Diet
by Pan
Chapter 18
My cock thickened at the sight of Mom’s guilty look.
I mean, at this point there were very few things my family could do that wouldn’t make me hard. Cynthia was walking around constantly horny, barely clothed, and having increasingly sexual thoughts about me, her brother.
Mom was coming into my room every night and letting me spank her to orgasm. On top of that, her diet was actually starting to show results—she wasn’t like, back to her glory days overnight, but the diet and gym were actually making a difference.
I knew that weight loss could sometimes lead to a reduction in breast size. Mom honestly had size to spare, but I hoped that she would be the kind who lost weight everywhere else first.
As well as that, Cynthia was never allowed to orgasm, and my Mom was cumming by my hand each and every night. It was hard to say which one I was enjoying more.
The one thing I wasn’t enjoying was that I still wasn’t getting anything out of it. I mean, besides the sights, the sounds. Getting to rub my sister to near-orgasm had been pretty great. And spanking Mom was a lot of fun.
But I wasn’t getting release. I was escalating things with both the women in my family, but it was entirely one-sided, and I was starting to get frustrated.
I wanted to fuck them. Both of them. I wanted to feel Cynthia’s lips around my cock. I wanted to titty-fuck Mom and cum on her face.
I wanted to fill both of them with my cock. With my seed. I wanted to cum inside them, so so badly.
But my plan entirely relied on both of them seeing me as innocent. As safe. If they knew my true intentions, if they knew that I was manipulating them, if they knew how much I wanted them…
It would all explode.
I could lose everything.
And so for now, I needed to stay the ‘innocent’ one.
For now.
“What’s up?” I said, trying to adjust myself subtly at the sight of Mom’s ‘I need to be punished’ look. Her eyes flicked down to my pants as I did.
Shit. Had she seen that I was aroused?
I watched her carefully, but her expression didn’t change.
Maybe I was being overly cautious. Maybe it was time to start pushing things a little more. Mom knew that I was hard while I spanked her. Cynthia…well, Cynthia thought that I found her repulsive, but she weirdly got off on that. Maybe I could use that, somehow.
I tucked all these thoughts away, and focused on the guilty-looking woman standing in front of me.
“I only went to the gym twice today,” Mom replied, and I hid my smile. “I need to be punished.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “And did you stay under your calorie limit?”
Mom rattled off the numbers, I nodded, and a thought struck me. In our last session, I’d told her that her punishment would be that she wasn’t allowed to orgasm.
But we’d left it there.
Was she expecting me to bring it up? Should…should I acknowledge that Mom came every time I spanked her? She’d never even used the word ‘spanking’ when she wasn’t hypnotized; how would she react to me openly admitting that I knew she came as my hand made contact with her ass?
The silence stretched on as I mentally debated what to do. I didn’t want to mess everything up…but on the other hand, I desperately wanted to move things forward. To start being more overtly sexual with Mom. With Cynthia.
“Cynthia isn’t allowed to orgasm,” I said, hardly believing the words tumbling out of my mouth. “As a punishment. She’s not allowed to cum, not until she loses enough weight.”
Mom’s eyes widened. I could see every inch of her near-perfect body tense.
We weren’t really a ‘talking about sex’ kind of family. I assumed Mom knew I jerked off, of course. I was a teenage boy. It would have been weird if I hadn’t.
When I’d turned fifteen, she’d left a packet of condoms in the chest of drawers beside my bed. I mean, I assume it was her—the alternative was that I’d gotten a visit from the condom fairy.
That was her version of ‘The Talk’.
So yeah, it was a bit of a jump to suddenly talk about my sister’s orgasm. My face blushed red at my own audacity, at the risk I was taking.
But hell—in for a penny.
“It’s been very effective,” I said, my cheeks burning. “Do you want to try something like that?”
“Sure,” Mom said, looking everywhere in the room but at me. Her face was almost as red as mine.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s try that.”
The silence stretched on, and I realized we were done talking about it.
