The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hierarchy of Needs

Special thanks to HP for his contributions to this chapter.

Chapter 13:

My sister was pacing around the house, frustrated.

Every now and again, she’d pull out her phone and then put it away again. I knew exactly what she was doing—Ashley was contemplating calling the strip club to apologize, to beg for another shift…but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Even if though it was almost impossible for it to be worse than the previous night, she couldn’t muster up the courage to have a conversation with them.

It was too awkward for her to even consider.

At one point, she asked me if it was possible to stream from her phone. I told her it was (which was true) but that it would involve getting special permission from an administrator of the site (which was not).

Just the thought of asking a favor from a stranger was enough to make Ashley cringe, and so she made a post announcing a brief hiatus.

“More videos coming soon!” she wrote. Perfect.

When Ashley approached me about filming some more masturbation videos, I turned her down.

“There’s no point,” I told her casually. “If you’re not doing shows, you’d be launching them to a dead audience. You know how much even a day or two off can affect your rankings—a week away is going to make it a real uphill battle when you return.”

“What if we filmed a bunch now,” she asked, a desperate tone in her voice, “so we have a backlog when everything is back online?”

“Nah,” I said, suddenly very glad that I’d turned down the money. “We’ll just do some more when you’re back online, yeah?”

My sister pushed it for another hour, but I refused to budge. I offered to lend her my equipment so she could film herself, and I could tell that she was tempted…but it wasn’t the same.

She needed more than just to get off for the camera. She needed acknowledgement.

Over the next two days, the slow build-up of her needs was actually visible.

A human can last three weeks without food, but Ashley’s exhibitionist needs were more like being deprived of water.

My sister’s need to be watched was a dry, painful thirst: one that was increasingly apparent after just a few days without anyone viewing her body. Her fear of socially awkward situations kept her away from bars, friends, and Tinder, and our internet drought meant that she couldn’t cam.

There was only one person left.

I’d worked hard to convince my sister of my entirely innocent, above-the-board intentions. It had been a lot of effort to get to the point where we were masturbating in front of each other without her seeing it as a sexual dynamic.

And I knew it had worked. As far as Ashley was concerned, I was just her helpful brother. She knew that I didn’t find anything weird about our casual masturbation sessions, and as time went on, neither did she.

She barely viewed me as a sexual creature. And to her mind, I certainly didn’t find her desirable.

It was time for that to change.

With no internet, we were spending a lot of time watching TV. We were up to the second season of The Wire when I decided to make my move. I had been planning on waiting for another day or two, really getting my sister up to boiling point, but one of the character’s girlfriends had surprised us both by suddenly taking her top off.

“Hot,” I said casually, and my sister agreed.

Without saying a word, I paused the show and pulled out my cock. The girl on-screen had some of the best tits I’d ever seen. Not as good as my sister’s of course, but still pretty spectacular.

Ashley was sitting beside me on the couch; not leaning up against me, but close enough that we were touching. My parents weren’t due home for the rest of the day.

In response, my sister just reached into her yoga pants and began touching herself. A year ago, this situation would have been an impossible wet dream; today, it was no big deal.

Except this time, I knew: Ashley didn’t just want to get herself off.

She wanted someone to watch her do it.

No, she didn’t just want that. She needed it. Ashley had been starved of sexual attention for half a week, and I was the only person around to give her any.

My sister, of course, had no idea that I knew exactly what she wanted. What she needed. Ashley had no idea that I was inside her head, completely aware of her desires…and planning on using them against her.

As I stroked myself, I focused my entire attention on the TV screen, refusing to even glance at Ashley. It wasn’t easy, but when I’d started introducing casual masturbation to the mix, I’d gotten pretty good at avoiding acknowledging her presence at all.

But in my peripheral vision, I could see that she wasn’t watching the screen.

She was watching me.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, and I allowed myself to glance in her direction, just for a split second. She was biting her lip, her hand furiously rubbing between her legs, a confused look on her face.

I looked away before she could notice, and didn’t even let my eyes flick her way again.

No wonder she was confused. Showing off her body, having her sexual presence acknowledged; it was suddenly so important to her, a need that she’d do anything to fulfill. But I’d carefully closed off all her usual avenues, and now all that was left was me.

Her brother.

For the first time in her life (aside from one oh-so-brief flicker, so many months ago) my sister was viewing me in a sexual light. She wanted my attention. She wanted me to notice her, sexually.

No, not wanted. Needed.

As I continued stroking my cock, I could hear her rhythm building up. Ashley’s grunting got louder, more…persistent. It was obvious that she was trying to make as much noise as she could, urgently trying to get my attention.

We continued to play with ourselves, two siblings getting off beside each other. The more we mutually masturbated, the louder my sister grew. Her grunting gave way to overt moans; performative ones, the type that I’d heard her use in her show dozens of times.

Normally, my sister used these moans to get tips.

Now, she was using them to get my attention.

Ashley was performing almost entirely for me, her brother.

And I was giving her nothing.

As my hand moved faster and faster, I put all my energies into ignoring her. My mind was racing as I continued staring at the topless TV actor, (her tits, although incredible, were the furthest thing from my mind). This was a battle of wills, and I was going to win.

