The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Brother Likes Boobs

By Pan

Chapter 3

Carol loved me.

Everyone loved me.


But as I left the bathroom, I was practically floating on air.

Carol loved me.

Carol loved me.

It made sense. After all, everyone know that big boobs are sexy…and there are none as big as mine. So mine were the sexiest.

Fat tits felt amazing, and mine were the fattest. I hated having to keep my big, huge, fat, sexy tits out of sight—I hated it, and so I refused. I showed off as much of those amazing tits as I could, and so everyone loved me.

But especially Carol.

As I caught the bus home, I wouldn’t have been surprised to look at my reflection and see love-hearts in my eyes, when a thought struck me.

I knew that my fat tits were amazing. Amazing and sexy. But the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

The rest of me deserved some attention as well.

Did that mean that the rest of me was just as sexy?

My eyes fluttered back in my head at the thought.

I had fat tits: they felt amazing. They felt amazing, and everyone loved me. Everyone loved them. But if the rest of me deserved attention as well, maybe…

I turned to the man sitting next to me on the bus. A total stranger, but that didn’t matter. He loved me.

At least, he would soon.

He had to.

“Excuse me,” I asked with a friendly smile, “can I ask you a weird question?”

“Of course, young lady,” he said gruffly, and I tenderly grabbed his hand and moved it to my leg.

“Does that feel amazing?”

His eyes widened in shock, but as I moved my lips to his, he softened slightly. Soon, he was breathing heavily, and his hand was moving up my leg.

“God,” he muttered, as I pulled back to let him take a breath. I didn’t want to give him a heart attack, after all. “Everyone must love you.”

I just giggled in response. I was pretty flustered. I wrote down my number on a piece of paper—he didn’t have a phone on him—and he promised to call.

As I skipped off the bus, I realized—he hadn’t even touched my tits! The rest of me did deserve some attention as well—as amazing as my huge, fat tits were, the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

Maybe that was why everyone loved me.

I didn’t hesitate to strip off as soon as I got home. I considered slipping on one of my new bikinis, but I just hated having to keep my tits out of sight. My huge, fat, amazing tits.

That was where my brother found me. The moment I’d walked through the door, my clothes had ended up in a pile next to me, and I’d found myself staring at the hallway mirror, marvelling at my huge boobs. God they were sexy.

I leaned up against the wall, staring at my sexy big boobs, unable to resist touching myself as I did.

Everyone loved me, and I could see why. Even I wasn’t immune to the effect of my huge, fat tits. I didn’t even think to close the door—why would I? I hate having to keep my tits out of sight.

“Hey,” my brother said casually, and it was an effort to tear my gaze away from the mirror.

“Hey,” I replied, and couldn’t help but smile at the way that his eyes traveled up and down my body a few times, before finally making their way back to my face.

“Huh,” he said, as if a thought had just struck him for the first time.


“It’s just…well…”

He paused, and with a half-smile, simply said:

“You are built to serve.”

As he walked upstairs, I was stunned.

What did that mean?

My gaze returned to the mirror, but no longer was I just staring admiringly at myself—now, I was critically appraising my body. My fat tits that I hated keeping out of sight, my sexy, curvy stomach, my long legs, my firm ass…

Maybe I was misunderstanding something.

I wandered back to my room, and lay down on my bed. With my eyes closed, I ran my hands all over my body—my big boobs felt amazing, and the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

As I lay there, stroking my skin, shivering with pleasure, I tried to think of what my brother could have meant.

Serve. Serve.

I was built to serve.

He was possibly talking about tennis, but that didn’t seem likely. No, more likely he meant…servitude. Like a maid, or a waiter.

Like a slave.

A shiver ran through my body at that thought. A slave.

I’d been naked when he said it—I hated having to keep my tits out of sight, and the rest of me deserved some attention as well. He might have been my brother, but he’d been unable to help noticing my huge boobs…and everyone knew, big boobs are sexy.

He knew that my big boobs are sexy. God, I had huge boobs. He’d been the one to say it.

“God you’ve got huge boobs.”

I said it out loud, a tingle of pleasure running through my body at the thought.

It was clear that my brother thought of me a sexual being. It wasn’t his fault—everyone knows big boobs are sexy, and fat tits felt amazing. And while I hated keeping my sexy boobs out of sight…the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

“Everyone must love me,” I muttered. When had one hand made its way between my legs?

“Everyone must love me,” I repeated, moaning. I reached up with my other hand, and started grabbing my fat tits. It felt amazing, and my back arched with pleasure.

“Everyone must love me,” I moaned. “I…I’m built to serve.”

