The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

What a great role model I am, huh?

My fingers balled into a fist.

“Goddamnit!”

Maybe I have issues managing my anger because right now, I want to find the nearest wall and punch it for all I’m worth. That could leave a hole afterward, along with a bloody or bruised fist, depending on where and how hard of a punch I’d let loose. But, fuck me, it would be worth expelling the stress currently pumping through my veins.

My little brother is supposed to see me as a role model, someone who has their life more put together. He’s supposed to see me as an aspiration that can push him towards getting his life together. That’s just what older siblings are supposed to be.

How can I expect him to count on me when I’m falling asleep behind the fucking wheel like that? Especially when I have shit to do. I’m always on that, always!

“Fuck.” “Fuck.” “Fuck.” “Fuck.” “Fuck.” “Fuck.” “Fuck.” “Fuck.”

“Thanks big sis!” My little brother proved to be as clueless as ever towards the self-loathing I was feeding into myself.

“Maybe I don’t need to worry about him clueing into the fact that I’m a fucking mess sometimes.”

“No problem,” I said, with my patented older sister’s smile. Deciding to let his “big sis” comment slide for now. I watched him exit the car first and enter the house; the moment the sound of the front door shutting hit my ears, I leaned back against the seat rest and sighed.

Here I am, glazed from head to toe like a greased-up sausage, baking under the scorching sun. Honestly, my cleavage was so soaked that I wouldn’t be surprised if a pool began to form between my tits. And that’s not to mention the clear damp stains between my legs. Hair that was supposed to be smooth and flowing now looked plastered to my forehead, all while I was passing out in the car and wasting time when I had a project due this evening.

Even if my brother is too self-absorbed in his own personal bubble to notice anything amiss, I still can’t shake the feeling that I need to do better. Much-much better.

Then again, maybe looking like a mess more often would help snap Marcus out of his older sister’s attachment. He just turned eight-teen, but one would be hard-pressed to believe that by the way he acts at times.

He thinks I’m perfect, in part due to me hiding my flaws...

I clicked my tongue and eyed myself through the rearview mirror.

Sigh

That’s just an excuse for me to waltz around like a mess. This shouldn’t have happened. I need to be a role model for my brother while also shaking him out of his childish habits.

That’s just my job as his big sis.

I-I mean older sibling.

“Damnit. How am I supposed to get him to stop calling me that when I’m out here using it in my own thoughts?”

After wasting more time than I should’ve sitting in the car accomplishing nothing, I readied my thoughts and unfastened the seatbelt. The strap being freed from between my breasts allowed room for the touch of air to grace that area with a chill breeze.

“I really need a shower,”

Marcus found himself unfathomably pissed, exceedingly bored, and overall just generally upset after making it home. The last pleasurable sight he saw before reality came crashing down was watching Emma’s sweetly sweat-coated figure from the side of the house after pretending to close the door.

Sigh

Rolling over to his side, Marcus studied the clock ticking mechanically above his door.

“8:26”

It felt like hours, yet only one minute passed since the last time he checked. If the saying that time flies when one’s having fun is true, then the exact opposite is at play here. Time itself could be at a literal standstill if his personal enjoyment was being used as a measurement.

His eyes landed on the books currently laid haphazardly atop his desk. The sight of such prompted his stomach to turn, as did the rest of him since he went back to studying the wall. That was more entertaining than watching the seconds evolve into minutes and minutes into hours.

It’s frustrating having a new toy yet being forced out of using it. With the music box, he shouldn’t be bored. Let alone this frustration. Emma had been a tease ever since picking him up from school. That sports bra struggled to contain her sweaty jugs, and her yoga pants were drenched in sweat; just looking in that direction was enough to push him over the edge. That’s entirely ignoring the way she brought him so close to ejaculation only to back out at the last minute.

Now here he was, both conventionally and sexually frustrated; he shouldn’t have his time ticking away while stuck waiting for others to give him the green light.

But his experience with Emma in the car taught him a lot. One of which is that, while he can use the box while people’s minds are up and about, it’s much more effective to wait until they are more tired and agreeable. Commanding Emma back there was like trying to force an animal into compliance.

And even if he wanted to use the box...

Well, he really couldn’t.

It’s in his sister’s room. And her bedroom door hasn’t opened since she closed it a couple of hours ago. She entered the house, made a beeline for her room, then went into the bathroom and remained in there for almost an hour before going back into her room. Her time in the shower gave him the perfect opportunity to return the box to her nightstand before she could notice he had taken it this morning.

Her ability to put together puzzles once given enough pieces was remarkably displayed earlier today. Hence Marcus’ desire to avoid getting caught with the music box if he can help it.

Marcus closed his eyes. The droning chants of his clock continued its monotonous beat.

Tick Tock Tick Tock

There’s nothing he can do but wait and wait... once Emma gets tired again, there might be some room for fun, but by then, he might want to snooze himself.

Maybe he should take a nap now so later, he’ll be bristling with energy when the time is right.

Yeah. That sounds...

“Marcus!” Marcus flinched in the bed at the sound of his mother’s voice calling from downstairs, “Come here, now.”

Sigh

Exiting his room, Marcus maneuvered himself down the hall, passing his sister’s room. He couldn’t help but lament how much safer and more generally relaxing of a destination her room would be as opposed to wherever his mother was. The worst his sister could do in their interactions is get a bit too rough with her teasing banter; even then, it’s rare as she just seems to be passively aware of his limits and never (or very rarely if he’s being honest) takes things too far.

On the other hand, his mother can be hit or miss. Her moods vary from pleasant to passive and pissed; many factors (all of which are out of Marcus’ control) contribute to how she’s feeling at any moment. But seeing that she’s in charge of a dozen people at her company and is often stressed or overworked with her strict, by-the-books workaholic mentality, it’s easy to find her in a disgruntled state.

Even if he sometimes questions her, it’s obvious that his mother loves him and her family, if how she works to the bone to keep a consistent cash flow pouring in was anything to go by. But would it kill her not to bring her bad attitude home at times?

It says something that Marcus has grown to anticipate how an interaction would turn out just by the tone of his mother’s voice.

