The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

After several minutes of making out, my mother and sister pulled apart. The three of us were all breathing heavily, and the two women’s faces were pink as Cynthia’s underwear.

For the first few days, Cynthia had loved my mother’s new tactic. I hadn’t even bothered preparing her for it—why waste time that I could be using to fuck her?—but she’d embraced it immediately. Except for Mom’s early efforts to ‘help her out’, my sister hadn’t consciously cum for months, and in her worked-up, addled state, dressed in lingerie and spending her days trying to impress me by being punished, she hadn’t even questioned Mom randomly pleasuring her at all times of day.

Our mother would just come up to Cynthia, give her ass a smack, run her hands over my sister’s mostly-bare skin, and—of course—bring their mouths together, making out with Cynthia like they were long-lost lovers.

Cynthia was in heaven. That hadn’t surprised me—my sister knew what a typical male fantasy it was to see two women kiss, so whenever I was in the proximity, she’d lean into it, groaning with pleasure at Mom’s attention, pushing herself against our mother and begging for more.

But what had truly surprised me was how much Mom had started to enjoy it as well.

Not completely, of course. She still hated that she was doing it for her daughter—to her daughter. But this entire idea had come out of Mom’s memories of my father, the pleasure he’d brought her with actions just like this.

My mother had suggested an incestuous lesbian version of her fondest sexual fantasy to avoid punishment. She’d sold out her own daughter, just because she was afraid of what I could make her do.

Of what I would make her do.

And so even though it was with a woman, and even though she was the one initiating, and even though she was doing it with—to—her own daughter...Mom was beginning to enjoy herself.

It hadn’t been easy to get her to admit that. Her enjoyment was only a tiny fraction of the experience—every time Mom made out with her daughter, she was overwhelmed with guilt, embarrassment, and a deep self-loathing for what she was doing.

But buried deep underneath those feelings, she’d undeniably started to enjoy it.

And so when Mom pulled away from her teenage daughter’s lips, I could tell that she was worked up. The signals were subtle, but I’d become the world’s foremost expert on my mother’s arousal.

I knew. She enjoyed kissing her daughter. She enjoyed the sensation of her tongue sliding along Cynthia’s lips. She enjoyed the feeling of her daughter’s breasts against her own.

And she especially enjoyed the feeling of Cynthia’s hands on her body.

I was yet to make Mom try to get Cynthia off again. I’d just told her that my sister would probably need a few days to ‘warm up’ (she had no idea, of course, that Cynthia was a walking puddle)—Mom, as you can imagine, was in no rush to skip to the “main event”, so she accepted it without question.

And so for the past few days, we could be doing anything—hanging out in the kitchen, watching TV in the living-room—when Mom would enter without notice, move towards my sister, and begin the process of trying to turn her on. Maybe they’d make out, or maybe Mom would start to rub her daughter’s back or shoulders, or maybe Cynthia would just sit there, a saucy look on her face, as Mom’s hand slid down her chest, and over her belly, and between her legs.

It wasn’t just while I was around, of course. You’d think it would be hottest when I was there to see what was happening, but it was surprisingly sexy to learn later what they’d done without me. Cynthia would be alone in her room when Mom would come in and straddle her on the bed. When they were home without me, they’d often make out, even without anyone there to witness it.

It hadn’t taken much to get my sister to start toying with her in return. As Mom rubbed her daughter’s panties, Cynthia would deliver a firm slap to Mom’s ass, or run her fingers through Mom’s hair, or slide her hand under Mom’s shirt, and grope her bra-clad breast.

For the next few minutes, the two women would wordlessly tease each other. They’d act more like lovers than a mother and daughter, getting each other worked up, before suddenly parting ways. Mom would stride out of the room (her gait slightly shakier than when she’d entered) and everyone would go back to whatever we were doing.

It was hot as hell. Like the show I’d been getting from behind my comic, but all the time. Constant, unexpected, and sizzling.

But there was a problem.

Like I said, Mom hated it. Mostly. One part of her liked it—I mean, really liked it—but whenever I watched her kiss or toy with Cynthia, I could see the conflict in her eyes. And as she walked away, her face was twisted in pain.

