The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Every Evening

by Pan

I don’t remember how it started.

And by that, I don’t mean that I vaguely remember the events but not the details—I mean I literally have no idea how it started.

Like, none.

That was the first thing that worried me.

The second was how…normal it seemed? How natural, almost.

You know how sometimes you’ll have a dream, and in that dream you have a best friend or a new relative or whatever? Despite the fact that you’ve only known them for a few hours at best, it feels right.

That’s what it was like.

It had been going on for a few weeks (I think? Like I said, I have absolutely no idea when, where, or even how it started) when I started to question it. It just felt so comfortable—when our parents were out, or sometimes even late at night when they were at home, my brother would sneak into my room, and we’d fuck.

I’d love to call it “making love” or whatever, but that’s just not what it was. He’d come in with a hard-on, I’d be soaking wet, and—sometimes without even saying anything—I’d roll onto my back and he’d fuck me until he came.

I always came as well. I guess that was the third thing that should have made me suspicious, but—like I said—everything about it just seemed so right. So normal.

So natural.

Of course it made sense that despite the fact I was barely able to get off with my hands, my brother could make me go off like a firecracker. Of course I was able to experience multiple orgasms without even touching my clit—just the feeling of his hard cock entering me was often enough to get me off.

We didn’t use a condom, either. Nope. I’ve always been all about safe sex, but as soon as it’s a blood relative, suddenly I’m totally fine with going bareback. God knows what would have happened if I’d gotten pregnant—thankfully I snapped out of it before then.

So yeah. Nightly, bareback, multiple orgasm-inducing intercourse with my own brother.

And it felt amazing. There was never any awkwardness, there was never any doubt about what the other person wanted. It felt so good that I wondered why every sister wasn’t letting their brother take them, night after night.

It felt totally right.

…until one day, it didn’t.

* * *

“Oh,” my brother said, a puzzled look on his face. He’d entered my room, lowered his pants, and I’d spread my legs without even thinking about it, like that was the obvious thing to do.

I wasn’t wearing panties. I rarely did at home, any more.

But then a thought had entered my head, and I’d snapped my legs shut, thrown my brother a strange look, and told him I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do this.

“Oh,” he repeated, after the silence had grown long enough to become awkward. “Okay. Can I…can I ask why?”

I had been asking myself the same question all day. That morning, during my shower, I’d noticed the remnants of last night’s tryst, and for the first time it hadn’t given me a warm feeling inside.

It had felt wrong. Strange.

“I’m just not sure if we should be…y’know.”

“Oh,” my brother said for a third time, and glanced down at his exposed cock. I felt bad for making him feel uneasy, but at the same time, I knew he wouldn’t want me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.

And, for the first time since this had started, I wasn’t feeling comfortable.

“Sorry,” I said, and he waved me off with one hand. I breathed a sigh of relief—I knew he’d understand. We’ve always been close, even before…before we’d started copulating on a nightly basis.

There was another long silence, but it somehow felt less awkward than the previous few. Now that I’d made my decision, I knew it was right. I loved my brother, and we’d had a good time for the past few…well, for however long it had been going on, but it was time for it to come to an end.

He was clearly disappointed (and who could blame him?) but what we’d been doing was wrong. It hadn’t felt wrong, but I knew that it was. We were brother and sister, and we certainly shouldn’t be…getting off with each other.

Getting off inside one another.

My brother pulled up his pants and began to leave, but turned at the door, a strange look on his face.

“Hey, sis,” he said, and I smiled at him.

“What’s up?”

“This has been really fun.”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping he wasn’t going to make a big thing about it. He could be a bit immature sometimes, but deep down I knew he was a good guy.

“Thanks,” he said, and I nodded, wondering why he wasn’t leaving. It was like there was something on the tip of his tongue, something that he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

Then, all of a sudden, he had an intense look in his eyes—like he was concentrating deeply.

“What’s up?” I said again, after thirty seconds had passed and he looked no closer to leaving.

“I just wanted to say…”

“What?”

“You’re…”

My smile was starting to fade. This was like pulling nails.

“What?”

When he spoke, it was so soft that I could barely hear him, but it hit me like a hammer.