The manner in which her voice called out, “Come here, now,” was akin to a woman that was tired and ready to crash for the day but couldn’t as she still had some business to attend to. She probably has her own personal beef with someone or something that transpired at work which is causing her to think back on how much better the day could have turned out if certain things had played out differently.

That’s something only eight-teen years of being at the mercy of her strict moody whims can cause; it causes him to learn a thing or two about what to expect.

Marcus scaled down the stairs and soon entered the living room, his curious eyes swiftly finding the source of his summoning.

Being graced with a side profile shot of his mother in the midst of a courtesy stretch, his hesitance and apprehension were found to be briefly stifled by a quick way of desire. His dick pulsed as a tight strain was constructed in his pants.

This is a new feeling...

The woman that used her own round child-bearing hips to give birth to his older sister, the living angel on earth, would always hold a special place in Marcus’ eye.

He gulped.

His legs shifted to hide the sudden tent.

But never like this...

It’s still jarring realizing his mother was this... curvy. s

She possessed a defined, almost hourglass-like figure, something that he hadn’t noticed up until this point. Only by the fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on who is asked) chance that was catching her in her underwear did the fog of naivety lift from his vision. She was here with this fit, mature body, his entire life. Like whine, only becoming more appealing with age, but he was just too ignorant to realize. Emma had him so transfixed since his conception between his mother’s legs that he failed to fully appreciate this older image of what his sister may possibly become.

Noticing him mid-stretch, Mom breathed a sigh.

Being briefly distracted by the way her side-profile stretch worked to effectively emphasize the mass of her large bust straining against the buttoned blouse she wore, right above a slim waist and almost equally bubbly buttocks, he managed to gulp and manage out a greeting, “H-Hey, Mom.” Tearing his eyes up to her face before the woman could notice where he was staring, he asked, “Did you call?”

“Yes,” She said, eyeing him for a second before beginning to remove her suit jacket. “Take the bags from the car.”

Giving her order without any extra flare or pizazz, Mom hooked her jacket under her arm and left him there, her hips swaying as she exited the room; now without a jacket covering her top, he could fully appreciate how large those milk fruits of hers, happened to be,with side boobflesh bulging and pressing out on both sides of the blouse, they had a natural way of filling the top to its limit.

Though she left him there far too quickly to heed him any mind or even notice his not-so-covert leering.

Not even realizing his mother was a literal textbook definition of a MILF this whole time was doing him wonders. Like Emma, a person that doesn’t realize they’re being sought after is much less likely to notice in the first place.

But, while his goal for Emma is to set her up to be the perfect sister, one that will fulfill his desires and fill his vision of the quintessential older sister. Mom really just needs that stick to leave her ass.

Looking at those glutes shift, her round bubbly cheeks bouncing with tight jeans working on digging between each bun. Maybe that metaphorical stick could be replaced with a cock.

Not wanting his fantasies to absorb him until he’s just an idiot standing in the middle of the living room. Marcus left to follow through with his mother’s command. She wasn’t outright mad; that’s clear enough from her demeanor. Otherwise, she would’ve started out by nagging him about petty garbage, as his mother often does.

Though if he gives her a reason, that natural mood of hers might give way to more issues that could easily be avoided. All it takes is one snarky comment, one rude roll of his eyes, or simply not doing what she tells him to do, and he’s grounded. His control and general list of options here are rather limited.

That is when Mom’s awake.

But once she’s asleep...

That’s when things change.

In a way, can’t it be said that Marcus is doing his mother a service in his desire to see someone so strict, bossy, and dominant take a more humble and humiliated position? It might just be his juvenile desire to topple her authority or just the amusement that comes with humiliating someone who should always be the complete opposite by all accounts of her personality. But seriously...

She’s always got a stick up her ass, or some lucky thing found its way all the way up there with how she can so easily go into cranky mode. Granted, she’s not cranky now, just... passively unamused? Could that describe her?

Marcus silently observed from a distance, pretending to be absorbed in his studies; he sat back at the dining room table, able to view his mother seated on her favorite recline chair, clicking away on her laptop while the TV played some drama show that she wasn’t even paying attention to.

He glanced at the clock.

9:45

Almost ten?

She must be pretty tired, huh?

As if on cue, Mom yawned but was quick to stifle it with her palm. For about eight seconds, her fingers were freed from their typing spree, but they soon resumed as if that break was more than enough of a reprieve.

Even when off the clock, she’s working hard. This is why someone really needs to give her the one thing she will refuse to accept on her own accord.

A simple life.

A life where she doesn’t have to worry about being in charge of everyone.

No deadlines, no strict rules, no need to do everything by the book.

Just... obedience to her own son. A humiliating step down from her position of power, a place where she can just be the clown of the house instead of one of its breadwinners. His desire to see her become a joke that can keep him entertained both sexually and physically while he works on his real goal of making Emma into the perfect sister is just mutually beneficial.

For a brief moment, Mom can be relieved from all of that shit she must deal with while she’s awake, and when she’s asleep, she can just be humiliated. It’s a win-win, by all accounts.

Emma’s the cake, and Mom’s the entertainment. That’s a nice way of summarizing things.

Besides, she’s the one that confiscated his computer. He was left bored all fucking day because of her, with nothing on his plate to do but his homework. It’s only fair for her to either give him back his shit or take responsibility and keep him amused in her own way.

The choice is hers.

Actually, that gave him an idea.

Once again, Mom yawned.

Tired or not, controlling his mother always starts off hard and becomes easier the longer she’s under; at least, that’s what he has written down in his notes about what he learned this morning. Being in control, giving orders, keeping things in line, all of that is so deeply seeded in her core that it’s really challenging to outright command her. Even if, deep down, she has a desire to be humiliated and degraded to some degree (otherwise, there’d be almost no chance of doing any of this.)

But when he phrased the command as a choice... things worked differently. When approaching her docile “awake mind” that is in limbo where all she can do is accept and refuse commands, it worked better for him by making her feel comfortable like she usually is when telling people what to do.

So, with that in mind. He had two notes.

One larger than the other.