As I lay there panting, coming down from the aftermath of my orgasm, I realized that I still didn’t really get what my brother had said. After all, he couldn’t mean…

Could he?

I got up, determined to get some answers. I considered putting some clothes on, but…I mean, he’d seen everything already, right?

Besides, I hated keeping my huge boobs out of sight.

“Hey…” I said quietly, standing at the door to my brother’s room. He was laying on his bed reading a magazine, but he smiled when he saw me.

“Hey sis.”

“I just…”

He held up a finger, and went back to his magazine. I wondered if I should be mad. Then I wondered if that was a weird thought—surely being mad wasn’t something you normally had to think about; you were either mad or you weren’t.

Maybe that was he meant. It didn’t bother me, being told what to do.

Maybe I really was built to serve.

“What’s up?” he finally said, putting the magazine aside.

“It’s just…”

I trailed off, not really sure what to say.


“What you said in the hall,” I mumbled. “What exactly did that mean?”

With a smile, he patted the side of the bed, and I sat down.

I didn’t even question it, I just did exactly what I was told.

Maybe I was built to serve.

“What part are you struggling with?”


Again, I couldn’t reach the end of my sentence. I was blushing—sitting this close to my brother, I was suddenly aware of my scent. I’d gotten off so many times, including in my room just a few minutes ago. He must have been able to smell my juices.

“I mean, look at you.”

He gestured to the mirror, and without hesitation I got up and looked at myself, just as I had been when he’d come home earlier that day.

Without hesitation.

I’m built to serve.

As I stared at myself in the mirror, my brother started talking. He only said four sentences, but each one hit me like a slap in the face. Each one made me stagger back in shock, and when he was done, I was laying on his bed, breathing heavily.

“To serve is to obey.”

I immediately started repeating the phrase in my mind, again and again. To serve is to obey. I’m built to serve. To serve is to obey. I’m built to serve.

Before I could even begin processing it, he kept going.

“You are always wet.”

I’m always…—

“You live for sex.”

He didn’t hesitate that time, just kept talking, like a relentless thunderstorm of new ideas that I didn’t have time to parse.

“Embrace your submissive nature.”

I shut my eyes, and moved one hand between my legs.

To serve is to obey. I’m always wet. I obviously live for sex. I should embrace my submissive nature.

No, not I should.

That was the one thought I could grasp onto, in a whirling sea of new ideas.

Not I should embrace my submissive nature—it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.

And I was built to serve. To serve is to obey.

I was built to obey.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would obey.

I had to embrace my submissive nature.

Embrace my submissive nature.

I’m built to serve.

Embrace servitude.

To serve is to obey.

Embrace obedience.

My nature was…submissive. It wasn’t even that I was submissive. It wasn’t a decision, it wasn’t a lifestyle choice. I was, by nature, submissive.

And it was time to embrace it.

I needed to embrace my submissive nature. To serve was to obey, and I was built to serve. I was built to serve.

And I was so, so wet.

It wasn’t surprising. I was always wet. Everyone knows big boobs are sexy, and god—I had huge boobs. They felt amazing, and so of course I was always wet. I was always wet.

I was so, so wet.

Maybe that was why it was obvious. Maybe that was why it was obvious that I lived for sex—aside from the fact that I hated keeping my fat boobs out of sight, and that I never forgot that the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

The fact that I was always wet made it obvious that I lived for sex…

I obviously lived for sex, so I was always wet…

The hand between my legs could confirm that I was always wet, that I lived for sex. But I wanted to embrace my submissive nature—I wanted to advertise to the world that I was obedient, that I was obedient and always wet.

It was obvious that I lived for sex? Well, I was going to make it more obvious.

When I opened my eyes again, I was alone. A pity—I was built to serve, and to serve was to obey.

I found my phone, and went to call Carol. After all, Carol loved me.

I mean, everyone loved me…but Carol had felt how amazing my fat tits were, and I wanted to show her that I was always wet.

But until that afternoon, Carol had just been a casual workmate. I didn’t have her number—it was in the company directory, but I didn’t have access to that from home.

The man on the bus! My eyes fluttered at the idea of calling him, telling him how obedient I was, showing him how submissive I was…but I’d given him my number, and hadn’t thought to get his.

So with no one to obey directly, I decided to obey the last thing I was told: to embrace my submissive nature.

For the second time in a week, I went shopping. Last time I’d bought clothes that just showed off as much skin as possible—I hated keeping my fat tits out of sight; they felt amazing.

This time, I had two missions: I wanted to embrace my submissive nature…

…and I wanted to make it more obvious that I lived for sex.

With a smile, I entered the mall.

This was going to be fun.