Diet
by Pan
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?