On some level, it turned her on, but on all other levels...she hated it.

Perfect.

But Cynthia? Cynthia loved it. She loved turning me on by making out with our mother. And hell, I think she just liked the attention. Remember, my sister was a virgin—consciously, at least. I mean, as far as she was concerned. She had no idea that I fucked the hell out of her whenever I put her under.

It’s not like she’d never been kissed, but she wasn’t used to being stimulated like this.

She loved the attention. Mostly from me, but also—at least a little—from Mom.

And maybe once upon a time, that would’ve been enough, but now...fuck it, I wanted more.

I wanted my sister to suffer...and I had the tools to make that happen.

“What do you think of your daughter’s tits?” I asked. Mom blinked twice, confused by the question.

“They’re, um...”

I waited for her to put together an answer. I’d just finished spanking her, and she was still panting. Her face was flushed, her nipples hard, and her eyes were glazed over. She’d be a little hazy for at least the next few minutes.

She wasn’t twitching, or objecting to the question. I think she just really didn’t know how to express her thoughts.

“They’re, uh, very nice.” she said, red-faced at her own response. Or possibly her face was red because she’d just cum, her naked body writhing on my lap.

Either/or.

“Just nice?” I asked, wondering how far I could push it. Mom normally objected to me sexualizing Cynthia in any way, but...well, after several days of making out with her in front of me, I felt like that was becoming less of an issue.

“Um, yes,” she said, her glazed eyes staring into the distant.

“Do you like them?” I asked, my hand gently brushing over Mom’s bare ass.

“Mm-hmm,” Mom replied. Now I was sure that her blush was from my line of questioning.

“Remember, you have to be honest with me. I can’t help you lose weight if you lie to me.”

“Of course,” my mother mumbled.

“So, be honest. What do you think of Cynthia’s tits?”

I was watching Mom closely—I mean, whenever she was naked, I couldn’t tear my eyes away——but on this occasion, I was particularly interested in her reaction.

Not just her verbal response. Her reaction itself.

“I...I like them,” she admitted, a slow shudder leaving her body as she made her most taboo confession to date.

My cock perked up at her words; I think Mom noticed it pressing against her, and was perversely emboldened to continue.

“They remind me of my own at her age. I was never as...as big. But I used to have p-perky boobs, like...like Cynthia does.”

“Are you jealous?” I asked, my hand caressing Mom’s bare butt.

“No!” she blurted out.

“Don’t lie,” I said harshly. I wanted nothing more than to reach up and cup her naked tits, but I knew she wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

“A...a little,” she admitted. “Your father used to love my breasts.”

Like father, like son. Although in fairness, every straight man on the planet would love Mom’s boobs.

“Do you think they’re attractive?”

My mother hesitated, and I gave her a firm slap on the ass.

“Be honest,” I reminded her.

“O-of course,” she confessed. “Cynthia is very attractive.”

“Her tits specifically?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mom replied, the tips of her ears read.

“You’re attracted to your daughter’s breasts.”

Mom didn’t reply, but when she felt me raising my hand warningly, nodded.

“Say it.”

“I...oh, god.”

“Say it.”

“I-I’m att...attracted t-to my daughters...oh, god.”

I swear, you could have roasted a turkey from the heat emitting from my mother’s face.

“Say it,” I growled, my hand landing on her ass with a loud SLAP.

“I’m attracted to, to, to my daughter’s...breasts!”

“Again,” I said, slapping my mother’s bare butt again.

“I’m attracted to my daughter’s breasts,” Mom gasped.

“Again.”

“I’m attracted to my daughter’s breasts.”

“Good girl,” I said, patting her ass. It wasn’t a term I often used with Mom, but she gave a small shiver when I did.

We sat in silence for a few moments, my hypnotized mother breathing as heavily as when she’d just cum. My throbbing erection was pressing into her naked stomach, my hand was caressing her bare butt, and I could feel the heat of her pussy.

I didn’t know if she was more turned on by my hand on her ass, the confession I’d just wrung from her...or the memory of Cynthia’s perfect tits in her hands.

To my surprise, Mom was the first one to speak.

“I...I hate myself for it,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Why?”

