The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“What will you do to prove that you’re better than Mom?” I asked my sister, two fingers deep inside her slippery pussy.

Cynthia didn’t answer, just whimpered and moaned, her thighs involuntarily twitching as her pelvic walls tightly squeezed my fingers. She’d been tied up all day, with Mom and I paddling her ass, her breasts, and her pussy for hours.

As soon as I’d released her, I’d put her under. As she lay in front of me hypnotized, I knew that every one of my sister’s muscles was aching, that she was completely physically and mentally exhausted.

I don’t even know how long it had been since Cynthia had cum, but still she held out. She knew that she wasn’t allowed to orgasm. My sister had come (no pun intended) so far—from being unable to stop herself climaxing while playing with herself, to resisting my expert (if I do say so myself) touch, even while utterly fatigued.

“Anything,” she finally gasped, the words causing a tremor of pleasure to through her body. “I’ll do anything. I need to be better than Mom. I need to prove to my brother that I’m worthy of him.”

And I knew she meant it. Over the last two weeks, she’d put Mom down at every opportunity, highlighted her own strengths, and taken advantage of the fact that she knew my kinks intimately.

Cynthia wanted it. She wanted it as much as she’d ever wanted anything.

“Your brother likes it when your mother orgasms. Would you cum, to be better than her?” I asked, and Cynthia shuddered at the thought. I could see her mind waging a silent war with itself. I’d made it very clear that if I saw her cum, I’d be less attracted to her...but I’d spent the last few sessions highlighting how important it was that she beat Mom.

“Yes,” she finally said. “No. Yes. Whatever you want.”

I smiled at that, and she repeated it.

“Whatever you want...”

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do?”

“No,” Cynthia said firmly, her eyes hazy as my thumb rubbed her clit. “I’d do anything. Anything.“

“What will you do to prove you’re better than Cynthia?” I asked Mom. My sister had been spreadeagled on her bed when I asked her; my mother was lying on the couch, her wrists tied behind her back.

She’d already cum twice, from my hand rubbing her as we spoke, and I could tell she wasn’t far from a third.

“I’ll show you,” Mom said, yearning in her voice. “I’ll show you I can do everything Cynthia does, and more.”

“Anything?” I asked, and Mom nodded. I raised one eyebrow.

“Anything?” I repeated, and Mom nodded.

“Yes,” she said, her voice thick with lust. “I’ll do anything...”

“What are you?” I asked, and Mom looked up at me. Her eyes were hazy, her face flushed, and her lips wet.

“A slut,” she whispered. “I’m a slut for my son. A slut for his cock.”

“That’s right,” I said, and my thumb rubbed her clit. “And you’d do anything to prove you’re better than your daughter, wouldn’t you?”

Mom nodded, and I slid a finger into her pussy.

“Anything,” she groaned. “Anything to show you how good I am.”

“Would you fuck me?” I said with a growl.

“N-no,” Mom itted, her entire body tensing. “No. I...I can’t do that.”

You’d think I’d be frustrated. And don’t get me wrong, I was.

But I wasn’t surprised.

“Why not?” I asked, already knowing what she was going to say.

“Because I’m your mother,” Mom said. “You’re my son.”

I wanted to try to reason her into it. Point out that everything we did, all day every day...it was stuff that no mother should do with her son. But we’d been through this a dozen times, and I’d lways been met with the same frustrating, implacable logic.

Because it’s wrong. Because of our relationship. We can’t have sex.

Why not? Because...well, we just can’t.

“What if I told you that Cynthia had fucked me?”

Mom shook her head. “She wouldn’t do that.”

I leaned forward. “What if she did?? What if you walked in to find me, balls-deep in my sister?”

I knew that could be arranged. Cynthia would do anything in the world to fuck me; it wasn’t like she’d need “convincing”.

I wish I could say that worked. That the competition trumped Mom’s idea of right and wrong.

But at my questions, my mother started twitching. And not with pleasure; the kind of twitching that happened when Mom’s brain was fighting with itself, threatening to wake up and...I don’t even know. Maybe she’d be a mindless zombie for the rest of her life. Maybe she’d wake up knowing everything I’d done to her, and go straight to the polce.

Or hell, maybe she’d wake up and agree to fuck me.

