The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Tell me,” I ordered, not even trying to hide the lust in my voice. “Tell me what happened.”

My mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes staring vacantly. As soon as I’d put her under, I’d started interrogating her.

“Well…” she began. “Cynthia didn’t seem surprised when I told her I was going to give her a…give her an…”

I waited. My mother sometimes stumbled on the word, but she always got there in the end.

“…give her an orgasm.”

Over the next two weeks, I fucked my sister more times than I could count.

Each and every time I put her under, I’d use my sister’s body to get off at least once or twice.

The first few times, I ordered her to cum first. Not just because watching my sister’s normally-stationary body shudder in orgasm was fun (and believe me, I could think of few things I’d rather watch), but to provide justification for what I was going to do to her next.

After she came, her entire body relaxed, free of the sexual tension she’d been building up since…well, since the last time I’d made her cum.

If she woke up like that, she’d be suspicious. The only solution was to fuck her, right?

Well…as it turned out, I didn’t need to be quite so elaborate.

My sister would take pretty much any excuse to let me fuck her.

She wanted my cock inside her as much as I did.

“You’ve woken up feeling pretty stretched the last few times I’ve put you under, haven’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” my sister moaned impatiently. This was getting more and more common when I put her under, like she was annoyed that we had to talk at all.

Like all she wanted was to feel my cock inside her. To feel my cum landing upon her skin.

Like everything else was just foreplay.

“So you might be suspicious if you don’t wake up feeling a little stretched, right?”

“Uh huh,” she gasped.

“What could we do to fix that?”

“Fuck me,” she pleaded.

They were quickly becoming my two favorite words in the English language. “Fuck me.” Sometimes with a plaintive “Please…” added to the start or end.

Cynthia was so desperate to offer it as a solution to most anything. It felt like I could have told her that the bathroom upstairs needed painting, and she would have told me that the only thing to do was stick my cock inside her.

When I’d started hypnotizing my sister, it had sometimes felt like an uphill battle, like I needed to find the exact right path through the labyrinth. Now, it was like the maze was begging, just yearning for me to get through it, reshaping around me with every step I took. If I turned left, the labyrinth would completely restructure itself so that was the exit.

All my sister wanted was to feel me throb with arousal inside her recently-deflowered pussy.

“Right now. Please. Please. Fuck me with my brother’s cock.”

Yeah. Like I said, she wasn’t exactly struggling to find a reason.

And so I’d give her what she wanted. The maze wanted me to fuck it, and so I did. Every time I put my sister under, I fucked her, pulled out, came on her belly…

And then, if we had time, I’d fuck her again.

But everything comes with a price. In this case, we were paying an opportunity cost. We were spending so much time rutting, we weren’t really getting anything else done.

I still felt like it was too risky to put Cynthia under for more than half an hour…and I wanted to take full advantage of when she was under, so I generally fucked her twice.

Although even if we’d had twice as much time, I probably would have used it to fuck her again.

The experience. The sights. The smells. The sensations. Having sex with my sister was…

It was everything I’d wanted it to be.

Almost.

Nothing’s perfect, I guess, but in this case the issues were pretty clear. Specifically, three things about the experience were less than ideal.

The first was the fact that I couldn’t cum in her. If she woke up and discovered my cum dripping out of her…yeah, that was going to be hard to explain. And honestly, I didn’t know what happened after you came inside someone. Did it just get…absorbed by the body? Did it drip out afterwards? Our school’s biology lessons hadn’t exactly been specific on this point, and online searching hadn’t provided me with a clear answer.

So when I felt my orgasm approaching, I’d pull out and shoot my load onto her flushed, mostly-naked body. Sometimes I’d clean up the mess as my cock was recovering, sometimes I’d just watch as my seed dried on her skin.

Sometimes, the sight of my seed drying on her skin was all I needed to get hard again.

But I wanted to get off inside her. I dunno, maybe it’s a primal thing. Evolution programmed men to wanna cum inside women, y’know? You could make the case that something went a little wrong in this specific sitch—I’m pretty sure “your own sister” isn’t the woman you’re meant to want to fill with your seed, but whatever the cause…there was nothing I wanted more.

I wanted to cum inside Cynthia, instead of pulling out when I peaked. It sort of felt like I was spending the whole day hyping my cock up for Disneyland, and then leaving it in the car as soon as we got there.

My cock deserved to go to Disneyland. Especially because in this case, I knew Disneyland wanted nothing more than to enjoy the company of my cock.

I could have used a condom, I guess, but…I mean, was it worth trading the rest of the experience for a slightly better orgasm? Plus if my sister turned out to have a latex allergy or something and woke up with a rash…

Yeah, it just wasn’t worth the risk.

