...”

It wasn’t until my cock swelled up, and she saw the first wad of cum approaching her face that Cynthia was finally able to climax. As my seed landed on her eyes, her nose, her open mouth, my sister spluttered in orgasm.

“Good girl,” I said, watching as her tits bounced. “That’s my good girl.”

I cleaned my sister up, whistling a happy song as I did.

I’d had to use every trick I knew to bring Cynthia to that final climax—and even then, just barely managed.

Which meant I was pretty confident that one hour later, my mother would finally fail to do the same.

New chapters of Diet appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Chapter 37

“I need your help again,” Cynthia told our mother. My sister’s voice was...glowing is the only term I can think of.

That had been the riskiest part of the whole endeavor. When I woke my sister up after sex, I typically left her desperate. On the edge of orgasm.

But she’d just cum and cum and cum again, for the better part of an hour. Her pussy ached, she’d told me: not from need, but from exhaustion.

“Will you notice anything different when you wake up?” I’d asked, as I always did, and my stomach had dropped when she’d replied with a single, shaky word:

“Yes.”

I’d frozen, not sure what to do. On one hand, I’d needed her to cum. She had to be sexually exhausted when she approached Mom that evening. The next steps of my plan relied on our mother failing to get her off.

On the other hand, if Cynthia suspected anything, the entire plan would fall apart. Everything would fall apart. Over the past few months, she’d gone from a normal teenager (if particularly hot, and with particularly low self-esteem) to a brother-obsessed, submissive, constantly-edging sex fiend...but I’d covered my tracks carefully, and so far she hadn’t even noticed that anything was strange.

If she did, we’d be up Paddle Creek, covered in shit.

“What feels different?” I asked as I put my sister’s bra over her tits. It was always so sad to see them disappear, but I’d worked out that I could get away with brushing my hand against them as I reclothed my sister. I couldn’t grab them—even in her unconscious state, Cynthia refused to believe that anyone could _want_ to touch her tits—but I could make the briefest contact, and feel their softness against my skin.

“I feel...satisfied,” she said. That’s when I first noticed it, that feeling of...I dunno, fullness. Glow.

Cynthia had been edging herself for months, having only a small handful of orgasms, even as her libido had shot through the roof. In the course of forty minutes, she’d cum over and over and over and over.

No wonder she sounded different. It was the sound of someone having the most pleasant dream of their life.

“Why will your conscious mind think you feel this way?”

“I don’t know,” she said, after a brief pause. “Sir. I guess I’ll...—”

To my horror, Cynthia started twitching.

“Tell me what you like about your brother’s cock,” I said quickly. “Tell me what you think it looks like.”

“Big,” Cynthia said dreamily. “I think it’s plump. Girthy. Beautiful. I think it was built for me. That I was made for it. To take it. To suck it. To lick it...”

As she continued, I quickly realized—she was describing my dick (which, despite having now seen on dozens of occasions, she still thought she had to imagine), her voice had that same contented, fulfilled tone.

That was what gave me the idea.

“Cynthia,” I interrupted. “What could make you feel like this that you wouldn’t be suspicious of?”

My sister thought for a moment before responding.

“If my brother accidentally flashed me,” she replied. “Or if I found a picture of his penis. Or he told me he was into submissive girls, and I got the chance to show him how submissive I could be for him. Or if I thought he wanted me...—”

I held up one hand, and Cynthia fell silent. I quickly glanced around her room; everything was exactly where it had been when I’d put her under. “Cynthia,” I said with a smile. “Wake up.”

“Help with what?” Mom replied, her voice shaky. Just a few hours earlier, I’d spanked her—conscious and naked—before putting her under, and finalizing preparation for this very moment.

“It’s been a few weeks,” Cynthia clarified, exactly following the script. “I need your help again.”

After waking Cynthia up, as her eyes were still coming into focus and she was regaining her bearings, I’d complimented her.

It was something I normally avoided at all costs, of course. My plan relied on magnifying my sister’s already horrendous self-image; saying _anything_ nice ran exactly counter to that.

But...well, desperate times and all that.

For obvious reasons, I’d avoided focusing too heavily on her looks. Instead, I’d just told her that she was responding really well to her training, that she was a great subject for hypnosis, and how much I enjoyed working with her on her diet.

Then, to top it off, I’d said she was a good girl.

Having direct access to someone’s subconscious makes it pretty easy to give them the perfect compliment. I knew Cynthia would have no trouble understanding why she suddenly felt so damn good.

“It’s been a few weeks,” Cynthia said again. “And it...it felt so good last time...”

From the...“rehearsals”, I guess you could call them…I knew how much Mom hated that line. She hated the idea that she was bringing her daughter pleasure. As far as she was concerned, it was a health thing. She was helping Cynthia lose weight. It was a motivational technique.

Pleasure shouldn’t come into it at all.

“Okay,” Mom sighed, her eyes momentarily flicking to me in the corner. She especially hated the fact that I was there, able to watch...but after what we’d done in her bedroom just a few hours earlier, she didn’t really have much of a case for asking me to leave.

I smiled, imagining what she would have said if she’d known what Cynthia and I had just done in _her_ bedroom.

Cynthia, as always, was dressed in lingerie: a black bra and thong with matching thigh highs. Her hair was down, her eyes wide with innocent need, and her hands were fidgeting—nervous that I was watching her. That I was about to watch her, for the second time ever, get off.

Or so she thought.

Mom was dressed much more conservatively. Ever since she’d dropped her diet, she’d returned to wearing baggy jeans and t-shirts around the house. Nothing particularly flattering, but now that I knew what Mom looked like under her clothes, it was hard not to get turned on no matter what she was wearing.

“Mom?” Cynthia said softly, and my mother turned to her.

As always, she put her hands on Cynthia’s waist. All three of us held our breath as she leaned forward slightly, as though she was going to kiss her daughter, her own flesh and blood.

She moved her hands to Cynthia’s panties, and I couldn’t help but smile again.

This time, I knew things were going to go differently.

Mom’s eyes never left her daughter’s as her skilled fingers stroked the outside of her panties. Cynthia trembled with excitement, biting her lip at her mother’s touch. She stared intently into Mom’s eyes as the older woman’s hands continued to work on her pussy, moving the cloth to the side and touching her daughter directly. Softly, gently, feeling the heat of Cynthia’s sex.

I only noticed I was holding my breath when Cynthia let out a soft, incoherent moan. This was the only time I got to see her sexual pleasure reflected throughout her entire body; whenever I put her under, she could only make micro-movements. Now, as Mom touched her, I could watch as my sister’s face changed. Her jaw clenched, her chest heaved, and she arched her back in ecstasy. Every part of her seemed to react to the sensations caused by our mother.

I heard my sister gasp, her eyes flicking to me for just a second as she felt Mom’s fingers enter her, oh so gently. Her fingers only dipped inside her for a moment, just to get the tips of her fingers wet (as I’d done so many times over the lastten days) before—for the first time ever—reaching up and beginning to softly stroke Cynthia’s clitoris.

Cynthia moaned, her head falling backwards in pleasure. Mom’s face flushed with embarrassment, and just a hint of what looked like pride. After the battering I’d given her self-esteem a few days earlier, I felt like she needed this. She needed to feel attractive, that she was capable of bringing someone else pleasure.

Even if that person was her daughter.

“Mmmm,” Cynthia gasped, and Mom squirmed with awkwardness. I knew what thoughts must be running through her head...largely because I’d planted them there. She was wondering if this was what she looked like when she came, when her son brought her off. Part of her was questioning whether or not this was right, moral. If she was a bad mother.

And, best of all, she was desperately trying to deny that she was enjoying it. That she was getting even a modicum of pleasure from bringing her own daughter off.

I could have watched the scene in front of me for hours. My two busty family members, putting on a show just for me. Cynthia, moaning and panting as her own mother stimulated her pussy, as her brother watched her. Mom, so conflicted, trying to decide if what she was doing was wrong, her actions further confirming her view of herself as a bad person, a terrible mother.

But while it lasted much, much longer than the last time we’d played it out, it wasn’t hours. After twenty minutes—twenty minutes of watching Mom’s hands play with Cynthia’s cunt, while her daughter writhed at her touch, as both of them got increasingly desperate—it ended just as abruptly as it started.

“I’m sorry,” my mother said, suddenly letting go of my sister. “I...I...”

Cynthia didn’t say anything. Her face said it all. She, just like Mom, had realized it wasn’t happening.

That she wasn’t going to cum.

“It’s fine,” my sister said, hurt and confused. “I...I’m sorry too.”

This part had been difficult to script, but I knew that I couldn’t just leave it to chance. Mom thought she was helping her daughter lose weight; Cynthia thought her mother was concerned that she wasn’t masturbating. I’d given them strict instructions not to talk about it outside of this specific scenario. If either of them said the wrong thing, or realized what was happening, everything could come crashing down...

“Why don’t we try again tomorrow,” my mother said impulsively. Well, she thought she was being impulsive. Only I knew the truth, that we’d rehearsed this moment of impulsivity for a week. “I’d hate for you to...”

She drifted off, and my sister nodded.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said with a shy smile. “That’d...that’d be nice.”

Cynthia quietly left the room, and my mother collapsed onto the couch, before remembering that I was there, and glancing over at me.

My head, of course, was once more buried in a comic, as if I hadn’t even noticed the past half-hour of sapphic incest happening on the other side of the room.

* * *

“You’re disgusting,” I said to my mother with a growl. She nodded, tears in her eyes. “You’re so disgusting, you can’t even help your daughter when she needs you the most.”

I like to think it’s a tribute to my own devious manipulation that my mother didn’t even question the accusation, just nodding once more, taking my words to heart.

“Getting your daughter off was meant to be your punishment,” I continued. “But you couldn’t even do that. You’re worthless. Disgusting. What good are you?”

“N-no good,” my mother said, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. “I’m...I’m...”

“That’s right,” I replied with a nod. “You’re pathetic. Ugly. Weak. Stupid! Say it.”

“I’m sorry,” my mother whispered, and without thinking, I slapped her across the face.

My heart skipped a beat as my mother collapsed to the floor. I’d never done anything like that—I hadn’t warned her, I hadn’t checked that it would be okay. Sure, she was under, but...fuck. What had I done?

I breathed a sigh of relief as Mom shakily got back to her knees, head bowed in front of me, back in the pose I’d ordered her to take at the start of the session.

“I’m pathetic,” she said, sniffing as she obeyed me. “Ugly. Weak. S-stupid...”

Reaching out, I put my hand on my mother’s cheek. She nuzzled into it, like a dog seeking comfort from its owner.

“And useless,” I said, stroking her softly. “A waste of space. Say it.”

“I’m useless,” Mom dutifully repeated. “A waste of space.”

I nodded, then sat on her bed, pulling her towards me. Mom rested her head on my thigh. She was naked, of course—since I’d learned that I didn’t need an excuse, Mom was naked every chance I got.

“But maybe I can help you,” I said, as though the thought had just occurred to me. I pulled Mom’s face towards me; her glazed eyes looked at me with hope. “The problem might not be your unattractiveness. Maybe you just need to learn how to please others. Would you like me to teach you that?”

“Y-yes,” Mom said. I could tell that she wasn’t fully onboard, but didn’t want to disobey me. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” I said, and pulled my mother’s lips to mine.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 38

We were sitting in the kitchen, eating lunch together as a family. Cynthia was wearing black panties, white stockings, and a black corset (with white laces). She’d ordered it a while back, but it had taken several weeks to arrive.

It was, of course, fastened far too tightly.

Cynthia had claimed it was helping her lose weight, something that Mom—consciously, at least—was still invested in, and I could tell my mother had a lot of questions.

Not that she could ask them, with her ball-gag in.

“Another grilled cheese, please Mom,” I said languidly. Mom nodded, jumping up to get it for me.

Eager to obey.

She was wearing a red shirt and pair of jeans which had once been tight on her, but now hung loosely around her hips. The shirt was still tight, her hard nipples clearly visible through the thin cloth.

My mother never wore underwear any more. Unlike Cynthia, who rarely wore anything else.

“You’re being very good today,” I said approvingly, watching my mother throw the bread onto the grill. Both the women in my family looked at it hungrily; it was probably the most decadent thing we’d eaten in a month.

That’s the thing about living with two people on a diet; your own eating habits quickly begin to improve as well.

“Can I get you anything?” my sister asked breathily. She was always looking for reasons to serve me. Anything she could do to make me think of her as a submissive creature, here for my pleasure.

“I think Mom has it covered,” I said, and Cynthia threw our mother a jealous look. “She deserves a reward, I think. Another spanking, for being such a good girl.”

Mom blushed at my words, her eyes darting to the floor, but she didn’t say anything. (Obviously.)

Cynthia reacted to the offer as well, a shudder of need running down her body, causing her magnificent tits to tremble inside the corset. I’d seen them in every kind of lingerie you could imagine—and bare, of course, while she was under—but god the corset made them look huge.

I couldn’t wait to take it off her, and see the red marks along my sister’s flesh. A visual representation of the pain she’d endured, unasked, entirely in the hopes it would turn me on.

Whenever she moved, her face told me how much pain she was in. All for me.

My sister was wearing panties and a corset, my mother was serving me lunch wearing a ball-gag, both of them were jumping to serve me, and I could practically turn them each into puddles with just a few words.

“After that, maybe I’ll spank Cynthia,” I said, throwing my sister a bone. She reacted immediately, her eyes rolling back in pleasure at the idea.

Mom looked at me, concern clearly written on her face, but—of course—still said nothing.

* * *

“You did it,” I said proudly. Cynthia was laying on her bed, wearing nothing but a pair of light blue stockings. At my command, she’d started wearing heavier makeup; I wasn’t sure if I liked it more than the natural look, but I was definitely enjoying the variety.

After she’d started allowing me to remove her bra, it had been easy to take her panties off as well. My eyes drank in the sight: my naked sister, my busty, wanton, hypnotized sister. I let my eyes feast on her nakedness. I couldn’t believe how beautiful my sister was: flushed red with arousal, nipples hard. I’d spread her legs wide, and I could see that she was already wet down there, her sex dripping with anticipation.

“You didn’t cum,” I continued. Cynthia moaned, a soft sound of pleasure as she felt the tip of my finger enter her pussy. “You didn’t cum when Mom touched you.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. I smiled, and began to slowly fuck my sister with my middle finger. Cynthia’s eyes fluttered at my touch, my thumb gently working her clit while I slipped in a second digit.

“Don’t cum,” I warned.

“Yes, sir,” she whimpered, her body tensing as she resisted the urge to get off. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the orgasm festival I’d allowed her the previous day, but I could already tell that Cynthia was desperate to get off.

“Do you know what that means?”

“No, sir,” she said, her breath coming out ragged.

I increased the pace, digitally fucking my sister harder. She gasped in excitement, her hips desperately wanting to move against my hand, her muscles tensing.

“You were obedient. You were a good girl. And as a result...your score has gone up,” I said, and Cynthia’s eyes widened.

“Really, sir?” she gasped.

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded. “A new record.”

Even before I said the number, I could feel Cynthia begin to tremble, panting with desire as my fingers worked her inside of her.

“Six point eight,” I said softly, and Cynthia let out a long, loud moan. “Don’t cum,” I warned.

“No, sir,” she said, gasping for air as my fingers curled inside her. She wanted it so badly; her entire body was writhing, begging for release.

But she was my good girl. She didn’t cum.

“Nice work,” I said approvingly, pulling out my hardness and positioning it at Cynthia’s entrance. She was so wet, so ready, my cock slid in without resistance.

I continued fucking her as we spoke.

“Do you know what your new number means?” I asked.

“My brother wants me,” she moaned, beautifully unaware of the irony. She was so excited that her brother wanted her, even as he—I—fucked her.

“Not yet,” I warned. “Six point eight is good, but it’s not enough. Seven and a half,”—it was, I’ll admit, a pretty arbitrary pick—“That’s the cut-off. That’s when he starts seeing you as even a little sexual.”

Her body trembled under mine as I ground my erection into her. I simultaneously loved fucking my sister’s hypnotized body and found it endlessly frustrating. I wanted to fuck her while she was awake, watch her react as she had to Mom’s touch.

I wanted to see her throw her head back in pleasure as she came.

But at the same time, it was hard to deny how good it felt to fuck her, how hot her pulsating cunt walls felt around my dick.

“What it _does_ mean,” I continued, “is that you’re making progress. You’re sticking to your diet plan, you’re becoming more submissive. More obedient.“

Cynthia moaned, but I didn’t slow down. I grabbed her hair with one hand as I fucked her, completely confident that she wouldn’t cum.

Wholly sure of my sister’s obedience.

“And that means...it’s time for you to be punished. Just like Mom, it’s time for your brother to spank you. To cause you pain. To torture you for his pleasure.

“To break you.”

I could feel my sister’s leg muscles twitching with need. My own orgasm built slowly, my balls tightening, but I kept on going until the moment was right.

“You’ve been a good girl,” I said, and Cynthia moaned, her hips bucking as I drove my cock deep inside of her. “And as a reward, your brother is going to punish you.”

I felt her pussy clamp down, milking my shaft, desperate to get off as I continued to fuck her.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she moaned, her voice full of lust.

“Say it.”

“M-my brother is...my brother is going to punish me. He’s going to punish me. He’s going to—oh!—spank me, and tie me up, and...oh, _god_.“

I pulled out my cock, and sprayed Cynthia with my cum.

“Exactly right,” I said, breathing heavily. “Good girl...”

* * *

As I had with Mom, I started simple. When my sister tremblingly approached me that night—as instructed—and told me that she’d stuck to her diet plan, I asked her if she wanted the same reward as our mother.

Unlike with Mom, I didn’t need to hide my excitement. When I punished my mother, it was important that she not know how much it turned me on. How much I got off on causing on pain, on making her suffer. With my sister, none of that was necessary.

I pretended to pretend to hide it, of course. But since I knew Cynthia knew about my sadistic tendencies, I barely put any effort into acting nonchalant. As I pulled my stocking-clad sister over my lap, my erection was obvious, pressing into my sister’s bare stomach.

I swear, she almost came just at the feeling of it.

Cynthia isn’t really into pain like Mom is. I mean, she’s into the fact that I’m into it, but that’s where the appeal ends. And so my sister got more pleasure from feeling my erection than from the entire ten-minute spanking I gave her.

By the time I was done, my older sister’s ass was throbbing...but she was no closer to orgasm than she had been when she lay on my lap.

It’s going to sound insane, but the feeling of Cynthia _not_ cumming on my lap was basically as hot as when Mom did.

I enjoy causing Mom pain, but she loves it too, which makes me enjoy it less. It’s not really pain if she’s getting off on it, y’know?

But with Cynthia, god...aside from the fact that it brought me pleasure, I knew my sister hated every minute of it.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but my sister has always been...a bit of a princess, I guess? Like, she hates dirtying her hands or getting her hair messed up. She’ll do anything to avoid discomfort (or hard work). Like, her idea of camping is a fully-heated cabin with all the amenities. I think she’d sell her soul to avoid ever having to spend the night in an actual tent.

And she haaaates getting hurt. She just has no tolerance for it. I remember when she had to get a tooth drilled; for the next six weeks, it was like she’d gone to war and had a limb amputated.

So I was honestly a little impressed that as I spanked her, my cock hard as steel, Cynthia just lay there and took it. For a full ten minutes.

Sure, she whimpered and squirmed, and silently sobbed when I stopped holding back, walloping her as hard as I wanted to...but she never asked me to stop. She just lay there, her ass getting redder and redder, taking it without a word.

When I was finally done, I grabbed her hair and pulled her off me with a grunt.

“You did good,” I acknowledged, and Cynthia shivered in pleasure at the words.

“Thank you,” she said, walking out of the room gingerly. It was all I could do not to put her under and fuck her, then and there.

I don’t think she sat down for a week.

Once I knew that my sister would take pretty much anything I threw at her, I escalated things quickly. The next day, Cynthia knelt on rice on her bedroom floor as I whipped her feet (her ass was black and blue after the previous day’s punishment. Spanking it again could cause permanent damage...and I knew it wouldn’t hurt as much until it was healed).

I timed things better that time—watching my sister suffer was all the sweeter knowing that immediately after, I was going to put her under and fuck her.

Cynthia gasped in pain, tears springing from her eyes as the whip struck her skin. Her body shuddered as I lashed her with the crop, but even as I did, whipping my sister’s feet for almost twenty minutes, she never said “Stop”.

Unlike most parts of the body, the nerve endings in your feet don’t adapt—they actually get more sensitive over time. By minute twenty, my sister was in even greater agony than when I’d started...but still, she didn’t beg. She didn’t plead. She just knelt on rice, sobbing silently as she received her “reward”. She was shaking, crying, blushing furiously...but she didn’t give up.

The same girl who’d asked if she could go under general anaesthetic for a flu shot did nothing to stop the pain. I’d told her beforehand, we could end things at any time, she just had to say the word, but she didn’t.

Cynthia knew this was what I wanted. I wanted to hurt her, and so that was what she wanted. She probably would have let me keep going until I killed her.

In the end, the only reason I stopped was because I was worried my balls were going to burst. The sight of my sister writhing in pain was such a turn-on, I knew that if I didn’t fuck her soon, I’d completely lose control.

It wasn’t until later, after I’d cum, that I realized: that was exactly what she wanted.

After twenty minutes, I pulled Cynthia to her feet and turned her around. Her chest was heaving with exertion, and she was covered in sweat, her hair matted to her forehead. I could tell it was hurting just to stand.

She’d never looked so sexy in her life.

“Good girl,” I croaked, and she looked up at me with wide eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and less than two minutes later she was under, my cock pumping into her furiously. I hadn’t even stripped her, just pushed her panties to the side and begun taking her. I’d wanted her exactly as she’d looked when I’d been punishing her.

She was perfect.

The day after that, I tied her up outside. It was a hot summer’s day, and she was wearing nothing but dark stockings and matching lingerie. It was my first time tying her up, but I didn’t hold back.

I made her kneel, bound her hands behind her, and spread her legs apart.

“Are you ready?” I asked. She nodded, her face flushed with arousal. In that instant, I knew: we were both imagining me fucking her. Well, she was imagining it. I was remembering. To my sister it was nothing but a distant fantasy, to me it was something that had happened so often that I’d lost count.

And as soon as she was done with this punishment, it would happen again.

“Let’s do this,” I grinned, and my sister shuddered with fear.

I tied her to the old swing set, the frame along the side. Her wrists were tied to the cross-bar, and her ankles to the base, several feet apart. I knew the soles of her feet would still be tender, but even if they had been, it wasn’t a comfortable position.

After an hour, it would be agony.

My sister nodded in response, and I felt myself hardening in anticipation of the fun to come. Mom’s bedroom had a perfect view of the yard; Cynthia wouldn’t know, but as she sweated, our mother would be naked, spread across my lap, being spanked to unconscious orgasm after orgasm as I watched my sister suffer in the sun.

Cynthia didn’t even resist as I tied the rope around her huge, bra-clad tits. She wasn’t comfortable letting me see her conscious body naked—not yet. But she’d let me tightly wrap her breasts in rope, so I could watch them turn purple in the sun.

She got pretty bad sunburn that day, but I didn’t even feel bad about it. Cynthia was mine. My property.

My sister belonged to me; I could burn her as I wished.

Plus, it added an extra level of pain to everyday activities. She avoided aloe vera—I didn’t even order her to. She just knew that it would bring me pleasure to see her suffer.

As the punishments escalated, unless it involved removing her clothes, Cynthia never pushed back against anything I suggested. In fact, she seemed hungry for more. More, more, more. She wanted more extreme punishments, more extreme bondage. At first, I’d assumed she just wanted to please me; it took a while before I worked out what it was.

She was competitive.

Cynthia knew that I’d been punishing Mom for weeks now—she’d heard me spank her, seen our mother around the house, trussed up as she served us breakfast, left on the floor for hours while her children stepped around her like she was a piece of furniture.

I hadn’t realised that my sister had been raging with jealousy every time she’d seen it. She knew how much of a sadist I was. She knew how much it turned me on to see Mom like that.

Cynthia had wanted that to be her. She’d so desperately wanted to be the one being punished, just to excite me.

Now it was her turn, and she couldn’t get enough.

Besides using it to push my sister’s limits, I wasn’t sure what to do with this knowledge at first. It was less than two weeks before Cynthia “caught up” with Mom—she hadn’t done literally every one of my mother’s punishments, of course, but the most extreme (clothed) punishments that Mom had gone through, Cynthia had as well.

I even took her out in public once or twice...staying by her side the entire time. I didn’t want anyone swooping in and trying to get my sister’s number.

Not that I thought she’d give it out. My sister was completely, desperately devoted to me.

Especially as her rating had continued to increase.

“Six point nine,” I’d told her the day after I’d first spanked her. The feeling of her pussy clenching around my hardness as I told her was _incredible_.

A few nights later—after I’d first tied her up—she’d gone up to a seven. Then seven point one, when she’d been burned by the sun.

Seven point two had taken a little longer; that had been after I’d taken her out in public. Honestly, that hadn’t been as satisfying as with Mom—Mom had so obviously hated the experience (right up until the rando had started hitting on her), whereas the only part my sister had hated was the revealing outfit I’d made her wear; while she spent all her time at home barely dressed, she still wore baggy, unflattering outfits whenever she left the home.

I’ll tell you what, the sight of my sister in a skimpy dress that I’d ordered online—which had, even better, turned out to be a size too small...that was one I wouldn’t soon forget.

It showed off her long legs, her tits, and if she spun too quickly, even her ass and thighs. I’d had her spin several times in the store.

That was hot, don’t get me wrong, but...yeah, it just wasn’t the same. The knowledge that Cynthia hated her outfit was enough to keep me hard for the entire trip, but when there wasn’t actually someone looking directly at her, my sister was kind of just...having a good time hanging out with her brother.

A nice family bonding moment, but not the sadistic fantasy I’d been hoping for. So after that, we went back to nice family bondage moments. Much more my speed.

I finally had her stall out at seven point four (reached after I’d collared her and tied the leash to our Roomba. She’d spent almost a full day being dragged around on all fours by the little cleaning robot, not able to sleep or eat or use the bathroom, her ordeal only ending when its battery had run flat).

That was when I worked it out. How to use my sister’s competitiveness.

You see, as I’d been “rewarding” Cynthia, I’d been pushing Mom’s boundaries as well...

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 39

As soon as my lips met my mother’s she froze. When I pulled back, she was twitching, trembling, as if she was going to wake up.

Perhaps it was arrogance. I like to think it was confidence—or competence. But arrogantly, confidently, competently, I knew: she wouldn’t reject me.

Not fully. My mother needed me; before I’d started hypnotising her, she’d been rudderless. Her only goal had been the vague aspiration to ‘be a good Mom”—now, I’d given her purpose. Losing weight, becoming attractive, returning to her prime.

In the past six months, she’d shown more discipline than in the last ten years before that. She’d been making goals, hitting them. She’d rediscovered the joy of accomplishment. Like, as humans, we’re built to be productive. I’d given that back to her.

And then, just as suddenly, I’d taken it away from her again.

I remember during religious studies at school, we’d had someone come in and talk about the “Jesus-shaped hole” we all have inside us. According to this woman, everyone has this hole, and we can try to fill it with owning stuff, or doing drugs, or...I dunno, sex and rock ‘n’ roll. But the only thing that’ll fill it is Jesus.

I didn’t really buy it; not sure if you can tell. Even if I did believe in this Jesus-shaped hole, I’m pretty sure I’d found something other than the son of God to fill it: hot BDSM sex with your busty sister and mother.

Maybe I should get a job going from school to school and spreading the word. It’s important shit, y’know?

By giving Mom such a strong purpose, I’d shown her what it was like to be fulfilled. By taking it away again, I’d made her more aware of the loss. If she woke up now, she’d be worse off than she’d been before.

She needed me. My mother had a Daniel-shaped hole, and I couldn’t _wait_ to fill it.

I sat and watched as Mom’s body shook, her eyes fluttered...and then smiled triumphantly as she slowly relaxed. Just as I’d hoped.

She was mine.

“You need my help,” I reminded her softly. “You were supposed to help your daughter get off, but you failed. You’re not attractive enough. Say it.”

“I was supposed to help my daughter get off,” Mom repeated hollowly. My cock twitched at the hopelessness in her eyes and voice. All of a sudden, it was like I was talking to a shell of a woman. “But I failed. I’m not attractive enough.”

“You need me to teach you. Say it.”

“I...I...”

I frowned. Again, my mother was resisting.

“Say it,” I pressed.

Mom didn’t twitch or shake, but neither did she obey my command.

I sighed. Why did she always make things so _difficult_?

“If I don’t teach you what pleases a woman, you won’t be able to get Cynthia off. Say it.”

“If you don’t teach me what pleases a woman, I won’t be able to...to get Cynthia off.”

She stumbled briefly at the idea of making her own daughter cum, but Mom dutifully repeated my words.

“So you need me to teach you.”

Nothing.

“You’re a woman,” I said, trying a different tack. “Pleasing a woman is a man’s job. Say it.”

“Pleasing a woman is a man’s job,” Mom repeated.

“Women don’t know how to please other women. Say it.”

“Women don’t know how to please other women,” Mom said. Lol.

“So you need me to teach you. Say it.”

“So I...I...”

Mom struggled for a moment, but soon fell silent, her blank stare desperate.

Well, I’d tried being reasonable. Now it was time to use the stick.

“Get the toy,” I commanded, my voice dripping with contempt. I couldn’t help but smile at the look of shock, fear, and disgust that crossed her face.

I know it’s wrong, but I loved seeing her so afraid. I mean, okay, there were a lot of wrong things happening. And yeah—I loved pretty much all of them.

“B-but...”

“Get it,” I insisted, and Mom got up from her knees and fetched the huge butt-plug from beside her bed. When she returned, she was shaking.

I’d just slapped her across the face, without warning, but she was still more scared of that thing than she was of me.

“When was the last time you looked at this?”

“This morning,” Mom whispered, her blank eyes looking past the toy in her hands. “I look at it every morning when I wake up.”

“And what did you think about?”

“I imagined what it would feel like inside me,” she gulped. “I...I...”

Mom’s voice seized up with fear. My cock was throbbing. The sight of my mother being brought to such abject terror made me hard as stone.

“What would it feel like?” I asked.

“I can’t do it,” she said in panic. “I... I can’t take it in there...please!”

I couldn’t help but smile at her response. She couldn’t even answer the question.

“Fine,” I said calmly. “Then instead, you’ll make your daughter cum.”

Mom slumped as though I’d hit her again.

“Say it.”

There was a long pause, but just as I was about to give up and try another angle, Mom’s mouth opened, and a fat tear rolled down her face. “I’ll make my daughter cum.”

“You need me to teach you,” I pressed. “Say it.”

Another pause, but this one was shorter. “I...I need you to teach me.”

“Again.”

“I need you to teach me.”

“You need your son to teach you how to get a woman off. Say it.”

“I...I need my son to teach me how to get a woman off.”

“Good.” I smiled at the sight in front of me. My forty-one year old mother, her eyes fearful and wide, holding a butt-plug, agreeing—against her instincts, against her morals, against her will—that I had to teach her how to please her daughter. To get her off. “Now, let’s start with kissing.”

I feel like I should be clear: I’ve been kissed before. Like, my mother wasn’t my first kiss.

There was Erin Murphy, for one. Okay, most of my kissing experience up to that point was Erin Murphy—but not all! I’d also made out with a girl from another school at a party (yeah, I know how much it sounds like I’m making that up) and then I’d frenched for like twenty minutes with a summer girlfriend I’d met at camp.

She was from Australia...and YES, I know that sounds even more made up. That’s why I normally just talk about Erin Murphy—not only did I go the furthest with her, she’s also the most believable-sounding.

So yeah: even before I’d done my week-long deep dive on “how to please a woman”, I’d had a bit of experience kissing.

But part of me, I’ll admit, was excited to show off what I’d learned. I dunno, maybe it’s the adult equivalent of “look Mom, no hands!”—I was excited to show my Mom how good I was at kissing.

In this case, of course, I planned to use my hands extensively.

Mom didn’t resist as I moved my mouth to hers. Her lips softly parted as I pressed mine into her. Our tongues danced together for a moment, and then I pulled back and took the plug from her hand.

“Good job,” I said, tossing the toy onto the bed. “Now, this time I want you to run your hands through my hair, like you can’t get enough of me. Here, let me show you what I mean...”

My fingers worked their way through Mom’s hair, and my thumbs lightly traced a path along the sides of her head. I sighed as Mom leaned forward, pressing her body into me, her breasts squashing against my chest as we made out.

The next time, she ran her fingers through my hair. The time after that, I held her hips, then she held mine.

For the next twenty minutes, I kept “coaching” my mother, pushing her further and further each time. Before long, she was (reluctantly) grabbing my ass as we kissed—of course, to properly teach her, I’d had to grab hers.

“I’m going to touch you,” I warned her. “Can I touch you?”

“Y-yes,” my mother agreed.

“Tell me you want me to touch you.”

“I...I want you to touch me.” My mother’s face was red, and I knew it wasn’t just from embarrassment.

“Beg me to touch you,” I whispered.

“Please, Daniel,” my mother said urgently. “T-touch me. I need you to touch me. Please...”

Soon, Mom was grinding herself against me and moaning. At first, she was stiff and tentative, but after I moved the toy back into her field of vision, she forced herself to get more into it, losing herself in the kiss.