“If you’re feeling hot, you can take off your blouse. It’s your house. Do what you want. You’re in charge.”

“You took away your son’s computer. Now he can focus on his work. You are a great mother. But you are in charge here. Remember that. YOU are in charge here. When kids get bored, bad things happen. You can’t let bad things happen in your house. You are responsible for what happens in YOUR HOUSE. Because YOU took away YOUR SONS computer. YOU must take responsibility to make sure he is entertained. What are YOU going to do? YOU ARE IN CHARGE.”

This is a sizable step up from the basic, “Do your brother’s homework,” that started this all a few days ago. But Mom really likes to resist when it comes to other people bossing her around. The role reversal just snaps her out of the trance-induced slumber.

Besides, he’s starting to theorize that larger commands are more effective at making someone’s docile mind gloss over some of the words. At least, it feels like such is the case. Like with anyone, awake or not, when faced with reading a large wall of text, it’s easy to skim past a few words here and there.

And in Mom’s case, once she’s fully passed out and asleep under the effects of the music box. Her passive “awake self” is still the final decider over what command is and isn’t accepted; being able to trick that part of her to just shrug and say “looks right, go ahead,” to his command is all he needs to get positive results.

The first command is something that can start the ball rolling, a minor test to see if he can indulge in her desire to be in charge even when she’s really just obeying her son like the good Obedient Mommy she is.

Maybe, just to heed the side of caution, he should begin with an even smaller command. Jumping jacks is something she should be so accustomed to doing; her docile mind will just accept it without even acknowledging the command in the first place.

Hell, even stripping to her underwear should be more natural by now.

“Marcus,” Mom said through a yawn that spoiled the fun of his fantasized plotting. “Get me some coffee, please. You know what I like.” While saying this, her fingers went back to plotting; the mother of the house hadn’t the faintest idea that her son was preparing to relieve her of the stress that was her seemingly never-ending workload.

Marcus smirked, hiding it behind his book, not that she was looking.

Oh, coffee won’t be able to keep Mom awake once the relaxing flow of music enters her ears...

“Yes, Mom,” he said, obediently bobbing up to his feet. It won’t be long until she’s the one obeying him, so he didn’t mind indulging in her hold of authority while she still had her consciousness.

Stuffing the cards in his pocket, he entered the kitchen; sounds of Mom’s constant typing met his ears, along with the muffled babble of Emma in her bedroom. His sister’s probably doing her usual girly gossip with her friends over a video call, but considering the time, she’ll be doing her usual nightly rounds any moment now. Early to bed, early to rise, that kind of blabber.

Hopefully, her preparing to sleep will give him the opportunity he needs to snag the box out of her room.

Boy, does he have his regrets about handing that thing to her as a gift, knowing what he knows now.

As Mom had instructed him a few times before, Marcus played through the familiar steps in making his mother’s “keep-me-up” coffee. There was a well-placed window hole in the kitchen surveying the living room where his mother currently resided. Seeing her, with her focus planted firmly on her computer as her fingers moved with practiced efficiency, Marcus gazed down at his hands, then back up to his mother before returning to his fingers again.

Firmly in his grasp rested a container of coffee creamer.

Mom, personally, doesn’t like to have any cream in her coffee. She can be quoted saying, “Quality coffee doesn’t need cream or sugar,” and, as such, tends to avoid it. That is unless she is telling someone else to make it for her. Not Marcus, Emma, or even her husband can make coffee the way she likes it; so, in those instances, she’d rather them put sugar or cream in the coffee as it’s better than nothing.

Marcus continued to eye the creamer, thinking back to their interaction this morning; he couldn’t contain the beginnings of a smirk from forming on his knowing face.

Even if most of their interaction occurred while his strict, no-nonsense mother was asleep, her reaction while awake was hers to own. And he specifically remembers her enjoying the “cream” that was shot into her morning cup of coffee. Whether that was his Sleepy Mommy or Obedient Mommy, as he’s trying to get her to name herself, doesn’t necessarily matter. Mom only has one mind, asleep or awake; they share the same brain. The mother that will chastise her son for running in the house is the same woman that was happily degrading herself for his own pleasure this morning.

So, basically, as a “Too Long Don’t Read” version of all that...

Mom won’t mind a bit of cream in her coffee, right?

“Oh, honey.” Marcus’ mother spoke up from her laptop, looking through the window at him, “Make sure to put some creamer in there.”

Marcus flashed a smile, “Really? Is that what you want?”

“What’s with your tone?” He probably shouldn’t have said it in such a manner. Mothers possess some sixth sense that just allows them to know when something is going on; Mom displayed such by raising her eyebrow. “Don’t try anything, son. I’m not in the mood.” Her eyes held a sharp twinkle.

There was a warning tone to her voice, one that foretold of unspoken punishments that may arrive if her son did decide that now was an appropriate time for any tomfoolery.

“I’m not doing anything,” Marcus responded with an innocent shrug.

“Sure,” Unamused and almost expecting that she was going to have to discipline her child soon, Mom simply sighed. It was clear that she didn’t want to be pushed into a position where she’d be forced to discipline her son, but the exhale of her breath foretold that she fully expected things to come to that. “I know what coffee tastes like, so please just act your age and do what you’re told. Please.”

She often says please, like he has a choice in the matter. It’s usually either do this or be ready for her to do that. Replace “this” and “that” with whatever the situation calls for, and it fits perfectly.

But it’s going to be her that he should tell them to “act your age” once her eyes flutter shut.

“Yes, Mom.” Time for some harmless tomfoolery, “Just normal coffee with cream.”

Her iris’ still held a sparse glint, but otherwise, she gave him a wordless nod and resumed her work. Whatever happened would happen in her mind.

Which isn’t entirely wrong.

Anyhow, she specifically told him to put cream in the drink; he’s just being a good boy.

Still hearing Emma chatting along to her friends and with his mother focused on her late-night work, Marcus looked down and worked at his pants.

From the perspective of his mother, she gave him a brief glance to see that he was fumbling with her drink.

She really didn’t want to punish him, “Better be cream...” She muttered under her breath.