The second problem was that while Cynthia was under, she didn’t move. So whenever I was pounding into her, even though my sister would be vocally responsive, and her pussy was having a little party around my intruding member…

Starfishing is the term, I think. Just, y’know, lying there.

I don’t want to sound like taking my sis wasn’t the hottest thing I’d ever, ever done. Whenever I wanted, I could knock on her door, spend a few minutes hypnotizing her, and then fuck her until I got off. I could use her glass-eyed body for my pleasure, pound her for as long as I needed until I came.

Best of all…I knew that she wanted it as much as I did. That’s why she was letting me; because I’d hypnotized her into wanting my cock as much as my cock wanted her.

She spent all day thinking about it. She was constantly edging, imagining me taking her. My sister was just as obsessed with me as I was with her.

And lest we forget, Cynthia walked around the house dressed like a porn star. I mean, I guess porn stars don’t really wear that much, but you know what I mean. Like a lingerie model. Like a busty, lusty lingerie model.

I could have told her to wear pretty much anything, and I doubt she would’ve objected. If I’d even hinted to Cynthia that her brother was into, I dunno, fur bikinis…I can basically guarantee she would’ve been wearing one the next day.

So, yeah. I was fucking my sister each and every night, as she wore the sexiest outfits I’d ever seen. Her perfect body was mine. Her pussy was mine. Her mind was mine.

But she never moved.

I tried to make the most of it. Thinking of her as a literal sex doll worked for a while, but after a week I felt like I’d started to burn out on that fantasy. I tried pretending she was asleep once, which was kind of hot in concept, but…I dunno. It made me feel like a creep.

Yeah yeah, I know. Fucking my hypnotized sister didn’t bother me, but pretending she was asleep? For all my kinks, that just isn’t something I was into.

So that was issue number two.

The third one took me by surprise: she wouldn’t let me see her tits.

Like, it just didn’t make sense. My sister would let me fuck her, she’d let me look at her bare pussy. She’d let me hypnotize her every night, fuck her as hard as I wanted, finish on her stomach…but no matter what I did, I couldn’t get her to let me even take her bra off.

Believe me, I tried everything. I told her that I was worried I’d get cum on it, that I had to take it off to avoid that.

Nope. She started twitching, and I had to abandon that line of thinking and distract her.

I tried telling her that it would help me cum faster (true!) but she didn’t believe me.

I reminded her that I’d seen Mom’s tits, that I’d touched them when I was tying the rope.

Nothing.

I knew my sister had weird body issues, but I had completely underestimated how much she hated her tits. It was so dumb! Imagine if Eminem was too nervous to let anyone hear him rap, or if John Mulaney was too embarrassed to tell jokes. If God gives you a gift, I feel like you basically have an obligation to share it with the world.

Not my sister. She’d happily let her own brother fuck her again and again, but there was nothing I could do to persuade Cynthia to let me remove her bra and watch her huge melons bounce as I pounded into her.

Instead, I had to settle with watching her huge bra-clad melons bounce as I fucked her.

It’s a hard life, right?

But aside from those three issues, everything else about it was amazing. More than amazing. Bliss. Heaven.

Three small steps away from perfect.

As soon as I’d started fucking my sister each day, I’d completely stopped jerking off—my cum belonged on my sister’s incredibly body.

For now, on. Soon enough: inside.

So while I was spending my time taking my sister night after night…we weren’t really making any progress with anything else. I’d put Cynthia under, fuck her until I blew my load onto her, fuck her again, clean her off, then wake her up.

It was amazing. Hot as hell. But yeah, not particularly productive.

Things with Mom, meanwhile, had been going great.

Maybe because I’d made such incredible progress with my sister, I’d gained a lot of confidence. Cynthia had always felt like the slower path; Mom’s cycle of punishment-reward had been fairly consistent, and now that I’d gotten so far with my sister, I felt like Mom wouldn’t be far behind.

And so I’d spent almost two weeks focused on her new punishment.

Not the ropes—though I’d made use of those a few times. If you’d come over to my house unannounced in those two weeks, there was a good chance that you would’ve walked in to find Mom’s tits on display, surrounded by ropes and purple with pain.

It was great for so many reasons. It was pushing her boundaries, making her more comfortable with nudity, and best of all—she was building up tolerance for even greater levels of pain.

Tolerance…and hunger.

My sister wanted my cock inside her as much as I did. But Mom…I sometimes wondered if Mom’s desire for pain actually outpaced how much I wanted to give it to her.

And believe me: I really, really wanted to give it to her.