“You’re a dirty slut.”

It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. A whole range of emotions hit me at once—anger, obviously, but also disappointment. Sadness that my brother couldn’t take the fact that things were ending, fury that he would speak to me like that…that this was how he chose to end what had been such a lovely, mutually enjoyable experience.

But more than that—more than all those emotions put together—I was turned on.

I don’t know how, or why, but those words were the hottest thing I’d ever heard. I reeled at the sudden force of arousal; I tried to reply, but all that came out was a grunt, a sort of angry moan.

“You’re such a whore,” he continued, and a fresh wave of arousal overtook my entire body. “You’re nothing but a hot piece of ass, a wet pussy for me to stick my cock inside of. And you love it, don’t you?”

I tried to form a sentence. I tried to tell him to fuck off, to get him out of the room so I could pull out a toy and get myself off. All I’d need was a few seconds—maybe I wouldn’t even use a toy. Maybe if I touched myself, my brother’s words ringing through my head…that would be enough.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say more than one word.

“Yessss…”

“I can’t believe you fucked me,” he said, my reaction seeming to encourage him. “Your own brother…do you know what kind of twisted fuck lets her own brother cum inside her? We did it so many times; you must be a real fucking pervert. You’re just a horny, worthless, dirty slut.”

“Oh god,” I gasped, unable to stop myself from falling backwards on the bed. Why were his words having such an effect on me? My hips started uncontrollably bucking, pushing up against an imaginary intruder. I was so hot, so wet, so horny…all I needed was for something to graze against my clit and I was sure I’d be cumming for a week.

“Please…” I begged, and my brother grinned.

“Please what, sis? What are you begging me for now, you filthy whore?”

“Please,” I repeated. I needed to be fucked more than I’d ever needed anything. My pussy felt like it was on fire, and I needed to feel my brother inside me again.

One last time. That’s all it was. I needed to feel his smooth rod entering me, filling me up. I needed to clench around his cock until we were both cumming, and I could feel him spurting, cumming inside me.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Fuck me…” I finally groaned, through gritted teeth. “Please. Please, god. I need it…”

“Okay,” he said with a shrug, and I swear I almost climaxed just from the sight of his hard cock in front of me. In that moment, it was everything that I wanted, everything that I needed. I was so desperate, but I couldn’t move.

My brother stepped forward, and with a grin, slipped inside me.

* * *

Every night that week was a repeat of the first. My brother would come in, and I’d tell him that it was over, that we couldn’t do this any more. I told him that I didn’t know what he was doing to me, but I wanted it to stop.

He’d stare at me for a few seconds, and start talking dirty. Each night, it was exactly like the first night—his words did something to me that I couldn’t explain, that I couldn’t prevent. I was so horny, so uncontrollably turned on—within a few minutes (at most) I was begging him to fuck me.

In those moments, I would have killed someone to get him to fuck me.

The cruder he got, the more it affected me. He’d call me his whore, his slut, his fuckable little cunt—the effect was the same.

I needed him inside me. Immediately.

And then afterwards, it felt like it always had. Like it had for…as long as it had been going on.

It felt normal. Natural. Like, of course your brother calling you names was appropriate foreplay. Of course him telling you he was going to fuck you was all it took to get you to spread your legs and beg him to do so.

Sometimes, during the day, I had to stop myself from thinking about the names he called me, else I’d find myself rushing to the bathroom and getting myself off.

Once he called me. I was in the middle of class, and the moment I saw his name on my cell’s screen, it felt like all my blood rushed to my clit. Despite the annoyed glare of my classmates, I couldn’t stop myself from answering, and as soon as I heard his word (“you sick piece of ass”) it was everything I needed—I stumbled out of class, leaving half my books behind, and met him behind the library for a quick fuck.

Every evening, without exception, for weeks.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Not my brother’s attempts—no, it was halfway through sex that I realized it wasn’t working any more. He’d come into my room, called me a despicable cunt, and then began fucking me from behind as I moaned in pleasure. He was in the middle of describing me as a filthy hole which wasn’t even good enough to store his semen when I realized—I didn’t want to be doing this.

