My mother’s blush deepened as we made eye-contact.
This wasn’t the first time I’d caught Mom spying, but it was the first time she’d noticed me noticing her.
To my surprise and delight, she didn’t leave.
Lucy was on her knees in front of me, wearing a set of black lingerie. Not that it covered much—the left strap had fallen down, exposing one of her huge tits. Her pink nipple was exposed and swollen, and her panties were pushed aside as she frantically thrust three fingers inside herself.
She was looking up at me, her lips stretched around my cock. Although she couldn’t speak, I knew exactly what she was thinking.
Has it worked? she silently asked, before her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure.
That wasn’t part of the plan. Lucy just really, really likes going down on me.
I glanced back to the door. Mom was still there, crouching outside my sister’s bedroom door. I maintained eye-contact with her as Lucy’s head continued to bob up and down.
My cock halfway down my sister’s throat, my mother unable to look away, the constant state of sexual frenzy that had filled the house recently, the knowledge that it was all because of me—it was enough to set me over the edge, and I started bucking forward, listening to my sister choke with pleasure as I came inside her.
That was all it took for Lucy to start cumming as well…but to my great surprise, my sister’s soft moans of orgasm were echoed from outside the room.
For the first time, I noticed that Mom wasn’t just watching us.
She was getting herself off as she did.
“Okay Mom,” I said. “What would make you want to turn our house into a nudist home?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Is there anyone you’d talk about it with?”
“Would you tell me who?”
“Who would you talk about it with?”
I smiled. That was the answer I’d been hoping for.
“Hypothetical: in ten years time, I met a nice girl and we start dating.”
Nod. Possibly even a glimmer of a smile.
“After a year or two, we get married.”
“Another year passes, and we come to you with exciting news—my wife is pregnant. How do you react?”
“I’m overjoyed,” Mom replied in a monotone.
“Hypothetical: I get Lucy pregnant.”
Mom moaned. That took me by surprise—her eyes remained totally blank, her face didn’t move at all, but a soft moan of arousal uncontrollably left her lips.
“Would you tell me if it turns you on?” I asked with a smile, already knowing the answer.
“We have the kid. Eighteen years later, I go to you for advice.”
I’d never skipped over so much time in a single hypothetical, but Mom seemed to accept it without issue.
“I want to ask you how to talk to it about sex.”
Nod. The use of “it” to refer to my 18-year old kid didn’t slow her down at all. Normally these hypotheticals require at least a little detail to be effective—maybe Mom had already spent time imagining me growing up, getting hitched, having kids.
Now, of course, I had to be super careful not to wake Mom up. I didn’t even want to think about the damage that would be caused if she was suddenly transported 30 plus years back in time, her grandchild of indeterminate sex erased from her mind.
“Would you tell me why you don’t like talking to your kids about sex?”
God damn it, Mom.
“You don’t want to talk to your kids about sex, do you?”
A pink tinge appeared in my mother’s cheeks.
“If you saw your kids having sex, you wouldn’t want to talk to them about it, would you?”
The blush deepened.
“If you saw your son slowly fucking his sister, sliding his cock deep inside her, filling her up so tight that she can barely breathe…if you saw Lucy shivering with orgasm as she got fucked by her own brother, you wouldn’t say anything to them, would you?”
“What if you saw that they weren’t using protection? What if your only daughter was being filled up by her brother’s seed—what if she was quaking and moaning with pleasure as he came bareback inside her. What would you do?”
My mother’s eyes rolled back in her head, and it took her a few seconds before she was calm enough to respond.
“I wouldn’t say anything.”
I took a deep breath, trying not to scream with frustration.
I’d only been hypnotizing my mother for a couple of months now, but it felt like it’d been six freaking years. No matter what I did, I kept running into the same damn wall:
“I don’t want to talk about it”.
Or, worse, she’d wake up. She’d wake up, and I’d be left absolutely clueless as to why.
I wanted to punch the wall. Maybe that’d help me break through it.
I forced myself to calm down. It took me a few seconds before I was calm enough to respond.
Slow and steady. There was no rush. Especially not with Lucy taking care of my every sexual need, almost.
And it was important to get this just right; I knew what happened if anything went wrong.
Let me explain:
Six months ago, I found a website that taught you how to hypnotize your family members.
Actually, I guess it started even earlier than that.
Ever since I was old enough to know what sex was, I’ve lusted after my Mom and my sister Lucy. Their perfect bodies have been the center of my fantasies for as long as I’ve had fantasies, and…well, the website promised to transform that lust into action.
As it turns out, it’s more complicated than you’d think. You can’t just snap your fingers, put someone under, and wake them up as your sex slave.
I mean, not all at once.
The website did deliver on the trance. A few minutes alone with a willing participant, and I was able to hypnotize them, put them under, and carry on a conversation with their blank face and monotone voice.
They never remembered what we talked about—I’d ask them questions, pose hypothetical scenarios, attempt to give them orders.
If they didn’t want to obey my commands, they’d snap out of it. They’d never remember what I’d asked or what we’d talked about—as far as they were concerned, I’d just helped them reach an incredible state of relaxation.
But slowly, surely, I got better at it. I worked out how to implant memories; by posing a hypothetical and slowly taking someone out of trance, they’d be convinced that whatever we’d been talking about had actually happened.
I could change people’s pasts.
I could change people.
So far, I’d only hypnotized three people—my Mom, my sister Lucy, and her best friend Marcie.
Over 90 sessions, I’d altered my mother’s memories, adjusted her self-esteem, and convinced her to dress in skimpy clothing around the house. She was convinced that family members would never check each other out, would never be attracted to one another…which gave me free license to stare at her body every chance I get.
