The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I jerk off a lot.

Or, I dunno, maybe I jerk off the normal amount. Once or twice a day, on average. It feels like a lot to me.

My all-time record was six times in a day. I had the house to myself, I had nothing else to do…the first three or four times were for fun—the last two were just to see if I could, y’know?

The night that Cynthia told me she wanted to fuck me, I jerked off again and again and again. I know I broke my record, but I honestly lost count…all I could think of was my sister sitting in front of me, glassy-eyed, reluctantly admitting that she wanted to fuck me.

Her black bra, straining to contain her huge tits. Her soaking wet black panties, her white ankle socks. I hadn’t even taken a photo—I didn’t need to. The sight of her in that outfit would be burned into my brain for the rest of my life.

When she was mine—completely mine—I’d have her wear that outfit all the time. Maybe that would be her ‘around the house’ outfit.

Unlike the time I set the record, I didn’t jerk off to test my own limits. I jerked off because…fuck, because I had to.

Imagine your celebrity crush. Scarlett Johannsen or Taylor Swift or whoever.

Now, imagine them sitting in front of you, hypnotized to share their deepest innermost thoughts. They part their lips, they open their mouth, and they say it.

“I want to fuck you.”

Yeah. I went at it so hard, I’m surprised nothing fell off.

The next morning, I woke up invigorated. Invigorated and with a sore cock.

Cynthia didn’t question me when I told her I wanted to put her under again. I don’t normally hypnotize my sister two days in a row, but this was a special occasion. I was closer than I’d ever been.

How close? Well, that’s what I needed to find out.

“What would you do if your brother said he wanted to fuck you?”

“I wouldn’t believe it.”

I narrowed my eyes. My sister was laying on her back, her arms resting on her stomach. She wasn’t wearing lingerie today, just normal underwear—a patterned pair of panties and a black sports-bra.

Oh, and stockings. Yesterday was one of the few days my sister hadn’t been wearing stockings when I put her under.

I loved my life.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Cynthia replied sadly, “I’m only at four point one.”

“Maybe that’s enough,” I protested, already knowing that this argument wasn’t going to work. “Maybe your brother is as horny as you are, and he’d take anything he could get. Even a four.”

“Maybe,” Cynthia agreed. Even when she was arguing with me, her natural submissiveness came to the fore. “…if it was someone else. But he wouldn’t do that with his sister. He’s a good guy.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “So…what if you asked him?”

“Mmm?”

“What if you asked your brother if you could fuck him? What do you think would happen then?”

There was a brief pause as my sister considered the question.

“I think he’d be grossed out.”

Not an unreasonable guess, considering she still thought of me as a ‘good guy’.

“What if he wasn’t? What if it made you more attractive in his eyes?”

The pause was longer this time.

“Then…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“It would be weird. I wouldn’t know what to think.”

Again, fair enough. From my sister’s point of view, I was a normal teenager. For a normal teenager to go from ‘not attracted to my sister’ to ‘more attracted because she’s a deviant’ was a bit of a stretch.

I sat back, disappointed. I’d been hoping for an easy path, but it was becoming obvious that wasn’t going to happen.

There was still a bit of work to do yet.

“Well then,” I said. “Let’s work on making you more attractive to your brother. Does that sound good?”

“Yes,” Cynthia moaned.

I smiled.

“Your brother found you more attractive after Mom spanked you, didn’t he?”

“Yessss…”

“He must find it hot to watch you get spanked, right?”

“Right.”

“Maybe he even jerked off thinking about it.”

My sister twitched with arousal. She can’t move a muscle when she’s under…not voluntarily, at least. But at the idea of me getting off while thinking about her…it made her twitch so hard, I half expected her to fall off the bed.

“Would you like that?”

“Mmm-hmm…”

Cynthia’s eyes were fluttering. It had been so long since she’d cum, she was so pent up…but her obedience was stronger than her arousal (unlike our Mom), and so I knew she wouldn’t climax.

She was my good girl.

“But he’s been spanking Mom for weeks now, hasn’t he?”

It was like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. My sister was instantly crestfallen, a sad look in her blank eyes.

“Yes.”

“So while it made you a little more attractive to him, it isn’t enough, is it?”

“No.”

“What else has he been doing to Mom?”

“He’s whipped her feet. He’s made her kneel on rice. He’s made her moon the back yard, and the front yard, and…”

As my sister listed all the punishments I’d given our mother, my sore cock strained against my pants. Her listing them made me remember them, and remembering them made me think of what more there was to come…

“…and he’s made her wear nipple clamps for a full twenty-four hours.”

