The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I need your help again,” Cynthia told our mother. My sister’s voice was...glowing is the only term I can think of.

That had been the riskiest part of the whole endeavor. When I woke my sister up after sex, I typically left her desperate. On the edge of orgasm.

But she’d just cum and cum and cum again, for the better part of an hour. Her pussy ached, she’d told me: not from need, but from exhaustion.

“Will you notice anything different when you wake up?” I’d asked, as I always did, and my stomach had dropped when she’d replied with a single, shaky word:

“Yes.”

I’d frozen, not sure what to do. On one hand, I’d needed her to cum. She had to be sexually exhausted when she approached Mom that evening. The next steps of my plan relied on our mother failing to get her off.

On the other hand, if Cynthia suspected anything, the entire plan would fall apart. Everything would fall apart. Over the past few months, she’d gone from a normal teenager (if particularly hot, and with particularly low self-esteem) to a brother-obsessed, submissive, constantly-edging sex fiend...but I’d covered my tracks carefully, and so far she hadn’t even noticed that anything was strange.

If she did, we’d be up Paddle Creek, covered in shit.

“What feels different?” I asked as I put my sister’s bra over her tits. It was always so sad to see them disappear, but I’d worked out that I could get away with brushing my hand against them as I reclothed my sister. I couldn’t grab them—even in her unconscious state, Cynthia refused to believe that anyone could want to touch her tits—but I could make the briefest contact, and feel their softness against my skin.

“I feel...satisfied,” she said. That’s when I first noticed it, that feeling of...I dunno, fullness. Glow.

Cynthia had been edging herself for months, having only a small handful of orgasms, even as her libido had shot through the roof. In the course of forty minutes, she’d cum over and over and over and over.

No wonder she sounded different. It was the sound of someone having the most pleasant dream of their life.

“Why will your conscious mind think you feel this way?”

“I don’t know,” she said, after a brief pause. “Sir. I guess I’ll...—”

To my horror, Cynthia started twitching.

“Tell me what you like about your brother’s cock,” I said quickly. “Tell me what you think it looks like.”

“Big,” Cynthia said dreamily. “I think it’s plump. Girthy. Beautiful. I think it was built for me. That I was made for it. To take it. To suck it. To lick it...”

As she continued, I quickly realized—she was describing my dick (which, despite having now seen on dozens of occasions, she still thought she had to imagine), her voice had that same contented, fulfilled tone.

That was what gave me the idea.

“Cynthia,” I interrupted. “What could make you feel like this that you wouldn’t be suspicious of?”

My sister thought for a moment before responding.

“If my brother accidentally flashed me,” she replied. “Or if I found a picture of his penis. Or he told me he was into submissive girls, and I got the chance to show him how submissive I could be for him. Or if I thought he wanted me...—”

I held up one hand, and Cynthia fell silent. I quickly glanced around her room; everything was exactly where it had been when I’d put her under. “Cynthia,” I said with a smile. “Wake up.”

“Help with what?” Mom replied, her voice shaky. Just a few hours earlier, I’d spanked her—conscious and naked—before putting her under, and finalizing preparation for this very moment.

“It’s been a few weeks,” Cynthia clarified, exactly following the script. “I need your help again.”

After waking Cynthia up, as her eyes were still coming into focus and she was regaining her bearings, I’d complimented her.

It was something I normally avoided at all costs, of course. My plan relied on magnifying my sister’s already horrendous self-image; saying anything nice ran exactly counter to that.

But...well, desperate times and all that.

For obvious reasons, I’d avoided focusing too heavily on her looks. Instead, I’d just told her that she was responding really well to her training, that she was a great subject for hypnosis, and how much I enjoyed working with her on her diet.

Then, to top it off, I’d said she was a good girl.

Having direct access to someone’s subconscious makes it pretty easy to give them the perfect compliment. I knew Cynthia would have no trouble understanding why she suddenly felt so damn good.

“It’s been a few weeks,” Cynthia said again. “And it...it felt so good last time...”

From the...“rehearsals”, I guess you could call them…I knew how much Mom hated that line. She hated the idea that she was bringing her daughter pleasure. As far as she was concerned, it was a health thing. She was helping Cynthia lose weight. It was a motivational technique.

Pleasure shouldn’t come into it at all.

“Okay,” Mom sighed, her eyes momentarily flicking to me in the corner. She especially hated the fact that I was there, able to watch...but after what we’d done in her bedroom just a few hours earlier, she didn’t really have much of a case for asking me to leave.

I smiled, imagining what she would have said if she’d known what Cynthia and I had just done in her bedroom.

Cynthia, as always, was dressed in lingerie: a black bra and thong with matching thigh highs. Her hair was down, her eyes wide with innocent need, and her hands were fidgeting—nervous that I was watching her. That I was about to watch her, for the second time ever, get off.

Or so she thought.

Mom was dressed much more conservatively. Ever since she’d dropped her diet, she’d returned to wearing baggy jeans and t-shirts around the house. Nothing particularly flattering, but now that I knew what Mom looked like under her clothes, it was hard not to get turned on no matter what she was wearing.

“Mom?” Cynthia said softly, and my mother turned to her.

As always, she put her hands on Cynthia’s waist. All three of us held our breath as she leaned forward slightly, as though she was going to kiss her daughter, her own flesh and blood.

She moved her hands to Cynthia’s panties, and I couldn’t help but smile again.

This time, I knew things were going to go differently.

