The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Daniel?”

My eyes widened at the sound of my name being called from across the diner. I turned to see CJ, a boy I’d gone to elementary school with. I hadn’t seen him in years.

What a time to run into an old friend.

My mother’s cheeks reddened. She clearly remembered him from my childhood; he’d visited our house many times. I could practically hear her thoughts, feel the heat emanating from her face.

The last time she’d seen him, Mom had been forty pounds heavier, and dressed...well, like a Mom.

Now, she was sitting in a diner without underwear, her daughter in a similar state of undress.

She looked like a slut.

They both did, their perfect bodies on display to anyone who wanted to look.

“Long time no see,” I said, standing up and slapping my old friend on the back. CJ’s eyes almost fell out of his head at the sight of my sister and my mother, who were both staring intently at the menu like it contained the secrets to the universe.

My former friend frowned for a brief second, looking confused, before a smile spread across his face.

“Dude,” he said conspiratorially. “Is...that Cynthia? And your mother?“

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound as casual as I possibly could. Like they weren’t dressed like whores.

“Holy shit,” CJ said, his voice laced with astonishment. “They’re...”

He glanced at me, but I kept a straight face.

“Your Mom’s a MILF.”

“Dude,” I replied, doing all I could to act offended. “That’s my mom.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at them in awe. Cynthia braved a look up from the diner’s menu, meeting his gaze briefly, before turning away. “Hey, is your sister seeing anyone?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, and CJ’s face fell.

“Damn,” he said wistfully. “God, what I wouldn’t give to live with a pair of hotties like that.”

I smiled inwardly, but again shot him a look.

“C’mon, man,” I said, a slight whine in my voice. I’m no actor, but I knew I had to sell this. “Not cool.”

“Sorry, man,” CJ sighed. “I just...damn.“

I patted him on the shoulder, and squeezed back into the booth beside my sister. As soon as CJ was out of sight, my hand slipped between her thighs. Her short skirt gave me easy access to her pussy, which was dripping from the humiliation that she’d just experienced...and, of course, from her brother’s touch.

The look of embarrassment on my sister’s face was matched only by the pain in my mother’s eyes. I stared at her as I fingered Cynthia, as my sister did all she could to avoid reacting to my touch.

Mom knew exactly what we were doing. And she knew why we were doing it.

The first time my mother failed, I was there to watch it.

Not for the whole thing. It took almost a full day, after all. Hours and hours of Mom’s face buried between my sister’s thighs, licking and sucking on Cynthia’s clit like her life depended on it.

Knowing that if she didn’t pleasure her daughter, she’d be punished.

They were both naked. No, actually—Mom was wearing a pair of heels. I don’t even know why, to be honest. Perhaps it was a stray command I’d forgotten about, or maybe Mom just liked heels.

My house had turned into such a whirlwind of lust, fetish layered upon fetish. My sister, getting off from me getting off from her pain. My mother, hiding her lust for Cynthia by insulting her body...which, in turn, worked my sister up more than complimenting her would have.

Both women were mindlessly obeying months of commands, orders I’d implanted deep into their subconscious, a long series of imperatives, molding them into my ultimate sexual fantasies.

It was quite a sight. Mom was kneeling over Cynthia’s bed, her ass facing me as she sucked her daughter’s clit. I could see her pink pussy lips through her furry bush, her ass bright red from the abuse she’d endured earlier that morning. After she’d sucked my cock, I’d ‘rewarded’ her with a bonus spanking.

It was normally something we saved for the evening, but all routines had gone out the window. Now, I used my mother’s mouth for my pleasure whenever I wanted, and she never resisted when I pulled her across my lap and paddled her ass until she was screaming in orgasm.

Cynthia’s head was thrown back as Mom pleasured her, her tits shaking as she did all she could to resist. I’d never seen anything like it; Mom had been going down on her for almost three hours, starting from the moment she’d shakily left the kitchen that morning, her entire body flushed with pleasure.

I’d been tempted to call her back, have her kneel in front of me and suck my balls until I was ready to unload in her mouth again, but instead I let her go.

I was curious. Could Cynthia hold out?

