Diet
by Pan
Chapter 4:
Mom was sitting in front of me, a glassy look in her eyes, her voice confidently ringing out as she repeated how unattractive she was.
I held up a hand, and she stopped.
“In order for me to help you lose weight, you need to be completely honest with me, right?”
“Yes.”
“Your weight gain is probably due to a number of complex, intertwining factors. If you try to hide anything from me, I won’t be able to help. Say it.”
“My weight gain is probably due to a lot of things. If I try to hide anything from you, you won’t be able to help.”
“Is there anything you wouldn’t tell me?”
Mom thought for a moment, then shook her head.
“You trust me absolutely, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my son. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”
“Is any part of your mind suspicious about me hypnotizing you?”
“No.”
Great. Already easier than Cynthia. I’d spent more than a week removing my sister’s suspicions; Mom, for whatever reason, didn’t seem to have any in the first place.
“Why not?”
“Because I asked you to hypnotize me. Because you’re hypnotizing your sister. Because you would never do anything to hurt your family.”
“Everything I do is to help the family, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Everything you do is to help the family.”
“Anything I ask you to do is to help you lose weight. Say it.”
“Anything you ask me to do is to help me lose weight.”
“Any questions I ask are to help you lose weight. Say it.”
“Any questions you ask are to help me lose weight.”
“While you’re hypnotized, you’ll do anything I say. Say it.”
“While I’m hypnotized, I’ll do anything you say.”
I smiled. She wasn’t hanging onto my every word like Cynthia did, but she didn’t seem to have any qualms about obeying me.
I wondered how far I could push it.
“Is there anything I’d tell you to do that would make you suspicious?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“What if I told you to take off your clothes?”
“Yes.”
My heart leapt. It couldn’t be this easy…could it?
“Yes what?”
“Yes, that would make me suspicious.”
Damn. I guess it’s true—nothing worth having comes easy.
Still, it was good to know that Mom had boundaries. I would just have to make sure I worked within them.
“What if I were to ask you about your sex life? Would that make you suspicious?”
There was a pause, as Mom chewed on her lip.
“I think so.”
Well, it wasn’t a yes. Sometimes a little wiggle-room is all you need.
“What do you know about Sigmund Freud?”
“Not much.”
I’d done a bunch of research on him for a paper, a few years back. Basically all of his theories were now debunked, but I was pretty sure that Mom didn’t know that.
“Freud believed that all subconscious desires were, on some level, sexual. To help fix your weight problem, we need to work out what the root cause is. According to Freud, there’s a good chance it has something to do with sex. If I can’t ask you about your sex life, I won’t be able to help you. Not really.”
Mom continued to stare blankly at me.
“I’m going to ask you about your sex life, and you’re not going to find it suspicious. Say it.”
“You’re going to ask me about my sex life, and I’m not going to find it suspicious.”
There was zero trace of hesitation in her voice.
“If I ask you about your sex life, will you find it suspicious?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re trying to get to the root of the issue.”
“Good. When was the last time you had sex?”
Just a few hours later, Cynthia was sitting in the exact same spot on the couch, an identically-blank look on her face.
I’d started getting hard just at the sight of that unfocused, compliant look.
“When did you last weigh yourself?”
“I don’t know.”
I smiled. My sister had been obsessively tracking her weight ever since her tits had come in. The fact that she couldn’t remember her last weighing was a very good sign.
“Why haven’t you been weighing yourself?”
“It won’t help me lose weight.”
“Why not?”
“Because numbers can’t be trusted. They can be affected by too many factors.”
“What can be trusted?”
“You.”
“What specifically?”
“Your assessment of how attractive I am.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re an unbiased judge. Because you’re looking at me through my brother’s eyes, you can tell how attractive I am without desire getting in the way.”
“Why is that important?”
“Because if you desired me, you couldn’t be objective.”
“Why do you want to lose weight?”
“To be more attractive.”
“Who’s going to be the best judge of your attractiveness?”
“You are.”
Perfect.
My sister was wearing one of her typical baggy outfits—a big grey sweatshirt, a pair of loose-fitting jeans. God I wanted to know what was under that outfit. I’d pictured it in my minds eye, a thousand times, but to actually see it…
I’d be able to die happy.
“Why do you dress like that?”
“To hide my body.”
“Why do you want to hide your body?”
“To hide how unattractive I am.”
“Do you think you should be hiding your body from me?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to assess how attractive you are, right?”
“Yes.”
“But if you’re hiding your body away, how am I meant to do that?”
“Because…”
My sister trailed off, staring at me blankly. Eventually, I broke the silence.
“Cynthia? How am I meant to objectively assess your attractiveness if your body is hidden away?”
“…you can’t.”
“Exactly. How can we fix this?”
“By letting you see more of my body.”
If my cock had hands, it would have given me a high-five. If my sister was the kind of person who moved when she was under, I bet I could have gotten my sister to remove some layers then and there.
She didn’t, and so I had to work with what I had.
“Before our next session, I want you to dress in something that doesn’t hide as much of your body.”
“Okay.”
“What are you going to wear?”
“I have a tank-top,” Cynthia responded. My cock throbbed just at the thought of it. Even around the house, even when it was just me and Mom, Cynthia never wore a tank-top. The next time I put her under, I was going to see more of my sister’s skin than I’d seen since we were kids.
“Perfect. What else?”
“Shorts,” she responded. “I’ll wear a tank-top and shorts.”
