The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Hannah,” my brother said with a serious look on his face, “we’ve got to talk.”

I was in the process of unzipping my dress. I’d been wearing it all day, desperately waiting to get home, take it off, and show my brother the scorching-hot lingerie I’d been wearing underneath.

Not that it was particularly well hidden—the dress barely ended below my red thong, and it showed off my tits quite generously.

Still, there was something so hot about leading a “double life”—no one but my brother knew just how naughty my underwear was each day, and I loved it. Coming home and exposing myself to him was the highlight of my day.

Well, that and the hour-long fuck he always gave me afterward.

I’d been trying to help my brother cum for just over a month now, and the last week we’d been closer than ever. For the last week, he’d fucked me every day—going through several condoms each time—but he’d yet to actually cum from it.

I knew we were right on the verge though. Something was blocking him—we just had to figure out what.

Looking up at my brother expectantly, I let him speak. He’d mentioned once that he found submissiveness sexy, and so whenever we were alone, I kneeled before him to strip.

“Hannah,” he said, “this last week has been great.”

I smiled in response. He wasn’t wrong. I tried not to cum until my brother did—solidarity, you see—but at the end of each session, my brother let me have one orgasm. Letting him control it made him feel sexy, he explained, and so I’d been training myself to cum on command.

Last night, for the first time, I hadn’t even needed any stimulation—after he’d finished fucking me for the second time (no orgasm on his end, unfortunately), I’d knelt in front of him, he’d stared into my eyes, and simply ordered me to orgasm.

It was one of the most intense experiences of my life.

After I came, I sometimes felt a bit of guilt about what we were doing, but it passed pretty quickly. After all, I was a woman, my brother was a man—we were just doing what our bodies were intended for. Women’s bodies are designed to give pleasure to men, and that’s certainly what I was doing—my time spent helping my brother had really taught me a lot about the pleasure my body was capable of providing.

“And I really appreciate your dedication to helping me out.”

In a way, it was quite sad that my brother was the only recipient of my newly-learned knowledge. I’d decided a few days ago that in order to really be committed to helping him out, my brother needed constant access to my body. If there was ever a chance that he could cum, day or night, I needed to be there, each of my holes available for his use.

And so I’d broken up with my boyfriend. It was an obvious decision, but certainly not an easy one. Time spent with him was time away from my brother, and I really couldn’t afford that—what if I was spending the night with my boyfriend, and my brother was able to cum?

The idea terrified me.

No, it was better this way. Any time of the day or night, all he needed to do was call my name, and I’d be there, ready to serve. Some mornings at breakfast, he’d watch me deep-throating a breakfast sausage, and a raise of his eyebrow was all that I needed—a few minutes later, we’d be in the closet, his cock deep in my throat, pussy, or ass.

Yeah, my ass—I’d never had anal sex before, but the second my brother mentioned that it might help him cum, I knew I didn’t have a choice. Everything I do—everything I am—is to help him get off, and he didn’t even need to mention it twice. I walk around all day with my ass lubed up, just in case my brother wants to fuck my tightest hole.

“But there’s something I need to tell you…”

I just nodded, hoping that it made my tits bounce enticingly. I’d started watching my movement a lot these days, trying to make sure that everything I did—every gesture I made, every step I took—would help get my brother hard, so I could help him get off.

God I wanted to help my brother get off. It was constantly at the forefront of my mind—it was the first thing I thought about waking up, and the last thing I thought about before I went to bed. I couldn’t even remember a time when I masturbated thinking about anything else.

I couldn’t even remember life before it held the simple, pure purpose it did now.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice a unique mix of baby-girl and sultry seductress. One night, after my brother had fucked me three times before going to sleep, I’d pulled up his internet history and searched for the porn stars he liked best. As I’d gone around my regular routine the next day, their videos had been playing on my headphones, and I’d been trying to emulate their tone exactly.

I didn’t know for sure if it had worked, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. Anything I could do to turn my brother on more, I did. Anything.

