Diet
by Pan
Chapter 6
As my Mom stared, glassy-eyed, I fished out her phone and opened her health app.
I did not like what I saw.
“Mom, you haven’t been sticking to your calorie limit.”
She didn’t say anything, just continued staring blankly. I kept scrolling.
“Jesus, Mom…what happened?”
No response.
“Oatmeal, two pieces of fruit, a salad…cake? Mom, when did you have cake?”
“For lunch.”
“Mom! You know that cake isn’t on the menu plan we put together.”
Silence.
“Mom. Answer me. Why did you have cake?”
There was a long pause before she replied. When she did, it was with in the guilty tone of a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar.
“…I was hungry.”
I threw my head back and sighed.
“Mom. You can’t have cake. Repeat it back to me.”
“I shouldn’t have cake.”
“No, you can’t have cake. Say it.”
Nothing.
I stared at the phone, then at my mother. What the hell?
At least she’d logged her transgression.
“Okay Mom, let’s go over this again. How often do you think about your weight?”
“All the time.”
“What will you do to lose it?”
“Anything.”
“You’ll do anything I tell you, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“If I tell you not to eat cake, what will you do?”
To my frustration: again, she didn’t reply.
What the hell was going on?
“Doing your chores is helping me lose weight. It burns calories. It keeps you happy.”
I smiled at my sister’s answer.
“Keeping me happy means that I’ll keep on hypnotizing you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“For you to keep on hypnotizing me, I need to keep you happy.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re stressed or unhappy, you might stop hypnotizing me. It might not be a priority any more.”
“That would be bad, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if you stop hypnotizing me, I’m going to start gaining weight.”
“You’d do anything to avoid that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’d do anything to avoid making you unhappy. I’d do anything to avoid having you stop hypnotizing me.”
“Good girl.”
I loved watching my sister’s breathing as she lay down in front of me, braless, wearing a tank top and tiny shorts.
I loved watching everything about my sister while she was under hypnosis.
I loved pretty much everything about watching my sister.
“How often do you masturbate?”
“Every day.”
“What do you think about while you do?”
“How fat I am. How unattractive. How much I want to lose weight.”
“Keeping me happy is key to losing weight, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“How long does it take you to get off?”
“Twenty to thirty minutes.”
“That’s a long time, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You want to keep your brother happy, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“More than anything.”
“Did your brother ask you to do his chores?”
“No.”
“So that might not be the best way to keep him happy.”
There was a pause as my sister processed the idea. I pressed on.
“You might not be doing everything you can to keep him happy. If he’s not happy, he’s going to stop hypnotizing you. We don’t want that, do we?”
“No.”
“In order to keep your brother happy, you might need to do more than his chores, right?”
“Yes.”
“But if you try something he doesn’t like, you might risk making him unhappy.”
I swear, my sister paled slightly at the idea.
“You need to spend a lot of time thinking about what you could do to keep him happy. Say it.”
“I need to think a lot about what I could do to keep my brother happy.”
I licked my lips nervously. I was fairly confident I’d set up all the pieces—now it was time to make a bold move.
“When you’re masturbating, you’re going to use that time to think about what you could do to keep your brother happy.”
There was a long pause, as I let the instruction sink in.
“What are you going to think about while you’re masturbating?”
“What…what would…”
She hesitated.
“Thinking about it then,” I elaborated, “will mean that you think about it every day. It will reinforce how important it is, what we’re doing. It means that it won’t feel like a chore, it’ll be something to look forward to. It will help you lose weight. Say it.”
“It will help me lose weight.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes. Completely.”
“So what are you going to think about?”
“What would…what would make…”
She was hesitating again, but I decided to ride it out. This would work. I was sure of it.
After a few moments, I was rewarded by the remainder of the thought.
“…what would make my brother…happy.”
“Again.”
“What my brother needs to be happy.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to think…think about what I could do to make my…my brother happy.”
“When?”
“When I’m masturbating.”
“What will you think about?”
“What I can…do…to make my brother…happy.”
“Why?”
“Because…it’ll keep it at the forefront of my mind. It’ll remind me of how important our sessions are. It’ll help me lose weight.”
“Why didn’t you stick to your diet?”
“Because I was hungry,” my Mom said guiltily.
“You said you would do whatever I told you to do.”
“Yes.”
“I told you not to eat cake.”
“Yes.”
“So why did you eat the cake?”
No response. I sat back with a sigh.
We sat in silence for several moments as I pondered my next step. Then, to my surprise, my mother responded.
“…because it made me happy.”
I leaned forward. Interesting.
“Does it make you happy to break your diet?”
“No.”
“So why do it?”
Again, there was a long pause. This time, I waited…and, sure enough, Mom broke it once more.
“…because nothing else in my life makes me that happy.”
Damn.
We sat in silence for a few moments, as a wave of sympathy for Mom swept over me. I guess I’d never put too much thought into what my Dad’s passing had done to Mom. Left her alone, taking care of two kids.
She was lonely.
But the guilt passed quickly, as I realized how I could use this to my advantage.
“Before Dad died,” I asked gently, “what else made you happy?”
“Sex,” Mom responded immediately. Quicker than I’d expected, to be honest. “Sex, spending time with your father. Taking care of him. Masturbation. Road trips.”
“Anything else?”
Mom thought for a moment, then shook her head.
The silence stretched on as I considered my Mom’s life. Her entire identity, I was realizing, had been completely tied up in my father. Without him around, she had nothing left.
A smile slowly spread over my face.
Perfect.
“What about taking care of your kids?”
“Yes,” she smiled. “That helped. But you two are older now. You don’t need me any more.”
