Diet
by Pan
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.