Historically, my sister hasn’t had the greatest self-control. Despite her best efforts, she climaxes even when directly ordered not to. As Mom had fingered her, as I’d fucked her, even when masturbating. But today, she was determined not to break.

She’d do anything to increase the chances of me being attracted to her. Even if it meant resisting our mother’s extremely talented mouth.

And so after an hour, I’d wandered into my sister’s room, to find Mom doing all she could to make her daughter cum. Both women were coated in sweat; the room was filled with the smell of Cynthia’s arousal, mixed with my mother’s.

But the fact that Mom was still going told me...my sister hadn’t cum.

I probably could have made it happen. If I’d pulled out my dick and started playing with myself, or—as I had just a few days earlier—made Mom suck me off, then go straight back to going down on Cynthia, I doubt my sister could have held out.

But I didn’t. I wanted to see if Mom could make her daughter cum without my help.

Again.

My mother’s eyes were bloodshot, frantically looking up at Cynthia as she gripped her thighs tightly, holding her legs open. Her tongue was swirling around her daughter’s sensitive nub, her lips sucking and nibbling. Cynthia was trembling as she put all her efforts into resisting, but...it looked like she was doing it.

It looked like my sister was winning.

After fifteen minutes of the greatest show on earth, I got up and left the two naked women. Another hour passed, and my curiosity got the better of me once more. When I came back into the bedroom, their positions had changed—Mom was sitting on Cynthia’s bed, legs spread, while her daughter leaned against her. One of Mom’s hands was grabbing my sister’s huge tits, the other between her legs.

She was whispering into Cynthia’s ears, but loudly enough that I didn’t need to get any closer to hear what she was saying.

“You’re a worthless cunt,” Mom whispered. Cynthia’s eyes were closed, her body quaking as her mother’s words dripped directly into her brain. “You’re nothing but a whore. You’re a stupid little bitch, aren’t you?”

“Mmmmmmmphh,” Cynthia moaned, her face contorted with pleasure as Mom’s fingers caressed her clit.

I smiled at the sight. I hadn’t realized that Mom had noticed her daughter’s reaction to her abuse. She’d never acknowledged it in any way, but after hours and hours of trying to make Cynthia cum...

Desperate times and all that.

“You can’t keep your pussy shut, can you? I can feel how wet you are. How desperate you are for my fingers. Your fat cunt needs me to fuck it, doesn’t it?”

“Mmmm,” Cynthia whimpered, her eyes screwed tight. It was clearly taking everything she had not to give in, not to cum at the sound of Mom’s cruel words, tapping into her greatest insecurities.

“Say it, slut,” Mom said, her fingers giving Cynthia’s clitoris some relief, curling inside her instead. Even across the room, I could hear how wet she was.

“I...I need it, mama,” Cynthia moaned. My cock twitched at the look of disgust on Mom’s face. It was clear that she hated every part of this. She hated touching her daughter, she hated talking to her like that...but most of all, she hated any reminder that she was touching her daughter.

But she knew what would befall her if she didn’t get Cynthia off.

Desperate measures.

“You’re disgusting,” Mom hissed. “All your friends are better than you. Everyone in your life is better than you. I wish I had another daughter, just so I could get replace you. Disown you. If I had another daughter, I’d kick you out of the house just to make sure you never see my son again.”

Cynthia’s body was thrashing beneath Mom’s hands, the same way she always did when Mom forced her to cum, and for a moment, I thought Mom had done it.

But just as she was about to cum, Cynthia opened her eyes and saw me standing there, watching them. And at the sight of her brother—her obsession—a look of calm determination appeared on her face.

Her shaking subsided. She didn’t cum. And in that moment, I knew that she wouldn’t.

Cynthia had found her zen. Her self-control. She knew how important it was that she resist Mom’s attempts to get her off.

Mom wasn’t going to be able to get her off.

I shot my sister a half-smile—she shivered at the sight—and slipped out of her room again.

I had to prepare.

Almost ninety minutes later, Mom slinked into my bedroom. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so scared.

“I...I couldn’t do it,” she confessed, her voice trembling.

“Do what?” I asked, as though I hadn’t walked in on her trying. Twice.

