Diet
by Pan
Chapter 7
“I need to take a photo of you, okay?”
“Uh…”
My sister’s face remained completely passive, but her voice revealed her doubt.
I put my phone down. None of the sites had detailed what would happen if I did something against her will, and I didn’t want to find out.
Frustrating though it was, I needed to ensure Cynthia was okay with this before I did it.
“Human memory can be fallible, can’t it?”
“Yes.”
“If I’m going to be assessing you, I can’t just rely on my memory. I need a record of what you look like each time, to compare it from session to session. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to take a photo of you, okay?”
“Okay.”
Cynthia, predictably, didn’t move as I stood up and took a photo. Actually, I took a bunch of photos, but I tried to make it look like I was only taking one.
I have no idea how strong my sister’s perception was when she was under, but I didn’t want to risk anything. Not when I was making this kind of progress.
She was wearing her only crop top—even laying down, it made her huge tits look even larger. She was showing a lot of skin, but I wanted to see more.
More.
One step at a time…
“I’d say you’re at a two point five out of ten,” I said, looking at the photo. “Would you agree?”
“Yes,” my sister answered. “That sounds right.”
“Why do you think you’ve gone down?”
There was a long pause, as my sister thought.
“I don’t know,” she eventually admitted.
“But you agree that I’m right?”
“Yes,” she responded without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because you are here to help me. You’re viewing me through neutral eyes. Numbers are unreliable, and your assessment of how attractive I am is much more trustworthy than a scale would be.”
Not even the slightest hint of suspicion.
Perfect.
“You’re going to have to work harder, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How often are you masturbating?”
“Once a day.”
My cock stirred at my sister’s words. I could picture it, oh so clearly.
“How long does it take you.”
“Forty to fifty minutes.”
I furrowed my brow. That didn’t sound right.
“Has it always taken that long?”
“No.”
“How long does it normally take?”
“About half that.”
I don’t like to think of myself as a panicky kind of guy, but whenever my sister said something under hypnosis that took me by surprise, my heart-rate would immediately double. I sometimes felt like I was playing a very dangerous game, and it would be easy for everything to just…crumble.
I made a mental note to save the picture of my sister into a private, password-protected folder. If anyone found it on my phone, I’d have way too many questions to answer.
“Why is it taking so long?”
“Because of what I’m thinking about.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“You. My brother. Ways I can help you.”
“And that’s making it harder to get off?”
“Yes.”
Ah. It seemed that my plan—Cynthia thinking about me while masturbating—wasn’t working exactly the way I’d planned. She wasn’t thinking about me sexually, she was just…thinking about me.
Still, this was something I could fix.
“Your masturbation is being extremely inefficient, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” my sister responded.
“This might be why you’re not making progress.”
That didn’t really make sense, but I pressed on, hoping my sister wouldn’t question it.
“What thoughts get you off the fastest?”
“Thinking about boys,” my sister responded. “Thinking about cock.”
I loved what a slut my virginal older sister was.
“What about when you were thinking about how fat you were? How quickly did you get off then?”
“Pretty quickly.”
Weird. I made a mental note to investigate that further. But for now…
“Okay,” I said confidently. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Whenever you get off each day, you’re going to start by thinking about guys. Cock. You’re going to think about sucking dick, being fucked, being wanted. Repeat that back to me.”
“I’m going to think about being filled by dick when I start to masturbate each day,” my sister responded obediently. “I’m going to think about them wanting me.”
“Then, when you’re really turned on, when you’re just about to cum, you’re going to remember that you need to come up with a different way to please me. Say it.”
“When I’m approaching my orgasm, I’m going to think about what I can do to keep my brother happy, so he helps me lose weight.”
“You’re going to do this once a day, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Repeat your instructions back.”
“Once a day, I’m going to get myself turned on thinking about sucking and fucking cocks, then when I’m reaching my crest, I’m going to start thinking about how I can please my brother.”
“You’re doing this to be more efficient, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So…”
I took a deep breath. This was going to be a little risky.
“So…you need to stay turned on, right?”
“Right…”
“Say it.”
“I need to make sure not to let my arousal drop.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to…”
There was a hesitance to her voice, but Cynthia pressed on.
“I’m going to…make sure to stay aroused until I cum.”
“Again.”
“I’m going to stay turned on until I get off.”
“What will you be thinking about?”
“Pleasing my brother.”
“Say it.”
“While thinking about keeping my brother happy, I’m going to keep on being aroused until I cum.”
“How often?”
“Every day.”
Hard as a rock, I woke my sister up.
A smile slowly grew as I looked through my mother’s diet log.
I’d been prepared for this. Truth be told, I’d been hoping for it.
The original plan had been genuinely altruistic…well, to a point. Help Mom lose weight, reintroduce masturbation to her life once she was skinnier, make her into a sexual being once more, then fuck her.
The details of the plan were a little vague, but I would have worked them out.
But after learning that my mother was genuinely terrible at sticking to a diet, I came up with a new plan.
“It didn’t work, did it?”
“No.”
My mother’s eyes were downturned, her voice thick with guilt.
“You completed your punishment, but you were still unable to stick to your diet. Say it.”
“I completed my punishment, but I was still unable to stick to my diet.”
“You’d do anything to lose weight, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You completely trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever I tell you to do, you’ll do, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“The punishment didn’t work.”
My mother nodded.
