The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

For the next two weeks, every one of Mom’s punishments involved exposing herself.

This may shock you, considering my apparently endless list of kinks, but exhibitionism isn’t really one of them. I mean, I guess the idea of Mom flashing the world was kind of hot, but mostly just because it was something she wouldn’t normally do. Something she wouldn’t have done, without me pulling the strings.

It was hot because I made her do it; I didn’t make her do it because it was hot.

After spanking her bare butt, I gave her a break for a few days, to convince her that the punishment had worked. She found herself achieving her daily gym goals for three days straight…but after that, I was relentless.

Her next punishment was similar to the first—to flash the neighborhood from our attic. Except this time, instead of mooning them, she had to show off her tits.

When she returned, beet-red, I didn’t even need to put her under to check—I knew she’d done it.

I put her under anyway, of course. Just as before, she let me ‘examine’ her punishment. She dutifully obeyed as I ordered her to raise her top, lower her bra, and let me examine her bare breasts at length.

A few years ago, when I was bored, I checked online to see what the Bible had to say about breasts.

Turns out, quite a lot—there’s a whole chunk of the Bible that’s just about sex. More than just “thou shalt not fuck” though—it’s all sonnets and love poems about tits. The Song of Solomon, it’s called.

I guess King Solomon used to sing a lot of dirty songs.

The existence of all these boob-verses was my first surprise. My second surprise was how weird they are.

Your stature is like a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters. I say I will climb the palm tree and lay hold of its fruit. Oh may your breasts be like clusters of the vine, and the scent of your breath like apples

I was a wall, and my breasts were like towers

Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that graze among the lilies.

Mom’s breasts weren’t like the clusters of the palm tree, or towers, or like grazing fawns. They were just like…tits. Exactly like tits, even.

But holy crap, what tits.

I’d seen boobs before. On the internet, and a couple of times in movies or dirty magazines.

But not in person. Like, I still hadn’t seen Cynthia’s boobs yet, not really. I’d seen them in lingerie, and through thin shirts, but I even though I’d jerked off to the idea a thousand times, I was still yet to see her bare tits.

So Mom’s boobs were the first pair that I’d seen in person since I was a kid…and the last set I’d seen as a kid, now that I thought about it.

Mom’s tits were 100% of the tits I’d seen in my life in person.

And if I had to trade ‘everything else I’ve ever seen, ever’ with ‘seeing Mom’s tits’, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. After so many years of jerking off to the idea of them, there they were: these big, beautiful, natural tits, just begging for me to reach out and touch them.

Fawns run away when you reach out and touch them. Mom’s breasts were all but crying out for me to man-handle them.

Maybe it’s an evolutionary thing. You see your Mom’s tits, you wanna suck on them. Y’know, a way of making sure kids don’t starve to death.

God, as soon as I saw them, I wanted nothing more in life than to suck on Mom’s thick, dark nipples. I swear, she could have offered me the choice of fucking her or sucking dem titties, and I would have been latched before she finished the question.

They were amazing. Maybe that’s why God was constantly comparing boobs to towers, or fawns—not because of size or shape, just because of how awe-inspiring they were to look at.

I still didn’t get the palm tree cluster thing, though.

I probably spent twenty minutes just staring at them before making her lay over my knees, and spanking her to orgasm, her bare tits bouncing with every strike.

Mom’s next punishment was to take her top off completely and walk from our back door to the fence. It was the middle of the night, so it was pretty unlikely that anyone would see anything…but not impossible, something I’d emphasized to Mom as I made her cum.

The night after that, she had to walk from the front door to the mailbox. This one was riskier, I’ll admit, but I cut her a break, and let her do it at like one in the morning, when pretty much everyone was asleep.

“Pretty much everyone,” I’d said, and with one final spank, Mom had orgasmed, imagining—I confirmed later, while she was under—someone catching her topless.

Someone she knew.

I expected more resistance, if I’m being honest. But maybe Mom already had an exhibitionist streak, and I was just augmenting it. Or maybe I really was getting better at this.

It had taken me months to implement ideas into Cynthia. Within like five sessions, Mom was creaming herself at the idea of someone peeking in on her getting changed.