As though I hadn’t spent the last hour and a half hard as a rock, imagining what was happening downstairs.

“I couldn’t make...couldn’t make your sister...”

Mom trailed off, finally finishing the sentence with a mumble.

“...finish.”

I shook my head slowly. Clearly Mom had realized, just as I had, that Cynthia wasn’t going to cum. That it was a hopeless cause.

“Mom,” I said, my voice dripping with disappointment. “You really couldn’t do it?”

My mother didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring at the floor. I sighed and turned away from her, walking towards my closet.

When I turned around, I had a new tool in my hand.

A flogger.

I’d ordered it a week earlier, and been looking for the right moment to use it. I mean, sure, I could’ve come up with any excuse to pull it out, but I’d wanted it to be special.

I guess I’m just a romantic at heart.

Mom shivered at the sight of it, a full-body pulse. My mother is a true pain slut—as I took a step towards her, she groaned with anticipation and began bending over.

I held up one finger, and Mom froze in place. The sight of her naked body, awkwardly posed in obedience to my unspoken command...god I loved my mother.

I mean, everyone loves their mother. But not, in most cases, like this.

“Not your ass,” I said softly, fingering the whip. “Your tits.”

Mom froze. I’d spanked her tits with my hand before, and of course I’d tied them up a thousand times, but I’d never done anything like this. “D-Daniel,” she began, but I raised one eyebrow and she fell silent.

I had complete control of her. She’d do almost anything to avoid displeasing me.

“Wear these,” I ordered, pulling a pair of nipple clamps out of my dresser drawer.

“P-please, Daniel,” Mom stammered, but when I pressed them into her hands, she moved them to her breasts and quickly attached them.

They were tight enough to cause some pain, and I felt a small surge of power at the look on Mom’s face.

“Kneel,” I ordered, and Mom immediately obeyed.

I took two steps forward, my cock bulging as it rubbed against my pants. I took the whip, and let it rest along my forearm, its weight heavy in my hand.

I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the room wash over me. It was so quiet in the house. So peaceful.

And then I brought it down.

The first blow struck Mom’s right tit, and she yelped. Her expression was priceless; her cheeks burning, her lip quivering, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried desperately to hold back her tears.

I gave her a moment to compose herself, before bringing the lash down again. This time I hit her left breast, and she impressed me, not making a sound as the whip slashed across her tender flesh.

Again I waited, savoring the tension. After a few moments, I brought it down again; a harder strike this time, and she cried out.

“D-Daniel,” she pleaded.

I reached forward and slapped her face, hard. “You deserve this,” I reminded her. She stared at me with watery eyes, before nodding.

“Yes,” she gasped. “I deserve this.”

I brought the flogger down again, hitting her right tit with a loud crack, causing her to gasp. And then I repeated the process: left, right, left, right. Over and over again, each blow stronger than the last.

Mom was sobbing now, her body wracked with tears, her face twisting in agony as I whipped away. I could feel my cock throbbing in my pants as I swung the whip. Every strike was met with a gasp of pain from my mother’s lips.

The whip was a blur in my hands, and I couldn’t believe how quickly I could bring it down. I was losing count of how many I’d landed by the time I ran out of energy, my arm starting to burn.

“Cum for me,” I ordered, my voice thick with lust as I struck my mother’s tits.

“W-what?” she gasped, her whole body shaking.

“Cum for me,” I repeated, my voice rough as I reached down and pulled her hair, forcing her eyes to mine. She stared at me, confused, in pain...but, I knew, deeply aroused. Dropping the whip, I slapped her tender tits with my other hand; sharp, quick strikes, that I knew would sting her sensitive flesh.

“Cum for me,” I said a third time, tightening my grip on my mother’s hair. Her tits were a bright red, and as I tugged on the nipple clamps, the intense pain and my direct order was enough: her orgasm washed over her, and I watched her pussy twitch, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she came, climaxing without either of us touching her clit.

I let go of her hair and stepped back, breathing heavily.

