Diet
by Pan
Chapter 17
“What kind of punishment do you think would be a good replacement?”
My mother was sitting in front of me, glassy-eyed, discussing ways that I could punish her. Every night, she came into my room and let me spank her until she climaxed. My sister had just let me rub her through the panties, bringing her to the edge of orgasm again and again and again.
It was hard to imagine my life could be any better, but I knew it could.
Could, and would.
“I don’t know,” Mom replied immediately. “I thought whipping my feet was very effective.”
“Why?”
“I don’t look forward to it. It makes me work harder to stick to my routine.”
“But it hasn’t worked, has it?”
Mom shook her head, and I deliberately failed to mention the fact that her schedule was actually impossible to stick to.
“So it’s not a good punishment.” A thought struck me. “Do you think it would work better as a reward?”
“No,” Mom said immediately.
I love my mother, but it’s hard to deny that she’s a very simple creature. Watching her develop this complex relationship with BDSM punishments was fascinating, to say the least.
Fascinating, and hot as hell.
“So here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, trying to act like I’d come up with this on the spot, like I hadn’t spent the entire session building up to the idea I was about to propose. “Do you remember how I told you that orgasms during rewards are good, because they reinforce good patterns of behavior?”
Mom nodded.
“On days when you don’t get punished, you’re going to be whipped as normal. And on top of that, you’re not going to be allowed to cum.”
Mom’s eyes widened as she processed what I said.
“Do you understand?”
“I…I…”
I watched her closely, but my mother showed no signs of twitching, nothing alarming. It looked like she was simply processing the new information.
“Do you understand?” I repeated, after about a minute had passed.
“…yes.”
“Tell me what’s going to happen.”
“On days when I don’t stick to my schedule, you’re going to whip my feet. Then, on top of that…I’m not allowed to cum.”
“Exactly,” I said with a smile. “Good girl.”
My cock ached at the sight of Mom’s smiling face as I woke her up.
The next time I put my sister under, she didn’t cum.
A part of me was disappointed, of course. If my sister had cum, I would have been forced to touch her again. Maybe I could have pushed things further, touched her breasts, touched her under the panties.
But she didn’t cum, and so I stuck to the plan.
The plan that would allow me to do so, so much more.
“How do you feel?”
“Throbby.”
Cynthia’s voice was thick with lust. I guess when she was under, she didn’t feel a need to hide her arousal from me.
After last time, after learning that my sister had spent the past few days almost bursting with arousal, I’d kept a lookout for it.
It wasn’t easy—my sister was way better at hiding it than I’d expected—but I could definitely see hints of how turned on she was. You know how people walk differently when they desperately need to go to the toilet? It was sort of like a must more subtle version of that.
Her walk was different, for sure. And she was more…I dunno, heightened, to use Mom’s word. It was almost pornish, in a sense. Whenever she made those little noises that people always make—a grunt when you stand up, a small whine when you drop something—there was a, like, sexual bent to it.
Or maybe I was just imagining it.
Either way, when Cynthia admitted to feeling throbby, it felt good. It felt like I wasn’t crazy.
“Good girl,” I said, and there it was again. This like, hint of a moan. Like when someone starts talking, and then cuts themself off. It was so subtle, maybe I imagined it…
But I don’t think I did.
“Did you stick to your calorie limit today?”
“Yessir.”
Fuck. She was so turned on, she was calling me ‘sir’, and not even correcting herself.
Amazing.
“What about yesterday? Did you stick to your calorie limit then?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever exceeded your calorie limit?”
“No.”
“Good girl.”
There it was again. Like a soft ‘mf’—the sound of pleasure, immediately stifled. My sister, I was reasonably sure, was a true submissive. The forums talked about this—most people do BDSM for fun, for the physical aspect, or like you’d have a hobby.
It’s not all like the film Secretary. Apparently a lot of powerful women—and men, for that matter—will go through their day, being dominant in their CEO jobs or whatever, and then come home and be submissive for an hour or three.
It’s a fun way to spend time, not a lifestyle, y’know?
And then there were full-time subs. True submissives. People who wanted every aspect of their life controlled by a master. People who wanted to be obedient full-time.
Maybe my sister was like that.
Or if she wasn’t, maybe she would be.
“Have you come up with any better ideas for how you can thank your brother?”
“No.”
I swear, my sister could have gotten a job as a phone sex operator. Her aroused rendition of the single-syllable, two-letter word…I bet a lot of people would have paid good money to hear just that one word.
“What ideas have you come up with?”
“Nothing good.”
“Any bad ideas?”
“Yes,” my sister groaned. “So many.”
“Tell me,” I ordered. “Tell me all the bad ideas.”
I cut her off after just ten minutes. Don’t get me wrong—I could have spent all day listening to my sister’s dark ideas, enjoying the sound of her plumbing the depths of depravity. Two more days of edging had started to really get to her, it seemed; her suggestions were more extreme, more hot than ever before.
“Have him write ‘whore’ on every inch of my unexposed skin” was my favorite, I think. I could imagine Cynthia walking around, soaking wet at the knowledge that she was literally covered with degrading words.
But I had more to do today than just listen to my sister talk dirty.
“You think begging him to cum on your lips is a bad idea?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I have no idea why cumming on specifically Cynthia’s lips was so hot to me, but her suggestion had stuck in my memory, and it was a useful segue to what I wanted to try next.
“Maybe it isn’t.”
My sister was silent. God, she was so turned on, so mixed up—if her trainer Danny had told her to do it, maybe she would have.
But sex slaves aren’t built on ‘maybes’.
“Not the cumming on your lips part, but the begging. Your brother is a man, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Cynthia moaned.
“Men are naturally dominant, aren’t they?”