But for now, that wasn’t where I’d been focusing. Instead, I’d spent the last two weeks working on Mom’s other punishment: making her daughter cum.

It had been easy enough to get her to agree to it, but I’d spent a few more of our sessions reinforcing the ideas I’d set up. Why it was going to happen, why it was a punishment, and why it would ultimately be good for her daughter.

(It would ultimately be great for her son, too, but I skipped that part.)

Whenever Mom wavered, whenever I thought there was a chance she was going to push back, I reminded her of two things:

Firstly, why she was being punished like this. She deserved it, I told her, because she had done nothing to reward her son for all his hard work. Because she was a terrible person.

My cock throbbed every time Mom repeated that back to me. “I’m a terrible person. I deserve to be punished.”

“I will take whatever punishment my son gives me.”

And secondly, because I made it very clear that the only alternative was the Toy. The anal plug I’d bought for her a few weeks earlier. For whatever reason, Mom was utterly terrified of having anything up her ass, and so I’d placed it beside her bed. The Toy was the first thing she saw when she woke up each morning, and the last thing she saw when she went to bed.

It was the perfect tool to bend her to my will.

If she didn’t agree to get Cynthia off…well, that was okay. An alternative punishment was readily available. One that Mom would do anything to avoid.

There was only one problem.

I was stuck.

Everything was in place—Mom’s punishment would be a huge step forward in my plan. If I could pull it off, my mother and sister would start seeing each other in a sexual light. And the next steps I had planned were so twisted, so devious…

God, I got hard just thinking about it.

So what was the issue? Well, I couldn’t work out how to…’activate’ the punishment, I guess.

See, I didn’t want this one to come from me. I didn’t want to wake her up and say “Hey Mom, just so you know, you’re a garbage person for not appreciating me, and as punishment you have to get your own daughter off.”

My sister had taught me that the human brain has an incredible capacity for justifying subconscious thoughts. I had planted all kinds of stuff in her mind—“masturbate each night thinking of your brother but never cum” seems like a pretty good example—and she’d filled in the gaps herself, coming up unprompted with all kinds of ridiculous reasons that was a completely logical thing to do.

But this one was a little different. Mom had accepted every punishment I’d given her…but, y’know. First I’d had to give them to her.

I sometimes couldn’t believe it, when I considered how far I’d come. A year ago, I would’ve described my Mom as conservative. Now, she’d kneel on rice and let me truss her naked body up like a turkey, then spank her to orgasm.

I’d helped her lose weight. Just for that, she probably would have let me do anything I wanted. The fact that she was secretly a painslut, and craved the stimulation that my punishments brought…

Yeah. Mom was putty, and I was the sculptor.

But bringing her own daughter to orgasm…that was basically the hottest thing I could imagine, but I it wouldn’t be a suggestion that went down well. I’d even tried a hypothetical or two in case I was wrong…

Nope. No dice.

Mom’s subconscious was a bit more of a black box than my sister’s. Cynthia was always happy to explain how she’d reached certain conclusions…when I asked my mother, it was like she didn’t even understand the question.

So yeah. While Mom had theoretically agreed to a punishment where she got her own daughter off…I had no way of getting it to happen. It wouldn’t fly if I suggested it, and since every punishment so far had come from me, I was feeling pretty stuck.

Until one night, when an epiphany struck me as I was fucking my sister.

“Tell me what you thought about when you touched yourself today,” I grunted. My cock was hard as a rock, and buried deep inside my sister’s wet pussy. I’d already fucked her once this session, so I could feel my jizz on our stomachs.

The sticky sensation was a little offputting, to be honest—as was my sister’s complete immobility—so I’d hoped that hearing what she fantasized about would be a great way to take my mind off the distractions.

“This,” she groaned. “This, this, this.”

“Be more specific,” I ordered, my eyes narrowing in worry. If Cynthia was thinking about what happened when she was hypnotized, even if it was while she was edging…that could be a problem. What happened while she was under was meant to stay deep in her subconscious.

I guess it made sense that it would bubble up when she was close to orgasm, but it still made me nervous. If thoughts started crossing that divide, it could open up a whole world of trouble.

“My brother fucking me,” she panted. “My brother using me like a sex doll. My brother’s cock, deep inside me. Making him cum. Making my brother—oh!—cummmm…“

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was fine. If she’d responded something like “My brother hypnotizing me and using my unconscious body for sex,” I’d have had to do some damage control, but using the individual elements as inspiration while she edged?

Nothing to worry about.

“What else?”

“Asking him if a corset would be a good weight-loss device,” she moaned.

That was new. Although in fairness, it had been a while since I’d checked in on my sister’s fantasies.

“…why?”

