The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cynthia had shown a rare spark of resistance when I’d ordered her to suggest Mom blow me as a punishment.

Even in her broken state, knowing that she’d never be attractive to her brother, that her submissiveness wasn’t enough to counteract her body...she had still wanted to hold onto the one sexual advantage she had. Our one unique connection.

Even though I (in her mind) felt completely conflicted about it, for up to an hour a day she got to feel my cock in her mouth. Cynthia got to swallow my cum, know that her brother was using her body—grotesque though it was—for his pleasure.

Getting to serve what she now saw as her sole purpose in life.

But when I’d told her what the conditions were, that I needed someone who was always around, always naked and ready to serve her brother, there was only one option.

Mom.

Amusingly, my sister hadn’t seen the incest as a potential problem. No, she was so far down the taboo rabbithole; she saw incest as not only a turn-on, but the turn-on.

Besides, I’d made it over clear over the past week that what I found repulsive was the way that she was turned on by giving me head. When Mom did it, it would be a punishment. She wouldn’t be getting any enjoyment out of it.

It was the perfect solution. Cynthia knew that Mom being forced to give me head would appeal to my sadistic tendencies, and I’d told her that I needed a replacement. Someone superior. And, in my sister’s eyes, Mom had a better body than her.

Hell, as far as Cynthia was concerned, everyone had a better body than her.

In reality, Cynthia was probably the hottest person on the planet. Whenever I fucked her—long, slow strokes, enjoying every moment of my cock sliding inside her—I couldn’t help but again admire how incredibly sexy my sister’s body was. The way she looked so helpless when I fucked her. The way her huge breasts jiggled. Her ass, so round yet so firm. Her stomach, flat and toned as the result of the endless workouts I’d had her do.

I could fuck her forever.

Could, and would.

It hadn’t taken long to overcome my sister’s resistance. I don’t think there’s anything my sister wouldn’t do, if I ordered her to. Just for the opportunity to obey me. For the minuscule chance that I’d find her utter devotion even a tiny bit attractive.

She’d do anything.

Before waking her up, I had two more instructions for her.

“Your brother doesn’t like what a pervert you are,” I lied. In truth, it was one of my favorite things about Cynthia.

I’d turned her into a deviant. Just like me. Sure, I liked it because I’d created it in her, but wasn’t that the moral of that old Greek tale? Make the thing you love, so you can finally have exactly what you want?

“If you want even the slimmest of chances of winning him back,” I advised, “there’s one thing you can do.”

“What?”

I smiled at the undercurrent of desperation in my sister’s voice.

“Don’t cum,” I told her. “Whenever you’re with your family—your brother, your mother—don’t cum. If he sees that, he’ll think worse of you.”

“I won’t,” my sister solemnly swore, shivering at the thought. “I promise.”

“To motivate you,” I continued, “you need to start thinking about something else when you edge.”

Cynthia didn’t say anything, just waited for me to tell her what. I didn’t just control her actions, her behavior—I now controlled her very thoughts.

And if I told her to think about it as she played with herself for hours a day, I knew a Pavlovian response would result.

Whatever my sister thought about it when she was turned on, when she brought herself to the brink of orgasm again and again...soon, that would be what turned her on for real.

“You need to think about your brother rejecting you,” I instructed. “You need to imagine him turning you down for head, for sex. It’ll remind you of what you want to avoid. Think about how disgusting he finds your body, your perversion. Everything about you.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Cynthia replied, letting her breath out in a long sob.

Mom gasped at Cynthia’s suggestion, turning to me to see if I was going to veto it.

“That’s a good idea,” I nodded, lowering my pants. I was already hard, and both women’s eyes zeroed in on my erection as it came into view.

“N-no,” Mom gasped. “No, Daniel, we...we can’t.”

“Come here,” I ordered, and even as Mom continued verbally objecting to her daughter’s suggestion, she took a step towards me. I reached out, grabbing a firm handful of her hair, and slowly forced her to her knees.

“You can’t do this,” she pleaded, staring at my cock with wide eyes. “Don’t make me...please...”

“It’s the perfect punishment,” I said in a soft voice. “The utter humiliation. A mother, being used by her son for his pleasure. Don’t you think?”

“No...no...” she sobbed, and I turned to my sister, shooting her a half-smile—the kindest look I’d given her in weeks.

“What do you think, sis?”

“You have to,” she replied, staring straight at my erection. Her voice was dull. Hollow.

She knew that she had to do this, and why...but she also knew that it would mean the end of me going to her for my release.

“Please,” Mom begged, tears welling in her eyes. “Daniel. Don’t...don’t make me do this.”