She loves him so dearly, but he can be so incredibly stupid at times. It’s never smart to play games with anyone that isn’t in the mood for them, especially when that person has authority in the situation.

What she was unaware of was that her son was certainly doing exactly as she ordered. Telling him to drop some cream into her cup, that’s what he did. With his hand on his cock, his pants dropped down to his ankles, and Naruto tugged and pumped his dick. Keeping his grunts to himself, he allowed his eyes to close and imagined the cup to be his mother’s open mouth. Her mature face, always with a bland assertive and firm expression, turned into a much more comfortable smile, happy to devour her son’s load, his seed welcome to trail through her insides and find a home in her stomach.

Biting his bottom lip, Marcus tugged one final time to let his cock erupt seed right into his freshly prepared cup of coffee.

The haze of lust subsided, and he blinked up to see his mother engrossed in her work. It wasn’t smart for him to pump his rod right into her eyeshot, but as fate would have it, her focus on that computer was able to mask her usually keen awareness.

Marcus pulled up his pants with a swift haste, one that moved even quicker by the distinct sound of his sister’s bedroom door clicking open. He hastily checked to be sure his pants were on correctly and haphazardly rubbed away some lingering cum that had spilled over though he wasn’t able to get to a large noticeable blob that began to coax down the side.

Instead of getting caught trying to wipe away the cup, he chose to just be snappy and hand over the still-steaming cup.

Apparently, Obedient Mommy is humiliation-starved enough to either make Mom not notice cum in her drinks, or his mother is just naturally not aware enough to notice, though the latter guess is hard to believe with how she just seems to know everything. That’s something Emma inherited, too; both women are just... aware. It’s scary at times how they just always know when he’s hiding something.

Is he that shit of a liar?

He didn’t want to stay to find out and promptly made his way out of the kitchen.

Only to run face-first into a healthy, round, and full pair of tits.

Well, unfortunately, it wasn’t literally face-first. Emma wasn’t that tall yet, though she was still growing, and seeing Mom, she might get there. But her boobs were just as pronounced and bouncy, case in point how he literally sprang back from the sudden contact. Emma, firm on her feet, didn’t budge, but she was surprised; a quick yelp left her lips, and before Marcus could even realize what had ensued, her hands were on him, preventing any fall from occurring.

Marcus blinked.

This is why he loves his sister, one of the many reasons why he’s going to use this box to make sure she will always be here in his life as his perfect personal big sis.

Moving out, finding some lucky ass guy to be her boyfriend, getting married, having kids, no-no-no-no-no! Everyone is claiming that he needs to grow up, move on, he’ll always have his sister, but he needs to focus on building his own life; it’s shit he’s heard before, and it makes him want to keep clinging even closer to Emma. The future was going to drag him apart no matter how tightly he held her, but now that he has this box... he’s going to make sure that no matter what anyone says, he’ll have his perfect life. They might not be awake to see it, but their asleep selves certainly will.

“Hey, are you okay?” Emma’s calming eyes carried a concerned glint; worry lined her expression, which was quickly replaced with a strict narrowing of her eyes. “Don’t run in the house!” she let out her hauntingly accurate impression of their mother, “you’d spill all this if I wasn’t so freaking cool and caught you.” with an added wink, she made sure her brother was firmly on his two feats and let go. “And it’s hot too; that actually couldn’t hurt you, dude.”

Marcus hadn’t realized she was referring to the coffee, which she now held in her hands; at some point in the split second where she reacted to their collision, she went for the coffee first to make sure it didn’t tip on him, then prevented him from falling second.

And people say he adores his sister too much; she is the definition of a perfect person. There is absolutely nothing that prevents her from being the embodiment of perfection, and nothing can convince him otherwise.

Handing him the coffee, the siblings heard their mother’s voice, “What happened? Was he running around?”

“No! Mom!” Emma said, then waved to her mother through the kitchen window. The obvious lie wasn’t missed by the perceptive mother, but she let it slide.

Whether that was because Emma was here or Mom wasn’t too upset because he wasn’t hurt couldn’t be said. Perhaps a bit of both in this instance. Marcus noticed their mother was always more lenient whenever Emma happened to be near him. His big sister’s propensity to protect him might be something she just doesn’t feel like dealing with at times, even if she always has the final say.

“See, you could get hurt.. and get in trouble,” whispered Emma in a hushed voice as she handed her brother the cup. “So don’t do that, ‘kay?”

When other people treat him like a kid and then proceed to tell him to grow up, it can be annoying. But with Emma? That’s something he wants more of by the dozen! She had a slight affectionate tilt to her head and adorned a comforting smile as she returned the cup to him.

Awake or asleep, this will be his life.

Sheepishly, Marcus took the cup, careful not to touch the smeared cum that was dribbling down its side. Something Emma luckily didn’t notice. “Thanks, sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be sorry.” Emma raised a finger and gently said, “If you get hurt, then I’m gonna be upset. And when you do it to yourself, who am I going to beat up? At least be some jerk that I sink my fist into.” with her finger still raised near her brother’s head, she flicked him gently on the forehead.

When she turned to head further into the kitchen Marcus’ felt a physical magnetic force pull his gaze down to her ass. Clad in booty shorts that just barely showed the bottom of her ass cheeks that bounced with each step. It wasn’t that hot in the house, so she must’ve been working out; that’s something she loves to do while studying, and Marcus has no qualms with his sister making sure she’s cute, fit, sexy, and strong, just as his amazing big sister should be.

He shook himself out of his transfixed stooper and was planning on leaving, but he heard Emma mutter something silently to herself.

“What the...” She was eyeing her fingers. Marcus’ eyes widened, and he felt his gut sink when he made out a thick glob of his cum held between her fingers. “You put cream in Mom’s coffee?”

“Yes, I asked him too.” Mom, now eavesdropping in on her two kids, said from the living room, “Also, son, can I have my drink now?”

“Uh, yeah.. Mom, I have it.” Marcus said though he had trouble making his feet move with Emma eyeing his cum directly on her hand.

“Oh, really? I thought you didn’t like cream,” Emma looked up; Mom’s response gave his sister some ease as she stopped studying the sticky white liquid on her hand.