“Because then he might make me wear one,” she moaned. “He might make me wear one and then make it too tight. Make it so tight I can barely breathe. Make it so tight I’m in pain. And if I’m in pain, he might—ohhhh—he might find that hottt…”

“Don’t cum,” I ordered. Even while she was under, even while she was completely immobile, I’d gotten pretty good at working out when my sister was getting close to cumming.

Once or twice I hadn’t caught it in time. I’ll tell you what—the feeling of Cynthia’s pussy clenching around me in an uncontrollable orgasm…that was as close as I’d ever gotten to losing control myself.

“Don’t cum,” she repeated, her glazed eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. “Don’t cum don’t cum don’t cum…”

My sister continued repeating her mantra as I refocused my efforts on fucking her. We only had a few minutes before I got uncomfortably close to going over time, so I wanted to get off sooner rather than later.

“Don’t cum,” she moaned, and I suddenly realized what she’d just said.

She’d wanted to ask me for permission to wear a corset, as a way of appealing to my sadistic tendencies. She’d come up with her own punishment, and brought it to me as a dieting technique.

My eyes widened in excitement as I pulled out of my sister’s tight lovehole. “I’m gonna cum,” I grunted, and began spurting my seed onto Cynthia’s bare stomach, where it met my previous offering of the night.

Her eyes lit up, as they always did when I came. Even though her own orgasm was denied, Cynthia got so much damn pleasure from getting me off.

And in news that will surprise no one, I also got a lot of pleasure out of it.

As I cleaned up the mess I’d made on Cynthia’s bare skin, I had the biggest smile on my face.

My sister had no idea what a gift she’d just given me.

“You deserve to be punished,” I told my mother. She nodded. “Say it.”

“I deserve to be punished.”

“Why?”

“Because I was not considerate enough to my son. He’s done so much to help me, and I’ve done nothing to thank him.”

“How should you be punished?”

“I should make…I should make my daughter…”

Mom’s face went red, but she pressed on.

“I should make my daughter…orgasm,” she finally said.

I leaned forward, excited. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for your son to tell you to do that, would it?”

“No,” my mother agreed, as I knew she would. As she had in every hypothetical I’d tried. Mom’s standards had slipped a lot since I’d started hypnotizing her, but she still wasn’t onboard with me doing anything sexual with Cynthia.

Which was why she had to be the one to do it.

“But we agree: that would be the best punishment, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” my mother nodded, her glazed eyes cast downward.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, not even trying to hide the glee in my voice. “Tonight, when you come in for your reward, you’re going to suggest it to me. You’re going to suggest it because it’ll help Cynthia lose weight.”

We’d spent the first half of the session discussing that at length. Making Mom get Cynthia off was a punishment for my mother…but a weight loss tool for my sister.

After all, orgasm incentives had worked for Mom.

“Okay…” she replied, sounding dubious.

“Your conscious mind is going to think that’s why you’re suggesting it. But your subconscious will know the truth: that this is a punishment. That this is what you deserve, for not being grateful to your son. That you deserve this punishment, because you’re a terrible person. Say it.”

“I deserve this punishment, because I’m a terrible person.”

My cock throbbed at Mom’s words. I’d already fucked Cynthia twice that day, but I swear…I could have gone again.

When I had both the women in my family at my sexual beck and call, my cock would never go wanting again. Each and every time I got hard, one of my busty family members would be there to take it for me.

I couldn’t wait.

“Who chooses your punishments?”

“You do.”

“So by suggesting this to me, your subconscious mind is looking for permission. You need me to punish you, and this is the most appropriate punishment. Isn’t it?”

“Y-yes.”

“The only other punishment that would work is the Toy, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Again, my hardness got even harder at the sound of fear in Mom’s voice.

“Of those two punishments, which would you prefer?”

“Making Cynthia…making m-my daughter…making her…”

I waited.

“…orgasm.”

“So you need me to give you this punishment, but I can’t. The only way to get around this is if you suggest it. If you suggest it and I agree, then you can finally be punished, can’t you?’

“Yes.”

“You want to be punished, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want to be punished.”

“Why?”

“Because I deserve it.”

“Tell me what happened,” I said. I wanted nothing more than to reach into my pants, pull out my cock, and stroke myself while Mom told me the story. But I couldn’t. Even when she was under, I couldn’t risk that.

I’d just have to wait until Cynthia told me the story. When my sister told me the story of how our mother gave her an orgasm, I wouldn’t have to resort to touching myself.

I could have her tell me the story while I fucked her.

“I told Cynthia that I needed to make her or-orgasm,” Mom replied, before hesitating.

“I want to hear everything. Tell me the story, in detail. In great detail.”