I didn’t want my brother to fuck me.

The carnal need which had been overwhelming me at his words for more than a month suddenly disappeared, and a chill ran up my spine.

Without hesitation, I moved forward, pulling my cunt away from his cock, feeling better the moment it left me.

“I’m sorry,” I babbled, realizing how weird this must look to him, realizing the mixed messages I must be sending. “I just…I just can’t. Y’know?”

“Of course,” he said, and there was that sad look again. He slowly stood up and started getting dressed. I put my own clothes back on, and the two of us stood there awkwardly.

“It’s been fun, yeah?”

“Yes,” I urged. Even though I didn’t want to do it any more, even though I was sort of confused about how we’d started and when we’d continued, I couldn’t deny it—it’d been fun when it lasted.

He stood there for a few minutes, and an intense look came into his eyes once more.

“Uh…”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring at me intensely.

“What are you…—“

Before I could finish the question, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He hit a button, and music filled the room—even though it was only coming from the tinny little speaker on his device, it somehow filled my ears, filled my soul.

And then…he began to dance.

Now, my brother will be the first to admit that he’s not much of a dancer. But my jaw dropped open as he started to move—he wasn’t particularly coordinated, he certainly wasn’t smooth, and on any other day I would have laughed him out of the room.

But in that moment, I was captivated.

I sat back on my bed and watched as he used my bedroom floor as a stage, strutting back and forth, awkwardly wiggling his hips and gyrating his arms.

And then, I was hit with a powerful wave of arousal as he lifted his t-shirt up. Just slightly, just enough to flash me a glimpse of his hairy belly…the hairy belly, I’ll remind you, that I’d seen so much of lately.

It didn’t matter. I was suddenly horny, and I desperately needed to see more.

“Take it off,” I said hoarsely. “Please…”

In response, he just wiggled his eyebrows at me, and continued dancing.

When the song ended, it was immediately followed by a faster-paced number, a sticky hit from the 70’s. His dance changed too, and he began showing me more skin.

“Please…” I repeated, and before too long, my wishes were granted. He took his shirt off and threw it at me—I brought it to my mouth and breathed in, savoring my brother’s scent.

God, I couldn’t help but think. I would do anything to have a man like that.

As the song continued, he removed more of his clothes, until soon he was dancing to his rapturous audience of one wearing nothing but his underpants.

Again, I’ve seen his cock. I’ve had it inside me so often that I’ve literally lost count. But as he shook his butt to the left and the right, all I could think about was that cock.

I wanted it. I needed it.

If I could just see it, I swore to myself, I’d do anything he wanted.

As if he could read my mind, my brother slowly lowered his boxer-briefs, and in response I lay back on the bed, and stared at him desperately.

“Please! Please, fuck me. Oh god…I need it so badly.”

With a grin, my brother obliged.

* * *

The days turned into weeks, and my brother’s dancing continued to be on my mind, day and night. Every evening, he’d come into my room; I’d put down the book I was reading or the homework I was halfway through, and as soon as the music started I was his, captivated, desperate to see his naked flesh.

And then, as soon as I saw it, I was filled with the overwhelming need to serve.

The music took over my mind, my life. We went to a cousin’s wedding, and when my brother started dancing during the reception, it was a challenge not to fuck him then and there on the dance floor.

Instead, I pulled him into an empty room and made him finish dancing for me, and then fuck me over a piece of furniture.

I loved every second of it.

Until one night, when my brother came into my room and turned on the music, and I realized I just…didn’t care. He started to dance; I pretended to be interested for the first song, smiling at his efforts so he wouldn’t feel bad, but when he began taking his clothes off I reached out and touched his arm.

“Don’t,” I said simply, and I think he understood.

He looked sad, but I knew what we were doing was for the best. He nodded, turned the music off…and then stared at me for a few moments, that intense look on his face.

“Are you okay?” I asked, but to my surprise, instead of responding he just started moving towards me.

“Bro…bro, stop it. Bro, you’re scaring me!”