By the end of the session, Mom was practically jumping me on command, her glazed eyes open as we made out, pressing her body against mine as I ran my fingers through her hair, up and down her back, brushing against her thighs and pussy, firmly grabbing her ass.

I honestly couldn’t tell you what was hotter: what I was doing to my mother, or the knowledge that I was forcing her into it. Mom would never, ever do any of this with me voluntarily. Even when hypnotized and horny, I had to browbeat her into it.

She hated it. Her body didn’t, admittedly (after a few decades of not being touched, I think Mom was pretty excited to be making out again) but I knew that my mother, on a core level, didn’t want to be doing any of it.

But she did. I had full control over my mother—she’d do anything I told her to.

No matter how much she hated it.

“Okay,” I finally gasped. “I think you’re ready.”

I broke our lip-lock, pulling away from my mother.

“Tonight, when you try to get Cynthia off, you’re going to kiss her first. Just like this; like you want her. Like you need her. You’re going to explore her body with your hands and get her excited. Only then will you try to get her off., once you’re sure she’s wet. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mom whispered. “I understand.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to kiss her first,” Mom repeated. “Like you showed me. And then, I’ll...I’ll move my hands all over her. Get her...excited. And once I’m sure she’s wet, I’ll...I’ll try to get her off.”

“Again,” I ordered, and Mom echoed back her instructions. After the fifth repetition, I was confident that she understood. That she would obey.

“Good,” I said with a nod. “Now, take your clothes off.”

Mom got up and quickly stripped. I felt my cock twitch again. My mother was so fucking attractive—every inch of her, from her perfect tits to her toned legs and tight stomach.

You might be wondering why I hadn’t stripped her _before_ half an hour of making out. While I was growing increasingly confident that there was no order I could give Mom that would wake her up (short of maybe “Come here and fuck me, right now”) I wasn’t quite as confident about actions.

Making out with my naked mother might have been one step too far. And then if she woke up to find herself naked, her body pressed against mine...

Hot, yes. Foolish, double yes. And so yeah—I’d not stripped her down until we were done with makeout lessons.

“As a reward,” I said, sitting on the bed and patting my lap, “I’m going to spank you.”

Was that strictly necessary, for the plan to work? No. Not at all. But after half an hour of making out with my mother, feeling her hands roaming around my body, I was pretty worked up. And spanking my naked mother to a gasping, squirming orgasm...

It was a reward for both of us. Before long, Mom was writhing in my lap, her body covered with goosebumps and sweat as she came—hard—my hand on her ass.

“Good job,” I panted. “Now, what are you going to do tonight?”

“Make Cynthia cum,” Mom said dreamily, and I smiled down at her.

“Yes you are.”

No, she didn’t. The plan was doomed to failure from the start.

Well, from a certain point of view. I mean, from my end, the plan was a complete success. The plan that involved sitting in the living-room, a comic in my hands, as I watched my mother and sister make out.

When Cynthia approached Mom that night, she was wearing a sexy black set of lingerie. Mom looked amazing too—her dark hair flowing down her back as she pressed her lips against her daughter’s, their bodies wrapped around each other. Despite neither of them being hypnotized, both the girls’ eyes glazed over as they kissed, their tongues dancing together.

It could have been a porn film. Just this, just the two busty women making out. Even without knowing they were mother and daughter, just the sight of their bodies entwined, their hands exploring each other’s curves...there’s not a straight man in the world who wouldn’t have paid top dollar to see that.

My front-row seat, combined with the fact that it was my own mother and sister—and that I was the one who’d made them do it...

Yeah. Life was pretty good. The best things in life really are free, I guess.

Mom moaned and groaned, just as I’d taught her, grinding her body against Cynthia, her boobs jiggling beneath her T-shirt. I saw her fingers digging into Cynthia’s rear, only a thin piece of fabric stopping her from touching her daughter’s bare ass.

Cynthia loved knowing I was watching. She loved the idea of me seeing her make out with another voluptuous woman. Her soft moans of need; I don’t doubt that they were based in reality, but for the most part, they were for me.

My sister was making out with our mother, all for me. And she loved it.

But far hotter was how much I knew Mom hated it. My sister was getting off on the knowledge that her brother was watching, and Mom was the exact opposite. Aside from the physical sensations (like I said, it’d been a few decades for her) there was absolutely nothing that Mom enjoyed about the situation. Nothing.

My mother was making out with my sister, all for me. And she fucking _hated_ it.

I’d lost track of time (easy to do, when you’re watching the greatest show on earth) when Cynthia pulled away, looking into my mother’s face as she licked her tongue along her lower lip. Her breasts pushed against my mother’s, and the two women moaned simultaneously at the contact. Cynthia’s reaction was probably real, or maybe just to get me hard. Mom’s reaction might have been real, or it might have been to make her daughter wet.

Just like I’d taught her.

“Oh fuck,” I muttered to myself, quietly enough that I knew they couldn’t hear me.

Cynthia moaned again as her mother, finally reached down to work her pussy with her fingers.

“You’re doing great.” she whispered supportively, as I’d instructed her to. “Doing so well. Momma, I’m so wet...”

I knew my mother hated the commentary—she hated anything that reminded her of what she was doing—but she didn’t let it slow her down. She stood staring into the eyes of her red-faced, writhing daughter, flushed with need, desperate for her mother to bring her to climax.

But she didn’t.

The training had worked. All the training, I mean. I’d trained my mother to get my sister off (although really, it had been training to put on a show for me) and I’d trained my sister _not_ to get off. Effective though the making out had been, it wasn’t enough.

Cynthia was a good girl. Cynthia was _my_ good girl.

Maybe I’d reward her for it. Or maybe I’d punish her, which would be a reward for me...which, in turn, would be a reward for her.

As my sister left the room, Mom slumped back on the couch, frustrated by her failure. Consciously, she didn’t really why this was so important—as far as her awake brain was concerned, this was purely about helping her daughter stick to her diet.

But her unconscious brain knew the stakes. Her unconscious brain knew that this was a punishment, that she was being punished for her selfishness.

And that if she didn’t get it right, there would be consequences

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 40

“My breasts,” my sister said without hesitation.

I couldn’t help myself. A shudder of desire passed through my body at her words.

Ever since they’d ballooned into their current, glorious state, I’d been obsessed with my sister’s tits. Like, maybe I was just a natural-born pervert—recent events would certainly support that theory.

But part of me wondered if I’d been made this way by the huge pair of boobs my mother had given her.

And that was before I’d even seen them.

I wanted to reach out and tweak her nipple, to make my sister jump as I grabbed her bare breast. Her boobs were just so massive, so perfectly proportioned, so full and soft and smooth. I had jerked off on them countless times, and it was still a fraction of a fraction of the number of times I’d cum while thinking about them.

A pair of perfect tits doesn’t exist. Except for Cynthia’s.

But she wouldn’t let me touch them. I wanted nothing more than to take her nipple in my mouth, bite down until she begged me to stop. I wanted to chew on her nipples, take her breasts in my hand. Slap them. Whip them. Make them smart with pain.

Make them bleed.

But my sister was a walking (or in this case, laying down) contradiction. She’d let me fuck her, but not touch her breasts. Wiping my cum off them was as close as I got.

“Why?” I asked, and my sister swallowed in response.

“I just hate them.” I’d asked what her least favorite part of her body was, and been completely unsurprised by the answer. It was like our opinions sat on opposite ends of a see-saw; she hated her tits as much as I loved them.

“Why?” I insisted, my fingers twitching. I wanted to touch them so bad, but I couldn’t.

Not yet.

“They’re disgusting,” Cynthia replied glumly, as though she was describing Gollum’s testicles instead of her own perfect breasts. “I have fat tits, and I hate them. I can’t stand to look at them.”

I’m glad I hadn’t been born with my sister’s body. I doubt I’d ever do anything beside staring at my own tits. Touching them. Tweaking my perfect nipples.

“You’re right,” I nodded, my cock throbbing at the dull look in my sister’s eyes. Whenever she began ranting about her body, I always agreed. She thought I was helping her lose weight and raise her self-esteem. Admittedly, her weight had gone down under my regime, but I’d also shifted her self-image from ‘unhealthy’ to ‘utterly deranged’.

“Your breasts are disgusting. They’re fat, they’re saggy, they’re gross. They’re ugly, and you should be ashamed to have them attached to your body. Say it.”

My sister repeated my words. I didn’t have to do anything—she immediately believed them.

“They’re the only thing stopping you from reaching seven point five,” I continued, and I could see my sister’s entire body clench. “You’ve been so submissive, so obedient, such a good girl for your brother...”

Cynthia let out a small moan at my words. From zero to sixty in a single sentence.

“...but it’s all for nothing. Because of your disgusting tits.”

She didn’t say anything, but a single tear trickled down her face at my cruel lie.

“So what do you think we should do about it?”

My sister thought and silently sobbed, before offering a suggestion.

“I could get a breast reduction,” she offered, and I blanched.

“No!”

God, can you imagine? It’d be like the Sistine Chapel trying to save money by getting rid of the ceiling. Destroying something so utterly perfect...no, I had to cut off that line of thinking before she cut off her glorious orbs.

“No, getting surgery is even worse. You’d be scarred. Damaged. You must never get a breast reduction—say it.”

“I...I must never get a breast reduction,” my sister replied, a confused tone in her voice.

“Again,” I insisted. We sat there for several minutes, until Cynthia’s declaration was confident and clear.

“That’s not an option. So what else could you do?”

There was a long pause as my sister thought. “I could hide them away?” she offered, and I shook my head. I bet she’d love that. Having Cynthia walking around in lingerie has been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, but I knew she’d hated every minute of it.

Of course, her hating every minute of was a large part of why it had been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’ve been doing that for years,” I reminded her. Ineffectively, of course—when you have a chest like my sister’s, I don’t think it’s remotely possible to hide it away entirely. “It hasn’t worked. What else?”

My sister’s reply was meek. “I don’t know.”

I leaned forward. “You own it.”

Cynthia didn’t respond.

“Do you follow Drew Barrymore on Instagram?” I asked.

“No?”

I don’t either, but a quick google had brought me a few articles to support the new idea I wanted to introduce to my sister.

“A few years ago, she posted a picture of her unplucked eyebrows. She was between films and she’d let them grow out. She didn’t hide them from the world; she owned them.”

My naked sister stayed silent. I glanced down at her perfect bare breasts before continuing.

“They were still disgusting, of course, but rather than try to hide her true self, she put it out there. She owned her flaws. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes...”

“You need to own your own disgusting flaws. You need to own your horrible tits. Imagine if your brother got you naked, and was surprised by the sight of your breasts. Wouldn’t it be better if you let him know in advance what a fucked-up body you have, let him see it and decide for himself? You need to own it.”

After another lengthy pause, my sister’s voice was soft.

“And you think that’ll make my b-brother...like me?”

I shrugged. “Unless you have another idea, it’s worth a try.”

* * *

Credit to my sister; she doesn’t do anything half-heartedly.

And, credit to me, I really had her eating out of my hands. I could’ve told her to jump off a bridge, and she wouldn’t even have asked ‘how high?’

The next morning, she came to breakfast wearing a lacy half-cut bra and a matching pair of pink panties. She’d been wearing nothing but underwear for a while now, but this was the first set that really seemed to designed to show off her tits.

I looked her up and down, noting the way her body moved. The way her breasts bounced. My sister’s body is perfect, her tits even moreso. WIth every movement, they threatened to spill over, to reveal the pink nipples that I’d spent so many mouth-watering hours staring at, the perfect nipples that I’d felt against my chest as I fucked my unconscious sister night after night.

I couldn’t wait to get my hands on them.

“Good morning,” I said, my eyes returning to my sister’s face. She was bright red, her blush travelling halfway down her chest. She’d been mostly-naked in front of me for weeks now (and completely naked while hypnotized) but this was the most embarrassed she’d felt about it for a while.

“Good morning,” she replied, her voice demure and submissive. Just like I knew she knew I liked it.

Before I could say anything—or comment on her more-exposed-than-normal chest—Mom entered. Her face was just as red as my sister’s as she moved forward, meeting Cynthia’s lips with her own, her hands caressing her daughter’s exposed body as no mother’s ever should.

I just watched, a soft smile on my face.

* * *

“You failed,” I told my mother the night that she’d failed to get Cynthia off. She’d used every trick in her arsenal—every trick that I’d taught her—and still she hadn’t been able to make my sister cum.

She had no way of knowing the deck was stacked against her, of course. She had no way of knowing that I’d put a lot of time, effort, and Cynthia-orgasms into ensuring that she’d fail.

All she knew was that she’d failed, and that she would be punished.

“Y-yes,” she said. “I...I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. My mother was under, only because it was the only way to make sure she understood making Cynthia cum was a punishment, one that she had to complete. Her conscious mind still understood it as a way of helping her daughter diet.

It’s amazing what we can justify to ourselves.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” I replied curtly. “Sorry isn’t good enough.”

I reached behind me, and pulled out my mother’s worst nightmare.

The Toy.

I don’t know why Mom was so terrified of the butt plug, but I knew it was effective. Any time I was struggling to push her into a new depraved act, all I had to do was threaten her with it and she’d fold like a house of cards.

And now, at last, it was time to use it. The threats were over: it was time to break my mother.

I’d ben building up to it for weeks. I’d warned her that if she didn’t do as she was told, if she couldn’t fulfill her ‘lesser’ punishment, this would be the outcome.

She was prepared. She was prepared to be broken.

My cock throbbed at the thought of it. My mother, ever since I’d begun hypnotizing her, had been frustratingly resistant. She would refuse to answer questions, stop me from crossing certain lines. I’d been slowly moving her towards where I wanted her to be, but I wanted to move faster. I wanted to break her, to eradicate her limits entirely.

I could imagine it now. When the toy was inside her, when she saw what I’d done to her—what I was capable of doing—her last walls would break down. She would deny me nothing. If I wanted to spank my mother naked while she was awake, she would obey. If I wanted to fuck her, she wouldn’t resist.

If I wanted to hurt her, she would let me.

If I wanted to bend her over the kitchen table, tie her hands behind her back, and take her while Cynthia watched...she’d let me.

Her resistance would be broken. Finally, finally, I was going to get what I wanted.

Everything I wanted.

“You need to be punished,” I reminded her. “You had two choices—make your daughter cum, or take this.”

“P-please,” she begged, tears openly running down her face. “I c-can try again...”

“You’ve failed twice now,” I reminded her. And succeeded once before that, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to bring that up. “It’s time.”

My mother began trembling, and I paused. Perhaps using it on her while she was under wasn’t the best idea. She really was terrified of it—which was why it had been such an effective tool. Perhaps the fear would be enough to wake her up.

And if she came to with an enormous plug inside her, she might be a little suspicious.

No, better to set it up—to explain to her that she had to do this while she was awake. The only downside was that I wouldn’t get to witness it myself, but I couldn’t take the risk of Mom coming out of trance out of sheer terror.

Before I could start concocting a plan, Mom surprised me.

“Wait,” she blubbered. One of the strangest things I’d discovered about sadism was that in certain circumstances, a snot-filled nose could actually be arousing. Never saw that one coming.

“What?”

“I-I have an idea.”

I paused, a half-smile on my face. Push someone to their limits, and I guess they’ll surprise you.

“What?”

“I t-think I know why Cynthia didn’t...didn’t...”

When the word “cum” left her lips, it was in a whisper.

“On your knees,” I ordered, and Mom obeyed without even thinking about it. “Why didn’t she cum?”

The answer, of course, was that I’d given her a week’s worth of orgasms and coached her on how to avoid climaxing when Mom touched her. But I was curious to hear my mother’s theory on the matter.

“Arousal is...it’s not something you can turn on like a lamp.”

My forehead crinkled. Just the sight of Cynthia’s tits entering a room—and the rest of her following shortly behind—was enough to get me erect in a moment. But maybe things were different for women.

“Go on...”

“You need to b-be in the right mood. The right mental state. You can’t just...”

She trailed off, and shrugged helplessly.

“Foreplay,” I said, and my mother nodded. “But you were already doing that.”

Mom shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Not just in the moment. In the room. Foreplay—proper foreplay—is an all day thing. Your father used to...”

Again, she stopped talking, and I sighed.

“Just say it.”

Mom took a moment to gather her courage, but when she continued, it was more than worth the wait.

“Your father used to whisper dirty stuff to me all day. What he was going to do to me. He’d smack my ass whenever he saw me pass by. And whenever he left the house, he’d...he’d kiss me. Long, and hard, until my toes curled.”

I didn’t say anything. Is it weird to be turned on by the idea of your own father getting your mother worked up?

It was probably below ”fucking your hypnotized sister” or “spanking your mother to orgasm” on the scale.

“So when it came time for bed, I’d be...I’d be ready. So ready. I’d practically pounce him, and then...”

For the third time, my mother trailed off. This time, I didn’t insist she continue.

I knew how I’d been made, of course. I’d known that my father had fucked me into my mother.

But I hadn’t known that he’d first spent the entire day getting her worked up. That their entire day together had been a form of extended foreplay...that by the time he got around to unloading the sperm that would eventually become me, he’d turned my mother into a hot, wet, dripping mess.

“So what are you suggesting?” I asked, my voice low. Again, for all the strangeness of the past few months, nothing had yet weirded me out as much as knowing that I was the second generation of men to turn my mother into a constantly-wet piece of ass.

“I...I could...”

Mom gulped. I could tell how much she hated the idea of whatever she was about to suggest.

But she dreaded the toy more.

“...I could do that to Cynthia,” she continued in a whisper.

“Do what?” I said, a cruel smile crossing my face. I had a pretty good idea, of course...but I wanted to hear my mother say it.

I wanted to hear how much the details pained her.

And I wanted to make sure there were a _lot_ of details.

“I c-could get her worked up,” Mom suggested. “Throughout the day.”

“By doing what? Be specific.”

“I could kiss her,” Mom said, each word sounding like it was being dragged out of her. “First thing in the morning. And…and every time I see her.”

My cock was beginning to rise at the idea. Not just the idea—hot as it was—but at how much my mother would hate it.

And not just that she would hate it...that she was suggesting it. Mom was so desperate, she was trying to convince me to let her do something that she’d hate.

It was hot on so many levels.

“I don’t think kissing her would be enough,” I offered. “What else could you do?”

“I could touch her,” my mother said, her face in a pained expression. “And r-rub her...her body.”

“Where?” I asked, my voice a dry whisper.

“On h-her...on her breasts,” she said. “Over her clothes.”

“Under her clothes as well,” I suggested. “You could reach into her bra and pinch her nipples. You enjoy that, don’t you?”

Her blush was a silent admission that she did. It had come up in our ‘training’. I’d gotten a pretty good idea of Mom’s preferences.

“Where else could you touch Cynthia?”

“H-her butt?”

“You could spank her like Dad spanked you. Say it.”

“I could...I could slap her bottom.”

“Slap her where?”

“Her ass,” Mom said. “Like your father spanked me.”

“Say it.”

“I could spank her ass,” my mother repeated, her face burning with shame. “Right where your father spanked me.”

“Do you think that will be enough?”

Mom nodded, and I shook my head slowly.

“You need to be sure, don’t you? Because if you get it wrong, that’s three strikes.”

I shifted my gaze to the toy, and Mom’s followed.

“So I’ll ask again: do you think that will be enough?”

“No,” she replied, her voice a squeak.

“Where else could you touch her? Where else could you touch your daughter?”

“P-p-pussy,” she said, her face glowing red.

“What about her pussy?”

“I could touch it,” Mom said, sounding like she was confessing to murder. Her voice was the guiltiest I’d ever heard it.

I couldn’t have been harder.

“Touch it how?”

“I could stroke it, over the panties. Try to...to excite her.”

“Would that excite you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

“You can touch her other places as well. Her legs. Her thighs.”

“Her thighs?”

“You could stroke the inside of her thighs. Do you think that will turn your daughter on?”

“Y-yes.”

“Say it.”

“I could stroke her inner thigh,” Mom said, her voice trembling. “With my hand.”

“Why?”

“To turn my daughter on.”

“Good,” I nodded, breathing heavily. “Yes...yes, I think this might work.”

I gestured, and Mom understood my wordless gesture. As she clambored onto my lap, her naked skin against my thighs, I prepared to spank her to orgasm.

But before I did, I shifted the Toy, so it was directly in front of her face.

“And if it doesn’t,” I warned. “This will be your third strike. If this doesn’t work, you’ll be all out of chances...”

My mother stared at the Toy that haunted her nightmares as my hand swung down and struck her bare ass.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 41

After several minutes of making out, my mother and sister pulled apart. The three of us were all breathing heavily, and the two women’s faces were pink as Cynthia’s underwear.

For the first few days, Cynthia had loved my mother’s new tactic. I hadn’t even bothered preparing her for it—why waste time that I could be using to fuck her?—but she’d embraced it immediately. Except for Mom’s early efforts to ‘help her out’, my sister hadn’t consciously cum for _months_ , and in her worked-up, addled state, dressed in lingerie and spending her days trying to impress me by being punished, she hadn’t even questioned Mom randomly pleasuring her at all times of day.

Our mother would just come up to Cynthia, give her ass a smack, run her hands over my sister’s mostly-bare skin, and—of course—bring their mouths together, making out with Cynthia like they were long-lost lovers.

Cynthia was in heaven. That hadn’t surprised me—my sister knew what a typical male fantasy it was to see two women kiss, so whenever I was in the proximity, she’d lean into it, groaning with pleasure at Mom’s attention, pushing herself against our mother and begging for more.

But what had truly surprised me was how much Mom had started to enjoy it as well.

Not completely, of course. She still hated that she was doing it for her daughter— _to_ her daughter. But this entire idea had come out of Mom’s memories of my father, the pleasure he’d brought her with actions just like this.

My mother had suggested an incestuous lesbian version of her fondest sexual fantasy to avoid punishment. She’d sold out her own daughter, just because she was afraid of what I could make her do.

Of what I _would_ make her do.

And so even though it was with a woman, and even though she was the one initiating, and even though she was doing it with— _to_ —her own daughter...Mom was beginning to enjoy herself.

It hadn’t been easy to get her to admit that. Her enjoyment was only a tiny fraction of the experience—every time Mom made out with her daughter, she was overwhelmed with guilt, embarrassment, and a deep self-loathing for what she was doing.

But buried deep underneath those feelings, she’d undeniably started to enjoy it.

And so when Mom pulled away from her teenage daughter’s lips, I could tell that she was worked up. The signals were subtle, but I’d become the world’s foremost expert on my mother’s arousal.

I knew. She enjoyed kissing her daughter. She enjoyed the sensation of her tongue sliding along Cynthia’s lips. She enjoyed the feeling of her daughter’s breasts against her own.

And she especially enjoyed the feeling of Cynthia’s hands on her body.

I was yet to make Mom try to get Cynthia off again. I’d just told her that my sister would probably need a few days to ‘warm up’ (she had no idea, of course, that Cynthia was a walking puddle)—Mom, as you can imagine, was in no rush to skip to the “main event”, so she accepted it without question.

And so for the past few days, we could be doing anything—hanging out in the kitchen, watching TV in the living-room—when Mom would enter without notice, move towards my sister, and begin the process of trying to turn her on. Maybe they’d make out, or maybe Mom would start to rub her daughter’s back or shoulders, or maybe Cynthia would just sit there, a saucy look on her face, as Mom’s hand slid down her chest, and over her belly, and between her legs.

It wasn’t just while I was around, of course. You’d think it would be hottest when I was there to see what was happening, but it was surprisingly sexy to learn later what they’d done without me. Cynthia would be alone in her room when Mom would come in and straddle her on the bed. When they were home without me, they’d often make out, even without anyone there to witness it.

It hadn’t taken much to get my sister to start toying with her in return. As Mom rubbed her daughter’s panties, Cynthia would deliver a firm slap to Mom’s ass, or run her fingers through Mom’s hair, or slide her hand under Mom’s shirt, and grope her bra-clad breast.

For the next few minutes, the two women would wordlessly tease each other. They’d act more like lovers than a mother and daughter, getting each other worked up, before suddenly parting ways. Mom would stride out of the room (her gait slightly shakier than when she’d entered) and everyone would go back to whatever we were doing.

It was hot as hell. Like the show I’d been getting from behind my comic, but all the time. Constant, unexpected, and sizzling.

But there was a problem.

Like I said, Mom hated it. Mostly. One part of her liked it—I mean, _really_ liked it—but whenever I watched her kiss or toy with Cynthia, I could see the conflict in her eyes. And as she walked away, her face was twisted in pain.

On some level, it turned her on, but on all other levels...she hated it.

Perfect.

But Cynthia? Cynthia loved it. She loved turning me on by making out with our mother. And hell, I think she just liked the attention. Remember, my sister was a virgin—consciously, at least. I mean, as far as she was concerned. She had no idea that I fucked the hell out of her whenever I put her under.

It’s not like she’d never been kissed, but she wasn’t used to being stimulated like this.

She loved the attention. Mostly from me, but also—at least a little—from Mom.

And maybe once upon a time, that would’ve been enough, but now...fuck it, I wanted more.

I wanted my sister to suffer...and I had the tools to make that happen.

“What do you think of your daughter’s tits?” I asked. Mom blinked twice, confused by the question.

“They’re, um...”

I waited for her to put together an answer. I’d just finished spanking her, and she was still panting. Her face was flushed, her nipples hard, and her eyes were glazed over. She’d be a little hazy for at least the next few minutes.

She wasn’t twitching, or objecting to the question. I think she just really didn’t know how to express her thoughts.

“They’re, uh, very nice.” she said, red-faced at her own response. Or possibly her face was red because she’d just cum, her naked body writhing on my lap.

Either/or.

“Just nice?” I asked, wondering how far I could push it. Mom normally objected to me sexualizing Cynthia in any way, but...well, after several days of making out with her in front of me, I felt like that was becoming less of an issue.

“Um, yes,” she said, her glazed eyes staring into the distant.

“Do you like them?” I asked, my hand gently brushing over Mom’s bare ass.

“Mm-hmm,” Mom replied. Now I was sure that her blush was from my line of questioning.

“Remember, you have to be honest with me. I can’t help you lose weight if you lie to me.”

“Of course,” my mother mumbled.

“So, be honest. What do you think of Cynthia’s tits?”

I was watching Mom closely—I mean, whenever she was naked, I couldn’t tear my eyes away——but on this occasion, I was particularly interested in her reaction.

Not just her verbal response. Her reaction itself.

“I...I like them,” she admitted, a slow shudder leaving her body as she made her most taboo confession to date.

My cock perked up at her words; I think Mom noticed it pressing against her, and was perversely emboldened to continue.

“They remind me of my own at her age. I was never as...as big. But I used to have p-perky boobs, like...like Cynthia does.”

“Are you jealous?” I asked, my hand caressing Mom’s bare butt.

“No!” she blurted out.

“Don’t lie,” I said harshly. I wanted nothing more than to reach up and cup her naked tits, but I knew she wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

“A...a little,” she admitted. “Your father used to love my breasts.”

Like father, like son. Although in fairness, every straight man on the planet would love Mom’s boobs.

“Do you think they’re attractive?”

My mother hesitated, and I gave her a firm slap on the ass.

“Be honest,” I reminded her.

“O-of course,” she confessed. “Cynthia is very attractive.”

“Her tits specifically?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mom replied, the tips of her ears read.

“You’re attracted to your daughter’s breasts.”

Mom didn’t reply, but when she felt me raising my hand warningly, nodded.

“Say it.”

“I...oh, god.”

“ _Say it._ ”

“I-I’m att...attracted t-to my daughters...oh, god.”

I swear, you could have roasted a turkey from the heat emitting from my mother’s face.

“Say it,” I growled, my hand landing on her ass with a loud SLAP.

“I’m attracted to, to, to my daughter’s...breasts!”

“Again,” I said, slapping my mother’s bare butt again.

“I’m attracted to my daughter’s breasts,” Mom gasped.

“Again.”

“I’m attracted to my daughter’s breasts.”

“Good girl,” I said, patting her ass. It wasn’t a term I often used with Mom, but she gave a small shiver when I did.

We sat in silence for a few moments, my hypnotized mother breathing as heavily as when she’d just cum. My throbbing erection was pressing into her naked stomach, my hand was caressing her bare butt, and I could feel the heat of her pussy.

I didn’t know if she was more turned on by my hand on her ass, the confession I’d just wrung from her...or the memory of Cynthia’s perfect tits in her hands.

To my surprise, Mom was the first one to speak.

“I...I hate myself for it,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Why?”

“Because I’m her mother. I’m not...I’m not supposed to feel this way about my children. My, um, my child.”

Mom’s eyes widened at her mistake (perhaps the most Freudian slip of all time), but I pretended not to notice.

“You’re right,” I said in response. “You’re not supposed to feel this way about your daughter. Say it.”

“I’m not supposed to feel this way about my daughter,” Mom answered without a trace of hesitation.

“But you can’t help it, can you?”

Mom bit her lip in worry. I couldn’t wait until I was the one biting her. Not just her lips, everywhere. Wherever I wanted. _Whenever_ I wanted.

But until then...

“You’re a true pervert, aren’t you?”

“N-no...”

“What kind of a person would be attracted to her daughter like this? Her own baby girl. Someone she gave birth to. It’s not right, is it?”

“N-no,” Mom confessed tearfully.

“You’re a pervert.”

Like mother, like son.

“Say it.”

“I-I’m a...a pervert.”

“Again.”

“I’m a pervert.”

“Why?”

“B-because I’m attracted to my daughter.”

“What about her?”

“Her breasts. Her ass. The way she kisses. I...oh, god.”

At Mom’s unexpected confessions, my entire body had twitched. I’d instinctively grabbed her ass as a pulse of pure lust ran through my body.

God, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to fuck her so bad. I could imagine exactly how she’d feel, her hot pussy wrapped around my erection, her entire body shaking in pleasure and pain as I pounded her hard.

Soon. Soon, she would be mine.

“What do you think Cynthia would do if she found out how you felt?”

My mother’s eyes widened in terror. “She’d...she’d...”

“She’d probably have you arrested, wouldn’t she?”

“Y-yes,” Mom gasped.

“She’d tell everyone. She’d have you sent to prison, for being a pervert.”

My mother shivered in fear, and it was all I could do not to let out a long groan. God, the only thing hotter than seeing my mother get off was seeing the terror in her eyes.

“If she even suspected how you felt...”

“She’d never trust me again,” Mom whispered.

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Right now, she’s letting you touch her to help her with her diet. If she thought you were getting off on it...”

“I’m not!”

“But she doesn’t know that, does she?”

My mother shook her head.

“We need to make sure she never suspects anything, don’t we?”

“Y-yes,” Mom stammered.

“Say it.”

“We need to make sure Cynthia never suspects.”

“Suspects what?”

“T-that I’m...that I’m attracted to her.”

“And that you’re a pervert.”

Mom nodded.

“Say it.”

“That I’m a pervert.”

“Cynthia needs to never suspect that you’re a pervert who’s attracted to her own daughter. Say it.”

“Cynthia needs to n-never suspect that I’m a pervert who’s attracted to...to her own daughter.”

“Again.”

Mom repeated it six more times before I was satisfied.

“So,” I said, a wicked smile on my face. “How can we convince her that you’re not getting anything out of what you’re doing?”

* * *

God I wish I’d been there, the first time it happened. I’d have given most anything to see it—to hear my mother’s words, to see the look of pain on my sister’s face. I know my sister’s blushes as well as I know the original 151 Pokémon (that is to say: pretty fucking well).

For once, her reaction wouldn’t have been a flush of arousal. It would have been shock. Shock, and self-loathing.

But it had been hard enough to convince Mom to go through with it at all; there was no way she could have done it for the first time in front of an audience. So instead, I had to settle for the second-best way of hearing about it—from the perspective of both parties who’d been there.

“What did she say?” I said with a grunt as I thrust into my sister’s sopping wet pussy. God, she got so wet—did all women get this wet? Or was I correct, that my sister was built for fucking. Everything about her: her body, her insane levels of arousal, her natural submissiveness...

Or had her submissive nature been my doing? It was all starting to blur together—what I’d done to her, what she’d been before my influence…just one big glorious erotic blend.

It didn’t really matter, what she’d been before. All that mattered was what I’d made her. My submissive, sex-obsessed, incest-loving slut of a sister.

All mine.

“She looked at—ungh!—me,” my sister said breathlessly, looking up at me with those big blue eyes of hers as I pounded into her. “She had that look that means she wants to tell you something, but she doesn’t know how.”

I knew it well. “Had she kissed you?”

“No,” my sister breathed, her eyelids fluttering as I fucked her harder.

“Did you want her to?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Oh, fuck, yes...but instead, I asked her what was up.”

I didn’t reply, just stared at my sister as I continued to fuck her. I could feel her juices coating my cock. I could feel her muscles tensing, her back arching, and I knew she wanted nothing more than to wrap her legs around my waist.

“Don’t cum,” I gasped, talking to myself as much as her. I’d already heard the whole story from Mom’s side, but this was my first time hearing my sister’s perspective.

“Mm-hmm,” Cynthia groaned.

“What did she say?”

“That she wasn’t sure the best way to say it. That she...”

For just a moment, my sister’s eyes focused—I froze, suddenly terrified that she was going to wake up.

It took me a few moments to realize what I was seeing. For the first time since the first time I’d fucked my unconscious sister, her haze of arousal had lifted.

And in its place was an expression of pain.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” I moaned. Thank Christ I’d stopped thrusting, or else I would’ve cum just at the sight of her face.

