The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

TITLE: Fishbowl

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Chapter 4: Quisling Sibling

Clean sheets, fresh-pressed. Dry, warm, snug around my body. The immediate world smelled familiar—like fabric softener—but something behind it gnawed me reluctantly from my easy sleep. Bleach on cement, said my nose, and my brain followed that thread of associations. It hit me like a train: the chamber. What happened. Why am I—

“Look who’s finally awake!” A voice from across the room. No—behind the glass.

I wiped my eyes—had sat bolt upright without having fully opened them, like a dead man coming back to life. “Veronica?” It came out as a croak. I cleared my voice and tried again: “Veronica, where— How did you get—”

My train of thought couldn’t latch onto anything concrete. I shook my head, tired of losing my bearings, but thankful for whatever rest this reprieve had granted me. Swinging my legs off the stretcher and scratching my messy hair, I could feel a cowlick impressed in the top of my head—tried to press it down to no avail. “How long have I been out?”

“Beats me,” Veronica giggled. “Less than a day, but probably almost one!”

I quit fiddling with my bedhead and snapped my gaze to my sister’s room. “A day!?”

She sat on her own stretcher, legs crossed at the knee, casually occupied with something in her lap. “Yeah, it’s hard to tell in here!”

Feeling my forehead crinkle, I strained to remember what we were even doing in this place. What had happened that might end up with me waking up in the room adjacent to Veronica? Everything told me I should be in the middle chamber, with her. But I came up blank.

“What— what have you been doing? I’ve just been sleeping in here the whole time? Did anybody come in?”

She scrunched her lips like she was teasing, looked up at me for the first time. “Sleeping the day away, ya lazybones!” She winked, before returning her gaze back down to the gadget in her lap. “I woke up, umm, probably six hours ago? And you were over there.”

Over where, exactly? I looked around the room, trying to jog my memory. Endless black ceiling… Stainless steel wall fixtures… On Veronica’s side of the glass, a fantastic spatter of saltwater speckles, having passed from streaming to beading to finally evaporating into damp patches. On my side…

A wall-mounted dildo. Replica pussy. A delta spray of whipped cream. I leapt to my feet and saw them, less than a foot from the glass: eight distinct globs of yellow-white goop—a tribute to my pouting sister.

My temperature rose, ears burning. “Where’s Mom.”

Again, that unnatural giggle tittered from Veronica’s sweet lips. She looked up at me with a bright, believably-innocent smile. “I’ve been training her all morning.”

* * *

I was getting a little tired of being incredulous. It wasn’t so much the verb—what did she mean by training?—but the way she said it: sickly sweet. My memory was foggy, and I was still half-convinced that my sister’s outburst-turned-striptease was a dream—the product of an overstrained psyche finally giving way. And maybe it was, all of this was. Regardless, here I was, staring blankly at my grinning sister, ten feet and a wall of glass between us.

“Where is she?” I repeated the question, suspicious. You could see every corner of her chamber from here, as you could from anywhere else. Empty, save for the stretcher, the girl plunked nonchalauntly on top of it, and the few damp patches she’d shot from that spot, a few hours back. No mom.

Veronica returned my gaze with a satisfied grin. She recrossed her legs semi-sensually, opening up, for the briefest of moments, a stubbly shadow in the middle of that pinwheel. Caught me looking, and raised her eyebrows knowingly.

“Veronica,” I stepped closer, studying her. “What’s the matter with— where’s Mom?” I came close enough to the plexiglass to lean on it. “How can you be so—”

Nothing’s the matter with me, Sam,” she sighed. “Just maybe learning to enjoy the perks of this confinement.” She bared her teeth, a picture-perfect smile, and actually winked at me. Left hand brought the device in her lap up for her eyes to scan. A board? A book? No, something more like a tablet. Right hand, index finger extended, pressed some button on the screen I couldn’t see.

A chime. The electric whine of a hydraulic press, somewhere far above us.

Her eyes met mine again. The hand which set things in motion came to her lips. She held back laughter, though a titter snuck through, caught in her throat, and jiggled her chest in a way that had to have been intentional.

But my attention was soon absorbed by a mechanism descending from the ceiling’s abyss. I couldn’t see anything, yet, but the noise was growing louder ever second—closer and closer to the spot the shadow broke. And when that shadow broke, I was at a loss for words; I wished only I hadn’t asked where Mom had gone.

Veronica’s giggles cut through the lower frequencies of the hydraulic drone. Feigning politeness, she covered her mouth as we watched Mom descend from above. Or at least, what was left of Mom.