“I’m just worried…”

My heart-rate quickened. I’d done some reading, and discovered that stress was a common cause in difficulties orgasming. As a result, I’d started to do everything I could to reduce my brother’s stress—I still woke him up with a blow-job, but I’d started bringing a cup of coffee with me. My parents hadn’t said anything when I took over his chores, and I’d even started cleaning his room for him.

If my brother had any kind of tension or stress in his life, it reduced the chances of him reaching orgasm, and that was the last thing that I wanted.

“…fucking you has been great, but I’m having trouble with the fact that you’re my sister.”

“Of course,” I responded immediately, blushing slightly at his words.

It had been difficult for me, too, but I’d found a simple solution that helped me cope: I didn’t think about it.

Simple as that. When I was horny, it was easy not to think, and when I wasn’t…

Well, I was horny most of the time.

I wondered if other people had started to notice how often I just stared into space with a smile on my face, or the increasing number of mistakes I’d been making in what had once been extremely simple work.

If they had, they hadn’t said anything. And if they weren’t saying anything directly, I frankly wouldn’t have noticed—most of my mental energy was spent on thinking of more ways I could help my brother.

Maybe if I work harder to turn him on, I thought, before realizing that I was already doing everything in my power in that regard. I decided to stop thinking (which was getting easier and easier) and wait for my brother’s solution.

“And so I thought to help with that, you could pick up some costumes.”

Brilliant, I thought, barely able to stop myself from swooning. It was such a simple, elegant solution—my big brother was so smart. So smart, and strong, and manly…and sexy…

Without thinking, one hand had reached up my dress and I’d started playing with myself, almost drooling as I stared at the outline of my brother’s cock. It was so big…so beautiful…

And, as I’d proven over the last 6 days, so capable of giving pleasure.

Following my eyeline, my brother smiled as he unzipped his pants.

“Maybe we can start on the costumes tomorrow,” he said, and I nodded enthusiastically, a shockwave of pleasure running through my whole body as his cock came into view.

“Of course,” I said. “Anything you want…”

I burned through my savings pretty quickly. Once or twice, I hesitated, but not for long.

If it helps my brother get off…

That was all the motivation I needed to hand over the money.

My brother came with me. We’d gone to a mall a few towns over, just in case we ran into anyone. I could understand how, from the outside, it could look weird—if you didn’t know about my brother’s condition, it would be easy to think his sister acting as his personal sex slave was wrong.

And that, for all the right reasons, is what I was: my brother’s personal fuck-slut. His private set of cum-holes. I existed to sheath his cock, to stimulate it. My tits were there to get him hard; my wet cunt was there to get him off.

Was it bad how much that turned me on?

Easier not to think about it.

As soon as he saw me modeling the nurse outfit for him, I could tell my brother was turned on. I’d trained myself to recognize the signs—any time there was even a chance of making him cum, I wanted to know. The only way of ensuring my brother came was if I dedicated my life to making it happen. I needed to transform myself into the perfect cunt-slave: everything about my existence was for the benefit of my brother.

Even a week ago, my brother would probably have felt the need to tell me he was close, that he was turned on, that there was a chance he could cum. But now, I knew my place: the second I recognized the signals, I’d turned around, flipped my slutty nurse’s dress up, and bent over. I hoped that the sight of his sister presenting her slutty little holes to him would be a turn-on.

As I felt his hard cock rub up and down my exposed slit, I felt a pang of guilt—maybe he would have preferred a blow-job? Maybe he would have liked it more if I’d knelt in front of him, pulling down the top of the nurse’s outfit, exposing my tits to him before letting him fuck me?

I swore that I’d get better at anticipating my brother’s needs.

Whatever it took.

We bought a dozen costumes that day—slutty nurse, slutty witch, slutty cop, slutty student…even slutty Indian, which I would have considered offensive just a few weeks ago. Now, it didn’t matter. If it helped get my brother hard, it went on the card.

