The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Are you enjoying punishing your mother?”

“Yesssss,” Cynthia hissed. A little because of how much she was enjoying being the architect of our mother’s humiliation, but mostly because I was fucking her as we talked. I didn’t fuck my sister nearly as often as I used to (that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say) but I’d wanted to reward her for knocking it out of the park with Mom’s punishment.

“What do you like about it?”

“My brother likes it,” she moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head. “He likes watching her suffer. And he’s...he’s...”

I slowed down. My sister had gone so long without cumming, I didn’t want her to break her streak while she was under.

“He’s proud of me,” she gasped, a fresh wave of lubrication coating her pussy walls.

“You like that?”

“I love it,” she said, her voice a soft moan. “It makes me so happy to please him. There’s...there’s nothing I want more.”

“Are you enjoying punishing your daughter?”

“No,” Mom said, and I smirked at her obvious lie.

“Not at all?”

“No,” she repeated.

Mom was laying on her back, my cock between her huge tits. I didn’t plan on cumming; I knew my limits (even with two buxom sex slaves competing to please you, it turns out that I have normal biological limitations)—it was just a nice way to the time while Mom was under.

Even if she woke up midway through the session, she wouldn’t find anything suspicious about it. This was also how we spent a lot of our waking hours.

“Do you like anything about it?”

“Yes,” Mom replied reluctantly. Cynthia had been trained to never lie—I’m sure Mom doesn’t think she’s lying, but...yeah. I tend to notice when her answers contract reality.

“What do you like about it?”

“I like taking her down a peg,” my mother confessed.

“Oh?”

“Uh huh,” Mom said with a moan. She was pushing her breasts together, and every time I thrust forward, the head of my cock tapped against her chin.

“Why do you like that?”

“I...it shows that I’m better than her. It means I’m winning.”

Once upon a time, I would’ve been convinced by that. But there had been a slight catch in Mom’s voice, something that told me she wasn’t telling me the whole story.

“What else?”

Mom pursed her lips for a second, but when I reached down and slapped her on the tit, she surprised me with an honest answer.

“...I like seeing her suffer.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“It turns me on,” Mom itted. Her face was a dark red; it was clear that she was not even a little bit proud of this confession. “To...to hurt her.”

Well, well, well. Like mother like son, it seemed.

As well as a painslut, Mom—on some level—was a sadist.

You hear a lot of stuff about how inscrutable women are. Women are from Venus, it’s impossible to tell what they’re thinking, they change their mind on a dime, etc etc etc.

I’ve gotten pretty good at telling what women are thinking. Well, two women, anyway.

It definitely helps that Mom wears her emotions on her face. She’s one of those people who can’t help it. If she’s happy, she smiles. If she’s angry, she scowls. If she’s embarrassed, she blushes.

And so I knew she’d come up with a new punishment hours before she told me.

It definitely helps that I can put my mother and sister under and ask them to it their innermost thoughts and feelings to me, of course. But I hadn’t done that this time.

I’d just noticed the spring in her step. The happy, vicious look in her eyes.

I could have put her under and asked what she had planned, but I was enjoying the build-up. The anticipation. And when Mom told my sister her punishment, I could see why she was so excited.

Like Mom’s last punishment, it was simple. Just four words. Four short, monosyllabic words.

Four words that struck dread into my sister’s heart. Four words that held more weight than their length would suggest.

It was different to the last punishment Mom had implemented, in that it wasn’t a classic. I don’t know if anyone has ever used this as a punishment before...or if they have, it certainly wasn’t as effective as it was here.

“You have to cum,” Mom ordered proudly. Cynthia’s eyes widened. My cock hardened. Not for the first time recently, I had no idea what was going to happen next.

And I couldn’t wait to find out.

“W-what?” Cynthia stammered in response.

“Mistress,” I correctd. I’d had Cynthia refer to our mother as her ‘mistress’ for the last few days. I don’t know who hated it more; my sister or my mother.

On the surface, anyway. I’m sure there was some part of Mom that loved it.

“What, Mistress?” Cynthia asked again, fear in her voice.

“That’s your punishment,” Mom repeated, a huge smile on her face. “You have to cum.”

For most people, that wouldn’t be a punishment at all. I’d say in almost every case, it was a award.

But my sister? God, I don’t know how long it had been since her last orgasm. I’d imprinted it onto her core that if she came, I’d find her less attractive. That if I thought she was enjoying this, enjoying being used for pleasure by her mother and her brother, I’d think she was a pervert.

And there was nothing Cynthia cared about more than me finding her attractive.

