Diet
by Pan
Chapter 3:
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel?”
“Good,” Mom responded. “Nervous.”
I started with some basic stuff. Innocent questions, stuff I already knew. Mom was only the second person I’d ever hypnotized, and I didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.
After I was sure that she was safely under, I dove into it.
“Why did you ask me to hypnotize you?”
“Because I wanted to lose weight.”
“Why do you want to lose weight?”
“To be healthier.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Not gonna lie; I was fishing. After all, I’d discovered that my sister wanted to lose weight so that she could get more cock. Maybe our mother was secretly a huge cockslut underneath as well?
“No.”
“What are the other reasons?”
“To feel more attractive.”
“Why do you want to feel more attractive?” I asked, leaning forward slightly in my chair.
My Mom stared at me blankly, like she didn’t understand the question.
“To…to feel more attractive.”
She sounded confused, and I realized…my Mom really didn’t understand the question.
“But…”
I was at a loss for words.
“But why do you want to feel more attractive? What does it get you?”
Please say ‘cock’, please say ‘cock’…
“It makes me feel better about myself.”
Damn.
Okay. So it turned out that my Mom wasn’t a cock-hungry slut like Cynthia. It was a little disappointing, but not the end of the world. I guess the odds of my Mom being as big a slut as my sister were pretty unlikely.
“Do you feel good about yourself now?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m fat.”
It also seemed like she was very aware of how large she’d gotten.
“How often do you think about your weight?”
“As little as possible.”
Well, my first task was obvious: I had to fix that.
“Have you been masturbating every day?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think about while you do?”
“Being thin.”
“What exactly have you been thinking about?”
“How attractive I’d be if I were thin.”
I paused, waiting for more, but it seemed that Cynthia was done.
“Be more specific,” I instructed.
“Thinking about how boys would look at me. How they’d want me. How they’d get hard for me. How they’d want me to drop to my knees, suck their dicks.”
“You want to suck their dicks, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
I don’t know what Mom did wrong, but she’d somehow managed to raise an incest-obsessed perv and a slut.
Not that I was complaining.
“How many dicks have you sucked?”
“None,” my sister said. If I’d been drinking milk, it would have come out my nose.
“What?”
“I’ve never sucked a dick.”
I paused. This was not what I’d been expecting.
“How many boyfriends have you had?”
“Eight.”
“And you never sucked any of their cocks?”
“No.”
I stared at her, confused.
“How many guys have you fucked?”
“None.”
I blinked twice.
“You’re a virgin?”
“Yes.”
My sister’s voice rang out confidently as I stared at her, agape.
“You’ve never had sex.”
“No.”
“What’s the furthest you’ve ever gone with a guy?”
“Making out.”
“You’ve never gone any further than making out?”
“No.”
“How about hands under the clothes?”
“No.”
“Hands above the clothes?”
“No. A few guys have tried, but I’ve told them to stop.”
“You’ve never gone any further than making out, with anyone?”
“No.”
I took a deep breath, and asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question.
“Why not?”
“Because,” my sister replied, staring me in the eye. “I’m not attractive.”
Okay. So. Like I mentioned, I knew that my sister didn’t think she was hot. Her huge tits, her amazing ass. She obviously didn’t see them the way I did (or she’d never, ever put clothes on). I knew she had self-esteem issues.
But jesus. I had no idea it had gone this far.
No wonder she was so desperate to lose weight (again, just to emphasize—not that she needed to).
A part of me, if I’m being honest, was tempted to tell her the truth. That she was gorgeous; that she was a walking sexual fantasy.
That she was so fucking hot, her own brother was attracted to her.
But if I did that, I knew that I’d lose her. She’d go out, find a guy she liked, fall in love. Have a nice, normal relationship. Be happy.
A part of me wanted that.
But the rest of me wanted her all to myself. No matter the cost…
“You’re not sexy,” I said.
“Okay.”
“You’re too fat to be sexy.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m not sexy. I’m not sexy, because of my weight. Because I’m fat.”
