Fragile Minded

It's even free if you have kindle unlimited! I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

Brandy couldn't process her current predicament. It wasn't that Brandy couldn't understand what was going on, or remember what had happened. Simply, nothing was going through Brandy's mind. Just a quiet stale blankness. There was a memory in her brain of straightening her hair, doing her makeup, putting on the sexiest thing she owned (a shiny black bikini) and driving over to her long time friend Marcia's house. Just like there were memories of years of Marcia teasing her for hiding a "great rack" in loose sweaters and dowdy outfits. But those memories, just like every single other thought possible, simply wouldn't appear in Brandy's mind. Her friend's email full of flashing spiralling lights and strange twisting sounds had made sure of that.

Bare breasts and oil, lilting words and the white noise of a cracking fire, a long held curiosity and a manipulative neighbor; that was all it took for Olivia to abandon the sanctity of her marriage vows. Not on her own part. No, Maria seemed to have no interest in the middle aged stick with a runner's body and zero style. No, Olivia was convinced by the neighbor she was finding increasingly beautiful by moment, to happily let her husband play around. To ignore the father of her children slipping away to Maria's bedroom whenever either of them felt the urge. To diligently provide food and drink, to remake the bed after Maria and her partner turned her marriage bed into a sweat and cum soaked mess.

Linh wanted to get up and go about her day. Didn't she? Or...maybe she didn't? Slowly, softly, not quite rising to the level of active confusion, these two ideas wrestled in Linh's placid mind. Nick was watching, from the side, and his interest placidly, quietly registered to Linh, but it was yet another thing she couldn't quite focus on. No...it wasn't that she couldn't focus on it, she glacially realized, it was that she couldn't look right at it. Nick's interest, Nick's attention, Nick's presence was the like the sun: shaping, coloring, feeding her entire world. In some dim, muddled way Linh knew that if it wasn't for Nick's approval she wouldn't be arching her legs and back, wouldn't be thrusting her chest forward and posing. And not just now, Linh thought, without Nick she wouldn't spend all those hours in the gym getting the body Nick preferred, wouldn't take such care of her hair and nails, wouldn't dress herself in playboy and club wear, wouldn't have gotten up early this morning to do her hair and apply the heavy face of makeup Nick preferred.

The gears eventually turned over in the vietnamese immigrant's head: Nick was the most important thing in her world, not whether she wanted to get up or not. It was a release, calming and relaxing, to let her mind go blank as long as Nick was enjoying her pose. If Nick wanted her to do something different, Nick would tell her, and she would do it. Just as she had been doing perfectly ever since the "student visa broker" with the spirally logo had first introduced the onetime physics grad student to her "sponsor". Though by then, the three days of preparation had left Linh far less interested in her own goals than in Nick's. Something that never seemed like it was going to change. Unless Nick decided he liked her that way...

Jenny struck a pose and adopted her best "cutesy playing with her hair" expression and snapped the selfie. She reviewed the photo to make sure she looked good enough, and posted it to her gram. It wasn't that she *failed* to notice her latex flag dress, the lewd way her chest struggled to stay inside said dress, or the vapidly whorish way her mouth hung open, or even the "rule Britannia", "chav life" and "God save the king" hashtags she posted with. It was just that all the smart girl, progressive reform activist, chapstick lesbian parts of Jennifer's mind had been deftly (and hypnotically, surgically, and chemically) persuaded to take a backseat to the hyper-patriotic, slutty, chav Jenny personality that those nice government therapists had found inside her.

Jennifer wasn't so angry anymore at least. Now that immigration, LGBTQ rights, and NHS funding were things that big, strong, male MPs were keeping her safe from instead of things she was agitwting for more of, Jenny was much happier. It was way easier to just let the government keep her safe while she focused on partying, loving her country, and her bedroom "cheerleading" for patriots in government that her therapist tells her to fuck.

Jenny's a much better UK isolationist, lightly supremacist eye candy than Jennifer ever was as a progressive activist. Jennifer always failed and got yelled at constantly, everyones always happy to see Jenny!