(Not me. If she thought of me as sexual, I didn’t think she’d let me spank her any more, and I didn’t want to give that tool up. Not yet.)

So I accelerated things faster than I would have otherwise. By the end of the first week, Mom was walking completely naked from the front door to the mailbox. At ten pm, at that. She legit could have been seen.

So why was I having her take that risk, especially when I didn’t have an exhibitionist streak of my own?

Well, part of it was that I wanted to shift the window of what Mom was comfortable with. When I’d started ‘helping my family lose weight’, she never would have let me so much as touch her butt—now, she happily let me spank her to orgasm each and every night.

Before her punishments began, there was basically no circumstance where she would have let me see her naked. But after her last punishment, it was child’s play to have her recreate it.

“Take your clothes off,” I said, the next time she was under. “I need to examine your punishment.”

Mom obeyed without hesitation.

“Walk around the room,” I instructed, and Mom did.

You know how peanut butter is great, and jelly is great, but when they’re mixed together, they’re just…something else? The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

That’s what Mom’s naked body was like. Transcendent.

I’d seen her tits. I’d seen her bare ass, and glimpses of her pussy. And I’d had her strip down to her underwear for me before. You’d think from all that, I’d be able to piece it together, right?

Nope. There’s something about a naked woman…hell, maybe about Mom specifically. She’s gorgeous in any configuration, but when she’s totally naked, you just want to fuck her.

Like her nipples were just begging to be bitten. Her ass looked like it was yearning to bounce up and down, to clap as I fucked her. Her hips looked they were made to grab onto, and her pussy…

God, the first time I saw Mom’s pussy in full, I swear I almost came in my pants.

It was obvious that she didn’t do any maintenance—I’d thought that would be a turnoff, but there was something so hot about it. Like, this wasn’t the shaved cunt of a slutty reddit model—this was a real pussy. A mature, hairy pussy.

This was a pussy that was built to take cock.

Part of what made it so perfect was the realization that I’d come out of that pussy. Mom’s pussy, many years ago, had spread open to let me out.

Soon enough, it would spread open to let me in.

My voice was shaking as I gave my next command.

“Okay Mom,” I said. “I need to test what it’s like to combine this punishment with your reward.”

“Okay,” she said, and obediently lay down on my lap.

The temptation was to fondle her, of course. All of a sudden, there was so much flesh on my lap. So much of Mom’s flesh, and it was mine for the taking. I could cup her ass, finger her pussy. I could tweak her nipples, or honk her boobs.

I could pull down my pants and fuck my own mother.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I spanked her.

Now, I knew that Mom cumming by my hand was hot. But spanking her naked body to orgasm…fuck me. It was the single hottest thing I’d ever experienced, no exceptions.

I knew Mom got flushed when I spanked her, but until that session, I’d had no idea how far the flush spread. By the time she cried out in orgasm, almost every inch of her visible skin was red, and she was covered in goosebumps.

I wanted to run my fingers up and down those goosebumps, but I managed to resist.

Barely.

When I was done, I spanked her to orgasm again. And again, and again, and again. By the time I was done, the room was filled with a heady scent—Mom’s orgasm had an odor, and I wanted to bottle it, and use it every day to remind me of what we’d just done.

But as incredible as it was to finally see Mom’s naked form, to spank her nude body, to be able to see in full what I’d been imagining for so long…these were merely side benefits.

No, the reason I’d pushed things in this direction was simple: the more waking hours Mom spent nude, the more her boundaries moved.

And the more I shifted her ideas of what was appropriate, the further I could take her punishments.

“Again??”

After all this performing for Cynthia and my Mom, I was starting to wonder if my time was wasted on track. Instead, maybe I should have become a theatre kid. I was clearly a born actor.

“Again,” Mom said glumly. I could tell that she was on the verge of tears—which, in itself, was becoming enough to turn me on. “I’m so sorry, Daniel—I’m trying…—”

I waved off her excuses.

“Trying isn’t good enough,” I said, trying to take on an authoritative tone. “It’s about so much more than trying—you have to move past trying, and do.”