I’d expected a pause there, to be honest. My sister isn’t a, like, die-hard feminist, but it wasn’t like she was going around trying to bring The Handmaid’s Tale into fruition.
“Yes,” she responded without hesitation. I don’t know if she truly believed it, or if the idea had just been such a prevalent part of her fantasies lately that she’d temporarily accepted it as reality, as the way the world was.
“Women are naturally submissive, aren’t they?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So if you want to please your brother,”—there it was again, that delightful half moan—“you could make him feel dominant. Powerful. In control.”
“Yes…”
I’ve got to tell you, it was god damned tempting to take this to its logical extreme. My sister was so worked up, there was a pretty good chance I could have said “Suck his cock” right then and there, and she would have gone along with it.
But if there’s one thing that running has taught me, it’s to pace myself. This wasn’t a hundred-meter dash, it was a marathon.
And there was more than a trophy on the line here. I was competing to earn a reward I’d get to reap for the rest of my life.
“How could you make him feel dominant?”
My sister’s eyes fluttered in response. For a moment, I thought she was waking up. Then I realized…
She was getting off.
“Don’t cum,” I reminded her, and the fluttering stopped.
I couldn’t help but grin. I had my sister exactly where I wanted her. Horny, pliable, ready to pop just at the thought of getting me off.
But she was clearly not firing on all cylinders at the moment, so I decided to help her out.
“To thank your brother for helping you out, you’ve been doing all his chores, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
How did she manage to make that simple, common word so damn erotic?
“And you’ve been trying not to bother him with anything else, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Are there things that you’ve wanted to ask his help with?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
A part of me was secretly hoping she’d say ‘getting off’, but of course she didn’t. Now I was the one getting fantasy and reality confused.
“Like asking him when the last time he saw the remote was, or getting his opinion on stuff.”
I hadn’t even realized until she said it, but yeah. Cynthia used to always ask my opinion on the dumbest stuff—‘which of these pillow-cases should I buy?’ and junk like that. I have no idea why—I can’t imagine my take on one scarf vs another was particularly helpful—but she’d always asked, and I’d always sort of tried to help her out, I guess.
“Men like feeling useful. Maybe you could ask him his opinion on that kind of stuff, and thank him at the same time, make him feel dominant.”
No reaction.
“How could you do that?”
“Do what?”
“How could you make him feel dominant?”
Cynthia just continued to stare blankly.
“You could beg,” I said, helping her out once more. I think my sister’s brain was too fried to fill in the blanks herself. “Do you understand?”
“No.”
“Next time you want something from your brother, you should beg him. Get down on your knees and beg. It’ll remind him of how dominant he is. Wouldn’t that be a good way to thank him?”
“Yes,” she replied immediately, but I could tell she was holding something back.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” I asked. Again, my sister agreed immediately, but I didn’t quite buy it.
“What’s wrong?”
“If this is such a good idea,” Cynthia said reluctantly, “doesn’t that mean that I should stop withholding orgasms?”
Ah. Yes. I’d frankly forgotten why she wasn’t cumming in the first place, but she clearly hadn’t.
I guess if your arousal is dominating your thoughts, with no means of relief, you’re going to fixate on why you’re not allowed to relieve yourself.
“No,” I said. “For two reasons. Firstly, because you didn’t think of this, I did.
“Secondly, because this isn’t the great idea. You’re going to think of something to truly thank your brother, something that’s good enough to pay him back for all the time he’s spent hypnotizing you. This isn’t it—this is just a little thank you along the way. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” Cynthia replied.
“What are you going to do, to thank your brother?”
“I’m going to beg him.”
My cock plumped up at the idea.
“What for?”
“For anything. For everything. Whenever I want something from him, I’m not just going to ask—I’m going to beg.”
“Why?”
“This will make him feel dominant, and serve as a little thank you for helping me lose weight.”
“Do you think he’ll be suspicious?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because men are naturally dominant. Because my brother is naturally dominant.”
I felt like patting myself on the back. I’d wound my sister up, and now…god damn was it a pleasure to watch her go.
“Good girl.”
“Mf.”
I barely restrained myself from coming up with a reason to touch her over her panties again, and woke her up.
That night, just a few hours later, Cynthia came into my room.
“Hey sis,” I said. When I wasn’t hypnotizing my sister, I tried to act like I always had around her—just a bratty, disinterested little brother. “You run out of trashy reality TV?”
Without a word, she got down on her knees in front of me.
Thank god I wasn’t wearing my running shorts. I went from zero to twenty in two seconds flat, if you know what I mean. I don’t think Cynthia noticed—if she had, I bet I would have heard an ‘mf’.
Or something more.
The sight of my sister kneeling in front of me…god, what a sight. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a purple bra, a pair of white panties, and a locket necklace.
And nothing else.
Her cleavage went on for days, and this was perhaps the best view I’d ever had of her huge, perfect tits.
This may have been the view I’d ever had of anything, period.
“Please, Daniel,” she said. “Can you…can you help me find the remote? Please?”
I swear to god, I completely lost my tongue.
Like, sure, I’d gotten my sister to start dressing sexy around the house. I’d convinced my mother to let me spank her to orgasm each night. While she was under, I’d touched my sister until she was panting, moaning, begging me to let her cum.
And I’d convinced my sister to get herself off several times a day…and then the opposite, not get herself at all, until she was a walking ball of arousal, constantly on the edge of losing it.
But this.
This.
My sister was kneeling—literally kneeling—in front of me, submissively begging me…to help her find the remote control.
Everything else had felt like shifts, like I was tweaking stuff that already existed.
This? This felt like a complete shift of power.
And best of all, I knew it was just the beginning.