Diet
by Pan
Chapter 2:
“You are fat. Say it.”
“I’m fat.”
My sister isn’t fat. Not really. She’s busty, and she has a great ass, but that’s not what makes someone fat.
But the more fervently she believed she was fat, the more fervently she was going to obey.
“You’re fat. Say it.”
“I’m fat.”
The repetition was something that about half the hypnosis sites agreed was useful. Admittedly, none of the sites were dedicated to brainwashing and fucking your sister, but…well, hats aren’t designed for killing, and that never stopped Oddjob.
Getting her to repeat the ideas did two things: firstly, it reinforced them. The more someone repeated something, the more it sank into their psyche.
And, just as helpfully, people don’t like to say stuff that isn’t true. You ask someone to declare something they don’t actually believe, they probably won’t do it. It made it a useful way of testing how effective the hypnosis was being - if Cynthia repeated it back to me, she believed it. If she refused, she probably didn’t.
“The only way to lose weight is to do as I say.”
“The only way I’ll lose weight is by following your instructions.”
“Good.”
I was playing it safe. In my reading, I’d found some horror stories. You can’t make someone do what they don’t want to do, and trying to force an idea can have some nasty results…for you, for the subject, or for both.
Most importantly, my sister couldn’t suspect a thing. If I told her the only way to lose weight was to ride my cock for an hour each morning, maybe she’d do it. But I’m sure that would make her question her sudden change in behavior…and then the whole thing would collapse.
No, better to take it slow. Steady. Sensible.
Safe.
“You trust me completely. Say it.”
“I trust you completely.”
Of course, slow didn’t necessarily mean glacial. Especially not when her willingness meant that I’d made such strides already…
“Is there any question you won’t answer?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my trainer. You only want information to help me lose weight.”
“You’ll do anything to lose weight, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I took a deep breath. Time for my first risky move.
“How often do you masturbate?”
Cynthia’s eyes widened, a pink tinge hit her cheeks.
But she didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment.
“A couple of times a week.”
“Do you know exactly how many times?”
“No.”
I pulled out some sheets I’d printed from the computer.
“Read these.”
My sister just continued to stare at me, blankly.
“Read these printouts,” I repeated, thrusting them in her direction.
She didn’t move.
Ah.
“Touch your nose,” I said.
Again, nothing.
Some of the guides had spoken about this. Everyone reacts to hypnosis differently - some people speak in a monotone, some people fall into a deep sleep and don’t even respond to questions.
And some people will answer questions but not move.
It was rare, but…well, apparently Cynthia was one of those people.
Shit.
At once, so many of my plans were dashed. I’d dreamt of having her test samples of a new ‘diet formula’ (my cum) or ride a new ‘exercise machine’ (my cock) or even just strip off to share her body with me (for ‘progress reports’).
Nope. Not while she was under, anyway.
Any changes I made would have to be made in the real world.
Still, the past week had made it clear: changes in the real world WERE possible.
It was all about how you presented them.
“These papers,” I continued, trying to make the best of a bad situation, “share exactly how many calories you lose from masturbating.”
My sister continued to stare blankly. I’d hoped that by reading them, they would come across as a sort of external authority, meaning that she’d trust them even more than she trusted ‘Danny’, her trainer.
“Do you want to know how many calories you burn when you masturbate?”
“No.”
I ran one hand through my hair. Things had sort of gone off-script, and I was struggling to adjust.
“Uh…”
My sister’s blank stare was starting to annoy me. This had suddenly gotten a whole lot harder.
“Um. Why not?”
“Because losing weight is about eighty percent diet.”
I sighed. It was true. In fact, I’d carefully edited that fact out of the printed sheets I held in my hand.
“Okay,” I said, trying to regroup. I had this. “Yes. That’s true. But every little bit counts, right?”
“Yes.”
“Losing weight is about eighty percent diet, and we’re going to start on that soon, okay?”
“Yes.”
“But most people struggle with diets.”
Another fact I’d learned during my research.
“Rather than start with something big that might fail, let’s start with something small that might succeed, okay?”
“Yes.”
“So masturbating burns more calories than you might expect. Do you believe me?”
“Of course,” Cynthia agreed. “You exist to help me lose weight. Everything you say is true.”