To be safe, I pulled out of my sister. She let out a moan of need, but didn’t make a move to stop me.

“Keep going,” I ordered, wrapping one hand around my cock it. Cynthia’s eyes were still staring at the ceiling, unfocused, but I could tell from her body’s reaction that she knew exactly what I was doing, and wanted nothing more than to see. To watch her brother jerk off above her naked body. “What did she say?”

“S-she...she said that I needed to know something.”

“What?”

I was surprised again by the half-sob that came out of my sister’s eyes as she continued the story...and the pulse of arousal that wracked my body at the sound.

“She said that...that I needed to lose weight.”

A low groan left my throat. Cynthia’s absolute worst nightmare, coming from her mother’s lips. It was like a real-life Boggart.

And it was all my doing.

“What else?”

“She said that...that the boys wouldn’t find me attractive. That no one would find me attractive. She said that I was...”

My sister gulped before continuing.

“...that I was fat.”

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned, as my cock throbbed in my hand. I could feel my orgasm building. “What else?”

“That it was hard for her to tell me this, because she’d always wanted me to feel good about myself. But that I needed to know. That if I thought I was beautiful, I wouldn’t work to improve myself. And that I...that I needed to. That I really, really needed to improve myself.”

My balls tightened and my shaft began to swell as Cynthia stared at the ceiling, her expression a mixture of pain and shame.

“What did you say?” I grunted.

“I-I asked her what she meant,” my sister replied, her eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t know what else to say. And she...she told me that the problem w-was...was my tits.”

At the loud sob that left Cynthia’s mouth at the words, I began shooting rope after rope of cum onto my sister’s bare tits. Normally the sight of my orgasm was enough to make her tremble with pleasure, but she just lay there, crying, as I coated her body with my seed.

“Fuuuuuck,” I said, breathing heavily. The sight of my sister openly sobbing as she relayed the conversation had resulted in one of the most powerful orgasms of my life, and it took me a few moments to collect myself.

As my cum began slowly sliding down my sister’s body, I grabbed a tissue, catching it before it could drip onto the bed. By the time Cynthia was cleaned up, I could feel my cock beginning to thicken once more.

I swear, Cynthia’s pain makes my refractory period faster than should be medically possible. If I could bottle her suffering and sell it as an aphrodisiac, I’d make a fortune.

“What did she say about your tits?” I asked, unable to stop a wicked smile from crossing my lips. Telling me was probably as painful as the incident itself had been. “Be specific.”

“She said that they were too big,” Cynthia sniffed. “Too heavy. Ugly.”

It had taken me a while to convince Mom to talk to her daughter like this, and then almost as long to coach her with what to say.

The ticket, in the end, had been simple self-loathing. Every woman hates their body, even if it’s as incredible as Mom’s. So in order to throw Cynthia off the scent, I’d told Mom to vocalise her worst fears about her _own_ body, directing them to her daughter.

“What else?”

“She said that no man would ever want to touch them. How everyone would laugh at me if I ever went without a bra.”

I was hard again, and I slipped my cock between Cynthia’s legs without a word of warning. Her body stiffened, but she kept talking as I began sliding my full length into her once more.

“She said that my nipples were too big. Disproportionate to m-my...my fat tits. She warned me that if I didn’t start losing weight, they might grow bigger.”

“Uh huh...” I groaned, watching my cock disappear into my sister’s tight pussy. “She’s right.”

“I know,” Cynthia sobbed.

I mean, it was partially true. If she grew as heavy as Mom had been before I’d started hypnotizing her, Cynthia would probably go up a cup-size or two. Maybe her areolae would enlarge in the process.

Not going to lie; it was more than a little tempting to have Cynthia gain weight, just to see what would happen. Also just for the heat of controlling her size. I had complete and total control over my sister—what she ate, when she ate. I could have told her to shave her head and I’ve no doubt she would’ve obeyed.

She’d probably be easier to manipulate if she was a little larger, too...although it was hard to imagine my sister being any more pliable than she was already. And her unhinged opinion of her own form bore little relationship to reality; she’d probably hate herself just as much regardless of size.

But as my sister had followed the fitness regime I’d given her, I’d enjoyed seeing her soft curves grow a little firmer. The contrast between her flat stomach and huge, pendulous boobs made them look even bigger than actually-larger tits would have.

I’m not one to look a gift horse in the tits; I was pretty happy with my sister’s body the way it was.

“What else did she say about your breasts?”

“That they didn’t suit the rest of my body. T-that...that I looked like a freak.”

“Fuuuuck....”

Despite having just cum literally a few minutes ago, I already felt like I was right on the edge of another orgasm. My sister’s face held the most intense look of hurt and betrayal that I’d ever seen. I’d convinced Mom to demolish her own daughter’s self-esteem, just to protect herself.

Just to stop Cynthia from learning the truth.

* * *

“Describe your daughter’s breasts to me,” I instructed. I’d had Mom redress—I was stepping into risky territory here, and I wanted to be safe in case she woke up. “Tell me what you really think of them.”

Mom blushed, but only hesitated briefly before replying.

“They’re...they’re nice,” she said, as though describing a teapot she’d found at the local market.

I rolled my eyes.

“Be specific,” I ordered. “Tell me what you like about them.”

“They’re, um, round,” she said, hesitating again. “And...and soft.”

I considered berating her again, but I knew she was doing the best that she could.

“What else?”

“They jiggle when she walks,” Mom said, and I was delighted to hear a hint—just a hint—of lust in her voice. Maybe it wasn’t just the throwback to the kind of affection my father had given her that was turning her on about the situation. Maybe Mom was actually just a little bit bi.

Or maybe Cynthia’s tits really do have sexuality-bending capabilities.

“And they...they feel really nice to touch.”

I had noticed that Mom often reached up to cup her daughter’s breasts when making out with her, but I’d figured that was just her following the golden rule; doing unto her daughter as she wished others would do unto her. I hadn’t even considered that...y’know, Mom liked playing with boobs.

Of course, who doesn’t?

“Go on,” I ordered.

“They’re sensitive,” Mom said, her voice trembling slightly. “When I kiss her, I can feel...I can feel them respond.”

“Respond how?”

My voice was low. Husky. Mom didn’t seem to notice, answering my question immediately.

“I can feel her nipples hardening,” she said. “And...and I can feel them getting bigger. Like...like they’re growing.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Cynthia’s tits get bigger?”

“Y-yes,” Mom responded, her eyes widening. “I mean, they, um...they swell. When she’s...when she’s aroused.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Uh huh,” Mom said. “It’s...”

She trailed off, and I leaned forward.

“What?”

“It’s kind of hot,” she whispered, and I couldn’t help but nod. ‘Kind of’ was the understatement of the decade, as far as I was concerned.

* * *

“Did she say anything else about your body?” I asked my sister, as I slid in and out of her.

“Y-yes,” she said. “She said that my ass was...was too big.”

I do not understand where this idea comes from: unless you, like, need a motorized wheelchair to get around, I’ve never heard of an ass being too big. What a ridiculous concept.

But Mom apparently thought hers was too big, and so she’d projected that onto my sister.

“It is,” I confirmed. “It’s grotesque.”

“I-I know,” Cynthia shuddered. Not with pleasure, as she normally did when I fucked her, but with a deep shame.

It was even hotter, if you ask me.

* * *

“What do you think of Cynthia’s ass?” I asked Mom, delighted that the kibosh had apparently been taken off sexual discussion of my sister.

“It’s...” Mom paused, looking conflicted. “It’s...it’s...cute.”

“It’s not a hamster, Mom,” I chided.

In fairness, my sister’s ass was pretty cute. The kind of cute you want to spank and fuck though. A very specific kind of cute.

Not at all like a hamster.

“It’s...it’s...” Mom’s face was flushed. She was really struggling with this one. “It’s sexy. I...I...like it.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I like the way it looks. It’s...round. But not fat. And...and it’s firm. I like the way it feels.”

“Do you like big butts?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mom responded, like she’d just betrayed her country by sharing war plans with the enemy.

“Can you lie?”

Mom looked confused. “N-no?”

Apparently my mother wasn’t familiar with the work of Sir Mix-A-Lot.

“Do you like touching her butt?”

“I...I do.”

“Say it.”

“I...I like...I like t-touching her butt.”

“Whose butt?”

“Cynthia’s.”

“Your daughter’s.”

Mom didn’t say anything, just blushed in response.

“Say it.”

“I like touching m-my d-daughter’s butt,” Mom said, with great effort.

“But she can never know that, can she?”

* * *

“She said she hates touching it,” Cynthia whimpered. “She said that she o-only does it because she has to. But that it’s too big. Too fat. And that if I’m not careful, I won’t be able to fit into any of my clothes anymore.”

Mom’s fear had actually happened to her. About a decade ago, she’d had to buy a whole new wardrobe.

She’d lost a bunch of weight this year, thanks to me, but she’d gotten rid of her old clothes by then, and so she kept wearing her ‘new’ outfits.

I mean, when I let her wear clothes at all.

“She’s right,” I said, digging my fingers into my sister’s ass as I fucked her. “You are too fat. Say it.”

“I’m overweight,” Cynthia said.

“Again.”

“I’m chubby, and my ass is huge.”

* * *

“What’s your favorite part of Cynthia’s body?” I asked, and Mom’s stared hazily into the distance as she thought.

“Her lips,” she finally answered.

“Her...pussy-lips?”

Mom shook her head. “No. Her lips.”

I hadn’t been expecting that one. “What do you like about them?”

“I like the way they feel. Tender. Sweet. Soft.”

My mother really is a romantic at heart. Even when describing her own daughter’s body, she picks a feature as innocent as ‘lips’ to compliment.

“She licks them, right before...before we kiss. They’re always the exact right level of moist, and...and...

“And what?”

“I love kissing her,” Mom admitted. “I love the way she tastes.”

“Your own daughter?”

“Y-yes,” she said, blushing furiously. “M-my own daughter.”

* * *

“She said that my lips were my worst feature,” Cynthia said, sounding as shocked as I’d been when Mom had singled those out. “She said that they were always...s-slimy.”

If you’d told me a year ago that my sister disparaging her own facial features would be enough to bring me the brink of orgasm, I never would have believed you.

So much can change in a year, hey?

“Did Mom say anything else?”

“She said it was my fault that I look the way I do. That I’m overweight. She...she said that if I were more disciplined, if I cared a little more, I’d be fine.”

“Do you think she’s wrong?”

“N-no,” Cynthia said, and I could see her throat working as she swallowed guiltily. I still hadn’t been able to work out a pattern of which muscles she could and couldn’t control when she was under.

“How did you feel, after Mom’s comments?”

“I...I felt...”

I pulled out of her, and we both groaned at the sensation.

“Disgusting,” Cynthia finally admitted. “I felt disgusting.”

“You should,” I hissed, my hand a blur. “You should feel that way. Do you know why?”

“B-because...because I am.”

“You are what?”

“Disgusting,” my sister sobbed.

“Again,” I grunted. “Say it again.”

“I’m disgusting.”

“Again!”

“I’m disgusting,” my sister repeated.

“Louder!”

“I’m disgusting,” Cynthia bellowed, as I shot my second load of the day, spraying them onto my sister’s pink, soft, and not-at-all slimy lips.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 42

I froze at the sight of my cum landing on my sister’s face. It was like I was watching it in slow motion as my seed plastered her cheeks, eyelids, nose, and perfect pink mouth.

I’d never seen anything so beautiful.

In the past, I’d never dared to unload directly onto Cynthia’s face. Her stomach, I knew, was safe—I’d cum onto her tummy countless times, and since I’d convinced her to let me take her bra off, I’d coated her tits with my seed dozen of times.

But I’d never seen her face coated in my sperm. I was transfixed by the sight, and my cock twitched, wanting to pump another load onto her face. It was so perfect; it was like this was what she’d been born for. My sister had come into this world specifically so I could unload onto her face.

I stood there, frozen, until I saw my sister’s mouth open.

“I’m disgusting,” Cynthia repeated, her voice cracking. Her eyes widened as a glob of my sperm fell into her mouth, but—to my great relief—she showed no signs of waking up.

“I’m disgusting,” she murmured again, and I finally let myself relax. The taste of my seed was having an effect; the look of shame and self-loathing was—sadly—fading from her face, and a familiar look of lust was replacing it.

I used my thumb to brush her hair out of the way before any more of my semen could land in it. “You’re disgusting,” I said affectionately. “You don’t deserve to be called anything else.”

My sister fell silent, but I knew she would nod if she could.

She didn’t seem to have any objection to me cumming onto her face, or even into her mouth—oh, the possibilities that were running through my head at that—but I had bigger fish to fry.

“How much time do you spend masturbating?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Now that I’d cum—twice—at my sister’s recounting of the story, I wanted to move to the next stage.

And then once that was done...maybe I’d fuck her again.

“Hours,” my sister replied breathily. Her mouth was twitching, but not like she wanted to wake up. Like she’d had a taste of my seed, and wanted more—wanted to reach her tongue out, to scoop it into her mouth and swallow it down hungrily.

“And what do you think about when you do?”

“My brother hurting me,” she replied. “My brother causing me pain. How much it would turn him on. How hot I could get him, if I’d just let him hurt me.”

Before I’d hypnotized my sister, she hadn’t had any sexual interest in me. It was one of the first things I’d checked. Absolutely none.

And so I’d gotten her to start masturbating each night at the thought of me. For hours a day, playing with herself, imagining doing sexual things with me. To me. Imagining herself as my submissive sex slave, my obedient little fucktoy.

Hours and hours of bringing herself to orgasm—and then to the _edge_ of orgasm—while thinking about me had done exactly what I’d hoped it would. It had rewired her desires. Before I’d started hypnotizing her, my sister’s sexual fantasies had been those of an normal, average, everyday teenage girl. Of the virgin that she was.

Now, she fantasized about me. Serving me. Obeying me. Letting me hurt her. And by spending hours each day thinking about me while she masturbated (and linking my attraction to her directly to her self-esteem), my sister no longer saw me as her slightly-annoying brother.

Instead, she saw me as her ultimate desire. A sexual god. Someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life pleasing. Obeying.

Whatever urges she’d had before had been completely eradicated, replaced with an obsession with me.

But having her masturbate while thinking about me _hurting_ her hadn’t had the same effect. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she wanted it. But only because _I_ wanted it. I was her fetish, not pain.

Mom came from being spanked. Cynthia loved it when I spanked her, but only because she knew how hot I found it.

Maybe it really is a biological thing. Cynthia had always been straight; she’d always wanted men. I’d just, y’know. Removed the ‘n’.

By inserting myself into an existing desire, I’d resshaped it. Focused it. Instead of wanting a generic man, she wanted specifically me. But even after hours—weeks!—of masturbating while thinking abou tit, Cynthia still had no interest in pain for pain’s sake.

It seemed I could warp a desire, but not create one out of nothing.

“It hurt, when Mom told you how she really felt about your body, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said in a sad whisper.

“Good,” I said. “That’s useful.”

“It is?”

“Uh huh,” I nodded. “We’re going to hold onto that pain. We’re going to use it as motivation. Change is hard; the human body is built to hold onto calories, to resist exercise. If you want to change, if you truly want to become attractive, you need something to fuel the fire. Your mother’s words are going to be that fuel. Say it.”

“What Mom said is going to motivate me to lose weight.”

“Again.”

“I’m going to use Mom’s insults to...to stimulate change.”

“Tomorrow, you’re going to thank Mom for her candor. You’re going to tell her you want to hear exactly what she thinks of your body, whenever she wants to share it. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“And to make sure you hold onto the words, to keep them at the forefront of your mind at all times, you’re going to start thinking about them while you masturbate.”

I smiled as my sister processed my words, and her eyes oh-so-slightly widened.

“W-what?”

“You’re still going to fantasize about me when you play with yourself,” I clarified. After all, I didn’t want to risk her attraction to me lessening. Although honestly...at this stage, I felt like that was impossible. She was more obsessed with me than she was with her own weight. “But you’re also going to think about what Mom said. Her words are going to play through your head on loop, whenever you’re touching yourself.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I...I...”

I waited. I had gotten pretty good at knowing when I was pushing my sister too far, and I was pretty sure that this was safe territory.

“I’m...I’m going to thank Mom...”

Another pause; shorter, this time.

“...for her words. I’m going to thank her for being honest with me. I’ll tell her that, um....that she can share how she feels, anytime.”

“Good girl.”

An almost imperceptible shudder passed through my sister’s body; it seemed to be the fuel she needed to go on.

“And then I’m going to think about what she said when I masturbate. I’ll think about th-them again and again, whenever I play with myself.”

“Again.”

Cynthia repeated her instructions four more times while I cleaned her up. By the time I’d wiped the cum from her face (only thinking to take a photo when I was done), her voice was strong and clear, and I was confident she’d do as she was ordered.

* * *

I’d like to say what happened next was deliberate. That I’d chosen the episode carefully, masterfully set everything up for the next step in my plan to fall into place. But, believe it or not, it was dumb luck that led me to the next part of my plan.

Dumb luck, and following a hunch.

“Your punishments still aren’t working.”

Mom nodded. Her punishments were working as well as they ever had, but so long as she kept on failing the impossible tasks I gave her, I could keep escalating.

“Last night, you were spreadeagled and ball-gagged in front of your children for almost two hours, and it was like you didn’t even care.”

We’d been watching South Park. Again, purely by chance. Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.

Well, I guess it wasn’t completely accidental. See, Mom hates South Park. She thinks it’s crude, unfunny and uncultured. Cynthia and I have always liked it, but we always had to watch it in secret.

I guess I can see why Mom isn’t a fan. It’s not exactly high art. But it’s hilarious, and so many memes have come from it. It feels like every time I watch an old episode, I’m like ” _that’s_ where that’s from??“

So watching it in front of Mom, that wasn’t really luck. She was naked, tied to a chair, her legs spread. Her pussy was on display—just weeks ago, she would have rather died than let either of her children see even a glimpse of her hairy bush, but her pink wetness was clearly visible as we watched television.

Tied up, ball-gag in, she couldn’t do anything to stop us from watching whatever the hell we wanted. It had been like a punishment within a punishment; as if the physical humiliation wasn’t enough, she also had to watch this show that she hated.

Although once or twice, I swear I heard her laugh from behind the ball gag.

Cynthia was sitting next to me. She was still dressing to show off her tits; as we watched television, she was wearing lingerie: a low-cut black corset, a matching garter belt, thigh-high stockings, and a pair of heels. The corset, of course, was too tight—as Mom squirmed in her seat, Cynthia was almost as uncomfortable beside me on the couch.

I was in heaven.

The episode was a three-parter, the one where they go to the land of imagination. One of the main plots is...look, if you don’t know the show, this won’t make any sense.

Actually, even if you do know the show, it’s still pretty weird. That’s sort of the point of South Park though, it’s so fucked-up that it’s funny. Y’know?

So the main characters are a group of eight-year old boys, and the episode is about—among other things—once of them signing a contract to suck another one’s balls. Yeah, it’s not exactly family-friendly entertainment.

We watched the episode, we laughed, I untied Mom, spanked her to orgasm, she spanked Cynthia (while I was in another room, unfortunately—they’d make out in front of me, but Mom still didn’t want me to see my sister get spanked) and then we all went to bed.

And the next morning, she’d suggested it.

“I cared!” Mom began to object, but I held up one hand and she fell silent. Good girl.

“Clearly, we need to try something else. Unless...”

My eyes flicked to her dresser, and my mother blanched.

“No!” she cried. “Anything but that.”

“Well then,” I said, leaning forward. “What should we do instead?”

That was the hunch. After Mom had suggested making out with her own daughter, a deliciously dark idea had struck me.

I spent so much time thinking of punishments for her. For Cynthia, too.

But no one knew Mom’s deepest fears better than she did. I couldn’t come close to her own self-knowledge; Mom knew what she’d hate the most, what would truly disincentivize her from skipping a workout.

And so I’d decided to throw it over to her. To get Mom’s suggestion on what she’d hate the most.

“I don’t know,” she answered, and I rolled my eyes.

It was still tempting to just break her. To tell her that nothing else would work, that the only option left was the toy she feared so much.

But the desperation that it drove her to...it felt useful. Exploitable.

“Think,” I answered, a sharp tone in my voice. “Think of what you’d despise. What would make you stop being such a failure. What would motivate you.”

Her first few suggestions were pretty weaksauce: lesser versions of stuff that we’d already done, or boring ideas like not letting her use her phone for a few hours. Her next idea was a little better—taking embarrassing photos, and if she didn’t hit goals, putting them online or sending them to old schoolfriends.

Mom’s idea of an embarrassing photo probably differed from mine, but I filed that one away for later use.

But when I told her to really dig deep, to think of something humiliating, something that would ensure she _never_ missed a goal...that’s when I struck paydirt.

“What about what the chubby boy suggested,” she offered. Her voice was shaking and her face was flushed, and it took me a moment to realize what she was suggesting.

No. She couldn’t mean...

“Be specific,” I ordered.

“I c-could...I could...”

Mom trailed off, and gulped. I didn’t say anything, just watched her, desperate to hear the next words out of her mouth.

After a brief pause, a tear ran down her face as she continued.

“What if I sucked y-your...your testicals,” she said. My eyebrows shot up as Mom continued. “That would b-be so...so humiliating.”

I couldn’t believe what she’d just said. What she’d just suggested.

I hadn’t had to jump through a thousand hoops to convince her. My mother, of her own subconscious accord, had suggested we jump several steps in my plan.

What else could I get her to agree to?

“Why just the balls?” I asked, my voice low. “Why not just suck my dick?”

Mom’s eyes widened, and she began twitching. Her entire body began shaking—I waited a few moments for her to calm down, to stop trembling, but to my alarm...it didn’t look like she was going to.

Instead, Mom looked like she was going to wake up.

“Uh, uh...what’s the best order to do cardio in?” I asked. It took longer than I would’ve liked for Mom to process my question, and even as she began methodically recounting the research I’d had her do, her entire body would occasionally shake in an aftertremor.

I gave her several minutes to calm down before returning to the earlier topic. There had been a disconnect, and I needed to work out what it was.

“Why is sucking balls different to sucking a dick?” I asked, keeping a close eye on Mom to make sure she didn’t show any signs of waking up.

“S-sucking a dick is...sexual,” Mom said, struggling to get the words out.

I squinted at her. I spanked her to orgasm every night. She was getting Cynthia off with her hand, making out with and groping her, getting both of them excited in the process...but sucking my dick was over the line?

“Sucking on balls isn’t?”

Mom shook her head firmly.

“It’s embarrassing. Humiliating. But it’s not...it’s not sexual. It’s like on the cartoon. A prank.”

I wanted to argue back, convince Mom that sucking my dick would be an even funnier prank...but it was clear that she put these two ideas into very different baskets in her mind. I spanked her to orgasm every time I got a chance, but she was yet to do anything sexual to me. Fortunately, I could use Cynthia to get off, or I would’ve been nothing but a pair of walking blue balls.

“What if I get hard while you’re doing it?”

Mom’s face turned even redder, and that’s when I noticed it—an ever-so-slight shifting of her thighs.

She was turned on.

All of a sudden, it was starting to make sense. Mom wanted me. Cynthia, too. She wanted her own children, but on such a deep level...even with full access to her subconscious, I don’t think I’d be able to get her to admit it. It was like her incestuous desires were buried deeper than anyone could reach—even her.

And so when I asked her for punishments, when she was trying to get out of having the Toy inserted into her rear...that was the only moment she could dive down into the darkest areas of her wants. She hated how much she lusted for her children. It was the ultimate punishment.

The ultimate punishment, and her deepest desire.

If I’d ordered her to make out with Cynthia at every opportunity, she might have refused. But when she felt threatened—purely threatened, on a primal level—she’d pulled out her darkest lust to defend herself. A lesbian desire that she’d never admit to herself, even now. A lust for her own daughter.

Now, she’d done the same with me. She wanted to make me hard. She wanted to get me off, to bring me the pleasure that I’d brought her, night after night. But she couldn’t admit that. She _wouldn’t_ admit it.

Faced with her greatest fear, however, she could use it as a shield. She could punish herself by giving herself exactly what she wanted.

It just had to be masked as something non-sexual. She wasn’t making out with Cynthia because she wanted to; she was turning on her daughter to help her with her diet. She wasn’t sucking my balls as an excuse to see my cock, to turn me on and get me hard...it was a punishment.

Even her subconscious couldn’t see what she was doing. But as she reacted to my question, I saw it. I saw everything.

“That would be...natural,” Mom croaked. “A natural reaction to stimulation.”

“What if I came?” I wanted to ask, but I held back.

All in good time.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 43

I waited until the next day to try anything. Normally I’d give it a few days for the idea to truly sink into her subconscious, to prime her for the real thing...but it had come _from_ her subconscious. Or her sub subconscious, whatever the next level down was.

It was her idea. This was something she’d suggested.

Something she wanted.

“How long did you plank for today?” I asked.

“Two minutes,” my mother replied, her eyes downcast.

“Oh, Mom...”

“I know,” she said balefully. “I’m sorry. I really did try.”

“Did you stick to your diet, at least?” I asked, and she nodded.

“Well then,” I said, gesturing to my lap. I’m always impressed by how quickly my mother can move to my lap. I swear, she likes being spanked more than I like spanking her.

No, that’s obviously ridiculous. I don’t think anyone likes anything as much as I like spanking her.

I’m yet to spank my mother while she’s both naked _and_ conscious, but it feels like I’m getting closer by the day. As part of another punishment, she was wearing a short skirt, black panties, no bra, and nothing on her feet.

She crawled onto my lap, shivering as I gently stroked her bare skin. “I have a new idea for a punishment,” I said, allowing a note of levity into my voice. A bit of trial and error had told me that she’d only accept the suggestion if it was coming from a place of mischief—the first time I’d gotten her naked, she’d done it because I treated it like a prank.

Just a few short months later, she spent more time at home naked than clothed. What a goof, hey?

SMACK.

Mom’s entire body tensed as my hand landed on her ass. “One,” she croaked—unless told otherwise, I’d ordered her to always count how many smacks she received.

It was fun seeing the numbers get a little bit wobbly as she got more and more turned on.

“I think this punishment will be really effective,” I continued.

SMACK.

“Two.”

Mom’s breathing was already growing heavy. Not even she could explain why she liked being spanked as much as she did. Even by her son.

And, as time went on... _especially_ by her son.

SMACK.

“Three.”

“It’s going to be so embarrassing,” I crowed. “Maybe this will finally work, and allow you to stick to your fitness program.”

SMACK.

“F-four.”

I did the math, and I think it _would_ actually be possible for every exercise I set Mom to be completed. She’d just have to hire a full-time employee to do half of them for her.

SMACK.

“Five!”

“You don’t like the embarrassing punishments, do you?”

“N-no,” Mom stammered, forgetting that she was supposed to claim she didn’t like _any_ of them.

Of course, we’d both have known she was lying. Maybe she didn’t consciously like it, but some part of Mom craved any punishment involving pain.

SMACK,

“Oh! Six!”

Mom normally came anywhere between twelve and twenty spanks, depending on how worked up she was beforehand.

“Do you remember the South Park episode you watched with me and Cynthia?“

“Y-yes,” Mom said.

SMACK.

“Seven!”

“You remember what the fat kid—Cartman—made the other kid do at the end of the episode?”

Mom’s eyes widened.

“Yes...”

SMACK.

“Eight!”

She clearly knew where I was going, but she didn’t want to let herself get there. She didn’t want to believe that I’d do that to her. Her own son.

She had no idea it was her idea.

SMACK.

“Nine!”

“Wasn’t that embarrassing?” I asked, trying my best at a giggle. Like I’ve said before, I’m no actor, but it was good enough to fool Mom.

“Uh huh...” she said, her breath catching as my hand met her ass once more.

SMACK.

“Eleven!”

See what I mean? I can tell she’s getting close when she start losing numbers.

Although in this case, she might just have been distracted by what I was saying.

“Just, like, completely humiliating.”

“Yes...”

SMACK.

“Twelve!”

I think Mom’s “Yes” was intended to be warning. Like, trying to be the stern Mom I once knew her as.

That effect is kind of lost when you’re mostly-naked, bent over your son’s lap, happily letting him spank you to orgasm.

SMACK.

“Thirteeen!”

“So that’s going to be your punishment!” I said, delivering it like the punchline to a joke. “Isn’t that hilarious?”

SMACK.

“F-fifteen!”

“You’re going to suck my balls. God, I can’t wait to see your face.”

SMACK.

“Sixteen...oh! Oh!”

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

I kept raining down blows as my mother’s huffed and heaved her way through an intense orgasm. I swear, no matter how many times I see her cum—just from being spanked!—it never gets old. Her whole body shook as an orgasm ripped through it.

“Oooohhh...”

“That’s right, Mom,” I said, my hand moving faster. “Suck my balls. Suck your son’s balls!”

“Oh, god...”

This climax was definitely amplified by the knowledge that as she came, she was thinking about what we were about to do. About what I’d tested in the previous day’s hypothetical. About what had been running through her subconscious mind all day.

My mother was going to kneel down in front of me, lower my pants, and bring my hairy testicles into her mouth. I knew for a fact that the image was in both of our minds as she came.

It took her several minutes to calm down, but eventually she was back with me.

“C’mon Mom,” I said, gently sliding her off my lap. Before she knew what was happening, she was kneeling on the kitchen floor in front of me, that hazy post-orgasmic look in here eyes. “It’s time!”

I tried to maintain a prank-y, bro-y atmosphere as it happened. I tried not to act like this was a sexual fantasy come to life as my mother looked up at me, slightly dazed.

“D-Daniel...” she began, but I shook my head.

“C’mon, Mom. This is your punishment.”

She opened her mouth for a second, before closing it, resigned. I’d made it clear to her subconscious that if she didn’t do this, if she backed out at th elast minute, there was a worse punishment in store. Apparently that had filtered down (however these things work) to convince her that this wasn’t worth pushing back on.

That instead, she should just open her mouth and take her punishment.

I don’t think she _wanted_ to want it. I think she wanted to be a good mother, a mother who takes care of her family, and puts her children above herself.

But deep down, she wanted to be spanked. She wanted to cum, night after night. She wanted to feel the powerful orgasms she’d denied herself for so long, even though it was me giving them to her. Her own son, her flesh and blood.

She didn’t want to want me, but she did. I’d given her countless orgasms, I’d unlocked a side of her she’d kept buried for most of her life. And so she couldn’t help herself—as wrong as it was, as sick and twisted and utterly fucked up, she’d found herself wanting me.

My mother had found herself wanting her son.

“Okay,” she said, staring intensely at the floor. “If this is what you think is best.”

I couldn’t help but grin smugly as Mom reached up and began unbuckling my jeans. Even if she’d looked up, I think I could have passed it off as a look of childish glee—not that there was anything childish about what we were about to do, despite the cartoon inspiration.

She didn’t say anything when my hard cock came into view. It’s probably not the first time Mom’s seen me erect—even little babies get hard-ons, did you know that? Super weird.

But it was definitely the first time as an adult. It was definitely her first time witnessing my, um, “full-size” member.

And believe me, the situation had me _very_ full-size.

She didn’t say anything, not out loud. But her expression said everything. It was like she forgot that I could see her, or that she was my Mom. It was like she forgot that she was supposed to be the grown-up.

Instead, her eyes flared with lust as she stared at my cock.

It was, I realized later, the first erection she’d seen since my father’s. Like, I know she doesn’t watch porn, and she hasn’t slept with anyone since Dad. And I can’t work out where she would have ‘accidentally’ seen a dick—it’s not like she sits around watching HBO or anything.

So after more than a decade, mine was the first engorged male member she’d laid her eyes on. And based on her expression, she liked what she saw.

Neither of us said a word as Mom stared longingly at my dick. I would’ve given anything in that moment to know what was running through her mind. Was she imagining herself on top of me, riding my cock? Was she fantasizing about what it would be like to take my cock into her mouth, and give me the first blowjob she’d given since the dick that made me?

Or was she just admiring it? I’m not going to claim I’m porn-star size or anything like that—if I was, Cynthia would definitely have known something was up when I woke her up. But I think I’ve got a pretty nice member...not that I’ve got too much to compare it to.

But I didn’t know what Mom was thinking, and I didn’t know if I’d ever know. Mom clams up about the weirdest things when I put her under, and I completely expected this to be one of them.

She didn’t say anything, but she did stare. And stare. We stood there for a long time, my mother staring longingly at my boner, me not wanting to interrupt the moment.

For a second—just a second—I thought she was going to take it in her mouth. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, or maybe she really was tempted and I’d picked up on some extremely subtle body language.

But just as soon as the thought appeared, it was gone, and it was like the spell was broken. Mom looked up at me guiltily, and I did my best to act like...y’know, we hadn’t just spent the beter part of a minute with my hard cock in her face.

“Go on,” I prompted, trying to sound nonchalant. “Five minutes, like we discussed.”

We hadn’t actually discussed a time, not while she was conscious. But Mom, if she even noticed, was too flustered to say anything. And so she leaned forward, and tentatively moved my testicle into her mouth.

I’d never gotten a blowjob before. Erin Murphy and I had never gotten this far, and while I’ve fucked my unconscious sister dozens—if not hundreds—of times in the past few weeks, she’d never given me head.

After the way she’d reacted to my cum in her mouth, I could probably try, but I don’t think getting a blowjob from someone who can’t move is going to be the best experience. I mean, especially when compared to...y’know, PIV intercourse.