Mom nodded, as though what I’d said hadn’t been nonsense, and I hid a grin.

It was time.

“The punishments have stopped working,” I said with a sigh.

“No,” Mom said earnestly. “I swear. I don’t…I don’t want to…”

I held up my hand, and Mom stopped talking. Her obedience made my cock twitch. She didn’t seem to be a true submissive—not like Cynthia—but if nothing else, she was a pain slut, and I was sure I could push her further down the road to submission.

I was increasingly certain I could mold her into anything I wanted.

“The pain punishments worked for a while,” I said, pretending that I was just thinking it through. Pretending I wasn’t finally enacting a scenario I’d tested almost a dozen times while Mom was under hypnosis. “And making you expose yourself worked for a while.”

“It can still work,” Mom begged. “I know it…”

Again, she fell silent at my small gesture.

“So the only thing I can think to do is combine the two.”

There was a pause as Mom conciously processed what I’d just said. I suspect the pause was shorter than it would have been had she not subconsciously processed the suggestion over and over, as I had tried stuff out until finding a scenario I was certain would work.

The information was there, implanted by countless rehearsals; all her brain had to do was find it, not invent it.

“…okay,” she sighed. “Whatever you think is best.”

Again, she probably would have presented a little more resistance, except I’d spent close to two hours talking her unconscious mind through what we were going to do, running the hypothetical again and again.

I knew she’d agree. She already had, without knowing it.

But this wasn’t a hypothetical. This was really happening.

“Get some bulldog clips,” I instructed, and Mom obeyed without hestiation, opening the stationery drawer (where I’d ensured a box of large bulldog clips would be clearly visible in the top drawer).

Obviously, I wanted to do more than just put bulldog clips on her nipples. I wanted to suck them, or drip hot wax onto them. I wanted to buy nipple clamps and a chain, and make her wear them all day until she submitted.

But you need to walk before you can run (a little always precedes a lot), and I knew that when this punishment proved effective, it would be much easier for Mom to justify some of the purchases I’d already made in anticipation.

“Do you want your reward first, or your punishment?”

“Reward,” Mom squeaked, as I knew she would.

“Lay down.”

As I spanked Mom, I told her what her punishment was going to be. I told her that she was going to take her top off, and I was going to use the bulldog clips as nipple clamps. I told her that it was going to hurt—a lot—and that hopefully the pain, in combination with the humiliation of being topless in front of her son, would be an effective punishment. I told her she was going to have the clips on her nipples for five minutes, and that she was going to be in charge of watching the clock and counting down the minutes.

And then, just as I could feel she was about to cum…I stopped spanking her.

I stopped spanking her, and told her to remove her top.

Watching Cynthia spend the last few months in a state of near-orgasm had been quite an education, and it was funny to recognize some of the signs of need Mom immediately presented. The hungry look in her eyes. The way she moved a little slower than normal, like all her energy was in between her legs, unable to be used for other things. The way she twitched slightly.

The way she couldn’t completley stifle a moan as she removed her top.

Like I said, exhibitionism doesn’t really do much for me. But every night, as I was rewarding Mom with a spanking and an orgasm, I’d been talking to her about exposing herself, about revealing her body to the world.

And while she was under, as I was ‘testing’ punishments and rewards, I’d taken it one step further: I’d been talking to her about exposing her body to me.

So far, in her conscious state, she’d never done so much as let me see her in a bra and panties. I’d seen everything while she was under, but as far as Mom’s consciousness was concerned, the most recent time I’d seen a significant amount of her skin was over a decade ago, the last time she’d worn a bathing suit in public.

Or in private, for that matter.

My hope was that my words would seep into her subconscious, and that every time she came while talking about her son seeing her naked would create a Pavlovian link between the two.

I wasn’t expecting her to drop the floor and orgasm as soon as she undid her bra—although that would have been awesome, if very risky—but I’d hoped that it would cause some kind of link between me seeing her bare skin and her pussy.

I tried to keep my face neutral as Mom’s huge tits came into view. I tried to hide the fact that all I wanted to do was suck them, fuck them. Chew on them, then cover them with my seed.

