The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I couldn’t sleep that night.

What had my brother been about to say?

It didn’t matter that I was his sister. Everyone had to love me. Everyone. Just like everyone knew that big boobs are sexy.

I don’t know if you’ve read the dictionary lately, but ‘everyone’ does not exclude brothers.

After all, wasn’t that what had set me down this path in the first place? The fact that even my brother—my brother—had been unable to avoid noticing that god, I had huge boobs.

It was four am when I finally succumbed to curiosity. I got out of bed, marched down the hall, and entered my brother’s room.

I’d woken him up from sleep before, but he must have been in the middle of a REM cycle or something, because it took several minutes of shaking him before I could get his attention. Eventually, I had to get on the bed and practically sit on top of him before it worked.

I was naked, of course. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight, and the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

“Whaaaaat?” he whined, when I finally woke him up.

“I…I need to know,” I mumbled, suddenly shy. He reached over and turned his light on, blinking as he stared at the bare boobs in front of him.

Not that he was likely to complain. Everyone knows, big boobs are sexy.

“Know what?”

I suddenly felt bad. I was built to serve, and to serve is to obey. Waking someone up in the middle of the night…I guess it’s not technically disobedient, but it sure felt like it.

I had embraced my submissive nature, and now here I was, acting against it.

Shit.

“What you were going to say,” I mumbled.

My brother looked mad, so I grabbed his hands and moved them to my fat tits. Fat tits feel amazing—I knew that would help mollify him.

“What I was going to say when?” he asked. He still sounded grumpy, but I could tell it was working; he didn’t sound like he was going to kick me out of his room, or forbid me from ever interacting with him again.

“On the landing,” I moaned. My brother’s hands on my fat tits felt amazing. And I lived for sex, obviously. I was always wet.

But I had to be safe.

“On the landing?”

“Uh huh,” I groaned, moving one of my brother’s hands between my legs. It was important not to forget—the rest of me deserved some attention as well.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grumbled. “What time is it?”

“Four,” I replied bashfully. My body was starting to respond to my brother’s hands, starting to muddy my thinking.

I was always wet.

“You woke me up at four am…why, exactly?”

“I wanted to know,” I gasped. I could feel an orgasm oncoming. “You said if I wasn’t your sister, you’d…you’d…oh, god.”

My body shook with climax, as two of my brother’s fingers gently pumped in and out of me.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “You woke me for that?”

“Uh huh,” I said, not entirely paying attention. My brother’s hands were very talented.

“Hang on,” he muttered, moving his sheets to the side and sliding firmly inside me. It seemed that my brother slept naked as well. “Let’s see…what were we talking about?”

“You said I looked good,” I replied, my eyes rolling back in my head with pleasure. I felt so…full. So content.

It made sense; I obviously lived for sex.

I was built to serve.

And everyone had to love me.

They just had to.

“Uh huh,” my brother groaned. It seemed that he, too, had gotten distracted.

“And you said that if I wah-wah-wasn’t your sister…”

I shuddered as I came again.

“Yeah…”

“That was it,” I said. “Then you closed the door and went to bed.”

“Ah,” my brother replied. “Right. So you want to know what I was going to say?”

My brother’s hands had returned to my fat tits. They felt amazing.

“I do,” I nodded. “Please.”

“It was nothing special,” he said with a shrug.

“Please…”

“Barely worth mentioning.”

“Please,” I begged, and my brother looked me in the eyes. Tenderly, like he loved me. Like I was more than just his sister.

Like I was valuable property.

“You really want to know?”

“I doooo…” I said with a long sigh, another orgasm washing over me. God I was wet.

I was always wet.

“Very well,” he said, pulling out of me and standing up.

“Noooo,” I whined, but he shook his head.

“You wanted to know, sis.”

I fell back on his bed, reaching between my legs to touch myself. Before I could, I felt my brother’s grasp on my hand, his eyes burning into my head.

“You will never touch yourself again,” he said, his voice deep. Thick. Soft. “Your body is for other’s pleasure.”

I nodded, stunned.

“I will never touch myself again,” I repeated back. “My body is for other’s pleasure.”

The words felt like they imprinted on my brain, like they were a part of me now. I would never touch myself again. My body was for other’s pleasure.

I would never touch myself again.

My body was for other’s pleasure.

“You belong to me,” he said, and I blinked twice at the force of his words. “You will come when I desire you to.“

“I belong to you,” I echoed. “I will cum when you desire me to.”

Despite the fact that I was never again going to touch myself, despite being so turned on and unable to get myself off, I suddenly had an intense feeling of…fulfillment.

I’d found my owner.

I was valuable property (it was why I had to be safe), and property needs an owner. I’d found my owner—my brother.

Part of me felt like something was wrong, like this shouldn’t feel so natural, so normal.

But it did.

I was valuable property. Everyone loved me. They had to.

Everyone, including my brother.

I belonged to him.

I belonged to my brother. I was built to serve, I was always wet, and to serve was to obey. Now, at long last, I knew who I had to obey. Who I had to serve. Who owned me.

My brother.

I belonged to him, and I would come when he desired me to.

“You are a pair of tits,” he said, his words ringing through my skull. “That is your primary purpose.”

“I am a pair of tits,” I nodded. “That is my primary purpose.”

The rest of me deserved some attention too, of course, but it was impossible to deny—I was a pair of tits. The real, true me—the me that mattered. Some people are teachers, or dancers, or carpenters. Me? I was a pair of tits.