“Masturbating burns more calories than you might expect. As well as that, it’s fun. If something is fun, you’re more likely to do it, right?”
“Yes.”
“So to start your weight-loss regime, here’s what we’re going to do. Instead of masturbating a couple of times a week, you’re going to start masturbating once a day. Say it.”
“I’m going to start getting off once a day.”
“Do you normally use toys, or your fingers?”
“My fingers.”
Just hearing her say that was enough to make me hard as a rock.
“Knowing the specifics will help us work out how many calories you burn,” I said. Cynthia hadn’t shown any resistance to sharing details with me, Danny, her trainer…but I wanted to grease the path as much as possible. “Will you describe how you do it?”
“Yes,” my sister responded, and paused, waiting for further instructions.
My mouth was dry. For years, I’d been getting off while imagining my sister getting off…now, I’d get to know exactly how she did it.
God, I could see it so clearly. I wanted to see it. I had to see it.
The words were out of my mouth before my brain could catch up.
“Would you record a video of yourself masturbating, so I could assess your technique, make sure you’re burning as many calories as possible?”
“Yes.”
“I…”
I paused.
It was tempting. It was so tempting. A video, of my sister, masturbating. All I needed to do was say the word, and she’d do it. She’d go into her room, she’d get off, and she’d record the footage.
For me.
Well, for ‘Danny’. But since - spoiler alert! - I am Danny, it was hard to care about the distinction at that moment.
Your busty sister, getting off on video, just for you. Isn’t that something every brother dreams of?
But it was risky.
No, more than risky. It was stupid. Stupid, risky…unsafe.
Like, sure, I could do it. And maybe it would work. Cynthia had been pretty fucking accommodating so far - she’d obeyed my every order, she’d told me every personal detail I’d asked for. Maybe she would unquestioningly record the video, store it on her computer, and then tell me where to find it next time she was under.
But it was a pretty safe assumption that she’d never made an obscene video before now. When someone hates their body, it’s pretty unlikely that they’ll decide to record it for posterity, right?
Two weeks after being hypnotized for the first time, recording footage of your own masturbation session…that was sure to set off some alarm bells in her head.
So, no. As much as I wanted it - and god did I want it - I knew that I couldn’t take advantage of my sister’s willingness to record herself.
I had to play it smart.
“Describe how you masturbate.”
If you’d told me a month ago, I absolutely would not have believed that ‘hearing your sister describe her masturbation technique’ was the lesser of the two options, but here we were.
“I play with my nipples until I’m wet, then I rub my clit until I cum.”
“With your fingers?”
“Yes.”
“How do you rub your clit?”
“Softly, then with increasing pressure as I get more and more turned on.”
I want you to record it for me, I didn’t say. I want video of it. Lots of videos. Full-body shots, close-up, some of just your face. I want to see every step of it, from the moment you start touching your tits until you cum, nice and loudly, for the camera. I want to watch you cum
With a sigh, I returned to my plan.
“Masturbation burns calories,” I said. “Say it.”
“Masturbation burns calories,” my sister repeated back to me.
“Masturbating more often means that you’ll burn more calories. Say it.”
“The more I masturbate, the more calories I’ll burn.”
“Unlike going to the gym, masturbating is fun, so it’s an exercise regime you’re more likely to stick to. Say it.”
“Masturbating is fun, so I’m more likely to keep doing it.”
“You will masturbate once a day. Say it.”
“I will masturbate once a day.”
“And as you do…”
I hesitated. This was the riskiest part of my plan.
But if this didn’t happen, none of my fantasies would.
“And as you do, you will think about being thin. Say it.”
“I will think about…”
My sister hesitated.
Crap.
I asked her a question before the pause turned into something more.
“What do you normally think about when you masturbate?”
“Boys,” she said without hesitation. “Cock. Sucking cock. Fucking. Boys touching me. Touching boys.”
God fucking damn. My sister was a slut.
“Why did you tell me that?”
“Because I trust you,” she said. “You are here to help me lose weight, and you can only do that if you have complete information.”
Look, maybe it was poking the bear, but I wanted to better understand how her mind worked.
“Why would know what you think about when you masturbate help me?”
My sister thought for a moment.
“Because,” she soon replied, “motivation is important. Knowing what motivates me will help you be a better trainer. The better a trainer you are, the more you’ll be able to help me lose weight.”