Oh, I could think of ways that Mom could ‘take care’ of me. And Cynthia, too.
But not yet. She wasn’t ready.
I had a few options ahead of me. I could pivot; instead of working on her diet first, I could get her to start masturbating again. If she was achieving pleasure that way, maybe she’d find it easier to lose weight. That would be the carrot.
I decided to go with the stick.
“Mom,” I said. “You trust your son to help you lose weight, right?”
“Yes,” she responded immediately. “Completely.”
“Your diet hasn’t been working, and it’s your fault.”
Mom nodded, her glassy eyes downcast.
“And so there’s only one solution. You need to be punished.”
Mom didn’t say anything in response.
“Say it back to me.”
“I need to be punished.”
“Again.”
“I need to be punished.”
“Repeat it until I tell you to stop.”
“I need to be punished,” Mom said. “I need to be punished. I need to be punished. I need to be punished…”
“That’s enough,” I said, holding up one hand. “You need to be punished, and as the person helping you lose weight, I need to be the one who administers it.”
Nod.
“If I punish you while you’re hypnotized, it will only affect your subconscious. That won’t be effective enough.”
Nod.
“I need to punish you while you’re awake, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“You will let me punish you, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“More than just let me—you’ll welcome it. You’re too weak to keep to your diet, and you need a firm hand to discipline you. Say it.”
“I’m too weak to keep to my diet. I need a firm hand to discipline me.”
“What are you going to do when I offer to punish you?”
“Thank you.”
“Will you find it suspicious?”
“No.”
“Will you resist?”
“Not at all.”
“Did you know that I’m helping Mom lose weight as well?” I asked my sister in our next session.
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I think it’s great.”
“Why?”
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but my sister is actually quite sweet. Like, not always to me—she is my older sister, after all—but in general. She always thinks the best of people, she’s never been short of friends, and she wouldn’t hurt a fly.
I remember when I was a kid, she used to sit on me until I was sobbing, begging her to get up…but flies? Flies were safe from Cynthia.
And so I wasn’t surprised when she started talking about Mom’s self-esteem and her health, how good it would be for her to lose some weight, and how lovely it was that I was helping her out.
“Do you think Mom is more or less overweight than you?”
“Less,” my sister responded. I almost laughed out loud—no wonder she only put herself as a three out of ten, if she thought she was in worse shape than Mom.
“On the zero to ten scale, what would you put Mom at?”
“Five,” Cynthia said, after a few moments of thought.
For the record, Mom is about an eight or nine, while my sister is a solid ten. More than ten. Whenever I had to think during our sessions, I’d spend my time slowly running my eyes up and down her body.
I couldn’t wait for it to be mine. I couldn’t wait to have it.
“What have you been thinking about while you masturbate?” I asked, abruptly changing the topic.
My sister doesn’t ever move during our sessions. She just lays on her bed, staring at the ceiling, answering my questions firmly and confidently. She doesn’t nod her head, she doesn’t look around. It’s like talking to a mannequin.
So I was quite surprised when, in response to my question…she blushed.
“You,” she replied softly.
I grinned.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said. I could tell that she was mentally squirming with embarrassment at her admission, but her body remained completely immobile.
“What specifically?”
“What else I could do to please you.”
I’d told my sister to think about me while she masturbated. This was for two reasons—firstly, because the idea of my sister thinking about me while she got herself off was really fucking hot.
But secondly, more importantly…the mind goes to strange places when you’re getting off. Like, there’s stuff that I have no interest in, but sometimes, when I’m about to cum, I think about it without meaning to. I have no attraction to feet, but one time I got off looking at a picture of my sister’s feet that she uploaded to Facebook.
So my thinking was: if Cynthia is thinking about me while she gets off, her thoughts are bound to start slipping. Maybe she’ll think of things she can do with her mouth…or with her hands…
Or hell, with her feet. I’m not particularly into it, but I wouldn’t say no if she offered.
“Did you come up with any ideas?”
“Yes,” my sister replied.
“Go on.”
“I thought…”
She hesitated, which seemed like a good sign.
“Yeah?”
“I thought I could set you up with one of my friends.”
Interesting. Not the goal, but not a terrible idea.
“Anything else?”
“I thought I could pay you.”
Pass. I mean, I like money, but I didn’t want my sister to think of this as transactional.
If she paid me, she’d think we were even.
I wanted her in my debt. I wanted her feeling like she owed me.
“What else?”
“I thought…”
Again, that hesitation. I leaned forward, eager to hear what her lust-addled brain had come up with.
“…I thought I could help pick out some clothes for you.”
I sat back, confused and disappointed.
“Why?”
“A lot of the stuff you wear is…kind of lame.”
She was speaking so softly, it was almost a whisper.
Great. She wasn’t embarrassed that she’d decided to blow me as a thanks; she was reluctant to tell me that she didn’t like my fashion sense.
With a sigh, I told her that wasn’t going to work, to keep thinking of ideas about pleasing me while she got off, and woke her up.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yes,” my mother insisted. “Please. I need this.”
“Okay,” I sighed, every inch of me the reluctant disciplinarian. I pulled out a pen and paper. “Two hundred lines. ‘I shall not cheat on my diet.’ Say each word out loud when you write it. Bring it to me when you’re done.”
My mother sighed, but—to my delight—didn’t object to my authoritarian tone, and sat down to begin writing.
“I…shall…not…cheat…on…my…diet.”
A fully-grown woman, willingly obeying her son’s order.
I doubt the sound of pen on paper had never gotten anyone so hard before, but I knew: this was only the first step…