“Because I’m her mother. I’m not...I’m not supposed to feel this way about my children. My, um, my child.”

Mom’s eyes widened at her mistake (perhaps the most Freudian slip of all time), but I pretended not to notice.

“You’re right,” I said in response. “You’re not supposed to feel this way about your daughter. Say it.”

“I’m not supposed to feel this way about my daughter,” Mom answered without a trace of hesitation.

“But you can’t help it, can you?”

Mom bit her lip in worry. I couldn’t wait until I was the one biting her. Not just her lips, everywhere. Wherever I wanted. Whenever I wanted.

But until then...

“You’re a true pervert, aren’t you?”

“N-no...”

“What kind of a person would be attracted to her daughter like this? Her own baby girl. Someone she gave birth to. It’s not right, is it?”

“N-no,” Mom confessed tearfully.

“You’re a pervert.”

Like mother, like son.

“Say it.”

“I-I’m a...a pervert.”

“Again.”

“I’m a pervert.”

“Why?”

“B-because I’m attracted to my daughter.”

“What about her?”

“Her breasts. Her ass. The way she kisses. I...oh, god.”

At Mom’s unexpected confessions, my entire body had twitched. I’d instinctively grabbed her ass as a pulse of pure lust ran through my body.

God, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to fuck her so bad. I could imagine exactly how she’d feel, her hot pussy wrapped around my erection, her entire body shaking in pleasure and pain as I pounded her hard.

Soon. Soon, she would be mine.

“What do you think Cynthia would do if she found out how you felt?”

My mother’s eyes widened in terror. “She’d...she’d...”

“She’d probably have you arrested, wouldn’t she?”

“Y-yes,” Mom gasped.

“She’d tell everyone. She’d have you sent to prison, for being a pervert.”

My mother shivered in fear, and it was all I could do not to let out a long groan. God, the only thing hotter than seeing my mother get off was seeing the terror in her eyes.

“If she even suspected how you felt...”

“She’d never trust me again,” Mom whispered.

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Right now, she’s letting you touch her to help her with her diet. If she thought you were getting off on it...”

“I’m not!”

“But she doesn’t know that, does she?”

My mother shook her head.

“We need to make sure she never suspects anything, don’t we?”

“Y-yes,” Mom stammered.

“Say it.”

“We need to make sure Cynthia never suspects.”

“Suspects what?”

“T-that I’m...that I’m attracted to her.”

“And that you’re a pervert.”

Mom nodded.

“Say it.”

“That I’m a pervert.”

“Cynthia needs to never suspect that you’re a pervert who’s attracted to her own daughter. Say it.”

“Cynthia needs to n-never suspect that I’m a pervert who’s attracted to...to her own daughter.”

“Again.”

Mom repeated it six more times before I was satisfied.

“So,” I said, a wicked smile on my face. “How can we convince her that you’re not getting anything out of what you’re doing?”

God I wish I’d been there, the first time it happened. I’d have given most anything to see it—to hear my mother’s words, to see the look of pain on my sister’s face. I know my sister’s blushes as well as I know the original 151 Pokémon (that is to say: pretty fucking well).

For once, her reaction wouldn’t have been a flush of arousal. It would have been shock. Shock, and self-loathing.

But it had been hard enough to convince Mom to go through with it at all; there was no way she could have done it for the first time in front of an audience. So instead, I had to settle for the second-best way of hearing about it—from the perspective of both parties who’d been there.

“What did she say?” I said with a grunt as I thrust into my sister’s sopping wet pussy. God, she got so wet—did all women get this wet? Or was I correct, that my sister was built for fucking. Everything about her: her body, her insane levels of arousal, her natural submissiveness...

Or had her submissive nature been my doing? It was all starting to blur together—what I’d done to her, what she’d been before my influence…just one big glorious erotic blend.

It didn’t really matter, what she’d been before. All that mattered was what I’d made her. My submissive, sex-obsessed, incest-loving slut of a sister.

All mine.

“She looked at—ungh!—me,” my sister said breathlessly, looking up at me with those big blue eyes of hers as I pounded into her. “She had that look that means she wants to tell you something, but she doesn’t know how.”

I knew it well. “Had she kissed you?”