I didn’t know. And it was too risky to find out.

“Tell me what you think of Cynthia’s mouth,” I said, and Mom’s twitching stopped immediately.

“She doesn’t know how to suck your cock,” Mom replied, and I smiled at how much her answer had changed since just a week ago. “She’s not as good at it as I am. She can’t please you like I do...”

“Good girl,” I said, and Mom’s pussy pulsed around my fingers as she came.

“You’re going to punish each other,” I announced. Mom and Cynthia were dressed in identical French maid costumes. I loved dressing them alike, dropping small comments to make it clear that I was explicitly comparing their bodies.

‘Explicitly’ in both senses of the word.

They were kneeling in front of me, having just cleaned every inch of the house. I hadn’t even specified if the task was a punishment or just for my pleasure...it was an order, and that’s all that mattered.

They’d do anything I told them to.

“Yes, sir,” Cynthia said demurely. Mom didn’t say anything, just bit her lip—I knew she hated hearing my sister call me sir.

Even as it turned her on.

“Mom?”

“Of course, Daniel” she said quietly. “If you say so.”

I’d all but given up on using reason or logic with Mom. She’d voiced an objection recently, and I hadn’t even wasted half a breath on trying to negotiate or explain.

Instead, I’d just punished her.

She’d objected to one of Cynthia’s recent punishments—being tied up as I dripped hot candle wax onto her bare skin. Starting from her feet and moving all the way up her body; over her legs, her thighs, her pussy. Up her stomach, her bare tits, her neck, and ending on her face.

“What if lands in her eyes?” Mom had worried. “Daniel, it’s not safe.”

I suspect that at least part of her objection had been tactical. If she could prevent her daughter from being punished, she was one step closer to winning. To proving that she was better than Cynthia.

But I knew my mother; more likely than not, she was motivated by genuine fear.

Like I said, I’d done nothing to try to convince her. Instead, I’d just ordered Cynthia to tie her up. Mom hadn’t said anything, just allowed her daughter to truss her up (Cynthia was a fast learner; she’d gotten almost as good at with ropes as me).

And instead of dripping candle wax on my sister, I’d dropped it on Mom. On her naked, writhing body.

She’d gasped and writhed with every splash of hot wax until it reached her face, when she’d gone completely still.

I’d ordered her to keep her eyes open, and she’d obeyed. She’d stared, terrified, at the candle as it dripped onto her chin, her mouth, her nose.

But even when the wax dripped on her forehead, she didn’t blink.

I rewarded her that night by having Cynthia go down on her as I spanked her, telling her what a good girl she was, how much I appreciated her obedience.

And warning her that the next time she objected, it wouldn’t be candle wax that I’d be using to punish her. It would be a lit cigarette.

So, yeah. When I told my sister and mother that they were now going to be istering each other’s punishments, Mom didn’t object.

She knew what would happen if she did.

I instructed the two women to research the worst-case outcome before istering a punishment (a cigarette burn can get infected and cause a permanent scar, for example) but otherwise I’d provided the girls with no guidelines, no rules.

I couldn’t wait to see what they came up with.

While my sister was under, I’d told her how much it would impress me if she came up with truly dark punishments for Mom, really nasty stuff. Then I’d hypnotized my mother, and told her that this was not only important to keep me happy (which had become almost as much of a priority for Mom as it was for Cynthia), but that she needed to do this for her daughter.

Without proper punishment, Cynthia would regain all the weight she’d lost. She’d be unhealthy, possibly die young.

“Do you understand?” I asked her.

“Yes,” Mom said, her eyes glazed over. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

But most importantly, I’d told each of them that this was a surefire way to beat the other (both literally and metaphorically).

I’d expected the punishments to start mild. Perhaps simply because that’s where I’d started—spanking, kneeling on rice, a slow escalation.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

After spending the better part of two weeks whipping the two girls into a competitive frenzy, they both seized on the opportunity to bring the other down. To win my favor.

The punishments started extreme, and only got more intense from there.

Mom was the first to punish Cynthia.

“You’ve been so bad, Cynthia,” Mom said, smiling. “I think you need to be punished.”

Look, her dialogue could have used a little work. But I honestly didn’t mind. In some ways, it kind of made it hotter—like Mom was acting in a bad porn movie.