Even when Cynthia is just a fuckdoll, it’s still pretty damn hot. I mean, people pay good money for those dolls, y’know?

And don’t get me wrong, I know that Mom sucking on my balls isn’t a blowjob. But fuck, it gave me some idea of what getting head _would_ be like.

Her mouth was so soft, so warm. Her tongue was so gentle as it explored my scrotum, and she slowly, slowly worked her way up. I felt my cock throb as she licked my balls, and then her lips parted and she took my entire sack into her mouth.

Mom gently sucked, her tongue playing with my wrinkly skin. I could feel her breath on my shaft, and the sound of her sporadically swallowing, and it was like I was watching a porno. She was still topless, her nipples hard as rocks as her mouth explored my nutsack.

I had expected her to look away, to resolutely stare at the floor, or the ceiling, or anywhere that wasn’t me. But to my surprise, she kept eye contact the entire time, staring directly at me, her eyes filled with silent desire.

It was a mixed blessing, in a way. On one hand, it was hot as hell—so much of the most sexual time with my family has been while they’re unconscious; the main exception is Mom’s spankings, but the positioning means that she’s never looking at me while we do that.

So getting to look into Mom’s eyes as she literally drooled over my junk...it was awesome. I could see the raw longing in her eyes. It was like I was looking into her soul. I knew she was turned on, and I think she knew I knew, but neither of us were allowed to acknowledge it. All we could do was enjoy the moment; enjoy the taboo intimacy of Mom’s mouth on my sack.

On the other hand, with Mom staring at me, I felt like I needed to keep up the charade. Boyish prank, y’know? So as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t groan with pleasure, or let my eyes light up with lust like hers were. I had to keep on acting like this was normal, that it was nothing more than a joke.

Y’know, that classic joke where your topless mother sucks your balls after you’ve spanked her to orgasm.

I could feel her mouth widen, and she took my balls deeper into her mouth. I’d never thought of my testicles as a, like, erogenous zone, but they were sensitive enough that the sensation of Mom’s mouth on them was almost enough to make me cum.

I’d jerked off twice that day, because I knew that making me cum was crossing a line for Mom. And I mean, like, she was awake—it wasn’t like when she was under, where there was a threat of her coming to and realizing that I’d done stuff to her while she was under.

Everything she was doing, she’d done of her own accord. She was a conscious, grown-ass woman—I’m pretty sure that even if I’d cum, it wouldn’t’ve suddenly broken her brain. Like, that’s a pretty natural response to someone slobbering on your nutsack.

But I wasn’t completely sure. Maybe she would’ve suddenly broken (and not in a good way). Maybe she would’ve realized that what we were doing was wrong—not just the ball-sucking, but all of it. The nudity, the spankings, the punishment.

I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to risk it. Even the least-worrisome option, that she’d just never agree to do this again...why take that risk?

So I’d jerked off twice that morning. Now I stood there, an idiotic grin on my face as Mom lovingly, tenderly sucked my balls.

“Mom?” I asked, after God knows how long had passed. I hadn’t thought to set a timer, and I had my back to the clock: it could have been two minutes, it could have been twenty.

“Mmhmmm?” she mumbled, concentrating on bringing my ball sack as much pleasure as she could with her mouth. A few times I’d seen her hands twitch, like she wanted nothing more than to reach up and grab my cock, to pump it until I came all over her face, coated her with my cum as I had her daughter just a few days prior...

Not that she knew that, of course.

“That’s five minutes,” I lied. Or, y’know, accidentally told the truth. It was possible.

“Oh!” she said, leaning back. She blinked twice, and it was like the spell had broken. A surge of power ran up my spine as I realized: she’d truly lost herself in what she’d been doing. Sucking my balls, her face just centimeters from my erection. Mom had completely disconnected; she’d forgotten that I was her son, that this was supposed to be a punishment. She’d just lost herself in the moment, and now I’d brought her back to reality.

She flushed red as she realized how close she was to my boner. To her son’s boner.

“Pretty embarrassing, hey?” I said with a chuckle, and Mom nodded, immediately accepting the out. “Hey—maybe that’ll be the push you need to keep to your fitness regime.”

“I hope so,” she said shakily. We both knew it wouldn’t be, of course.

And we both knew how much Mom would be looking forward to doing it again.

* * *

The scene in front of me was hotter than the hottest dream I’d ever had. My sister was dressed in a tight pair of black panties and a tiny white tank-top, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. My Mom, in an inversion of the outfit she’d worn while sucking my balls for the first time, was wearing a bra and a short skirt, but no panties. They both had stockings on—Mom’s were black and sheer, the kind that you’d see on a secretary in a movie, whereas Cynthia’s were white, and matched her tank top.

I’d been making myself a sandwich for lunch when Cynthia had entered. It was never more than a few minutes from me leaving my room to my sister joining me; she was like a puppy sometimes, just happy to be around me.

“Hey sis,” I’d said casually, pretending not to notice her shiver of pleasure at my greeting. Just hearing me call her ‘sis’ was apparently enough to give Cynthia a sexual thrill.

“Hey,” she’d said in response, before falling to her knees in front of me. “Please,” she begged. “Please, Daniel, can you help me log back into my Facebook account? I’ll do _anything_ you want, if you’ll just help. Please, I need you. God, I need you so bad...“

I let her go on for a few minutes before grumblingly agreeing to help. She gave me a thank-you hug (making sure to press her tits against me), before letting out a long, happy sigh.

As she stood there, watching me scroll through my phone as I ate, Mom entered. Without a word, she approached Cynthia, grabbing her ponytail and roughly forcing my sister’s mouth to hers.

I pretended to still be paying attention to my phone as the two women breathily made out, Mom reaching down to firmly grasp her daughter’s ass, Cynthia moving one leg between Mom’s legs to tease her naked pussy.

When they finally broke apart, Mom stared into Cynthia’s eyes.

“You’re disgusting,” she spat. “I’m _not_ attracted to you at all. “

I managed to mask a chuckle at my mother’s overly-specific denial as she continued.

“No one is. You’re fat. Your tits are too big. Your stomach has stretch-marks. You’re past your prime, and no one will ever be attracted to you again.”

Subtly adjusting my erection, I continued watching out of my peripheral vision as Cynthia’s eyes filled with tears.

“Your cellulite is disgusting, your skin is wrinkly, and you’re not attractive. Dressing like that is just embarrassing; you should be ashamed.”

Mom paused; I could tell she was worried that she’d gone too far, but I’d made sure to emphasize how dangerous it would be if Cynthia suspected that she was attracted to her daughter, and so with a loud CRACK, she slapped the crying teenager across the face and left the room.

As soon as Mom left, I looked up, thrilled by what I saw.

Cynthia’s face was a mixture of deep emotional hurt...and intense arousal. Mom’s abusive words had cut her deep, but turned her on at the same time.

It was an expression I’d seen countless times before: on my mother. Whenever I spanked her, or whipped her, or tied her tits up until they were throbbing with pain, that was the look Mom had on her face.

Pain and pleasure. Pleasure and pain.

For Mom, it was physical. For Cynthia, it was emotional. I couldn’t decide which one I liked better.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 44

“What do you think about when you masturbate?” I asked, and Cynthia gasped in response.

By my count, it had been about three weeks since she’d last cum. It may have been a new record; I hadn’t been keeping track. It had been so long that she was just about ready to pop—the next time I fucked her, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she came, no matter how hard she tried not to.

“You.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I saw what she was doing as she answered: her thigh muscles were flexing, like she was trying to stimulate herself without moving. Yet another body-part she could apparently control while she was under...although this was probably involuntary.

The more turned on my sister was—and I mean turned on at her very core, from weeks of edging—the easier it was to push her boundaries. A week earlier, I’d managed to talk her into letting me titty-fuck her. Quite a step, considering that not so long ago she’d been reluctant to even let me see her topless.

I’d told her that the ‘exposure’ therapy was working, that her brother was finding her tits less repulsive just by seeing more of them, and that the effect could be magnified if his cock got used to touching them.

Yeah, it wasn’t the most cogent of arguments, but like I said—the deeper my sister’s arousal, the more pliable she becomes.

“What else?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mom’s words,” Cynthia replied without hesitation. “Her calling me names. Insulting my body. Pointing out how fat and disgusting I am. Pointing out all the ways my body needs to be changed.”

“Good,” I said, my dick already throbbing. “Your body _is_ disgusting.“

“Oh!”

I raised my eyebrows. Apparently it wasn’t just our mother’s insults that turned Cynthia on.

“You’re repulsive,” I spat.

Not true, of course. That probably goes without saying. My sister’s naked body was incredible, doubly so because it was ready and available for my eyes to feast on.

For me to fuck.

Her thighs were spread wide, her cunt exposed and dripping wet. I bet if I’d so much as brushed a hand over it, she would’ve cum.

The moment I parted her pussy-lips with my cock, I knew her hips would buck, her entire body would start shaking with orgasm.

Maybe I’d titty-fuck her again, give her one more day of intense arousal. Or hell, maybe she was so worked up, she’d cum just from _that_.

* * *

My sister was practically throwing herself on the floor as she begged me for a favor.

“Please, Daniel,” she said desperately, practically crying. ” _Please_. Oh, god, please. Please help me. I need you. I’ll do anything.“

I was standing above her, my face a blank mask. She was just asking me if I’d seen her phone, but it was like she was begging me for her life.

I had complete power over my sister. Every moment of her day was dedicated to me, in some way or another. Whether it was the hours she spent touching herself, picturing me performing darker and darker acts on her, or the long, painful punishments I put her through, or the time our mother spent turning her on, playing with her perfect body while tapping into her deepest fears...

And that was before you factored in the time she spent hypnotized, as I plowed into her inert body. She didn’t consciously know that I was using her for sex, but I felt like her subconscious must surely know how many hours her soaking wet pussy had spent wrapped around my cock.

I reached down, grabbing Cynthia’s ponytail and forcing her head up. “Why do you need me?” I asked, my voice calm and steady. Mom’s spaghetti.

My sister was wearing a thin tank-top without a bra underneath, and a pair of plain white panties that showed how soaked she was. Her feet were bare, and her legs were spread wide as she knelt in front of me.

“Because I’m so dumb,” Cynthia gasped. “Too dumb to handle anything myself. I...I need you. I need a man to take care of me. Oh, _please_.“

I could see her body quivering. Her eyes were glazed over, her breathing ragged. She was rubbing her thighs together, and her nipples were rock hard. She looked much like she did when she was under, and I couldn’t help myself—my cock twitched at the memory of my sister like this on her bed the previous night, naked as I fucked her to an unwilling orgasm.

And Cynthia noticed.

Of course she did. My cock had become a complete obsession for my sister. On more than one occasion I’d caught her staring at my pants, gently stroking her hand over her leg as she imagined what was beneath it.

She’d seen it while she was under, of course. I’d stood above her, stroking myself in her face, my cock slick with her juices. I wondered if she drew on those subconscious memories while picturing my erection, causing her imagination to unknowingly line up exactly with reality.

At the sight of my cock’s reaction, Cynthia doubled down.

“I need a man like you,” she whimpered. “A big, strong man to take care of a dumb slut like me. Please, oh, please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” I mused, and she nodded earnestly.

“Yes,” she moaned, her voice cracking. “I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just...just help me. Help me find my phone. I’m such a stupid whore.”

““Fine,” I sighed, trying to sound as disinterested as I could. Like I hadn’t even noticed that she was practically throwing herself at me. As though I hadn’t heard her calling herself a slut and a whore. “God you’re an idiot.”

A tremor of pleasure went through my sister’s body at my words, just like when she was under.

I couldn’t help myself. “You’re so useless,” I continued. “You’re a waste of space.”

Another shudder of pleasure. “Oh, god, oh, god, yes.”

“Come on,” I said, holding out my hand and taking my sister’s wrist. Her pulse was racing, and I could feel her trembling as I led her to her bedroom. “Where did you last see it?”

It took less than a minute to find Cynthia’s phone (it had fallen to the floor beside her desk).

“Here you go,” I grumbled. She was practically shaking, her breathing shallow. “Even someone as dumb as you should’ve been able to find this.”

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed. “Thank you, Daniel. Thank you so much. I’ll make it up to you.”

As soon as I was out the door, I smiled. Yes, she would.

Sooner than she thought.

I stood outside Cynthia’s room for a moment. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I heard it. A muffled gasp.

My sister, touching herself. So turned on by my debasement that she couldn’t help it. Edging, her lust fueled by her brother’s attention.

The best part (and believe me, it was a highly competitive list) was that debasing herself in front of me hadn’t even been part of my instructions. Cynthia had done that all by herself...and not blinked an eye when I joined in.

After all, I’d heard our mother verbally abusing her for more than a week now.

My sister’s self-esteem had been low when I’d started hypnotizing her. I’d managed to drive it even further into the ground, but damn: Mom’s insults had taken it further than I ever would’ve thought possible. Cynthia now thought that she was not only ugly, fat, dumb (it had only taken a nudge for Mom to start disparaging her daughter’s intelligence), but that it was completely normal for her family to point it out to her.

No, not just normal.

_Hot._

Whenever my sister had masturbated, Mom’s insults ran through her mind. She’d frig herself to the edge of orgasm, multiple times per day, remembering our mother calling her a fat pig, telling her that she was useless, emphasizing what a sexual deviant she was.

And now, my words would be joining the cacophony. She’d be thinking about me calling her useless. Dumb. A waste of space.

Not just when she edged, either. See, I know how women’s minds work...well, two specific women. By making Cynthia focus on the words while she was masturbating, I knew they’d be running through her head the rest of the day too. I knew that she’d been fixating, thinking about Mom’s insults. About how repulsive and stupid she was.

About what a worthless cunt she was.

The rest of the time, she’d been thinking about me. Thinking about how hot she was for her brother, how desperately she needed my attention.

How much she wanted me to fuck her.

For almost two weeks now, I’d been telling my sister that her score was 7.5, that she was right on the edge of getting my attention. That if she could just cross that line, I’d start thinking of her as attractive—maybe not being attracted _to_ her, but being able to objectively acknowledge that she _was_ attractive. Seeing her as a sexual being.

So the sight of my pants twitching had probably been the most exciting thing Cynthia had seen in weeks.

As I put her under again that night, I made clear to her that she wasn’t there yet. As I fucked my hypnotized sister, I emphasized that hitting 7.5 wouldn’t be easy. That she’d have to push herself further than ever before.

“I will,” she moaned, her cunt clenching around me. “Please, sir. I’ll do anything. _Anything._ ”

“Anything?” I asked her again, and her entire body twitched.

“Anything,” she affirmed. ” _Please_.“

I smiled. It was time for the next step.

* * *

This will be no surprise to you, but I’d revisited my mother’s latest punishment several times. Now that she’d taken my balls into her mouth while she was under, she’d repeat the action anytime I hypnotized her. Unlike Cynthia, Mom could move when she was under, and believe me—I took full advantage of that,.

Just as before, I ‘combined’ it with several other punishments. Three times that week, I put my mother under, spanked her to near-orgasm, then had her strip naked and suck my balls until I was right on the verge of cumming—without even touching myself!

The hottest thing about it, of course, was everything. _Everything_ about it was so fucking hot—my naked mother, hands by her side, mouth sucking my nuts. I loved watching her, feeling her tongue on my sack.

Every now and again, she’d touch my cock. Never for more than a moment, so at first I’d assumed it was accidental, but it happened so regularly that I couldn’t help but wonder. I’ve never sucked anyone’s testicles (another shocking revelation, I know) but it didn’t seem like it would be too hard to avoid making penile contact with your tongue. Right?

Just like when she was awake, Mom kept eye-contact the entire time. Her glazed-over eyes, staring into mine as she sucked my testicles. Unlike when we’d done this in real life, I didn’t have to hide how I felt. I could return her gaze, allow my lust to show on my face as she took her own son’s balls into her mouth, trying not to show how much pleasure she got from it.

“That’s it,” I whispered, reaching down and running my fingers through her hair. “Good girl. God you’re good at this...”

With Mom’s obvious enthusiasm, you’d think it would be easy to escalate things, right?

You would be wrong.

Believe me, I tried everything. _Everything_. Scenario after scenario, different phrasings, even threats. One time I sat the Toy in front of her when I told her—she could stroke my cock, or I’d be forced to use it on her.

Nothing. No begging, no pleading. No compromise, not even a refusal. Just complete silence.

If she’d said _anything_ , I’m sure I could have used it to get my way. If she’d explained exactly _why_ she couldn’t suck my cock—or even touch it!—I’m sure I could’ve changed her mind. Bit-by-bit, I could have wheedled and persuaded her until she was on her knees in front of me, deepthroating my cock until I came in her mouth.

But despite how much she clearly wanted to (I have to assume, based on how often her tongue’s ‘accidentally’came in contact with my dick), it seemed that Mom just couldn’t accept the idea of giving her son a blowjob.

Hell, I would’ve settled for a handjob. Nope. I couldn’t even get her to hold my cock while she sucked on my balls. Like I said, I tried every tactic I could think of—“it’s not sexual, you’re just moving it out of the way.” “You don’t want my cock to get tired, do you?”

Nothing. For the first time in a long while, I’d hit a hard limit. A truly weird one, too—sucking my balls was fine, but holding my cock: unacceptable. And when I tried to work out why, I was met with a blank stare.

It was as though the silence was her mind’s defense mechanism. As though it somehow knew that arguing back would result in an eventual loss. So instead, Mom just clammed up. I tried to penetrate her from every different angle (in both senses), but she was an immovable wall.

I considered just pushing forward and doing it, but…I dunno. Something held me back. I had visions of Mom breaking, of her silent stare becoming the new normal. Of her brain collapsing, not being able to make sense of what was happening, and just…shutting off.

If I’m being honest, the idea was kind of hot. In an abstract way. But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t take that risk.

So I settled for Mom sucking my balls, staring me in the eyes, her mouth so close (yet so far!) from my throbbing erection.

I know, I know. It’s a hard life. Fortunately, it wasn’t all bad news: I managed to make unexpected progress in a different area.

You see, apparently Cynthia got her competitive streak from our mother.

* * *

“What’s she doing?” Mom asked, surprising me.

Firstly because I hadn’t realized she was there. I don’t know if it’s because she’s now a little lighter, or that she’s always barefoot at home (I don’t have a foot fetish or anything, but there’s something so wonderfully submissive about commanding my mother to never wear footwear), or just that...y’know, I was pretty distracted, but I hadn’t heard Mom coming into the room.

Secondly, because on the rare occasion Mom sees me punishing my sister, she never says anything. I know that she’s ‘okay’ with it—as far as she’s concerned, it’s a motivational dieting technique. But I know that the sight of her son whipping her daughter isn’t one that she’s completely comfortable with.

She doesn’t object, of course. She just avoids it.

But apparently her curiosity had overcome her uncomfortableness, because when she’d walked in to find Cynthia on her knees in front of me, arms behind her back, begging me to whip her, she hadn’t walked straight out of the room.

Instead, she’d watched (for god knows how long) and then asked what was going on.

I held up one hand, and Cynthia fell silent immediately, making my cock throb. Her immediate, unquestioning obedience was so fucking hot. It was such a transformation from just a few months ago. She’d gone from strong, independent, a little annoying…to complete and utter submission.

She noticed my cock’s movement, of course, and a pulse of pleasure went through her entire body. I sometimes felt like every moment we were in the same room, she was completely locked in on what my cock was up to.

It was what she lived for.

The previous night, Mom had sucked my balls until I felt like I was ready to burst, so after waking her up I’d made my way straight into Cynthia’s room to fuck her. It had only been a few minutes before I’d unloaded onto my sister’s face, and that was when I’d made the suggestion.

Your brother clearly like it when you beg, and you know he’s a sadist. Why not beg him to punish you?

She hadn’t questioned it—she didn’t question many of my orders these days. Instead, she’d just trembled with pleasure. Even after her orgasm earlier that week, it was taking all her mental energy to prevent her own orgasm, and so my instructions seeped directly into her brain.

Sure enough, she’d come to me the next day and groveled in front of me, pleading for me to whip her tits.

“I told her she wasn’t ready to be punished,” I answered, trying to match Mom’s casual tone. She didn’t sound concerned or judgmental, thank goodness—just curious.

Curious, and a little bit competitive.

“What do you mean?” Mom asked, wrinkling her nose.

“A punishment isn’t effective when it completely comes from someone else,” I explained. Complete bullshit, of course—Cynthia was begging because it turned me on. She’d do anything to turn me on. “You have to truly want it, deep down inside.”

But it was believable enough, and it wasn’t like Mom was going to argue the point. “If I don’t think Cynthia really wants to be punished, I make her prove it. That if she really needed to be punished, she’d have to convince me. This way, the punishment is more effective.”

“Oh,” Mom said simply.

Cynthia didn’t say a thing. She was probably barely listening. It’s not that hypnotizing my sister has made her dumber, exactly, just...more focused. If it wasn’t related to serving me, pleasing me, obeying me, turning me on…she just didn’t care.

She didn’t need to know why she was begging. She’d passed beyond the need for conscious justification of what she was doing.

All she cared about was turning me on. Getting me hard. Making more more attracted to her.

All she cared about was raising that number. If she could hit 7.5, maybe—just maybe—I’d start seeing her as a sexual being.

Maybe, at long last, I’d fuck her.

My sister would’ve done anything to make that happen. And soon enough, she would.

I waved my hand again, and like I’d flipped a switch, Cynthia’s begging resumed.

“Please, Daniel,” she pleaded. “Please, whip me. Whip my tits. Please. I want it. I need it.”

“Punish me. I’m a bad girl. I’m a naughty girl, and I deserve it. I’m such a stupid slut…I need a man to teach me a lesson. Please. _Please_. I need to be whipped. I need to be taught a lesson. Please whip me. I’m nothing but a dirty whore. I’m a stupid whore who needs my fat, ugly tits to be punished.“

I glanced at Mom, but she didn’t seem bothered by her daughter’s foul language. After all, a lot of the words she was using had come directly from Mom’s mouth. If she objected now, what kind of a hypocrite would that make her?

“What do you think?” I asked my mother. Even a month ago, I bet the sight of her daughter on her knees, begging her brother to whip her tits would have shocked her.

Now, it was a completely normal site.

“Hmm,” Mom said, and again I was surprised by the competitive glint I saw in her eyes. “I’m not sure. If she really wanted it, wouldn’t she be more ready?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...wouldn’t she be topless? So you can really punish those fat teats.”

Cynthia froze, and I have to admit, my eyebrows went up as well. My sister refused to let me see her bare breasts…well, when she was awake. I’d managed to find a loophole that allowed me to strip her naked she was under, but I hadn’t been able to transfer that to her waking state.

And Mom…for a long time, she’d refused to even let me be in the same room when she spanked Cynthia. Now, she was encouraging her daughter to take her top off for me.

For her punishment.

I looked down at my sister, at the consternation on her face. I’m no mind-reader, but I could’ve sworn that she was going to say no...

...until she glanced at my pants once more, and saw the swelling within.

My life had become a fantasy; the sight of Cynthia, scantily clad, begging me to whip her huge tits...I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was hot. But the male organ is only capable of hardness for so many hours in a day, and so much of my life felt like it was straight out of a porno.

My sister’s barely-dressed grovelling had only earned a half-chub. But at the prospect of getting to whip her tits while she was topless...and the fact that _Mom_ was the one who suggested it...

Yeah. I was suddenly hard as a rock.

And, as always, Cynthia had noticed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she whimpered, her eyes never leaving my erection. “I...I...”

I held my breath as she moved her hands to her side, and slowly began taking off her tank-top.

“Oh god,” I said under my breath, my eyes glued to her chest. Like a slow-motion gif, my sisters glorious orbs fell into view—one, then the other. They were so large, so perfect, so delicious-looking...so, so fucking big.

It was hard to believe that they belonged to my sister. The brat that I’d grown up with, the one who’d always been the nice one.

The one who’d always been the good girl.

She was a woman now, a woman with tits that would’ve put most porn stars to shame. They were so big, so soft, and so perfect. I’d seen them before, of course. I’d watched them bounce as I fucked her, I’d shot my load onto them more times than I could count. But this was...I don’t even know why, but this was different.

Cynthia was awake. Completely aware that I was seeing her tits.

And it was clear that she hated every fucking second of it.

“Ew,” I said, wrinkling my nose. Fuck me, the look on my sister’s face...if I could’ve taken a photo of it, I wouldn’t have needed any other jerk-off material for a year.

I’d been preparing my sister for this moment for a while now. Convincing her that by exposing more and more of her breast, by highlighting them, I’d grow used to how disgusting they are. That I’d get used to them over time.

And the look on her face as I made it clear clear that I was still as repulsed by them as ever.

It was the look of hope being replaced by despair. Of true, deep, emotional pain.

My topless sister, practically crying at my reaction.

It was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen.

“Yeah,” Mom said, equally entranced. I couldn’t get my mother to admit it directly, not even when she was under, but I knew that she was as obsessed with Cynthia’s tits as I was. And, unlike me, Mom had gotten to feel them, to grope them. She’d felt my sister shudder with pleasure as she tweaked her hard nipples. “Disgusting.”

Cynthia shivered as her family commentated on the complete repulsiveness of her exposed tits. I knew exactly what she was going through—not from experience, of course. Because of my deep and thorough knowledge of how my sister’s mind worked.

As the person who had programmed it.

They say that the most crushing lows come straight after the highest highs. Like, Cynthia had been mentally preparing to increase how attractive I found her. Even if only subconsciously, she’d been expecting to finally cross the 7.5 threshold. She was doing all she could to turn me on.

At Mom’s suggestion, she’d taken a huge step that she’d never been able to take before. She’d exposed herself—both literally and emotionally. She’d made herself truly vulnerable.

And in response, she’d been belittled. Not just by me, but Mom too. The two people she was closest to in the world had stood over her, and told her how disgusting her body was.

I couldn’t imagine anything more devastating. It was the worst thing that could possibly have happened to her.

But it was more than just crushing. It had become her most perverse fantasy. Every day, she edged while imagining exactly this—me and Mom, denigrating her body.

I’d given my sister a degradation kink, one tied directly to her low self-esteem. The more disgusting she felt, the more turned on she was.

And fuck, what a sight it was, watching her reaction to our words. Heartbreak, arousal, mixed together until I doubt she could separate them. I bet if so much as a breeze had brushed up against her clit, she would’ve cum. This was her ultimate nightmare, her ultimate fantasy. Her body was confused, turned on, despondent.

“They look like balloons gone wrong,” I said. “Big, squishy, ugly balloons.”

Cynthia whimpered, and I could hear her trying to swallow back tears. Or stop an orgasm. The two were basically identical.

“It’s like they’re malformed,” Mom added, and I could hear the undercurrent of lust in her voice. “It’s all that sugar she eats. They’re like two huge zits on her chest, waiting to be popped.”

“Please,” Cynthia choked out, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“What?”

“P-please,” she repeated. “Punish me...”

“What do you think?” I asked my mother again, and she nodded, staring at her daughter’s chest. It was the first time she’d seen them, I realized. She’d had her hands on her daughter’s tits a dozen times, but not seen them in the flesh since my sister was young.

And in direct opposition to what she was saying, it was clear that Mom liked them almost as much as I did.

No, that’s dumb. No one liked anything nearly as much I liked my sister’s tits.

“Do it,” Mom said in a low whisper. “Punish her.”

Again, Cynthia shuddered, as though trying to hold back an orgasm.

By the time I finished tying Cynthia’s wrists behind her back, Mom was gone. Like I said, she doesn’t really like watching me punish her daughter.

“Okay,” I sighed, pulling out the small riding crop I’d bought for the occasion. “You’re going to count each time I strike you. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, sir,” my sister said, a sob in her voice. I don’t know if it was because of her punishment, or if she was still processing what we’d said about her chest.

Porque no los dos?

With careful aim, I struck, hitting my sister’s right tit with the crop.

“One!” she cried out, and I smiled as I struck her left breast just below the nipple.

“Two!”

The crop came down a third time; as I watched her tits jiggle, I was tempted to pull out my cock and shoot my load on her tits, to aim for the red mark I’d left with my strike.

“Three!”

Cynthia wouldn’t have objected. She would’ve loved it. It would have been my sister’s dream come true: turning her brother on, seeing his cock.

Seeing that her body turned him on.

“Four!”

I hit her again, and she moaned louder.

_Down, boy,_ I told my aching penis. _All in good time._

I had a plan, and it was getting closer to fruition by the day.

“Oww,” she whined, and I couldn’t help it—her moan was met with one of my own. Her eyes shot open at the sound, and I tried to hide my pleasure as she stared at my face.

She subconsciously knew how much I enjoyed this, but I still tried not to show any pleasure. Not because I was worried about her getting suspicious—hell, I could likely have fucked her rapidly-bruising tits and she would’ve been so excited that she wouldn’t have questioned it.

No, it was because this had become part of the game. The less my sister thought I enjoyed her body, her submission, the more distraught she got.

“Five!”

And the more distraught she got, the hotter it was to punish her. To watch her suffer. To _make_ her suffer.

“Six! Seven! Eight!”

I’d ordered Cynthia to count...well, partially because it was hot, but mostly because I was bad at keeping track. I’d completely lose myself in punishing her, especially when it was something as hot as this—whipping her bare tits.

“Ow! Nine!”

It was heaven.

I’d told her ten strikes, but I wished it had been a hundred. A thousand. I could’ve spent the rest of the evening whaling on Cynthia’s beautiful bare breasts...but of course, I had other plans.

“Ten!”

As I struck her tits, an unexpected moment of generosity overcame me. I decided to give her something, something she’d remember. Something she could think about while she edged…and probably every other moment of the day as well.

I reached around and grabbed her ponytail, tugging her head back. My fingers grazed her neck, and I felt her shiver.

“Good girl.” I rasped, and my sister’s eyes fluttered at my words. She wouldn’t cum, she was too well-trained for that...but I could tell she was close.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and I walked away, leaving her topless, tied up, and gasping for air.

* * *

That night, when Mom approached me for her punishment, there was a note of hesitance in her voice.

“...are you sure that I really want it?” she asked, and I stifled a smile.

This competitive streak was something I’d have to pay attention to.

“Hmmm,” I said, looking into my mother’s eyes. She was wearing a white button-up shirt, her nipples poking through the fabric. I felt my cock pulse; I’d gone to my room to jerk off straight after whipping Cynthia’s bare boobs, but I was still pretty worked up.

“Do you?” I finally answered. “Do you want it?”

Mom gave me a soft smile. “Mm-hmm.”

In response, I slowly shook my head.

“You know what, you’re right. I don’t really believe you.”

“I do,” she said, slightly more firmly, her big brown eyes staring into mine.. “I promise.” Again, I shook my head.

“Maybe this is why your punishments aren’t working,” I said. “You’ve just been doing them because I’ve told you to.”

I pointed to the floor. “On your knees,” I ordered.

Without even a moment’s hesitation, Mom knelt in front of me. Obeying my every command had become reflexive; she didn’t even question it.

God I loved my life.

I stood over her, my cock rock-hard in my pants.

“Beg.”

“Please,” she said calmly, holding my eye-contact. “Please, Daniel. Punish me.”

“C’mon, Mom,” I said, raising one eyebrow. “Is that the best you can do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When Cynthia begs, she puts her whole body into it. You can do better than that.”

“Please,” she said again. “I...I really, really want it. Please.”

I sighed, and gave a half-shrug. “Maybe you _don’t_ want to be punished.“

Tonight’s punishment was for Mom to suck my balls for the second time. Well, her second time while conscious. I’d decided to play it safe after the first time, and given her a break.

“I do,” Mom said emphatically, and I believed her. The passion with which she’d taken my balls into her mouth last time...yeah. I was pretty sure she wanted it.

But I wasn’t going to let her know that.

“No,” I said dismissively. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t buy it. Maybe we’ll skip tonight’s punishment.”

“No!” Mom said, a note of panic in her voice. It was all I could do to hide my smile—she really, really wanted a repeat of the experience earlier in the week. It was so difficult to get her to talk about it while she was under, so I couldn’t help but be curious what held the most appeal. The sexual contact? Getting to see my arousal, in a way that her mind had dubbed ‘safe’?

Hell, maybe Mom just loved the taste of balls.

Whatever it was, it was clear that she needed it.

“Well then,” I said calmly, standing over her. “Beg.”

“P-please,” she said, allowing her desperation to seep into her voice. “Please, punish me. I...I need it.”

“What do you need?”

“I need to be punished,” she repeated. “I...I’ve been bad.”

“What do you want, specifically?” I said, a slight sneer on my face. Mom’s eyes widened as she realized what I was asking, but to her credit, she didn’t hesitate before replying.

“I want to suck your balls,” she said in a low voice.

“Beg.”

“Please,” she begged. “Please...please, let me suck your balls.”

“Your son’s balls?” I asked, immediately worried that I’d pushed things too far.

Nope. I sometimes felt like I’d never understand my mother. She wouldn’t even discuss going any further than mouth-on-testicle action, but she seemed to have no compunctions discussing what we’d already done.

“Yes,” she said, unable to hide a low moan of need from entering her voice. “I need to suck my son’s balls. I need to be humiliated. To be punished. Please...”

I probably could’ve gotten more out of her, but I was already rock hard, so without a word I lowered my shorts. My cock throbbed at Mom’s gasp; it had only been a few days since she’d first seen it, but apparently the sight of my erection hadn’t lost its appeal.

