Diet
by Pan
Chapter 19
“We need a new punishment,” I said, as I watched Mom wriggle her perfect butt back into her jeans. “Not being allowed to orgasm isn’t going to work.”
Mom nodded.
How did it take me so long to notice she could do that?
“The pain punishments were almost working, weren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“But they weren’t reliable, were they?”
“No.”
I wanted to take advantage of the fact that Mom moved while hypnotized. I wanted to make her strip off again, take photos of her, pose her in every position I could imagine. I wanted to find her limits. Push her limits. Destroy them.
I wanted to work out how I could get her naked. I’m sure I could do it. Then I wanted to work out how I could convince her to let me jerk off in front of her. Onto her. I wanted to cover my mother’s naked body with cum. I wanted to fuck her face.
I wanted to fuck her. I’d made my mother orgasm, I knew what it felt like. I wanted to feel it from the inside. I wanted my bare cock to be deep inside her hairy pussy, cumming, pulsing with orgasm as I filled my mother with seed and her cunt came around me.
I wanted to fill my Mom with so much cum, she’d start gaining weight again.
But I couldn’t. Not yet.
I’d been handed an incredible gift, and I needed time to think about it, to work out the best way to proceed.
If I took my time, if I was smart, the golden goose would be tripling its output.
If I screwed up, I’d have nothing but goose guts on my hands. I was so close—closer than I’d ever been—and I couldn’t risk messing up.
So Mom got dressed and I got back to work: solving the immediate problem.
“But that was a useful direction, wasn’t it? The fear of pain was making you to go the gym more regularly.”
“Yes,” Mom responded. My eyes roamed up and down her body, remembering what I’d just seen.
When I was done, she’d never wear clothes in my presence again. Neither would Cynthia. Both of them would be my naked, nubile sluts, eager to please, twenty-four seven. Eager to obey.
Eager to get punished.
I shook my head. I wasn’t there yet.
Yet.
“So maybe we just need to go further,” I posited. “Maybe pain wasn’t enough.”
Mom hesitated, but I pressed on.
“What kind of punishment do you think would motivate you?”
“Pain,” Mom answered, an uneasy tone in her voice.
“What else?”
Silence.
“Other than pain, what do you think would motivate you?”
“Fear,” Mom answered, though her tone suggested it was more of a question than a statement.
I decided to help her out.
“What about humiliation?”
I was starting to get good at reading the different flavors of silence. This one didn’t worry me—Mom wasn’t about to wake up, she wasn’t conflicted. She wasn’t fighting me, she wasn’t unsure.
She just wanted to hear more.
“You’ve always hated embarrassing yourself, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Mom replied immediately. It was a hot button for her.
“So if a punishment risked humiliation, you’d work harder to avoid it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” Mom answered, with all the cheeriness of a prisoner on death row meeting their executioner. She knew I was right, but she didn’t like where I was going with this.
“You want to lose weight, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You trust me to help you lose weight, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“This is the best path forward. It’s important that we get you into good habits, into a healthy routine. If you can get into a routine, it’ll serve you well for the rest of your life. If you fall into a bad routine, the effects can be permanent.”
Mom was nodding along, something I now realized she did a lot while hypnotized. I couldn’t believe how long it had taken me to notice that.
“You have terrible self-control,” I reminded my mother. “But you’ve responded well to punishments, and even better to rewards. If we can pick a good punishment, one as effective as your rewards, I’m confident this will work. This will help train healthy habits.”
This will help train you.
“What do you think?”
“Okay,” Mom said, after a few moments of thinking it over. “I trust you.”
“And don’t worry,” I smiled. “I won’t be suggesting any punishments that can affect your job, or your standing in the community. I’ll take care of you.”
“Thank you,” Mom said, and I woke her up.
“Why would it be wrong to do submissive things with your brother?”
Cynthia’s eyes flicked around the room—the closest she got to moving while under, except for when she was particularly turned on.
Or cumming.
“Because,” she said breathily. “Incest is wrong.”
The last word came out as a moan.