No, scratch that. A great porn movie. Any porno featuring the two busty women I lived with would immediately have been a hall of famer, no matter what the dialogue was. They could’ve been reading from Mein Kampf while they fucked and it would’ve been a huge hit.

Especially among neo-nazis, I guess. My sister’s blonde hair and blue eyes would’ve cinched it.

Cynthia had been sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book. Well, staring at a book. My sister didn’t really read any more; instead, she tried to think of sexual fantasies that I might have, and use her body to fulfill them for me.

For my pleasure.

And so she was completely naked, wearing a pair of fake glasses, stroking herself as she sat at the table and “read” a “book”.

Cynthia looked up as Mom spoke. She knew that I was watching, of course. She’d already edged twice for me in her naked nerd girl getup, just in the hope that I would gain pleasure from it.

“What are you going to do?” my sister asked, a tremble in her voice. I knew that it was just for me, that Cynthia (like me) didn’t expect our mother to come up with anything too intense.

We were both wrong.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson,” Mom said. “You need to learn to be a good girl.”

She walked over to her daughter, and took the book out of her hands. Then she reached down and grabbed her daughter’s breasts. Cynthia moaned as Mom stroked her nipples. Again, not an unusual sight.

“You’re going to be punished for your disobedience,” Mom said, and Cynthia moaned again. “You need to learn your place.”

Cynthia was still stroking herself, but her movements had slowed. She wasn’t sure what Mom was going to do. Neither of us were.

“It’s time for your punishment,” Mom said. And then, with no further warning, she shoved Cynthia face-first into the table.

My sister cried out in pain and surprise as her face slammed against the table. My jaw dropped; just a few days ago, my mother had been worried about the effects of dripping wax on her daughter’s face. Now, she was all but breaking my sister’s nose.

I was hard as a rock.

“Say you’re a bad girl,” Mom ordered, Cynthia’s hair still in her fist. I hadn’t even noticed her grabbing it, seen the way that she’d managed to twist my sister’s face so that her nose wouldn’t break. Don’t get me wrong: she was going to end up with one hell of a black eye. As harsh as my punishments had gotten, they had never been quite so...extreme. So raw.

I don’t know what turned me on more; seeing my sister suffer, or the fact that it was my mother brutalizing her.

“I’m—I’m a bad girl!” Cynthia gasped, just as shocked as I was.

“Not good enough,” Mom replied, throwing her daughter onto the floor.

I moved my legs out of the way as Cynthia hit the kitchen floor shoulder-first. She groaned—not with pleasure this time—and her eyes rolled back in her head.

Mom knelt down next to her, her knees on either side of her head. “Say you’re a bad girl,” Mom repeated. To my relief, Cynthia replied—for a moment I thought she might have been knocked out by Mom’s rough treatment.

“I’m a...I’m a...”

I leaned forward. It was like watching an XXX parody of Fight Club—when she didn’t reply fast enough, Mom slapped Cynthia across the face, hard, the sound echoing through our small kitchen. “Say you’re a bad girl,” she repeated. Cynthia opened her mouth, but before she could get the words out, Mom hit her again.

“Say you’re a bad girl.”

“I’m a bad girl!” my sister gasped, as quickly as she was able.

“Not good enough,” Mom said, and smacked her again, harder than before. “Say it right.”

“I’m a bad girl!” Cynthia shouted.

But Mom didn’t stop. She kept hitting my sister, over and over, slapping Cynthia’s cheeks as her cries of pain filled the room. I could tell my sister wasn’t acting; her tears were of true shock and pain, and as Mom continued to hit her, Cynthia began to sob.

“Say you’re a bad girl,” Mom said. “Say it.”

“I’m a bad girl!” Cynthia screamed.

“Say you deserve this.”

“I deserve this,” Cynthia replied, sobbing. “I’m a bad girl, and I deserve this.”

I had to hand it to Mom; I’d been punishing my sister for months, but I’d never seen her like this. She wasn’t performing, she wasn’t just saying what she thought I wanted to hear. In that moment, I bet she would have said anything to make Mom stop.

Mom had truly broken her.

“Good,” Mom said with a nod, before surprising me—both of us—again. Instead of letting Cynthia up or tending to her wounds, she shifted her body, suspending herself over Cynthia’s mouth and beginning to slowly, rhythmically grind her pussy on her daughter’s face.