I stepped forward, lowering my boxers to my ankles, and Mom’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of my fully erect cock.

“Oh my god,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “P-please. Please, let me...please, Daniel. Punish me.

“I deserve it.”

“Yes, you do,” I said, firmly grabbing my mother’s head and moving it towards me.

As soon as her tongue reached my testicles, we groaned in unison.

“Suck,” I said, and she opened her mouth, taking my balls inside.

This time, there was no pretense that I wasn’t enjoying it. She didn’t seem to mind—perhaps I’d been too cautious last time, acting as though I wasn’t turned on by what we were doing.

“Mmmh,” Mom moaned as she sucked my balls, and I knew she was loving it.

I wanted to reach down and stroke my cock as I watched her bob her head on my nutsack. But I still didn’t understand my mother’s limits, and I couldn’t risk it. Instead, I stuck to things I’d done while she was under.

“Good girl,” I said, reaching down and lightly stroking her hair.

“Mmhm,” she hummed, bobbing her head.

“How many times have you done this?” I asked, running my hand through her hair.

“Um...twice, now,” she said, pausing her efforts just long enough to answer my question.

“You never did this with Dad?”

Mom’s eyes widened, but she didn’t freak out. We’d never discussed her sex life when she was awake.

“N-no,” she said, swallowing thickly. A droplet of pre-cum had formed at the end of my cock, and was starting to dribble down the side. “We...we talked about it, but he never made me do it.”

“Why not?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I thought it was disgusting,” she replied, her cheeks burning as her mouth returned to my swollen testicles.

“It is,” I said. “It’s humiliating. That’s why it’s a punishment. Especially...especially on your own son. Disgusting.”

Mom didn’t say anything in response, just shuddered. I don’t know if it was a shudder of arousal or self-loathing, and I didn’t care. Her eyes were fixated on the pre-cum slowly making its way down my shaft; she looked like a starving woman eyeing a juicy steak.

“Good girl,” I said again. “This is what you deserve.”

* * *

“Ungh!” my sister moaned, as I ordered her to get me a coke from the kitchen. “Y-yes, sir.”

It had been three days. Three long days, in which I’d told her that her rating hadn’t shifted.

Well, no. I’d told her that when she’d begged to be punished, when she’d sounded so desperate, so submissive...that had increased her rating. Past 7.5, almost to 8.

But then, when she’d taken out her tits, it had plummeted again. Now, it was lower than before.

Six point nine.

Yeah, that’s right. The sex number.

Cynthia hadn’t even noticed. The ultimate cruelty is to get someone within spitting distance of what they want, only to pull it away at the last minute, and her heart had broken all over again. My sister had been so elated to learn her new number...and then so crushed when I told her how much her score had dipped, all because of her fat, disgusting tits.

But, the kind brother that I am, I’d given her a solution: exposure therapy. If she didn’t want me to be grossed out by her toplessness, she had to help me get used to it.

Since then, more often than not, Cynthia wore nothing but panties. Possibly stockings, maybe even heels.

But nothing above her waist.

I loved it. I mean, I did what I could to hide how happy it made me, seeing my sister’s tits whenever I wanted. Out for my viewing pleasure, all day, every day.

I wasn’t the only one. Whenever Cynthia entered a room, my mother’s eyes would be drawn towards her own daughter’s tits. Like me, she tried not to show how much she enjoyed the sight of my sister’s enormous breasts. She’d change her expression to a sneer...or even better, comment on how incredibly unattractive they were.

But then, as if unable to help herself, she’d move over to her and pulled her into a kiss. I’d watch, not even bothering to hide my arousal as the two women kissed, as Mom stroked Cynthia’s tits, rubbed her daughter between her legs, groped her ass, did all she could to turn her daughter on…all the while, commenting on how repulsive she was, to make sure her daughter didn’t think she was enjoying it.

As you can imagine, a lot of my mother’s punishments suddenly involved her being naked. It was rare for more than a few hours to go by without the sight of those four huge breasts rubbing up against each other as Mom’s hands roamed around her daughter’s body.

Unfortunately, exposure therapy works both ways. Cynthia had started to be less bothered by us disparaging her body, calling out how unattractive she was.

And so I’d had to escalate.

The previous night, I’d told Cynthia that prostrating herself in front of me had been so effective, she needed to turn that up. She needed to do more than beg me, to show me how submissive she was—my sister needed to demonstrate how turned on she was by her own submissiveness.

How turned on she was by me ordering her around.

Like I said, she was desperate. My sister would have done anything to get my attention, to make me want her.

“Oh, god, I’m such a slut,” I heard her whimper as she left the room. “I’m such a dirty, nasty whore.”

She impressed me by crawling back into the room. I watched her move across the floor, her bare tits dragging across the carpet. Even as she crawled, she was moaning.

“I’m such a dumb slut,” she whispered. “I’m so dumb. Fugly. I’m a dumb, fucking ugly slut.”

I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. “Thanks,” I said casually, opening the drink and taking a sip. Cynthia let out a long, loud moan at my simple acknowledgement.

I watched her rub her thighs together, her hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. If she was trying to hide her arousal, she was failing.

“I’m so fat,” she whimpered. “I’m such a dumb, ugly bitch.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You are.”

“I’m hideous,” she said, her entire body shuddering. I’d ordered her to keep sharing her greatest fears, to express them out loud in the hope that I’d say that they weren’t true.

I never would, of course. But that tiny flicker of hope…it was so hot to snuff it out, again and again.

“I’m disgusting,” she continued.

“You’re disgusting,” I agreed.

“I’m such a fat waste of space.”

“You’re worthless,” I added.

“Worthless,” she moaned. “Oh, god...”

Neither of us said anything as Cynthia trembled, looking up at me with watery eyes, right on the edge of an orgasm.

She was almost always on the edge of orgasm, of course. But moreso than usual when I joined in, tearing her apart as cruelly as possible.

“Your body’s disgusting,” I said, echoing our mother’s words from earlier that day. She’d come into Cynthia’s bedroom—I hadn’t been there, but I’d had her tell me about it later—and had spent a few minutes laying into my sister, completely unprovoked. “Your breasts are too big, your ass is too big, your tummy is too big, and your body is disgusting. You’re a fat pig. A slut. And no one will ever want you.”

My mother had left, but I knew that my sister had been left writhing on her bed in arousal, as soaked as she was now. Her psyche was a mess—the words were playing into her worst nightmares, but my efforts had ensured that they also fueled her arousal.

She got turned on by our mother’s cruelty. She got wet at the idea of being fat, ugly, and worthless. She got turned on by the knowledge that she was a slut.

And best of all, she couldn’t cum. All she could do was get more and more worked up, without release.

“My…my body is disgusting,” my sister groaned. “Fuck! I’m…I’m…”

“Now get out of here,” I ordered, my cock throbbing at the sight of my sister’s ass swaying as she crawled out of the room. “Go tell Mom it’s time to suck my balls.”

* * *

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	Chapter 45

My sister watched as Mom lowered my pants. Since she’d heard about Mom’s latest punishment, it was impossible to keep her out of the room while it happened.

Cynthia was completely obsessed with my dick. She dreamed about it, fantasized about touching it, licking it, feeling it inside her.

She had no way of knowing that those fantasies had already come true, of course. She’d no idea that I fucked her every night, sometimes twice. I’d get so worked up from my mother’s mouth, from watching my sister drag her topless form around the house...it was all I could do not to hypnotize her three times a day, just so I could use her to get off more often.

I was even jerking off again. It felt like a waste—cumming by my own hand, when I could be unloading onto my sister’s naked body. But seeing my sister and mother make out, torturing Cynthia’s bare tits whenever I got a chance…I was so worked up, if I didn’t get off at least twice a day, I felt like I was going to burst.

Or walk around like Cynthia did, on the verge of cumming with every step.

Especially now. Especially now that she got to see my cock, watch Mom’s mouth move to my testicles. Watch her mother get humiliated and her brother get off on it.

It was a dream come true for both of us.

Even better (for me, anyway) was how much she _hated_ that it was my mother’s lips on my balls. She wanted it to be hers. My sister wanted nothing more than for me to use her as my personal cum-bucket. To fuck her mouth, her ass, to use her every hole for my pleasure.

I swear, there’s nothing that she wouldn’t have given, just to let me cum inside her.

It was driving me wild, too. I’d still never cum inside Cynthia. Hell, I’d never gotten off at _all_ around my mother.

And as Mom moved her mouth to my balls, none of us—not me, not my sister, not my half-naked mother—knew that was about to change.

* * *

“How did it feel when Mom told you about her punishment?” I grunted, thrusting inside my sister. I’d managed to talk her into getting hypnotized on all fours—as soon as she’d gone under, she’d slumped with her ass up in the air, so that was what I got to look at as I fucked her.

I don’t talk about Cynthia’s ass much (I tend to focus on her boobs), but it was a thing of beauty. It had a perfect curve, with round, full cheeks which jiggled with each thrust. Like the rest of her skin, it was soft, almost silky smooth. No matter what she was wearing, it jutted out, begging for attention.

I was very happy to unleash it, and give it the focus it deserved.

“Awful,” Cynthia replied, her voice muffled by the mattress. Every time I moved my hips forward, her entire body would tense up, causing her asshole to wink at me.

I was fucking her into the bed. It felt amazing...I mean, fucking my sister always felt amazing, but the new angle was something else. “Why awful?”

“Because I wanted it to be me,” she gasped. “I wanted to be the one servicing my brother. Sucking his balls. Sucking his cock. I...oh, god!”

I think from this angle, I was able to penetrate my sister deeper than before. I knew it wasn’t as good as fucking her while she was awake would be, when she’d be able to use every inch of her body to pleasure me, but the feeling of slipping deep into her wetness from behind was incredible.

For both of us, apparently. I slowed down, to ensure that Cynthia wouldn’t cum. Between our daily intercourse and Mom constantly doing all she could to turn her daughter on, I knew my sister was on a hair-pin trigger.

I liked it when she came, but I preferred her like this. On the edge, her arousal so intense it was almost painful.

“It means Mom is better than you, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” my sister admitted.

“Say it.”

“I’m...I’m inferior to Mom.”

“Again.”

“Mom is superior.”

“How?”

“In every way,” she gasped.

“List them.”

“Her body is beautiful,” she whimpered. “I’m...ugly.”

“How?”

“Grotesque tits. Fat ass. Ugly face. Unattractive. Out of shape. Worthless.”

“What else?”

“Mom is smarter than me.” Not true. Like, I love my mother, but brains aren’t her strong suit, whereas Cynthia has always been a straight-A student. “I’m stupid. Just a dumb slut. Useless.”

“What else?”

“M-mom is...more submissive than me. She’s obedient. She obeys my brother better than I do, and...ungh!”

My sister’s vaginal walls clenched, and I could practically feel her fighting off the orgasm.

“...and he loves it,” she finished, once the almost-climax had passed. “He deserves it. He deserves someone better than me.”

“That’s right,” I said, pulling out of my sister. I couldn’t cum on her face or tits from this angle, but her back, shining with sweat, was quite an appealing target. “He deserves the best. Not you.”

I leaned over her, wrapping my hand around my slick cock, and began to pump.

“How did you feel when Mom made you take your tits out?”

“Awful,” Cynthia groaned. “Disgusting. Gross.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate myself,” she replied, her arousal replaced by despair. “I hate my body. And I hate my fat, ugly tits.”

The sound of Cynthia’s voice, filled with self-loathing, was exactly what I needed to finish. I pumped faster, letting out a long moan as I started to cum.

“Nnnngggghhh,” I groaned, my seed splashing against her bare back. Some of it landed in her hair.

As I watched my cum fire out of my dick, I reached down and grabbed my sister’s shoulder, holding her steady as I shot the rest of my load onto her bare ass.

“Well then,” I said, reaching for the tissues I kept beside her bed. “Maybe you need to get back at her...”

* * *

“Beg,” I ordered, stopping Mom’s head immediately before it reached my testicles. “Beg to suck my balls.”

Even with my sister in the room, Mom didn’t hesitate. My scent was filling her nostrils, her mouth had been so close...I doubt even she knew why she needed this so much, but the fact remained: she needed it. She needed to suck her son’s testicles more than anything.

“Please, Daniel,” she said, looking up at me desperately. “I need you. Please. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll do anything.”

I looked down at her, my eyes filled with lust. I didn’t need to hide it any more; I don’t know how Mom felt about my undisguised arousal, but she hadn’t brought it up, even while she was under. “Anything?”

“Anything,” she repeated.

I glanced over at Cynthia, who was holding her breath.

“What do you think, sis?” I asked. “Do you think she really wants it?”

My sister looked shocked, but a cruel smile crossed her face.

“I don’t think so,” she said softly.

“I do,” Mom insisted, but I shook my head.

“Nah,” I replied with a shrug. “I’m with Cynthia. I don’t believe you.”

“Please,” Mom begged. “I do. I really do.”

“Mmm…no,” I said, shaking my head again. “I think you’re just saying that because you think it’s the right thing to say.”

“I’m not,” Mom insisted. “I swear.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to suck on your balls,” Mom said, her voice breaking. “I...I want it so bad.”

“Well,” I said slowly, my smile matching Cynthia’s. “If you _want_ it...it’s not much of a punishment, is it?“

My mother’s face dropped at my words.

“N-no,” she said, confused. “No, I mean...I want...”

She fell silent, and I turned to my sister.

“So that won’t work as a punishment. What should we do instead?”

* * *

Ever since I’d learned about my family’s competitive streak, I’d been stoking it. I hadn’t even known why, to be honest, but it had felt like something that would come in handy.

“Pass me the butter,” I’d commanded that morning at breakfast, not even bothering to hide my smile as the two women in my family leapt to obey my command.

Mom was naked, and Cynthia was wearing heels and a bikini bottom. She practically jumped over the table in her attempt to beat Mom.

As if obeying my orders wasn’t motivation enough, I’d spent a lot of time while she was under telling her that it was a zero-sum game. That any attention I paid to our mother, I wasn’t paying to her.

That if she wanted me, she had to be better than Mom. An impossible task, in her mind, but she had to try.

“Here you go, darling,” Mom said, standing up to deliver the butter. Cynthia scowled as Mom leaned down and gave me a kiss on the cheek, her bare tits brushing against the back of my head as she did.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said with a warm smile. The tip of Mom’s nose went pink at the attention.

I’d had to take a different tack with my mother. She wasn’t motivated by my attraction, like Cynthia was. Well…not consciously.

I was increasingly sure that Mom loved turning me on, loved the idea of seeing me harden and salivate at the sight of her. But I’d explored that path while she was under, and it had been met with that damn blank stare, so I’d had to be a little more creative.

I’d told Mom that losing to her daughter was a sign that she was getting old. That to stay young, to not feel like she was completely past her prime, she had to compete with Cynthia.

She had to compete with her daughter, and she had to win.

At first I’d been surprised by how easily she’d bought it, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I mean, Mom clearly had a competitive streak to begin with—she’d ordered Cynthia to take off her top before I’d started stoking her competitive nature (that was what had given me the idea, actually)—and like, half of TV is telling that story.

If she didn’t want to become irrelevant, I’d told my hypnotized mother as I spanked her bare ass to orgasm, she had to be better than her daughter. She had to be prettier, thinner, work harder. She had to be more fun.

She had to take her punishments better. More extreme punishments, stuff that Cynthia couldn’t handle.

And to ensure her victory, she had to take every chance to humiliate her daughter. Just like when she’d made Cynthia take her shirt off, I told Mom she had to push her daughter into more extreme punishments, stuff that she’d would fail at.

Punishments that Cynthia couldn’t handle…but Mom could. Then, she’d win. She’d still be young. She’d still be relevant.

Of course, she had no idea that I’d told Cynthia the exact same thing.

Let the games begin.

* * *

“Hmmm,” Cynthia said aloud, running her eyes up and down my mother’s form. “I mean, it has to be something more humiliating than sucking your balls.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “Apparently she likes that.”

Mom’s face was burning red, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t show any weakness. She had to win.

My heart was probably pounding just as hard as my mother’s. I actually had no idea what Cynthia was going to suggest—I could’ve planted something, but I’d wanted to see what my sister came up with on the fly.

They were so competitive, I was sure my mother wouldn’t object.

And sure enough, I wasn’t disappointed.

“I know,” Cynthia said with a wicked smile. “You should cum on her face.”

Generally speaking, people say that I take after my Dad and Cynthia takes after Mom. But in that moment, I’ll be that Mom and I looked identical: the same look of complete and utter shock on both our faces.

“W-what?” Mom asked, staring at her daughter in horror.

“Daniel should cum on your face,” Cynthia replied innocently, like she’d just suggested our mother pour me a glass of water. “It’s so demeaning. Humiliating. The perfect punishment, don’t you think?”

By the time Mom glanced in my direction, I’d managed to wipe the surprise off my face…just as Mom would soon be wiping me off her face.

“That’s a good idea,” I nodded. “What do you think, Mom?”

“I...I...”

After a few more moments of stammering, Mom fell silent.

I knew what she wanted to say: “I can’t. That’s disgusting. He’s my son. It’s completely inappropriate.”

But to do so would be to admit that she’d lost.

I hadn’t managed to convince my mother to do anything sexual with me...well, other than letting me spank her to orgasm, make out with my sister in front of me, make out with and finger her, and suck my balls whenever I wanted.

But nothing past _that_. I hadn’t managed to convince Mom to stroke my cock, or take it into her mouth. And those were more than just fantastic ideas in their own right; they were necessary.

If she wouldn’t even _touch_ my cock, I knew there was no way I was going to fuck her...and god. I wanted that more than anything.

But this suggestion wasn’t coming from me. It was coming from Cynthia. I hadn’t even considered something like this…I should have worked it out when Mom had been okay with sucking my balls because it was her idea.

I wasn’t suggesting this. Cynthia was. And Mom’s newfound competitive nature meant that she couldn’t refuse, or she’d lose.

She’d lose, and she’d be old.

“I mean, if you don’t want to do this, we won’t,” I said gently. Mom looked at me, her eyes filled with hope.

She had no idea what was coming.

“If you think it’s too far,” I continued, “we can stop right here. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

I stopped, a smile on my face, knowing exactly how it would play out. This wasn’t rehearsed, it wasn’t like the first time Mom had gotten Cynthia off. My girls weren’t performing lines I’d prepared.

I just knew both of them so well, I could tell exactly how it was going to go.

Cynthia was staring at Mom, a smug look on her face. Mom’s eyes darted over to her daughter, just for a moment, just long enough to make her realize what would happen if she accepted my offer.

She’d lose. Cynthia would win.

Mom didn’t say anything. She barely moved. She just shook her head, a tiny movement that told me that she wasn’t giving in.

That if she had to do this to prove that she could take more than Cynthia, she would.

“Of course,” I continued thoughtfully, “if you want it _too_ much...it’s not really a punishment, is it?“

Mom looked up at me, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I mean, sucking my balls was meant to be a punishment, but...” I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and a look of utter shame filled my mother’s face. My cock throbbed at her expression, and I’d bet my college fund that Cynthia noticed. “...well, it sounds like you were just way too into that.”

“I...”

Mom opened her mouth to object, but couldn’t even get a word out. She apparently realized that there was nothing helpful she could say, nothing that would let her get what she clearly wanted: my balls, back in her mouth.

“Oh!” I said, snapping my fingers like I’d just come up with an idea. Like I hadn’t been thinking of this ‘solution’ for the past week, every time I blew my load on my sister’s naked body. Like I hadn’t spent days trying to find the perfect moment to work it into conversation. “If you think this is a good punishment, you should beg me not to do it.”

There was a pause, as both of Mom’s children stared at her, dying to know what she’d do next.

“P...please, Daniel,” Mom said, looking up at me. I could feel my sister slump beside me. “Please d-don’t cum on my face.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I...I...I don’t want it. Please. It...it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“But it’s a punishment,” I reminded her, moving one hand to my cock and beginning to stroke. “It’s not supposed to be appropriate.”

“I don’t like it,” Mom said with a gulp. “It’s...it’s embarrassing. I...I...”

Her words trailed off as she stared at my hand, slowly moving up and down my shaft. Cynthia, too, was staring at my erection, as though hypnotized.

Well, no. I knew what she looked like when she was hypnotized. This was more like she was staring at the love of her life; her lips were parted, her eyes wide.

I suppose, in a sense, she was.

“Come on, Mom,” I said, my voice low. “You know you deserve this. You know you need to be punished.”

“Nooo,” my mother pleaded, squirming on the floor in front of me. “This is...this is going too far.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, leaning forward. “I guess I didn’t explain it well enough. Let me try again.”

I grabbed Mom by the hair, pulling her face up so she was staring directly into my eyes. Her expression turned from reluctance to fear, but I held her gaze.

“Look,” I said, my voice calm and soothing as I continued running my hand up and down my cock. “You’ve done something wrong. Something that you know you shouldn’t have. You need to pay, so I’m going to punish you for it. I’m going to humiliate you. And if you don’t learn your lesson from this, I’m going to hurt you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mom whispered. Her mouth was close enough to my cock that I could feel her breath, hot on my bare skin.

“Oh, so you want this?” I asked, slowing my stroke.

“No!” Mom said, panicked. “No, I...please. Please, Daniel, don’t.”

“I don’t believe you,” I growled. “Beg me to stop. Beg me not to cum on your face. Beg me to stop humiliating you in front of your daughter.”

“I...I...please,” Mom said, tears filling her eyes. “Please, Daniel, please don’t. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

I grabbed Mom by the hair again, and pulled her face closer to my dick. She gasped, but I kept my grip tight. My hand was moving faster and faster; her lips parted, letting out a small groan of desire.

“Don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t do this. Don’t cum on my face. Don’t cum in my mouth. Don’t make me taste it. Don’t make me swallow it down...oh please, Daniel. Please...”

I was reminded of her insults to my sister; her desperate attempt to convince her of the opposite of how she really felt.

“You deserve this,” I reminded her, my voice as hard as my cock. “You deserve this punishment. This is your fault. Say it.”

“M...my...m-my...fault,” Mom stammered, her eyes ablaze with lust. “I deserve to be punished.”

“Good girl,” I hissed, my hand flying up and down my cock. “Now tell me why you deserve to be punished.”

“Because...because I...”

“Because you’re trash,” I prompted.

“Because I’m trash,” Mom repeated. I’d never made her talk about herself like this before, only her daughter, but she was so worked up, she didn’t even question it. “I’m worthless. I’m...I’m...

“Say it,” I demanded, my cock throbbing in front of her face. I think we both knew I was ready to blow.

“I’m trash!” Her voice was somewhere between a groan and a shriek. “I deserve to be humiliated. I deserve to be punished, because I’m a…I’m a…”

Mom’s next words came out in a whisper, her eyes locked on the head of my cock.

“…I’m a whore.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” I moaned, the words escaping my lips before I could stop them.

”Fuck!” Cynthia echoed, her eyes widening.

Mom opened her mouth (perhaps to join in with her children’s “fuck”s)just in time for me to spray her directly in the face. She didn’t groan or cry out, just closed her eyes and allowed my cum to coat her face. Soon enough, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose were all dripping with my seed, but the bulk of it landed in her mouth, and she desperately gulped it down.

My cock was still twitching in her face, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. What I’d forced my mother to do.

My sister looked like she couldn’t believe it either. Her mouth was open in awe as she sat there, staring at our mother’s cum-drenched face. Wishing, more than anything, that it was her.

“Give us a moment,” I ordered softly. Cynthia opened her mouth as if to object, but closed it just as quickly before slinking out of the room.

If I’d followed her to her bedroom, I know that I would’ve heard her moaning in near-orgasm. She’d probably spend half the night edging; she’d spent so long fantasizing about seeing me get off. About watching my cock explode in orgasm.

And finally, it had happened. Not to her, as she dreamed, but she’d seen me coat my mother’s face with my seed.

“You did good,” I said gently, as soon as we were alone. She whimpered when I lifted a sheet of paper towel and used it to wipe my cum off her face.

I’d been tempted to order Cynthia to clean it off (perhaps with her tongue), or spit on my mother and call her a pig. I knew she would have, and it would have been hot as hell.

But in that moment, I knew it wasn’t what Mom needed.

“You did good,” I said again, and pulled my mother to my chest.

Just like the first time I’d spanked her, I let my Mom sob on my shoulder. She cried quietly for a few minutes as I stroked her hair, and when she’d calmed down, I said it again.

“You did good.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, burying her face in my neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said gently. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I did,” she replied firmly, but I didn’t press the point. Instead, I just held her until her breathing returned to normal.

“You did good,” I said for a third time, and was met with a weak smile in response. “And I’m going to give you a reward.”

Mom’s pupils contracted; she normally loves nothing more when I spank her to orgasm, but I knew that she wasn’t up for it in that moment.

I probably know my mother better than any son ever has. I knew all the normal stuff—her likes, her dislikes, her fears and worried. But beyond that, I knew what got her off. What turned her on.

Even if you can point to some Oedipal sons, my knowledge of Mom goes further than that. I’d spent hours exploring her subconscious mind; I knew stuff about her that even _she_ wasn’t aware of.

And I was going to use that knowledge to make her mine. To control her; every part of her.

Like I did my sister.

Mom opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything. Again, the urge to be cruel rose up in me. If I ordered her to, she’d let me spank her. She’d let me do something that she didn’t want to do, just because I asked. Just because I ordered.

She was mine.

But that came with responsibility. Like Peter Parker fucking his Aunt May, I’d been given great power, and I wanted to use it right.

“As a reward,” I continued softly, “I’m going to let you suck my balls.”

I think Mom’s lizard brain processed that before the rest of her, because her eyes lit up at the suggestion. When her rational mind took over, she tried to hide her delight, but she must have known I’d seen it.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. I just watched her process. She’d already admitted how much she liked it, after all…an accidental confession that meant this could no longer be used as a punishment. It was reward or nothing.

And if she turned it down, there was always the chance I’d insist on spanking her instead. Like I said, I was doing this for her, to take care of my mother in her moment of need…but I’d be lying if the glimmer of fear in her eyes didn’t turn me on as well.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, and I gave her a warm smile before gently grabbing her hair and guiding her back onto her knees.

* * *

Cynthia was asleep when I entered her room later that night. I’d let Mom suck my testicles for almost half an hour.

After the emotional (and sexual) rollercoaster she’d just been on, I think she genuinely found it relaxing. She was a little uncomfortable at first, but as soon as I got hard (which, y’know, surprised no one), her awkwardness disappeared. Neither of us commented on it; we just stared at each other, happy and satisfied, as she took my balls into my mouth, her tongue occasionally darting up to ‘accidentally’ touch my cock.

I smiled at the sight of my sleeping sister, her hand down her panties. She must have edged until she literally passed out.

Part of me was tempted to fuck her sleeping form. I mean, I couldn’t imagine that she’d object. Being woken up by my cock inside her was a recurring fantasy of hers, I knew.

But I held back. After unloading onto Mom’s face, I’d been sexually satisfied...for all of ten minutes, until Mom’s talented mouth on my balls had worked me up again. Now, I wanted to cum again. On my sister.

Ideally _in_ my sister, but I’d take what I could get. I wasn’t so desperate to cum that I was going to ruin my plans.

Especially when I was so close.

So I’d woken Cynthia up, hypnotized her, gave her instructions for the next morning as I fucked her, then happily came onto her face and woke her up again.

* * *

“Um…”

“What do you want?” I asked grumpily. I glanced at the clock—it was more than two hours before I normally woke up. My sister had come into my room, coughed loudly enough to wake me up, and then stood there in silence as the world slowly came into focus.

Apparently she’d been so excited by the orders I’d given her subconscious, she couldn’t even wait until I was awake to follow them.

“What do you want?” I asked grumpily.

“I...I want to suck your dick,” she replied, her eyes wide.

I sat up straight, and tried to act surprised.

“What?”

“Please,” Cynthia said, falling to her knees. She wasn’t topless, for once—she was wearing a thin set of pink flannel pajamas. When they were buttoned up, they fit snugly around her boobs, showing her nipples to the world.

In that moment, they were unbuttoned, her breasts peeking out whenever she moved.

“Please, Daniel,” she said again, a note of desperation in her voice. “I...I want to suck your cock. Please, let me give you head. _Please_.“

“What are you _talking_ about?” I asked, sounding as confused as I could.

“I want it,” Cynthia groaned. “I need it. I...I want to bring you pleasure. I want to make you feel good. Please, just…just let me suck your dick.”

I stared at her, my jaw hanging open.

The previous night, I’d told Cynthia that her suggestion had done it. That by ordering Mom to let me cum on her face, I’d finally seen her as a sexual being.

Her score had, at long last, hit seven point five.

She’d almost cum on the spot, but I ordered her not to. And when that didn’t look like it was going to work, I’d told her that cumming when she wasn’t allowed would lower her score. Disobedience, after all, isn’t sexy.

Cynthia had calmed down at that, and excitedly asked me what the next step was.

I’d told her that if she wanted to increase her score further, she had to beg for permission to suck my dick. That if I saw how submissive she was, how feminine, I might oblige.

And if she was any good at it...that her score would only go up.

So, here she was, kneeling beside my bed, begging me to fuck her mouth. “You...you really want to suck my dick?”

I tried to act suspicious. Basically, I tried to imagine how a normal brother would act in this situation.

Y’know. This normal situation that happens to normal siblings all the time. Your sister wakes you up by begging to suck your dick; what do you do?

“Uh huh,” my sister replied breathily. ” _Please_.“

“Why?”

Cynthia blinked twice. She’d been so enthusiastic about following the suggestion I’d slipped into her subconscious, she literally hadn’t even stopped to consider why she was doing it.

It really felt like there was nothing my sister wouldn’t do. No order she wouldn’t obey.

I tried not to smile as my sister’s conscious mind tried to justify the actions her subconscious had insisted she take.

“I...I want to practice,” she finally said, after several moments of thought. “Seeing Mom, last night. It made me realize I don’t have any experience.”

“But...why me? I’m your brother.”

Again, there was a long pause.

“...because you have a really nice dick.”

I smiled before I could stop myself. It was an incredibly weak justification, but…I mean, what can I say? It was nice to hear.

Show me a man who doesn’t enjoy a busty, half-naked woman kneeling in front of him, complimenting his dick, and I’ll show you a gay man.

No, even gay men would probably like that. Trust me; it’s a pretty great feeling.

“Please,” Cynthia whimpered. “I just...I just want to do it.”

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, I tapped the bed.

“Fine,” I said. Cynthia’s eyes lit up; before I’d said it, I’d been worried that I’d given in too easily, that my sister would get suspicious. Like I said, I was trying to react like a normal brother would.

But at this point, Cynthia was not a normal sister, and this was not a normal relationship. I could act a little unbelievable, I reminded myself, without ruining everything.

She was so desperate for me to say yes, she’d hear what she wanted to hear. I mean, she’d just justified the offer of an incestuous blowjob with ‘you have a nice dick’—Cynthia wasn’t exactly running off airtight logic here.

“But...it’s just sex, okay?” I said. “Like, I don’t want things to get weird between us.”

“Of course not,” Cynthia replied emphatically. I could hypnotize her any time I want, she begged me to do ordinary favors for her, she was constantly subjecting herself to the kinkiest punishments I could imagine, and watching her make out with my mother while we both debased her was a daily occurrence.

I was sure she’d try real hard not to let things get weird between us.

“Just a blowjob,” I reminded her, trying to sound stern.

“Uh huh,” Cynthia replied eagerly. “A blowjob. A blowjob is just a blowjob.”

“Go on then,” I said, lowering my blanket and allowing my cock to come into view.

I’d showered the previous night. I wasn’t sure if my sister would recognize the taste of her own pussy on my cock, but I was already in dangerous waters, moving things as fast as I was; I wanted to play it all as safe as possible.

“God,” Cynthia moaned. “You’re so big...”

Again, I couldn’tthe goofy grin that appeared on my face.

Who doesn’t like being told they have a big cock? Especially by a hottie who’s about to suck it.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling as she reached out and touched it. It jumped at the contact, and Cynthia drew in a sharp breath of desire. “You think you can handle it?“

“I’ll can try,” she said earnestly, staring at my cock like it was the first one she’d ever seen.

Which, I realized smugly, it was. My sister’s entire experience of dicks would be mine.

And boy would she be experiencing it a lot.

“Good,” I said, watching as she slowly wrapped her fingers around it.

She was cautious to start, moving her hand up and down my shaft a few times, shuddering with pleasure as she did. After about a minute, I coughed.

“You said a _blow_ job, right?“

“Uh huh,” she replied, staring nervously at my erection. I decided to help her out, putting a hand on her head and pushed her down.

“Oh, god,” she gasped, and I felt her tongue lash out and flick my cockhead. “Your dick tastes amazing.”

It’s funny; for everything my sister and I have done, I’d never felt her mouth on me. Even when she was under; we’d never kissed, she’d never gone down on me, nothing.

My mother had kissed Cynthia more than I had.

“Mm-hmm,” I sighed. “Keep going.”

“Y-yes, sir,” she replied. I doubt she even realized what she’d said as she moved her mouth over the end of my cock. Her lips pressed against my skin, and she sucked softly.

I held her head firmly in place, and let her work her way down my shaft. She didn’t seem to be in a rush, which was fine by me. This was my first blowjob—hers, too—and I was happy to enjoy it for as long as possible.

After a few seconds, she started to bob her head, her lips sliding up and down my shaft. I smiled, at the knowledge that this was a shared first. Another one, if you count the intercourse we had while she was unconscious.