It had the side-effect of making my sister...hazy, I guess is the word. You know that feeling, when you’ve been turned on for a while but unable to find release? It can start to get in your head, make it hard to focus on anything else.

Well, my sister felt like that all the time. She edged countless times a day—not only while Mom and I were pleasuring her, but for at least an hour every morning and evening. Again and again Cynthia brought herself to the brink of orgasm, allowing the waves of pleasure to build up...but before they could splash over her, before she could climax, she’d stop.

She’d stop, and they’d subside. The pleasure would fade, but the pressure wouldn’t.

The pressure had been building for months.

My sister constantly thought about sex. I mean, part of it was probably simply that…y’know, we were constantly having sex. Almost every hour of the day, my mother and sister would be touching me, stroking me, tasting me—or each other. At night, we’d sometimes just be a tangle of limbs.

I sometimes wondered what would happen if I’d woken Mom up with my cock inside her. I could claim that I, too, had been sleeping. She’d buy that, right?

Tempting. But not worth the risk.

But yeah—if our constant sex wasn’t enough of a reason for my sister to be constantly thinking about sex, the edging did it. Cynthia was nothing but sex these days. She didn’t think about anything else, just pleasing me. Punishing our mother. Doing everything she could to turn me on. Everything.

But she knew that if she came, I’d like her less. If she came, she’d drop as low as you could go. If I saw her getting pleasure from being punished, from being finger-fucked or licked out, her already-low score would plummet.

You might wonder why Cynthia didn’t question Mom’s orgasms not affecting my opinion. Well, I suspect the edging was responsible for that as well.

My sister was so constantly worked up, endlessly wet and desperate to cum, in such a non-stop state of arousal...I really don’t think she was thinking straight. If she was thinking at all.

There was only the haze. The haze, and my cock.

“No!” Cynthia cried out, looking between us desperately. I couldn’t help myself; I glanced at my mother.

Yup. Sure enough, there it was. It was subtle, but I knew exactly what I was looking for.

The slight intake of breath. The cruel smile at the edge of her mouth. The flicker of lust in her eyes.

Mom truly did get off from Cynthia’s suffering.

She was just like me.

“Please,” my sister begged, falling to her knees. “Please. Anything else. A-anything...”

I raised one eyebrow, and Cynthia fell silent. I reached out, my hand stroking Mom’s bare ass, feeling the goosebumps of pleasure form as I did.

She’d done a great job. For the second time, she’d managed to break her daughter.

Except for when she thought it would turn me on, Cynthia had never resisted a punishment before. She’d dutifully taken everything I could throw at her: whether it was the strap, the paddle, the nipple clamps, or hours on end in the cage: she’d taken them all.

But this? This, she didn’t want to do.

Mom had won. Try as she might, I don’t think my sister would be able to top this one. Not cumming was one of the most important things to my sister, below only obeying me. First my pleasure, then not cumming.

And in four words, Mom had hit Cynthia where it hurt the most.

“What do you think, Mom?”

“No,” my mother replied immediately. “No. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“You heard her,” I shrugged. “That’s the punishment. Unless you don’t think you’re up to it...”

My sister’s jaw dropped open, and her eyes flicked back and forth. For a moment I was reminded of what she’d looked like when she was under, when I’d crossed a line and she was about to involuntarily wake up...but this time it was happening while she was awake.

The motion subsided, and I breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Please, Mistress,” Cynthia begged. ”Please. I’ll...I’ll do anything.“

“Yes, you will,” Mom said, and there it was again—that note of light cruelty. Had it been there all along and I’d just never noticed? “You will cum.”

“Tomorrow,” I added, and both my girls turned to me. “You will cum tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” my sister replied, her head bowed. “If...if you say so.”

“Good girl,” I said, and reached out my hand. My sister, knowing exactly what I wanted, leaned in and allowed me to pat her head like a dog.

When I say that the competition had become the defining factor in our household, I wasn’t exaggerating. There was almost nothing my mother and sister wouldn’t do to establish their superiority over the other.

I’d found a cage, in a BDSM store a few towns over. One of Mom’s punishments had been to go and buy it. As if the humiliation of walking into the store and asking about a device clearly, clearly used for sexual deviancy wasn’t enough, I’d had her do it with a remote-controlled toy in her.

And then given the remote to Cynthia.

Mom had told the story several times since then; once or twice while under, and then half a dozen times while awake. Of how she’d been talking to the store clerk (a tattooed man more than a decade younger than her) when Cynthia had cranked the toy up all the way, causing her to moan mid-sentence.