Mom collapsed onto the bed, panting, her body twitching as she recovered from her orgasm. For a long moment, there was silence. When she finally regained her composure, Mom looked at me, her expression wobbly. “D-Daniel,” she stuttered. “Why?”

I didn’t answer, just smiled a cruel smile as I lowered my pants. Mom didn’t ask any more questions; I reached out, grabbed her hair, and guided her mouth down to my cock.

“Your brother was impressed,” I told my hypnotized sister, and she shivered with pleasure. It was hard not to enjoy the sight, the way her tits jiggled and shook as the arousal coursed through her body.

I was sitting on her bed, the same bed that Mom had spent so long trying—and failing—to make her cum for the past two days.

After her failed attempt the previous day, Mom had tried something new. She’d found a toy, used it to fuck my sister, whispering dirty talk into her ear as the dildo squelched in and out of Cynthia’s sopping wet pussy.

But again, Cynthia had held out. Perhaps Mom’s efforts had made her hit a point of saturation…but something told me that my sister had, at last, mastered the art of controlling her orgasm.

Cynthia’s cunt had been dildo-fucked her for hours, Mom’s arm getting as sore as mine had while flogging her tits the night before. But though my sister had squirmed and moaned and writhed with pleasure...she hadn’t cum.

“You didn’t cum,” I commended her. “You made Daniel think of you as more than just a disgusting pervert.”

“Yesss!” Cynthia hissed, her voice high with excitement.

“Your score didn’t rise,” I said, smiling at the subtle sight of my sister deflating. “But...it didn’t lower, either. And I think I know what you need to do next.”

“What?” she asked, desperate. “What can I do?”

I reached out and turned my sister’s face to mine, until my eyes were burning into her glazed gaze. “You have to offer to fuck him.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened, a subtle movement, but one that I was watching closely for.

“W-what? How...how will that work?”

“You tried blowing him,” I reminded her. “But that only lowered your score, because you were so bad at it.”

False. I mean, yes, my mother was better at giving head than Cynthia was, but she had experience. My sister’s mouth had still been incredible, especially for a novice. Even as Mom sucked me off twice a day (if not more), it was often Cynthia’s mouth that I imagined.

I know, I know. Getting a blowjob from my mother was a wet dream...but my sister was a goddess.

A goddess with the self-esteem of a goblin.

“You’re no good at sucking cock,” I lied, my voice soft. “But...even someone as disgusting as you can’t fuck up sex.”

Cynthia shuddered.

“Your brother has almost no respect for you. He thinks you’re a total waste of space. But...he’s a virgin.” I mean, sort of true. If you discount fucking your unconscious sister, I was.

“All you need to do is get wet”—for my sister, not a challenge—“and let him stick it in you. No matter what he thinks of the rest of your body, he’ll definitely enjoy that.“

Again, a shudder. My sister thought about me rejecting her every time she edged. She thought about how disgusting, how repulsive I—and everyone—found her.

So being insulted by me was the hottest thing she could imagine.

“He doesn’t want to fuck you,” I said casually, once more enjoying the combination of dismay and arousal on my sister’s face. “He probably still finds the idea disgusting. But he’s a teenage boy, and you’ve got a pussy. If you can convince him to use you, maybe he’ll forget about the rest of you. Maybe he’ll think of you as nothing more than a wet hole that he can stick his dick into.”

My sister groaned with pleasure at the idea.

Six months earlier, she never would have even thought of me in a sexual light. Now, Cynthia was practically howling like a minx at the idea of me using her like a fleshlight.

“Think about how much pleasure your brother would feel if he could fuck you.”

Moan.

“Think about how much pleasure his cock would get, just from sliding inside you. Think about how much your pussy would love to have a dick in it. His dick. Think about all the ways you can please him, even though he thinks you’re disgusting.”

My sister was practically writhing at my words.

She’d do anything I told her to. Anything.

“You’re going to fuck your brother,” I said firmly. “You’re going to let him use you. You’re going to give him your wet cunt, even though everyone knows how disgusting it is. How disgusting you are. And when he’s finished fucking you, you’re going to thank him for it. Thank him for sticking his cock inside you. Because you know it’s all you’re good for. It’s why you exist.“

“Yesss...” Cynthia moaned, and I was tempted to pull my cock out and fuck her right then and there.