“I want you to think about that all the time. This will motivate you to lose weight. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Guys aren’t attracted to you.”
“Okay.”
“Say it.”
“Guys don’t think I’m sexy.”
“You’re too overweight to be attractive. Say it.”
“I’m too fat to be sexy.”
“Every time you masturbate this week, I want you to think about that.”
“About what?”
“About your body. About being fat.”
“Okay.”
“Say it.”
“Every time I get off this week, I’ll think about how fat I am, how unattractive.”
I smiled, picturing Cynthia rubbing herself in bed, her perfect body shaking with pleasure as my words further corrupted her self-esteem. Bringing her further and further under my control.
She would be mine.
“What have you mostly thought about since I last put you under?”
“My weight.”
Mom looked devastated.
“What about it?”
“I’m so fat. I’m so unattractive.”
“What do you need to do to fix that?”
“I need to lose weight.”
“How can you lose weight?”
“By letting you hypnotize me.”
Perfect.
“What have you been thinking about while you masturbate?”
“I’ve been thinking about being fat. About how guys don’t want me for my body.”
“How has it made you feel?”
“Worthless.”
“Has it been harder to get off?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re still doing it, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it will make me lose weight.”
“How do you know it’ll help you lose weight?”
“Because you said it will.”
“You’ll do anything I tell you to, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
Obviously it was tempting. I could have instructed Cynthia that…I dunno, I had magic cum, and the only way to lose weight was to suck it out of me.
But I had no idea if that would work. Maybe it would. But then maybe she’d wake up and remember everything I’d done, everything I’d said. I could go to prison, never see my family again.
Never get to take my sister’s virginity.
I’d spent a lot of time thinking about that since I’d last put her under. I’d always thought my sister was attractive, but…god. Knowing that she’d never been touched, that I could be her first.
That I was going to be her first.
Tempting though the shortcut was, there was too much at stake. No—I had a plan. The beginning of one, anyway. It would take longer, but I knew it would be worth the wait.
“Do you know how much you weigh?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me how much.”
She gave me the number. It was a little higher than you’d expect for a girl of her height, but my research had suggested that a pair of tits her size could account for more than twenty pounds. If anything, she was probably slightly under her ideal BMI weight.
“Until I tell you to, you’re going to stop weighing yourself.”
Nothing.
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
The real reason was that I wanted to control her perception of her weight. I wanted her to think that when she obeyed me, she lost weight, and if she ever did anything I didn’t like, she gained weight. I wanted complete control over her progress—over her obsession.
Controlling her perception of herself was the first step towards controlling her completely.
But, I mean, I obviously couldn’t tell her that.
“Water weight means that day-to-day weighings can be very misleading. Even weighing yourself once a week or once a month can be a problem; if you pick the wrong day, you’ll think that you’re doing much better or worse than you actually are. But I’m an expert in your weight, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I only exist here, in these sessions, and I only exist for one reason: to help you lose weight. If I was created to help you lose weight, I must know everything about it, right?”
“…yes.”
“Why do I exist?”
“To help me lose weight.”
“So what do I know about your weight?”
“Everything.”
“That’s right. I’m an expert, so I’ll be able to tell you exactly how well you’re going, without you needing to weigh yourself. Say it.”
“Your expertise means that you’ll…that you’ll…”
My sister trailed off. Damn.
I tried again immediately, before her brain could spend too much time exploring why the reasons I’d just given made no sense.
“Why do you want to lose weight?”
“To be healthier, and to feel more attractive.”
“What would make you feel more attractive?”
“Losing weight.”
I sighed.
“Why,” I asked, trying a different angle, “do you want to be more attractive?”
“To feel better about myself.”
“Anything else?”
“To attract boys.”
“You want your body to make boys hard, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You want guys to look at you and be turned on, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I want guys to get hard looking at me. I want them to be turned on by my body.”
“Again.”
“I want my body to make boys hard. I want them to be turned on when they look at me.”
“Scales can be faulty, can’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that muscle weighs more than fat?”
“No.”