Twenty came easy for Rosemary. At least it did the second time. Dimly, locked away somewhere, were foggy memories of how hard Rosa had found twenty. The constant struggle to stay fashionable, to date well, to be cool and hip, the endless fight against becoming either a loser or a dumb party girl. All of them Rosa's problems, and none of them hers.

Rosemary just dressed how she liked, and the boys in her D&D game and the girls in anime club both seemed to like her look well enough. Rosemary didn't care how big her glasses were, they gave her a nice clear field of view and they were so much more comfortable than contacts. Rosemary was aware of makeup and hair styling, even vaguely remembered hundreds of hours of Rosa's practice, but it just didn't bother her. Not anymore. Rosemary just was who she was. And who she was, thanks to her college aged son's strange amulet, was thirty two years younger than the life she'd lived, and a total nerd.

Something of the early 50s Rosa who'd critiqued her son for becoming increasingly nerdy in college was still in there, still struggling to have a perfect life, but Rosemary was far happier when she ignored it. Somewhere a job and husband were probably missing Rosa, but this semester Rosemary had spent as an increasingly nerdy sophomore was the easiest and happiest of her life. Her son kept inviting her to geekier and geekier pursuits, and the utterly unselfconscious, totally ignorant of status version of herself went along and enjoyed herself immensely.

It was certainly magic that had turned the trim MILF into the chesty coed, but was the magic responsible for her growing love of role playing and magic the gathering? Was the magic to blame for her ditching fashion trends entirely for her copying anime characters? Was she hooking up with her son's best friend because the amulet made him magically persuasive, or because Eric and Rosemary shared hobbies and a dorky sense of humor?

Rosemary simply didn't care. Being a nerdy twenty year old just came so much easier than being an uptight 52 year old. Besides, she'd just reached her new boyfriend's apartment, she had more fun things to think about...

Angelique took another slurp of her piña colada. Part of her savored the sweet, tangy taste, but a larger part of her mind tried to calculate the calories of this drink, of this swallow. The calories...and the corresponding growth in her already embiggened chest. Maybe 600 for the whole drink? So about a 1/8th of a pound, she calculated quickly. She tried to continue the calculation even as a now familiar heat in her nipples and groin started up. She swore she could feel the drink, just like almost everything else she'd consumed since arriving at the island resort being absorbed directly into her chest.

The drink was gone so fast, Angelique felt pleasantly dizzy with both the heat in her chest and the alcohol. Calculations were set aside for a moment, unachievable with these tingles. When she felt her chest, Angelique swore she could tell their massive size had become every so slightly bigger, her frame even more dominated by the unbelievable orbs that had grown to dominate her frame in the last ten days. She wanted to stop, needed to stop. She was half tits at this point, who would ever look her in the eye again? But she couldn't. The piña colada, just like the chicken salad for lunch, and the snacks so far this afternoon, had barely scratched her hunger. She could just tell that most of the sustenance she so badly wanted was being diverted, absorbed greedily by her ever growing melons.

When the bartender placed the huge platter of fries and the glistening massive bacon double cheeseburger in front of her, Angelique just knew it was worth a whole other cup size. Part of her said no, I need to hold back till we leave, another part was so hungry and buzzed that it seemed impossible to refuse, and the last part, the part that had been getting louder in the back of her mind as her nipples and pussy pulsed in time just thought how good it felt to have her tits grow and grow and grow...

Kyla smiled as her fellow competitors on the fashion reality show "Urban Style Fire" lasciviously sucked on their lollipops in various states of physical and mental undress. The hypnotist she'd brought to one of their group get togethers for "relaxation" had clearly had the desired effect. The moment she'd handed out the lollipops at the beginning of the shoot they'd peeled off tops, pulled down swimsuits, struck lewd poses and became exactly the kind of symbols the show was trying to avoid promoting. They'd be gone by the end of the episode, and beautiful blonde Kyla would be left, in her gorgeous red swimsuit, to win.