“I thought so too, but that brand wasn’t so bad this morning.”

“Hmm,” Emma hummed, looking off at the fridge, in thought of what she should grab for dinner. With her focus diverted, she instinctively raised the “cream” to her lips.

Time seemed to slow as Marcus observed her bring his freshly spewed seed between her two pillowy lips. This isn’t the same as before when she was asleep, and it took some challenging coaxing. This is... his sister, fully awake and conscious, willingly, on her own accord, about to taste his cum.

Her tongue peeked out just enough to meet the jizz and lap it up and...

“Uchk~” Emma gasped to herself. Right as the white chode met the minuscule bumps of her taste buds, she pulled her hand back.

Forget his gut sinking; now his heart was skipping a beat or two, and not in a romantic way. If Emma realized the “cream” on her hand was jizz, she’d link that back to the cup, then to him, and realize that he was about to give their mother the exact same cup. This is his biggest worry about using the box on his family; they always just have a way of knowing. Even with all of his notes and attempts at trying to be careful in commands, he’s not smart enough to keep up with them. That’s a simple fucking fact.

The only reason he thinks they haven’t noticed or filled in any gaps yet is because their sleeping personalities might be pulling more weight than he realizes.

Should he run and go for the music box?

Or would running make him more obvious?

He could act like he has no idea what is going on, but both of the women here are smart enough to see through any lie he could concoct. Once they have one piece, they can fill in the entire puzzle pretty efficiently.

Emma’s brow furrowed, she gazed down at her hand with a look of disgust, “This isn’t...” Emma’s brunette hair swished against her temple from the speed at which her head turned to face her brother, “Mar—”

Marcus tensed.

But whatever she intended to say fell on deaf ears. Her head instead dropped down to her chest, slumping forward; her chin managed to drop into the upper portion of her cleavage, and promptly that was openly revealed in her green tank top.

From tensed to confused, Marcus blinked, his head tilted, as Emma’s head sprang up.

Though, when her eyes opened, they were glazed. “Please, please, please, don’t make a mistake like that when I’m not so tired,” Emma spoke quickly and quietly. Her voice was so timid, in fact, that Marcus had to lean in to hear her. It was as if she was afraid of being loud enough to wake herself up. “I just barely managed to make her—”

“What’s going on in there?” Mom’s voice echoed from the living room.

Just like Emma was forced to sleep seemingly by her “Sleepy” self, what Marcus could only assume to be his “Sleepy Sister” was made to wake up by the sound of Mom’s question.

“—cus?” Emma said out of the blue, her eyes blinking to become clear once again. As usual, when forced awake, they continue as if on the same track as where they left off. “This tastes so friggin’ awesome! What cream did you use?!”

Again in succession, Marcus blinked wordlessly, only managing to get out a “Uhh...”

“Hey! Do not! That is mine!” Listening in on her kids, Mom heard that bit about the cream and was not keen on sharing it, “I said I enjoyed the taste, I’m not sharing that. You don’t even drink coffee.”

“C’mon, Moooommmmm~” Emma rolled her eyes and gave her brother a mischievous wink while casually licking up the cum. “I might start drinking some if I can get more of this!” Her tongue playfully danced across her finger, licking up the spunk before she placed her lips right between her two fingers to suck up the final glob. “I mean, this is something else.”

“Great, I can’t wait to try it myself. Marcus. Coffee. Now.”

That assertive tone was more forcefully strict than the way their mother was speaking to him before; it would be enough to instinctively force him into action. Years of conditioning to obey that tone of voice did a number on getting his legs to move.

“Sorry, Mom,” Marcus said, bringing the coffee to his mother after giving Emma a parting glance.

Once again, she winked at him when her eyes met, still licking her previously cum-stained fingers. But at this point, the only thing that lined them was her own saliva.

“It’s okay, dear. Sorry for being forceful when I said that.” Mom responded when he approached with the still steaming cup, “I’m just tired and need to send everyone their pay. You’d think this would be automated, but no...” She shook her head with a click of her tongue as she took the cup from Marcus and brought it to her lips. “I blame myself for that one. Need to update the system, but that’s a whole thing... and...”

She paused with the cup left held right before her lips; the steam tickled the bridge of her nose. Meeting eyes with her son, she softly chucked, still tired. It’s clear she wasn’t trying to be in a sour mood, “You don’t care about this; just worry about your work; Mommy needs to make sure all of her workers get paid for their work.”

“Yeah, and then Mommy’s gonna give you a bedtime kiss, and Mommy’s gonna sit you on her lap, and Mommy gonna help you with your homework, and mmwa mmwa mmwa...”

The briefly soft motherly look Mom had on her face dissipated instantly, just as Marcus was starting to recall how caring and sweet their mother could be when she tried. No, instead, she held a bland, tired expression as she gazed past her son to eye her daughter.

Emma was currently pretending to hug and kiss a non-existent doll, though seeing this, Marcus could easily envision him in that invisible position.

“Emma. You are twenty-two years old, turning twenty-three. Act your age. Your brother needs a good influence.”

“I’m just kidding,” Emma shrugged with a faint frown. Something Mom said in that sentence seemed to affect her; the joking nature she had faded. “Just think it’s funny that you keep telling me not to baby him while you’re here dropping the strict act.” She shook her head. “Whatever,”

Emma left, never grabbing something to eat from the kitchen. It looked like something was bothering her. Marcus felt like he should follow her just to see if she wanted to talk about something, but...

He gets distracted easily.

“Mmmmhh... my goodness!” Mom’s eyes widened from the sheer surprise that seemed to blow her back as she let her big soft lips press down against the edge of the cup. She pulled back a bit just to gently swish and twirl them up in an effort to mix up the contents before diving back in. “This is amazing!! Honey, dear... this cream, what brand is it?”

“Uh.. I don’t know, but it’s good?”

Marcus watched as his mother haphazardly grabbed at the last coffee cup she had left on the table beside her; its empty contents had a spare spoon within it which she promptly used to shovel the rest of its contents down her gullet. “I—” A loud series of gulps flew down her throat; she exhaled a cum-sented coffee-laced breath into the air. At the lick of her lips, she leaned the cup up and tilted it down to use the spoon and scoop up the rest of the “cream.”