I’d taken two of her virginities now. I couldn’t wait to keep making my way down the list.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my hands tightening in her hair. “Your mouth feels good.”

“Mmgh-fmm,” she replied, and I could see the lust in her eyes. I wasn’t lying; while she wasn’t as talented as Mom (assuming my mother’s ball skills transferred to the rest of my genitalia), her mouth felt so good that I didn’t care.

Even just the fact that it _was_ her mouth was incredibly hot. At long last, it was happening. Cynthia’s mouth on my dick. It was happening.

She kept sucking, her mouth working my cock, her tongue flicking my tip. The sounds of her slurping filled the room, along with the sound of her gasps as she took me deeper into her throat.

Despite my two orgasms the previous night, I was already close to cumming—hell, I’d been close since the moment she’d started begging to give me head—but I forced myself to hold off.

After all, if she could do it, so could I.

“Faster,” I hissed, and my sister let out a groan as she followed my order.

Cynthia swallowed hard, and took me even further into her throat. I felt her gag, and I let go of her hair, letting her do what she wanted. She gagged again, and her eyes watered, but she didn’t stop.

“Keep going,” I hissed.

After so many years of fantasizing, my sister was giving me head. My beautiful, busty, slutty sister was taking my cock into her mouth. I watched as she worked my shaft, her eyes rolling back in her head. She had an expression of pure lust on her face. If I’d ordered her to, I knew she would’ve cum right then and there, without needing to go anywhere near her clit.

Part of me wanted to reach out and grab her tits, but I couldn’t have her thinking that I liked them. I’d worked hard to make Cynthia think that I found her body disgusting, and I didn’t want to lose that control.

But as my sister’s tongue rolled around my cock, I couldn’t help myself, and some compliments slipped from my mouth.

“God,” I groaned. “Your mouth feels so good. I love it.”

“Mmgh,” Cynthia moaned, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked me deeper. She slid her lips down my shaft, until my member was deep down her throat. I could feel her swallowing around my cock, her nose pressed against my belly.

“So hot,” I sighed. “Fuck. I...I want to cum,”

My sister let out a moan. “Mmph!” she gasped, and I felt her throat clench around my cock.

“You’re such a slut. Fuck, you’re so dirty. Such a dirty...little...sister-slut.”

Cynthia let out a loud squeal at my words, and froze. I knew exactly what was happening; she was trying to stop herself from cumming. Just from my insults, she was on the verge of getting off.

“Don’t stop,” I hissed, and she obediently started to move again. Her lips slid up and down my cock, and I felt her tongue slide across my tip. “Such a whore,” I continued, and Cynthia’s entire body twitched with pleasure at my words. “Such a dirty whore.”

“Nnnnnggg,” she moaned, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“This is so disgusting,” I groaned. “Filthy. You’re such a filthy, incestuous, cock-loving cumslut.”

“Mmmph! Mmmmgh!” Cynthia moaned, slamming her mouth up and down my shaft.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” I said. “Fuck! So dirty to be doing this. Such a slut, to be sucking your own brother’s cock.”

“Mmmh! Nnnnngggh!”

“So nasty. Nasty...slut...bitch...whore...”

With that, I felt my balls tighten. I grabbed Cynthia’s hair, and forced her head down, thrusting my hips forward. She moaned loudly, and I felt her throat constrict around my cock as she prepared to swallow my seed.

“Oh, fuck,” I grunted, my hips bucking as I came.

Cynthia let out a muffled cry, and I felt my cock throb inside her mouth. As I shot my load into her throat, she swallowed frantically, just as our mother had the previous night.

In less than twelves hours, both the women in my life had swallowed my semen. Both my mother and sister had made me cum, shooting my load in or on their faces, frantically drinking down my seed when I did.

What a night, hey?

When I finished, I let go of her hair, and Cynthia fell back onto the bed, panting heavily.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, and I tried as hard as I could to look uncomfortable.

“Get out,” I said, and Cynthia mirrored my reaction from earlier that morning, sitting up to look at me in shock.

“W-what?”

“Get the fuck out,” I growled, raising one hand and pointing at the door. “Now!”

“I...I...”

“NOW!”

Cynthia’s eyes widened. She scrambled out of bed, practically running to the door. She closed it gently behind her, and then she was gone.

“Good girl,” I muttered, smiling like the devil. Exactly as I’d planned.

* * *

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	Chapter 46

“Five point five,” I said flatly.

My sister can’t normally move when she’s under, with a few exceptions. Apparently ‘being told that your score has dropped by an entire number’ was one of them; her entire body slumped, and her mouth opened in despair.

I licked my lips in anticipation. Once I was done here, I’d probably cum into that mouth. There was nothing hotter than my sister’s face when I crushed her dreams, and I’d started to get good at doing it again and again and again.

I’d avoided her for the rest of the day, before entering her room and telling her it was time for another session.

She hadn’t argued back, of course. It was all I could do not to groan with pleasure at the way she scurried to obey me, like I was an abusive spouse she had to work not to anger.

“Five point five six, to be specific.”

My sister’s demeanor didn’t change at the very slight upgrade I gave her.

“What?” she said quietly, like...well, like her heart had just been stomped on. “Why?”

“Because you asked to suck his cock,” I replied.

“I...”

I let my sister think for a moment, practically hearing the gears in her head turning. Finally, she gave up.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice small. “I thought he liked it...”

“He did,” I nodded. “He liked getting head.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He didn’t like getting it from you.”

There it was again; that look of true heartbreak. I’d been ready for this one, and taken a photo as soon as it had appeared.

My sister, laying naked, completely exposed on her bed. Her eyes glazed, her face expressionless.

And in her eyes, the look of someone who had just lost everything.

All for me.

“Was I not good at it?”

“Not really,” I shrugged. “He mostly just came cos...well, he’s a virgin.” True, with the notable exception of fucking Cynthia while she was hypnotized. “It’s like pizza; any head is better than no head.”

“I...I was that bad? Bad enough to drop to...”

Cynthia swallowed, her next words barely a whisper.

“Five point five?”

“Five point five six,” I corrected her. “And it wasn’t _just_ that you were bad. It’s also that...well, you’re his sister.“

A look of confusion appeared in my sister’s eyes, and I couldn’t help but smile. I’d so thoroughly warped her sexuality, so fucked up her sense of right and wrong, she couldn’t understand why us being siblings could be anything but a turn-on.

She’d forgotten that it wasn’t normal for a sister to suck her brother’s cock. For a family member to want another as much as she wanted me.

“Incest is wrong,” I reminded her. “It’s a disgusting, sinful act. Only a true pervert would be turned on by it.”

True. But I’d long accepted what I was.

“...oh.”

Again, there was a silence as Cynthia processed my words.

“What about when he came on...on Mom’s face? Did he not like that?”

“That was different,” I shrugged. “She didn’t want it. He was doing it to help her lose weight. No one was doing it for fun.”

“But...but...”

The sadness was still there, but it was now accompanied by desperation.

I held up a hand, and my cock twitched as Cynthia immediately fell silent.

“With Mom, it was a punishment. You _asked_ to suck his cock.“

“But...you told me to.”

I cocked my eyebrow. This was new—she’d never fought back against her trainer like this.

“Uh huh,” I demurred. “And maybe if you’d been better at it, it would’ve worked. It would’ve raised your score. But as it was...”

I trailed off, and—to my relief—Cynthia didn’t follow that train of thought any further.

I’d spent a lot of time convincing her that I was omniscient, basically. I existed to help her lose weight, and she could take my every word as gospel.

If she’d started doubting me...hell, the whole thing might have collapsed.

“...as it was,” I continued, emboldened, “now Daniel thinks you’re a total pervert.”

Cynthia whimpered at my words, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Which, of course, you are. You’re disgusting.”

There it was. Another whimper. Partially from despair...but mostly arousal.

“You’re disgusting,” I continued. “You’re degenerate, from head to toe...and now Daniel knows. Now your brother knows how filthy you are, what a filthy whore he has for a sister.”

A tear slipped from Cynthia’s eyes, but at the same time I could see the wet patch on her panties spreading. She was a woman of two minds.

Two minds, and I had complete control of both of them.

“You’re a dirty slut,” I growled. “Say it.”

“I’m a dirty slut,” she whispered.

“Louder.”

“I’m a dirty slut!” she screamed, and I moved her panties to the side and slid my hardness into her as she did. Mom was out, fortunately, or I’m sure she would’ve heard that.

Not, I suppose, that it would have raised suspicion. Mom was saying much worse to her daughteron a daily basis.

“So, what do you think we should do?” I asked, as I began pumping in and out of my hypnotized sister. This was the second of Cynthia’s holes I’d fucked that day. I couldn’t wait until I could cum inside her cunt, as I had her mouth that morning.

“I...I don’t know,” she replied flatly. Even the feeling of her brother’s dick inside her wasn’t enough to lift her mood.

“Of course you don’t,” I grunted. “You’re a moron. Say it.”

“I’m a moron,” she said, her tightness clenching as she did.

“Fortunately for you, I have a plan. Tomorrow morning, you’re going to wake your brother up with another blowjob.”

Cynthia’s back arched as I roughly thrust my hip forward. Apparently that was a sensitive spot.

“W-what?” she asked, when she had her senses back. “How will that help?”

“Your brother already thinks you’re a disgusting, worthless pervert,” I reminded her. “But if you keep on doing it...”

“Exposure therapy...” Cynthia moaned.

“Exactly,” I smiled. “Make it clear to him that he can use your mouth any time he wants. Be available to him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Tell him that you’re his desperate, horny little cumbucket. Say it...”

“I’m his dirty cumslut!” Cynthia cried out, and I slammed my hips forward, driving my cock deep into her. “My mouth is his to take, any time he wants.”

“That’s right,” I growled. The sensation of her pussy clamping around my cock was divine. Almost as good as her mouth had felt that morning. “And maybe after he gets used to using you like that, he’ll stop being so disgusted by the idea of fucking his own sister’s mouth.”

“Ohhh!” Cynthia moaned, and her eyes twitched at the thought.

“And if you actually get better at blowing him...”

I pulled out, leaving her shuddering at my absence.

“If you actually get better at blowing him, maybe you’ll move back up to a seven. Or higher! An eight, a nine...”

“A _nine_...” Cynthia said in awe, her glazed eyes staring at my cock. It was like I’d introduced numeracy to a primitive civilization.

“Uh huh,” I grunted. “Plus, this is something that Mom won’t do. You want to beat Mom, don’t you?”

“Beat...Mom...” my sister replied, echoing the words mindlessly. I could tell that all her energy was focused on not cumming; the concept of hitting _nine_ was clearly flooding her mind, blocking out all other thoughts.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to offer my mouth to Daniel any time he wants to use it,” Cynthia said, her body twitching and convulsing as I pumped my cock directly in front of her face. “I’m going to wake him up with a blowjob, and give him so much head that he—oh!—that he doesn’t think I’m a disgusting waste of space.”

“Good luck,” I grunted, and for the second time that day, blew my load into my sister’s mouth.

* * *

Cynthia woke me up with a blowjob the next morning. This time, we didn’t make conversation. It was a helluva sight to wake up to; my sister, an urgent look in her eyes, so desperate for my approval that she wasn’t even aware of how pathetic she looked. Cramming my cock into her mouth, terrified of turning me off, practically on the verge of tears as she wrapped her hands and mouth around my morning wood.

Her eyes were wide, staring straight at me as she gagged on my erection. I just looked down at her, expressionless, just watching as my half-naked sister slurped and sucked on my cock.

I didn’t say anything—none of the compliments of the day before, no comments about how good her mouth was. Even when I came, pumping my seed into Cynthia’s hungry mouth, I just stared unblinkingly at her as she desperately tried to swallow every drop.

When she was done, a glance at the door was all it took. She was halfway across the room before she remembered what I liked, crawling the rest of the way. I stared at her beautiful ass as she left, only letting myself smile once she was done.

The blowjob had been great, of course (it was a blowjob. From one of the hottest women on the planet.) but the biggest turn-on had been the atmosphere of terror that had surrounded it. Cynthia didn’t even know why she was terrified, just that the stakes were high.

That she had to please me, whatever it took.

When I saw my sister a few hours later, she was making out with our mother, and I had a moment of panic—would Mom recognize the taste of my semen on her daughter’s breath? Would she know, somehow, what we’d done?

I relaxed slightly at the sight of the two topless women rubbing their bodies together. They didn’t look like they were thinking about anything but each other’s bodies, the touch of the other woman.

Mom looked like she was in heat, her entire body flushed with desire. My sister’s panties were so soaked, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d dissolved. If the busty pair had noticed me coming in, they didn’t show it. It wasn’t until they pulled away that I realized Cynthia had been turning her body toward me, doing all she could to show off the figure that I’d convinced her was disgusting to behold.

As the two women turned to look at me, silently awaiting my instruction, I realized how lucky I had it. I could’ve ordered Mom out of the room and had my sister suck my cock. I could’ve told Mom it was time for her reward, spanked her to orgasm, and then had her suck my balls.

I could’ve told Mom it was time for her punishment, and unloaded onto her face. I could even have put Cynthia under, and fucked her until I was ready to cum, pulling out and unloading on her naked, sweaty body.

The possibilities were practically overwhelming. And that was only what I’d already set up. It would’ve been child’s play to convince Cynthia that she was never going to reach a higher score unless she let her brother fuck her ass—awake or asleep, I could’ve managed either. Mom wasn’t quite there yet, but I was getting closer every day. By having Cynthia suggest it, who knew how far I could push my mother.

I could do anything to her. To either of them.

Instead, I left. I walked out of the room, practically hearing the two women trembling with need as I did.

I had them in the palm of my hands. They were mine to control. They were mine to use as I wanted.

* * *

When I entered my sister’s room an hour later, it was obvious that she was edging. Her eyes were glazed over with lust, her mouth slack, and her fingers were furiously stroking her pussy, trying to bring herself off.

Trying _not_ to bring herself off, too.

The look of fear that appeared on her face was the only thing that could’ve made it hotter. Her eyes widened and her legs snapped shut.

As far as Cynthia was concerned, this was my first glimpse of her bare cunt.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked, scrambling to cover herself. Just like that morning, I didn’t say anything. I walked over to the bed, and pulled out my hard cock, trying not to smile at the look of lust that appeared on her face.

“Suck it,” I ordered, and Cynthia didn’t allow her confusion to slow her down. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my sister parted her lips and took the length of my cock down her throat.

“Jesus,” I groaned, my hand moving to her head. “You’re such a slut.”

My sister’s blue eyes stared up at me, silently agreeing. The hazy look of lust was back as I began pounding into her mouth, mercilessly using her mouth as a sex toy. I loved the feel of her soft tongue sliding up and down my shaft, the way her cheeks hollowed out each time she gagged.

But I did nothing to let her know how I felt.

Cynthia was on fire, eager to please, but still scared of disappointing me. She was putting her entire body into sucking my dick, her breasts jiggling every time her head bobbed. When I tightened my grip on her hair, she whimpered with pleasure, and I forced a frown to my face.

“You’re disgusting,” I spat, and a tremor of pleasure went through my sister’s body at my words. “You dirty whore. You’re nothing but a filthy dumpster for my cum.”

Cynthia’s eyes opened wider, her head jerked forward, and she choked on my cock. As she coughed, a drop of saliva fell from her chin and landed on her thigh. I reached down and brushed it away, acting as though her slobber disgusted me.

We didn’t say anything for the next few minutes; I simply enjoyed the feeling of her mouth wrapped around my cock. As my sister got used to the feeling of choking on my dick, I increased the speed, slamming my hips forward. I felt Cynthia’s throat clench reflexively around my shaft, and she let out a long groan of pleasure.

“Fuck you’re a slut,” I said again, narrowing my eyes. “You’re completely depraved, aren’t you?”

“Mmm-hmm,” my sister agreed immediately.

“I bet you’re getting off on this.” The sound of horror in my voice did not go unnoticed, and Cynthia winced...while her thighs involuntarily clenched. “God...are you??”

Cynthia unwillingly pulled my cock out of her mouth. “Y-yes,” she sobbed, and I reached down and slapped her.

It was something I’d done before during her ‘punishments’, but this wasn’t a punishment. Cynthia hadn’t come to me to let me know that she’d ‘made a mistake.’

We were in completely uncharted territory, and she didn’t seem to care.

In response to my slap, Cynthia continued staring at me. Like a mouse unable to take her eyes off an approaching snake, she looked terrified. Entranced.

Obsessed.

Even as a red mark appeared on her head, she didn’t say anything, didn’t react. I reached down, and slapped her other cheek.

“Touch yourself,” I hissed, pouring as much disgust into my voice as I could. “Touch your disgusting, slutty cunt while you suck my cock.”

“Yes, sir,” Cynthia moaned, spreading her legs and starting to finger herself. Her eyes met mine as her lips enveloped my cock once more, and I could see the heat rising in her face.

“You’re a filthy bitch,” I growled, slapping her again. She didn’t respond (Mom had raised us not to talk with our mouths full), just kept pleasuring my dick with her mouth, while her hand continued its motion between her legs. “You’re disgusting, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” Cynthia moaned, her eyes locked onto mine.

“I can’t believe you’re touching your nasty little cunt,” I breathed. “While you suck your own brother’s cock. You’re a fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” Cynthia repeated, her eyes filled with self-loathing and lust.

I mimicked a shudder as my sister’s mouth slid up and down my cock. “You’re a fucking whore, aren’t you?”

“Mmmmmm,” Cynthia whined, her fingers continuing their rhythm between her legs.

“A filthy slut who loves sucking cock.”

Cynthia agreed once more, and I fell silent, drinking in the sight in front of me. I’d never seen my sister touch herself before—I knew she did it, of course. I’d known that since before I’d even hypnotized her.

But this was my first time watching. She was kneeling on the floor, her fingers deep inside her pussy, her face flushed, her eyes gazing into mine.

I could see my sister’s pulse throbbing in her neck, the way her breathing quickened at each stroke of her hand. I could even see her juices leaking from her cunt, dripping onto the carpet below.

“You’re disgusting,” I said again, surprising both of us by spitting on my sister’s face. “You need to be punished.”

Cynthia gasped as my saliva hit her. She was mine. I owned her—she was naked, touching herself, sucking her brother’s cock, and best of all...she was completely conscious. She wasn’t doing this while hypnotized, she was doing this in real life.

I glared at her, my face one of fury and dominance, and my cock throbbed in her mouth. To my surprise, my sister’s eyes widened—she pulled her hand out from between her legs, but it was too late.

She was cumming.

Her body tensed up, and she began crying out, her eyes squeezing shut and tears falling down her cheeks. I couldn’t tell whether she was crying because of the intensity of her orgasm, or because she knew she’d disappointed me. Or perhaps because she’d inadvertently revealed herself; she’d demonstrated herself to be the kind of slut who came from being spat on.

Who came from the feeling of her brother’s saliva hitting her face.

Whatever the reason, it was enough to push me over the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned, releasing my sister’s head. My balls contracted, and I felt myself erupting, pumping my seed straight into Cynthia’s waiting mouth.

The moment she felt my cock swelling in her mouth, Cynthia’s eyes opened, so glazed with lust that she may as well have been hypnotized.

I watched her do all she could to swallow my load as I shot rope after rope down her throat. She looked up at me with wide, happy eyes, her mouth and stomach full of my semen. She’d exposed her true self to her brother, and it had made him cum. I had joined her in orgasm, instead of rejecting her.

As always, her happiness was misplaced. A mask of hate settled on my face, as I did all I could to act like my sister was the opposite of what she was—a gorgeous woman, who deserved to be worshiped as a sexual goddess.

I pointed at the door. Cynthia didn’t even question my command, likely didn’t even register that it was _her_ room that I was booting her out of.

As she crawled out of her own room, I could hear my sister sobbing.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sexier sound.

* * *

Cynthia never touched herself while blowing me again. But she continued giving me head whenever I wanted—for the next week and a half, I’d come and find her once or twice a day, acting like an anguished teen. Like I was conflicted, coming to her because I liked cumming, hating her the moment I blew my load down her floor.

The rest of the time, I avoided her. I didn’t even hypnotize her—after months of fucking my unconscious sister, I’d found a new way to unload inside her, and...god damn, it didn’t even compare. She was so responsive, so fucking _into_ it. It was like she was getting drunk on my cum. Sometimes she’d reach up with both arms, gripping my thighs, tugging me deeper into her throat. By the end of the first week, she could deep throat me without gagging. I could slide my entire length into her, meeting absolutely no resistance.

It was perfect. _Perfect_. Every time my mother’s mouth on my balls worked me up, every time I got hard from the sight of Cynthia and Mom passionately making out, I would just go and find her, and watch as she blew me like her life depended on it.

Like her entire self-image was tied into how attractive I found her.

I would berate her the entire time, of course. By the end of the first week, I was telling her that I was ashamed to have her as a sister. That her perversion shamed the entire family. That she was the worst person I knew. The worst person I’d ever heard of.

She’d gulp and shudder with pleasure, her mouth never leaving my cock. Her heart would break as her bare pussy pulsed and throbbed, and I knew that my words would be running through her head the next time she edged.

There was no part of the experience that wasn’t hot. That wasn’t perfect. It was the best sexual experience anyone had ever had, I’d have bet my life on it.

But after almost two weeks, I knew we were ready for the next step.

Even if it meant giving up my sister’s perfect head.

“I need to hypnotize you,” I grunted. Cynthia’s eyes widened, as though she’d forgotten that was something we used to do. The moment I’d entered her room, she’d slithered off the bed and onto her knees, ready to put her magnificent mouth to work around my erection again.

My sister was naked. She was always naked, now. Ever since I’d caught her masturbating; once I’d seen her perfectly-shaved pink pussy, I suppose she hadn’t seen any need to hide it.

She probably thought it disgusted me, and that exposure therapy was the only solution. I hadn’t even needed to hypnotize her; she was jumping through hoops without me needing to do anything.

I’d trained her well.

“Y-yes, sir,” she stammered, and less than a minute later she was laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes glazed.

“What do you think your score is?” I asked.

“I...I don’t know,” she replied, her voice tinged with fear. Pleasing me had become her entire identity, her entire life. Even while hypnotized, not knowing the answer to something clearly chilled her to the bone.

“Guess,” I ordered, smiling as Cynthia squirmed.

“I...I...”

She fell silent, and I watched with pleasure at her inability to answer.

“Seven?” she finally offered, and I shook my head.

“Why would you think that?” I asked, my voice harsh. “Why would you give such a stupid, arrogant answer?”

“B-because...because...”

My sister stammered for almost ten seconds, before choking the rest of her answer out.

“Because he keeps coming back,” she finally gasped. “He keeps coming back, so...so...”

I shook my head.

“Three,” I answered, and Cynthia’s face turned white.

“Th-three?”

“Three,” I repeated. It was the lowest she’d ever reached. “And trending downwards.”

“B-but...”

Again, I let her stammer, but this time she trailed off.

“Your brother lets you blow him,” I stated calmly, “but not because he thinks you’re attractive. He hates that he only has you to give him head. He thinks you’re disgusting, the lowest of the low. He can’t believe that you’re actually turned on by giving him head. You’re his _sister_ , for god’s sake.“

Cynthia didn’t say anything, but her lip was trembling, and tears were steadily falling from her glazed-over eyes.

And that wasn’t the only part of her getting moist at my words. My sister’s arousal was so closely tied to being degraded; learning how much she turned her brother off was, in and of itself, enough to get her wet.

I couldn’t help myself, unbuckling my pants as I continued. Yeah, it wasn’t as good as getting head from Cynthia while she was conscious...but fuck, she was so soaking wet, I just had to have her.

“And even worse,” I continued, “you get turned on by how poorly he treats you. You’re such a repulsive piece of vermin, he can slap you, call you a slut, spit on you...and it makes you cum!”

Cynthia was sobbing now, her body wracking with sobs and moans. I sat there for a moment, drinking it in, before positioning my erection at the entrance to her wetness and dropping the final bombshell.

“Your brother will never be attracted to someone like you,” I declared, slowly pushing myself into my sister’s sopping wet cunt. “Never. Do you agree?”

“Y-yes,” Cynthia sobbed, not even noticing that I was fucking her, unable to think about anything but what I’d just told her. I’d just taken away everything we’d been working towards, everything she’d wanted.

I’d just destroyed her every hope and dream. After spending months making her want my approval more than anthing, I’d taken it away from her.

You can see why I _had_ to fuck her while I did that, right?

We were both silent for the next few minutes as I pounded into my sister’s body. She just sobbed and trembled with complete heartbreak, while I tried not to cum inside her.

I probably could have, to be honest. When she woke up, I think she’d be paying more attention to the depression that I was sure she’d be filled with than anything dripping out of her constantly-wet pussy.

But you know me. I’m a cautious man.

“Your brother deserves better than you, doesn’t he?” I asked, pulling out my sister and stroking my cock, aiming directly at her face.

“Y-yes,” Cynthia sobbed.

“So much better than you. Your brother deserves the best, doesn’t he?”

“Of...of course,” she continued.

“Why?”

“Because he’s amazing. He’s...he’s...”

I leaned forward until my cock was resting against her lips.

“He’s better than you.”

“Y-yes.”

“He’s incredible.”

“Of course,” my sister gulped.

“And even though you can’t have him, you’re going to keep serving him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said fervently. “Until my dying day.”

“Good girl,” I groaned, before unloading onto her face.

My sister couldn’t close her eyes while she was under, so I aimed for her nose and mouth. Her lip twitched, as though she wanted to slurp up as much of my seed as she could, swallow it down in an effort to make me want her.

Even though she now knew that was a fruitless path.

When I was done, she looked up at me with wide eyes, and I smiled.

“So you need to find someone better, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” my sister agreed.

“You need to find someone who’ll give him head, so he doesn’t have to lower himself by coming to _you_. Say it.“

“I n-need to find a replacement,” my sister said reluctantly. “Someone who’ll suck his dick b-better than I can. Better than I ever have.”

“Someone hotter.”

“Y-yes.”

“Say it.”

“I need to find someone more attractive for my brother. Someone sexier.”

“Who do you think would make a good replacement?”

There was a pause as Cynthia considered the options.

“I could set him up with one of my friends,” she finally said. “My hottest friend. They could...they could replace me.”

I shook my head. Tempting, of course, but it was too risky. If we introduced someone new, their own family might notice changes in their behavior.

I needed to maintain complete control.

“Your brother can take you any time he wants,” I reminded her. “Any time of the day or night, you’re there, naked and ready to suck his cock. He needs someone who can be there for him like you are.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened as she realized what I was saying, and I smiled.

“Good girl,” I murmured, enjoying the sight of my sister’s body twitching with pleasure.

* * *

For the almost-two-weeks I’d been enjoying getting head from my sister’s eager mouth, I’d been going relatively easy on Mom.

I was still giving her a ‘reward’ each night; either sucking my balls, or me spanking her to orgasm. Sometimes both.

Mom never asked to suck my balls, and I never pushed her to. But when I told her that was her reward for the evening, she never even looked faintly disappointed.

Instead, she’d just drop to her knees, and spend five or ten minutes slurping on my testicles, not even trying to hide how much she loved it.

Nor did I. We’d stare at each other, mutual lust in our eyes as Mom bobbed her head up and down, sucking all over my sack like she was trying to paint my nuts with her saliva.

Sometimes I’d stroke her hair, but more often than not, I’d just watch. I’d watch as my beautiful mother slobbered on her own son’s testicles, completely naked, as a reward. As a way to de-stress.

I wanted nothing more than to touch myself, to cum onto her face. But I didn’t—that was a punishment. And for ten days, I’d set my mother workouts that I’d know she could complete.

Workouts that took her out of the house, for hours at a time, giving Cynthia the privacy she needed to blow me whenever I wanted.

I was still hypnotizing Mom, of course. Often right before she’d leave for a workout, so I could enjoy her body, her mouth on my balls, my hands spanking her naked ass, “practicing kissing “and getting “lessons” on touching a woman. Almost anything I wanted—I had so much access to my mother’s naked form; I could get as worked up as I wanted. I could have have relieved myself onto her face if I’d wanted, but I didn’t.

I saved it for my sister’s mouth.

While Mom was under, I was constantly checking her limits. No change. She’d suck on my balls, she’d let me cum on her face, she’d allow me to teach her how to please a woman...but she wouldn’t touch my cock. She wouldn’t use her mouth on it, or even her hands.

She wouldn’t bend over and let me fuck her so hard that she could barely breathe, then pump my seed inside her.

Yet.

Eleven days without a punishment had lulled her into a false sense of security. Like she’d finally made it, like she had all the discipline needed to keep herself in shape. Like she could keep the parts she liked—the rewards—without suffering any more penalties.

So when she came home, completely out of breath from the impossible run I’d given her, she looked even more meek than normal.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, still playing the innocent. Even though I’d blown my load on her face multiple times, even though I’d given my mother more orgasms than anyone but my father ever had. Even though we stared with open lust at each other while she sucked my balls, I still had to pretend that I was just her sweet, harmless son.

“I...I didn’t make it,” she breathed, and a look of disappointment appeared on my face.

“Oh, Mom...” I chided. “And you were doing so well.”

“I know,” she said, her face red. “Maybe...”

“What?”

“Maybe we could skip the punishment,” she meekly suggested. “Just this once? Since I’ve been working so hard...”

My eyebrows shot up. “What kind of a suggestion is that?”

“Well, I...”

“Do you really think I’d let you slack off like that? Mom, I’m doing this for you. If I let things slide, you’ll start thinking that you don’t need to work out, that you can just eat whatever you want. Your weight will come back, probably more than ever. You’ll start yo-yo dieting. Is that what you want??”

“N-no,” Mom stammered. “No, of course not.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod. “So you’ll need to be punished. What do you think your punishment should be?”

Mom thought for a while. If only there was some cartoon where ‘sex with your son’ was shown as a normal, non-sexual punishment. That would’ve saved me a lot of time.

“I could...I could clean the whole house,” Mom offered. “All by myself.”

“That’s not much of a punishment, is it?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. “I mean, didn’t you do that when we were kids?”

“I guess,” Mom sighed. I could see her mind racing, and I wondered if she was trying to justify a punishment where she got to touch my cock. Or taste it.

She wouldn’t admit it, not even when hypnotized, but I knew that Mom was becoming increasingly obsessed with my erection. With her son’s erection. Not to the point of Cynthia, of course, but…well, my sister’s obsession was at the extreme end of the bell curve.

But the way my mother looked at my cock when she sucked my balls. Even when she was under, her glazed-over eyes would sometimes flicker to my hardness.

She wanted me as much as I wanted her (well, almost as much) and the only thing standing in our way was her.

“What about if we skipped your rewards for a week?” I asked, and Mom’s eyes widened.

“No!” she blurted out, before realizing how panicked she’d sounded. “Uh, no. No, we should...we shouldn’t mess with the reward system. It’s working. Without it my old eating habits might come back.”

Her eating habits which excluded her son’s balls. Neither of us wanted that.

“Well,” I sighed. “I guess we’re out of ideas.”

I stifled a grin at the soft knock at the door.

Exactly on-time.

“Um, I have an idea,” my sister said, poking her head in. Mom’s eyebrows shot up; unlike me, she hadn’t known that Cynthia was listening.

She hadn’t known that Cynthia was almost always outside the door, listening in on our conversations. Except when I was hypnotizing Mom, of course—I made sure to that overlapped with the hours that my sister spent edging each day.

“Go on,” I said, avoiding eye-contact with my sister. Mom looked at her daughter gratefully as she entered, and I noticed my mother’s eyes flicking down to Cynthia’s exposed body.

She hadn’t said anything about her daughter’s sudden nudity, but I knew that she’d been enjoying it as much as I did.

Well, almost as much.

“What is it?” she asked kindly, although I heard the subtle note of lust in her voice. If we hadn’t been deciding something so important, I knew she would’ve pulled Cynthia’s naked form to hers, and started roughly making out with her daughter, her hand grasping and pinching at her bare ass.

I hadn’t ordered Mom to make her daughter cum for weeks, but she was still constantly ‘keeping her warmed up’, exploring Cynthia’s naked form with her hands, kissing her neck, nibbling on her ears, and making out with her ferociously at every opportunity.

All the while, of course, reminding Cynthia of what a disgusting slut she was. Of how her body repelled men—repelled _everyone_ —and how she should be ashamed of her inferiority.

Cynthia blushed, noticing the way Mom’s eyes lingered on her body, but attributing it to disgust.

“Easy,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You should blow him.”

* * *

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	Chapter 47

Cynthia had shown a rare spark of resistance when I’d ordered her to suggest Mom blow me as a punishment.

Even in her broken state, knowing that she’d never be attractive to her brother, that her submissiveness wasn’t enough to counteract her body...she had still wanted to hold onto the one sexual advantage she had. Our one unique connection.

Even though I (in her mind) felt completely conflicted about it, for up to an hour a day she got to feel my cock in her mouth. Cynthia got to swallow my cum, know that her brother was using her body—grotesque though it was—for his pleasure.

Getting to serve what she now saw as her sole purpose in life.

But when I’d told her what the conditions were, that I needed someone who was always around, always naked and ready to serve her brother, there was only one option.

Mom.

Amusingly, my sister hadn’t seen the incest as a potential problem. No, she was so far down the taboo rabbithole; she saw incest as not only _a_ turn-on, but _the_ turn-on.

