The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

We were sitting in the kitchen, eating lunch together as a family. Cynthia was wearing black panties, white stockings, and a black corset (with white laces). She’d ordered it a while back, but it had taken several weeks to arrive.

It was, of course, fastened far too tightly.

Cynthia had claimed it was helping her lose weight, something that Mom—consciously, at least—was still invested in, and I could tell my mother had a lot of questions.

Not that she could ask them, with her ball-gag in.

“Another grilled cheese, please Mom,” I said languidly. Mom nodded, jumping up to get it for me.

Eager to obey.

She was wearing a red shirt and pair of jeans which had once been tight on her, but now hung loosely around her hips. The shirt was still tight, her hard nipples clearly visible through the thin cloth.

My mother never wore underwear any more. Unlike Cynthia, who rarely wore anything else.

“You’re being very good today,” I said approvingly, watching my mother throw the bread onto the grill. Both the women in my family looked at it hungrily; it was probably the most decadent thing we’d eaten in a month.

That’s the thing about living with two people on a diet; your own eating habits quickly begin to improve as well.

“Can I get you anything?” my sister asked breathily. She was always looking for reasons to serve me. Anything she could do to make me think of her as a submissive creature, here for my pleasure.

“I think Mom has it covered,” I said, and Cynthia threw our mother a jealous look. “She deserves a reward, I think. Another spanking, for being such a good girl.”

Mom blushed at my words, her eyes darting to the floor, but she didn’t say anything. (Obviously.)

Cynthia reacted to the offer as well, a shudder of need running down her body, causing her magnificent tits to tremble inside the corset. I’d seen them in every kind of lingerie you could imagine—and bare, of course, while she was under—but god the corset made them look huge.

I couldn’t wait to take it off her, and see the red marks along my sister’s flesh. A visual representation of the pain she’d endured, unasked, entirely in the hopes it would turn me on.

Whenever she moved, her face told me how much pain she was in. All for me.

My sister was wearing panties and a corset, my mother was serving me lunch wearing a ball-gag, both of them were jumping to serve me, and I could practically turn them each into puddles with just a few words.

“After that, maybe I’ll spank Cynthia,” I said, throwing my sister a bone. She reacted immediately, her eyes rolling back in pleasure at the idea.

Mom looked at me, concern clearly written on her face, but—of course—still said nothing.

“You did it,” I said proudly. Cynthia was laying on her bed, wearing nothing but a pair of light blue stockings. At my command, she’d started wearing heavier makeup; I wasn’t sure if I liked it more than the natural look, but I was definitely enjoying the variety.

After she’d started allowing me to remove her bra, it had been easy to take her panties off as well. My eyes drank in the sight: my naked sister, my busty, wanton, hypnotized sister. I let my eyes feast on her nakedness. I couldn’t believe how beautiful my sister was: flushed red with arousal, nipples hard. I’d spread her legs wide, and I could see that she was already wet down there, her sex dripping with anticipation.

“You didn’t cum,” I continued. Cynthia moaned, a soft sound of pleasure as she felt the tip of my finger enter her pussy. “You didn’t cum when Mom touched you.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. I smiled, and began to slowly fuck my sister with my middle finger. Cynthia’s eyes fluttered at my touch, my thumb gently working her clit while I slipped in a second digit.

“Don’t cum,” I warned.

“Yes, sir,” she whimpered, her body tensing as she resisted the urge to get off. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the orgasm festival I’d allowed her the previous day, but I could already tell that Cynthia was desperate to get off.

“Do you know what that means?”

“No, sir,” she said, her breath coming out ragged.

I increased the pace, digitally fucking my sister harder. She gasped in excitement, her hips desperately wanting to move against my hand, her muscles tensing.

“You were obedient. You were a good girl. And as a result...your score has gone up,” I said, and Cynthia’s eyes widened.

“Really, sir?” she gasped.

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded. “A new record.”

