The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“What do you think about when you masturbate?” I asked, and Cynthia gasped in response.

By my count, it had been about three weeks since she’d last cum. It may have been a new record; I hadn’t been keeping track. It had been so long that she was just about ready to pop—the next time I fucked her, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she came, no matter how hard she tried not to.

“You.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I saw what she was doing as she answered: her thigh muscles were flexing, like she was trying to stimulate herself without moving. Yet another body-part she could apparently control while she was under...although this was probably involuntary.

The more turned on my sister was—and I mean turned on at her very core, from weeks of edging—the easier it was to push her boundaries. A week earlier, I’d managed to talk her into letting me titty-fuck her. Quite a step, considering that not so long ago she’d been reluctant to even let me see her topless.

I’d told her that the ‘exposure’ therapy was working, that her brother was finding her tits less repulsive just by seeing more of them, and that the effect could be magnified if his cock got used to touching them.

Yeah, it wasn’t the most cogent of arguments, but like I said—the deeper my sister’s arousal, the more pliable she becomes.

“What else?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mom’s words,” Cynthia replied without hesitation. “Her calling me names. Insulting my body. Pointing out how fat and disgusting I am. Pointing out all the ways my body needs to be changed.”

“Good,” I said, my dick already throbbing. “Your body is disgusting.“

“Oh!”

I raised my eyebrows. Apparently it wasn’t just our mother’s insults that turned Cynthia on.

“You’re repulsive,” I spat.

Not true, of course. That probably goes without saying. My sister’s naked body was incredible, doubly so because it was ready and available for my eyes to feast on.

For me to fuck.

Her thighs were spread wide, her cunt exposed and dripping wet. I bet if I’d so much as brushed a hand over it, she would’ve cum.

The moment I parted her pussy-lips with my cock, I knew her hips would buck, her entire body would start shaking with orgasm.

Maybe I’d titty-fuck her again, give her one more day of intense arousal. Or hell, maybe she was so worked up, she’d cum just from that.

My sister was practically throwing herself on the floor as she begged me for a favor.

“Please, Daniel,” she said desperately, practically crying. ”Please. Oh, god, please. Please help me. I need you. I’ll do anything.“

I was standing above her, my face a blank mask. She was just asking me if I’d seen her phone, but it was like she was begging me for her life.

I had complete power over my sister. Every moment of her day was dedicated to me, in some way or another. Whether it was the hours she spent touching herself, picturing me performing darker and darker acts on her, or the long, painful punishments I put her through, or the time our mother spent turning her on, playing with her perfect body while tapping into her deepest fears...

And that was before you factored in the time she spent hypnotized, as I plowed into her inert body. She didn’t consciously know that I was using her for sex, but I felt like her subconscious must surely know how many hours her soaking wet pussy had spent wrapped around my cock.

I reached down, grabbing Cynthia’s ponytail and forcing her head up. “Why do you need me?” I asked, my voice calm and steady. Mom’s spaghetti.

My sister was wearing a thin tank-top without a bra underneath, and a pair of plain white panties that showed how soaked she was. Her feet were bare, and her legs were spread wide as she knelt in front of me.

“Because I’m so dumb,” Cynthia gasped. “Too dumb to handle anything myself. I...I need you. I need a man to take care of me. Oh, please.“

I could see her body quivering. Her eyes were glazed over, her breathing ragged. She was rubbing her thighs together, and her nipples were rock hard. She looked much like she did when she was under, and I couldn’t help myself—my cock twitched at the memory of my sister like this on her bed the previous night, naked as I fucked her to an unwilling orgasm.

And Cynthia noticed.

Of course she did. My cock had become a complete obsession for my sister. On more than one occasion I’d caught her staring at my pants, gently stroking her hand over her leg as she imagined what was beneath it.

She’d seen it while she was under, of course. I’d stood above her, stroking myself in her face, my cock slick with her juices. I wondered if she drew on those subconscious memories while picturing my erection, causing her imagination to unknowingly line up exactly with reality.

At the sight of my cock’s reaction, Cynthia doubled down.

“I need a man like you,” she whimpered. “A big, strong man to take care of a dumb slut like me. Please, oh, please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” I mused, and she nodded earnestly.

“Yes,” she moaned, her voice cracking. “I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just...just help me. Help me find my phone. I’m such a stupid whore.”