As he got closer, he reached out with one hand. I didn’t know what to make of it—my brother had always been so reasonable, so gentle. Surely he could understand that what we were doing was wrong, that brothers and sisters weren’t meant to have sex, weren’t meant to enjoy each other’s bodies the way we’d been doing…

And then, his hand reached my throat…and I understood.

“Oh, god.”

I’d never been choked before…I had no idea that it was so fucking HOT. His hand tightened around my neck—not enough to hurt, not enough to actually put me in danger…but definitely tight enough that I felt like I was in danger.

Tight enough that I could imagine what it would be like to be throttled to death, to have the life literally squeezed out of you.

“Oh fuck…oh, god…”

As he silently choked me, I realized that I had never been this turned on. I needed him inside of me…I needed my brother inside me, right now.

I didn’t say a word, just reached down and unbuckled his pants. I slid them down, grasping his thick cock, and bringing it to my wet panties.

Pushing them aside, thanking Christ that I’d worn a skirt that day, I fell back on the bed, and guided my brother’s cock into my wetness as he choked me, that intense, murderous look on his face.

After I came, I cuddled up to him—after such intense, hot fantasies, I needed a little bit of tender loving. My brother, bless his soul, cuddled me back, and then kissed me on the cheek and said goodnight.

The next day was a weekend—our parents always slept in late on a Saturday, so it was just the two of us in the kitchen for breakfast. I got up to get some milk out of the fridge, and when I heard his chair move, didn’t think twice of it…until suddenly I felt his big, beefy hands wrapped around my neck.

“Oh, god,” I whispered, and pulled his face to mine so I could kiss him. I almost bit his lip in my passion, and as his hands tightened slightly around my throat, I pulled his ear to my mouth.

“Fuck me,” I moaned. “I need it. Right now.”

“In the kitchen?” he asked hesitantly, and I just nodded.

In that moment, I didn’t care if our parents walked in. I didn’t care about anything—as soon as his hands went around my neck, all I cared about was being filled by him.

After that, we fucked anywhere and everywhere. It was weird—he was just my normal, boring brother…until his hands were around my throat, at which point he was a sexual god, and I desperately needed to feel him inside me.

Two months passed, and then—just as suddenly as it had started—the magic wore off. My brother started choking me, and instead of being aroused…I was horrified.

My eyes opened wide, I urgently pulled his hands away, and I looked at him, shocked.

“What are you doing? What are we doing?”

He was taken aback slightly, but soon the sad look on his face was replaced by one of a strange intensity, as though his eyes were burning into my very soul.

The minutes ticked by in silence, until finally he answered me.

“I thought…”

“What?” I asked cautiously.

“I thought maybe, if I fucked you without protection…”

“What?”

“…I might knock you up.”

My eyes widened, and my mind was filled with images of what that would be like. If I was pregnant, if my brother shot his virile sperm into my fertile womb. I’d be so big, I’d be so stretched

I’d never wanted something more in my life.

Grabbing him by the hand, I pulled him into my room.

“Do it,” I rasped. “Fill me up with your sperm. Oh, fuck…my brother’s sperm, filling me up, making a baby inside me.”

Why was that idea so hot to me?

To his credit, my brother didn’t hesitate—he threw me down on the bed, practically ripped my panties off, and I was delighted to see that he was already hard…and that his big, sperm-filled balls were twitching with arousal.

Soon, I silently projected. Soon, little babies…you’ll be home.

I’d heard somewhere that if the female orgasms, they’re more likely to get pregnant, and so I made sure to cum at the same moment as my brother did. Then, once we were done, I lay there with my hips elevated, and one hand tracing patterns on my stomach.

“You won’t be able to masturbate,” I reminded him. “Y’know, if this is going to work.”

“Of course, sis,” he said, and with a smile reached down and kissed me gently on the lips.

We fucked every day after that; sometimes two or three times in one session. I was alway careful to time my orgasms to match up to my brother’s, and I even made an appointment with the doctor to look at getting fertility pills.

A few days before the appointment, however, I had a horrible realization.

“I don’t want a baby,” I said to my brother in horror.

“Sure you do,” he casually replied. “Can’t you imagine your stomach distending, your tits getting so big and full of milk…”

Just a few minutes ago, those images were literally everything I wanted in life. Now, however, the idea was appalling—a baby? With my brother?