I loved having her tell the story while Cynthia went down on her. The cause of her torment, giving her pleasure as she recounted it. She hated that, of course. It just made the whole thing that much better.

I’d considered putting the cage outside, but I figured a caged woman in our backyard ran the risk of inspiring even the most open-minded of Peeping Toms to call the authorities.

And so it’d been placed in the living room instead. It would be a hassle to cover up if we had guests...but I’d rather have Mom and Cynthia naked (or tied up) all day every day than occasionally have people over.

Mom hated it. Even beyond the story of its purchase, she hated it. Maybe she had some kind of claustrophobia that wasn’t triggered by being tied up, only by being surrounded by those imposing iron bars.

So of course, I punished her with it constantly. If she missed a workout or ate a single M&M or didn’t fall to her knees fast enough when ordered: straight to the cage.

There was no pain to distract her from the punishment, nothing but those cage walls pressing in on her. After half an hour she’d be openly sobbing; after an hour, she’d be rocking back and forth, making animalistic noises of pain.

After ninety minutes, she’d just shut down. It was like her mind just broke; she’d become a blank, shivering mess.

It quickly became a standard part of our evening routine: Cynthia would blow me while I watched Mom suffer in the cage.

My sister knew how much our mother hated the cage, of course. So I was delighted when I woke up one morning to find Cynthia in it. Not as a punishment, not because I’d ordered her to.

Just because she knew that Mom couldn’t handle it. Just to show our mother up.

There was no official scoreboard, but you better believe that earned her some points.

Cynthia even started edging in there. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence to walk through the house and find my sister, locked in the cage, touching herself while she silently muttered her devotion to me. To my cock. While she verbally degraded herself, bringing herself to the edge of orgasm without ever letting her get there.

I knew that Mom wanted to beat Cynthia at her own game, but she couldn’t. She truly hated that cage, almost as much as she hated the Toy.

Or so I thought.

After her success with the cage, Cynthia was emboldened. She’d seen how impressed I was, and she wanted more.

Whenever we slept in Mom’s bed (we tended to room-hop a lot), my sister had seen how afraid Mom was of her Toy. She’d seen how much she hated the purple monstrosity. How much she despised it.

And so one day, Mom and I had come back from the grocery store (I’d spent the entire trip whispering to my mother about how everyone there probably recognized her from reddit, how they’d all seen her naked body and knew what a complete slut she was) to find Cynthia on her knees, bent double, the Toy all the way into her ass.

I don’t know exactly what it is to smack a gob, but let me tell you: I was gobsmacked. We both were.

And very, very impressed.

Never one to up on an opportunity to encourage the competition, I applauded. “That’s so hot,” I growled, crossing the room and grabbing my sister’ hair. She didn’t resist as I pulled her to my lap and started making out with her. “I can’t believe you took the whole thing.”

Mom just watched as my hands roamed my sister’s body, grabbing at her tits, and occasionally drifting down to her ass and playing with the base of the huge Toy. My sister happily took my cock in her hand, stroking it as I buried my mouth in her neck.

By the time I came, spewing my cum over my sister’s naked body, Mom was nowhere to be found.

I found out later that Cynthia had been practicing for while. She’d bought toys of increasing size, and when no one was around, been building up her capacity, getting ready to take the entire Toy inside her ass.

“I just wanted to be better than Mom,” she gasped, her eyes hazy as I fucked her hypnotized body. “I just wanted to show you what I could do.”

Like I said, it was an obsession. One that I stoked—in both their conscious and subconscious minds—whenever I could.

Mom had been humiliated by Cynthia’s antics in the cage. I knew she was desperate to do whatever she could to even the score. And so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I walked into Mom’s room one day to find her crying with pain and pleasure as she slowly tried to force Toy into her ass, inch by inch.

“Fuck me,“ I whistled, and Mom looked up in alarm. Unlike my sister, she hadn’t thought to start small and build up. Maybe when she was larger she would have found it easier, but with all the weight she’d lost, it was clear that she struggling to fit the toy in.

Is that how an ass works? I don’t even know. It feels right. If you’re bigger, you’ve got more room. If you’re smaller, it’s harder to make big things fit inside you.

“You can do it,” I said, sitting beside her on the bed, giving her a ive smile. “You’re almost there.”

And sure enough, she was. With a lot of lube—and encouragement—Mom did it. She managed to fit the entire toy, the toy that had haunted her nightmares for months, deep into her ass.

It was bigger than me. Hell, it was probably bigger than any human cock. Mom hated every second of it, but she did it. Without prompting, without being ordered to, she did what she feared the most.

Just for me. Just to be better than Cynthia.