When she was done, I nodded.

“Compared to that, seeing you get spanked is pretty tame, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Again, her voice was dripping with disappointment. My cock was rock-hard.

“So to really get his attention, what will you need to do?”

Cynthia looked like she lost focus for a second, as she mentally ran through options. When you’re as turned-on as she was, I’m guessing you don’t jump straight to the most logical answer.

Eventually, I threw her a bone. Not the fun kind I’d eventually be throwing her; a hint.

“…you’ll have to match Mom, won’t you?”

My sister’s eyes widened.

“You’ll have to convince Mom that the spanking wasn’t enough. You’ll need to escalate, make sure that she’s putting you through as much pain as possible.”

In response, I was met with a blank, turned-on stare.

“You’ll need to make sure your brother sees you get whipped, kneel on rice, get clamps on your nipples…”

Cynthia was practically vibrating with arousal at the idea.

“That’ll help make sure he notices you, won’t it?”

“Yess…” she replied, her eyes rolling back in her head as her entire body trembled. After a few moments, her breathing calmed down once more.

So that was what it looked like when someone edged.

My sister isn’t a natural liar. But over the next few days, she definitely got better at it, convincing Mom that she’d ‘screwed up’ every day.

So that Mom would punish her.

I wasn’t always in the room when she told Mom. But my sister was doing this with a single, simple objective in mind—so I could watch her get punished—and so she always made sure that I was there when discipline was doled out.

You know how DVDs (remember back when we had DVDs?) used to come with, like, director’s commentary and deleted scenes and all that? One of the features built in—like, if you look at your remote, it probably has a dedicated button—was ‘angles’.

I was curious about what that meant, so one time I looked it up. It turns out that since they were able to store so much stuff on a single disc, the people who made DVD players thought that directors might want to include alternative angles of the scene. So when Batman is punching the Joker or whatever, you could hit the ‘angle’ button and instead of seeing it as a close-up from a low angle, you could see it from the Joker’s point of view or whatever.

I never saw a single DVD actually use the feature; it turns out that directors put a lot of thought into which angle they choose in each moment, and people watching a movie never really wanted to see the angles that didn’t work as well.

Maybe it was more popular in porn? I could imagine wanting to switch to a POV angle during a blowjob or whatever.

And so while I never recorded my sister’s punishments (or my mother’s—I figured the risk of being caught WAY outweighed the reward) and put them on DVD, in my own way, I had access to a few different angles.

Each time Cynthia was punished, I’d be there in person. Pretending to go on my phone, or do homework, or make myself some toast or whatever. So I’d see it from the outside; I’d see the look on her face, I’d watch the way her body shook as Mom spanked her.

My cock would throb whenever a tear of pain rolled down her face.

And then afterwards, I’d get to “see” it twice more: once from Cynthia’s point of view, and once from Mom’s.

Mom’s description of what happened was always very matter of fact. She’d talk about how hard she’d spanked her daughter, and how she hoped it made her better at sticking to her diet. She genuinely didn’t think of it as sexual at all, no matter how many times Cynthia accidentally let out a moan as Mom’s hand struck her ass.

No matter how close Cynthia got to cumming from the feeling of our mother’s punishment.

My sister, however, was much more expressive.

“What did you think of the first time Mom spanked you?”

My eyebrows shot up at Cynthia’s response. She didn’t say a word…well, maybe it was technically a word. It certainly wasn’t a word that I’d ever seen in a dictionary.

In reply to my question, my sister just let out a single, long groan.

For a moment, I actually wondered if she was going to cum again. Aside from her creamy throat (god, that throat…I wanted to bite it. I wanted to mark it. I wanted to wrap a hand around it and choke my sister while I fucked her. Can you tell I spent a lot of time thinking about Cynthia’s throat?) she didn’t move a muscle.

She just say there, glassy-eyed, moaning loudly in pleasure at the memory of what had happened.

Don’t get me wrong; I’d known at the time she was enjoying it. The moans, the squeals, the noises she made each time Mom’s hand struck her rear.

I’d thought she was being pretty expressive. It wasn’t until I asked her under hypnosis that I realized how much she’d been trying to hide her true reaction.

My cock thickened as I waited for my sister’s long, loud moan to finish. When she was done, I tried again.

“How did it feel?” I asked, a huge grin on my face.