“Suck my cunt,” Mom said. “Make me cum.”

Cynthia stuck out her tongue as Mom continued to ride her daughter’s mouth with her mouth.

“Better than that,” Mom ordered. Cynthia, sobbing and distraught, reached up to grab Mom’s hips, and dutifully began to suck my mother’s pussy.

“You deserve this,” Mom said, and Cynthia moaned. “You’re a bad girl. Say it.”

“I’m a bad girl!” Cynthia replied, her voice muffled by Mom’s pussy. I reached down and started rubbing my cock through my pants. I couldn’t believe the show happening before my eyes.

I’d scripted none of it. All I’d done was put the dominos in place—which, much like placing real dominoes, had been a whole lot of work. But now I got to sit back and watch the show.

Mom continued telling Cynthia what to say, reminding her what a bad girl she was, making eye- with me all the while. I knew what was happening: Mom was asserting dominance. She was showing me how superior she was to her daughter, demonstrating that she could break her. Showing me who was best.

And it worked. It fucking worked. I was hard as I’d ever been; with two strokes, I could have sprayed my cum onto the two girls, but I didn’t want to interrupt what was going on. The show that Mom was putting on for me.

My sister’s tears had stopped, and now she was just moaning in pain and pleasure as Mom continued to fuck her mouth. It wasn’t long before Mom came, grinding her pussy against Cynthia’s mouth, her entire body weight resting on her daughter’s bruised face.

“Good girl,” Mom said, pulling off of Cynthia’s face. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

I honestly don’t know what “lesson” Cynthia was meant to be learning. I barely needed an excuse for punishments any more, and my girls had followed my lead.

Cynthia said nothing in response. She didn’t move; she looked completely exhausted.

Like I said, I’d thought my sister’s stamina was endless. In just a few short minutes, Mom had found my sister’s limits.

I held up a hand to help my sister up; she threw me a watery smile of gratitude. But when she was on her knees I let go, my cock twitching as she staggered, almost falling backwards again.

“My turn,” I ordered, pulling my hardness out and moving to her face.

It was the first time I could that my sister didn’t looked enthused to suck my cock. Mom and I exchanged a look as my sister gave me the most feeble blowjob I’d experienced yet.

None of us said a word, but all three of us were all thinking it:

Mom would have done a better job.

How do you follow something like that? It’s almost impossible. Mom had set the bar high; it wasn’t long before Cynthia’s bruises came in, her face looking like she’d gone ten rounds with Muhammed Ali.

She’d never looked sexier.

I was dying to see how Cynthia would retaliate. She couldn’t just duplicate what Mom had done; the competition was so much more intense than that. She couldn’t match her, she had to escalate. She had to do something worse to Mom.

That was the only way she could win.

And so I was surprised when Mom made the next move. As Cynthia was (presumably) brewing up her own ideas for how to get her revenge, how to one-up what her mother had done to her, Mom beat her to it.

Mom isn’t the most imaginative person in the world, so her next move was a classic. A natural follow-up to so many of the punishments I’d put Mom through: washing her mouth out with soap, a written apology, and the (sexual) time-out.

I wasn’t annoyed that Mom had gone with an old-school parenting punishment. If anything, I was delighted.

“Cynthia?” Mom called, coming into my room. My sister was in the middle of giving me a long, delicious blowjob. She’d been blowing me any chance she got—partially to make up for the (frankly terrible) head she’d given me straight after Mom’s first punishment, but mostly because the sight of her bruised face made me so hard, I couldn’t spend more than a few minutes in a room with Cynthia without needing to force her to her knees.

In a sense, Mom’s punishment had backfired. She’d shown me how pathetic my sister was...but also made me want her more than I’d ever wanted her before.

“Mmm-hmm?”

“You missed a spot in your brother’s laundry,” Mom said, her lips thin.

“I’m sorry,” Cynthia said, pulling my cock out of her mouth. “Can I finish this first?”

“No,” Mom said, after glancing at me for confirmation. For a moment I felt like Mom and I were co-parenting. Like she was checking in each other before punishing her daughter.

Except her daughter was my older sister. And both of us were fucking her every chance we got.