First exposed to the light was a pair of dumpy legs, swaying listless from the ceiling like half-inflated chicken-wings. Those thighs ballooned into a dramatically wider ass, exposed from the side as my mom heavily descended at an inch by inch lazy-susan spin. She hung from loose straps just above her hips and just below her armpits, so that when her behind slowly swirled my way, nothing was left to the imagination. A long, loose, unsymmetrical sack hung from the spot her vagina should be. Everything from this angle, legs crawling up to nethers, was populated by a neglected crop of scrambling black hair?—just a dusting on her ankles, but the closer it spread to her glistening package, the thicker and deeper it rooted. Between her cheeks was a nest?—I was mercifully kept from the sight of my own mother’s asshole.

“Jesus Christ...”

Halfway to the floor, now, her lazy turn exposed her the rest of her to my horrified gaze. Her breasts were enormous. They sagged out beneath her like wet clothing, pendulums with nipples as long and wide as half my pinky. The aforementioned pubic hair hid all but the tip of her tiny cock, pathetic and flaccid, and crawled opportunistically up past her bellybutton, looking like it aimed to one day meet the sweaty pits which offered refuge to two more outbreaks of wiry fur.

The face was recognizably my mom’s, but a parody of it. Twice as piglike as last I saw her, her nose must’ve made breathing difficult. She was snorting in her sleep, looked like. Her hair was still her own, but caked down with sweat and miscellaneous grime. Her whole body was rosy with a strenuous glow, like she’d been exerting herself all morning.

She reached the floor, the straps letting go, pulling away silently into the ceiling’s night. Dead to the world, my mother continued slumbering away atop her own embarrassing bulk.

“Did?—” I stammered, unable to pull my eyes away from her face. “Did you do this?”

Veronica laughed?—raised her eyebrows teasingly. She swiped a finger across the tablet still in her hands and readied a command. “Let’s wake her up, shall we?”

In time with my sister’s index finger punching down, Mom’s eyes shot open. She snorted from a dream, and looked around the room dazedly. With some trouble, she hefted herself up on all fours and leaned over to catch her breath.

“Mom!” I shouted through the glass. “Are you okay? Talk to me!”

I was surprised to see her react to my request—she raised her head to meet my eyes, revealing a face more pig than it was human.

“Shamm…” she moaned, tears welling in her eyes. “Yoo haffa help mee…” She breathed, snorted. “Shees— she changing meee…”

Veronica hopped to her feet, strode next to our mom. “Oh,” she ruffled the naked woman’s hair, and returned her attention to the tablet. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this, Piggy!” She tapped a button and smiled down at her subject.

Squee!” Mom attempted a retort. “Whee snort whee!” Her expression was still that of a thinking, feeling person, but her language capabilities had been reduced with the flick of Veronica’s finger.

“What are you doing?” I addressed my sister. “What’s wrong with you!?” It was clear that whoever had been tormenting us had done something to my sister, but even still—this betrayal, this humiliation at her hands, was too much for me to take in stride. “That’s our mother! Change her back!”

“Aw,” Veronica pouted, “is little Sammy-wammy concerned about his little Piggy-wiggy?” She lowered to her haunches and grabbed Mom by the cheek. “Not so little anymore, though, eh?” She rose to her feet and laughed, breaking back into her adult voice, now fringed with malice. “Alright, I’ll change her.” She looked me dead in the eye, her right hand carelessly tapping in commands. “Howabout to start, I make her forget her own name, hmm?” A decisive tap, a beep.


“And while I’m at it, I really should give her a new one, don’t you think?” She smiled. “P-I-G-G-Y,” paused, “how do you spell ‘Wannacum’?” Laughter, typing, beep.


My mouth hung open. “Veronica…” I placed my hand on the glass, helpless.

Merciless, she continued. “Here’s a good one!” Beep!

Mom attempted to crawl forward, suddenly in a rush to escape something behind her, but Veronica intervened and gently led her back to her original spotlit place on the floor. When she turned around, I could clearly see her cause for concern—Veronica had revoked her continence. Urine had trailed down the inside of her thighs—her first time peeing from that tiny penis—and left a trail on the floor behind her.

“What a messy Piggy you’ve become, Wannacum!” Veronica feigned sweetness, turning back to me with her tablet raised.

“Stop calling her that!” I punched the glass hard enough to draw blood from a knuckle, anger boiling over.

My sister didn’t even flinch. “What,” she smiled, “you don’t like her new name? Piggy Wannacum?”