I briefly considered trying to talk her out of the idea, trying to convince her that hey, incest was A-OK…but I didn’t really believe it would work. It wasn’t worth the effort.
Not when there were other paths forward.
“It would be wrong to suck your brother’s cock, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” Cynthia squirmed-without-moving.
“It would be wrong for him to bend you over and fuck you hard, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” Cynthia panted.
“It would be wrong for him to coat your face with cum, then make you go out without washing it off, wouldn’t it?”
“Yesssss…”
I knew with complete certainty that if I’d ordered Cynthia to cum, then and there, she would have obeyed. All I’d done was feed her own fantasies back to her—it had been at least a week since she came, and she was getting deeper and deeper into her fantasies about me. About her brother. About me treating her like a slut.
“You’re a slut,” I threw out, and for a moment I thought I’d gone too far. Cynthia’s eyelids fluttered, but she slowed her breathing and rode it out.
“Did you cum?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “But it was close.”
My sister was perpetually horny, increasingly sexually obsessed with me, and deeply submissive.
And I knew exactly how to use this to my advantage.
“What did I give you out of ten, the last time I evaluated you?”
“Two,” Cynthia said sadly.
“That’s right. I’m going to take your photo now, are you ready?”
“Yes,” Cynthia said.
I pulled my phone out and snapped a photo. Then another eight. Then a dozen more, for good measure.
“Wow,” I said, looking at the photo. “Your number has changed. A lot.”
“Oh no,” Cynthia said, her voice despondant. “What is it?”
“Four,” I answered softly. “A new record.”
Cynthia’s face lit up, as much as a face can light up without moving a muscle.
“Really??”
Her voice was full of awe.
“That’s right,” I said. “Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s been working. Let’s talk about what you’ve been…—”
Before I could even finish the sentence, Cynthia was off. She rattled off all the dietary changes that she’d made, her daily calorie-count for the last week, the intermittent fasting she’d tried.
After several minutes of this, I held up one hand.
“That stuff is all great,” I said, “but is any of that new?”
“No,” Cynthia answered after a few minutes of thought.
“This is all stuff you’ve done before, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s probably not that, is it? That can’t have made the difference.”
“I guess not,” Cynthia replied.
“So what else have you been doing?”
Her answer was slower this time, as she listed everything different she’d done since I’d last assessed her. After a few humdrum answers, she got to the good stuff.
“I’ve been dressing differently. Wearing lingerie, heels. Sexier outfits. More revealing clothes.”
I nodded.
“…but that couldn’t be it,” she continued. “Because you were assessing me in that kind of outfit anyway.”
“What else has changed?” I asked. This time, it took her a few minutes of listing minutiae to get to it.
“I’ve been edging,” she finally said. “I play with myself more, but I get off less.”
“Good girl,” I said, enjoying the twitch that passed through my sister’s entire, perfect body. “What else?”
She continued listing stuff, tiny changes to her life, to her lifestyle, until I prompted her.
“And you asked your brother to help you with the remote, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she answered, “but that isn’t different. The only difference was…”
I smiled as she worked it out.
“…the way I asked him.”
“That’s right,” I said, my voice suddenly all business. “Think about it. Women are at their most attractive when they’re being submissive, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Cynthia answered without hesitation. God, I’d really done a number on her.
Or had I? Maybe this was what she’d always thought, and I’d just brought it to the fore.
Just like the last few months had brought my own dominant, sadist tendencies out, maybe my sister was naturally submissive, had a naturally submissive worldview.
Or maybe I just wanted to think that, to make myself feel better.
Honestly, I couldn’t decide which was hotter—the idea that my sister was already like this, or the idea that I’d changed her to be that way.
It didn’t really matter. By the time we were done, she’d be exactly what I wanted her to be. A naked, submissive sister-slut, spending the rest of her days on her knees, serving her brother. Her master.
Me.
“So it makes sense that your attractiveness would increase by acting submissively, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” my sister said, a tremor of arousal in her voice.