I could have woken her up then and there, but I wanted more. I wanted to see how far I could push it.
“In order to properly assess you, you can’t hide your body, can you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“To judge how attractive I am, to see whether or not I’ve been losing weight, you need to see my body.”
“It’s important that my assessment is accurate. Repeat that for me.”
“You need to be accurate. It’s vital.”
“My assessment can’t be accurate if you’re hiding anything from me, can it?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t wear a corset, would you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Tell me why.”
“Because it would give you a misleading perception of my body. It would defeat the whole point.”
“…do you own a corset?”
“No.
“Bras change the shape of your figure, don’t they?”
“I…I guess.”
“I’m your trainer, and you trust me. Say it.”
“I trust you. You’re here to train me. You’re here to help me lose weight.”
“Bras change the shape of your figure. Say it.”
“Wearing a bra changes my figure.”
“Sort of like a corset.”
“Sort of like…a corset.”
Cynthia didn’t sound convinced, but she repeated the words nonetheless.
“Again.”
“Like a corset, wearing a bra changes how my body looks.”
“In order for me to accurately assess what you look like, you shouldn’t be wearing a bra. Say it.”
“I…I shouldn’t…”
She started to stammer her way through the sentence, but it was clear that her heart wasn’t in it. With a sigh, I stopped her.
Maybe I was pushing things too far.
But…I knew I was close. And if I could get this to work, I’d have a bra-less, tank-top wearing sister to look at during our next session.
Maybe for all our future sessions.
It was definitely worth the risk.
“Do you ever go braless around the house?”
“Yes.”
My cock throbbed at her quick response.
“When?”
“When I’m going to sleep.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s uncomfortable.”
“What is?”
“My bra. It’s uncomfortable to sleep in.”
I grinned. Bingo.
“Being hypnotized is sort of like sleeping, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Sort of.”
“It’s a period of time where you don’t remember what’s happening, where your conscious mind shuts off.”
“Right.”
“It’s almost exactly like sleeping, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“And these hypnotic sessions are important, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
Zero hesitation there.
“In order for your weight loss program to be as effective as possible, you need to be comfortable while I hypnotize you. Say it.”
“I should be comfortable when you put me under, so the weight loss program works as well as it can.”
“Again.”
“If I want to get as much as possible from these sessions, I need to be comfortable.”
“What would make you more comfortable?”
“Lying down when you hypnotize me.”
I hadn’t even thought of that.
“What else?”
“Being in my bed.”
Interesting.
“Anything else?”
“Soft music playing.”
I scrambled to grab a pen.
“Any other ideas?”
My sister listed several other items. When she eventually ran out of ideas, I gave my own suggestion.
“What if you weren’t wearing a bra? Do you think that would make you more comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“After I wake you up, I’m going to tell you some of the things you suggested to make the next time I hypnotize you more comfortable. We’re going to put you under in your own bed, while you’re lying down, with some soft music playing and a cup of chai tea on your bedside table.” Apparently the smell relaxed her. “What if you weren’t wearing panties? Would that make you more comfortable?”
“No.”
I left it there. I’d already been given far more than I’d hoped for.
“The next time I hypnotize you,” I summarized, “you’re going to be wearing a tank top, shorts, and no bra. You’re going to think that it’s your idea, to feel more comfortable. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Repeat it back to me.”
“I’m going to wear a tank top, shorts, and no bra the next time you hypnotize me. I’m going to think it’s my idea.”
“Do you think you’ll find it suspicious, that you’re wearing such revealing clothes while your brother hypnotizes you?”
“No,” she said. “Not at all.”
“Perfect,” I replied, and woke her up.
The last time I’d put Mom under, she’d answered all my questions about her sex life.
Her answers hadn’t quite been what I expected.
My Dad had been my mother’s only sexual partner, but that wasn’t the part that surprised me.
Before getting married, Mom had masturbated. A lot. Like, almost-as-often-as-I-did a lot. And, uh, I jerk off a lot.
I’d always blamed Cynthia—specifically, her tits—for my constant arousal, but maybe it was just something I’d inherited from Mom.
But even that hadn’t been the most shocking revelation.
You see, since Dad had died, Mom hadn’t gotten off.
Not even once.
The idea that I was asking about her sex life to work out why she’d put on so much weight had been an excuse to ask my Mom about sex. A pretty thin (no pun intended) excuse, at that.
But now…I was starting to wonder if there was something in it.
Mom had claimed not to know why her solo sex life had dried up (no pun intended), but it seemed pretty obvious to me. Right? Like, your husband dies, you stop pleasuring yourself, you gain a bunch of weight. There was a connection there, I was sure of it.
I was tempted to tell her to start up again, but I suspected a sudden end to a twelve-year dry spell straight after her son started hypnotizing her was not going to go unnoticed.
But I had a plan. The trick with my mother was going to be doing it in the opposite order. First, help her lose weight. Then, bring her libido back.
Like I said—my sister isn’t fat. She doesn’t actually need to lose weight. My Mom…sort of does. And so since the last time I’d put her under, I’d done some actual research about the best ways to change your eating habits, to motivate yourself to exercise more.
I was actually going to start using my Mom’s sessions to help her lose weight. It wasn’t going to be as much fun, not at first.
But I knew it would pay off in spades.
“Okay, Mom,” I said, all business. “Have you been tracking your calories since our last session?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Where’s your phone?”
“In my purse.”
“Okay, let’s have a look at these numbers…”