“It hurt,” Cynthia gasped. God damn it—I’d thought my cock couldn’t get any more erect, but hearing Cynthia practically cumming from the fact that Mom had caused her pain.

Turns out that was enough to get me to a whole new level of hardness.

“Did you like it?”

“No,” Cynthia replied immediately. I narrowed my eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like pain,” she admitted, her voice still thick with lust. “Mom didn’t go easy on me.”

She wasn’t lying about that—as far as our mother was concerned, the point of the spanking was to deter Cynthia from cheating on her diet. Pain was the point—and if she happened to cum along the way, well, that was just the body’s natural response to a spanking.

I mean, pain was the point for my sister, too, but not in the same way.

“So then…why did you…”

I trailed off, not quite sure how to continue. Fortunately, my sister understood exactly what I was getting at (like I said: she’s a true submissive) and answered the question I was trying to ask.

“I don’t like pain,” she repeated. “I didn’t like being spanked. I hated how much it hurt. But…”

Even while hypnotized, even while completely under my thrall, under my control, even while being molded into exactly what I want her to be…Cynthia still had me wrapped around her little finger.

I leaned forward, desperate to hear the end of her thought.

“…but my brother might have liked it. My brother likes pain. If my brother liked watching me get punished, I’d do it a thousand times. I’d do anything to get his attention.”

My cock throbbed, my grin broadened, and I could feel a surge of power rush through my body.

“Damn straight,” I said simply.

Watching my mom spank my sister had been hot, in and of itself. I mean, the visuals alone—my mother wasn’t dressed as a dominatrix or anything like that, but as she’d started to lose weight, she’d definitely started dressing a little more sexy.

When I was done, my family members wouldn’t ever wear anything more than a bikini (and even that might only be for special occasions) but for now, seeing my mother wearing something other than “Mom jeans” and a baggy sweater was a treat.

So yeah—seeing my sister, knowing that she was practically throbbing with arousal, desperate for release, wearing nothing but a bra and a thong, while my mother (dressed in a tank top and no bra) put her over her knees and slapped her until Cynthia was crying with pain…

Well, I’m sure I don’t need to explain why that’s hot.

But the icing on the cake was what I couldn’t see.

I could hear my sister’s whimpers of pleasure, but I knew now that was just the tip of the iceberg; if she could, Cynthia would let out a long, loud groan like she had when I hypnotized her.

My sister would occasionally glance at me while Mom spanked her, but I knew now that every inch of her was aware of my presence; if she could, she’d stare straight at me and drink up every part of my reaction while the tears rolled down her face.

When Mom was done, Cynthia would collapse to the ground, gasping in pleasure and pain; if she could, she’d have crawled to me, unbuckled my jeans, pulled out my cock, and probably cum at the sight of how hard I was.

How hard her pain made me.

Unlike our mother, my sister wasn’t a painslut. She didn’t get off on being hurt. Cynthia said it herself—she hated it.

But she’d do it for me.

Which raised one important, simple question: what else could I make her do?

Over the next week, my sister barely went a single day without faking a slip-up. Fortunately for her, Mom was more than happy to help get her back on track…which is to say, punish her.

I barely needed to do anything to persuade her, either. I mean, Mom had seen the results of the punishments I’d been giving her, and was more than happy to try to share those results with her daughter. She was the fittest she’d been in years, and I could tell that she loved it. She still occasionally sneaked snacks, but it has much less of an effect when you’re spending over two hours each day on the treadmill, y’know?

And Cynthia had been even easier to convince.

When I’d put her under and told her what the next steps were going to be, I’d been worried that I’d make her cum again. She’d edged at least once, I was sure of that.

God it was hot. My sister, mostly naked, her skin flushed, edging without touching herself (or even moving) just because I’d told her that Mom was going to punish her.

That Mom was going to cause pain. Not because she needed it. Not because she was going to enjoy it—neither of them would, in fact.

No, purely and simply because it would bring me pleasure.

My sister would be putting her body through the kind of pain she’d never felt before, just for the chance that it would turn her brother on.

“Tell me again,” I said, my voice hoarse. It was Friday night, and my sister had just returned inside from her latest punishment.

“She spanked me,” she started. This was the third time I’d had Cynthia tell me the story. You ever have one of those movies that you just love more than anything else, that you can watch again and again and again and never get sick of?

I already knew that this story was going to be like that.

“How did you feel about your brother watching you get spanked?”

There it was again. That long, low moan. That sound of pure arousal. The sound of a woman who hasn’t gotten off in so long that arousal has pretty much taken over her brain. My sister wasn’t being piloted by reason any more—now, her pussy was in the driver’s seat.