So yeah, perhaps not the best co-parenting. But it was nice to feel so in sync with Mom.

“I’m sorry,” Cynthia said, looking up at me sadly. I just smiled back; I was pretty sure Mom would be taking her place shortly.

“Go and get your punishment,” I said, and Cynthia nodded, shifting her attention from me to our mother.

I tilted my head to the side as Mom pulled out a packet of cigarettes. When I’d told her that the next punishment would be a cigarette burn, she’d been so resistant to the idea...surely she wasn’t about to ister one herself.

My mind flashed back to the total lack of hesitation Mom had shown when smashing my sister’s face against the table, just a few days earlier. Who even knew what my mother’s limits were anymore?

“Smoke these,” Mom said. My eyes widened at the demand, as did my sister’s. She looked back and forth between my mother and I disbelievingly.

“S-seriously?” she asked, and Mom nodded.

“Now. While you do, I’ll take over whatever you were…trying to do.”

I should mention, none of us are smokers. I think Dad used to have a Cuban cigar on very special occasions, but since his ing, we hadn’t had any tobacco products in the house.

We have different vices.

I’d given Mom free license to come up with punishments, and she must have decided that the cancer risk of smoking a single packet of cigarettes was worth it.

So, Cynthia, still on her knees, took the pack of cigarettes from Mom. Her face was flushed from sucking my cock as she took the lighter that Mom had bought (that’s how little we smoked; we didn’t even have a cigarette lighter in the house) and lit one up. Mom took her daughter’s place in front of me, but didn’t immediately get to work.

Instead, we both stood there, watching Cynthia choke and splutter as she inhaled the cigarette.

“You can’t smoke in here,” I said, pointing at the door. “Go outside.”

Bonus: it was raining. That didn’t stop her, of course. It’d be hard to imagine what could stop Cynthia from obeying a command.

My sister nodded and took the cigarette out of her mouth. Completely naked, she made her way into our backyard (I swear, if anyone had worked out how often the two busty women of our household were naked, they could have sold tickets to a hole in the fence for hundreds of dollars apiece) and continued smoking as Mom began sucking my cock.

I was enjoying the feeling of Mom’s mouth on my cock, but my entire attention was on my sister. Naked, slowly getting soaked (and not in the fun way), coughing her way through that first cigarette...yeah, it was very much doing it for me.

The knowledge that Cynthia was destroying her lungs, suffering her way through a packet of cigarettes, all for me, all as a punishment for my pleasure...and on top of it all, it was Mom’s idea.

Our anti-smoking mother was making her do it.

Fuck that was hot.

Cynthia finished the cigarette, and as she lit up the next one, the small flame highlighted her bruises. I couldn’t help myself; the sight made me immediately unload into Mom’s mouth. She swallowed my seed as quickly as I could pump it out.

For the next few minutes, I played with Mom’s huge tits as we watched Cynthia smoke. She was so bad at it, not able to get through more than a drag or two without coughing uncontrollably. Tears sprung into her eyes, and it wasn’t long before I was hard again.

I pushed Mom to her knees. She had such a proud look on her face, and I don’t know what was hotter—the sight of my sister shivering in the rain, choking on smokes...or how happy Mom was for being the one who made her do it.

Mom’s eyes were full of lust as she looked up at me, before quickly getting to work.

I came twice more that afternoon as I watched Cynthia slowly and painfully get through the rest of those cigarettes. Mom’s tongue was on my balls during my second orgasm; for the third, I had her lie down and I coated her entire body with spunk.

When Cynthia came back inside, her throat must have been on fire, and she was shaking uncontrollably. It had started to pour down, but that hadn’t stopped my sister. She’d stood there, smoking all twenty cigarettes, freezing her ass off all the while.

Even just a few weeks ago, Mom would have brought her a warm towel and made her a hot chocolate. Now, she just watched as Cynthia shivered her way across the room, before heading upstairs to run herself a hot bath.

“Aren’t you worried she’s going to get pneumonia?” I asked, and Mom just shook her head.

“She deserves what she gets,” she said simply, and I beamed at her.

“Good girl,” I said, and Mom shivered in pleasure at my words.

By some miracle, Cynthia didn’t get sick from her punishment—maybe because of what good health she was in (bruises aside), or maybe I’d just been blessed by the gods.