It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. Until the next morning, when I had her do it again in the cage.

Cynthia was notably deflated all evening. The knowledge that she had to cum the next day—and I knew she would, she hadn’t let a punishment defeat her yet—was clearly weighing on her mind.

I sent Mom to bed and put my sister under. I wasn’t sure what would happen after she came; she hadn’t cum (while conscious) in a very, very long time. Would her acuity return? Would she suddenly question why she was being used as a sex toy by her brother and Mom?

Would she find the constant sex, punishments, and competition suspicious?

I needed to know before it happened. And so I put her under.

And fucked her. Hey, if there was any chance this would be the last time, I wanted to take full advantage of her.

“What are you going to do tomorrow?” I asked, my sister’s tits bouncing against my chest as I drove into her again and again. I’d fucked her so many times while she was unconscious, in so many ways, but I think missionary will always be my favorite. It was the way we’d done it for the first time.

I guess I’m just a romantic at heart.

“I’m going to cum,” she said, her voice hollow.

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“No,” she replied flatly. Not even a hint of attitude—once upon a time, Cynthia’s voice would’ve filled with sass whenever I asked an obvious question.

How things had changed.

“Why not?”

“My brother will be less attracted to me. He’s going to think I’m a pervert.”

“You are a pervert,” I pointed out—a little rich coming from someone who was in the middle of fucking his own sister, but Cynthia didn’t question it.

“Yes,” she said with a shiver of arousal. “I’m disgusting.”

I smiled. My sister was everything I wanted her to be. My life was (very nearly) what I wanted it to be. I was living an existence that I would’ve killed for a year ago.

And tomorrow, it might all go away.

You might be wondering—why not just order her not to do it? Or to fake it?

A part of me wishes I had a good answer to that. It was well within my control, of course. But as time had gone on, I’d increasingly found that the more I went with the flow, the better things got.

Hypnotizing my mother and sister had been a pretty wild divergence from the flow, I guess, but the more I’d started to let the chips land wherever they fell, the more good things had fallen into my lap.

The dice had been cast. There was a chance they’d come up snake eyes and I’d lose my sister, but...call it fate, or destiny, or serendipity...I knew that things would turn out however they turned out.

It was like I’d set my mother and sister onto a path of depravity, and now all I had to do was follow them. I’d given them a box of toys (including the Toy), told them to do whatever they could pleasure me, and now they were taking things in directions I’d never think of.

I would never have guessed that Mom would voluntarily take the Toy, completely unprompted. I could never have predicted Cynthia would happily accept a face full of bruises—and never looked better.

And so when Mom had ordered Cynthia to cum, I didn’t know what it would lead to. I just had to trust that if it happened, it would be for the best.

Like everything had been so far.

Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t add some safeguards. Safety rails along the path of destiny, if you will.

“After you cum,, your mind is going to be completely blank.” Historically true. “Say it.”

“After I cum,” Cynthia intoned, “my mind is going to be completely blank.”

I smiled as she echoed my instructions back to me, word-for-word. She was such a good girl. So obedient.

And I’d made her that way.

“You won’t have a single thought in your head,” I ordered. “Say it.”

“I won’t have a single thought in my head,” my sister said with a shiver, then surprised me by continuing. “I’ll just be a dumb, mindless slut for my brother.”

“God,” I moaned, my cock twitching inside my sister. I knew I wasn’t far off cumming, but I wanted to finish what we were doing.

I wanted to finish before I finished.

But my sister wasn’t the only one who had improved her self-control over the last few months. Cumming multiple times a day does that to you, y’know?

“Again,” I ordered. “Say that again.”

“I’ll just be a dumb, mindless slut for my brother,” my sister moaned. “Not a single thought in my head. I’m not here to think. I’m here to obey. To obey, and—oh!—please him. To please my brother with my body.”

“After you cum, you won’t think,” I grunted. “Instead, you’ll play with your tits. With your clit. You’ll get yourself worked up again. Horny again. Say it.”

“I won’t think after I cum,” my sister moaned. “I’ll never think again.”

Not exactly what I’d said, but I’d take it.

“I’ll play with my tits. I’ll touch my clit. I’ll get myself worked up and horny. I’ll...I’ll...”

My sister swallowed, and I slowed down. It would’ve been funny if she’d broken her three-month drought the night before she was due to cum anyway, but after a moment to collect herself, she continued.

“I’ll be your good girl,” she said, her voice trembling with need. “I’ll do anything you say.”