She almost envied them their empty headed exhibitionist satisfaction. Jada, the ebony skinned fashion designer from Houston, seemed absolutely empty headed, not even noticing she was resting a hand on the thigh of the equally vacant redhead, Destiny. Carla, ever the Amazonian showboat managed to have a bit of smile as she served her ass up to camera, and Sarah the tattooed white girl on the far end seemed to have managed the barest thread of shock, perhaps because she'd already finished her lollipop. But the rest of the aspiring designers didn't have an whole thought in their heads if you combined them. Plus, their breasts weren't nearly as well oiled as Kyla's.

They were reacting exactly as they'd been told on that fateful night last week, "you love lollipops, you can't resist lollipops", he'd said, right as Kyla had told him to say. "Sucking on a sucker sucks out your mind, your inhibitions, you're intelligence" he'd continued, as Kyla sat in the back, trying to suppress her triumph as she touched herself under the table, sucking on the lollipop that had been in her pocket. For the briefest moment she wondered where it had come from, but the session ruining her competitors was too much to watch and listen too.

The shouts of the PA, and the triumphant feel of sea air on her naked pussy, brought Kyla back from her reminiscing. She'd expected the producers to be angry, to be disappointed in all these potential models, drooling with their tits out on the sand. But they weren't! They were telling the girls how wonderful they looked, reminding them how good the suckers were. Telling them how to pose, how to touch themselves and each other! And...was that her secret hypnotist? Talking with the producers? Was he calling her over?

Ellie-Mae didn't see any trace of the mousy nerd who'd moved to Texas last year in the stunning cowgirl preparing to step outside and blow her new boyfriend's mind. Why would she? Eloise had been a pudgy dork from NYC with an artsy-fartsy streak a mile wide and an empty bed. Not like Ellie-Mae, not like Ellie-Mae at all.

For a moment, she did something she didn't worry about too much anymore: she reflected. The culture shock of arriving for her first year of grad school in sun-drenched Texas from her cloudy northern home had been extreme. Why did all the men in her programs talk to each other and ignore her? Why did all the women call themselves girls and want to talk reality TV and gossip? Eloise couldn't find any friends to discuss fantasy literature with, to play dungeons and dragons with, to study synthetic chemistry with. Running a hand up her taught thigh, Ellie-Mae smirked to herself. Back then, when she'd almost quit outright and moved home, she hasn't understand at all why no one shared her interests, why everyone was at the gym, partying outside, or hooking up all the time. Now? Ellie-Mae laughed, now she got it.

It was because that old stuff fucking sucked, and being a hot piece of ass with perfect hair and guys begging to hook up rules. All that nerd shit and weird ethnic food with all those carbs in it could rot in the dumpster Kate had told her to dump it in. Ellie didn't even care that her degree was shot, with basically no chance of recovery. She made more on her insta and at the club than she ever would have been a chemist or whatever the fuck she'd been studying. Kate had hooked her up well. Plus, boys could always be persuaded to take care of her for a little fun. She didn't need a fancy job to go on vacation; two blowjobs and her favorite miniskirt and some guy would take her whereever she wanted to go, just like was happening at the lake this weekend.

Happy with her selfie, Ellie-Mae texted it to Kate and then stepped out of the RV to make Boone's dreams come true. The sun was bright, and his eyes were big and hungry at the sight of her. 20 hours a week at the gym paid off. Plenty of country girl suntanning helped.

He immediately pulled her down into his lap, mouths meeting hungrily, his hands jumping immediately to her breasts and ass, helping themselves to what she'd been coyly promising all week. Kate had been right when she said Boone got what he wanted, directly. As he popped the seam of her shorts and slipped inside her with powerful, eager thrusts, Ellie thought of how Kate was *always* right.

Eloise hadn't believed that was possible when the beautiful southern country girl had first comforted her when she's broken down crying in the coffee shop near campus. How could a bottle blonde stick with fake boobs and a Texas flag tattoo be right about *anything*? But the influencer had managed to calm Eloise, managed to convince her to come to a party with her. Been persuasive enough for Eloise to start that party with three shots and no concerns. Kate had been right that the party was way more fun like that. That being carefree and wild and going along with all the other southern belles at the party had been way more fun than failing to find a guy who wanted to talk about trading card games. Kate had been right about that, for sure.