““Fine,” I sighed, trying to sound as disinterested as I could. Like I hadn’t even noticed that she was practically throwing herself at me. As though I hadn’t heard her calling herself a slut and a whore. “God you’re an idiot.”

A tremor of pleasure went through my sister’s body at my words, just like when she was under.

I couldn’t help myself. “You’re so useless,” I continued. “You’re a waste of space.”

Another shudder of pleasure. “Oh, god, oh, god, yes.”

“Come on,” I said, holding out my hand and taking my sister’s wrist. Her pulse was racing, and I could feel her trembling as I led her to her bedroom. “Where did you last see it?”

It took less than a minute to find Cynthia’s phone (it had fallen to the floor beside her desk).

“Here you go,” I grumbled. She was practically shaking, her breathing shallow. “Even someone as dumb as you should’ve been able to find this.”

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed. “Thank you, Daniel. Thank you so much. I’ll make it up to you.”

As soon as I was out the door, I smiled. Yes, she would.

Sooner than she thought.

I stood outside Cynthia’s room for a moment. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I heard it. A muffled gasp.

My sister, touching herself. So turned on by my debasement that she couldn’t help it. Edging, her lust fueled by her brother’s attention.

The best part (and believe me, it was a highly competitive list) was that debasing herself in front of me hadn’t even been part of my instructions. Cynthia had done that all by herself...and not blinked an eye when I joined in.

After all, I’d heard our mother verbally abusing her for more than a week now.

My sister’s self-esteem had been low when I’d started hypnotizing her. I’d managed to drive it even further into the ground, but damn: Mom’s insults had taken it further than I ever would’ve thought possible. Cynthia now thought that she was not only ugly, fat, dumb (it had only taken a nudge for Mom to start disparaging her daughter’s intelligence), but that it was completely normal for her family to point it out to her.

No, not just normal.

Hot.

Whenever my sister had masturbated, Mom’s insults ran through her mind. She’d frig herself to the edge of orgasm, multiple times per day, remembering our mother calling her a fat pig, telling her that she was useless, emphasizing what a sexual deviant she was.

And now, my words would be joining the cacophony. She’d be thinking about me calling her useless. Dumb. A waste of space.

Not just when she edged, either. See, I know how women’s minds work...well, two specific women. By making Cynthia focus on the words while she was masturbating, I knew they’d be running through her head the rest of the day too. I knew that she’d been fixating, thinking about Mom’s insults. About how repulsive and stupid she was.

About what a worthless cunt she was.

The rest of the time, she’d been thinking about me. Thinking about how hot she was for her brother, how desperately she needed my attention.

How much she wanted me to fuck her.

For almost two weeks now, I’d been telling my sister that her score was 7.5, that she was right on the edge of getting my attention. That if she could just cross that line, I’d start thinking of her as attractive—maybe not being attracted to her, but being able to objectively acknowledge that she was attractive. Seeing her as a sexual being.

So the sight of my pants twitching had probably been the most exciting thing Cynthia had seen in weeks.

As I put her under again that night, I made clear to her that she wasn’t there yet. As I fucked my hypnotized sister, I emphasized that hitting 7.5 wouldn’t be easy. That she’d have to push herself further than ever before.

“I will,” she moaned, her cunt clenching around me. “Please, sir. I’ll do anything. Anything.”

“Anything?” I asked her again, and her entire body twitched.

“Anything,” she affirmed. ”Please.“

I smiled. It was time for the next step.

This will be no surprise to you, but I’d revisited my mother’s latest punishment several times. Now that she’d taken my balls into her mouth while she was under, she’d repeat the action anytime I hypnotized her. Unlike Cynthia, Mom could move when she was under, and believe me—I took full advantage of that,.

Just as before, I ‘combined’ it with several other punishments. Three times that week, I put my mother under, spanked her to near-orgasm, then had her strip naked and suck my balls until I was right on the verge of cumming—without even touching myself!

The hottest thing about it, of course, was everything. Everything about it was so fucking hot—my naked mother, hands by her side, mouth sucking my nuts. I loved watching her, feeling her tongue on my sack.

