The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When Cynthia first started escalating her punishments, Mom had only let me see her naked when she was hypnotized, so it made sense that she wasn’t comfortable letting me see my sister in any further states of undress.

I mean, as much sense as any part of my life made. Cynthia walked around every day wearing practically nothing, like she was my own personal sex doll. Whenever I put Mom under, it was child’s play (literally—I was her child, and I loved playing with her) to get her to strip down and let me spank her to orgasm.

But the idea of seeing my sister without a bra on? That, in the twisted logic of Mom’s mind, was out.

And so while she had no issue letting me watch her whip Cynthia’s feet, or spank her panty-clad butt, or watch the tears slowly make their way down her blushing face as she kneeled on rice…if the punishment involved Cynthia undressing in any way, Mom would awkwardly ask me to leave the room.

I never asked her about it afterwards, of course. I mean, I guess I could have come up with some kind of justification—research into what was effective, in case I could apply it to her regime, something like that…but I never bothered.

Instead, I’d just wait until she was next under.

When she was hypnotized, Mom would spill the beans like they were hotcakes going out of style, or however that saying goes.

“Do you think it worked?” I asked the night after Mom had put bulldog clips on Cynthia’s nipples for five minutes. After Cynthia had caught me doing it to Mom, she’d insisted she get the same treatment. It was punishment for eating a bag of potato chips or something. Some quickly-concocted excuse.

Mom hadn’t let me watch, of course, but I’d still gone to my room to get off. I’d been able to imagine it so clearly—Cynthia’s pain-stricken face as our busty mother punished her…I’d been getting off to similar images my whole life, but this one was real. It had really been happening, just a few rooms away.

“I don’t know,” Mom replied blankly. I sighed. It could be a real effort sometimes to get an opinion out of my mother…although in all fairness, that was also true when she wasn’t in a trance. I guess she was afraid of being ‘wrong’, so whenever she could, she’d avoid answering with a clear yes or no.

“Do you think she’s more or less likely to cheat on her diet?”

“I don’t know,” Mom repeated.

“But if you had to guess…” I said, through gritted teeth. There was a pause as Mom really considered the question.

“The same,” she eventually answered.

Interesting. “Why?”

“I don’t think they’re as effective on Cynthia as they are on me. I don’t…”

Mom trailed off, and I could tell she was deep in thought.

“…I don’t think she responds to pain like I do.”

I couldn’t help but grin at that. I mean, she was right—I don’t think anyone responded to pain like my mother did.

But I knew what she meant.

“Are you sure you’re hurting her?”

“Yes,” Mom nodded insistently.

“How do you know?”

“I know,” she responded softly, and I dropped it. Say what you will about my Mom—she’s really gotten to know pain over the last few months, and I was inclined to trust her on this one.

“Okay,” I said, an idea slowly forming in my mind. “The punishments weren’t originally effective for you, were they?”

“No.”

“But we eventually found a good rhythm, didn’t we?”

Mom nodded.

“The trick,” I said, carefully thinking about each word as I said it, “was to mix pleasure and pain.”

“Sure…”

“Do you think Cynthia’s doing that?”

I’d never explicitly asked, but if I had to guess, I’d say that Mom was completely straight. I mean, I heard somewhere that everyone is a little bi, but I mean…she’d be right up at whatever end of the Kinsey Scale means that she exclusively loved dong.

So there was no reason for Mom to have any awareness of, y’know, how perpetually turned on her daugher was. I’d noticed, of course, but

a: I was way up at the “no dong thanks, not for me“ end of the Scale, and

b: I’d known to look for it.

(Also I guess c: I was completely obsessed with my sister, and stared at her every minute I could get away with it.)

“What do you mean?” Mom asked, her tone suggesting that she genuinely didn’t understand.

Whenever possible, I tended away from conversations with my mother getting too explicit. She can be a little funny about putting labels on things, I guess.

Like, I spank her to orgasm each and every night, but we dance around the language when I do. Maybe it makes it too real for her? I dunno.