It was just a fun get together of friends, a casual night for everyone to celebrate the return of spring after a long cold winter. Mainly it was an excuse to get together, order some pizza, drink some wine and spill the tea. Victoria arrived at 6:04 and 6:07, and without saying a word sidled up next to each other. Pride welled in Jane's heart: it was time to enjoy her success.

Victoria posed a little when Jane complimentended their outfit. "Thanks it was..." Victoria started. "...on sale" Victoria finished. Tom bit his lip to keep from smiling. He just nodded along as Jane raised an eyebrow questioningly. Victoria didn't seem to notice. They simply walked to the refreshments, put two identical pieces of pizza on two identical paper plates, and poured two identical glasses of red wine and came over to the table. Jane had to scrunch her face up, trying with all her might to keep from laughing as Victoria's heads tilted in perfect unison. They were confused, looking at the chair where they normally sat. It was simply an armchair. It definitely wouldn't do to ruin the fun now and shake Victoria's minds loose with a cackling laugh. They finally sat together on the couch.

"I saw the funniest..." Victoria began. "...new show" said Victoria as Victoria took a swallow of wine. Tom excused himself with a suppressed chuckle as Jane's questions were answered in interweaving lockstep.

At the end of the night, Jane felt like taking a bow. The party had been a roaring success and Victoria had been flawless the whole night. Even deliberate provocations from one of her more stubborn friends hadnt managed to dislodge the two new halves of Victoria. Which was good, it would have been a shame for three months of carefully inserted hypnotic suggestions to go to waste! Besides, this way the one time rivals of the group were *literally* of one mind now. Bella seemed utterly and completely unaware that she'd become a carbon copy of her shorter roommate. Now instead of the two arguing, they danced in perfect synchronicity. Far easier to host at a party! Jane's little file, with all those carefully prepared notes about exactly how Victoria felt and thought had done a perfect job overwriting Bella. Really great-

Gigi scanned her fridge for the fifth time tonight. It was unthinkable that'd she eat yet another serving, as she was well past three people's worth of food for the day, but Gigi didn't do a lot of thinking. Thinking was hard, boring, and made her head hurt. Not like eating. Mmm, Gigi *loved* eating. Loved eating and hated thinking. She giggled at the way the words felt in her head, even as some cobwebbed gears of her mind struggled to turn over in response. Was that...backwards? Did she hate eating and love thinking? Gigi giggled again, that couldnt possibly be true!

The rotund bleached blond reassured herself that she had it right (loved eating, hated thinking) as she took a rich slice of fudgy chocolate cake out of the fridge and returned to coach alongside her boyfriend. "Oopsie, Gigi forgot a fork!" She giggled. Her boyfriend just gave a smile a smarter girl would recognize as smug. He nodded at the cake, and with unrestrained glee she dug her pudgy fingers into the cake and started messily devouring it. She knew it would go right to her increasingly plush hips (just like the night's three previous slices) but that idea simply didn't bother her anymore. Hell, it barely even *occurred* to her. Each decadent bite, like the thousands of previous ones in the preceding four months, but the turning wheels of her mind a little more to sleep, gummed up her brains with a bit more yummy fat.

That was what her boyfriend had explained to her on that dimly remembered night back in the spring: that her brain was mainly made of fat. Almost 60%, back when she'd understood what a percent was. Jennifer's analytical mind had been shocked at the statistic, but he'd had lots of evidence to back it up. He'd repeated the statistic later that night, when she was under his trance to help with her diet anxiety. Fat on the body could grow, he'd suggested in the depth of her suggestibility, and so could fat in the brain. The more she ate, the fatter she got, the more of her brain would be full of fat. Useless, unthinking, dull minded fat. But also, as he deftly tied the suggestions together, yummy fun happy fat like a birthday cake celebration.

That might of been okay, might have left Jennifer the same 150 pound slightly chubby woman she was. But he'd shown his true colors, his appreciation of larger women. And of women he shaped. He helped Jen with her diet anxiety: he transferred her anxiety to the diet itself. Fear of planning her meals, of selecting her food with care, fear that was easily discharged by just taking his advice and ordering pizza for dinner again.