Even before I said the number, I could feel Cynthia begin to tremble, panting with desire as my fingers worked her inside of her.

“Six point eight,” I said softly, and Cynthia let out a long, loud moan. “Don’t cum,” I warned.

“No, sir,” she said, gasping for air as my fingers curled inside her. She wanted it so badly; her entire body was writhing, begging for release.

But she was my good girl. She didn’t cum.

“Nice work,” I said approvingly, pulling out my hardness and positioning it at Cynthia’s entrance. She was so wet, so ready, my cock slid in without resistance.

I continued fucking her as we spoke.

“Do you know what your new number means?” I asked.

“My brother wants me,” she moaned, beautifully unaware of the irony. She was so excited that her brother wanted her, even as he—I—fucked her.

“Not yet,” I warned. “Six point eight is good, but it’s not enough. Seven and a half,”—it was, I’ll admit, a pretty arbitrary pick—“That’s the cut-off. That’s when he starts seeing you as even a little sexual.”

Her body trembled under mine as I ground my erection into her. I simultaneously loved fucking my sister’s hypnotized body and found it endlessly frustrating. I wanted to fuck her while she was awake, watch her react as she had to Mom’s touch.

I wanted to see her throw her head back in pleasure as she came.

But at the same time, it was hard to deny how good it felt to fuck her, how hot her pulsating cunt walls felt around my dick.

“What it does mean,” I continued, “is that you’re making progress. You’re sticking to your diet plan, you’re becoming more submissive. More obedient.“

Cynthia moaned, but I didn’t slow down. I grabbed her hair with one hand as I fucked her, completely confident that she wouldn’t cum.

Wholly sure of my sister’s obedience.

“And that means...it’s time for you to be punished. Just like Mom, it’s time for your brother to spank you. To cause you pain. To torture you for his pleasure.

“To break you.”

I could feel my sister’s leg muscles twitching with need. My own orgasm built slowly, my balls tightening, but I kept on going until the moment was right.

“You’ve been a good girl,” I said, and Cynthia moaned, her hips bucking as I drove my cock deep inside of her. “And as a reward, your brother is going to punish you.”

I felt her pussy clamp down, milking my shaft, desperate to get off as I continued to fuck her.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she moaned, her voice full of lust.

“Say it.”

“M-my brother is...my brother is going to punish me. He’s going to punish me. He’s going to—oh!—spank me, and tie me up, and...oh, god.“

I pulled out my cock, and sprayed Cynthia with my cum.

“Exactly right,” I said, breathing heavily. “Good girl...”

As I had with Mom, I started simple. When my sister tremblingly approached me that night—as instructed—and told me that she’d stuck to her diet plan, I asked her if she wanted the same reward as our mother.

Unlike with Mom, I didn’t need to hide my excitement. When I punished my mother, it was important that she not know how much it turned me on. How much I got off on causing on pain, on making her suffer. With my sister, none of that was necessary.

I pretended to pretend to hide it, of course. But since I knew Cynthia knew about my sadistic tendencies, I barely put any effort into acting nonchalant. As I pulled my stocking-clad sister over my lap, my erection was obvious, pressing into my sister’s bare stomach.

I swear, she almost came just at the feeling of it.

Cynthia isn’t really into pain like Mom is. I mean, she’s into the fact that I’m into it, but that’s where the appeal ends. And so my sister got more pleasure from feeling my erection than from the entire ten-minute spanking I gave her.

By the time I was done, my older sister’s ass was throbbing...but she was no closer to orgasm than she had been when she lay on my lap.

It’s going to sound insane, but the feeling of Cynthia not cumming on my lap was basically as hot as when Mom did.

I enjoy causing Mom pain, but she loves it too, which makes me enjoy it less. It’s not really pain if she’s getting off on it, y’know?