“No,” my sister breathed, her eyelids fluttering as I fucked her harder.

“Did you want her to?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Oh, fuck, yes...but instead, I asked her what was up.”

I didn’t reply, just stared at my sister as I continued to fuck her. I could feel her juices coating my cock. I could feel her muscles tensing, her back arching, and I knew she wanted nothing more than to wrap her legs around my waist.

“Don’t cum,” I gasped, talking to myself as much as her. I’d already heard the whole story from Mom’s side, but this was my first time hearing my sister’s perspective.

“Mm-hmm,” Cynthia groaned.

“What did she say?”

“That she wasn’t sure the best way to say it. That she...”

For just a moment, my sister’s eyes focused—I froze, suddenly terrified that she was going to wake up.

It took me a few moments to realize what I was seeing. For the first time since the first time I’d fucked my unconscious sister, her haze of arousal had lifted.

And in its place was an expression of pain.

“Oh, fuck,” I moaned. Thank Christ I’d stopped thrusting, or else I would’ve cum just at the sight of her face.

To be safe, I pulled out of my sister. She let out a moan of need, but didn’t make a move to stop me.

“Keep going,” I ordered, wrapping one hand around my cock it. Cynthia’s eyes were still staring at the ceiling, unfocused, but I could tell from her body’s reaction that she knew exactly what I was doing, and wanted nothing more than to see. To watch her brother jerk off above her naked body. “What did she say?”

“S-she...she said that I needed to know something.”

“What?”

I was surprised again by the half-sob that came out of my sister’s eyes as she continued the story...and the pulse of arousal that wracked my body at the sound.

“She said that...that I needed to lose weight.”

A low groan left my throat. Cynthia’s absolute worst nightmare, coming from her mother’s lips. It was like a real-life Boggart.

And it was all my doing.

“What else?”

“She said that...that the boys wouldn’t find me attractive. That no one would find me attractive. She said that I was...”

My sister gulped before continuing.

“...that I was fat.”

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned, as my cock throbbed in my hand. I could feel my orgasm building. “What else?”

“That it was hard for her to tell me this, because she’d always wanted me to feel good about myself. But that I needed to know. That if I thought I was beautiful, I wouldn’t work to improve myself. And that I...that I needed to. That I really, really needed to improve myself.”

My balls tightened and my shaft began to swell as Cynthia stared at the ceiling, her expression a mixture of pain and shame.

“What did you say?” I grunted.

“I-I asked her what she meant,” my sister replied, her eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t know what else to say. And she...she told me that the problem w-was...was my tits.”

At the loud sob that left Cynthia’s mouth at the words, I began shooting rope after rope of cum onto my sister’s bare tits. Normally the sight of my orgasm was enough to make her tremble with pleasure, but she just lay there, crying, as I coated her body with my seed.

“Fuuuuuck,” I said, breathing heavily. The sight of my sister openly sobbing as she relayed the conversation had resulted in one of the most powerful orgasms of my life, and it took me a few moments to collect myself.

As my cum began slowly sliding down my sister’s body, I grabbed a tissue, catching it before it could drip onto the bed. By the time Cynthia was cleaned up, I could feel my cock beginning to thicken once more.

I swear, Cynthia’s pain makes my refractory period faster than should be medically possible. If I could bottle her suffering and sell it as an aphrodisiac, I’d make a fortune.

“What did she say about your tits?” I asked, unable to stop a wicked smile from crossing my lips. Telling me was probably as painful as the incident itself had been. “Be specific.”

“She said that they were too big,” Cynthia sniffed. “Too heavy. Ugly.”

It had taken me a while to convince Mom to talk to her daughter like this, and then almost as long to coach her with what to say.

The ticket, in the end, had been simple self-loathing. Every woman hates their body, even if it’s as incredible as Mom’s. So in order to throw Cynthia off the scent, I’d told Mom to vocalise her worst fears about her own body, directing them to her daughter.

“What else?”

“She said that no man would ever want to touch them. How everyone would laugh at me if I ever went without a bra.”

I was hard again, and I slipped my cock between Cynthia’s legs without a word of warning. Her body stiffened, but she kept talking as I began sliding my full length into her once more.