But I didn’t. I knew that there were greater rewards ahead.

Cynthia didn’t make a move that night. Mom was now so desperate to make her daughter cum, I suspected it was starting to consume her mind. She knew that if she didn’t, my punishments would escalate—after the second time she’d failed to make Cynthia cum, I’d given her a new kind of punishment.

I’d made her pose for me as I photographed her. That night I must have taken hundreds of photos of my mother’s naked body, her tits still swollen and red with welts from my flogger. I’d told her that if she didn’t behave, I’d send them out to everyone we knew—her boss, our neighbors, all my friends.

Mom hadn’t resisted. Her eyes had been filled with terror at the idea, but she’d obeyed my every command, striking every pose I told her to, no matter how lewd.

She knew she deserved it. She knew she deserved whatever punishment I gave her.

My mother was broken. My cock throbbed at the thought; I’d broken my mother. I’d destroyed her, and could rebuild her however I wanted.

For over an hour, I’d taken photos of my mother’s body as she held her arms behind her head, pushing her bruised tits forward. I’d taken pictures of her bent over, her ass winking at the camera. Her legs spread wide, showing her glistening pussy-lips. Her clamped nipples, practically glowing with pain.

I’d made her masturbate, taking photos as she played with herself, her fingers sliding between her dripping pussy lips. I captured endless images of her touching herself, of her fingers buried deep inside her pussy. Of her wetness leaking down her hand and dripping onto her sheets.

And then I’d taken pictures of my mother as she gave me head. She’d looked up at the camera in fear, her lips stretched around my cock as I used my phone to preserve the moment.

What we were doing was illegal. Immoral. A deviant act. And I was capturing it permanently, for the world to see. Images that would exist forever, of Mom performing incest. Of my mother, sucking her own son’s cock.

And she hadn’t resisted. Mom had just sucked my cock obediently, allowing me to photograph her as I pulled out and came onto her face.

I’d taken photos of Mom’s face, coated in my cum. I’d taken photos of the semen slowly sliding onto her tits, then ordered her to lick it off. That might have been the hottest photo of them all; Mom’s huge tits, coated in my sperm, her tongue extended, licking her own son’s seed from her skin.

Mom had done everything I ordered, even as she hated every minute of it. She’d obeyed, even as she knew my photos could ruin her life.

Then, once she’d cleaned up, she’d found my sister on the couch and begun making out with her. Mom knew that in order to avoid being punished again, she had to make Cynthia cum...and she must have thought that the best way to make that happen would be to keep her warmed up.

She didn’t go anywhere near my sister’s privates, just kissed her, stroking her bare skin. She likely would’ve had more luck if she hadn’t cleaned my cum off her skin first, but Mom had no way of knowing that. She had no idea how obsessed Cynthia was with her own brother.

At first, my sister had just enjoyed necking with our mother. Like I said, I’m pretty sure she’s bi...or perhaps her new predilection for incest was enough to override her heterosexuality.

But then, when she noticed me watching—I’d given up on being subtle about how much I enjoyed the two women making out—a wicked look had appeared on my sister’s face.

Mom’s eyes widened as Cynthia reached up and began playing with her sore breasts, but she never stopped kissing her daughter, never stopped caressing her.

My sister didn’t stop at just rubbing Mom’s tits. Soon, she was pinching, squeezing. Gently at first, then harder and harder. Mom pulled back, her eyes widening in shock at the sudden pain. But Cynthia didn’t stop. She just kept on, her fingers digging into Mom’s tits, pulling hard enough for her to yelp.

“Cynthia,” Mom said, but Cynthia used her mother’s sore tits to pull her forward and into another passionate kiss. After a moment’s reluctance, my mother started making out with her daughter once more, only stopping to gasp with pain.

On more than one occasion, I caught Cynthia glancing over at me, making sure I was enjoying what she was doing. Enjoying the pain she was causing our mother.

I didn’t even try to hide it. The woman who had raised me was now being tortured for my entertainment. And she wasn’t fighting back—she was allowing her daughter to hurt her for my satisfaction.