“Oh my god,” I said, shuddering. “What have I done? What have we been doing??”

My brother looked devastated, but as I stared at him in shock, his expression changed to a different, more intense one.

“What?” I said nervously. “What is it?”

“I know how we can have sex without any risk of you getting pregnant.”

I winced.

“I’m sorry, bro, but…I don’t want to have sex with you at all.”

“Oh! Well…that’s okay,” he said casually, the intense look disappearing from his face.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thanks. I knew you’d understand.”

“No worries,” he said. “I’ll just cum on your tits.”

My eyes widened as the thought filled my brain. My own brother, cumming on my tits.

Fuck.

Fuck, that was a hot idea.

I’d never had someone cum on my tits before. It had always seemed so…demeaning.

And my own brother? That was even more perverted. At least when we’d been having sex, we’d both been getting something out of it. If he came on my tits…

He’d be using my body.

Using my big, sexy tits for his pleasure.

Plastering them with his spunk.

I’d be nothing but a sex object to him.

God, I couldn’t fucking wait.

Glad that I wasn’t wearing a bra, I kneeled down in front of him. I undid the top five buttons of my top, just enough to let my tits hang out. I wasn’t even naked for him—I was just showing my tits.

I was just a pair of tits. A pair of tits for my brother to cum on.

“Touch yourself,” I pleaded, looking up at him earnestly. “Touch yourself and look at my tits.”

With a smile, he did as I requested. I couldn’t believe how hot it was, watching my brother stroke himself, inches from my face. Knowing that it was my tits getting him hard, my tits that he was going to get off on.

I was unable to resist playing with my nipples, making sure they were as hard as they could be. I wanted everything about my big, succulent tits to be erotic—they were flushed with heat, my nipples were swollen with pleasure. I reached down between my legs as I saw my brother getting closer.

“Do it,” I begged. “Come on my tits. Come on your sister’s big, fat titties. That’s what they’re here for. That’s why I’m here. I’m just a big fucking sex doll for you to come on. Please, come on my tits—I want it so bad.”

“I’m gonna cum,” my brother grunted, and a few seconds later he delivered—two, three, four spurts of his thick cum shot out of his hardness and landed on the milky white expanse that was my cleavage.

As soon as he was done, I fell backwards, frantically rubbing myself between the legs as I kneaded my big, meaty tits. I wanted to rub his cum into them like skin lotion—I wanted his cum to permanently be a part of my tits, permanently be a part of me.

I existed to be a big pair of tits for my brother to cum on, and I’d never been happier.

For the next few weeks, we fell into the most erotic routine of my life. Every evening, my brother would make his way into my room and shoot off onto my huge tits while I rubbed myself. Sometimes he’d be up for a second round, and using a combination of his cum and my spit as a lubricant, he’d fuck my tits.

Sometimes I’d even suck him off. It wasn’t as hot as feeling him blasting his spunk directly onto my boobs, but I’d dribble his offering onto them immediately after, and then cum at the wanton image, at the knowledge of what a big-titted slut I was.

One day, he came into my room, a sad look upon his face. I didn’t even need to say anything—it seemed he knew that I just wasn’t interested anymore, that my sudden new fetish had completely vanished.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, until an intense look appeared in his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically.

“For what?”

“For being such a tease.”

“What?” I was genuinely confused. “I’m not a tease.”

“You’ve let me cum on your tits for weeks now…” he said, the intensity never letting up. “And now…”

“I’m sorry,” I said sadly. “I’m just not into it any more.”

He tutted.

“You’re such a…naughty girl.”

I froze. My heartrate increased, and my pussy began to get wet.

“No I’m not,” I gasped.

“Such a naughty, naughty, girl…”

“No…”

“And you know what we do with naughty girls?”

I practically threw myself across the room, dragging my brother to my computer chair and forcing myself onto his lap.

“Don’t do it,” I squirmed. “Please, bro…I’ll do anything.”

With a grin, he leaned down until his mouth was directly next to my ear.

“I know you will,” he rasped.