I mean, that didn’t feel like much of a stretch. My life was better, I’d argue, than anyone else’s in the history of the world.

I rewarded Mom’s imaginative (and cruel) punishments by clearly showing her favor over the next few days. If she ever entered a room while my sister was sucking my cock, I’d push Cynthia to the ground and let Mom take her place. When I was woken up in the morning, Mom’s tits were the first that I reached for, and even when Cynthia and I were alone, I’d include a running commentary of how inferior she was compared to Mom.

My sister, as I’ve mentioned before, is the kind of person who’ll accomplish pretty much anything she sets out to do, so I knew it wouldn’t be long before she came up with a suitable punishment for Mom. Something that would surprise both of us. Something that would set a new bar.

It didn’t take long.

Mom was laying on the couch, giving me a leisurely blowjob while we watched a movie. If my cock was hard, there was a ninety percent chance that Mom or Cynthia’s (sometimes both) mouth or hands (often both) would be wrapped around it.

“Come on, Mom,” Cynthia ordered as she entered. “Time for your punishment.”

Mom reluctantly lifted her mouth from my cock (I made a mental note to set some kind of rule forbidding blowjob-interrupting punishments in the future) and followed my bruised sister out of the room. Pausing the film, I followed a few steps behind, curious to see my sister’s first punishment attempt.

Mom and I were both surprised by the sight that met us in Mom’s bedroom: a ring light and a tripod pointed at the bed, where a half-face mask lay.

“Mom filming a porno?” I asked, and Cynthia grinned. Unlike Mom’s smile when she’d handed over the packet of cigarettes, there wasn’t even a hint of cruelty in my sister’s expression.

She was just genuinely delighted to be doing something that would please me. Humiliating Mom was just a side benefit.

I never would have guessed that my mother had a greater streak of cruelty than Cynthia did. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of it had been there before...and how much was as a result of my influence.

“Not quite,” Cynthia said, and Mom’s face went white. Apparently she’d worked out what was happening before I had.

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sound authoritative. Like all things, it’s a learned skill...and since Mom and Cynthia were more than happy to obey (almost) my every command, it wasn’t one that I’d had to practice much.

“Reddit PAN,” my mom said. Cynthia nodded, and I wrinkled my nose in confusion.

“Pan?”

“Public Access Network,” Cynthia clarified. I almost wanted to laugh—if you’d told me when I started that hypnotizing my mother and sister would lead to them knowing more about Reddit than I did, I never would have believed you. But since her had started blowing up, Mom was spending more and more time on the site.

Partially in a sort of fascinated horror, but partially because...well, I think she liked the attention.

She’d spent so many years overweight and lonely. Her new life was, in many ways, actually better for her. She was in great shape, she was constantly cumming, and she was getting all the attention she could ever want. And not just from her children.

“What’s PAN?” I asked.

“It’s like...TV,” Mom mumbled, and Cynthia nodded again.

“Anyone can put up a stream,” my sister added. “And anyone can watch. If it gets enough upvotes, millions of people can see it.”

I nodded. ”Pretty stupid name, if you ask me.”

“Mom is about to go live,” Cynthia said, immediately getting my full attention.

“Oh?”

It’s funny. I’ve seen her naked. I’ve seen her making out with Mom, sucking my cock. I’ve seen her shiver with pleasure as I fuck her to orgasm. I’ve cum onto every part of my sister’s body as she mindlessly repeated her devotion to me. To serving me.

But even after all that, just the sight of my sister’s smile is enough to make my heart fluter.

I took a moment to come up with the perfect response.

“Oh.”

“Two minutes to air,” Cynthia said, pointing at the bed. Mom’s legs were trembling as she walked over to her bed, picking up the mask that Cynthia had bought for her.

“I...I don’t really have to do this, right?” my mother said said, shooting me a pleading look.

In response, I shrugged.

“C-Cynthia?”

“You have to do this,” my sister replied coolly. “This is your punishment.”

As she spoke, Cynthia’s hand unconsciously reached up and touched her bruise. By this point it had faded—it was no longer the multicolor wonder it had been for the first few days.

But I knew that it still hurt. If she’d still been in school, I bet someone would have reported child abuse.

Accurately, I suppose. Fuck...why did that make my dick throb?