I watched, fascinated, as my mother writhed under Cynthia’s hands. I saw her bite her lip, and I could see the fear in her eyes. I’d seen it when I’d flogged her, too. I’d captured it a thousand times while photographing her.

This wasn’t fun for her anymore. This wasn’t exciting, or erotic. All she felt was pain, and humiliation, and fear.

It was all I could do not to pull out my cock and unload onto her face once more. Onto both of them.

Instead, I just stood there, enjoying the show.

The next day, Mom once more failed to make Cynthia cum. I think even she realized that she’d lost the battle; there was a hollow look in her eyes as she struggled to get her daughter off, pulling out all the tricks. She ate her pussy, she used her hands, a toy...in a moment of desperation, she even licked Cynthia’s asshole, sticking her tongue deep inside her daughter’s rectum, making her moan and squirm as Mom’s tongue explored her most intimate parts.

But nothing worked. Even as Mom ate out her daughter’s ass, it was clear that Cynthia wasn’t going to cum. She moaned and panted and sighed, but her orgasm was clearly not coming. No pun intended.

Finally, Mom called it quits. I was there for the end of it, as my mother turned to me and sadly shook her head. She’d been trying for almost three hours; not her longest stint, but it was obvious that she wasn’t going to get Cynthia any closer.

My sister had won. Which meant, of course, that I’d won.

Ah, who am I kidding. I would’ve won either way.

Mom slinked out of the room, and my sister took a moment to cool down. I’ve seen my sister orgasm dozens of times (maybe hundreds) so I’d been able to recognize the signs. Without her saying a word, I knew that feeling her mother’s tongue in her ass had gotten Cynthia closer than anything else Mom had tried...but still not close enough.

My sister had finally become the master of her domain. She hadn’t cum in three days. I could tell how proud of herself she was.

Proud enough, it seemed, to give her the courage to ask.

“D-Daniel,” she said, kneeling in front of me.

“Mm?” I asked, as though I didn’t know what she wanted.

She wasn’t naked. A rarity these days, but a welcome one.

I mean, don’t get me wrong—I love the sight of my sister’s bare body. I love watching her sweat as Mom tries to get her off, or as she completes one of her daily workouts. I loved the smells that filled the house, the musky odor of sex constantly filling the air—and I especially loved the way Cynthia smells when she’s turned on.

Which, of course, she constantly is.

But I also liked the variety, and as Cynthia stood in front of me, I allowed my eyes to travel up and down her body, appreciating her choice of lingerie. She was wearing garter belts and thigh highs, along with a black peephole bra.

She’d originally been wearing panties, too, but Mom had long since taken care of those.

“I wanted to ask you,” my sister began nervously. “If...if...”

“What is it?” I smiled kindly.

“I was, um, wondering if, um...”

“Mmm?” I encouraged.

“I was wondering if you...if you wanted to fuck me,” Cynthia said, the last few words coming out in a whisper.

I pretended not to have heard her. We stared at each other for a few moments, and I tilted my head to the side in confusion.

“To...to fuck me,” she repeated, louder, but just as nervously.

My eyes narrowed.

“Beg,” I ordered, my voice a growl. Cynthia shivered.

“Yes, sir,” she said softly.

Neither of us said a word as my sister got on her knees. She knelt before me and bowed her head, her hair hanging down around her face. It was pose of submission. Of obedience.

Cynthia looked up, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment, and I could see how scared she was, how vulnerable she was making herself.

“Please, Daniel,” she begged. “Fuck me. Please, fuck your sister. I...I know I won’t be any good at it. But I want to make you happy. I want to please you.”

I didn’t say anything, and my silence seemed to give her courage.

“Use me,” she pleaded. “Use my cunt. I’m...I’m wet enough, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Use my ass, if you want to.”

My cock stiffened at her words. That hadn’t been part of the brief I’d given her the previous night; she must have been inspired by where our mother’s tongue had just been.

“Just use me like the slut I am. Fuck me. I just want to bring you pleasure. It’s...it’s all I’m good for.”

I didn’t answer.