Besides, I’d made it over clear over the past week that what I found repulsive was the way that she was _turned on_ by giving me head. When Mom did it, it would be a punishment. She wouldn’t be getting any enjoyment out of it.

It was the perfect solution. Cynthia knew that Mom being forced to give me head would appeal to my sadistic tendencies, and I’d told her that I needed a replacement. Someone superior. And, in my sister’s eyes, Mom had a better body than her.

Hell, as far as Cynthia was concerned, _everyone_ had a better body than her.

In reality, Cynthia was probably the hottest person on the planet. Whenever I fucked her—long, slow strokes, enjoying every moment of my cock sliding inside her—I couldn’t help but again admire how incredibly sexy my sister’s body was. The way she looked so helpless when I fucked her. The way her huge breasts jiggled. Her ass, so round yet so firm. Her stomach, flat and toned as the result of the endless workouts I’d had her do.

I could fuck her forever.

Could, and would.

It hadn’t taken long to overcome my sister’s resistance. I don’t think there’s anything my sister wouldn’t do, if I ordered her to. Just for the opportunity to obey me. For the minuscule chance that I’d find her utter devotion even a tiny bit attractive.

She’d do anything.

Before waking her up, I had two more instructions for her.

“Your brother doesn’t like what a pervert you are,” I lied. In truth, it was one of my favorite things about Cynthia.

I’d turned her into a deviant. Just like me. Sure, I liked it because I’d created it in her, but wasn’t that the moral of that old Greek tale? Make the thing you love, so you can finally have exactly what you want?

“If you want even the slimmest of chances of winning him back,” I advised, “there’s one thing you can do.”

“What?”

I smiled at the undercurrent of desperation in my sister’s voice.

“Don’t cum,” I told her. “Whenever you’re with your family—your brother, your mother—don’t cum. If he sees that, he’ll think worse of you.”

“I won’t,” my sister solemnly swore, shivering at the thought. “I promise.”

“To motivate you,” I continued, “you need to start thinking about something else when you edge.”

Cynthia didn’t say anything, just waited for me to tell her what. I didn’t just control her actions, her behavior—I now controlled her very thoughts.

And if I told her to think about it as she played with herself for hours a day, I knew a Pavlovian response would result.

Whatever my sister thought about it when she was turned on, when she brought herself to the brink of orgasm again and again...soon, that would be what turned her on for real.

“You need to think about your brother rejecting you,” I instructed. “You need to imagine him turning you down for head, for sex. It’ll remind you of what you want to avoid. Think about how disgusting he finds your body, your perversion. Everything about you.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Cynthia replied, letting her breath out in a long sob.

* * *

Mom gasped at Cynthia’s suggestion, turning to me to see if I was going to veto it.

“That’s a good idea,” I nodded, lowering my pants. I was already hard, and both women’s eyes zeroed in on my erection as it came into view.

“N-no,” Mom gasped. “No, Daniel, we...we can’t.”

“Come here,” I ordered, and even as Mom continued verbally objecting to her daughter’s suggestion, she took a step towards me. I reached out, grabbing a firm handful of her hair, and slowly forced her to her knees.

“You can’t do this,” she pleaded, staring at my cock with wide eyes. “Don’t make me...please...”

“It’s the perfect punishment,” I said in a soft voice. “The utter humiliation. A mother, being used by her son for his pleasure. Don’t you think?”

“No...no...” she sobbed, and I turned to my sister, shooting her a half-smile—the kindest look I’d given her in weeks.

“What do you think, sis?”

“You have to,” she replied, staring straight at my erection. Her voice was dull. Hollow.

She knew that she had to do this, and why...but she also knew that it would mean the end of me going to her for my release.

“Please,” Mom begged, tears welling in her eyes. “Daniel. Don’t...don’t make me do this.”

“It’s what you deserve,” I reminded her sternly. “This is what happens when you don’t follow orders.”

I tugged on Mom’s hair to pull her closer, until her face was right next to my cock. She gave one last attempt to talk me out of it.

“Anything else,” she begged. “I’ll do anything! I’ll wash the outdoor windows naked, I’ll...I’ll use my hands on you. Just please don’t make me suck your...your...”

“Suck my cock,” I ordered. “That’s an order.”

Mom opened her mouth to object, and I used the opportunity to slip my cockhead between her lips. As her mouth closed on my erection, her tongue instinctively came out to touch it—just as she ‘accidentally’ had so many times in the past, when sucking my balls.

As soon as it did, her resistance faded, and a look of hunger appeared on her face.

Mom’s tongue was soft, almost deferential, as she ran it along the underside of my shaft. Her eyes looked up at me as I savored the sensation of her warm, wet mouth. She licked around my head, taking more of it into her mouth each time, until she was sucking on more than half my erection.

Her tongue was warm and gentle, and Mom moaned approvingly as my dick slid between her lips. Her eyes flicked to my sister, and I knew that she was concerned about doing this in front of her daughter, but neither of them said anything as Mom continued moving her head back and forth, massaging the underside of my cock teasingly.

I, too, glanced over to Cynthia. She had that same look of heartbreak on her face. She was watching her competitor—her mother—suck off the man of her dreams.

The cock of her dreams.

Mom glanced up at me to see if I was okay, and then took a deep breath, her throat muscles clenching around my girth. I knew she’d done this for Dad before—a hundred times, if not more—though not for decades. If she was out of practice, it didn’t show; her mouth moved forward, engulfing my cock fully as it slid into her throat.

She could’ve been a professional.

I moaned in approval, aware that the sound would crush Cynthia’s spirits. Not only was she watching her rival give me head, it was obvious that I was enjoying Mom’s efforts more than I’d ever appeared to enjoy hers.

My mother’s mouth was hot, and her tongue swirled against my length as her lips pressed firmly together on my shaft. Her cheeks hollowed out as she unsuccessfully tried to take more of my cock inside her mouth. I grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her to keep moving her head up and down.

“Mmm,” I groaned, looking down at my mother’s mouth, happily wrapped around my cock. It was obvious how much she was enjoying our incestuous act. “God, Mom, you’re so good at this...”

I don’t know if it was the compliment or the reminder that I was her son, that what we were doing was completely against nature, but Mom’s blush deepened. Her eyes glazed over as she bobbed her head up and down, swallowing my entire cock with ease.

I knew I was going to cum soon—Mom’s skill meant there was no way that I could hold back—but I still had more to say.

“Fuuuuck,” I growled, squeezing a handful of her hair. “This is the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten.”

My sister squeaked in a combination of agony and arousal. Mom and I both ignored it—if Mom even noticed in the first place.

“I could do this all night,” I continued, my fingers digging into her scalp. “Your mouth really is made for cock, isn’t it?”

The words could be interpreted as a compliment or a taunt, and I didn’t much care which way Mom read them.

“You’re so fucking good at this. I think...I think your punishment needs to be more than just this one time, don’t you?”

Mom’s eyes widened, but she didn’t stop. She kept gulping down my cock as fast as she could, as if the sooner she swallowed every single drop of semen from my cock, the sooner the punishment would be over.

“A week,” I said with a gasp, as Mom’s tongue hit a particularly sensitive part of my cock and made me groan. “One blowjob, each day for a week.”

My sister and Mom both reacted at once; one with horror, one with lust, and I truly couldn’t tell you which was which. After a moment, Mom (reluctantly) pulled my member from her mouth.

“Daniel” she gasped. “We...we can’t do that. It isn’t right.”

“Sounds like the perfect punishment then,” I smiled, pulling Mom’s head onto my throbbing member. “Sounds like it’ll be humiliating, and you’ll hate it. Maybe _then_ you’ll learn not to slack off on your workouts.“

Of course, my mother had done the opposite of slack off. It was truly impressive how many of her near-impossible workouts she’d completed; she was easily in the best shape of her life. My sister, too.

But as soon as my cock was back in Mom’s mouth, it was like she forgot what we were talking about and pushed herself to take me deeper—until my balls were pressed against her chin, and she’d swallowed my cock down to the hilt.

“You’re perfect,” I breathed, as Mom sucked me off, my hand gripping a handful of her hair. “So, so perfect...”

We continued in silence—me grasping Mom’s hair and forcing her lips and down my cock, Mom working her magic lips on my dick, and Cynthia watching in the mixture of horror and lust that had become her life. I could have kept going like that all day, but everything must come to an end, so eventually I tapped her head.

“God,” I groaned. “I’m gonna...gonna cum...”

Cynthia’s face was a mask of pain, but her thighs were rubbing together like a cricket’s legs. Mom looked like she was lost in lust, her entire being focused on making her son finish as powerfully as possible.

“I’m gonna...cum,” I repeated, before exploding in Mom’s throat, spurting stream after stream of hot semen into her mouth. She didn’t let any of it go, milking me dry as I came down from my high. When I was done, she let me slip out of her mouth, her tongue running across my cock to clean off the last of my spunk.

I slumped back onto the couch, my breathing heavy, a huge grin on my face. Unlike the blowjobs I’d gotten from Cynthia, I didn’t suddenly become a different person, angry and guilty.

Instead, I reach out and rested my hand on Mom’s chin, still kneeling in front of me.

“That was amazing,” I murmured lovingly. “Thank you.”

“Th-thank you,” she stammered back, and I gently pulled her towards me for the aftercare I knew she’d need.

“I love you,” I said softly. Mom sat on my lap, her naked form against me as I stroked her hair and reiterated what a great job she’d done. She cuddled up against me, appreciating the tenderness.

I’d done this before, of course. When I pushed Mom to hard, she often needed something just like this. But that wasn’t why I was being so kind, so gentle.

No, it was for my sister. Cynthia, standing to the side, observing what she’d never had—what I’d never let her have. Care. Affection. A loving relationship between family members. Sex, followed by something other than rejection.

I complimented Mom’s skills at giving head, her body, even how she felt on my lap, before offering her a reward as thanks.

“Y-yes please,” she gasped, and I smiled as I pulled her over my lap to spank her to orgasm.

It was only two blows before she was cumming, her entire body clenching and squrming as she did. Again, I pulled her up for a naked cuddle, telling her what a good job she’d done, what a good girl she was, and how proud I was of what she’d done that night.

Mom and Cynthia both cried at my words that night, each of them for a different reason.

* * *

Every day that week, I got head from my mother. But unlike most punishments, we didn’t save it until the end of the day.

Mom could be doing anything—cooking, cleaning, working out, making out with my sister—when I’d grab her hair and pull her to her knees.

The first time, she was wearing clothes (a rarity these days), about to go out. She’d just gotten into the car when I entered the garage, opened the car door, and pulled her head to my exposed erection.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked, looking up at me in confusion.

“It’s your punishment,” I said sternly. “Once a day, remember?”

“Y-yes, but...”

“I decide when. I decide where. And I’m deciding now.”

Mom looked like she wanted to object further, but her focus was entirely on my cock, and I felt like she was looking for reasons to say yes.

I decided to skip the argument entirely, pulling her mouth forward until my head was slipping between her lips. She was dressed in a sundress; something that she never would’ve worn before I started hypnotizing her. It was a short dress, too, revealing her toned legs...and more than a little cleavage.

Don’t get me wrong, my favorite of Mom’s outfits was the ‘nothing’ I almost-constantly had her wear around the house, but the dress was pretty hot as well.

“Good girl,” I said softly as Mom’s hands moved up to assist her mouth. Five minutes later, she was swallowing down my cum.

I smiled as she pulled out, knowing that the taste of her son’s seed would be in her mouth for the entirety of her grocery run.

Cynthia, meanwhile, was getting more and more wild-eyed as the week went on. It had been so long since she’d cum, and she didn’t even have the catharsis of getting _me_ off any more. She was edging for two, three, four hours a day, but never cumming.

I wasn’t even putting her under—it was tempting, since I was only cumming once a day inside Mom’s mouth (boo hoo, I know), but I wanted my sister getting as worked up as possible. Especially since she was thinking about me rejecting her whenever she edged. For hours a day, her mind replaying (or inventing) scenarios where she approached me for sex and I refused.

The only relief my sister was finding (or, at least, the closest thing to it) was that I was punishing her again. While she’d been sucking my cock, she’d been too afraid to approach me for punishment. Since that had dried up, she’d once more started coming to me once every few days and telling me that she’d made some mistake.

My reply was always the same. Several minutes of telling her how utterly worthless she was, what a stupid bimbo whore my sister was, how pathetic she was for even thinking it was worth it for me to punish someone as incompetent as her.

She’d cry, beg me to discipline her, promise to do better, and inevitably I’d agree. As the week went on, I noticed my rejection causing more and more of a flush in her cheeks.

Apparently Cynthia was starting to be turned on by me denying her _anything_.

The punishments my sister endured that week were the most extreme I’d given. Now that she wasn’t wearing panties, no part of her was off-limits.

One time, I put clamps on her pussy-lips, and another on her clit. As the clamp closed onto her most sensitive body part, for a moment I thought she was going to cum...but then her eyes widened in pain, and I knew that she wasn’t going to disobey me that day. My sister hates pain almost as much as I love seeing her in pain.

I left her in the clamps for hours. When I removed them, she gasped in agony as the blood returned.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” I said...and perhaps it was, because she didn’t come back for another punishment for several days.

The next time, I put some of the recent research I’d done to use, and put ten milliamps of electrity through each of her nipples.

Cynthia doesn’t normally cry out in pain, no matter what the punishment, but that one had her screaming. My sister isn’t a masochist, and so I knew that she was truly getting no enjoyment out of her punishments...except the pleasure she got from turning me on, of course.

And believe me, she was turning me on. After electrically shocking her cunt, I got so worked up that I had to go and demand Mom’s blowjob straight away, cumming less than a minute later down Mom’s talented throat.

It almost felt like a waste of a blowjob, to be honest, but I knew that there were plenty more where that one had come from...

Cynthia’s last punishment that week, however, was the coup de grace. It hadn’t been easy (to install OR research), but I’d managed to work out how to tie her up and clamp her so that she could be completely suspended from my bedroom ceiling by just her nipples and cunt.

Only for a few minutes, but still. The look of terror in her eyes when I explained what was going to do, the pain and fear as I got her into position, tied her up and clamped her.

And the look of pure adrenaline when, shortly after starting her ‘punishment’, I’d released her. It felt like even if I’d put her under, she would’ve done a dozen cartwheels if commanded.

It was all I could do not to put her under and fuck her until we were both screaming in pleasure.

I think all of us sensed the tension in the air as we approached the one-week mark of Mom’s blowjob punishment. Cynthia, practically giddy at the idea that she might get to return to blowjob duties. Mom, simultaneously relieved and horrified that she wouldn’t be blowing her son any longer.

And me, knowing what was coming next.

The final day of the punishment, of course, I’d set mother another impossible workout. She’d worked so hard at this one I was worried she was going to strain herself...but when night fell, Mom had returned home, morose.

“I failed again,” she sighed, and I shook my head in disappointment. Cynthia’s shoulders slumped at Mom’s words. She’d been rooting for her mother to succeed, so that she could return to the best period of her life. The almost two weeks when her brother had taken her mouth whenever he pleased.

“Oh, Mom,” I said, disappointed. “You know what that means.”

“I know,” Mom sighed, avoiding eye-contact. “Another week of...of...”

Even when she’d been begging for me to stop, Mom hadn’t been able to say the words.

“No,” I said, surprising both the women in the room. I had a thoughtful look on my face. “No,” I repeated. “That obviously wasn’t working.”

“Oh,” Mom replied carefully, trying not to give anything away on her face. “So you mean I won’t...I won’t...”

“No,” I replied. “No, if it isn’t working as a punishment, that clearly means you’re enjoying it. We’ll make it a reward, instead—any day that you don’t break your diet, I can take your mouth. As well as your usual rewards.”

Mom’s eyes shot up, but she didn’t say anything. Her daughter didn’t show as much self-restraint, letting a shocked sob leave her mouth.

“As for your punishment,” I continued, as though Cynthia hadn’t made a sound. “Oh, I know!”

“W-what?” Mom asked, and I gestured to Cynthia, sitting naked and barefoot at the kitchen table.

Mom looked at my sister, then back at me, puzzled.

“The issue is that you’re straight,” I explained calmly. “That’s why you hate making out with Cynthia so much.”

“Uh huh,” Mom agreed immediately, a red blush appearing on her face.

“So going down on your son isn’t a punishment. You like doing it.”

Mom didn’t say anything. She and Cynthia were both staring at me, hanging on my every word.

“Going down on your daughter, however...”

Both the women gasped.

“B-but...”

I held up my hand, and Mom fell silent.

“No buts,” I said firmly. “This is your punishment, and you will obey. For the next week, you have to go down on Cynthia once a day, until she cums.”

Mom’s response was perfect. She didn’t fight it, she didn’t object to the very premise of going down on her daughter as a punishment (I mean, how could she, after what we’d just spent the last week doing?).

Instead, she simply asked a clarifying question.

“And...if she doesn’t?”

I raised one eyebrow in response. “Well,” I said slowly. “You’d better make sure that she does.”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 48

I’ve said before, I’m no actor. So it took effort to hide the look on my face as we walked into the diner.

Not that it would’ve mattered, really. I don’t think anyone was looking at me. As soon as anyone’s attention drifted anywhere near our direction, it was entirely consumed by the two women on my arms.

Mom was dressed like...well, like a MILF, in denim shorts, a tight white t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had thick makeup on, far more than one would typically wear to a diner: a little lipstick, mascara, foundation, eyeliner, and eye shadow. She looked more than a little uncomfortable, showing so much of her legs in public, which to my mind just made the outfit all the hotter.

Best of all, it was clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Or underwear, but that was less obvious. Her thick nipples pressed against her shirt, hard enough to be visible through the thin fabric.

But my sister was the real show-stealer. She wore a tight black skirt, just above the knee, paired with some thigh-high stockings and pumps. She had a pink shirt on, with a low enough cut that you could see the lacy black bra she was wearing underneath.

Cynthia had her hair down, which gave the whole outfit a sexy, messy feel. She was wearing no makeup except lip gloss, which gave her face an innocent vibe, contrasting with the slutty outfit in a way that I found incredibly hot.

And I knew I wasn’t the only one.

So yeah, I was pretty sure that no one was looking at _me_ , except to maybe wonder how I’d landed such babes. And if they had bothered to glance my way, the only thing worth noticing was my erection, which I’d done all I could to tuck out of sight.

Both women had their arms in mine, and they were walking in step as we followed our server to the booth. Every man we passed did a double take at the sight of the girls. Some tried to hide their gawking glances, others turned bright red. But some stared openly, outright ogling the two women on my arms.

Mom was blushing furiously, but she kept her cool. Cynthia, meanwhile, wasn’t doing so well—I knew she wanted to sink into the floor, convinced that the men’s attention was due to her wearing an outfit that was completely unsuitable for her body type.

She was dressed like the slut she was—the slut I’d made her. It looked incredible; I swear, my sister’s body was built to show off. She was a walking porn star, and the outfit accentuated her natural assets, her firm, round breasts pushing outward against the thin fabric of her top, and her tight ass pressing against her skirt.

As we sat, I wondered what our server thought of the two women. Was she jealous? Indifferent?

Interested?

She, of course, had no way of knowing how adept my mother had become at pleasing other women...

* * *

I’ll say this about my sister: she really did try.

Consciously, I have no idea how she justified it to herself. But deep in her mind, she had a clear instruction: she couldn’t cum. She must not cum.

If she came, her brother would find her disgusting. He’d never be attracted to her. And nothing— _nothing_ —was more important to my sister than that.

But this immovable wall had met the unstoppable force that was our mother. Mom had been given an order, and _her_ subconscious knew that if she didn’t obey it, there’d be consequences.

The Toy.

Showing what I considered pretty remarkable self-control, I wasn’t in the room when Mom first started going down on my sister.

But I heard about it later, from both sides.

“Tell me what happened,” I ordered. Mom was kneeling in front of me, completely naked, her tits bound (and starting to turn purple), her ass glowing red from the spanking I’d given her before putting her under.

Her eyes were glazed over...partially because she was hypnotized, but just as much because of the powerful orgasm she’d just had at my hand. At her own son’s hand.

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of spanking my mother to orgasm.

“When?” Mom asked. She wasn’t playing games, she was just too turned on to think straight.

“This morning. When you started going down on your daughter.”

“Oh.”

I was stroking my cock, ‘testing’ an earlier punishment. Testing how well she took my load on her face. I’d normally have had her blow me—Mom’s mouth is incredible—but then, of course, she wouldn’t be able to tell me the story.

“Cynthia was in her room,” Mom gulped, her eyes following the motion of my hand. “I told her...I told her it was time.”

“Time for what?”

Mom hated specifying it, which is why I insisted she did.

“Time for...for my punishment.”

I looked at her with one eyebrow raised. I didn’t even have to say anything—Mom knew what that look meant.

She knew that she needed to keep me happy.

“Time for me to go down on her,” she whispered.

“What did she say?”

“She didn’t say anything. She just...she spread her legs.”

“What was she wearing?”

“Nothing. S-she was...she was naked.”

“What did her pussy look like? Be specific.”

“She had no hair,” Mom said, swallowing hard. “She was...pink.”

“Was she wet?”

“Y-yes,” Mom answered, her voice shaking slightly.

“Did she seem aroused?”

Mom paused. “Um...yes.”

“How could you tell?”

“B-because of how wet she was.”

“What else?”

“Her clit,” Mom replied, squirming uncomfortably. “It was...it was hard.”

“Did you want to taste it?” I asked. Mom, predictably, didn’t answer.

“ _Did_ you taste it?“

“Yes,” Mom sighed, the sudden look of lust in her eyes telling me everything she refused to say aloud.

* * *

“What happened next?” I asked, slightly breathily, as I pumped into my sister’s sopping cunt. The same cunt Mom had had her mouth on just a few hours earlier.

Cynthia was bent double as I fucked her. She hadn’t even questioned why I wanted to hypnotize her, slumped over the bed like this.

She never questioned anything I told her to do.

“Mom—oh! Mom...licked me.”

“Where?”

“She licked up my lips,” Cynthia panted. “My p-pussy lips. Until her tongue rested on my clit.”

“How did it feel?”

“Incredible,” my sister admitted. “I was so wet. So turned on. I loved knowing that Mom was doing this because my brother ordered her to. I loved knowing that he could walk in at any point, and...and...”

She paused, swallowing, and I knew she was trying not to cum.

Just as she had earlier that day, with Mom’s tongue on her. In her.

“What happened next?”

“She moved one hand up,” Cynthia moaned. “Until it was resting on my thigh. Until she was touching my cunt. And then, she...she started licking me again.”

“Licking what?”

“My clit. Lapping at it. Trying to make me cum.”

“Did you want to cum?”

“No!” Cynthia answered immediately. “No. No, I wanted to be good. I wanted to be good for my brother. I wanted to make him want me. I wanted to...oh!”

I’d thrust into her particularly hard, my cock ramming against her cervix.

“What did Mom do next?”

* * *

“I moved a finger inside her,” my mother admitted shamefully, while staring at my cock. At my hand, stroking it, aiming directly at her face.

“ _God_ ,“ I groaned, and Mom shivered at the sound of my lust. “What did it feel like?“

“Warm. Hot. Wet... _so_ wet.“

I smiled. My sister was a juicy girl, I knew that first-hand. Or first—...cock, I guess.

“Did you like it?”

No answer.

“What did you do next?”

“I added another finger. Then a third.”

“And?”

“And I started to move them in and out of her.”

“You were basically fisting her,” I replied. “You were basically fisting your daughter.”

Nod.

“What did she do?”

“I felt her body tremble,” Mom said. I couldn’t tell how much of the lust in her voice was from what she was saying, and how much was from having my cock in her face, but I loved it. “I could see that she...she was enjoying it, so I kept moving my fingers in the same rhythm.”

She bit her lip, keeping quiet, waiting for me to say something.

“And?”

“And we kept going like that.”

“For how long?”

“Hours,” Mom confessed. “Hours and hours. Until my hand was cramping, and my tongue was sore.”

I smiled. Like I said, Cynthia really had tried.

* * *

Cynthia’s voice was muffled by the pillow I was fucking her into, but I could still hear her every word.

“Then my brother came in,” Cynthia groaned. “Fuck! Fuck...”

It’s true. I’d seen my mother enter about two hours before curiosity got the better of me, and I’d had to investigate and see what was happening.

I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been my sister, laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling as Mom’s hand rammed in and out of her daughter’s cunt with all the enthusiasm she gave her monstrous daily workouts.

“How did you stop yourself from cumming?”

“It wasn’t easy. It was so...oh! So fucking hard...”

“So how did you do it?”

“I closed my eyes and did math in my head. I tried to ignore the pleasure, to concentrate only on the algebra running through my mind. I tried to think about anything other than what was happening.”

Both women had been naked, and both were glistening with sweat. The smell of my sister’s sex filled the room, and the sound of Mom’s fingers pounding into her cunt echoed off the walls.

Mom’s face was flushed, but her eyes were bright when I tapped her shoulder. Her entire face was coated with my sister’s juices.

“What happened next?”

“Daniel told us that he needed Mom. He told me that it was... _fuck_! It was time for her reward.“

“What do you think he meant by that?”

“He was going to fuck her mouth,” my sister groaned. “God. Just like he used to fuck mine. He was going to use Mom’s mouth for his pleasure. He was going to make her suck his cock until he came in her mouth. Until he filled her mouth with his perfect, delicious sperm.”

“What did you do?”

“I watched,” Cynthia admitted. “I watched as Mom started to lick him. Just like she’d been licking me, her tongue moved all over his shaft, then she closed her mouth over his cock and started sucking at the head.”

I’d been so turned on by the sight of Mom going down on Cynthia—and the knowledge that she’d been doing it for hours without a break—that I’d just had to take her. I’d had to take Mom’s mouth, while my sister watched.

“What next?”

“For a moment,” Cynthia moaned, “just for a moment, he looked at me. He looked at me, and he didn’t go soft. He didn’t look mad. He looked at me, and I thought about how good I was being for him. How obedient. He looked at me, and I imagined him letting me suck his cock again. God, I wanted to be in Mom’s position so bad...”

“Did he cum?”

“Yesss. He came in her mouth. All over her tongue.”

“Did you watch?”

“I watched. I watched as Mom swallowed every last drop of my cum.”

“And what did she do next?”

“She turned around and kept going down on me,” Cynthia sighed, her eyes shining with want. “The tongue that had just been coated in my brother’s cum entered me, and...”

* * *

“And she came,” Mom said, her voice flat. “I m-made my daughter cum. I made my daughter cum, while you watched. While my own son watched.”

“Fuck,” I groaned—the mix of lust and regret in Mom’s eyes was enough to set me off, and soon I was cumming onto her face. She shuddered with pleasure as I coated her face with my seed. She licked her lips, savoring my flavor on her tongue.

“How did you feel?” I asked, and Mom surprised me by answering.

“Awful,” she said, her voice hollow. “You and Cynthia are...you’re my children. I shouldn’t be doing things like this to you. I shouldn’t be m-making you...making you...”

She shuddered.

“And you definitely shouldn’t be watching,” Mom continued. “Cynthia shouldn’t see me s-suck your...and you shouldn’t see your sister cum. You shouldn’t see each other like that.”

“What else?” I pushed, not sure if I should be worried.

“And I shouldn’t be...”

I waited, but Mom never finished her thought. But I would’ve bet a month of sex that the next two words would’ve been “enjoying it”.

* * *

“How do you think your brother felt when you came?” I asked, grasping my sister’s hips as I plunged into her again and again.

“Disgusted,” Cynthia groaned. “He thought I was disgusting.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Terrible.”

“What else?”

“T-turned on,” my sister admitted. “God. I know it’s fucked up. I know I shouldn’t.”

“But you do. Because you’re a pervert.”

“Yesss,” she hissed.

“You’re a disgusting pervert. You’re a filthy, twisted slut. That’s all you are, isn’t it? That’s all you’ll ever be.”

“Uh huh,” Cynthia gasped as I slammed into her, burying myself to the hilt. “Oh god. Oh god, yes.”

“Say it,” I ordered.

“I’m a _pervert_. I’m Daniel’s dirty, nasty little sister. His perverted sister.“

“You hate it, don’t you?”

“Yesss.”

“And just as much, you love it.”

“I love it,” Cynthia confessed. “I love it so much.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want my brother. I want him to fuck me, so badly. I want him to want me, like I want him. I want him to see me as something other than a deviant.”

“But you know he never will, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

The sound of utter despair in my sister’s voice sent me over the edge, and I groaned loudly as I came, filling her wet cunt with my seed. My sister didn’t cum, but her entire body was trembling and pulsating as I pulled out of her.

“Tomorrow,” I instructed. “Tomorrow, you have another chance. If you can stop yourself from cumming, maybe your brother will want you.”

“Maybe,” Cynthia replied, but I could tell from her voice that she had zero confidence in the idea.

* * *

Sure enough, my sister came again the next day. This time, I stayed away, curious to see if my mother could get her there without my assistance. Don’t get me wrong—I certainly _wanted_ to watch. The sight of Mom going down on her own daughter, for hours on end...it was something I’d fantasized about for years, and never imagined I’d get to see.

It wasn’t easy, keeping myself out of the living-room (which was where Mom had decided to fulfill her punishment that day), but I was apparently built with more willpower than my sister.

Rather than jumping straight into sex, Mom had mixed it up and started by making out with Cynthia. After almost half an hour of foreplay, of the two women kissing, hands exploring each other’s bodies, Mom’s hands massaging my sister’s sensitive tits, pulling at her nipples...only then had Mom slithered to the floor, spread Cynthia’s legs, and begun tasting her pussy.

The teasing hadn’t stopped there. Mom had spent another ten minutes licking and sucking at Cynthia’s pussy-lips before her tongue even made contact with Cynthia’s clit, pressing firmly against the little bundle of nerves.

Cynthia had practically jumped off the couch. Her own edging sessions involved stimulating herself past the point of saturation: overwhelming her senses, not avoiding them. She had never been teased like this, and when Mom’s tongue finally met her clit, she’d almost cum on the spot.

But it wasn’t until Mom had taken one of Cynthia’s thighs in each hand, pinning her down to the floor as she sucked on her pussy that Cynthia had gone over the edge. Mom had been relentless, licking, sucking, stroking Cynthia’s clit until my sister’s entire body began to shake, and her hips were thrusting against Mom’s face, trying to force more of her into her mouth.

I don’t know if the women in my family were gay, but after hearing both of them describe what it had been like, I was confident they were at least a little bit bi. The way Mom’s already-glassed-over eyes had managed to go even more hazy as she talked about it. The way Cynthia had lost her breath in the re-telling, gasping and panting as though I was fucking her.

Yeah.

But the icing on the cake had been after Mom came (while retelling the story, not while getting my sister off). She’d been so worked up, I hadn’t been able to help myself, throwing her across my lap and spanking her round ass until her orgasm rolled over her body.

Once it was done, the hollow look was back. The guilt—not only of what she’d done to her daughter, but at how much she enjoyed it. At how much it turned her on.

“Tell me what it was like when Cynthia came,” I said, unable to resist an opportunity to twist the knife.

“Her juices were dripping down my face,” my mother said, her downbeat tone a delicious contrast to the vivid description. “I...I swallowed as much as I could, making sure m-my tongue never left her clit. Her thighs were twitching and clenching, and I...I...”

“How did you feel?”

Mom fell silent, her unfocused eyes staring at me in pain.

“How do you feel now?”

“Terrible,” Mom whispered. “I shouldn’t be...we shouldn’t be...”

“But you will, won’t you?” I asked, and Mom nodded. “You’ll do whatever I tell you.”

There was a pause, but I saw Mom glance towards her bedroom door.

To the room where the Toy sat, a silent reminder of what was in store for her if she didn’t obey.

“Y-yes,” she finally admitted.

* * *

The next day wasn’t quite as easy. For Mom, that is—after hearing the tale of how quickly Cynthia had cum, I’d made things very clear to her.

“Every time you cum, your score drops. Every time you prove what a pervert you are, how easily you orgasm at your own mother’s hands, your brother’s estimation of you drops. He’s not attracted to deviants like you. You need to try harder.”

“Yes, sir,” Cynthia had intoned, her glassy eyes staring obediently into mine.

And again, I know she tried. She almost succeeded, too—Mom spent half the day on her knees in front of her daughter, pulling out every trick she could to make her cum.

Once more, she opened with foreplay, making out with my sister for a long while before moving her mouth any lower. As the girls told me about it later, it was easy to imagine—after all, I’d spent much of the last few months watching my female relatives kiss, Mom’s hands roaming over Cynthia’s naked body, touching and tweaking and making her squirm.

When Mom had gotten Cynthia hot and bothered, she’d moved to the floor of her daughter’s bedroom. Mom had spent a good twenty minutes exploring Cynthia’s wet cunt with her tongue, teasing and stroking her pussy until her daughter was trembling with anticipation.

But when she’d finally gotten to her daughter’s clit, Mom hadn’t had the same results as the previous day.

She’d again been merciless, flicking her tongue at Cynthia’s nub, rubbing her clit while plunging her tongue deep into her daughter’s pussy. But my words had been running around my sister’s subconscious, telling her that she couldn’t cum. She _couldn’t_.

And she hadn’t.

Mom’s tongue had begun to cramp when she’d realized she needed to change things up. Her assault on Cynthia’s clit wasn’t having the desired response, and so she’d switched to her hand.