“It does.” That was actually true. I’d been doing a lot of research on topic related to weight-loss. “Water weight, faulty scales, building muscles—the number on the scales isn’t completely reliable when it comes to knowing whether you’re healthier and more attractive.”
“Right.”
“Even how you feel can be misleading. If you had a good night’s sleep, you’re going to be in a better mood, no matter what your weight. No, the only reliable way to know if you’re achieving your goals is to measure how attractive you are.”
“Okay.”
Cynthia sounded dubious, but I could tell I was getting somewhere here.
“Why do I exist?”
“To help me lose weight.”
“More than that. I exist to help you achieve your goals. What are your goals?”
“To lose weight, so I feel healthier and more attractive.”
“Exactly. I can’t tell how healthy you feel, but I can definitely assess how attractive you are.”
“Sure.”
The doubt was still there, but less so. I was definitely chipping away at it.
“Someone who sees you every day, sees you in different contexts—that’s not as helpful as someone like me, your trainer. Danny. Whenever I see you, it’s for the same reason. I don’t see you day-to-day, so changes are going to be more obvious to me.”
“Okay.”
“I should be in charge of measuring how attractive you are. Scales will just distract you, and reduce my ability to keep track of your progress. What do you think of this plan?”
“I like it,” she responded immediately, as if afraid of offending me. “But…”
This time, I waited the silence out.
“…isn’t it a little weird?”
“Why?”
“You’re seeing me through my brother’s eyes. He’s never going to find me attractive. He’s my brother.”
Damn it. I thought I’d dealt with this when we first started.
“I’m not your brother,” I reiterated. “I’m Danny. I’m your trainer.”
“…but you’re still using my brother’s eyes,” she said, and I sighed.
“Using a scale is an ineffective method of measuring weight loss,” I said. “Repeat that until I tell you to stop.”
“Scales are inefficient for measuring weight loss,” Cynthia said. “Scales are not efficient for measuring weight loss. Measuring weight loss using scales is inefficient…”
After several minutes, my sister’s voice was starting to grow a little hoarse, and I’d come up with a response.
“Stop,” I said, and she obeyed. “Judges need to be impartial, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
“So if I’m going to be judging how attractive you are, it’s important that I’m unbiased, right?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“To properly judge how attractive I am, you can’t be biased.”
“When a guy is at a bar with a woman, he’s going to be more attracted to her if she’s willing to go home with him, right?”
“Yes.”
“So using your brother’s eyes will make me less biased, won’t it?”
There was a pause. I pressed on.
“You can’t fuck your brother.” Not yet. “So your brother is better able to assess how attractive you are. He’s unbiased.”
“Okay.”
“Say it.”
“Because I can’t have sex with my brother, he’s going to be a better judge.”
“Any questions?”
“What if he never finds me attractive?”
“He doesn’t need to find you attractive. He just needs to judge how attractive you are relative to where you started. Make sense?”
“Yes.”
“What would assess you better, me or a scale?”
“You,” she replied, without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because numbers can lie, but your judgement of how attractive I am is going to be unbiased.”
“Are you going to use scales any more?”
“No,” she said, and I lay back in relief.
I’d been a little worried that me being her brother would always be a sticking point. Like, sure, I’d invented ‘Danny’ to fix it, but that was only going to get me so far. If Danny wasn’t her brother, and I couldn’t get her to do anything while she was under, then…even if she was at the point of fucking Danny, it wouldn’t do anything for me, her brother.
But I felt like I’d opened the door. Not, like, kicked it open and stampeded in. But I’d opened the door, just a crack.
I told Cynthia’s conscious mind not to notice that she’d stopped obsessively weighing herself, and woke her up.
One step closer.
“How do you feel about your weight?”
“Terrible.”
“Why?”
“I used to be so thin. So hot. Now, I’m…”
She trailed off.
“How often do you think about it?”
“All the time.”
“How can we fix that?”
“By letting you hypnotize me.”
“What will you do, to lose weight?”
Mom bit her lip nervously.
“Anything…”
“Great,” I said with a grin. “Let’s get started…”