When I’d made her cum in the past, I’d had to really work her up to get her back into that throbbing, needy state. It obviously wouldn’t be possible to do that as effectively while she was awake—it typically involved my dick inside her, which would be a challenge with my mother right there—but I hoped that having her turn her mind off and touch herself would achieve a similar effect.

And if it didn’t, I had a backup plan. If it looked like she was returning to full clarity, to the sharp girl she’d been before I ever started hypnotizing her...I knew exactly what I could do.

I’d pull her ear to my mouth and tell her that watching her cum had turned me on. That I was truly attracted to her. That I wanted her, like I never had before.

I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, of course. I’d spent a lot of time destroying my sister’s self-esteem, and I wanted to avoid anything that would build it up again. Watching my sister wallow in self-loathing was one of the hottest things in my life...and keep in mind, at this point my life was nothing but a collection of erotic moments competing for the top spot.

But if I absolutely needed it, I had that in my pocket.

“Good girl,” I moaned, pulling out. Just a few strokes later, I was cumming onto my sister’s bare tits. “Good girl...”

It was time.

The morning had been a strange one. Mom was excited, of course. As far as she was concerned, Cynthia didn’t cum because what we did was so wrong, so perverted.

Making her daughter cum to our incestuous activities was a new type of punishment. It wasn’t physical, like smashing her head against the table, or making her smoke the pack of cigarettes. It wasn’t mental, like the show Cynthia had made Mom put on for the internet. (Well, that we’d thought at the time was being seen by the internet.)

No, this was something else. A direct attack on her...morality, I guess. Twisting her very soul.

At least, that’s what Mom thought. I couldn’t help but enjoy how much my mother was enjoying the corruption. Mom wouldn’t let me fuck her—or my sister—but she would happily corrupt Cynthia as a punishment.

As part of their twisted competition.

Things had been so different recently. Amazing, of course, but the energy in the house had completely transformed. When the three of us had started fooling around, it had been as a ‘punishment’. Mom had felt guilty...she’d enjoyed it, but she’d felt guilty while doing it.

That guilt had faded surprisingly fast (I guess multiple orgasms a day will quickly make you grow comfortable with most anything), and for a while the energy had been...jubilant, almost. Happy and horny. Sex all day every day, mixed only with punishments.

But as the competition had ramped up, I’d set Cynthia and Mom against each other. They were no longer partners in cumming; now, they were rivals. They had stopped enjoying each other, and become bitter competitors for my attention.

And as the punishments had started, the vibe had shifted again. Mom had really hurt Cynthia. Physically, emotionally...their trust had been thin while they were competing, but now it was gone. Destroyed.

They’d destroyed it.

At any point, each of them knew the other could hit them where it hurt. Where it really hurt. They didn’t feel safe any more. They were constantly on-edge, trying to prepare for the next attack. The stress of the competition had driven them to the edge of exhaustion. The mistrust had left them unable to relax, unable to depend on each other.

They were weak. Shaky. Vulnerable.

I loved it.

When Mom had woken me up that morning, I’d been surprised to see she was alone. Normally it was both women, waking me up with their mouths and tits. My days were filled with female flesh from morning to night, the two most attractive women on the planet competing to be the one who got me off the best.

But that morning, Cynthia had been absent. Mom had sucked me off alone, reveling in the opportunity to demonstrate her superiority without competition, but straight after finishing in my mother’s mouth I’d pushed her aside and gone looking for my sister.

She’d been in her room, edging. Watery-eyed and trembling as she touched herself, getting close to orgasm and then pulling away.

I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I knew. She was proclaiming her devotion to me. How much she wanted to please me.

How little she deserved me.

Her eyes were glassy as she noticed me enter, and for a moment I wondered if I’d forgotten to wake her up the previous night. If she’d just spent the entire night hypnotized, touching herself, edging all night long.

Of course, if she’d still been under, she wouldn’t have been able to move. Some people can’t move when they’re hypnotized, and my sister—to my great frustration—was one of those people.

Not, of course, that there was anything she wouldn’t do for me while she was awake. She was completely dedicated to serving me. She was mine. Mind, body, and soul.

“It’s time,” I said, and Cynthia nodded. She stood up and walked past me. I took a moment to ire her body—she was naked, of course, as she almost always was. Almost a foot shorter than me, but with skin that felt like it went on for days. Her tits were huge, bouncing and jiggling with every step, and her ass was firm and round. Her exercise routine devoted a lot of time to growing that ass, making it big and juicy for my pleasure.

Not as big as Mom’s, of course. Something I told her at every opportunity.

I slapped Cynthia’s butt as she ed me, but she didn’t even seem to notice. Her mind was already in the living room.