“I loved it,” Cynthia finally panted. “Fuck. I loved it so much.”

“Why?”

“Because I know it turns him on. I know that he finds it attractive. I know that Daniel likes seeing me in pain. Even if he doesn’t realize it consciously…I know that my brother’s cock is reacting to what he sees. To what he hears.”

“Do you think he got hard?”

“I hope so,” my sister replied earnestly. “God, I hope so.”

“How did it feel to be spanked?”

“It hurt. My ass felt like it was burning. Mom wasn’t holding back—every strike, every blow was as hard as she could make it.”

“Did you enjoy the pain?”

“No,” Cynthia admitted. “I hated it. But I loved knowing that my brother loved it.”

“He probably loved that you hated it,” I said, as if I didn’t know for sure that was true.

In response, there it was again. That moan.

“Uh huh,” she eventually responded. “Hopefully.”

“Don’t you worry that your brother is a pervert? What kind of person gets off from seeing someone in pain? Especially his own family.”

The first time I’d asked this question, I don’t really know where it’d come from. Guilt, maybe? A need for reassurance? A sense of caution, perhaps? After all, if my sister was suspicious of me, that could be a problem.

“I wish he was a pervert,” Cynthia replied immediately, her eyes alight with passion. “God, I wish my brother was fucked up like me.”

Part of me was tempted to come clean. To tell my sister that hey, her brother was exactly as into her as she was into him. And there was a decent chance that it would work. She was so fired up by the idea, so turned on just thinking about the idea of me being as into her as she was into me…

It could have resulted in me waking her up, and fucking her right then and there. My cock finally tasting the forbidden fruit it had lusted after for so many years. Sliding in between my sister’s wet pussy-lips, cumming inside her. Cynthia’s body, available to me any time of the day or night. Not just for sex—for anything I wanted.

I could have spanked her to sleep each night, and woken her up with my cock each morning, in any hole I wanted.

Maybe.

But I couldn’t be sure. Maybe the opposite would happen—she’d piece everything together, realize that I had made her like this. Remember that she hadn’t formerly been into BDSM, that she hadn’t ever lusted after her little brother before I’d started hypnotizing her.

Maybe she’d tell Mom, and everything—all my plans that I’d been working so hard towards—would collapse.

The prize would be great, but the risk simply wasn’t worth it.

Besides…I was very, very happy with how things were currently going. I could spank my mother’s naked body to orgasm, any time I wanted. Cynthia was walking around the house, barely dressed, in a constant state of arousal.

And there was something insanely hot about the fact that she had no idea I was into her. Her desperate attempts to get my attention—wanting me so powerfully, while thinking her passion was unrequited.

I liked watching her suffer in the exact way that I had for so many years.

“Describe the pain to me.”

“It stung. Mom didn’t hesitate—each time she hit me, it felt like it was adding to the previous blow. Sharp, stinging pain that built and built until I felt like I was going to burst.”

“Did you want to cum?”

“I always want to cum.”

“Do you think you could have cum from Mom’s hand on your butt?”

“Probably,” Cynthia confessed.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m not allowed to. Not until I work out how to thank my brother.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” I replied, allowing myself a broad grin. “What happened next?”

“I think Mom decided that the spanking wasn’t enough.”

Correct. Although she may have been nudged slightly in that direction.

“So what did she do?”

“She told me to take my stockings off. She said she was going to whip my feet.”

“Did you like stripping down in front of your brother?”

Cynthia had been wearing a skirt, so I hadn’t seen anything of note. It had still been a delight, though—sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to be preoccupied by my laptop, while my panting, sore sister got even more naked for me.

While my horny sister, desperate for my attention, prepared to be tortured just in the hope it would turn me on.

“No.”

I barely managed to hold back a groan of my own at her response. Knowing that she hated getting naked in front of me, that she was only doing it because of my action. My manipulations.

Because of my control.

“Why not?” I asked, my voice raspy.

“Because I’m fat,” she said, and I managed to prevent myself from rolling my eyes. “If I’m going to turn my brother on, it’s not going to be because of my body.”

“So how are you going to do it?”

“By letting him watch me suffer.”

“Good girl.”

Cynthia’s eyes twitched at that one, and I watched another near-orgasm roll across her body. I knew I’d have to wake her up before too much longer—this session had already gone much longer than normal—but I gave her a minute to calm down first.