“So we’re going to have to step it up a notch, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“About an hour after I wake you up, you’re going to come to me and ask you to punish you again, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“The last punishment didn’t work, did it?”
“No.”
“So you’re going to beg me to punish you harder than I have been so far.”
My mother had written more than two thousand lines over the last week. No effect.
“Say it.”
“I’m going to beg you to punish me harder than you have been so far.”
“Again.”
“I’m going to beg you to punish me harder than you have been so far.”
“Are you going to find anything suspicious about this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I trust you. Because you’re just trying to help. Because I’m the one who can’t stick to my diet.”
“What punishments would make you suspicious?”
“None,” my mother responded, and I smiled.
I didn’t take her at her word, of course. Sure, Mom thought there was nothing that would make her suspicious…but something told me a punishment of ‘suck your son’s cock for the next three hours’ wouldn’t go down too well.
Uh, no pun intended. You know what I mean.
So for the next week and a half, I experimented with as many non-sexual punishments as I could. At my instruction, Mom washed her mouth out with soap, sat in the corner and thought about what she’d done, and washed the dishes in cold water. (I was originally planning to make her have an ice-cold shower, but I chickened out at the last minute. I didn’t want to go in a direction that was even remotely sexual. Not yet.)
But, to my great frustration, it started to work.
Not completely. Mom didn’t magically start sticking to her diet and suddenly drop a bunch of pounds. She was still cheating—cake, brownies, cookies, ice-cream…but she was doing it less and less.
She even managed to go two days straight without exceeding her calorie limit. She then ate an entire packet of cookies in a single sitting, but it was still pretty impressive.
If I had been genuinely trying to help her lose weight, I would have been delighted. But while that was a part of my plan, it wasn’t why I was doing it.
I was at a crossroads.
The option of going back to my original plan was still there, of course. Help Mom lose weight, then—once she was thinner—restart her sexual engine. I didn’t have a concrete direction from there, but I was fairly sure that once my mother was a sexual creature once more, there were all kinds of fun ways I could have her spend her newfound sexual energy…
On the other hand, I’d been looking forward to slowly increasing the intensity of my mother’s punishments. No matter what I did, she’d never resisted—she genuinely believed it when I told her that I was doing all of this for her, to help her.
I spent a lot of time and mental energy on working out the best direction to go with my mother’s…diet plan.
One day, as I was running track at school, it hit me. Like a small child in an El Paso commercial—why not have both?
“When was the last time you cheated on your diet?”
“Yesterday,” my mother replied, looking downtrodden.
“What did you eat?”
“I had a Red Vine.”
See what I mean? That’s not even that bad, compared to cakes or boxes of cookies. Two weeks ago, she would have cheated with, like…an entire tub of Ben & Jerry’s. Now it was a single Red Vine. She was definitely getting better at this.
Of course, I didn’t let her know that.
“That’s not acceptable, is it?”
“No.”
“Your punishments aren’t working, are they?”
“No.”
“Making you write lines didn’t work, did it?”
“No.”
“Washing your mouth out with soap didn’t work, did it?”
“No.”
“We need to work out a more extreme punishment, don’t we?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think would be more effective?”
My mother wrinkled her nose as she thought. After a long pause, she made a suggestion.
“Pain.”
My eyebrows shot up, and my dick perked up at the thought.
“Why pain?”
“I don’t like pain.”
“You won’t find it weird that your son is causing you pain?”
“No,” Mom responded. “Not at all.”
“If I tell you I’m going to punish you with something painful, how will you react?”
“I’ll accept the punishment.”
“Why?”
“Because I know I deserve it. I can’t stick to my diet. I need your help.”
“That’s right. Without my help, you’re not going to lose weight, are you?”
“No.”
“So when I offer to cause you pain, will you be grateful?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“When you offer to cause me pain, I’ll be grateful.”
“Will you be suspicious?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my son. You’re just helping me lose weight.”
“What about if I told you I was going to spank you?”
Mom had been so accepting, so willing to go along with anything—she’d told me on countless occasion that she’d accept whatever punishment I chose to dole out.
So it genuinely took me by surprise when my suggestion gave her pause.
“How would you react,” I broke in after a long pause, “if I told you that I needed to spank you as a punishment.”
“It’d be weird,” my mother replied.
“Why?” I asked, pretty sure I already know the answer.
In response, Mom’s face turned a beet red.
“…because your father used to spank me.”
Uh, wow. Wasn’t expecting that.
“Why did Dad spank you?”
“Because he thought it was sexy.”
Like father, like son, I suppose.
“Did you?”
“Yes,” my mother replied, so quietly I could barely hear it.
My eyes narrowed with confusion.
“I thought you didn’t like pain.”
Mom just stared forward, silently blushing.
“Why did you enjoy spanking if you don’t like pain?”
There was a long pause. When Mom finally responded, I had to lean forward to catch what she was saying.
“The arousal sort of countered the pain.”
I sat back, mouth agape. No one likes to think of their parents as kinky, right?
Well, I guess I liked to. But I’d never once imagined that my mother…that Dad…
I took a few moments to process what she’d said. And while I was processing…Mom continued.
“…and the pain sort of fed the arousal.”
To my surprise, I was blushing slightly as well. Mom had consistently been happy to answer every question about her sex life that I’d asked.
It seemed I just hadn’t been asking the right questions.