Mom was waiting for us when we entered, a gleam in her eyes. “Sit here,” she ordered, and Cynthia nodded.

“Yes, Mistress,” she replied, sitting where Mom pointed. I don’t know why it made my cock twitch whenever Cynthia referred to Mom that way, but it did. There was something so wrong about it.

The entire situation was “wrong”, of course, but those little touches really emphasized it for all of us.

Mom had a toy handy. Not the Toy, just a small vibrator. “You’re going to use this on your clit,” Mom told her, handing it over. “You’re going to think about what we’ve been doing. To me. To your brother. You’re going to think about what else you want to do. And then you’re going to cum.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Cynthia agreed, taking the toy and getting to work. I’d seen my sister masturbate before, but...actually, no, had I seen my sister masturbate? I mean, really masturbate. To get off.

I’d seen her edge. Almost any time of the day or night, you could walk into my house and see my sister edge.

But actual masturbation? To orgasm?

I don’t think I’d ever seen it. I don’t think anyone had seen Cynthia masturbate before. I’d seen Mom get her off, I’d seen (and felt) her cum around my cock, but never before had I seen Cynthia get herself off.

With a smile, I sat beside Mom, reaching over and playing with her tits. Mom was almost as excited as I was; her hand instinctively reached for my cock and began stroking it. Whenever Cynthia or Mom were sitting next to me, they would start petting and stroking my dick without even thinking. It was as automatic as breathing.

All three of us were naked, as per usual. As Cynthia moved the toy to her clit, she looked up. Mom and I were sitting opposite her, playing with each other’s bodies. Watching her. All our attention focused on her.

My sister shivered. I knew her so well, I knew exactly what she was feeling. She loved attention, and she hated it. She wanted nothing more than to have my eyes on her, while also knowing how disgusting I found her body. She knew how repulsive Mom and I thought she was.

The thought of being watched horrified and titillated her, both at once. No, not both: for my sister, disgust and arousal were one and the same.

Cynthia wanted me to want her, but she knew I never would. She craved my approval, but nothing she did would earn it.

I nodded; the slightest of gestures. Cynthia knew what it meant, and obeyed immediately. She moaned softly, her hips starting to move on their own. The toy in her hand began to buzz, and I could see the pleasure and fear in her eyes as she moved the toy to her clit.

The look on her face was like nothing I’d seen. Mom had used this toy on Cynthia before; she loved it. Both of them did. Cynthia loved it and dreaded it in equal measures. She loved how it felt and she hated how close it got her to orgasm.

My mother had chosen well.

As the toy buzzed against my sister’s clit, she jerked and spasmed. Even from across the room, I could smell how wet she was. My sister’s musk was distinct from my mother’s—maybe all women smelled different, or maybe it was due to the gap in their ages.

Whatever the reason, I loved it. I loved their scents, both separately and together. I loved that I could tell which of my female relatives was in the room just by the smell of their arousal.

Mom and I watched, transfixed, as my sister played with herself. Mom’s hand was moving up and down my cock, but her attention was across the room. She was focused—as was I—on the look on Cynthia’s face. Pain. A hint of pleasure, but mostly pain.

Aside from “a very long time”, I have no idea how long it had been since Cynthia last came. She was unleashing months—literally months—of buildup. Cynthia had suppressed thousands and thousands of orgasms in the last few months.

And from the look on her face, she was preparing to release them all at once.

It was like a dam bursting. Not a controlled flow, the enjoyable experience that masturbation normally is.

An explosion. All of them, all at once. Thousands of orgasms, all trying to make their way through at the same time. Forcing themselves through the same tiny hole.

My sister wasn’t enjoying herself. She was suffering. She was suffering countless little deaths, all at once. It must have been torture, to have all those denied climaxes hitting her at once.

I loved it. I moved my hand down to my mother’s wetness to confirm: yup. She did too.

“Oh God, oh God,” Cynthia moaned, the toy vibrating against her clit. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

Best of all, she wasn’t even cumming yet. It was like she was warming up. Preparing the runway. She’d spent so long stopping herself from cumming, she needed to get her body ready for it. For them.

For all of them. All at once.

“Are you going to cum?” Mom asked, her voice commanding. My cock twitched in her hand. I had no interest in being dominated by Mom myself, but it was impossible to deny how much I enjoyed watching her treat her daughter like a slave.

“Yes, Mistress,” Cynthia said, her voice strained.

“Good girl,” Mom cooed. My entire body twitched at her words. Mom had never liked it when I called her a good girl. She hated it when I used those words on my sister.