Every now and again, she’d touch my cock. Never for more than a moment, so at first I’d assumed it was accidental, but it happened so regularly that I couldn’t help but wonder. I’ve never sucked anyone’s testicles (another shocking revelation, I know) but it didn’t seem like it would be too hard to avoid making penile contact with your tongue. Right?

Just like when she was awake, Mom kept eye-contact the entire time. Her glazed-over eyes, staring into mine as she sucked my testicles. Unlike when we’d done this in real life, I didn’t have to hide how I felt. I could return her gaze, allow my lust to show on my face as she took her own son’s balls into her mouth, trying not to show how much pleasure she got from it.

“That’s it,” I whispered, reaching down and running my fingers through her hair. “Good girl. God you’re good at this...”

With Mom’s obvious enthusiasm, you’d think it would be easy to escalate things, right?

You would be wrong.

Believe me, I tried everything. Everything. Scenario after scenario, different phrasings, even threats. One time I sat the Toy in front of her when I told her—she could stroke my cock, or I’d be forced to use it on her.

Nothing. No begging, no pleading. No compromise, not even a refusal. Just complete silence.

If she’d said anything, I’m sure I could have used it to get my way. If she’d explained exactly why she couldn’t suck my cock—or even touch it!—I’m sure I could’ve changed her mind. Bit-by-bit, I could have wheedled and persuaded her until she was on her knees in front of me, deepthroating my cock until I came in her mouth.

But despite how much she clearly wanted to (I have to assume, based on how often her tongue’s ‘accidentally’came in contact with my dick), it seemed that Mom just couldn’t accept the idea of giving her son a blowjob.

Hell, I would’ve settled for a handjob. Nope. I couldn’t even get her to hold my cock while she sucked on my balls. Like I said, I tried every tactic I could think of—“it’s not sexual, you’re just moving it out of the way.” “You don’t want my cock to get tired, do you?”

Nothing. For the first time in a long while, I’d hit a hard limit. A truly weird one, too—sucking my balls was fine, but holding my cock: unacceptable. And when I tried to work out why, I was met with a blank stare.

It was as though the silence was her mind’s defense mechanism. As though it somehow knew that arguing back would result in an eventual loss. So instead, Mom just clammed up. I tried to penetrate her from every different angle (in both senses), but she was an immovable wall.

I considered just pushing forward and doing it, but…I dunno. Something held me back. I had visions of Mom breaking, of her silent stare becoming the new normal. Of her brain collapsing, not being able to make sense of what was happening, and just…shutting off.

If I’m being honest, the idea was kind of hot. In an abstract way. But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t take that risk.

So I settled for Mom sucking my balls, staring me in the eyes, her mouth so close (yet so far!) from my throbbing erection.

I know, I know. It’s a hard life. Fortunately, it wasn’t all bad news: I managed to make unexpected progress in a different area.

You see, apparently Cynthia got her competitive streak from our mother.

“What’s she doing?” Mom asked, surprising me.

Firstly because I hadn’t realized she was there. I don’t know if it’s because she’s now a little lighter, or that she’s always barefoot at home (I don’t have a foot fetish or anything, but there’s something so wonderfully submissive about commanding my mother to never wear footwear), or just that...y’know, I was pretty distracted, but I hadn’t heard Mom coming into the room.

Secondly, because on the rare occasion Mom sees me punishing my sister, she never says anything. I know that she’s ‘okay’ with it—as far as she’s concerned, it’s a motivational dieting technique. But I know that the sight of her son whipping her daughter isn’t one that she’s completely comfortable with.

She doesn’t object, of course. She just avoids it.

But apparently her curiosity had overcome her uncomfortableness, because when she’d walked in to find Cynthia on her knees in front of me, arms behind her back, begging me to whip her, she hadn’t walked straight out of the room.

Instead, she’d watched (for god knows how long) and then asked what was going on.

I held up one hand, and Cynthia fell silent immediately, making my cock throb. Her immediate, unquestioning obedience was so fucking hot. It was such a transformation from just a few months ago. She’d gone from strong, independent, a little annoying…to complete and utter submission.

She noticed my cock’s movement, of course, and a pulse of pleasure went through her entire body. I sometimes felt like every moment we were in the same room, she was completely locked in on what my cock was up to.

It was what she lived for.

The previous night, Mom had sucked my balls until I felt like I was ready to burst, so after waking her up I’d made my way straight into Cynthia’s room to fuck her. It had only been a few minutes before I’d unloaded onto my sister’s face, and that was when I’d made the suggestion.