“Master,” she continued, her voice a half-sob. “I want to make you happy. I want my wet, dripping cunt to be yours. It’s here for your pleasure. For when you want to use it. To make you cum. So please, p-please fuck me.”

It was exactly the kind of speech I’d hoped she would give. My sister was saying words that I’d dreamed of hearing, that I’d fantasized about ever since I’d hit puberty.

My sister was begging for my cock, as I’d wanted her to do for years. And I knew exactly what I had to say.

“No,” I replied shortly, and my sister fell back as if I’d slapped her. “You’re not worth it.”

“W-what?” she replied.

“You’re disgusting,” I replied. Cynthia’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. Before she could recover, I continued.

“Your pussy is filthy. You’re nothing but a whore. A nasty, fat whore. I wouldn’t fuck you if it was the only way to save my life. I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

My sister let out an involuntary groan. For weeks now, she’d been edging while imagining me rejecting her, picturing this very moment—her propositioning me, and me turning her down.

It was meant to be the best moment of her life. The first time she (knowingly, at least) got to feel her brother inside her.

Instead, I was denying her. Denying her, degrading her. Telling her words that on some level, she believed to be true. The words that terrified her more than anything in the world.

I could see her soul withering and dying, even as her libido surged. Her whole world was crashing down around her, and all she could do was stare at me in horror and arousal.

“Please!” she said, her voice cracking. “P-please...”

I shook my head, leaning forward. “Never,” I spat. “You’re not worthy of me. You’re not worthy of anyone. You’re nothing but a useless whore. You deserve nothing. You disgust me, and you’ll never be good enough to make me cum. You serve no purpose; you’re not even good enough to cum. If I were you, I’d...I’d end things. I’d kill myself, knowing I have absolutely no reason to live.“

Cynthia closed her eyes, and I briefly wondered if I’d pushed her too far. But a grin spread over my face as I realized—she was cumming.

After days of abstaining, after hours of having Mom play with her, after edging at least twice a day...my sister’s self-control had crumbled alongside her dream, and just at the sound of my harsh words, her body went rigid, and she let out a long, low moan.

My words had triggered an orgasm. She’d been so close for so long, and my cruelty had pushed her over the edge.

As I watched, my sister’s hips buckled, and she came.

Cynthia was still on her knees, her legs trembling as she fought to keep from collapsing. Her nipples were rock-hard, and her breasts swelled as her orgasm swept across her body. It was incredible to watch, such an amazing display that I couldn’t help but let out a short, sharp laugh.

Pulse after pulse of pleasure coursed through her body. She was just writhing and shaking, trying to regain control of herself. She probably didn’t even realize that she was crying.

Finally, her orgasm passed, and Cynthia opened her eyes. When she did, the first thing she was was a look of pure disgust on my face (I’d been practicing in the mirror) as I stared at her and shook my head, before walking out of the room.

My sister didn’t know, but I immediately went and found Mom. Within minutes, I was cumming down her throat, memories of my sister’s orgasm running through my head as I did. She’d begged me to fuck her, and cum at my rejection.

I’d never felt as powerful as I did in that moment.

My mother’s punishments continued to escalate. That night, I flogged her tits again, raining down blows onto the welts left by the previous whipping. When I was satisfied with the results, I tied her up tightly and walked away, leaving her to stand in agony overnight. She barely slept, and when I finally untied her, she was a mess—covered in bruises, cuts, and welts. She was also trembling, and it wasn’t from the cold.

My mother had always been a proud woman, and the sight of her naked, shaking, bruised body...my cock was throbbing as I released her, and the moment she collapsed in front of me I pulled it out.

My mother’s eyes were glazed with exhaustion as I moved my cock to her mouth, but she unquestioningly opened her lips, sucking me deep as I pushed her to her knees. I fucked her face hard, and she took it, moaning and drooling all over my shaft as I buried myself in her mouth.

It was one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had; the helpless, hopeless look on my broken mother’s face, the feel of her warm mouth around my cock...it was too much. I came down her throat, filling her up with my cum as she continued to suck me off.

When I was done, I pushed her away, and she fell to the floor, sobbing.

“What have you done?” she asked weakly. “What have you done to me?”