“Are you motivated by boys?”
“Yes.”
“Are you motivated by cock?”
“Yes.”
“Are you motivated by…sucking cock?”
“Yes.”
Not even a hint of hesitation. I couldn’t believe that my prudish sister had, just one room over, been such a slut this entire time. Amazing.
I also couldn’t believe that…she was right. Knowing what motivated her was helpful to train her.
Just not the way she thought.
“Whenever you masturbate,” I said softly, “you’re going to think about being thin. You’re going to think about how much more boys will want you, how being thin will make you more attractive to them. You’re going to think about how if you’re thinner, they’re going to want you to suck their cock. You’re going to get off while picturing yourself thinner, on your knees, sucking cock. You’re going to masturbate while thinking about being thinner, because being thinner is going to get you more cock. Say it.”
As my sister confidently paraphrased what I’d just told her, my dick was throbbing.
“Losing weight is going to become an obsession,” I said. “The more focused you are on it, the easier it’ll be to achieve. You are obsessed with losing weight. Say it.”
“Losing weight is my obsession.”
“You will do anything to lose weight. Say it.”
“There’s nothing I won’t do to lose weight.”
“What are you going to think about when you masturbate?”
“Being thin.”
“How often are you going to masturbate?”
“Every day.”
“What are you obsessed with?”
“Losing weight.”
“These sessions are vital to help you lose weight, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“And since you’re obsessed with losing weight, you’ll never, ever miss a session, will you?”
“No.”
“Show me how you’re going to masturbate.”
Nothing.
Nothing.
Still. Worth a try. With a smile, I reminded my sister that all these thoughts will only exist in her subconscious mind, and brought her out of her trance.
For the next few days, I spent more time lurking outside my sister’s room than I did sleeping. I cursed myself the entire time - why hadn’t I asked when she masturbated? Why hadn’t I inquired whether she checked outside the door first? She was willing to record a video of the event, I’m sure she would have shared this relatively innocuous information.
I was never caught, thank goodness, but I also never heard anything I could definitively say was the sound of my sister getting off. Maybe she’d gotten used to being quiet, maybe she did it first thing in the morning, when I was still asleep (exhausted from a long night of lurking outside her door), or maybe she made sure not to do anything while there was someone in the hallway.
Aside from what could have been a cry of orgasmic pleasure (or could honestly have been literally any other noise), I didn’t hear anything of note.
On my way to the kitchen, after more than forty-five minutes of trying - and failing - to hear signs of my sister’s masturbation, I had a surprising conversation with my mother.
“Daniel,” she said, throwing me a winning smile.
Uh-oh.
My Mom grew up hot. And like, that’s not just my opinion; it’s an objective fact.
She’s still gorgeous, but ever since she put on a bunch of weight, I don’t think she counts as ‘hot’ any more. Although, y’know, hotness is in the eye of the beholder, and I’d behold her without hesitation.
Anyway, when you grow up hot, you get VERY used to people doing what you want. You throw them a smile, you pout, you tilt your head to the smile…most people are putty.
Now, obviously my Mom doesn’t use her body to get me to do stuff (though good god do I wish that were true). But it’s habit, y’know? You spend most of your life winning people other with a glance, you forget that it doesn’t work on everyone.
So when Mom shot me that look, I knew she wanted something.
“What?” I snarled, falling into the slouch I try to do around my family. It makes them think I’m a standard disinterested teen…and it helps hide my boners. Two birds and one stone and all that.
“Your sister…”
My heart started racing. Crap. Had Mom noticed something was up? Had she come home early and caught me hypnotizing Cynthia? What did she know?
“Cynthia,” I sarcastically prompted. I’d been doing the disaffected teen thing for so long, I didn’t even have to think about it.
“Yes,” Mom said patiently. “Cynthia. She, uh…”
She what? Told you that she was going to masturbate while thinking about being thin? Recorded a session and played it back to you? What?
I waited an infinitely long time while Mom got to her point, letting my impatience show on my face as boredom (instead of panic).
“She told me that you were helping her lose weight.”
“Sure,” I said. “I guess. It’s nothing, really.”
“Okay,” Mom said, throwing me another charming grin. “So…”
“What?”
“Would you mind helping me, too?”