Over 35 sessions, Lucy went from being a normal, loving sister to a devoted slave. She’s willing to do anything with me, as long as it isn’t technically incest.
It’s been a lot of fun, pushing the definition of what is and isn’t incest.
And over 50 sessions, I turned Marcie into my adoring sex-slave. There was literally nothing she wouldn’t do—she was the first person to jerk me off, the first person to go down on me. She took my virginity, and got off while doing it.
And then…I broke her.
I broke my sister’s best friend.
I learned the hard way that if you alter someone’s memory in a way that contradicts reality…they’ll shut down. Last I saw Marcie, she was staring into space, not responding to anything.
Except sex. Sex, she responds to. Very enthusiastically.
Marcie’s condition is my fault. I know that, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. I used her as a guinea pig, as a way to test stuff out before trying it on my family. Last I heard, she’d been hospitalized.
I’d do anything to stop that from happening to my family.
The thought bounced through my head, and my eyes lit up as I realized what I’d just stumbled upon.
That was it.
I sat up straight, stared straight into my mother’s blank eyes and began talking rapidly.
I’d do anything to stop that from happening to my family.
“Hypothetical: you’re eight years old…”
After Lucy had cum around my fingers in the last session, I’d woken her up. She’d sat there in silence for a few seconds, completely and unquestioningly nude, a look of unbridled adoration in her eyes.
Even in my wildest fantasies, it had never been this hot.
“Suck my cock,” I’d managed to stammer out—my mouth was dry, and I was struggling to believe this was real.
This was really happening.
A look of lust flashed across my sister’s face, and she dropped to her knees immediately. As her lips wrapped around my cock for the first time, as she moaned with the pleasure of getting to taste her own brother’s flesh, I reached down and grabbed her hair.
“You’re mine,” I hissed into her ear. Her eyes widened, her tongue swirled around the head of my cock, and she reached up and pinched her nipple. “Cum for me.”
My sister had mentioned in the past that she came easily, but I had no idea how easily. Her body trembled with a quick orgasm, and for a moment her beautiful, intelligent eyes went blank.
Unlike when she was under, however, they quickly refocused, and lit up with a smile.
“Good girl,” I said, and in response she just moved her mouth back over my erection and moaned.
“Hypothetical: You’re fifteen years old.”
“Your mother sits you down to talk about sex.”
“How do you feel?”
“I’m very uncomfortable.”
For months now, I’d been trying to crack this wall—no matter what I did, my mother wouldn’t talk about sex. She wouldn’t discuss it with me, she wouldn’t discuss it with Lucy—she would apparently talk about it with other parents, but since I didn’t have any of those handy, that wasn’t particularly useful.
But what if I stopped trying to break down this bizarre limit, and instead played into it?
What if Mom’s refusal to talk about sex stopped being an obstacle…and became a tool?
“Talking about sex with other people is the worst, isn’t it?”
“But when you’re alone, thinking about sex can be kind of interesting.”
There was a long pause, and finally I was met with a nod.
It had taken a bit of experimentation, but I’d discovered that as long as I didn’t demand that my mother say anything about sex, she was fine with me talking to her about it. If I’d asked whether she found thinking about sex interesting or not, she likely would have woken up…but by casually stating it as a fact, I was able to get around this weird barrier she’d developed.
A barrier that I intended to cultivate.
“You see an ad about sexually transmitted infections. What do you do?”
“I turn away.”
“You hear a song playing on the radio, about two people having sex. What do you do?”
“I turn it off.”
“What do you do if you can’t turn it off?”
“I block my ears.”
“And then when you’re alone, you play with yourself.”
Again, a long pause, followed by a nod.
“You bring yourself to orgasm, thinking about sex.”
“All your repressed thoughts about sex take over, and you uncontrollably get yourself off again and again.”
My mother’s ears went red…and she nodded.
I had no idea why my Mom was such a prude when it came to this kind of thing. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that it didn’t matter—the reason wasn’t important.
What was important was the result.
“And when you’re getting yourself off, you’re thinking about the ad. You’re thinking about sexually transmitted diseases. You’re thinking about the song.”
“All the wickedness that you’ve tried not to expose yourself to…it’s gotten into your system, and now you can’t help but play with yourself while you think about it.”
“You’re a slave to your lust, and your lust is fueled by the immorality in the world, the immorality you see everywhere.”
I swear, my Mom couldn’t blush any harder.
But she still nodded.
“Would you talk to me about BDSM?”
There was a pause. A pause long enough to make me uncomfortable, and so I broke it to ask for clarification.
“Would you talk to me about BDSM abstractly? Like…from a clinical point of view. No details.”
Great. I had prepared other lines of questioning in case he refused, but this was the simplest example I could come up with.
“If you walked up to a random person and hit them on the street, that would be wrong, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Okay Richard, calm down. I was just trying to make a point.
“But if you were participating in a BDSM scene, it would be okay to hit someone, wouldn’t it?”
“It would depend.”
Damn. I figured since he was a professor, he’d be too uptight to really know how BDSM worked.
I mean, not that I really knew how it worked. I’d spent a few minutes googling it, relying on Richard’s knowledge being based on what you see on TV and in the movies.
Still, might as well keep going.
“It would definitely be more okay than hitting a random person on the street though, right?”
“It would really depend.”
I pressed on.
“My point is—accidentally hurting someone is worse than deliberately hurting someone, right?”
“No. Quite the opposite.”
Okay. I might not have thought this through.
It had been hard to focus on my plans for this session the previous night, with my mother and sister making out on the other side of the room.