Your brother clearly like it when you beg, and you know he’s a sadist. Why not beg him to punish you?

She hadn’t questioned it—she didn’t question many of my orders these days. Instead, she’d just trembled with pleasure. Even after her orgasm earlier that week, it was taking all her mental energy to prevent her own orgasm, and so my instructions seeped directly into her brain.

Sure enough, she’d come to me the next day and groveled in front of me, pleading for me to whip her tits.

“I told her she wasn’t ready to be punished,” I answered, trying to match Mom’s casual tone. She didn’t sound concerned or judgmental, thank goodness—just curious.

Curious, and a little bit competitive.

“What do you mean?” Mom asked, wrinkling her nose.

“A punishment isn’t effective when it completely comes from someone else,” I explained. Complete bullshit, of course—Cynthia was begging because it turned me on. She’d do anything to turn me on. “You have to truly want it, deep down inside.”

But it was believable enough, and it wasn’t like Mom was going to argue the point. “If I don’t think Cynthia really wants to be punished, I make her prove it. That if she really needed to be punished, she’d have to convince me. This way, the punishment is more effective.”

“Oh,” Mom said simply.

Cynthia didn’t say a thing. She was probably barely listening. It’s not that hypnotizing my sister has made her dumber, exactly, just...more focused. If it wasn’t related to serving me, pleasing me, obeying me, turning me on…she just didn’t care.

She didn’t need to know why she was begging. She’d passed beyond the need for conscious justification of what she was doing.

All she cared about was turning me on. Getting me hard. Making more more attracted to her.

All she cared about was raising that number. If she could hit 7.5, maybe—just maybe—I’d start seeing her as a sexual being.

Maybe, at long last, I’d fuck her.

My sister would’ve done anything to make that happen. And soon enough, she would.

I waved my hand again, and like I’d flipped a switch, Cynthia’s begging resumed.

“Please, Daniel,” she pleaded. “Please, whip me. Whip my tits. Please. I want it. I need it.”

“Punish me. I’m a bad girl. I’m a naughty girl, and I deserve it. I’m such a stupid slut…I need a man to teach me a lesson. Please. Please. I need to be whipped. I need to be taught a lesson. Please whip me. I’m nothing but a dirty whore. I’m a stupid whore who needs my fat, ugly tits to be punished.“

I glanced at Mom, but she didn’t seem bothered by her daughter’s foul language. After all, a lot of the words she was using had come directly from Mom’s mouth. If she objected now, what kind of a hypocrite would that make her?

“What do you think?” I asked my mother. Even a month ago, I bet the sight of her daughter on her knees, begging her brother to whip her tits would have shocked her.

Now, it was a completely normal site.

“Hmm,” Mom said, and again I was surprised by the competitive glint I saw in her eyes. “I’m not sure. If she really wanted it, wouldn’t she be more ready?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...wouldn’t she be topless? So you can really punish those fat teats.”

Cynthia froze, and I have to admit, my eyebrows went up as well. My sister refused to let me see her bare breasts…well, when she was awake. I’d managed to find a loophole that allowed me to strip her naked she was under, but I hadn’t been able to transfer that to her waking state.

And Mom…for a long time, she’d refused to even let me be in the same room when she spanked Cynthia. Now, she was encouraging her daughter to take her top off for me.

For her punishment.

I looked down at my sister, at the consternation on her face. I’m no mind-reader, but I could’ve sworn that she was going to say no...

...until she glanced at my pants once more, and saw the swelling within.

My life had become a fantasy; the sight of Cynthia, scantily clad, begging me to whip her huge tits...I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was hot. But the male organ is only capable of hardness for so many hours in a day, and so much of my life felt like it was straight out of a porno.

My sister’s barely-dressed grovelling had only earned a half-chub. But at the prospect of getting to whip her tits while she was topless...and the fact that Mom was the one who suggested it...

Yeah. I was suddenly hard as a rock.

And, as always, Cynthia had noticed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she whimpered, her eyes never leaving my erection. “I...I...”

I held my breath as she moved her hands to her side, and slowly began taking off her tank-top.