“It’s what you deserve,” I reminded her sternly. “This is what happens when you don’t follow orders.”

I tugged on Mom’s hair to pull her closer, until her face was right next to my cock. She gave one last attempt to talk me out of it.

“Anything else,” she begged. “I’ll do anything! I’ll wash the outdoor windows naked, I’ll...I’ll use my hands on you. Just please don’t make me suck your...your...”

“Suck my cock,” I ordered. “That’s an order.”

Mom opened her mouth to object, and I used the opportunity to slip my cockhead between her lips. As her mouth closed on my erection, her tongue instinctively came out to touch it—just as she ‘accidentally’ had so many times in the past, when sucking my balls.

As soon as it did, her resistance faded, and a look of hunger appeared on her face.

Mom’s tongue was soft, almost deferential, as she ran it along the underside of my shaft. Her eyes looked up at me as I savored the sensation of her warm, wet mouth. She licked around my head, taking more of it into her mouth each time, until she was sucking on more than half my erection.

Her tongue was warm and gentle, and Mom moaned approvingly as my dick slid between her lips. Her eyes flicked to my sister, and I knew that she was concerned about doing this in front of her daughter, but neither of them said anything as Mom continued moving her head back and forth, massaging the underside of my cock teasingly.

I, too, glanced over to Cynthia. She had that same look of heartbreak on her face. She was watching her competitor—her mother—suck off the man of her dreams.

The cock of her dreams.

Mom glanced up at me to see if I was okay, and then took a deep breath, her throat muscles clenching around my girth. I knew she’d done this for Dad before—a hundred times, if not more—though not for decades. If she was out of practice, it didn’t show; her mouth moved forward, engulfing my cock fully as it slid into her throat.

She could’ve been a professional.

I moaned in approval, aware that the sound would crush Cynthia’s spirits. Not only was she watching her rival give me head, it was obvious that I was enjoying Mom’s efforts more than I’d ever appeared to enjoy hers.

My mother’s mouth was hot, and her tongue swirled against my length as her lips pressed firmly together on my shaft. Her cheeks hollowed out as she unsuccessfully tried to take more of my cock inside her mouth. I grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her to keep moving her head up and down.

“Mmm,” I groaned, looking down at my mother’s mouth, happily wrapped around my cock. It was obvious how much she was enjoying our incestuous act. “God, Mom, you’re so good at this...”

I don’t know if it was the compliment or the reminder that I was her son, that what we were doing was completely against nature, but Mom’s blush deepened. Her eyes glazed over as she bobbed her head up and down, swallowing my entire cock with ease.

I knew I was going to cum soon—Mom’s skill meant there was no way that I could hold back—but I still had more to say.

“Fuuuuck,” I growled, squeezing a handful of her hair. “This is the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten.”

My sister squeaked in a combination of agony and arousal. Mom and I both ignored it—if Mom even noticed in the first place.

“I could do this all night,” I continued, my fingers digging into her scalp. “Your mouth really is made for cock, isn’t it?”

The words could be interpreted as a compliment or a taunt, and I didn’t much care which way Mom read them.

“You’re so fucking good at this. I think...I think your punishment needs to be more than just this one time, don’t you?”

Mom’s eyes widened, but she didn’t stop. She kept gulping down my cock as fast as she could, as if the sooner she swallowed every single drop of semen from my cock, the sooner the punishment would be over.

“A week,” I said with a gasp, as Mom’s tongue hit a particularly sensitive part of my cock and made me groan. “One blowjob, each day for a week.”

My sister and Mom both reacted at once; one with horror, one with lust, and I truly couldn’t tell you which was which. After a moment, Mom (reluctantly) pulled my member from her mouth.

“Daniel” she gasped. “We...we can’t do that. It isn’t right.”

“Sounds like the perfect punishment then,” I smiled, pulling Mom’s head onto my throbbing member. “Sounds like it’ll be humiliating, and you’ll hate it. Maybe then you’ll learn not to slack off on your workouts.“

Of course, my mother had done the opposite of slack off. It was truly impressive how many of her near-impossible workouts she’d completed; she was easily in the best shape of her life. My sister, too.

But as soon as my cock was back in Mom’s mouth, it was like she forgot what we were talking about and pushed herself to take me deeper—until my balls were pressed against her chin, and she’d swallowed my cock down to the hilt.

“You’re perfect,” I breathed, as Mom sucked me off, my hand gripping a handful of her hair. “So, so perfect...”