“Time for your reward,” I muttered, and Mom all but leapt into my lap.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting—some hesitance, I guess. We’d just talked about sex, as explicitly as we ever had. We’d just discussed Cynthia’s orgasms. Mom cumming.
And now I was going to spank her.
But she didn’t even hesitate.
“Don’t forget…” I started. “Uh…”
“I won’t,” Mom said, clearly desperate to avoid talking about it any more.
I took the hint, raised my hand, and brought it down on Mom’s ample ass. Hard.
SMACK.
Mom arched her back, and I heard—and felt—her breathing-rate increase.
SMACK.
A small groan left her mouth, like the kind Cynthia now made whenever she had to bend down to pick something up.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
Mom was writhing on my lap, as she always did during her ‘reward’. I had learned not to wear jeans during Mom’s rewards—by wearing something silkier, I could enjoy her wriggling. My cock could enjoy her wriggling.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
Now, I’m not an expert in the female orgasm. If you need a witness for a big court case, don’t call me. I only know what my Mom’s look like when I’m spanking her, or what Cynthia’s look like when she spontaneously cums after several days of edging.
I mean, I guess if that’s what the court case is about, bring me in. Because on those two types of orgasm, I was an expert.
And I would have bet my left ball that as I administered the tenth and final SMACK to Mom’s beautiful rump…she came.
“Ohhhhhhhhh.”
All the signs were there. The long, guttural groan. The tensing of her body as she did. The sudden slump at the end.
The look of bliss on her face as she got up and thanked me.
I just nodded. She didn’t look like she needed aftercare, and so I walked back to my room, my brain buzzing, my hand and cock throbbing.
“Did you cum when I spanked you last night?” I asked as soon as my mother was under.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.
I sat back.
Okay. I wasn’t crazy.
After getting off in my room, I’d mentally replayed what I’d seen, Mom’s actions, and no other explanation made sense to me. I’d seen Cynthia edging, and that wasn’t what it had looked like. Besides, I didn’t think Mom would even know what edging was, or have any idea how to do it.
Her and my father had barely gotten to spanking, in their exploration of BDSM. Besides, most of this stuff probably hadn’t even been invented back when they were doing it.
So yeah. The only conclusion I’d been able to reach was that Mom had, indeed, cum as I’d spanked her.
“Did you understand your punishment?”
“Yes,” Mom answered. I narrowed my eyes.
“Explain it to me.”
“My punishment for not going to the gym was that I wasn’t allowed to reach orgasm.”
“And…did you?”
“What?”
“Reach orgasm?”
“Yes.”
“Your punishment was that you weren’t allowed to cum, and then you came. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The silence stretched on, and I realized that it wasn’t going to end. Mom wasn’t thinking, she wasn’t silently struggle with whether or not to answer, she just…wasn’t answering.
God damn it.
“Do you feel bad about cumming when I spanked you last night?”
“A little,” Mom admitted.
“Why?”
“I knew that I wasn’t supposed to.”
“Right. It was a punishment.”
Mom nodded.
I waited for more, but nothing came.
“Why don’t you feel worse about cumming like that?”
“It’s perfectly natural,” Mom said. “Because of the stimulation. It’s not sexual.”
It took me a moment to realize that she was parotting my words back at me.
Ah. Yes.
In order to get Mom cumming at my hand in the first place, I’d had to convince her that there was nothing wrong with it. That it wasn’t a selfish thing.
Now, I was trying to use it as a punishment. Trying to deprive her of something that I’d talked her into seeing as natural and innocent and not sexual at all.
“If I told you not to cum next time I spanked you, what would you do?”
Mom stared forward blankly, her huge breasts rising and falling as she breathed.
Figured.
I tried again.
“Spanking you is your reward,” I reminded her. “Not the orgasm. If I tell you not to cum while I spank you, you’re not allowed to. Do you understand?”
She responded to my question with nothing but silence.
I sighed, and slumped back.
Really, I had no one but myself to blame. I’d known going in that Mom had terrible impulse control. Her inability to stay away from treats had proven that to both of us, again and again and again.