“Oh god,” I said under my breath, my eyes glued to her chest. Like a slow-motion gif, my sisters glorious orbs fell into view—one, then the other. They were so large, so perfect, so delicious-looking...so, so fucking big.

It was hard to believe that they belonged to my sister. The brat that I’d grown up with, the one who’d always been the nice one.

The one who’d always been the good girl.

She was a woman now, a woman with tits that would’ve put most porn stars to shame. They were so big, so soft, and so perfect. I’d seen them before, of course. I’d watched them bounce as I fucked her, I’d shot my load onto them more times than I could count. But this was...I don’t even know why, but this was different.

Cynthia was awake. Completely aware that I was seeing her tits.

And it was clear that she hated every fucking second of it.

“Ew,” I said, wrinkling my nose. Fuck me, the look on my sister’s face...if I could’ve taken a photo of it, I wouldn’t have needed any other jerk-off material for a year.

I’d been preparing my sister for this moment for a while now. Convincing her that by exposing more and more of her breast, by highlighting them, I’d grow used to how disgusting they are. That I’d get used to them over time.

And the look on her face as I made it clear clear that I was still as repulsed by them as ever.

It was the look of hope being replaced by despair. Of true, deep, emotional pain.

My topless sister, practically crying at my reaction.

It was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen.

“Yeah,” Mom said, equally entranced. I couldn’t get my mother to admit it directly, not even when she was under, but I knew that she was as obsessed with Cynthia’s tits as I was. And, unlike me, Mom had gotten to feel them, to grope them. She’d felt my sister shudder with pleasure as she tweaked her hard nipples. “Disgusting.”

Cynthia shivered as her family commentated on the complete repulsiveness of her exposed tits. I knew exactly what she was going through—not from experience, of course. Because of my deep and thorough knowledge of how my sister’s mind worked.

As the person who had programmed it.

They say that the most crushing lows come straight after the highest highs. Like, Cynthia had been mentally preparing to increase how attractive I found her. Even if only subconsciously, she’d been expecting to finally cross the 7.5 threshold. She was doing all she could to turn me on.

At Mom’s suggestion, she’d taken a huge step that she’d never been able to take before. She’d exposed herself—both literally and emotionally. She’d made herself truly vulnerable.

And in response, she’d been belittled. Not just by me, but Mom too. The two people she was closest to in the world had stood over her, and told her how disgusting her body was.

I couldn’t imagine anything more devastating. It was the worst thing that could possibly have happened to her.

But it was more than just crushing. It had become her most perverse fantasy. Every day, she edged while imagining exactly this—me and Mom, denigrating her body.

I’d given my sister a degradation kink, one tied directly to her low self-esteem. The more disgusting she felt, the more turned on she was.

And fuck, what a sight it was, watching her reaction to our words. Heartbreak, arousal, mixed together until I doubt she could separate them. I bet if so much as a breeze had brushed up against her clit, she would’ve cum. This was her ultimate nightmare, her ultimate fantasy. Her body was confused, turned on, despondent.

“They look like balloons gone wrong,” I said. “Big, squishy, ugly balloons.”

Cynthia whimpered, and I could hear her trying to swallow back tears. Or stop an orgasm. The two were basically identical.

“It’s like they’re malformed,” Mom added, and I could hear the undercurrent of lust in her voice. “It’s all that sugar she eats. They’re like two huge zits on her chest, waiting to be popped.”

“Please,” Cynthia choked out, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“What?”

“P-please,” she repeated. “Punish me...”

“What do you think?” I asked my mother again, and she nodded, staring at her daughter’s chest. It was the first time she’d seen them, I realized. She’d had her hands on her daughter’s tits a dozen times, but not seen them in the flesh since my sister was young.

And in direct opposition to what she was saying, it was clear that Mom liked them almost as much as I did.

No, that’s dumb. No one liked anything nearly as much I liked my sister’s tits.

“Do it,” Mom said in a low whisper. “Punish her.”

Again, Cynthia shuddered, as though trying to hold back an orgasm.

By the time I finished tying Cynthia’s wrists behind her back, Mom was gone. Like I said, she doesn’t really like watching me punish her daughter.

“Okay,” I sighed, pulling out the small riding crop I’d bought for the occasion. “You’re going to count each time I strike you. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, sir,” my sister said, a sob in her voice. I don’t know if it was because of her punishment, or if she was still processing what we’d said about her chest.