From a well-mannered, clean, and appropriate mother to a starving cum hungry fiend, Mom handed her son the empty cup, “Make another. Now.” She ordered; only after a pause and blink did she realize that she was probably getting a bit too invested in the drink and misusing her authority on someone that didn’t have the means to say no.

At least for now...

“Sorry, get me.. achem...” Taking a moment to compose herself and clear her throat, Mom licked free some of the cum that lingered on her bottom lip, “Please, Marcus. Make me another; I am almost done here anyway. So that will be all I need from you tonight.”

“Sure, Mom.” Being as composed as he could after witnessing his mother’s carnal desire for her own child’s semen firsthand, he went back into the kitchen. His mother was left with the mug, as she seemed reserved with scooping up the remaining “cream” with a spoon.

It’s still hard to wrap his head around how easily his mother and sister are being toyed around with by their own minds. So far, he has only been serving rather basic orders, but this newfound addiction his mother is displaying for his cum, and Emma’s own blossoming appreciation for it must be a result of their alternate personalities. Even when awake, they manage to manipulate, exploit, and fool the minds of his family without them displaying any awareness.

It begs the question...

How can they control someone who is blatantly awake?

And, more importantly, how can he abuse that for himself?

Such are questions for another time; at the moment, Marcus’ immature mind was thinking of the present pleasures rather than any future events. His mother is in a pretty good mood, if only tired from a long day’s work. This may actually be his best chance to ask her “The Question.”

“Hey, Mommy,” Marcus called for his mother’s attention from inside the kitchen while pouring her a new cup of coffee. Over the years, he learned to play up to his mother’s affectionate side whenever the situation presented itself.

“Yes, dear?”

Marcus gulped, “Do you.. do you think I can get my computer back?”

Through the window, he could spot his mother’s soft features shifting into a frown.

Fuck.

“Are you asking if you’re still in trouble?” With the rise of an eyebrow and her verbal mannerism, Marcus knew he had made a mistake in asking. “Let me ask you, Marcus. Did you clean up the garage like I had asked a week or two ago? What about the lawn? The backyard still needs work, and your sister did the front, even though that was your task too. I asked you to vacuum the car; should I check if that has been done? In fact, is your bedroom clean?”

“You didn’t tell me to clean my room!”

“Marcus, you are legally an adult. Do adults need to be told to clean their rooms? The answer is no. If I go into your sister’s room right now, I can guarantee it isn’t a mess.”

Feeling dejected, defeated, and rather embarrassed for even asking, Marcus looked away; he wordlessly stirred the coffee.

But his mother wasn’t done with him. “If you insist on acting like a child, you are going to be treated like one. So no, you can’t get your “toys” back. Bad kids don’t deserve them.” She sighed a heavy exhale of disappointment. “Forget the coffee, and go to your room.”

Marcus eyed the liquid below him in silence.

She could have just said no.

And so what if he acts like a kid, he literally just turned eighteen a little while ago; is he expected to be the most responsible person on the planet overnight? Does she even consider that maybe her expectations are being set too high?

No, of course not; she had to hammer home how he was disappointing her at every step. All because he just forgot to do some chores here and there. It’s fucking humiliating...

And being humiliated is her job.

Marcus has been told many times that his actions have consequences. Enough times that he couldn’t forget those words no matter how hard he tried.

Over and over again, he’s often reminded that most punishments or displays of karma are a result of his own ill choices. One bad decision leads to an unfortunate outcome, and so on. It was his mother that would repeat such again and again. Every time she had to spank him when he was younger, ground him, confiscate his stuff, and so on, it would be hammered home that he had orchestrated his own punishment.

Now it’s time for her to understand the weight of her own preaching, whether she is awake to realize such or not.

Mom should have just given him back his computer; if he doesn’t have that to entertain him, someone else will.

Sitting in his room, with nothing to bide the time but his own thoughts, he was glad to hear his sister enter their shared bathroom, as that was his perfect window to move.

She’d probably be in there for ten to fifteen minutes as she freshens up before bed.

Marcus eyed the clock right before he left his room.

10:14

Everyone is going to start winding down.

Perfect.

He was quick to enter and exit his sister’s room, though he was momentarily stalled by the beautiful scenery that was her bedroom. The simple, well-kempt feminine scent that permeated the space was relaxing and arousing. His mother was correct in her bet that Emma’s room would be nice and tidy; the girl was simply perfect, a sister many would kill to have. And she thinks he’s just going to let her walk away into the sunset...

Marcus pinched the music box from her nightstand and returned to the hall, in the process, passing by the sounds of running water from their bathroom. Holding a steadfast focus set on getting back at his mother (who had gotten way too high on her pedestal and needed a reminder that her actions have consequences), he almost skidded to a stop after walking by the bathroom door.

Who knew what she was doing in there, but his imagination was free to run wild, and run wild it did. She could be playing with her boobs or seeing how soft her big ass is when she sits down on the counter. Maybe she’s stroking her clit, even a perfect gal like he has desires. She might be standing sideways to see how slim her gut is compared to those huge pronounced fruits. Or maybe she’s just brushing her teeth or something.

Either way, it didn’t matter, right?

Holding the pen he had prepared, Marcus wrote a quick note and slid it into the box.

Nope, it doesn’t matter what she “was” doing because this is what she will be doing from here on.

“Do all of your brother’s homework.”

Was what he wrote. Call it “playing things too safe,” but this is still a step up from before. He was hesitant about anyone noticing the sudden improvement in his grades, but since people can’t seem to tell or care about the difference, he might as well have his ultra-smart sister do everything for him. She already is the smartest person in existence, so even if people do catch on, she’d find a way to give him perfect grades while also fooling any suspicious eyes. Did he also mention that his sister is perfect? Because she is. The smartest person in the world, the strongest, the hottest, she checks off every box that exists and then some.

The faint sound of running water masking her soft hums and shuffling came to a quick and sudden stop behind the closed door. After turning on the box, he didn’t have to wait long for the door lock to click and open.