Mom came when she was spanked. It was one of the sexiest facts I knew, but it was still a fact. Expecting her to temper that was like expecting a kid to open a packet and only have a single M&M.
It was like expecting Mom to only have one M&M.
It just wasn’t going to happen.
“So that’s not going to work as a punishment,” I said, thinking out loud, and Mom nodded her head in agreement.
My eyes widened.
Did…did Mom just…
I paused, my brain processing the magnitude of what I’d just seen.
“Mom,” I said, my voice no louder than a whisper. “…touch your nose.”
She did.
“Touch your forehead.”
She obeyed.
“Honk your boobs.”
God help me, she obeyed. Honking sound and everything.
What. The. Fuck.
I’d worked out very early that Cynthia didn’t move while she was under. I’d just…I’d assumed Mom was the same.
I’d made a huge, logical, idiotic, sensible, incredibly dumb assumption.
My voice was shaking as I asked my Mom some questions.
“Do you trust me, Mom?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.
“Why are we doing this?”
“To help me lose weight.”
“I’m doing this to help you lose weight, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
She nodded.
“If I’m going to help you lose weight, it’s important that I assess your progress, isn’t it?”
My words were stumbling over each other as they urgently poured out of my mouth. I knew exactly where I wanted to get with this newfound knowledge, and I had to get there as quickly as I could.
I had to.
“Yes,” Mom answered without hesitation.
“I’m sort of like a doctor in that regard, aren’t I?”
“Sort of,” Mom said.
“In order to tell how your progress is going, I should see you naked, shouldn’t I?”
That one gave Mom pause.
“No,” she said eventually. “That would be weird.”
I took a deep breath and counted to ten.
“Why would that be weird?”
“Sons shouldn’t see their mothers naked,” Mom answered, scrunching up her nose.
“How much do you want to lose weight?”
Mom’s response was emphatic and immediate.
“So much.”
“I want to help you lose weight, but there’s only so much I can do without regularly checking progress.”
Mom nodded.
She nodded.
“How do you think I should check your progress?”
“By having me weigh myself.”
I smiled. I’d been down this path before.
“Do you want to weigh yourself?”
“Not really.”
I gave Mom the spiel I’d given Cynthia—that weight fluctuated from day to day, that a number didn’t give you the full picture.
She nodded, convinced.
“How else could I check your progress?”
“By asking me how I feel.”
I told Mom about how mood could be altered by too many outside factors, and that an internal evaluation wasn’t ever going to be as accurate as someone assessing you from the outside.
She agreed with me once more, as I knew she would. I hadn’t intended for these conversations with Cynthia to be a practice run for Mom, but life can be funny like that.
“How else could I check your progress?”
This time, Mom was silent for a long while.
“You could look at me,” she finally admitted. “But I don’t need to be naked.”
“Why don’t you want to be naked?”
“Because,” she said, shifting in her chair. “That would be weird.”
“What if you were just in your underwear?”
There was a long pause, and my cock throbbed with each of the four words in Mom’s response.
“That,” she eventually said, making me happier than she ever would have guessed, “would be fine.”
“Did you like begging your brother for help?”
“Yes,” Cynthia whispered in response.
“Why?”
I could all but see her rolling the words around in her head before she responded.
“It was a good way to thank him.”
“Do you think it helped him feel dominant?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he liked that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“All men like to feel dominant.”
I swear, I didn’t go into this intending to turn my sister into a sexual parody of a fifties housewife.
It was just an unintentional side-effect of turning her into a submissive slave.
“Why else did you like it?”
Cynthia didn’t move—she never did, when she was under—but I could see that she had more she wanted to say.
“Why else did you like it, Cynthia? Tell me.”
“…it made me feel submissive.”
I grinned. Perfect.
“Why do you like feeling submissive?”
“It feels right.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a woman, I think.”
“Do you think all women are submissive?”
“Not all, no.”
“But you are?”
“Yes.”
A pink tinge appeared on each of Cynthia’s cheeks as she answered.
“What about Mom? Do you think she’s submissive?”
“Yeah,” Cynthia answered.