Sometimes he’d just finger me to orgasm after a costume (the idea of getting caught was still a huge turn-on for me, and just parading my body for his pleasure was enough to get me hot) but most times he’d fuck me. Each and every time, I’d wait until he discarded the condom and then turn to him, a hopeful look on my face.

Each time I was met with a sad shake of his head.

When we got home, my brother had a genius idea—he was able to masturbate without a problem, he just couldn’t cum when there was anyone else in the room. He suggested taking photos of me in my new costumes (and some of me without them) so that when he jerked off alone, it would be like I was there.

Exposure therapy, I think they call it. The idea was so clever, and so hot—even when I wasn’t there, I’d be helping him. Twenty-four hours a day, I’d be serving my purpose, getting my brother hard.

I almost came on the spot just thinking about it.

He got so turned on by the idea that he pulled his dick out and started jerking off in front of me. I couldn’t help my mind from wandering as he stroked—up and down and up and down…

Images started coming into my head as I played with myself, watching my brother masturbate. Images of my naked body, captured on film for all to see. I guess I’ve had a bit of an exhibitionist streak lately, but the idea of photos, of film…it was really taking things to the next level.

I imagined having my own pornographic website. “Hannah’s Holes.” Pictures and video of my naked body—images of me getting off, filling my body up with toys, dressing up for the camera, sucking my brother’s dick…

Being fucked on camera.

I almost blacked out when I came. These days, all my orgasms were intense—I was so turned on all the time, so desperately in need of the release they provided—but this one was particularly powerful. It seemed my fetish was greater than I thought.

Once I came to, I realized that it wasn’t practical, of course. Being my brother’s sex slave—that was a medical thing. I was trying to be as unselfish as possible. Actually starting a porn site—that was the kind of thing that could ruin the rest of my life.

Even though I had cum, my brother wasn’t even close. Guilt hit me like a freight train—I’d just been lying there playing with myself, ignoring my brother’s needs. What an awful sister! I couldn’t believe how selfish I was being.

I went to remedy the situation, but my brother pushed me away. It seemed that he was enjoying taking care of it himself for a change, and so I just lay back and watched, trying to contort my body so my brother would have the hottest view possible.

Up and down and up and down.

My job—my role in life—was to fulfill my brother’s fantasies. It was the only way I’d be able to make sure he came—and if I couldn’t help my brother cum, what kind of a worthless slut was I?

No, I needed to do everything I could to make my brother’s every fantasy come true. It was all I was good for. It was why I existed.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

My mind started wandering. I tried to think of new fantasies I could fulfill—I tried to put some time aside for it every day, coming up with new ways I could pleasure my brother. The costumes were a great first step—I’d be able to role-play, pretend to be a sexy nurse looking after him in the hospital, or a slutty student, kneeling before him, begging to blow him in return for an A+…

Up and down. Stroke, stroke.

But what else was there? What was a fantasy that every man had? The Oedipus Complex flitted into my mind before I firmly batted it away—I was already skirting far too close to the line of incest, and it wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on.

And then it hit me:

How do guys get off? Watching porn. And why do guys watch porn?

Because they want to fuck a porn star.

I don’t even know when my hand had returned between my legs, but it was stroking in time with my brother’s administrations. Stroke, stroke, up and down.

My brother needed a porn star to fuck. And if I had my own website, I could be that porn star.

It would be selfish for me to start a site for my own depraved purposes, but if I was helping my brother…if seeing his little sister do porn and then getting to fuck her turned him on…

It was perfect.

I started cumming again, uncontrollably moaning my fantasies, telling my brother how much I wanted to fuck for the camera. How I wanted men everywhere, all across the country, all across the world to see my perfect little slutty body. How I wanted to expose myself to the world, be a slut for everyone to see.

I wanted everyone to see what a little slut I was. I wanted to fulfill my brother’s every fantasy, and if that meant becoming a porn star for him to fuck, then that was what I had to do.

My life was nothing, compared to how important it was to make my brother cum.