“She didn’t seem surprised,” Mom started. I smiled. Good.

After I’d finally managed to find a way to get Mom over the hump, I’d started work on Cynthia. Some nights, that had meant I’d only been able to fuck her once—a travesty, I know, but sometimes you need to make short-term sacrifices for long-term gains.

And in the end, I knew it would all be worth it.

Convincing my sister had been easier than I’d expected, to be honest. I’d stopped making Cynthia cum before fucking her, so it had been almost a week since her last orgasm. Almost a week of having her brother’s cock—the cock she fantasized about almost every minute of the day—inside her, night after night…and never being able to find relief.

She edged during the day, I fucked her during our nightly session, and then she’d often edge herself into the night as well. One time, she’d told me (while hypnotized, of course) that she’d woken up in the middle of the night to find herself edging.

She was so turned on, she’d do practically anything I asked. Except show me her tits, apparently.

And she’d believe anything I told her.

“Mom has noticed you haven’t cum in months,” I’d told my sister, watching her reaction closely. She couldn’t move, but I’d started to get good at reading her non-moving state.

She was worried.

In fact, my sister had cum just a few days earlier…but only while under. It really had been months since her last conscious orgasm.

“She’s worried about you,” I said, my eyes not leaving her face for a second. If she started twitching, I knew I had to reverse course straight away.

Nope. Nothing.

I breathed a sigh of relief. This had been a risky one. You’ve got to remember, my mother wasn’t the kind of person who would ever ask her kids about their sex life. Cynthia and I could’ve been married (to other people, I mean) and gone to her for advice and she still wouldn’t have said anything.

Six months earlier, there was no way my sister would’ve bought this line. But she was in such a frenzied state—constantly thinking about sex. Constantly thinking about sex with me, her brother. Constantly edging, constantly working herself up…

And of course, Mom had started regularly walking around the house tied up in ropes with her tits on display.

Yeah. A lot had changed in the last six months. Enough that Cynthia didn’t even question my claim for a second.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m hoping that Mom hasn’t noticed my attraction to my brother,” Cynthia replied immediately. I blinked twice. Not honestly sure how she made that leap, but…whatever. Any port in a storm, I guess.

“Yeah,” I nodded, as if that response followed from what I’d just said. “If you do anything suspicious, that’s exactly what might happen.”

For some reason. I guess.

“But I know how to help. Do you want my help?’

“Yes,” Cynthia replied immediately.

“Will you do what I say?”

“Yes,” my sister replied again. “Anything.”

“Good,” I said, and laid out exactly how she was going to react.

“Any questions?”

“No,” Cynthia said.

“Does what I’ve told you make you at all suspicious?”

“No,” my sister repeated.

“Good girl,” I said, and god…my sister’s twitch. Her moan. Her beautiful, cum-coated body. I glanced at the clock. Damn it—we were too close to the half-hour mark for me to fuck her again.

I continued talking as I began to clean her up. I started every session by fucking her—it was just too hard to get her to focus on anything else until I did.

“One more thing,” I said, running a cloth over my sister’s skin. “No matter what you do, you can’t cum. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Cynthia replied, as I wiped the last of my cum off.

“Say it.”

“When Mom is trying to get me off, no matter what else happens…I can’t climax.”

“Good girl,” I said, and woke her up mid-shiver.

“Cynthia didn’t seem surprised when I told her I was going to give her a…give her an…”

Mom gulped, finally finishing the sentence.

“…give her an orgasm.”

“No?” I asked, trying to sound confused. “What did she say?”

“She told me that she understood,” Mom replied. “She told me that she appreciated me looking out for her. She told me that she’d return the favor if I ever needed it.”

I smiled, as the words I’d planted directly into my sister’s mind were parroted back to me by my mother.

“What do you think she meant by that?”

“That she understood that an orgasm can be a valuable dieting tool.”

“That sounds right,” I said.

It hadn’t been easy, getting my Mom and sister to talk at cross purposes. There had been a risk that one of them would go off-script, and say something that didn’t make sense with the other person’s interpretation.

Mom thought she was getting Cynthia off to help her lose weight. Cynthia thought that Mom had noticed how long it’d been since she came, and wanted to save her daughter from sexual repression.

I’d told her to agree, or Mom might start probing deeper, or send her to a psychiatrist. Something that could uncover Cynthia’s lustful thoughts for her brother.

I’d told her that the best way to avoid that was to let Mom try to get her off. And fail, of course…the rest of my plan depended on it.

“So what happened next?’

“I tried to make her org—…orgasm.”

“And did you?” I prompted.

“Yes,” Mom said, sounding pained. “Yes I did.”