In this case, however, it seemed impossible to dodge.

“When you don’t follow your routine,” I said deliberately, staring straight into my mother’s entranced eyes, “I punish you. Right?”

Mom nodded.

“But as a reward, when you’ve been good, I spank you.”

Another nod.

“And it works as a reward because you cum. Right?”

A blush spread over my mother’s face, but she didn’t look away.

“Right,” she rasped, sounding as though she wanted to sink through the floor with embarrassment.

“The punishments don’t seem to be having much of an effect on Cynthia. And maybe…maybe that’s because they’re missing the other half of the equation.”

A look of confusion appeared. Crap. I’d forgotten how much my mother hated math.

“Maybe the punishments aren’t working,” I tried again, “because they need that contrast. Maybe pain isn’t enough, and your daughter needs pleasure as well.”

Mom narrowed her eyes.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked, a note of suspicion in her voice.

“You only really started to lose weight when you started getting orgasms as a reward,” I said, throwing caution to the wind. In for an ounce, in for a pound, after all. “I’m suggesting you offer the same thing to Cynthia.”

Mom stared blankly as she processed what I’d said. She didn’t look like she was going to wake up, which was a relief.

But she didn’t look happy, either.

After several minutes had passed, I couldn’t help myself.

“What do you think of that?” I asked.

“I don’t like it,” Mom said flatly, and I nodded. Like I said, definitely a dong-lover on the Kinsey Scale.

“Don’t you want to help your daughter?”

“Yes. But not like that.”

“Why not?”

“It would…it would be wrong.”

Maybe I should’ve backed off. Unpacking this, after all, could lead to her concluding the same thing about how I helped her.

But over the last few months, I’d learned quite a lot about my dear sweet mother. I’d learned what she looked like when she came, for one. I’d all but memorized every inch of her beautiful, naked body. I’d learned that she loved pain…and I’d learned that when it came to pleasure, she had basically zero self-control.

So while yeah, there was a risk of Mom concluding that if making Cynthia cum was wrong, me giving her nightly orgasms was also wrong…but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t.

Because if she did, she’d be cutting off her source. And as we’d learned from the cookies, and the Red Vines, and the icecream, and the time she ate an entire cheesecake…Mom was a total sucker for pleasure.

You get enough dopamine into someone, they can morally justify anything. And this, fortunately for me, was more true of my mother than most.

And so I pressed on.

“It’s not sex,” I reminded her. “An orgasm is a completely natural thing. It’ll help Cynthia stay on track with her diet.”

“Yes,” Mom reluctantly agreed, “but…”

“But what?”

“But I can’t…I can’t help her like that.”

Mom was shifting uncomfortably in her seat…and not from arousal, I’m sorry to say.

“Why not?” I asked once more.

“Because I’m her mother.”

And I’m your son, I could have reminded her, if I was a complete idiot.

“It’s not sexual,” I repeated. “Don’t you want to help your daughter?”

“Y-yes,” Mom said. “I mean, obviously. But…”

“What?”

“But it’s…it’s wrong.”

I sat back with a smile. This was the kind of fight I knew I could win. Mom didn’t really have a leg to stand on, if you thought about it. She wasn’t resisting because she had some ironclad logical argument, she just didn’t want to get Cynthia off.

I was filled with this feeling of real power—my mother didn’t want to get my sister off, but I knew she would. I knew I’d triumph here; my mom’s desires, ultimately, didn’t matter. Cynthia’s either; not really. What was important was what I wanted, and both Cynthia and Mom would do whatever that was.

At the end of the day, my will would outweigh both of theirs, and there was nothing they could do about it.

They were mine. Both of them. Not all the way, and they didn’t know it, not yet, but they would. Before the year was out, Cynthia and Mom would both know that they belonged to me: mind, body and soul.

I didn’t know if they’d like it, but that wasn’t important. I’d like it—that was all that mattered.