“She said that my nipples were too big. Disproportionate to m-my...my fat tits. She warned me that if I didn’t start losing weight, they might grow bigger.”

“Uh huh...” I groaned, watching my cock disappear into my sister’s tight pussy. “She’s right.”

“I know,” Cynthia sobbed.

I mean, it was partially true. If she grew as heavy as Mom had been before I’d started hypnotizing her, Cynthia would probably go up a cup-size or two. Maybe her areolae would enlarge in the process.

Not going to lie; it was more than a little tempting to have Cynthia gain weight, just to see what would happen. Also just for the heat of controlling her size. I had complete and total control over my sister—what she ate, when she ate. I could have told her to shave her head and I’ve no doubt she would’ve obeyed.

She’d probably be easier to manipulate if she was a little larger, too...although it was hard to imagine my sister being any more pliable than she was already. And her unhinged opinion of her own form bore little relationship to reality; she’d probably hate herself just as much regardless of size.

But as my sister had followed the fitness regime I’d given her, I’d enjoyed seeing her soft curves grow a little firmer. The contrast between her flat stomach and huge, pendulous boobs made them look even bigger than actually-larger tits would have.

I’m not one to look a gift horse in the tits; I was pretty happy with my sister’s body the way it was.

“What else did she say about your breasts?”

“That they didn’t suit the rest of my body. T-that...that I looked like a freak.”

“Fuuuuck....”

Despite having just cum literally a few minutes ago, I already felt like I was right on the edge of another orgasm. My sister’s face held the most intense look of hurt and betrayal that I’d ever seen. I’d convinced Mom to demolish her own daughter’s self-esteem, just to protect herself.

Just to stop Cynthia from learning the truth.

“Describe your daughter’s breasts to me,” I instructed. I’d had Mom redress—I was stepping into risky territory here, and I wanted to be safe in case she woke up. “Tell me what you really think of them.”

Mom blushed, but only hesitated briefly before replying.

“They’re...they’re nice,” she said, as though describing a teapot she’d found at the local market.

I rolled my eyes.

“Be specific,” I ordered. “Tell me what you like about them.”

“They’re, um, round,” she said, hesitating again. “And...and soft.”

I considered berating her again, but I knew she was doing the best that she could.

“What else?”

“They jiggle when she walks,” Mom said, and I was delighted to hear a hint—just a hint—of lust in her voice. Maybe it wasn’t just the throwback to the kind of affection my father had given her that was turning her on about the situation. Maybe Mom was actually just a little bit bi.

Or maybe Cynthia’s tits really do have sexuality-bending capabilities.

“And they...they feel really nice to touch.”

I had noticed that Mom often reached up to cup her daughter’s breasts when making out with her, but I’d figured that was just her following the golden rule; doing unto her daughter as she wished others would do unto her. I hadn’t even considered that...y’know, Mom liked playing with boobs.

Of course, who doesn’t?

“Go on,” I ordered.

“They’re sensitive,” Mom said, her voice trembling slightly. “When I kiss her, I can feel...I can feel them respond.”

“Respond how?”

My voice was low. Husky. Mom didn’t seem to notice, answering my question immediately.

“I can feel her nipples hardening,” she said. “And...and I can feel them getting bigger. Like...like they’re growing.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Cynthia’s tits get bigger?”

“Y-yes,” Mom responded, her eyes widening. “I mean, they, um...they swell. When she’s...when she’s aroused.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Uh huh,” Mom said. “It’s...”

She trailed off, and I leaned forward.

“What?”

“It’s kind of hot,” she whispered, and I couldn’t help but nod. ‘Kind of’ was the understatement of the decade, as far as I was concerned.

“Did she say anything else about your body?” I asked my sister, as I slid in and out of her.

“Y-yes,” she said. “She said that my ass was...was too big.”

I do not understand where this idea comes from: unless you, like, need a motorized wheelchair to get around, I’ve never heard of an ass being too big. What a ridiculous concept.

But Mom apparently thought hers was too big, and so she’d projected that onto my sister.

“It is,” I confirmed. “It’s grotesque.”