His sister, in all her holy beauty, was revealed clad in nothing but plain white underwear, but on her, everything tame comes off as wholly exotic. She stepped out of the bathroom with a noticeable spring to her tits; the jiggle was hypnotic on her milky globes, and the white bra, while fairly normal, displayed enough hits of side underboob and a host of side boob among the deep cleavage that was loud and proud that he briefly forgot his entire goal.

Then Emma proceeded to ignore him; walking directly past, she headed straight for his bedroom, her tits bouncing with each step as her weight shifted and made her big glutes way in her wake.

Right, she’s not the main focus.

Not now. He needs to make sure the person in charge here remembers that their humiliating place beneath him is much more enjoyable than the assumed pretense of being in charge.

He really is doing his mother a favor; there’s so much stress when in charge; being able to just drop the act and be a complete erotic joke in front of her son should be a breath of fresh air.

Marcus gave Emma one final lingering glance as she entered his room, closing the door shut behind him.

He hadn’t told her to do that; it’s interesting that they make decisions on their own while following his commands. Like Mom waiting for him to enter the car when he told her to drive to the bank or Emma closing the door just now.

Food for thought.

As Marcus returned to the living room, he could see that his mother had finished with her work and was currently relaxing by watching the television and also preparing her work satchel for tomorrow, putting her laptop inside with some binders and documents.

Great. So she’s done being responsible.

But even when she’s wasting time watching TV, she’s also getting something done and preparing for later. Guess she isn’t ever really through with being responsible. Well, that is the case when she’s awake.

Click

Hearing the sound of the box churn on, Mom’s ears twitched; she turned her head to the side, meeting the gaze of her son.

“Marcus! What are you doing? I told you to go to your ro—” Once again, humorously enough, as it is becoming a trend, she didn’t even have the time to finish her sentence before her consciousness faded out, and she dropped face-first onto her chest. If only that blouse was unbuttoned because it is even more amusing watching them drop face-first into their own cleavage.

But she’ll make up for that in her own way, remember by her own wisdom; her actions have consequences. Big or small.

He wanted to start off with something familiar to her unconscious mind. Her sleeping side will do anything, but ,unfortunately, he has to worry about tricking that annoying “responsible” part of her brain. With enough conditioning, she should be able to go between her personalities at the call of their names, but that is yet to be seen.

“One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine,” Mom was up on her feet in the middle of the living room, doing what good Obedient Mommies do and following the commands of her son. After giving them out all day, being the boss of her company and the parent of two kids, this must really be therapeutic for her, obeying orders instead of giving them.

Marcus sat on her favorite chair, still nice and warm, as he casually fished his hand through her purse. She always said how men are to never look inside a woman’s purse, so, obviously, he’s going to dumpster dive through her own stuff directly in front of her. If she has a problem with it, she can just tell him to stop; she is “in charge” after all. Her eyes were right on him the entire time, though foggy; it’s not like she was blind, but like the good mommy, she was, she just continued to bounce for his pleasure without muttering a word against his actions, only using her pillow lips to count up with each clap of her hands above her head, those thick juicy thighs of hers meeting similar fates following each clap.

Still, there was something missing...

And it wasn’t the money.

“Thirty-eight... forty,” He counted each bill that was retrieved from her wallet. This isn’t robbing, more so taking the payment that he deserved after she had the gall to be so rude to him. Maybe for every day she keeps his computer from him, he’ll take a couple hundred from her.

It’s not like she’ll run out anytime soon.

“Thirty-five, Thirty-six, Thirty-seven, Thirty-eight, Thirty-nine, Forty,” Mom’s counting was laced with a few heavy breaths, as would be assumed considering her long day and frankly heavy set of jugs she had to lunge with each leap. But all in all, his mother was very fit and overall toned for her age; her heavy lifestyle and genetics were greatly passed down to Emma. “Forty-one, For-ty-two, Forty-three, Forty-four, Forty-five,”

“Keep countin’, Mom, this is just the warm-up,” Marcus said, taking out her bills in tune with her rhythmic chants.

There was an order to his blossoming ambitions; he wasn’t here to pickpocket his mother’s cash flow without a reason. This money will be instrumental in getting supplies that her obedient side will need whenever she decides to step out of line. And also, he needed to bide his time while he let the woman “warm up,” and settle into this sudden shift in dynamic.

Mom was literally in the middle of saying a sentence when the box flipped on the snooze switch in her head; he just assumed that she’d need some coaxing like he had done this morning. Exercising is something she’d do on her own accord, and by now, she knows the drill is all but second nature to her; it’ll prepare her for a long night of fun in no time.

Well, fun for him.

Watching her set that curvy body of hers in motion at his command will never get old, especially after giving him her patented attitude just an hour or two ago and acting all kinds of exhausted. It looks like being tired from a long day of work was just an act or a state of mind...

Because,

“Forty-eight, fourt-y-nine, fifty! F-fifty, fifty-two, fif-f-ty-three..”

She’s packing a whole cornucopia of energy.

Also...

Something’s missing.

In tune with her counting, Marcus revived fifty-three dollars in a mix of differing bills. He gave his mom an appreciative glance; it was beautiful, a mother stripping aside her veil of authority and dropping the dominant act to serve the immature whims of her son. displaying her healthy and sensually shaped physique in the act of exercising, not with the intention that should come with exercising, but just because her kid ordered her to do so.

Yes, truly beautiful. Still, something is bothering him.

Boing Boing Boing

Marcus’ immature imagination could practically hear the bouncing sounds emanating from her rack between the claps and slaps of her hands. But that’s the issue; he has to imagine the sounds; the serine melody of his mother’s juicy thick thighs and rippling tit flesh slapping against one another should be the bliss that flows through his ears. Not just her hands and the sound of fabric rubbing between her legs instead of hot wet, sweaty skin colliding with skin.

The clothes have got to go! Hell, she’s going to stink up her work clothes with all of this heat generating between them.