“How do you figure?”
“That’s probably where I got it from.”
“Do you want to do other submissive things with your brother?”
Cynthia’s entire body twitched at that, and I swear I almost came in my pants.
“No,” she eventually moaned.
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be…right.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s my brother. He’s just helping me out. It…it wouldn’t be right to involve him in these weird fantasies I’m having.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s my brother,” Cynthia answered, staring at me blankly.
“So?”
“So it would be wrong,” she said, her tone of voice suggesting that was the final word on the subject.
But I knew we were just getting started.
“Stand up,” I said throatily.
Mom obeyed.
“Strip down to your underwear.”
Her face was almost as red as it had been when I’d told her that she wasn’t allowed to cum the previous night, but she obeyed.
“You won’t remember doing this,” I instructed as she stripped. “You’ll remember me putting you under, you’ll subconsciously remember all the commands I’ll give you, but you won’t remember taking off your clothes for me, consciously or unconsciously. This is just to check progress—this isn’t a part of the session.”
“Okay,” Mom nodded, as she stepped out of her pants.
Ho. Lee. God.
Mom’s body was different to Cynthia’s, of course. She had twenty years on her, and twice that many pounds. Probably more.
Her stomach had some stretch marks—I remembered seeing them when Dad was alive, when we’d all gone to the beach together. He’d explained that her stomach had gotten really big from holding me and Cynthia inside, and stretched her skin.
That was the only time I could remember seeing Mom’s stomach, until now. I think me pointing and asking about them had made her self-conscious.
People got self-conscious about the weirdest things—especially women, in my very limited experience. There was nothing unappealing about her stretch marks, not to me. They were texture. History. They reminded me that she was a mother.
They reminded me that she was my mother, and I couldn’t think of anything sexier.
Stretchmarks aside, her stomach was definitely more rounded than Cynthia’s, like a woman in a Greek painting. She was pudgy, but not fat.
She was perfect.
Her legs reminded me of Cynthia’s (not surprisingly)—they weren’t stick-thin like you see on models or whatever (neither Mom nor Cynthia had a ‘thigh gap’), but they weren’t huge. They were thick, and I could see that her time at the gym had started to give them a nice tone.
But if I’m being honest, I spent very little time looking at her legs OR her stomach.
Not when there was so much else to look at.
I’d been right when I’d guessed Cynthia’s tits were larger than Mom’s, but they were close. God, I couldn’t wait to line them up and compare them.
I couldn’t wait to line them up and do all sorts of things to them. Four perfect tits in a line, ready to obey my every command.
Mom’s bra left a lot to the imagination, but I had a lot of imagination. I could picture exactly what she’d look like when I finally got that bra off, exposed her nipples to the world, took them into my mouth and got to bite them, suck them, chew on them…
Her tits were huge and round and perfect. They had a little sag to them, more than Cynthia, but it was a perfect sag. I was practically drooling, imagining that sag. I wanted to taste the sag.
I shook my head, trying to focus.
Mom’s panties were black and red, and I could see tufts of hair poking out either side of the front. Unlike Cynthia, it looked like she didn’t shave.
I don’t know why that made me hard, but it did.
The panties were too dark to see if she was wet. I wanted to lean forward and sniff her, smell Mom’s musk. I’d smelled hints of it before, when she came across my lap, but here it was. The source.
My source. I’d come out of that small patch of hair.
I planned on cumming inside it before the end of the year.
“Turn around,” I croaked, and Mom obeyed.
God, Mom’s ass.
Mom’s ass.
She obviously hadn’t been expecting me to evaluate her, because she was wearing…it wasn’t a thong, but it had ridden right up between her cheeks, exposing her ass. Again, it was slightly smaller than Cynthia’s, but I wasn’t complaining. Her cheeks were smooth and inviting.
I stared at her ass for minutes, drinking it in. I wanted to picture it exactly the next time I spanked her. I wanted to bend her over my lap and spank her right then and there.
But with a sigh, I instead told her to get dressed again.
We had a lot of work to do.