“I-I know,” Cynthia shuddered. Not with pleasure, as she normally did when I fucked her, but with a deep shame.

It was even hotter, if you ask me.

“What do you think of Cynthia’s ass?” I asked Mom, delighted that the kibosh had apparently been taken off sexual discussion of my sister.

“It’s...” Mom paused, looking conflicted. “It’s...it’s...cute.”

“It’s not a hamster, Mom,” I chided.

In fairness, my sister’s ass was pretty cute. The kind of cute you want to spank and fuck though. A very specific kind of cute.

Not at all like a hamster.

“It’s...it’s...” Mom’s face was flushed. She was really struggling with this one. “It’s sexy. I...I...like it.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I like the way it looks. It’s...round. But not fat. And...and it’s firm. I like the way it feels.”

“Do you like big butts?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mom responded, like she’d just betrayed her country by sharing war plans with the enemy.

“Can you lie?”

Mom looked confused. “N-no?”

Apparently my mother wasn’t familiar with the work of Sir Mix-A-Lot.

“Do you like touching her butt?”

“I...I do.”

“Say it.”

“I...I like...I like t-touching her butt.”

“Whose butt?”

“Cynthia’s.”

“Your daughter’s.”

Mom didn’t say anything, just blushed in response.

“Say it.”

“I like touching m-my d-daughter’s butt,” Mom said, with great effort.

“But she can never know that, can she?”

“She said she hates touching it,” Cynthia whimpered. “She said that she o-only does it because she has to. But that it’s too big. Too fat. And that if I’m not careful, I won’t be able to fit into any of my clothes anymore.”

Mom’s fear had actually happened to her. About a decade ago, she’d had to buy a whole new wardrobe.

She’d lost a bunch of weight this year, thanks to me, but she’d gotten rid of her old clothes by then, and so she kept wearing her ‘new’ outfits.

I mean, when I let her wear clothes at all.

“She’s right,” I said, digging my fingers into my sister’s ass as I fucked her. “You are too fat. Say it.”

“I’m overweight,” Cynthia said.

“Again.”

“I’m chubby, and my ass is huge.”

“What’s your favorite part of Cynthia’s body?” I asked, and Mom’s stared hazily into the distance as she thought.

“Her lips,” she finally answered.

“Her...pussy-lips?”

Mom shook her head. “No. Her lips.”

I hadn’t been expecting that one. “What do you like about them?”

“I like the way they feel. Tender. Sweet. Soft.”

My mother really is a romantic at heart. Even when describing her own daughter’s body, she picks a feature as innocent as ‘lips’ to compliment.

“She licks them, right before...before we kiss. They’re always the exact right level of moist, and...and...

“And what?”

“I love kissing her,” Mom admitted. “I love the way she tastes.”

“Your own daughter?”

“Y-yes,” she said, blushing furiously. “M-my own daughter.”

“She said that my lips were my worst feature,” Cynthia said, sounding as shocked as I’d been when Mom had singled those out. “She said that they were always...s-slimy.”

If you’d told me a year ago that my sister disparaging her own facial features would be enough to bring me the brink of orgasm, I never would have believed you.

So much can change in a year, hey?

“Did Mom say anything else?”

“She said it was my fault that I look the way I do. That I’m overweight. She...she said that if I were more disciplined, if I cared a little more, I’d be fine.”

“Do you think she’s wrong?”

“N-no,” Cynthia said, and I could see her throat working as she swallowed guiltily. I still hadn’t been able to work out a pattern of which muscles she could and couldn’t control when she was under.

“How did you feel, after Mom’s comments?”

“I...I felt...”

I pulled out of her, and we both groaned at the sensation.

“Disgusting,” Cynthia finally admitted. “I felt disgusting.”

“You should,” I hissed, my hand a blur. “You should feel that way. Do you know why?”

“B-because...because I am.”

“You are what?”

“Disgusting,” my sister sobbed.

“Again,” I grunted. “Say it again.”

“I’m disgusting.”

“Again!”

“I’m disgusting,” my sister repeated.

“Louder!”

“I’m disgusting,” Cynthia bellowed, as I shot my second load of the day, spraying them onto my sister’s pink, soft, and not-at-all slimy lips.