You know how it’s much, much, much easier to convince someone of something if it benefits them? Like, you tell someone that cutting taxes for their specific income bracket will be good for the economy, they’re way more likely to agree with you than if you told them the opposite.
Similarly, it’s super easy to persuade someone that the thing they already believe, deep down, is the way the world is. You tell a racist that most immigrants are bad hombres, you barely need to finish the sentence before they’ve voted you president.
My sister was convinced that women were submissive. She trusted ‘Danny’, her trainer, absolutely, but when he told her that women were more attractive when they acted submissively, and that was why she was suddenly more attractive…
Yeah. Convincing Cynthia of that was a very, very easy sell.
“You’ve been horny all the time lately, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” my sister said.
“Women who are aroused are going to be more attractive than women who don’t want sex, aren’t they?”
I had a whole supporting argument ready for that one, but I didn’t need it. Cynthia moaned her agreement immediately.
“So it makes sense that you’d be more attractive when you’re turned on, doesn’t it?”
“Yesssss.”
“You’ve been fantasizing about your brother, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” my sister replied throatily.
“You want your brother, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Cynthia blushed, even as she agreed without hesitation.
“You’re doing everything you can to hide your attraction to Daniel, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
I grinned. She’d never actually described it as an ‘attraction’ before—she’d dodged around the idea, claiming it was just sexual urges that happened to be directed at me, nothing more.
I had her in the palm of my hands. Literally, soon enough.
“Do you think you’re able to hide your attraction completely?”
“Y-yes…”
“Really?” I pressed. “You think you can hide 100% of your attraction, that Daniel hasn’t detected anything amiss.”
“I…”
My sister’s tone had changed. She’d gone from aroused to the edge of tears.
“I…thought so…”
“It’s okay,” I said soothingly. “It’s impossible to hide everything. I’m just saying, is there even a remote chance that Daniel has noticed you treating him even a little bit differently?”
“I…I guess.”
“It’s attractive when someone is attracted to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Cynthia sniffed.
“So that might be a factor,” I said. I, uh, I hadn’t expected this to evoke such an emotional reaction. “I’m just saying, that might be a factor in why I found you more attractive.”
We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.
“Are you okay?” I eventually asked.
“Yeah,” Cynthia said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m just scared,” she said, her voice coming out in a shudder.
I sat up. This was important. I mean, even besides the fact that I loved my sister and she was upset.
No, this was what I was constantly trying to keep an eye on—any indication that she might suspect something.
“Why?”
She hesitated.
“You have to tell me,” I said. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Still nothing.
“That’s an order.”
Cynthia took a deep breath.
“I’m scared of my brother finding out how I feel about him,” she said.
I nodded.
“How do you feel about him?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted after long pause. “I mean, he’s my brother. I’m really grateful that he’s helping me out. But….god.”
We sat there for almost a minute, the silence stretching out between us. Like I said, I’ve gotten pretty good at reading these silences, and this is one that I knew Cynthia would end in her own time. When she was ready.
“…I’m so attracted to him,” she admitted. She’d implied it earlier, but I’m not gonna lie; it was real nice to hear her say it out loud. “I think he’s so sexy.”
“Why?” I asked quietly, unable to help myself. “What does your conscious brain think is the reason?”
“I don’t know,” she said, an urgent tone in her voice. “That’s what’s so weird. A few months ago, he was just my kid brother. Then he started helping me lose weight, and I started trying to think of how to help him while I was playing with myself, and then he sort of…took over my fantasies.
“I decided it was a bad idea to cum while I was thinking about him,”—it was interesting, seeing how my sister’s conscious brain twisted the commands I gave her. Not being allowed to cum had apparently shifted from a punishment to a moral choice—“but I started thinking about him every time I played with myself. Now it’s been days and days since I came, and he’s always on my mind, and I get turned on whenever I see him, so I play with myself, but I’m not allowed to cum…”
My sister’s tone had gone from tearful to turned on, just talking through the sexual loop she’d been cycling through over the past week.
She sighed, a long shudder that made her bra-clad breasts shimmy delightfully.