It wasn’t long before I was cumming. With a grunt of my own, I shot my seed onto my shirt. I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning that up later.

“God yes,” my sister moaned, my orgasm apparently triggering her own. It was louder than normal, and despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help myself: I glanced over, and made eye-contact with my sister.

Too late, I realized my mistake. She hadn’t really cum…not until my eyes had met hers.

Fuck,” she panted, a genuine expression of surprise and arousal. Her body was twitching, her orgasm hitting her hard. I wanted to tear my gaze away, but I couldn’t—my sister was staring at my face as she came, biting her lip as pleasure wracked her entire frame, my attention getting her off.

“Wow,” she said, as she came down. “That was…”

“Yeah,” I said, turning my attention back to the TV and unpausing the show. “Who expected that in the middle of a crime show?”

My sister’s body stiffened slightly. All she wanted was sexual acknowledgement, and I refused to give it to her.

* * *

Later that night, I was alone in my room when my sister entered.

She’d gotten so casual about nudity, it took me a moment to realize that she was dressed in a half-cup bra and a pair of tight thong panties.

I bit my tongue, making sure not to even glance down at her exposed nipples.

“Hey,” she said, an uncharacteristically shy tone in her voice. Was she deliberately playing the ingénue, or was this real? She was so hungry for sexual attention; maybe she was genuinely nervous about me noticing her.

“Hey,” I replied, not looking up from my laptop.

“What are you watching?”

“Playing GTA,” I said, pointing at the screen. My sister’s eyes lit up.

“Is the internet back??”

“No,” I laughed. “This game doesn’t need a connection.”


I could practically taste her disappointment.

With a sigh, my sister plopped herself down on the bed, behind my laptop. She turned, her blonde eyes staring at me.

“You mind if I get off?” she asked, in a tone so casual that it felt rehearsed.

“It’s a free country,” I said, swerving to avoid a cop car.

It was a serious challenge, but I managed to avoid so much as glancing at my sister as she got off. Just like that morning, she was louder than normal—more performative. A lot of groaning and moaning, huffing and gasping.

And, to my delight, when that didn’t work…dirty talk.

It started with just sexual noises, but soon they turned into words.

“God,” she panted. “Goddddd.”

I consciously ignored her, picking up a rocket launcher and making my way into the building.

“Oh god,” she continued. “Oh, I’m so horny.”

Keeping a straight face was challenging, but I somehow managed.

“My nipples,” she shuddered. “Oh, my nipples are so hard.”

She sounded like a bad romance author. Dirty talk had never been a part of her camming routine, so I guess she’d never had to learn how it worked.

Terrible though she was at it, I have to admit—I still found it hot as hell.

For the next few minutes, Ashley continued describing her arousal, arching her back and gyrating her hips: everything she could do to win my attention away from the game.

Nope. My eyes remained glued to the screen.

It was taking every ounce of willpower to not only keep from looking, but to keep from making it obvious that I even wanted to look.

You’ve seen it all before, I reminded myself. You’ve seen her cum a thousand times.

“God I’m hot,” she panted. “Oh god, I’m so hot. I’m so turned on. Oh god, yes, yes, yes, YES!”

I managed to refrain from laughing at the performance. I’ve watched enough of my sister’s orgasms to know when she’s faking.

“Oh, look at how hard my nipples are. Look at how wet I am…”

As I’d been playing the game, my sister had begun pinching her nipples as her other hand pistoned between her legs.

Before long, her manufactured moans gave way to genuine groans of frustration at her inability to get her way.

Look at me,” she gasped insistently, but I held strong.

Ashley’s attempts to get my attention reached a crescendo as she noisily came (for real this time), spasming and twitching noisily, trying desperately to draw my eyes.

Still nothing.

“Wow,” she said, flopping down beside me on the bed. “That was a good one.”

“Uh huh,” I replied. “Hey, check this out—I think this is a secret area!”

I could all but hear my sister rolling her eyes.

* * *

Over the next twenty-four hours, my sister’s frustration continued to visibly rise. She got off in front of me twice more; the second time, I didn’t even acknowledge that she was there.

I remembered being a kid, she’d done the same to me once. It felt like it had lasted weeks—a complete refusal to register that I even existed. I think she’d only stopped because our parents had made her.

Oh how the tables had turned.

As she performatively came in front of me, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in her head. When I’d first encountered the cabinet, I hadn’t even noticed that I was obsessively cleaning; did Ashley consciously know that she was desperately trying to get my attention? Or had she convinced herself that she just happened to be loudly masturbating in the same room as me?

The cabinet was powerful, but it couldn’t share her thoughts.

Or could it?

It was always an odd experience, going into the small room during the day. It didn’t have any windows, so it was just as dark as always, but the musty smell wasn’t quite as overpowering. My parents weren’t due home for half an hour, and Ashley had fallen asleep on the couch after getting off in front of me for the second time.

Opening Ashley’s drawer, it didn’t take me long to find it. Under ‘Exhibitionism’, in a folder that I’d previously spent hours trying to find: ‘Exposure to Family.’

Inside that folder, there was a single sheet of paper: ‘Exposure to Jacob’.