But with Cynthia, god...aside from the fact that it brought me pleasure, I knew my sister hated every minute of it.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but my sister has always been...a bit of a princess, I guess? Like, she hates dirtying her hands or getting her hair messed up. She’ll do anything to avoid discomfort (or hard work). Like, her idea of camping is a fully-heated cabin with all the amenities. I think she’d sell her soul to avoid ever having to spend the night in an actual tent.

And she haaaates getting hurt. She just has no tolerance for it. I remember when she had to get a tooth drilled; for the next six weeks, it was like she’d gone to war and had a limb amputated.

So I was honestly a little impressed that as I spanked her, my cock hard as steel, Cynthia just lay there and took it. For a full ten minutes.

Sure, she whimpered and squirmed, and silently sobbed when I stopped holding back, walloping her as hard as I wanted to...but she never asked me to stop. She just lay there, her ass getting redder and redder, taking it without a word.

When I was finally done, I grabbed her hair and pulled her off me with a grunt.

“You did good,” I acknowledged, and Cynthia shivered in pleasure at the words.

“Thank you,” she said, walking out of the room gingerly. It was all I could do not to put her under and fuck her, then and there.

I don’t think she sat down for a week.

Once I knew that my sister would take pretty much anything I threw at her, I escalated things quickly. The next day, Cynthia knelt on rice on her bedroom floor as I whipped her feet (her ass was black and blue after the previous day’s punishment. Spanking it again could cause permanent damage...and I knew it wouldn’t hurt as much until it was healed).

I timed things better that time—watching my sister suffer was all the sweeter knowing that immediately after, I was going to put her under and fuck her.

Cynthia gasped in pain, tears springing from her eyes as the whip struck her skin. Her body shuddered as I lashed her with the crop, but even as I did, whipping my sister’s feet for almost twenty minutes, she never said “Stop”.

Unlike most parts of the body, the nerve endings in your feet don’t adapt—they actually get more sensitive over time. By minute twenty, my sister was in even greater agony than when I’d started...but still, she didn’t beg. She didn’t plead. She just knelt on rice, sobbing silently as she received her “reward”. She was shaking, crying, blushing furiously...but she didn’t give up.

The same girl who’d asked if she could go under general anaesthetic for a flu shot did nothing to stop the pain. I’d told her beforehand, we could end things at any time, she just had to say the word, but she didn’t.

Cynthia knew this was what I wanted. I wanted to hurt her, and so that was what she wanted. She probably would have let me keep going until I killed her.

In the end, the only reason I stopped was because I was worried my balls were going to burst. The sight of my sister writhing in pain was such a turn-on, I knew that if I didn’t fuck her soon, I’d completely lose control.

It wasn’t until later, after I’d cum, that I realized: that was exactly what she wanted.

After twenty minutes, I pulled Cynthia to her feet and turned her around. Her chest was heaving with exertion, and she was covered in sweat, her hair matted to her forehead. I could tell it was hurting just to stand.

She’d never looked so sexy in her life.

“Good girl,” I croaked, and she looked up at me with wide eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and less than two minutes later she was under, my cock pumping into her furiously. I hadn’t even stripped her, just pushed her panties to the side and begun taking her. I’d wanted her exactly as she’d looked when I’d been punishing her.

She was perfect.

The day after that, I tied her up outside. It was a hot summer’s day, and she was wearing nothing but dark stockings and matching lingerie. It was my first time tying her up, but I didn’t hold back.

I made her kneel, bound her hands behind her, and spread her legs apart.

“Are you ready?” I asked. She nodded, her face flushed with arousal. In that instant, I knew: we were both imagining me fucking her. Well, she was imagining it. I was remembering. To my sister it was nothing but a distant fantasy, to me it was something that had happened so often that I’d lost count.

And as soon as she was done with this punishment, it would happen again.

“Let’s do this,” I grinned, and my sister shuddered with fear.

I tied her to the old swing set, the frame along the side. Her wrists were tied to the cross-bar, and her ankles to the base, several feet apart. I knew the soles of her feet would still be tender, but even if they had been, it wasn’t a comfortable position.