“I know it’s because he’s helping me lose weight. I can’t stop thinking about how sexy I’m going to be when I lose weight, which turns me on, and he’s responsible.”
My eyes widened.
“Do you think he’s responsible for you feeling this way? Like, your conscious mind—does it think he’s responsible for you finding him sexy?”
“No,” Cynthia replied immediately. “Not at all. I trust him, and he’d never do something like that. It’s all me. I just…I don’t know how to deal with it, and I’m so scared of him finding out.”
I paused. This was a lot, and I hadn’t been expecting any of it.
“Why?”
“Because,” Cynthia said weakly. “If he finds out how I feel, if he finds out what a pervert I am, he’ll never talk to me again. Or he’ll tell Mom. Or, I don’t know—the police. I’ll lose my family.
“I’ll lose everything.”
I couldn’t help but smile at how closely my sister’s panicked thought process mirrored my own. Everything she’d listed, every consequence she was afraid of—it was exactly what I was scared would happen, if my own incestuous desires came out.
Of course, unlike my sister…I’d acted on them.
A part of me wanted to assure Cynthia that she had nothing to worry about. That I was just like her, that she could be attracted to me without consequence.
But I had a goal, and I didn’t see how that would get me closer to my goal.
“You’re right,” I said. “If anyone ever found out what a freak you were, you’d be ostracized from society. No one would ever talk to you again. You’d lose your family. You’d lose your life as you know it. That can never happen, can it?”
“No,” Cynthia replied, her voice tinged with fear.
“I’m here to help you, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Cynthia said. If she could move while she was under, I guarantee, her head would have been nodding eagerly.
“I’m mostly here to help you lose weight, but I can do so much more than that. I can help you improve your life. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Say it.”
“I trust you completely. I trust you absolutely.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re here to help me improve my life. You’re here to help me lose weight.”
“Will you do whatever I tell you to do?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to help you choose what to prioritise in your life. Because I’m outside, looking in, I know better than you. I’m going to tell you what’s the highest priority in your life, and you’re going to trust me absolutely. Okay?”
“Yes.”
Zero pause. Zero hesitation. None.
I had her.
“Say it.”
“You’re going to choose my priorities. You know better than me. You know what’s good for me.”
“My priorities are going to keep you safe, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“You’ll choose the order of my priorities. To protect me.”
“Good girl.”
Cynthia’s lip twitched, as though she wanted to smile, but she didn’t move.
God I wish she moved while she was under. I guarantee I’d have her on her knees within minutes, gratefully ‘thanking’ her ‘trainer’.
“Cynthia,” I said slowly, staring straight into her blank eyes. “The number one priority in your life, the thing that matters more than anything else…is obeying me. Say it.”
“My number one priority is obeying you.”
The words came out smoothly and quickly. It was a joy to listen to.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re going to keep me safe. Because you know better than me. Because you’re going to help me improve my life.”
“Exactly,” I nodded. “Your number two priority…”
I paused. Cynthia was staring at me, unblinking.
“Your number two priority is losing weight. Say it.”
“My second-highest priority, after obeying you, is becoming more attractive.”
“Yes. Do you know why?”
Cynthia opened her mouth (a movement apparently allowed when she was under) to answer, but closed it again almost immediately.
“No,” she said, after a long pause.
“Do you want to know why?”
“Yes.”
“Life is easier for attractive people. Everything you’re afraid of—it’ll go away if you’re attractive. If you’re attractive, truly attractive, you can get away with anything. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” Cynthia replied. “I do.”
“Say it.”
“My second-highest priority is to be attractive. Because if you’re attractive…you have no fears.”
That obviously wasn’t true. But it had a ring of truth to it—like, being more attractive undeniably makes life easier. A lot easier.
It doesn’t solve all your problems, but Cynthia’s obsession—combined with her utter trust in her trainer, Danny—meant that she was primed to believe it.
Like I said: you tell people something that will benefit you, something that lines up with their worldview, and they’ll buy in.
Cynthia had bought in, hard.