It was my primary purpose.

God I had huge boobs. I had huge boobs, and I was a pair of tits.

I was a pair of tits.

It was who I was. A pair of tits.

It was my primary purpose.

“You love to be punished,” my brother said, even as I was grappling with his previous declarations. “You strive to submit.”

“I love to be punished,” I gasped, feeling his words imprint themselves upon my soul. “I strive to submit.”

It was true. I loved to be punished. I was built to serve, and I would embrace my submissive nature. I strived to submit, and I loved to be punished.

A smile appeared on my brother’s face. “You are loved, you are precious, and you are mine.”

I mirrored his smile with my own. “I am loved, I am precious, I am yours.”

My brother owned me. I belonged to him—I was valuable property. His property. And he loved me. I was valuable property, and my owner valued me highly. Everyone loved me, because of how precious I was.

I was loved. I was prescious.

I was his.

I belonged to him. I would come when he desired me to.

“You are the best possible version of yourself,” he said, reaching out to touch my face. “Obeying me thrills you; you worship my control.”

“I am the best possible version of myself,” I said, reaching up to touch my brother’s hand. “Obey you thrills me, and I worship my control.”

“Good girl,” he said, and I nodded.

“Yes,” I replied, a tear welling up in my eye. “I’m a good girl. I’m your good girl.”

That was six months ago. Since then, life has been pretty amazing. I just feel so…loved. I mean, everyone loves me, of course, but there’s something about being loved by my brother.

I’m his. It’s as simple as that. I’ve tried to justify it past that, but I can’t. I mean, I obviously live for sex, but that shouldn’t mean that social norms don’t apply. I have well and truly embraced my submissive nature, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t…well, incest.

When it came down to it, it wasn’t about what’s normal, or even about what’s right. It was just about what made me happy.

It doesn’t hurt anyone, and it makes me happy. Truly it does—obeying my brother thrills me. I’m built to serve, and that means I have to serve someone. Why my brother? Well, why not?

He keeps me safe, he loves me, and…like I said, I’m his.

Submitting to my brother, being his, submitting to him…I truly think it makes me the best possible version of myself. I worship his control. I worship him, if I’m being honest. I’m built to serve, and who better than my brother to serve?

That’s not to say he’s the only one I spend time with. Everyone loves me, and my body is for other’s pleasure. I’m always wet, but I never touch myself.

I’m always wet, but my body’s for the pleasure of others.

It’s hard. Fat tits feel amazing…fortunately, there are plenty of fat tits out there. My brother allows me to be with whoever I want, as long as I’m safe. I’m valuable property, after all.

I spend as much time as I can at home, for a few reasons. Firstly, because I hate having to keep my tits out of sight. At home, we have a simple rule: no clothing, not for me. I am, first and foremost, a pair of tits. Everyone knows, big boobs are sexy…and god I have huge boobs.

It’s my primary purpose, but I try not to forget—the rest of me deserves some attention as well. I live for sex, and (as long as I’m safe), I get plenty of it. Mac and Angie, Carol (from my old work), my friend Merinda, the man on the bus…and if they’re all busy, it’s not hard to find other people to play with.

I quit my job, of course. I’m valuable property—my brother reminds me of how precious I am, each and every day—but ultimately, I’m a pair of tits, and I belong to my brother. I was built to serve, but not by going into an office and working a normal office job.

I need to be available to my brother at all times. I come when he desires me to. I belong to him. My primary purpose is to be a pair of tits.

Fat tits.

Huge boobs.

Although the rest of me deserves some attention as well.

To serve is to obey, and it thrills me to obey my brother. He makes enough money for both of us, so I can spend my time doing what I was put on this earth for—to submit. To obey. For sex.

To be punished.

I love to be punished. I love it. Sounds contradictory, doesn’t it? How can you love something that is definitionally meant to be suffered?

Well, it took me a while to wrap my head around, but I finally worked it out. I’m built to serve. To serve is to obey. I strive to submit. I’ve embraced my submissive nature.

To be submissive is to give yourself up to someone else. I belong to my brother. I’m valuable property. I am his, and I am the best possible version of myself. But if I don’t belong to myself, how can I assess what the best possible version of myself is?

I can’t. And so while I know—I know—that I’m the best possible version of myself (I’m precious. I’m valuable property. I’m loved. And god I have huge tits…) I also know that I’m always striving towards submission. What does that look like? I don’t know.

I’m not being glib, I honestly don’t know. Only my brother does. For I am his. I belong to him. Everything that I am, everything that I’ll ever be is his, his to command, his to control. I worship his control. Obeying him thrills me. I’m built to serve, and to serve is to obey.

So in order to be the best possible version of myself (which I am) while belonging to someone else (which I do), I need him to control me. He needs to control who I am, what I am, and how I am.

How does he do that? Through punishment.

Whenever I fall short, in any way, my brother punishes me. And I want him to. No, more than want. I love to be punished. Whenever I feel my brother’s hand spanking me, I know that I’m improving. I know that I’m getting closer to my ideal self.

I know that I am becoming even more valuable, even more precious for my brother.

I love it.

And when he allows me to cum—I cum when he desires me to—I can feel it, I can feel that I’m being my best self. I’m always wet. I live for sex. I was built to serve. I strive to submit. I am a pair of tits. That is my primary purpose.

God I have huge boobs.