“Fifty-four, fifty-f-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-ei-ght.. fifty-nine,”

Pausing his purse pilfering, Marcus settled with emptying an entire load of bills onto his lap; the amount didn’t matter at the moment as he could always count them later.

And, with the topic of counting in mind.

“You skipped a number,”

Ready to gauge his mother’s reaction, Marcus retrieved the pen and notepad that was left on the table beside him. Like witnessing an animal placed in a position of unfamiliarity, Marcus found himself profoundly invested in how this “specimen” (I.E., his sleeping mother) would respond to his sudden remark.

By this point, she’s more than accustomed to exercising for his amusement. But getting a response without any prior command to do so is untouched ground.

The other times he’s communicated with his sleeping family members, there needs to be some kind of command to “unlock” their ability to talk, so he isn’t expecting much from her as his initial command was the basic jumping jacks number she has grown accustomed to.

THUMP

“Mommy is so sorry!”

The opposite of what he anticipated from this was to see his dall domineering figure of his mother drop down to her knees. A sharp contrast to their positions of this morning, where he was kneeling between her steamy thighs, she kneeled before him, her head close enough to his crotch to cause a tense pulse in his loins.

As if he wasn’t sporting a boner up until this point...

“Um,” Marcus failed to notice the backtracking steps of hesitance he took from seeing his mother on her knees like this.

She’s naturally fairly tall, and years of maternal conditioning have ingrained the image of him looking up to meet her eyes rather than the roles being reversed as such are here.

Repeating her pleading apology, Mom lowered her eyes as well as the rest of her; almost tugged down by the strings of gravity that pulled on her heavy rack, she lowered her head to the floor. “Mommy is so-so sorry!” Bowing low, Marcus was at a loss for words seeing his mother prostrate herself before him as if she were some kind of peasant servant in the midst of royalty, not the woman that pays the bills in this very house.

In the presence of his unspoken response, Marcus just laid his eyes on the woman that birthed him, lips touching the carpet as she spoke, continuing her apologetic speech. “I skipped number fifty-one. I-I got caught up, in... in my own desi-emotions... I’m so sorry, honey.”

There was a ton to unpack here and not enough time to spend doing so. By all accounts, she’s his mother through and through. Perceptive enough to be aware of the exact number she skipped (something Marcus himself had forgotten), yet all without the pride and well-collected class that follows her every step. There wasn’t a trance of her typical pungent authoritative air; in its place was a woman stripped from her dignity, kneeling, no bowing to her son, all while her mind was soundly sleeping.

This was a surprising turn-on for the eighteen-year-old. The older sister complex he held all his life left him sheltered from the concept of opening up to new fetishes.

His mother remained unmoving, rigid as stone, while she repeated her apologetic spiel, not an ounce of shame, using the very same voice that usually poses a high level of intimidation.

Marcus stood over her, continuing to watch in silence.

“Mommy is such an idiot! An idiot, idiot, idiot!” Her thick ass seemed to waggle in the air as her lips were pressed directly onto the floor.

Marcus smiled, looking at each defined cheek, both respective cheeks looking mighty plump and pronounced with how her toned thighs had her work bottom stretched to the very limits of the fabric. “I ordered you to do a hundred jumping jacks. But you skipped a number. Were you just gonna do ninety-nine?”

“I—”

“So you disobeyed me?” Marcus shifted his legs; the boner in his shorts was increasing his arousal-induced boldness. The subtle thrill that came with the simple act of interrupting her felt rousing in its own right. “When you’re awake, what do you usually do when I disobey you?”

Even from the floor, he could see his mother’s shoulders tense, “I wo—”

“You’d punish me,” Marcus waited for her to speak just to cut her off again; that was entertaining enough on its own. “But you’re not awake. Bitchy Bossy Mommy is sleeping right now, and I thought you’d be better. Maybe we should take your own advice. When you’re awake, and I disobey you, you punish me. And when you’re asleep, and you disobey me, I should...?” He let his voice trail, giving the woman a perfect chance to fill in the gap.

“Punish me. Yes!” As if the solution that he had led her to was the most ingenious idea to have ever graced her ears, she perked at the suggestion. Her ass, which was jutting high and proud into the air, was lowered down to rest its bubbly weight on the back of her calves in tune with her head rising from the floor, “Please punish your Obedient Big Boobie Bitch for disobeying you.”

Marcus opened his mouth, a snarky grin plastered proudly on his face, as she gave the exact response he had been looking for. Except, the part about her saying “Obedient Big Boobie Bitch” did give him pause. This whole time he was hoping to have her sleeping mind latch onto the name Obedient Mommy or something else pretty basic; that was the whole point of having her obey him for a change. But, in retrospect, he was having her get into the spirit of self-degrading herself this morning, and he did focus on her large sloshing milk jugs. Combine that with him never specifying what name she should have; it’s not crazy to see that she stuck with the ideas of big boobs, being obedient, and humiliating herself by adding the word bitch at the end.

It isn’t entirely wrong for her; she has a nice large rack, often acts like a total bitch, and in this state, is much more obedient. But it doesn’t roll off the tongue at all.

Whatever that’s an issue for later.

“You’re right,” Marcus said, with a voice carrying a taunting demeanor, she strode around his kneeling mother. The woman obediently and wordlessly trailed him with her eyes. “Bad bitches get punished. You taught me that.” The teen enjoyed taking his sluggish stroll around the woman, soaking in the sight of her below him for a change. Her slender figure was thick in all the right places, and the plump supple fruit on her chest was presented to be more squished and pronounced with the manner in which her arms were crossed over her stomach to let her hand rest between the pillowy thighs before her warm crotch, he stood in front of her.

“Now...” Upon standing back in front of her, he lifted her chin gently, feeling more confident despite treading somewhat untested waters; all the while, his mother remained passive to this appraisal, presenting a submissive display that did wonders for his psyche. “If that bitchy bossy part of your head was awake right now, what would she do when someone disobeys her? I want to learn from the best.”

Who wouldn’t want to learn from the best? After all, his mother, ever the role model, is the kind of woman many look up to with eyes of envy, adoration, and in some cases, lust.

Where Marcus lies on that spectrum shouldn’t need to be stated.