We continued in silence—me grasping Mom’s hair and forcing her lips and down my cock, Mom working her magic lips on my dick, and Cynthia watching in the mixture of horror and lust that had become her life. I could have kept going like that all day, but everything must come to an end, so eventually I tapped her head.

“God,” I groaned. “I’m gonna...gonna cum...”

Cynthia’s face was a mask of pain, but her thighs were rubbing together like a cricket’s legs. Mom looked like she was lost in lust, her entire being focused on making her son finish as powerfully as possible.

“I’m gonna...cum,” I repeated, before exploding in Mom’s throat, spurting stream after stream of hot semen into her mouth. She didn’t let any of it go, milking me dry as I came down from my high. When I was done, she let me slip out of her mouth, her tongue running across my cock to clean off the last of my spunk.

I slumped back onto the couch, my breathing heavy, a huge grin on my face. Unlike the blowjobs I’d gotten from Cynthia, I didn’t suddenly become a different person, angry and guilty.

Instead, I reach out and rested my hand on Mom’s chin, still kneeling in front of me.

“That was amazing,” I murmured lovingly. “Thank you.”

“Th-thank you,” she stammered back, and I gently pulled her towards me for the aftercare I knew she’d need.

“I love you,” I said softly. Mom sat on my lap, her naked form against me as I stroked her hair and reiterated what a great job she’d done. She cuddled up against me, appreciating the tenderness.

I’d done this before, of course. When I pushed Mom to hard, she often needed something just like this. But that wasn’t why I was being so kind, so gentle.

No, it was for my sister. Cynthia, standing to the side, observing what she’d never had—what I’d never let her have. Care. Affection. A loving relationship between family members. Sex, followed by something other than rejection.

I complimented Mom’s skills at giving head, her body, even how she felt on my lap, before offering her a reward as thanks.

“Y-yes please,” she gasped, and I smiled as I pulled her over my lap to spank her to orgasm.

It was only two blows before she was cumming, her entire body clenching and squrming as she did. Again, I pulled her up for a naked cuddle, telling her what a good job she’d done, what a good girl she was, and how proud I was of what she’d done that night.

Mom and Cynthia both cried at my words that night, each of them for a different reason.

Every day that week, I got head from my mother. But unlike most punishments, we didn’t save it until the end of the day.

Mom could be doing anything—cooking, cleaning, working out, making out with my sister—when I’d grab her hair and pull her to her knees.

The first time, she was wearing clothes (a rarity these days), about to go out. She’d just gotten into the car when I entered the garage, opened the car door, and pulled her head to my exposed erection.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked, looking up at me in confusion.

“It’s your punishment,” I said sternly. “Once a day, remember?”

“Y-yes, but...”

“I decide when. I decide where. And I’m deciding now.”

Mom looked like she wanted to object further, but her focus was entirely on my cock, and I felt like she was looking for reasons to say yes.

I decided to skip the argument entirely, pulling her mouth forward until my head was slipping between her lips. She was dressed in a sundress; something that she never would’ve worn before I started hypnotizing her. It was a short dress, too, revealing her toned legs...and more than a little cleavage.

Don’t get me wrong, my favorite of Mom’s outfits was the ‘nothing’ I almost-constantly had her wear around the house, but the dress was pretty hot as well.

“Good girl,” I said softly as Mom’s hands moved up to assist her mouth. Five minutes later, she was swallowing down my cum.

I smiled as she pulled out, knowing that the taste of her son’s seed would be in her mouth for the entirety of her grocery run.

Cynthia, meanwhile, was getting more and more wild-eyed as the week went on. It had been so long since she’d cum, and she didn’t even have the catharsis of getting me off any more. She was edging for two, three, four hours a day, but never cumming.

I wasn’t even putting her under—it was tempting, since I was only cumming once a day inside Mom’s mouth (boo hoo, I know), but I wanted my sister getting as worked up as possible. Especially since she was thinking about me rejecting her whenever she edged. For hours a day, her mind replaying (or inventing) scenarios where she approached me for sex and I refused.

The only relief my sister was finding (or, at least, the closest thing to it) was that I was punishing her again. While she’d been sucking my cock, she’d been too afraid to approach me for punishment. Since that had dried up, she’d once more started coming to me once every few days and telling me that she’d made some mistake.

My reply was always the same. Several minutes of telling her how utterly worthless she was, what a stupid bimbo whore my sister was, how pathetic she was for even thinking it was worth it for me to punish someone as incompetent as her.

She’d cry, beg me to discipline her, promise to do better, and inevitably I’d agree. As the week went on, I noticed my rejection causing more and more of a flush in her cheeks.