I opened my mouth to begin deconstructing Mom’s flimsy objections, but a thought struck me.

Mom didn’t want to get Cynthia off. She was her mother, she was straight…pretty good reasons, as far as these things went.

Mom didn’t want to get Cynthia off. She would probably hate it, which frankly only made it hotter.

Mom would hate it.

“What if,” I said slowly, a smile creeping across my face, “I made you give Cynthia an orgasm.”

“I don’t want to,” Mom snapped, clearly done with the subject.

“Right,” I said, leaning forward and staring into Mom’s eyes. “So what if it was a punishment?”

“Do you think your brother has been enjoying watching you get punished?”

“Yesss,” Cynthia hissed, her body practically vibrating with excitement. It had been five days since I’d last put her under—between watching Cynthia writhe with pain under our mother’s hands, making time to punish and reward Mom, and getting off alone in my room…it had been difficult to find the time, frankly.

Someday soon, jerking off would be taken out of my hands (literally) and probably combined with the other tasks on that list, but for now it was taking up quite a lot of my time.

With everything going so smoothly, putting my sister under hadn’t been a huge priority, but I was ready to move things to the next level. The idea of Mom trying to make my sister cum while Cynthia obediently resisted…it was all I’d been able to think about lately, and I needed to make it happen, as soon as possible.

“Why?”

“Because he’s a sadist.” Cynthia responded immediately. “He likes watching me in pain. And because he’s a man.”

“What does that have to do with it?” I asked with a half-smile, already knowing what she was going to answer.

I just liked hearing her say it.

“Men are naturally aroused by obedient women,” she said, the hint of a smile on her otherwise-blank face. “It turns him on to see how obedient I can be.”

“Why else do you think he likes it?”

“Because of Mom. Because Mom is the one punishing me.”

“You think your brother is attracted to your mother?”

“No,” Cynthia replied immediately. Good. We’d get there eventually, but not yet. “I mean, I think he likes causing her pain, but I don’t think he’s attracted to her specifically.”

I sensed a but coming.

”…but she’s a woman,” my sister continued, and I smiled at how well I could read her. “Men like seeing two women together.”

It was true. I mean, I wasn’t a, like, expert in human sexuality, but yeah. I was pretty sure that was accepted as a universal fact.

“Good girl,” I said, enjoying the tremor of pleasure that passed through Cynthia’s body at my words.

We sat there in silence for a few seconds. My sister was wearing stockings, as usual. Black heels, too, and some pink lingerie that I couldn’t remember seeing before.

My cock throbbed at the realization that Cynthia was now buying new sexy outfits to wear around the house.

I opened my mouth to begin the next steps, when my sister surprised me by saying something.

“I…”

She cut herself off immediately, but I sat forward, immediately suspicious. Cynthia had never been the first to speak while she was under—Mom, either. They only ever responded to my direct inquiries, or instructions.

What was going on?

“What?” I asked gently. You catch more bees with honey, y’know?

“I…I have a question.”

“Go on,” I said, my heart racing. Had she worked out something was up? I’d put her under the same way as always, but had she somehow…woken up?

“My brother…”

“Yeah?”

“…how attractive does he find me now?”

My fear turned into a grin, and the grin quickly turned into laughter.

God, my sister really was something. She was so desperate for my approval, she’d somehow managed to break through her trance to ask me a question.

Before I answered, I spent a few minutes making sure that she was really under, that her intense curiosity hadn’t really managed to wake her up.

When I was confident she was truly, deeply hypnotized, I relaxed a little.

“So you definitely want to know how attractive your brother finds you?” I asked teasingly.

“Yes.”

I chuckled, and decided to be nice. After all, she’d been working so hard to turn me on. To please me. She’d gone through so much pain, for my pleasure.

“Six,” I said thoughtfully. “Six out of ten.”

Cynthia didn’t say anything. Instead, to my shock, her entire body began twitching, and her face contorted in what I recognized as a powerful orgasm.

Fuck.