Mom was still hesitant, so I chimed in.

“If you don’t, I’m sure Cynthia will.”

Cynthia looked uneasy—she was still convinced that everyone found her repulsive—but quickly hid her expression and nodded.

“Okay,” Mom said immediately. “I’ll do it.”

I smiled.

“Thirty seconds,” my sister warned, and Mom quickly got onto the bed. “I’ll be playing music over the top of it, so they won’t be able to hear us. Just do what I tell you to.”

I shook my head at that. Both women noticed the small gesture without me having to say a thing, which made my cock twitch…another small motion that grabbed both of their attention immediately.

“No,” I said, grasping my sister’s hair and moving her head between my legs. “Do what I tell you to. Cynthia will be otherwise occupied.”

There was an undeniable appeal to watching my sister order Mom around on camera, in front of thousands...but Cynthia doesn’t have the cruel streak that Mom and I share. My sister only cared about my pleasure, not making Mom suffer.

I wanted to do it. I wanted to direct my mother’s pornographic debut.

Neither of them argued, and Cynthia’s mouth opened, hungrily taking my cock in. As I felt her talented tongue go to work, I gave Mom her first order.

“Take off your clothes,” I told her. I had briefly wondered why Mom had even been wearing clothes that morning (she and Cynthia spend most of their time naked)—I guess it had been at Cynthia’s request.

She was wearing a loose-fitting shirt, so there wasn’t much to take off, but I smiled as her naked body came into view—as, I assumed, did every male member of the Reddit Public Access Network audience.

Cynthia has a perfect body, it’s as simple as that. But if there are multiple orders of infinity, there must be multiple orders of perfection, right? Mom’s body was perfect too. Just...I dunno, a slightly lower tier.

But still perfect.

Her breasts were large, and her nipples were dark brown, like two chocolate gumdrops. Her stomach was flat, and her hips flared outwards slightly. My sister’s ass was perfect, but Mom’s was slightly bigger. Most of the time—including now—it was covered in welts and bruises. I suppose for some people that would have been a turn-off, but to me it just made it more perfect.

This was an ass built to take abuse. To be spanked. To be fucked.

God. I couldn’t wait to fuck my mother’s ass.

“Lay down on the bed,” I instructed, and Mom complied immediately. Cynthia moaned, sucking my cock with her usual ion.

“Spread your legs,” I ordered, smiling as Mom’s hairy bush came into view. Again, how can you compare perfection? Cynthia’s cunt was always cleanly shaven, pink and glistening. Mom’s was thick, dark, and wet.

Both perfect. In different ways.

“Now spread your lips,” I ordered. For the first time, Mom hesitated—even though she was wearing the mask, I could all but read the thoughts running through her head.

What if someone recognizes me? What if someone finds out? What if everyone laughs at me?

“Now.” I ordered, and Mom reached down to open her puffy pussy lips for the camera, exposing her pink interior. Cynthia’s tongue was expertly working my cock as I leaned back against the wall, savoring the moment.

“Put your fingers inside yourself,” I said, and Mom groaned.

“I...I can’t,” she said, and I sighed.

“Don’t make me ask you again...” At the tone in my voice, Mom immediately moved her fingers into her cunt. “Tell me how wet you are.”

“I’m so wet,” she moaned. “I’m soaked.”

“You like showing yourself off like this to thousands of people?”

“Mm-mm,” Cynthia interrupted, and I nodded in agreement.

“Sorry: millions.“

“No!” Mom cried, but one of her hands had drifted up to her right breast, and was now squeezing and tugging at her nipple. I don’t know if she even noticed.

“Yes,” I said, “you do. You like showing your body off on camera.”

“I don’t,” Mom whimpered. I shook my head.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I really don’t!”

I grabbed Cynthia’s hair and pulled her off my cock. “What do you think, sis? Does Mom like being humiliated in front of the entire internet?”

“Oh yes,” Cynthia moaned. “She loves it.”

“Good girl. Back to work.”

My sister’s mouth happily returned to my cock, and I turned my attention back to my naked, wet, quivering mother, live on an internet stream for the world to see.

“Get your fingers out of your cunt,” I ordered. “And get onto all fours.”