Porque no los dos?

With careful aim, I struck, hitting my sister’s right tit with the crop.

“One!” she cried out, and I smiled as I struck her left breast just below the nipple.

“Two!”

The crop came down a third time; as I watched her tits jiggle, I was tempted to pull out my cock and shoot my load on her tits, to aim for the red mark I’d left with my strike.

“Three!”

Cynthia wouldn’t have objected. She would’ve loved it. It would have been my sister’s dream come true: turning her brother on, seeing his cock.

Seeing that her body turned him on.

“Four!”

I hit her again, and she moaned louder.

Down, boy, I told my aching penis. All in good time.

I had a plan, and it was getting closer to fruition by the day.

“Oww,” she whined, and I couldn’t help it—her moan was met with one of my own. Her eyes shot open at the sound, and I tried to hide my pleasure as she stared at my face.

She subconsciously knew how much I enjoyed this, but I still tried not to show any pleasure. Not because I was worried about her getting suspicious—hell, I could likely have fucked her rapidly-bruising tits and she would’ve been so excited that she wouldn’t have questioned it.

No, it was because this had become part of the game. The less my sister thought I enjoyed her body, her submission, the more distraught she got.

“Five!”

And the more distraught she got, the hotter it was to punish her. To watch her suffer. To make her suffer.

“Six! Seven! Eight!”

I’d ordered Cynthia to count...well, partially because it was hot, but mostly because I was bad at keeping track. I’d completely lose myself in punishing her, especially when it was something as hot as this—whipping her bare tits.

“Ow! Nine!”

It was heaven.

I’d told her ten strikes, but I wished it had been a hundred. A thousand. I could’ve spent the rest of the evening whaling on Cynthia’s beautiful bare breasts...but of course, I had other plans.

“Ten!”

As I struck her tits, an unexpected moment of generosity overcame me. I decided to give her something, something she’d remember. Something she could think about while she edged…and probably every other moment of the day as well.

I reached around and grabbed her ponytail, tugging her head back. My fingers grazed her neck, and I felt her shiver.

“Good girl.” I rasped, and my sister’s eyes fluttered at my words. She wouldn’t cum, she was too well-trained for that...but I could tell she was close.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and I walked away, leaving her topless, tied up, and gasping for air.

That night, when Mom approached me for her punishment, there was a note of hesitance in her voice.

“...are you sure that I really want it?” she asked, and I stifled a smile.

This competitive streak was something I’d have to pay attention to.

“Hmmm,” I said, looking into my mother’s eyes. She was wearing a white button-up shirt, her nipples poking through the fabric. I felt my cock pulse; I’d gone to my room to jerk off straight after whipping Cynthia’s bare boobs, but I was still pretty worked up.

“Do you?” I finally answered. “Do you want it?”

Mom gave me a soft smile. “Mm-hmm.”

In response, I slowly shook my head.

“You know what, you’re right. I don’t really believe you.”

“I do,” she said, slightly more firmly, her big brown eyes staring into mine.. “I promise.” Again, I shook my head.

“Maybe this is why your punishments aren’t working,” I said. “You’ve just been doing them because I’ve told you to.”

I pointed to the floor. “On your knees,” I ordered.

Without even a moment’s hesitation, Mom knelt in front of me. Obeying my every command had become reflexive; she didn’t even question it.

God I loved my life.

I stood over her, my cock rock-hard in my pants.

“Beg.”

“Please,” she said calmly, holding my eye-contact. “Please, Daniel. Punish me.”

“C’mon, Mom,” I said, raising one eyebrow. “Is that the best you can do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When Cynthia begs, she puts her whole body into it. You can do better than that.”

“Please,” she said again. “I...I really, really want it. Please.”

I sighed, and gave a half-shrug. “Maybe you don’t want to be punished.“

Tonight’s punishment was for Mom to suck my balls for the second time. Well, her second time while conscious. I’d decided to play it safe after the first time, and given her a break.

“I do,” Mom said emphatically, and I believed her. The passion with which she’d taken my balls into her mouth last time...yeah. I was pretty sure she wanted it.

But I wasn’t going to let her know that.

“No,” I said dismissively. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t buy it. Maybe we’ll skip tonight’s punishment.”