Mom’s eyes never left her daughter’s as her skilled fingers stroked the outside of her panties. Cynthia trembled with excitement, biting her lip at her mother’s touch. She stared intently into Mom’s eyes as the older woman’s hands continued to work on her pussy, moving the cloth to the side and touching her daughter directly. Softly, gently, feeling the heat of Cynthia’s sex.

I only noticed I was holding my breath when Cynthia let out a soft, incoherent moan. This was the only time I got to see her sexual pleasure reflected throughout her entire body; whenever I put her under, she could only make micro-movements. Now, as Mom touched her, I could watch as my sister’s face changed. Her jaw clenched, her chest heaved, and she arched her back in ecstasy. Every part of her seemed to react to the sensations caused by our mother.

I heard my sister gasp, her eyes flicking to me for just a second as she felt Mom’s fingers enter her, oh so gently. Her fingers only dipped inside her for a moment, just to get the tips of her fingers wet (as I’d done so many times over the lastten days) before—for the first time ever—reaching up and beginning to softly stroke Cynthia’s clitoris.

Cynthia moaned, her head falling backwards in pleasure. Mom’s face flushed with embarrassment, and just a hint of what looked like pride. After the battering I’d given her self-esteem a few days earlier, I felt like she needed this. She needed to feel attractive, that she was capable of bringing someone else pleasure.

Even if that person was her daughter.

“Mmmm,” Cynthia gasped, and Mom squirmed with awkwardness. I knew what thoughts must be running through her head...largely because I’d planted them there. She was wondering if this was what she looked like when she came, when her son brought her off. Part of her was questioning whether or not this was right, moral. If she was a bad mother.

And, best of all, she was desperately trying to deny that she was enjoying it. That she was getting even a modicum of pleasure from bringing her own daughter off.

I could have watched the scene in front of me for hours. My two busty family members, putting on a show just for me. Cynthia, moaning and panting as her own mother stimulated her pussy, as her brother watched her. Mom, so conflicted, trying to decide if what she was doing was wrong, her actions further confirming her view of herself as a bad person, a terrible mother.

But while it lasted much, much longer than the last time we’d played it out, it wasn’t hours. After twenty minutes—twenty minutes of watching Mom’s hands play with Cynthia’s cunt, while her daughter writhed at her touch, as both of them got increasingly desperate—it ended just as abruptly as it started.

“I’m sorry,” my mother said, suddenly letting go of my sister. “I...I...”

Cynthia didn’t say anything. Her face said it all. She, just like Mom, had realized it wasn’t happening.

That she wasn’t going to cum.

“It’s fine,” my sister said, hurt and confused. “I...I’m sorry too.”

This part had been difficult to script, but I knew that I couldn’t just leave it to chance. Mom thought she was helping her daughter lose weight; Cynthia thought her mother was concerned that she wasn’t masturbating. I’d given them strict instructions not to talk about it outside of this specific scenario. If either of them said the wrong thing, or realized what was happening, everything could come crashing down...

“Why don’t we try again tomorrow,” my mother said impulsively. Well, she thought she was being impulsive. Only I knew the truth, that we’d rehearsed this moment of impulsivity for a week. “I’d hate for you to...”

She drifted off, and my sister nodded.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said with a shy smile. “That’d...that’d be nice.”

Cynthia quietly left the room, and my mother collapsed onto the couch, before remembering that I was there, and glancing over at me.

My head, of course, was once more buried in a comic, as if I hadn’t even noticed the past half-hour of sapphic incest happening on the other side of the room.

“You’re disgusting,” I said to my mother with a growl. She nodded, tears in her eyes. “You’re so disgusting, you can’t even help your daughter when she needs you the most.”

I like to think it’s a tribute to my own devious manipulation that my mother didn’t even question the accusation, just nodding once more, taking my words to heart.

“Getting your daughter off was meant to be your punishment,” I continued. “But you couldn’t even do that. You’re worthless. Disgusting. What good are you?”

“N-no good,” my mother said, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. “I’m...I’m...”

“That’s right,” I replied with a nod. “You’re pathetic. Ugly. Weak. Stupid! Say it.”

“I’m sorry,” my mother whispered, and without thinking, I slapped her across the face.

My heart skipped a beat as my mother collapsed to the floor. I’d never done anything like that—I hadn’t warned her, I hadn’t checked that it would be okay. Sure, she was under, but...fuck. What had I done?

I breathed a sigh of relief as Mom shakily got back to her knees, head bowed in front of me, back in the pose I’d ordered her to take at the start of the session.

“I’m pathetic,” she said, sniffing as she obeyed me. “Ugly. Weak. S-stupid...”

Reaching out, I put my hand on my mother’s cheek. She nuzzled into it, like a dog seeking comfort from its owner.

“And useless,” I said, stroking her softly. “A waste of space. Say it.”

“I’m useless,” Mom dutifully repeated. “A waste of space.”

I nodded, then sat on her bed, pulling her towards me. Mom rested her head on my thigh. She was naked, of course—since I’d learned that I didn’t need an excuse, Mom was naked every chance I got.

“But maybe I can help you,” I said, as though the thought had just occurred to me. I pulled Mom’s face towards me; her glazed eyes looked at me with hope. “The problem might not be your unattractiveness. Maybe you just need to learn how to please others. Would you like me to teach you that?”

“Y-yes,” Mom said. I could tell that she wasn’t fully onboard, but didn’t want to disobey me. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” I said, and pulled my mother’s lips to mine.