Mom gasped, but obeyed. Her pendulous breasts were swinging back and forth for the camera—it was easy to imagine millions of redditor screencapping it, ensuring that the image of my mother’s incredible body would be around for decades to come. Centuries, even.

My mother’s pornographic pictures would probably outlive her. They’d probably outlive all of us. I dismissed the morbid thought, and refocused on the naked, very much alive woman in front of me.

“Turn around,” I ordered. “And spread your ass-cheeks for the camera.”

“No!” Mom gasped, her face a crimson red. “I...I can’t.”

I raised one eyebrow.

“If I hear you disobey me again,” I said in a low voice. “I’m going to make you remove that mask. I’m going to have you tell the world who you are. And then I’m going to send your photos—and this video—to your boss. To your friends. To my friends, and everyone you know. Do you understand me?“

“Y-yes,” Mom said, tears running down her face.

“Now, do I need to repeat myself?”

Mom didn’t say a word. I wondered briefly if the camera would pick up her tears, trickling down her neck (and whether that would be as much of a turn-on for the viewers as it was for me) but the thought was dislodged from my head by the sight of Mom doing as she was told and mooning the camera.

“Spread them,” I repeated. Mom let out a sob, but obeyed, exposing her asshole for the internet to see.

If she’d had a mask—and hadn’t been otherwise occupied—I would’ve had Cynthia our mother on camera, tonguing and playing with Mom’s ass. I’ve said before, I’m not really an exhibitionist (or an exhibitionist-by-proxy, or whatever it’s called when you get off on making others exhibit), but I found it incredibly erotic just how much Mom hated showing off her body. Even as her self-image had improved, she still hated it.

“Good girl,” I said, smiling down at my sister. “This is the best punishment yet.”

A shiver of pleasure ran through her entire body—nothing made Cynthia happier than pleasing me—but she didn’t stop sucking my cock for a second.

For about twenty minutes or so, I ordered my sobbing mother to do a variety of lewd acts for the camera. She licked two fingers and slowly moved them into her ass. She pinched her nipples so hard that they throbbed with pain. Cynthia had thought ahead, laying out some of my favorite toys—Mom spanked herself with a particularly painful cat o’ nine tails, then slowly, shudderingly inserted a skinned ginger root into her dripping pussy.

That was perhaps the most interesting part of the whole thing. For as much as she professed to hate it, Mom got wetter and wetter as her show continued. As she obeyed my every order—cavorting on camera for all the nerds of the internet to enjoy—her body betrayed her, and the smell of her arousal filled the room.

My orgasm was the grand finale. Just as I was about to cum, I pushed Cynthia off me, took two steps towards my mother, and coated her body with her cum.

A perfect woman, being coated in her own son’s semen, in her pornographic video debut. I genuinely couldn’t think of anything hotter.

“Good job, Cynth,” I grunted as the camera turned off. I even allowed Mom to go and clean herself off. “How many people do you think were watching that?”

She was gently stroking my limp cock when she looked up at me, a strange expression on her face. It took a moment for me to recognize it—guilt. My sister had been so completely honest with me for so long; I hadn’t really thought about it, but my conditioning had resulted in a life without lies.

“What?” I snapped, and my sister winced at my tone.

“N-no one,” she stammered, and I raised one eyebrow. “No one?”

“Public Access Network doesn’t allow not-safe-for-work content,” Cynthia explained. “I knew that even the tame show I had planned would be pushing it. She probably got banned the moment she took off that shirt.”

I pushed my sister away from my hardening cock, and logged into the reddit I’d set up for Mom.

Yup. Sure enough, she was banned. Weeks of posts, all gone.

I could have her recreate the , of course. But there was something appealing about my mother’s body—even in picture form—being exclusively for me.

Just like Cynthia. I had thousands of photos on my camera, but no one else had so much as seen her naked. She was mine. All mine.

They both were.

And maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to keep it that way.

Not that I could tell my sister that, of course.

“Naughty naughty,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. It had been my fault as much as anyone’s of course, but that’s the joy of being a dom: nothing is ever your fault. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Cynthia stammered, but I silenced her with a hand.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. For this, you’ll need to be punished.”

I smiled a thin smile. My cock was hard once more, but Cynthia hadn’t even noticed.

“We’ll have to see what Mom comes up with for you.”