Apparently Cynthia was starting to be turned on by me denying her anything.

The punishments my sister endured that week were the most extreme I’d given. Now that she wasn’t wearing panties, no part of her was off-limits.

One time, I put clamps on her pussy-lips, and another on her clit. As the clamp closed onto her most sensitive body part, for a moment I thought she was going to cum...but then her eyes widened in pain, and I knew that she wasn’t going to disobey me that day. My sister hates pain almost as much as I love seeing her in pain.

I left her in the clamps for hours. When I removed them, she gasped in agony as the blood returned.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” I said...and perhaps it was, because she didn’t come back for another punishment for several days.

The next time, I put some of the recent research I’d done to use, and put ten milliamps of electrity through each of her nipples.

Cynthia doesn’t normally cry out in pain, no matter what the punishment, but that one had her screaming. My sister isn’t a masochist, and so I knew that she was truly getting no enjoyment out of her punishments...except the pleasure she got from turning me on, of course.

And believe me, she was turning me on. After electrically shocking her cunt, I got so worked up that I had to go and demand Mom’s blowjob straight away, cumming less than a minute later down Mom’s talented throat.

It almost felt like a waste of a blowjob, to be honest, but I knew that there were plenty more where that one had come from...

Cynthia’s last punishment that week, however, was the coup de grace. It hadn’t been easy (to install OR research), but I’d managed to work out how to tie her up and clamp her so that she could be completely suspended from my bedroom ceiling by just her nipples and cunt.

Only for a few minutes, but still. The look of terror in her eyes when I explained what was going to do, the pain and fear as I got her into position, tied her up and clamped her.

And the look of pure adrenaline when, shortly after starting her ‘punishment’, I’d released her. It felt like even if I’d put her under, she would’ve done a dozen cartwheels if commanded.

It was all I could do not to put her under and fuck her until we were both screaming in pleasure.

I think all of us sensed the tension in the air as we approached the one-week mark of Mom’s blowjob punishment. Cynthia, practically giddy at the idea that she might get to return to blowjob duties. Mom, simultaneously relieved and horrified that she wouldn’t be blowing her son any longer.

And me, knowing what was coming next.

The final day of the punishment, of course, I’d set mother another impossible workout. She’d worked so hard at this one I was worried she was going to strain herself...but when night fell, Mom had returned home, morose.

“I failed again,” she sighed, and I shook my head in disappointment. Cynthia’s shoulders slumped at Mom’s words. She’d been rooting for her mother to succeed, so that she could return to the best period of her life. The almost two weeks when her brother had taken her mouth whenever he pleased.

“Oh, Mom,” I said, disappointed. “You know what that means.”

“I know,” Mom sighed, avoiding eye-contact. “Another week of...of...”

Even when she’d been begging for me to stop, Mom hadn’t been able to say the words.

“No,” I said, surprising both the women in the room. I had a thoughtful look on my face. “No,” I repeated. “That obviously wasn’t working.”

“Oh,” Mom replied carefully, trying not to give anything away on her face. “So you mean I won’t...I won’t...”

“No,” I replied. “No, if it isn’t working as a punishment, that clearly means you’re enjoying it. We’ll make it a reward, instead—any day that you don’t break your diet, I can take your mouth. As well as your usual rewards.”

Mom’s eyes shot up, but she didn’t say anything. Her daughter didn’t show as much self-restraint, letting a shocked sob leave her mouth.

“As for your punishment,” I continued, as though Cynthia hadn’t made a sound. “Oh, I know!”

“W-what?” Mom asked, and I gestured to Cynthia, sitting naked and barefoot at the kitchen table.

Mom looked at my sister, then back at me, puzzled.

“The issue is that you’re straight,” I explained calmly. “That’s why you hate making out with Cynthia so much.”

“Uh huh,” Mom agreed immediately, a red blush appearing on her face.

“So going down on your son isn’t a punishment. You like doing it.”

Mom didn’t say anything. She and Cynthia were both staring at me, hanging on my every word.

“Going down on your daughter, however...”

Both the women gasped.

“B-but...”

I held up my hand, and Mom fell silent.

“No buts,” I said firmly. “This is your punishment, and you will obey. For the next week, you have to go down on Cynthia once a day, until she cums.”

Mom’s response was perfect. She didn’t fight it, she didn’t object to the very premise of going down on her daughter as a punishment (I mean, how could she, after what we’d just spent the last week doing?).

Instead, she simply asked a clarifying question.

“And...if she doesn’t?”

I raised one eyebrow in response. “Well,” I said slowly. “You’d better make sure that she does.”