But now, as her daughter began painfully experiencing half a year of pent-up orgasms...she was the one using the term.

“Good girl,” I echoed, and Mom gave my cock a squeeze.

Cynthia rubbed the toy up and down her pussy lips, holding it to her clit for a few seconds, then repeating the pattern. If she had just held it to her clit, I’m sure she could have cum. She could have found that release that she’d been avoiding for so long.

But she didn’t. Whenever she looked like she was getting close, she’d move it back to her labia. Easing herself into it. Making sure she didn’t hurt herself.

“Stop that,” I ordered, and Cynthia looked up at me guiltily. “This is a punishment,” I reminded her. “You deserve the pain.”

“I deserve whatever punishment I get,” she repeated in a whisper, and my cock throbbed at her words. Mom’s hand was moving faster now, both of our eyes on Cynthia. I could feel the excitement radiating off my mother.

“Hold the toy to your clit,” I ordered. “And cum for me.”

“Cum for both of us,” Mom said, as if in a trance.

“Cum for your master and cum for your mistress,” I instructed. “We own you.”

Mom nodded. “We own you,” she echoed, and again I felt her cunt clench at the idea.

Who’d have thought? My mother: painslut, sadist, and secret dominatrix.

“Cum for me,” I repeated, and my sister nodded.

“Yes, sir,” she said, and began to cum. She moved the toy to her clit and left it there. My mother and I watched as her orgasm begin to rise. Her eyes were glassy, but she wasn’t unconscious.

She was going to cum. We all knew it. She was doing it.

For the first time in months, my sister was about to cum.

“Cum for me,” I repeated, louder than before, and that was all my sister needed to be pushed over the edge. Her thighs tightened, her back arched, and she came. She came, long and loud. My mother and I watched as Cynthia’s entire body convulsed. Her ass flexed, her tits bounced, and she screamed.

She screamed and screamed and screamed.

“Oh god,” she screamed, her voice a strangled cry of pain. “FUCK.“

Mom’s hand was a blur and my cock was a rock. My sister was in so much pain, so much pleasure. I’d caused that combination before—in Mom and her both—but it had never been anything like this. This was something new.

Cynthia’s body spasmed, her hips bucking, her breasts jiggling. She couldn’t stop screaming; I loved every second of it. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she repeated, and Mom squeezed my cock with a vice-like grip.

I expected my sister’s orgasm to end, but it didn’t. As she held the toy against her clit, her eyes on me and Mom, her entire body shuddering, she screamed again. “I’m cumming!” she shouted. “Fuck! Fuck, I’m cumming. I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.”

Her entire body shook as she came, her legs shaking, her arms flailing, her hair flying. She was in such pain, she could barely breathe. And yet she came. She came and came and came.

I don’t know if it was a string of long orgasms or a single, never-ending one; whichever it was, Cynthia simply didn’t stop. Her orgasm seemed to last forever; I watched her writhe, her eyes bloodshot, her mouth gaping, her fingers clutching the toy like it was the only thing keeping her alive. She couldn’t stop. She was in agony, but she was also in ecstasy. It was like all the demons were fleeing hell at once, and my sister was the gate.

Mom and I watched, transfixed. And even from across the room, we felt it too. Her release was ours. Mom’s hand brought me off, and my first rope of cum shot further than I’d ever seen before, landing on my sister’s convulsing body. Mom came as well, her cunt twitching around my hand, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back.

For the first time ever, we were all on the same wavelength. We were all cumming together.

It was perfect.

Our orgasms seemed to trigger a new wave in Cynthia—the toy slipped from her hands, but her hips never stopped bucking. Months of built-up sexual energy was all leaving her body at once, and she couldn’t control it. The toy fell to the floor, but my sister’s hips continued thrusting forward. For another full minute she came, her body wracked with sobs and moans. She was sobbing in pain, sobbing in pleasure.

My mother and I just watched, my cock still leaking cum onto the carpet, Mom’s body still vibrating with pleasure from her own powerful climax.

At last, Cynthia’s orgasm ended. Her entire body went slack and she collapsed. She looked like she’d died—as though a thousand little deaths added up to one real death. She could have been a corpse, except for the occasional twitches. The aftershocks of the intense experience she’d just lived through.

The previous night, I’d been worried that my sister would return to lucidity after she came. Now that I’d seen the mother of all orgasms (or sister, if you will), I realized how unrealistic that fear was. After what had just happened, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that my sister’s mind had melted. After her protracted, painful orgasm, there was every chance my sister would never think again.

Still. Better safe than sorry.