“Fuck you, Veronica, stop this.”

“Aw,” Veronica intoned, “don’t let Piggy hear you say that! You might hurt her feelings!”

Snort, grunt

“But then,” her fingers got back to work, “she might be a little too busy to take note.”


This command took my mom by surprise. What seemed like pained, humiliated groans and grunts before immediately shifted to something with more animal urgency.

Grah! Squeah!

She flipped onto her back with an agility I didn’t think possible, considering her girth. Exposed to the light, her bright red erection—definitely smaller than it had been under the gown before. She hunched down towards it—inspecting, drooling.

“Ooh, Piggy’s excited!” Veronica laughed, and walked the few paces between her and my cock-obsessed mother. “But you’re not going to get what you want that way, Piggy!” Veronica raised her barefoot slowly, and pressed it firm against my mothers forehead. She pushed, shifting Mom’s center of gravity and rolling her onto her back, legs raised in the air. “That’s more like it!”

Mom’s legs came down toward her sprawled tits, knees lower and lower. Her neck craned upwards, desperate for something. An animal heat had taken over her entirely, as simple as Veronica’s press-of-a-button. And then— and then— her tongue shot out. Squishing in her gut, Mom was somehow still flexible enough to reach the tip of her own little cock. She pulled her own knees in, excited by the beginnings of success, and reached farther forward. Deeper into her mouth slipped the little hotrod, bright red and ready to pop. And then began the rhythm.

In and out in and out, Mom’s jiggling ass humped at her own cramped lips. The position couldn’t have been comfortable, but she exerted herself like her life depended on it. Those lopsided balls bounced, flopped back and forth, landing sweaty on her upper lip and slapping wet across her nose. It was amazing, in a way. Amazing and horrifying.

If this was a nightmare, it was one I’d be ashamed to have, upon waking.

I’d have thought this new malicious Veronica would relish the seeming climax of events, but once she had Mom desperate for a few drops of her own “hogsperm”, she seemed bored of that particular pastime. She turned to me once more, evil in her eyes. A few swipes on her device, and click—the lights in her chamber completely blacked out. My own reflection stared back at me, a substitute for the abyss behind it.

“I’m disappointed in you, brother,” she spoke from the darkness. Mom’s belaboured grunts still rang out from behind her. “You haven’t even thanked me for the gift I gave you while you were sleeping.”

My stomach dropped, and I dared only for a second to look around the room, wary of something coming to get me through the glass. No noticable changes. Empty, save the mess Mom had made in here yesterday. “What do you mean?” I asked warily. “What did you do?”

She giggled from another part of the room. Mom grunted. “You mean you haven’t noticed?” I could hear her sigh. “What’s different about you?”

I hadn’t even thought to check. Through this most recent ordeal, it didn’t occur to me that Veronica might have the same power over me that she had over Mom. I inspected my hands, my feet. I felt my face, my hair. All normal. My reflection looked normal.

“Not there,” she laughed. “Not yet. Where else?”

I froze. Looked down, and grabbed my package through the blue gown. Her “gift”.

“Veronica what the fuck.”

She broke into a fit of laughter, loud enough to bounce around the room so that it was impossible to tell precisely where she was coming from.

I turned around, raised the hem of my gown to confirm what I didn’t want to believe. My balls hung loose, normal and healthy. But my penis—my dick. It was encased in a hot-pink chastity cage. Opaque, I couldn’t even see the poor thing. About as small as I’d be in a cold shower, I’m surprised it took me this long to notice, even given the circumstances. Thread through the top ring—so small and ever so claustrophobic—a brass lock, engraved with a cute little heart.

Veronica’s fit of laughter ended with a near-whisper. She was close to me, now, right over my shoulder maybe, and yet when I turned round I still couldn’t see anything in the black chamber. “I did it for you, sweetie,” she flirted. “It might help you through a little game I wanna play.”

I breathed deeply, my fight or flight response beginning to kick in. “What game.”

“Every time you cum”, she whispered. “You’ll become more and more who you were meant to be...”

I could almost feel her cool breath on my face through that last syllable. Something moved in the darkness.

“But here’s the catch, Hairtrigger.” Her naked form appeared inches from mine, slowly pressing against the glass. She kissed the barrier sensually, tonguing the pane between us, leaving an impossible spear of red lipstick.


“I’ve just made it a little more easy for you to cum.”

Somewhere behind her in the inky darkness, Piggy Wannacum squirted three sticky globs onto her own slobbering lips. She let loose an unsatisfied squeal, and used the lubricant to renew her efforts.