“No!” Mom said, a note of panic in her voice. It was all I could do to hide my smile—she really, really wanted a repeat of the experience earlier in the week. It was so difficult to get her to talk about it while she was under, so I couldn’t help but be curious what held the most appeal. The sexual contact? Getting to see my arousal, in a way that her mind had dubbed ‘safe’?

Hell, maybe Mom just loved the taste of balls.

Whatever it was, it was clear that she needed it.

“Well then,” I said calmly, standing over her. “Beg.”

“P-please,” she said, allowing her desperation to seep into her voice. “Please, punish me. I...I need it.”

“What do you need?”

“I need to be punished,” she repeated. “I...I’ve been bad.”

“What do you want, specifically?” I said, a slight sneer on my face. Mom’s eyes widened as she realized what I was asking, but to her credit, she didn’t hesitate before replying.

“I want to suck your balls,” she said in a low voice.

“Beg.”

“Please,” she begged. “Please...please, let me suck your balls.”

“Your son’s balls?” I asked, immediately worried that I’d pushed things too far.

Nope. I sometimes felt like I’d never understand my mother. She wouldn’t even discuss going any further than mouth-on-testicle action, but she seemed to have no compunctions discussing what we’d already done.

“Yes,” she said, unable to hide a low moan of need from entering her voice. “I need to suck my son’s balls. I need to be humiliated. To be punished. Please...”

I probably could’ve gotten more out of her, but I was already rock hard, so without a word I lowered my shorts. My cock throbbed at Mom’s gasp; it had only been a few days since she’d first seen it, but apparently the sight of my erection hadn’t lost its appeal.

I stepped forward, lowering my boxers to my ankles, and Mom’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of my fully erect cock.

“Oh my god,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “P-please. Please, let me...please, Daniel. Punish me.

“I deserve it.”

“Yes, you do,” I said, firmly grabbing my mother’s head and moving it towards me.

As soon as her tongue reached my testicles, we groaned in unison.

“Suck,” I said, and she opened her mouth, taking my balls inside.

This time, there was no pretense that I wasn’t enjoying it. She didn’t seem to mind—perhaps I’d been too cautious last time, acting as though I wasn’t turned on by what we were doing.

“Mmmh,” Mom moaned as she sucked my balls, and I knew she was loving it.

I wanted to reach down and stroke my cock as I watched her bob her head on my nutsack. But I still didn’t understand my mother’s limits, and I couldn’t risk it. Instead, I stuck to things I’d done while she was under.

“Good girl,” I said, reaching down and lightly stroking her hair.

“Mmhm,” she hummed, bobbing her head.

“How many times have you done this?” I asked, running my hand through her hair.

“Um...twice, now,” she said, pausing her efforts just long enough to answer my question.

“You never did this with Dad?”

Mom’s eyes widened, but she didn’t freak out. We’d never discussed her sex life when she was awake.

“N-no,” she said, swallowing thickly. A droplet of pre-cum had formed at the end of my cock, and was starting to dribble down the side. “We...we talked about it, but he never made me do it.”

“Why not?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I thought it was disgusting,” she replied, her cheeks burning as her mouth returned to my swollen testicles.

“It is,” I said. “It’s humiliating. That’s why it’s a punishment. Especially...especially on your own son. Disgusting.”

Mom didn’t say anything in response, just shuddered. I don’t know if it was a shudder of arousal or self-loathing, and I didn’t care. Her eyes were fixated on the pre-cum slowly making its way down my shaft; she looked like a starving woman eyeing a juicy steak.

“Good girl,” I said again. “This is what you deserve.”

“Ungh!” my sister moaned, as I ordered her to get me a coke from the kitchen. “Y-yes, sir.”

It had been three days. Three long days, in which I’d told her that her rating hadn’t shifted.

Well, no. I’d told her that when she’d begged to be punished, when she’d sounded so desperate, so submissive...that had increased her rating. Past 7.5, almost to 8.

But then, when she’d taken out her tits, it had plummeted again. Now, it was lower than before.

Six point nine.

Yeah, that’s right. The sex number.

Cynthia hadn’t even noticed. The ultimate cruelty is to get someone within spitting distance of what they want, only to pull it away at the last minute, and her heart had broken all over again. My sister had been so elated to learn her new number...and then so crushed when I told her how much her score had dipped, all because of her fat, disgusting tits.