Several minutes ed, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room. When Cynthia’s eyes eventually fluttered open, I had an order ready to go.

“Mom,” I said, my voice hoarse but demanding. “Go down on Cynthia. Now.”

Despite her newfound dominant leanings, Mom didn’t question me for a second. She knew what would happen if she did.

Mom crawled across the floor, kneeling beside Cynthia. She leaned forward, her tongue finding Cynthia’s clit.

Cynthia shuddered. “Oh God. I’m so sensitive. I’m...oh!”

Mom—correctly—ignored her, and her tongue began moving up and down Cynthia’s slit. My sister’s eyes rolled back and her hand clutched at the carpet.

Her other hand, ing my orders from the previous night, reached up and grabbed her tit.

I couldn’t imagine how sensitive she was after an experience like that. What we’d just witnessed had been so powerful. So raw. After that, Cynthia must have been so sensitive that even the slightest touch would be agonizing.

Perfect.

Cynthia’s fingers squeezed her tit. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were shut tight. If she was following my orders (and I knew she was), she didn’t have a single thought in her head. She was nothing. No thoughts, no mind. No free will. She was nothing but my slave. My toy. My mindless slut.

Mom continued licking Cynthia’s pussy, her tongue darting in and out, her lips sucking on Cynthia’s clit. I could see Cynthia’s eyes rolling back into her head, her body shuddering. Pain, pleasure, what did it matter? She’d completed her punishment; I knew she wouldn’t cum again.

I smiled. Maybe she’d never cum again. Maybe that had been Cynthia’s final orgasm. Self-istered, witnessed by her brother and her mother.

What a climax to go out on.

My cock twitched, returning to hardness. I gave Mom a whistle—like a dog, she came scurrying back at the sound. Cynthia obediently moved her hand down to her clit, replacing Mom’s tongue. I looked down as Mom’s lips stretched around my cock. She looked up at me happily—she was never more content than when she was sucking my cock.

Except perhaps when she was punishing her daughter.

Or when I was spanking her to orgasm.

A lot of things made Mom happy, really. She had a pretty good life, all things considered.

The look on Cynthia’s face was so hot. She looked...blank. Vacant. Not a single thought behind those eyes. She looked kind of like Mom did when I put her in the cage for too long (although really, is there such a thing as “too long” when it comes to punishment?)—her eyes glazed over, her expression hazy.

It was so hot.

My sister, I knew, wasn’t piecing things together. She wasn’t thinking anything. She was nothing but obedience, pure and simple. She was my mindless automaton. My sex toy. She’d do anything I said and she wouldn’t question a word of it. There wasn’t a single thought in her head. Not one.

As Mom choked on my cock (purely for show; she’d become a master of deepthroating me) I considered keeping Cynthia like this forever. A complete bimbo, dumb as a rock, always available for my pleasure.

She’d forget who she was, if I ordered her to. She’d forget everything. She’d be completely mine.

It wasn’t hard to imagine; a life of having a mindless sister sex slave. It would be so easy. I could use her mouth any time I wanted. I could make her cum at will. I could make her cum without touching her, just by commanding her to do so.

And the last thought she’d ever have would have been...

My mouth twisted. What had been her last thought? Mom had instructed her to think about what we’d do next. I was curious what she’d thought about while cumming her brains out.

“Cynthia,” I said, and my sister’s head swiveled to meet my gaze. Her eyes were wide, her expression blank. She looked like a zombie.

“Yes, sir?” she asked. The words fell out of her mouth without her even having to think about it.

“What did you think about when you came?”

Cynthia’s face screwed up in confusion. “Huh?”

I rolled my eyes. Okay, maybe having a completely mindless sex slave wasn’t as appealing as it seemed at first.

“When you came,” I repeated slowly. “What were you thinking about?”

“Oh,” Cynthia said, and a blush spread across her face. “I was...I was thinking about a new punishment for Mom.”

I raised one eyebrow.

Interesting. I’d fully—and I hope you can understand why this is going to sound so self-centered—I’d expected it to be a thought about me. About me using her, or abusing her, or fucking her, or whatever.

But instead, Cynthia’s thought at the moment (well, minute) or orgasm had been about Mom.

“What was it?”

I’d thought Mom’s punishments were the ultimate combination of simple and brutal. Pure torture, delivered in just a few words. Elegance in its finest form.

But Cynthia’s suggestion was about to blow them all away. With one sentence, she’d found the best possible punishment for Mom, the best treat for me. With her next words, Cynthia was going to solve a problem I’d been struggling with for a long, long while.

My sister continued, her voice growing more confident with each word.

“For my brother to rape her.”