Myself, too. I’d yet to blow my load in my shorts during one of these sessions, but I’ll tell you what…watching my sister get punished, then listening to her tell me about it again and again and again, breathy and aroused…I was getting pretty damn close.

“What did Mom do next?”

“She looked at me sadly, and warned me that this was going to hurt.”

“Were you excited?”

“Yesss,” Cynthia said immediately. “I wanted it to hurt. I wanted my brother to see how much it hurt.”

“Do you think Daniel likes watching you suffer?”

“I hope so,” she moaned. “God I hope so.”

“Do you think he likes watching Mom punish you?”

“I do. Even if he doesn’t realize it consciously. I think he subconsciously likes it. I think it turns him on, even if he doesn’t realize.”

“Do you think he wishes it was him, in Mom’s place?”

“Partially.”

“Why only partially?”

“Because he’s a straight guy,” Cynthia responded. She had no idea that she was just repeating ideas back that I’d implanted into her mind. She had no idea how much of what she felt and thought was because I’d put it into her head in the first place. “So I think he likes watching two women together.”

“Do you think he’d like watching you and Mom make love?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, her eyes fluttering at the thought. “He’d love to watch Mom touch me. Spank me while naked. He’d love to watch her bite my tit so hard it left a mark…”

This had been a recent addition to her ever-growing list of ideas. How could she repay me for helping her lose weight? Film a video of another woman brutalizing her body, and “accidentally” leave it somewhere that I could find it. I was half-tempted to let her carry it out, but it was too risky. I’m sure my sister could recruit a sadistic lesbian to record her on tape, but that was a variable too far out of my control.

Besides, I wanted to be her first. She’d never been touched by another—I was going to be her first sexual experience. And her last. I was going to take her virginity, and never let her feel the touch of anyone else.

Besides our mother, of course.

All in good time.

“What did it feel like to have your feet whipped?”

“It hurt. More than the spanking. I didn’t realize the soles of my feet were so sensitive. But more than that…it was scary.”

“Why?” I asked, my breathing heavy. I felt like an energy vampire—leaning forward, hanging on my sister’s every word. This was better than the hottest porn I’d ever seen. Hearing my sister’s experiences, knowing that I caused them—not only the punishment, but all of it. Everything that had happened had been for my pleasure, and neither of the parties involved had any idea.

“I’ve been reading about foot whipping,” my sister said, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. Fuck—even that admission was enough to send a surge of powerful arousal through my body. Just a few months ago, Cynthia wouldn’t have had any reason to give BDSM or foot torture a second thought…now, she was spending her spare time researching it, in the hope of turning me on.

I was so, so close to making her mine. I was training her into the perfect submissive masochist. Soon, my sister would exist purely for my pleasure.

“What did you learn?” I asked hoarsely.

“It can be dangerous. If it’s done wrong—you can break toes, or fracture bones.”

She was right, of course. I’d done a bunch of reading on it before doing it to Mom…and before letting Mom do it to Cynthia, I’d made sure that she did some research as well.

There was something darkly erotic about the idea of making my mother accidentally hobble my sister, but I also knew that would immediately put an end to our little games, so I’d made sure it was done right.

“Did you keep track of how many times Mom whipped you?”

“No,” Cynthia said softly. “I couldn’t. The pain was too much. It was too distracting.”

“Did you want to cum?”

“I always want to cum,” she echoed. “But I don’t think I could have, not from this.”

Mom had never come from having her feet whipped either. But it had always left her so worked up, it had been a cinch to make her cum straight afterwards.

“Do you want Mom to do it again?”

Cynthia hesitated.

“Be honest,” I said warningly. “Remember, I’m doing all this to help you.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and I curled my nails into the palms of my fists to stop myself from losing it. “I mean, no.”

“Which is it? Yes, or no?”

“Both, sir,” she said. Her skin was so flushed; reliving the experience had clearly turned her on as much as it had me. She’d slipped straight into sub mode—I hadn’t ordered her to call me ‘sir’. She was just doing it because it felt right.

Because it was right. I’d never heard anything that felt so right.

“I hated it,” my sister continued. “I never, ever want to go through something like that again. I’d pay any amount of money to make sure that no one ever did that to me for the rest of my life.”

“Then why is it both?”

“Because…” Cynthia replied, her voice quivering with arousal. “It might have turned my brother on. So if I could, I’d do it again right now.”

Part of me wanted to wake her up. So that she wouldn’t suspect anything about this insanely long session, of course, but also so that I could go and jerk off before I burst.

But something she’d said had given me an idea…