I quivered with pleasure as my brother slowly lifted my short skirt, making sure that I could feel every inch of the fabric dragging across my tingling skin.

He rested the hem of my skirt on my lower back, and it was all I could do not to cum then and there as he slowly stroked my panty-clad ass.

“Yess…” I moaned. “Please…”

“Do you promise to be good?” he asked me teasingly.

“I promise…”

“I don’t believe you,” he replied, and I felt a sharp slap as his hand met my aching backside.

I didn’t even realize that my entire body had tensed up in preparation until the pain started to spread from my ass-cheeks, and turn into a deep warmth as it filled the rest of me. Before I could truly relax, however, his hand met my cheek again, and I gasped with the sheer bliss of it.

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

Again and again, my brother disciplined me, putting me in my place, showing me that he was truly my master, that he was the one to be obeyed.

I was a naughty girl. I was a naughty girl, and I deserved to be punished.

I was a naughty girl, and my brother was my master.

I was lucky to have him.

His hands continued raining blows upon my trembling and needy ass for what felt like hours. By the end of it, my backside was glowing, and my pussy was drenched.

He picked me up like a ragdoll and threw me onto the bed.

“Fuck me,” I gasped, my head spinning. I didn’t care that he was my brother, I didn’t care about anything.

I just needed to be fucked.

Every evening, he would find some reason that I was naughty, and take it upon himself to discipline me. Every evening, he would spank me until my ass was raw and I’d cum by his hand at least half a dozen times.

And then every evening, he would take my limp, weary body, and he would fuck me until he was satisfied.

One evening, something odd happened.

I scampered into his room, eager for my nightly spanking, and he had a sad look on his face. At first, my eyes lit up—I thought this was part of the foreplay, that he was looking disappointed, ready to transform me from the naughty girl that I was into the perfect little pet that I wanted to be for him.

After a few seconds, however, I realized that he wasn’t acting—he truly looked sad.

“Please, master,” I said in my best little-girl voice. “I’ve been so, so naughty…can you teach me to be better?”

It seemed to work, although not in the way that I’d expected. The sad look disappeared off his face, to be replaced by the most intense look I’ve ever seen another human take. He stared at me, and I almost staggered back in shock.

We stood there for several minutes as his eyes burned into mine, and then the intense look was gone, as if someone had switched off a light.

“I’ll spank you,” he said confidently, “but I’m only paying a dollar.”

“O…kay…” I said, confused, but when he held out a dollar bill, I took it. I had no idea what game he was playing, but hey—money is money, right?

For the next few nights, he insisted on paying me a dollar before spanking me, and then another dollar before fucking me. And then, on Thursday night, when he handed over the money…I realized something had changed.

I didn’t care about the spanking any more. But the money…

For some reason, the idea of being paid for sex was filling me with a deep urge, a new sexual drive that I’d never felt before.

As he drove his cock deep into me, I came thinking about the fact that I was getting paid for this.

The next night, he didn’t even spank me. He paid me a dollar to suck him off, and then another dollar to bounce up and down on top of him. I got off again in the shower as I was cleaning my brother’s sweat off, cleaning his cum out of my pussy.

I’m a whore, I kept thinking. I’m a dirty whore, cleaning myself after a client’s visit…

A few weeks later, he paid me an extra dollar to tie me up. A week after that, he wasn’t even paying me any more—he was just tying me up every evening, and I was getting off at the feeling of ropes against my skin.

Two and a half months after that, he started calling me his little girl. It wasn’t long before I was pretending my own brother was my daddy, and getting off at the roleplay—the ropes soon sat at the bottom of my closet, unused.

For some reason, daddy started wanting to spit in my mouth before we fucked. Soon after that, the dominant act of spitting in my face was why we fucked. Spitting was shortly followed by pee, and not long after that he insisted I wear stockings before he’d let me act as his human toilet…

I did as he said, of course. God, I’d do anything as long as he keeps peeing in my face.

But something about the intense look on my brother’s face tells me that in just a few days, it’ll be the stockings that turn me on, not the pee…

I don’t remember how it started. But now, every evening my brother brings me to the heights of bliss, and I realize…I don’t really care.

I just don’t want it to stop.