“You deserve it,” I reminded her, staring down at her with disgust. “You did this.”

Mom didn’t say anything in response, her shoulders heaving as my words landed, hitting harder than my blows ever could. I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across my lap.

She came after the first three spanks, but I didn’t stop, striking her ass until she reached two more sobbing, quivering orgasms.

Mom failed to get Cynthia off that day, and I punished her by having Cynthia eat her out. To my delight, neither of them questioned it—Mom accepted that her punishment was having her daughter pleasure her, and Cynthia would’ve done anything for me.

Anything.

As Cynthia went down on Mom, I stood beside her, reminding both of them how disgusting they were. Cynthia, for being a little lesbian slut; Mom, for not even being able to complete the simple task of making her daughter cum.

Mom, still exhausted, cried as she climaxed, openly sobbing and clutching at her daughter’s head as her whole body shook. I’d told Cynthia to make sure that Mom came, and she did—long and loud, tears streaming down her face.

As a reward, I let her suck my balls afterwards. And just to torment Cynthia, I made her watch.

It wasn’t long before I was cumming once more, coating our mother’s face with my seed.

But even hotter than my mother’s torture was my sister’s ongoing reaction to her rejection.

It was like I’d broken her. Like I’d hurt her so badly that nothing else mattered anymore. I probably could’ve ordered her to jump off the roof and she would’ve done it.

All Cynthia wanted was to please me. All she wanted was to use her body to get me off. And I’d just told her (in no uncertain terms) that it wasn’t happening. That it would never happen.

Every time she saw me, she begged me with her eyes, hoping that maybe I’d change my mind. Maybe I’d come to my senses, realize what a worthless slut she was, and take her. Use her, for what she saw as her only purpose in life. Fuck her until I came inside her.

To add to the torture, I made sure that Cynthia was in the room whenever I used Mom’s mouth. Two, three times a day Mom would fall to her knees and blow me. I’d stare down at her lovingly, lustfully, making it clear how much I enjoyed what we were doing.

Making it clear that my sister would never have this.

But, as I’ve mentioned before, Cynthia is smart. Smarter than me, honestly. And so while I’d been enjoying how much it pained her to be rejected, her mind had been spinning—obsessing—and she came up with a plan that was...look, it was smart.

My sister came up with a plan that even I couldn’t reject.

At the end of the week, Mom’s obligation ended. She was no longer tasked with trying to get Cynthia off, probably to the relief of both of them. They were spending hours each day at it, Mom doing everything she could to make her daughter cum, Cynthia doing all she could to avoid it.

On the last day, Mom had bought a strap-on, and was making out with her daughter as she lay on top of her, fucking her, mixing up her pace: slowly, then hard and fast. A lot like how I fucked Cynthia, actually. Maybe that was how Mom liked to be fucked.

Cynthia needed to concentrate to avoid cumming, but she’d gotten pretty good at it. Despite edging for hours a day, despite Mom doing everything she could to turn her on, she still managed to avoid reaching climax.

And so when Mom gave up, pulling the toy out of my sister, I sighed.

“This punishment was a bust,” I said judgmentally. “You somehow manage to fail at being punished.”

“I’m sorry,” Mom panted, blinking back tears. She really had been giving it her all.

“So now we need to come up with something even worse,” I sighed. “Something that will really motivate you. Something that will drive you mad.”

I paused—mostly for dramatic effect—and was surprised when my sister interrupted.

“I have an idea,” she offered, and I turned to her like I’d just found a worm in my food.

“What?” I spat, and Mom glared at my sister as well. Between the daily abuse she gave her, and the frustration at being unable to make Cynthia cum, I was starting to suspect that Mom had started to resent her daughter.

“I know what will upset Mom more than anything,” Cynthia said, her voice trembling. “I think it’d be the best punishment you could possibly give her.”

“What?” I asked, genuinely intrigued. This wasn’t what I’d planned, but I couldn’t wait to hear what Cynthia had thought of. Her last suggestion had been that I cum on Mom’s face, so I had high expectations.

“Mom would truly hate it,” my sister said with a gulp. “...if she saw you and me together.”