Diet
by Pan
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.