But instead, I acted in the most harmless way I could—like a kid. Like it was gross-funny, instead of perverted-hot.

I don’t know if it worked, but I do know I saw a tremor go through Mom’s body as soon as her thick, ruby-red nipples came into view.

“Come here,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t spoken out loud. My voice was husky. Lustful. Completely contradicting the playful persona I’d carefully chosen for my expressions.

Fortunately, Mom didn’t seem to notice anything. Or if she did, I hoped she’d chalk it up to an imagining spawned from her own arousal.

Mom stood in front of me—even when she was under, I still hadn’t done anything so risky as touching her tits. I had no idea what it would do, and had to let spanking her naked ass be enough.

God, the smell of Mom’s orgasm filling the room as she came. I knew I’d never get sick of it.

“Hands behind your back,” I said, doing a better—but still not great, if I’m being honest—job of hiding my arousal.

Mom obeyed.

“This is going to hurt,” I warned, my eyes flicking up to Mom’s face. She was red as a tomato, staring down at me, my head inches from her tits.

“I know,” she whimpered. “That’s the point.”

“Watch the cock,” I instructed. My eyes widened as I realized my verbal slip-up. “Clock! Watch the clock.”

Mom’s face was red, but she refused to react to what I’d just said. Thank Christ.

“Watching it,” she replied.

“As soon as the second-hand crosses twelve, I’m going to clamp these on your nipples. You’re going to count five minutes down, announcing each minute as it passes. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mom gulped. “I understand.”

“Good girl,” I said, and Mom’s eyes widened at my words.

Fuck! What was wrong with me? I had all but written a script for this, but I was apparently just too excited to follow it.

I paused, but Mom didn’t say anything in response to what I’d just said.

Her nipples were rock hard, which seemed to be a good sign. We were standing in the warm kitchen…although it was hard to tell if the kitchen really was warm, or if I was just flushed with excitement.

“Now,” I said, and affixed a bulldog clip to each of Mom’s nipples.

Her eyes widened in pain, but she didn’t cry out. Her breathing deepened, her back arched (which was a real treat for me), and she never stopped staring at the clock.

“One,” she said, after the first minute passed. Her cheeks were still flushed, her arms still behind her back, and her glassy eyes were staring at the clock like her life depended on it.

“Two,” she said, and I’m going to be honest for a moment here—I sort of wished I’d made the punishment go for like, three minutes. Not for Mom’s sake—from what I’d read, these were safe to go on the nipples for more than an hour. Just because not a whole lot changed between the first and second minute.

Mom was trembling in what I assumed was a mix of pain and excitement, her eyes never leaving the clock. Getting to see her bare breasts—especially with her back arched—was a treat, don’t get me wrong, but in that moment, I really just wanted to go and jerk off.

“Three,” she said. Two of her tears had actually formed, and started running down her cheeks. The internet had told me that these clips really hurt, although the larger ones less than the smaller ones.

I’d gone with the larger ones. For now.

“Four.”

My mind had seriously started to wander by this point. I was plotting the next step, my eyes never leaving her huge, perfect tits.

God I wanted those tits. I wanted to do more than watch them, than punish them.

I wanted them.

“Five,” Mom said, and I think we both breathed a sigh of relief. Three minutes, next time, I told myself. A more intense punishment over a smaller amount of time.

“You ready?” I said gently, and Mom nodded, her watery eyes staring at me, begging for relief.

I managed to hide my grin. From what I’d read, taking the clips off would cause a fresh burst of pain.

Sure enough, Mom winced as soon as I took the clips off. She must have been climbing the walls—denied her nightly orgasm, given a five-minute pain punishment, all while exposed to her son.

Her nipples were white, but even as I watched, I could see the blood beginning to return to them.

“Good job,” I nodded. “Do you think it worked?”

“Yes,” Mom nodded.

“Do you think you’re less likely to skip your next gym session?”

“Yes,” Mom replied.

Just as I was about to tell her to put her top back on, Cynthia entered.

“Hey you two,” she said, her eyes casually flicking down to Mom’s exposed nipples. “Punishment?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged in response. “Hoping that this one sticks.”