When Mom had slipped two fingers into Cynthia’s cunt, she’d nearly lost it. Cynthia had gasped and moaned, her hips gyrating against Mom’s hand, but she still hadn’t come. My mother—presumably doing what _she_ liked—had maintained a steady rhythm, pumping her fingers in and out of Cynthia’s pussy, curling them as she did.

Despite being as turned on as she’d ever been, Cynthia had resisted. My sister had moaned and writhed under Mom’s hand, but she’d managed to hold on. She’d refused to give in to the pleasure, refused to let herself cum, no matter how much she wanted it.

Mom had continued for hours, pumping her fingers inside her daughter, licking her clit, reaching up to tweak the sensitive nipples of Cynthia’s huge teats. Twice, she’d stopped to make out with her daughter, stroking Cynthia’s hair, sucking and biting on her neck, doing all she could to get her off.

She’d done everything right—Cynthia had told me later that her technique was impeccable, her skills bringing her to the brink of orgasm again and again.

And when she’d finally succeeded, it had been a fluke more than anything. She’d been about to give up—her arm was aching, her fingers had wrinkled from being inside my sister for so long, and despite Cynthia being a seeming endless well of liquid arousal, she knew that she was reaching diminishing returns.

It was that moment, the moment where Mom had began removing her fingers, that it had finally happened. The angle at which she retracted her hand had stimulated my sister in a way neither woman had expected, and she’d cum. Hard.

“Oh, fuck!” Cynthia had gasped, Mom’s hand being followed by a dribble of girl-cum, then a small flood our mother’s hand with moisture.

Mom had looked up at her, surprised by her sudden release, and then Cynthia had stared back at her, eyes wide with shock and guilt.

She’d failed. Mom had won again.

But it would be the last time.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 49

“Daniel?”

My eyes widened at the sound of my name being called from across the diner. I turned to see CJ, a boy I’d gone to elementary school with. I hadn’t seen him in years.

What a time to run into an old friend.

My mother’s cheeks reddened. She clearly remembered him from my childhood; he’d visited our house many times. I could practically hear her thoughts, feel the heat emanating from her face.

The last time she’d seen him, Mom had been forty pounds heavier, and dressed...well, like a Mom.

Now, she was sitting in a diner without underwear, her daughter in a similar state of undress.

She looked like a slut.

They both did, their perfect bodies on display to anyone who wanted to look.

“Long time no see,” I said, standing up and slapping my old friend on the back. CJ’s eyes almost fell out of his head at the sight of my sister and my mother, who were both staring intently at the menu like it contained the secrets to the universe.

My former friend frowned for a brief second, looking confused, before a smile spread across his face.

“Dude,” he said conspiratorially. “Is...that Cynthia? And your _mother_?“

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound as casual as I possibly could. Like they weren’t dressed like whores.

“Holy shit,” CJ said, his voice laced with astonishment. “They’re...”

He glanced at me, but I kept a straight face.

“Your Mom’s a MILF.”

“Dude,” I replied, doing all I could to act offended. “That’s my mom.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at them in awe. Cynthia braved a look up from the diner’s menu, meeting his gaze briefly, before turning away. “Hey, is your sister seeing anyone?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, and CJ’s face fell.

“Damn,” he said wistfully. “God, what I wouldn’t give to live with a pair of hotties like that.”

I smiled inwardly, but again shot him a look.

“C’mon, man,” I said, a slight whine in my voice. I’m no actor, but I knew I had to sell this. “Not cool.”

“Sorry, man,” CJ sighed. “I just... _damn_.“

I patted him on the shoulder, and squeezed back into the booth beside my sister. As soon as CJ was out of sight, my hand slipped between her thighs. Her short skirt gave me easy access to her pussy, which was dripping from the humiliation that she’d just experienced...and, of course, from her brother’s touch.

The look of embarrassment on my sister’s face was matched only by the pain in my mother’s eyes. I stared at her as I fingered Cynthia, as my sister did all she could to avoid reacting to my touch.

Mom knew exactly what we were doing. And she knew why we were doing it.

* * *

The first time my mother failed, I was there to watch it.

Not for the whole thing. It took almost a full day, after all. Hours and hours of Mom’s face buried between my sister’s thighs, licking and sucking on Cynthia’s clit like her life depended on it.

Knowing that if she didn’t pleasure her daughter, she’d be punished.

They were both naked. No, actually—Mom was wearing a pair of heels. I don’t even know why, to be honest. Perhaps it was a stray command I’d forgotten about, or maybe Mom just liked heels.

My house had turned into such a whirlwind of lust, fetish layered upon fetish. My sister, getting off from me getting off from her pain. My mother, hiding her lust for Cynthia by insulting her body...which, in turn, worked my sister up more than complimenting her would have.

Both women were mindlessly obeying months of commands, orders I’d implanted deep into their subconscious, a long series of imperatives, molding them into my ultimate sexual fantasies.

It was quite a sight. Mom was kneeling over Cynthia’s bed, her ass facing me as she sucked her daughter’s clit. I could see her pink pussy lips through her furry bush, her ass bright red from the abuse she’d endured earlier that morning. After she’d sucked my cock, I’d ‘rewarded’ her with a bonus spanking.

It was normally something we saved for the evening, but all routines had gone out the window. Now, I used my mother’s mouth for my pleasure whenever I wanted, and she never resisted when I pulled her across my lap and paddled her ass until she was screaming in orgasm.

Cynthia’s head was thrown back as Mom pleasured her, her tits shaking as she did all she could to resist. I’d never seen anything like it; Mom had been going down on her for almost three hours, starting from the moment she’d shakily left the kitchen that morning, her entire body flushed with pleasure.

I’d been tempted to call her back, have her kneel in front of me and suck my balls until I was ready to unload in her mouth again, but instead I let her go.

I was curious. Could Cynthia hold out?

Historically, my sister hasn’t had the greatest self-control. Despite her best efforts, she climaxes even when directly ordered not to. As Mom had fingered her, as I’d fucked her, even when masturbating. But today, she was determined not to break.

She’d do anything to increase the chances of me being attracted to her. Even if it meant resisting our mother’s _extremely_ talented mouth.

And so after an hour, I’d wandered into my sister’s room, to find Mom doing all she could to make her daughter cum. Both women were coated in sweat; the room was filled with the smell of Cynthia’s arousal, mixed with my mother’s.

But the fact that Mom was still going told me...my sister hadn’t cum.

I probably could have made it happen. If I’d pulled out my dick and started playing with myself, or—as I had just a few days earlier—made Mom suck me off, then go straight back to going down on Cynthia, I doubt my sister could have held out.

But I didn’t. I wanted to see if Mom could make her daughter cum without my help.

Again.

My mother’s eyes were bloodshot, frantically looking up at Cynthia as she gripped her thighs tightly, holding her legs open. Her tongue was swirling around her daughter’s sensitive nub, her lips sucking and nibbling. Cynthia was trembling as she put all her efforts into resisting, but...it looked like she was doing it.

It looked like my sister was winning.

After fifteen minutes of the greatest show on earth, I got up and left the two naked women. Another hour passed, and my curiosity got the better of me once more. When I came back into the bedroom, their positions had changed—Mom was sitting on Cynthia’s bed, legs spread, while her daughter leaned against her. One of Mom’s hands was grabbing my sister’s huge tits, the other between her legs.

She was whispering into Cynthia’s ears, but loudly enough that I didn’t need to get any closer to hear what she was saying.

“You’re a worthless cunt,” Mom whispered. Cynthia’s eyes were closed, her body quaking as her mother’s words dripped directly into her brain. “You’re nothing but a whore. You’re a stupid little bitch, aren’t you?”

“Mmmmmmmphh,” Cynthia moaned, her face contorted with pleasure as Mom’s fingers caressed her clit.

I smiled at the sight. I hadn’t realized that Mom had noticed her daughter’s reaction to her abuse. She’d never acknowledged it in any way, but after hours and hours of trying to make Cynthia cum...

Desperate times and all that.

“You can’t keep your pussy shut, can you? I can feel how wet you are. How desperate you are for my fingers. Your fat cunt needs me to fuck it, doesn’t it?”

“Mmmm,” Cynthia whimpered, her eyes screwed tight. It was clearly taking everything she had not to give in, not to cum at the sound of Mom’s cruel words, tapping into her greatest insecurities.

“Say it, slut,” Mom said, her fingers giving Cynthia’s clitoris some relief, curling inside her instead. Even across the room, I could hear how wet she was.

“I...I need it, mama,” Cynthia moaned. My cock twitched at the look of disgust on Mom’s face. It was clear that she hated every part of this. She hated touching her daughter, she hated talking to her like that...but most of all, she hated any reminder that she _was_ touching her daughter.

But she knew what would befall her if she didn’t get Cynthia off.

Desperate measures.

“You’re disgusting,” Mom hissed. “All your friends are better than you. Everyone in your life is better than you. I wish I had another daughter, just so I could get replace you. Disown you. If I had another daughter, I’d kick you out of the house just to make sure you never see my son again.”

Cynthia’s body was thrashing beneath Mom’s hands, the same way she always did when Mom forced her to cum, and for a moment, I thought Mom had done it.

But just as she was about to cum, Cynthia opened her eyes and saw me standing there, watching them. And at the sight of her brother—her obsession—a look of calm determination appeared on her face.

Her shaking subsided. She didn’t cum. And in that moment, I knew that she wouldn’t.

Cynthia had found her zen. Her self-control. She knew how important it was that she resist Mom’s attempts to get her off.

Mom wasn’t going to be able to get her off.

I shot my sister a half-smile—she shivered at the sight—and slipped out of her room again.

I had to prepare.

* * *

Almost ninety minutes later, Mom slinked into my bedroom. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so scared.

“I...I couldn’t do it,” she confessed, her voice trembling.

“Do what?” I asked, as though I hadn’t walked in on her trying. Twice.

As though I hadn’t spent the last hour and a half hard as a rock, imagining what was happening downstairs.

“I couldn’t make...couldn’t make your sister...”

Mom trailed off, finally finishing the sentence with a mumble.

“...finish.”

I shook my head slowly. Clearly Mom had realized, just as I had, that Cynthia wasn’t going to cum. That it was a hopeless cause.

“Mom,” I said, my voice dripping with disappointment. “You really couldn’t do it?”

My mother didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring at the floor. I sighed and turned away from her, walking towards my closet.

When I turned around, I had a new tool in my hand.

A flogger.

I’d ordered it a week earlier, and been looking for the right moment to use it. I mean, sure, I could’ve come up with any excuse to pull it out, but I’d wanted it to be special.

I guess I’m just a romantic at heart.

Mom shivered at the sight of it, a full-body pulse. My mother is a true pain slut—as I took a step towards her, she groaned with anticipation and began bending over.

I held up one finger, and Mom froze in place. The sight of her naked body, awkwardly posed in obedience to my unspoken command...god I loved my mother.

I mean, everyone loves their mother. But not, in most cases, like this.

“Not your ass,” I said softly, fingering the whip. “Your tits.”

Mom froze. I’d spanked her tits with my hand before, and of course I’d tied them up a thousand times, but I’d never done anything like this. “D-Daniel,” she began, but I raised one eyebrow and she fell silent.

I had complete control of her. She’d do almost anything to avoid displeasing me.

“Wear these,” I ordered, pulling a pair of nipple clamps out of my dresser drawer.

“P-please, Daniel,” Mom stammered, but when I pressed them into her hands, she moved them to her breasts and quickly attached them.

They were tight enough to cause some pain, and I felt a small surge of power at the look on Mom’s face.

“Kneel,” I ordered, and Mom immediately obeyed.

I took two steps forward, my cock bulging as it rubbed against my pants. I took the whip, and let it rest along my forearm, its weight heavy in my hand.

I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the room wash over me. It was so quiet in the house. So peaceful.

And then I brought it down.

The first blow struck Mom’s right tit, and she yelped. Her expression was priceless; her cheeks burning, her lip quivering, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried desperately to hold back her tears.

I gave her a moment to compose herself, before bringing the lash down again. This time I hit her left breast, and she impressed me, not making a sound as the whip slashed across her tender flesh.

Again I waited, savoring the tension. After a few moments, I brought it down again; a harder strike this time, and she cried out.

“D-Daniel,” she pleaded.

I reached forward and slapped her face, hard. “You deserve this,” I reminded her. She stared at me with watery eyes, before nodding.

“Yes,” she gasped. “I deserve this.”

I brought the flogger down again, hitting her right tit with a loud crack, causing her to gasp. And then I repeated the process: left, right, left, right. Over and over again, each blow stronger than the last.

Mom was sobbing now, her body wracked with tears, her face twisting in agony as I whipped away. I could feel my cock throbbing in my pants as I swung the whip. Every strike was met with a gasp of pain from my mother’s lips.

The whip was a blur in my hands, and I couldn’t believe how quickly I could bring it down. I was losing count of how many I’d landed by the time I ran out of energy, my arm starting to burn.

“Cum for me,” I ordered, my voice thick with lust as I struck my mother’s tits.

“W-what?” she gasped, her whole body shaking.

“Cum for me,” I repeated, my voice rough as I reached down and pulled her hair, forcing her eyes to mine. She stared at me, confused, in pain...but, I knew, deeply aroused. Dropping the whip, I slapped her tender tits with my other hand; sharp, quick strikes, that I knew would sting her sensitive flesh.

“Cum for me,” I said a third time, tightening my grip on my mother’s hair. Her tits were a bright red, and as I tugged on the nipple clamps, the intense pain and my direct order was enough: her orgasm washed over her, and I watched her pussy twitch, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she came, climaxing without either of us touching her clit.

I let go of her hair and stepped back, breathing heavily.

Mom collapsed onto the bed, panting, her body twitching as she recovered from her orgasm. For a long moment, there was silence. When she finally regained her composure, Mom looked at me, her expression wobbly. “D-Daniel,” she stuttered. “Why?”

I didn’t answer, just smiled a cruel smile as I lowered my pants. Mom didn’t ask any more questions; I reached out, grabbed her hair, and guided her mouth down to my cock.

* * *

“Your brother was impressed,” I told my hypnotized sister, and she shivered with pleasure. It was hard not to enjoy the sight, the way her tits jiggled and shook as the arousal coursed through her body.

I was sitting on her bed, the same bed that Mom had spent so long trying—and failing—to make her cum for the past two days.

After her failed attempt the previous day, Mom had tried something new. She’d found a toy, used it to fuck my sister, whispering dirty talk into her ear as the dildo squelched in and out of Cynthia’s sopping wet pussy.

But again, Cynthia had held out. Perhaps Mom’s efforts had made her hit a point of saturation…but something told me that my sister had, at last, mastered the art of controlling her orgasm.

Cynthia’s cunt had been dildo-fucked her for hours, Mom’s arm getting as sore as mine had while flogging her tits the night before. But though my sister had squirmed and moaned and writhed with pleasure...she hadn’t cum.

“You didn’t cum,” I commended her. “You made Daniel think of you as more than just a disgusting pervert.”

“Yesss!” Cynthia hissed, her voice high with excitement.

“Your score didn’t rise,” I said, smiling at the subtle sight of my sister deflating. “But...it didn’t lower, either. And I think I know what you need to do next.”

“What?” she asked, desperate. “What can I do?”

I reached out and turned my sister’s face to mine, until my eyes were burning into her glazed gaze. “You have to offer to fuck him.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened, a subtle movement, but one that I was watching closely for.

“W-what? How...how will that work?”

“You tried blowing him,” I reminded her. “But that only lowered your score, because you were so bad at it.”

False. I mean, yes, my mother was better at giving head than Cynthia was, but she had experience. My sister’s mouth had still been incredible, especially for a novice. Even as Mom sucked me off twice a day (if not more), it was often Cynthia’s mouth that I imagined.

I know, I know. Getting a blowjob from my mother was a wet dream...but my sister was a goddess.

A goddess with the self-esteem of a goblin.

“You’re no good at sucking cock,” I lied, my voice soft. “But...even someone as disgusting as you can’t fuck up sex.”

Cynthia shuddered.

“Your brother has almost no respect for you. He thinks you’re a total waste of space. But...he’s a virgin.” I mean, sort of true. If you discount fucking your unconscious sister, I was.

“All you need to do is get wet”—for my sister, not a challenge—“and let him stick it in you. No matter what he thinks of the rest of your body, he’ll definitely enjoy _that_.“

Again, a shudder. My sister thought about me rejecting her every time she edged. She thought about how disgusting, how repulsive I—and everyone—found her.

So being insulted by me was the hottest thing she could imagine.

“He doesn’t want to fuck you,” I said casually, once more enjoying the combination of dismay and arousal on my sister’s face. “He probably still finds the idea disgusting. But he’s a teenage boy, and you’ve got a pussy. If you can convince him to use you, maybe he’ll forget about the rest of you. Maybe he’ll think of you as nothing more than a wet hole that he can stick his dick into.”

My sister groaned with pleasure at the idea.

Six months earlier, she never would have even thought of me in a sexual light. Now, Cynthia was practically howling like a minx at the idea of me using her like a fleshlight.

“Think about how much pleasure your brother would feel if he could fuck you.”

Moan.

“Think about how much pleasure his cock would get, just from sliding inside you. Think about how much your pussy would love to have a dick in it. His dick. Think about all the ways you can please him, even though he thinks you’re disgusting.”

My sister was practically writhing at my words.

She’d do anything I told her to. _Anything_.

“You’re going to fuck your brother,” I said firmly. “You’re going to let him use you. You’re going to give him your wet cunt, even though everyone knows how disgusting it is. How disgusting _you_ are. And when he’s finished fucking you, you’re going to thank him for it. Thank him for sticking his cock inside you. Because you know it’s all you’re good for. It’s why you exist.“

“Yesss...” Cynthia moaned, and I was tempted to pull my cock out and fuck her right then and there.

But I didn’t. I knew that there were greater rewards ahead.

* * *

Cynthia didn’t make a move that night. Mom was now so desperate to make her daughter cum, I suspected it was starting to consume her mind. She knew that if she didn’t, my punishments would escalate—after the second time she’d failed to make Cynthia cum, I’d given her a new kind of punishment.

I’d made her pose for me as I photographed her. That night I must have taken hundreds of photos of my mother’s naked body, her tits still swollen and red with welts from my flogger. I’d told her that if she didn’t behave, I’d send them out to everyone we knew—her boss, our neighbors, all my friends.

Mom hadn’t resisted. Her eyes had been filled with terror at the idea, but she’d obeyed my every command, striking every pose I told her to, no matter how lewd.

She knew she deserved it. She knew she deserved whatever punishment I gave her.

My mother was broken. My cock throbbed at the thought; I’d broken my mother. I’d destroyed her, and could rebuild her however I wanted.

For over an hour, I’d taken photos of my mother’s body as she held her arms behind her head, pushing her bruised tits forward. I’d taken pictures of her bent over, her ass winking at the camera. Her legs spread wide, showing her glistening pussy-lips. Her clamped nipples, practically glowing with pain.

I’d made her masturbate, taking photos as she played with herself, her fingers sliding between her dripping pussy lips. I captured endless images of her touching herself, of her fingers buried deep inside her pussy. Of her wetness leaking down her hand and dripping onto her sheets.

And then I’d taken pictures of my mother as she gave me head. She’d looked up at the camera in fear, her lips stretched around my cock as I used my phone to preserve the moment.

What we were doing was illegal. Immoral. A deviant act. And I was capturing it permanently, for the world to see. Images that would exist forever, of Mom performing incest. Of my mother, sucking her own son’s cock.

And she hadn’t resisted. Mom had just sucked my cock obediently, allowing me to photograph her as I pulled out and came onto her face.

I’d taken photos of Mom’s face, coated in my cum. I’d taken photos of the semen slowly sliding onto her tits, then ordered her to lick it off. That might have been the hottest photo of them all; Mom’s huge tits, coated in my sperm, her tongue extended, licking her own son’s seed from her skin.

Mom had done everything I ordered, even as she hated every minute of it. She’d obeyed, even as she knew my photos could ruin her life.

Then, once she’d cleaned up, she’d found my sister on the couch and begun making out with her. Mom knew that in order to avoid being punished again, she had to make Cynthia cum...and she must have thought that the best way to make that happen would be to keep her warmed up.

She didn’t go anywhere near my sister’s privates, just kissed her, stroking her bare skin. She likely would’ve had more luck if she hadn’t cleaned my cum off her skin first, but Mom had no way of knowing that. She had no idea how obsessed Cynthia was with her own brother.

At first, my sister had just enjoyed necking with our mother. Like I said, I’m pretty sure she’s bi...or perhaps her new predilection for incest was enough to override her heterosexuality.

But then, when she noticed me watching—I’d given up on being subtle about how much I enjoyed the two women making out—a wicked look had appeared on my sister’s face.

Mom’s eyes widened as Cynthia reached up and began playing with her sore breasts, but she never stopped kissing her daughter, never stopped caressing her.

My sister didn’t stop at just rubbing Mom’s tits. Soon, she was pinching, squeezing. Gently at first, then harder and harder. Mom pulled back, her eyes widening in shock at the sudden pain. But Cynthia didn’t stop. She just kept on, her fingers digging into Mom’s tits, pulling hard enough for her to yelp.

“Cynthia,” Mom said, but Cynthia used her mother’s sore tits to pull her forward and into another passionate kiss. After a moment’s reluctance, my mother started making out with her daughter once more, only stopping to gasp with pain.

On more than one occasion, I caught Cynthia glancing over at me, making sure I was enjoying what she was doing. Enjoying the pain she was causing our mother.

I didn’t even try to hide it. The woman who had raised me was now being tortured for my entertainment. And she wasn’t fighting back—she was allowing her daughter to hurt her for my satisfaction.

I watched, fascinated, as my mother writhed under Cynthia’s hands. I saw her bite her lip, and I could see the fear in her eyes. I’d seen it when I’d flogged her, too. I’d captured it a thousand times while photographing her.

This wasn’t fun for her anymore. This wasn’t exciting, or erotic. All she felt was pain, and humiliation, and fear.

It was all I could do not to pull out my cock and unload onto her face once more. Onto both of them.

Instead, I just stood there, enjoying the show.

* * *

The next day, Mom once more failed to make Cynthia cum. I think even she realized that she’d lost the battle; there was a hollow look in her eyes as she struggled to get her daughter off, pulling out all the tricks. She ate her pussy, she used her hands, a toy...in a moment of desperation, she even licked Cynthia’s asshole, sticking her tongue deep inside her daughter’s rectum, making her moan and squirm as Mom’s tongue explored her most intimate parts.

But nothing worked. Even as Mom ate out her daughter’s ass, it was clear that Cynthia wasn’t going to cum. She moaned and panted and sighed, but her orgasm was clearly not coming. No pun intended.

Finally, Mom called it quits. I was there for the end of it, as my mother turned to me and sadly shook her head. She’d been trying for almost three hours; not her longest stint, but it was obvious that she wasn’t going to get Cynthia any closer.

My sister had won. Which meant, of course, that I’d won.

Ah, who am I kidding. I would’ve won either way.

Mom slinked out of the room, and my sister took a moment to cool down. I’ve seen my sister orgasm dozens of times (maybe hundreds) so I’d been able to recognize the signs. Without her saying a word, I knew that feeling her mother’s tongue in her ass had gotten Cynthia closer than anything else Mom had tried...but still not close enough.

My sister had finally become the master of her domain. She hadn’t cum in three days. I could tell how proud of herself she was.

Proud enough, it seemed, to give her the courage to ask.

“D-Daniel,” she said, kneeling in front of me.

“Mm?” I asked, as though I didn’t know what she wanted.

She wasn’t naked. A rarity these days, but a welcome one.

I mean, don’t get me wrong—I love the sight of my sister’s bare body. I love watching her sweat as Mom tries to get her off, or as she completes one of her daily workouts. I loved the smells that filled the house, the musky odor of sex constantly filling the air—and I especially loved the way Cynthia smells when she’s turned on.

Which, of course, she constantly is.

But I also liked the variety, and as Cynthia stood in front of me, I allowed my eyes to travel up and down her body, appreciating her choice of lingerie. She was wearing garter belts and thigh highs, along with a black peephole bra.

She’d originally been wearing panties, too, but Mom had long since taken care of those.

“I wanted to ask you,” my sister began nervously. “If...if...”

“What is it?” I smiled kindly.

“I was, um, wondering if, um...”

“Mmm?” I encouraged.

“I was wondering if you...if you wanted to fuck me,” Cynthia said, the last few words coming out in a whisper.

I pretended not to have heard her. We stared at each other for a few moments, and I tilted my head to the side in confusion.

“To...to fuck me,” she repeated, louder, but just as nervously.

My eyes narrowed.

“Beg,” I ordered, my voice a growl. Cynthia shivered.

“Yes, sir,” she said softly.

Neither of us said a word as my sister got on her knees. She knelt before me and bowed her head, her hair hanging down around her face. It was pose of submission. Of obedience.

Cynthia looked up, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment, and I could see how scared she was, how vulnerable she was making herself.

“Please, Daniel,” she begged. “Fuck me. Please, fuck your sister. I...I know I won’t be any good at it. But I want to make you happy. I want to please you.”

I didn’t say anything, and my silence seemed to give her courage.

“Use me,” she pleaded. “Use my cunt. I’m...I’m wet enough, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Use my ass, if you want to.”

My cock stiffened at her words. That hadn’t been part of the brief I’d given her the previous night; she must have been inspired by where our mother’s tongue had just been.

“Just use me like the slut I am. Fuck me. I just want to bring you pleasure. It’s...it’s all I’m good for.”

I didn’t answer.

“Master,” she continued, her voice a half-sob. “I want to make you happy. I want my wet, dripping cunt to be yours. It’s here for your pleasure. For when you want to use it. To make you cum. So please, p-please fuck me.”

It was exactly the kind of speech I’d hoped she would give. My sister was saying words that I’d dreamed of hearing, that I’d fantasized about ever since I’d hit puberty.

My sister was begging for my cock, as I’d wanted her to do for years. And I knew exactly what I had to say.

“No,” I replied shortly, and my sister fell back as if I’d slapped her. “You’re not worth it.”

“W-what?” she replied.

“You’re disgusting,” I replied. Cynthia’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. Before she could recover, I continued.

“Your pussy is filthy. You’re nothing but a whore. A nasty, fat whore. I wouldn’t fuck you if it was the only way to save my life. I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

My sister let out an involuntary groan. For weeks now, she’d been edging while imagining me rejecting her, picturing this very moment—her propositioning me, and me turning her down.

It was meant to be the best moment of her life. The first time she (knowingly, at least) got to feel her brother inside her.

Instead, I was denying her. Denying her, degrading her. Telling her words that on some level, she believed to be true. The words that terrified her more than anything in the world.

I could see her soul withering and dying, even as her libido surged. Her whole world was crashing down around her, and all she could do was stare at me in horror and arousal.

“Please!” she said, her voice cracking. “P-please...”

I shook my head, leaning forward. “Never,” I spat. “You’re not worthy of me. You’re not worthy of anyone. You’re nothing but a useless whore. You deserve _nothing_. You disgust me, and you’ll never be good enough to make me cum. You serve no purpose; you’re not even good enough to cum. If I were you, I’d...I’d end things. I’d kill myself, knowing I have absolutely no reason to live.“

Cynthia closed her eyes, and I briefly wondered if I’d pushed her too far. But a grin spread over my face as I realized—she was cumming.

After days of abstaining, after hours of having Mom play with her, after edging at least twice a day...my sister’s self-control had crumbled alongside her dream, and just at the sound of my harsh words, her body went rigid, and she let out a long, low moan.

My words had triggered an orgasm. She’d been so close for so long, and my cruelty had pushed her over the edge.

As I watched, my sister’s hips buckled, and she came.

Cynthia was still on her knees, her legs trembling as she fought to keep from collapsing. Her nipples were rock-hard, and her breasts swelled as her orgasm swept across her body. It was incredible to watch, such an amazing display that I couldn’t help but let out a short, sharp laugh.

Pulse after pulse of pleasure coursed through her body. She was just writhing and shaking, trying to regain control of herself. She probably didn’t even realize that she was crying.

Finally, her orgasm passed, and Cynthia opened her eyes. When she did, the first thing she was was a look of pure disgust on my face (I’d been practicing in the mirror) as I stared at her and shook my head, before walking out of the room.

My sister didn’t know, but I immediately went and found Mom. Within minutes, I was cumming down her throat, memories of my sister’s orgasm running through my head as I did. She’d begged me to fuck her, and cum at my rejection.

I’d never felt as powerful as I did in that moment.

* * *

My mother’s punishments continued to escalate. That night, I flogged her tits again, raining down blows onto the welts left by the previous whipping. When I was satisfied with the results, I tied her up tightly and walked away, leaving her to stand in agony overnight. She barely slept, and when I finally untied her, she was a mess—covered in bruises, cuts, and welts. She was also trembling, and it wasn’t from the cold.

My mother had always been a proud woman, and the sight of her naked, shaking, bruised body...my cock was throbbing as I released her, and the moment she collapsed in front of me I pulled it out.

My mother’s eyes were glazed with exhaustion as I moved my cock to her mouth, but she unquestioningly opened her lips, sucking me deep as I pushed her to her knees. I fucked her face hard, and she took it, moaning and drooling all over my shaft as I buried myself in her mouth.

It was one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had; the helpless, hopeless look on my broken mother’s face, the feel of her warm mouth around my cock...it was too much. I came down her throat, filling her up with my cum as she continued to suck me off.

When I was done, I pushed her away, and she fell to the floor, sobbing.

“What have you done?” she asked weakly. “What have you done to me?”

“You deserve it,” I reminded her, staring down at her with disgust. “You did this.”

Mom didn’t say anything in response, her shoulders heaving as my words landed, hitting harder than my blows ever could. I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across my lap.

She came after the first three spanks, but I didn’t stop, striking her ass until she reached two more sobbing, quivering orgasms.

Mom failed to get Cynthia off that day, and I punished her by having Cynthia eat her out. To my delight, neither of them questioned it—Mom accepted that her punishment was having her daughter pleasure her, and Cynthia would’ve done anything for me.

Anything.

As Cynthia went down on Mom, I stood beside her, reminding both of them how disgusting they were. Cynthia, for being a little lesbian slut; Mom, for not even being able to complete the simple task of making her daughter cum.

Mom, still exhausted, cried as she climaxed, openly sobbing and clutching at her daughter’s head as her whole body shook. I’d told Cynthia to make sure that Mom came, and she did—long and loud, tears streaming down her face.

As a reward, I let her suck my balls afterwards. And just to torment Cynthia, I made her watch.

It wasn’t long before I was cumming once more, coating our mother’s face with my seed.

But even hotter than my mother’s torture was my sister’s ongoing reaction to her rejection.

It was like I’d broken her. Like I’d hurt her so badly that nothing else mattered anymore. I probably could’ve ordered her to jump off the roof and she would’ve done it.

All Cynthia wanted was to please me. All she wanted was to use her body to get me off. And I’d just told her (in no uncertain terms) that it wasn’t happening. That it would _never_ happen.

Every time she saw me, she begged me with her eyes, hoping that maybe I’d change my mind. Maybe I’d come to my senses, realize what a worthless slut she was, and take her. Use her, for what she saw as her only purpose in life. Fuck her until I came inside her.

To add to the torture, I made sure that Cynthia was in the room whenever I used Mom’s mouth. Two, three times a day Mom would fall to her knees and blow me. I’d stare down at her lovingly, lustfully, making it clear how much I enjoyed what we were doing.

Making it clear that my sister would never have this.

But, as I’ve mentioned before, Cynthia is smart. Smarter than me, honestly. And so while I’d been enjoying how much it pained her to be rejected, her mind had been spinning—obsessing—and she came up with a plan that was...look, it was smart.

My sister came up with a plan that even I couldn’t reject.

At the end of the week, Mom’s obligation ended. She was no longer tasked with trying to get Cynthia off, probably to the relief of both of them. They were spending hours each day at it, Mom doing everything she could to make her daughter cum, Cynthia doing all she could to avoid it.

On the last day, Mom had bought a strap-on, and was making out with her daughter as she lay on top of her, fucking her, mixing up her pace: slowly, then hard and fast. A lot like how I fucked Cynthia, actually. Maybe that was how Mom liked to be fucked.

Cynthia needed to concentrate to avoid cumming, but she’d gotten pretty good at it. Despite edging for hours a day, despite Mom doing everything she could to turn her on, she still managed to avoid reaching climax.

And so when Mom gave up, pulling the toy out of my sister, I sighed.

“This punishment was a bust,” I said judgmentally. “You somehow manage to fail at being punished.”

“I’m sorry,” Mom panted, blinking back tears. She really had been giving it her all.

“So now we need to come up with something even worse,” I sighed. “Something that will really motivate you. Something that will drive you mad.”

I paused—mostly for dramatic effect—and was surprised when my sister interrupted.

“I have an idea,” she offered, and I turned to her like I’d just found a worm in my food.

“What?” I spat, and Mom glared at my sister as well. Between the daily abuse she gave her, and the frustration at being unable to make Cynthia cum, I was starting to suspect that Mom had started to resent her daughter.

“I know what will upset Mom more than anything,” Cynthia said, her voice trembling. “I think it’d be the best punishment you could possibly give her.”

“What?” I asked, genuinely intrigued. This wasn’t what I’d planned, but I couldn’t wait to hear what Cynthia had thought of. Her last suggestion had been that I cum on Mom’s face, so I had high expectations.

“Mom would truly hate it,” my sister said with a gulp. “...if she saw you and me together.”

* * *

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