After an hour, it would be agony.

My sister nodded in response, and I felt myself hardening in anticipation of the fun to come. Mom’s bedroom had a perfect view of the yard; Cynthia wouldn’t know, but as she sweated, our mother would be naked, spread across my lap, being spanked to unconscious orgasm after orgasm as I watched my sister suffer in the sun.

Cynthia didn’t even resist as I tied the rope around her huge, bra-clad tits. She wasn’t comfortable letting me see her conscious body naked—not yet. But she’d let me tightly wrap her breasts in rope, so I could watch them turn purple in the sun.

She got pretty bad sunburn that day, but I didn’t even feel bad about it. Cynthia was mine. My property.

My sister belonged to me; I could burn her as I wished.

Plus, it added an extra level of pain to everyday activities. She avoided aloe vera—I didn’t even order her to. She just knew that it would bring me pleasure to see her suffer.

As the punishments escalated, unless it involved removing her clothes, Cynthia never pushed back against anything I suggested. In fact, she seemed hungry for more. More, more, more. She wanted more extreme punishments, more extreme bondage. At first, I’d assumed she just wanted to please me; it took a while before I worked out what it was.

She was competitive.

Cynthia knew that I’d been punishing Mom for weeks now—she’d heard me spank her, seen our mother around the house, trussed up as she served us breakfast, left on the floor for hours while her children stepped around her like she was a piece of furniture.

I hadn’t realised that my sister had been raging with jealousy every time she’d seen it. She knew how much of a sadist I was. She knew how much it turned me on to see Mom like that.

Cynthia had wanted that to be her. She’d so desperately wanted to be the one being punished, just to excite me.

Now it was her turn, and she couldn’t get enough.

Besides using it to push my sister’s limits, I wasn’t sure what to do with this knowledge at first. It was less than two weeks before Cynthia “caught up” with Mom—she hadn’t done literally every one of my mother’s punishments, of course, but the most extreme (clothed) punishments that Mom had gone through, Cynthia had as well.

I even took her out in public once or twice...staying by her side the entire time. I didn’t want anyone swooping in and trying to get my sister’s number.

Not that I thought she’d give it out. My sister was completely, desperately devoted to me.

Especially as her rating had continued to increase.

“Six point nine,” I’d told her the day after I’d first spanked her. The feeling of her pussy clenching around my hardness as I told her was incredible.

A few nights later—after I’d first tied her up—she’d gone up to a seven. Then seven point one, when she’d been burned by the sun.

Seven point two had taken a little longer; that had been after I’d taken her out in public. Honestly, that hadn’t been as satisfying as with Mom—Mom had so obviously hated the experience (right up until the rando had started hitting on her), whereas the only part my sister had hated was the revealing outfit I’d made her wear; while she spent all her time at home barely dressed, she still wore baggy, unflattering outfits whenever she left the home.

I’ll tell you what, the sight of my sister in a skimpy dress that I’d ordered online—which had, even better, turned out to be a size too small...that was one I wouldn’t soon forget.

It showed off her long legs, her tits, and if she spun too quickly, even her ass and thighs. I’d had her spin several times in the store.

That was hot, don’t get me wrong, but...yeah, it just wasn’t the same. The knowledge that Cynthia hated her outfit was enough to keep me hard for the entire trip, but when there wasn’t actually someone looking directly at her, my sister was kind of just...having a good time hanging out with her brother.

A nice family bonding moment, but not the sadistic fantasy I’d been hoping for. So after that, we went back to nice family bondage moments. Much more my speed.

I finally had her stall out at seven point four (reached after I’d collared her and tied the leash to our Roomba. She’d spent almost a full day being dragged around on all fours by the little cleaning robot, not able to sleep or eat or use the bathroom, her ordeal only ending when its battery had run flat).

That was when I worked it out. How to use my sister’s competitiveness.

You see, as I’d been “rewarding” Cynthia, I’d been pushing Mom’s boundaries as well...