But, the kind brother that I am, I’d given her a solution: exposure therapy. If she didn’t want me to be grossed out by her toplessness, she had to help me get used to it.

Since then, more often than not, Cynthia wore nothing but panties. Possibly stockings, maybe even heels.

But nothing above her waist.

I loved it. I mean, I did what I could to hide how happy it made me, seeing my sister’s tits whenever I wanted. Out for my viewing pleasure, all day, every day.

I wasn’t the only one. Whenever Cynthia entered a room, my mother’s eyes would be drawn towards her own daughter’s tits. Like me, she tried not to show how much she enjoyed the sight of my sister’s enormous breasts. She’d change her expression to a sneer...or even better, comment on how incredibly unattractive they were.

But then, as if unable to help herself, she’d move over to her and pulled her into a kiss. I’d watch, not even bothering to hide my arousal as the two women kissed, as Mom stroked Cynthia’s tits, rubbed her daughter between her legs, groped her ass, did all she could to turn her daughter on…all the while, commenting on how repulsive she was, to make sure her daughter didn’t think she was enjoying it.

As you can imagine, a lot of my mother’s punishments suddenly involved her being naked. It was rare for more than a few hours to go by without the sight of those four huge breasts rubbing up against each other as Mom’s hands roamed around her daughter’s body.

Unfortunately, exposure therapy works both ways. Cynthia had started to be less bothered by us disparaging her body, calling out how unattractive she was.

And so I’d had to escalate.

The previous night, I’d told Cynthia that prostrating herself in front of me had been so effective, she needed to turn that up. She needed to do more than beg me, to show me how submissive she was—my sister needed to demonstrate how turned on she was by her own submissiveness.

How turned on she was by me ordering her around.

Like I said, she was desperate. My sister would have done anything to get my attention, to make me want her.

“Oh, god, I’m such a slut,” I heard her whimper as she left the room. “I’m such a dirty, nasty whore.”

She impressed me by crawling back into the room. I watched her move across the floor, her bare tits dragging across the carpet. Even as she crawled, she was moaning.

“I’m such a dumb slut,” she whispered. “I’m so dumb. Fugly. I’m a dumb, fucking ugly slut.”

I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. “Thanks,” I said casually, opening the drink and taking a sip. Cynthia let out a long, loud moan at my simple acknowledgement.

I watched her rub her thighs together, her hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. If she was trying to hide her arousal, she was failing.

“I’m so fat,” she whimpered. “I’m such a dumb, ugly bitch.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You are.”

“I’m hideous,” she said, her entire body shuddering. I’d ordered her to keep sharing her greatest fears, to express them out loud in the hope that I’d say that they weren’t true.

I never would, of course. But that tiny flicker of hope…it was so hot to snuff it out, again and again.

“I’m disgusting,” she continued.

“You’re disgusting,” I agreed.

“I’m such a fat waste of space.”

“You’re worthless,” I added.

“Worthless,” she moaned. “Oh, god...”

Neither of us said anything as Cynthia trembled, looking up at me with watery eyes, right on the edge of an orgasm.

She was almost always on the edge of orgasm, of course. But moreso than usual when I joined in, tearing her apart as cruelly as possible.

“Your body’s disgusting,” I said, echoing our mother’s words from earlier that day. She’d come into Cynthia’s bedroom—I hadn’t been there, but I’d had her tell me about it later—and had spent a few minutes laying into my sister, completely unprovoked. “Your breasts are too big, your ass is too big, your tummy is too big, and your body is disgusting. You’re a fat pig. A slut. And no one will ever want you.”

My mother had left, but I knew that my sister had been left writhing on her bed in arousal, as soaked as she was now. Her psyche was a mess—the words were playing into her worst nightmares, but my efforts had ensured that they also fueled her arousal.

She got turned on by our mother’s cruelty. She got wet at the idea of being fat, ugly, and worthless. She got turned on by the knowledge that she was a slut.

And best of all, she couldn’t cum. All she could do was get more and more worked up, without release.

“My…my body is disgusting,” my sister groaned. “Fuck! I’m…I’m…”

“Now get out of here,” I ordered, my cock throbbing at the sight of my sister’s ass swaying as she crawled out of the room. “Go tell Mom it’s time to suck my balls.”