The less she thought about dieting the happier she was. The fat begin to fill in, slowly but surely turning her mind to mush every morning when she checked on the scale. 180, 200, 240...each had sold by on the scale. 135, 120, 100, 90 slid into happy yummy fog as her IQ slipped the other direction.

Divine checked herself in the selfie. She looked perfect, divine even. Immense satisfaction welled inside her, alloyed immediately with raw pride. She looked an absolute knock out and that's exactly how she deserved to look. For a moment she hesitated, waiting for the voice that had been complaining about everything she did in the last three months to speak up, to whine about too much skin, or being too manipulative, or vain, or arrogant, or mean, or whatever else it cared about. The little voice she associated with her mom, with her friends from high school college, even with...herself. But her old self. That old Danika self. Not her, not really, not Divine. The voice that despite months of listening to her new friends from the Karma Club kept insisting it knew how she should behave. That stealing was wrong, not her right. That lying wasn't fair. That selling drugs for the Karma Club was wrong.

The voice had even spoken, quietly, as she got into the car earlier. The little Danika voice had begged, saying over and over that seducing her married boss to blackmail him into not firing her new friend from Karma Club (the one who'd introduced her to the club actually) was wrong, was evil. But Divine had rejected that voice, instead said the many mantras she'd learned from the Karma Club. "I'm the queen. I deserve it all. I'm the only one who matters. Fuck the world, I'm getting mine" she said again in the car, refreshing it, remembering the wonderful quiet rooms of rich smokes and decadent beverages where it'd been whispered in her ears over and over again. Remembered how odd it had sounded at first, but how much better and better it had sounded with interesting intoxicants in her blood, and talented fingers in her cunt. Remembered how easy it had become to listen to the other girls in karma club, to embrace their philosophy, to obey their instructions.

Claire nodded and Amanda snapped the pic. The lightly entranced brunette collecting her own trophy shot as she was inducted formerly into Claire's collection of humbled endowed women.

"Perfect darling," Claire released the wondrous weight she was hefting like the trophy they were. Another overly confident college who thought having big breasts made her queen of the dorm, helped to see how much easier it was to listen to poor old flat-chested Claire. As Amanda followed instructions and sent the images to Claire, the blonde hypnotist basked in her victory. It wasn't that breasts weren't powerful, they were an incredible hypnotic tool, but rather that being attached to them didn't protect you from them.

Amanda has let Claire guide her in a meditation, let her hold her wrists and point their attention to their feet, though of course Amanda couldn't usually see her feet. The soft jiggles of her wrists, the matching sway in her huge soft breasts, had been just as hypnotic on Amanda as if they'd been on the hypnotist herself. It had taken less than 10 minutes for Amanda to sink intro trance for her own chest, and less than twenty more for Claire to change their relationship forever.

Lili Wang was a great spy. Dedicated to America, she was proud to serve and gave everything and anything she could to her adopted country. Wearing patriotic gear and proudly praising her new home was just a bonus, as far as her handlers were concerned.

Katarina tried to resist the surge of energy flowing through. Tried to argue, tried to speak, tried to stop whatever was happening to her: all in vain. She had no words but "magic" for the strange pulses of light blasting into her from the jewel her shitty sister held out in front of her.

Dressed to the nines for a charity ball, Katarina had been expectjng a fairly boring night before recieving an award for her achievments at work, not to be writhing on her sister's floor attacked by magic. She couldn't put words to the all-consuming strangeness, couldn't wipe the smirk off her younger sister's face. The harder she tried, the more she could feel herself warping and twisting. Her sister giggled as her conservative ball gown shrank, receding from her shoulders and arms, hugging her torso tighter as it melted down towards her waist, sending up only the smallest possible cups for her chest. Her sister laughed as the scientist's once tame brown locks grew shorter, darker, and wilder

"I think you're going to be late," her sister mocked as Katarina's simple jewelry turned heavy, cheap, and glittery. She opened her mouth to argue, to refuse, but stopped dead as she felt her chest inflating, growing pornographic as her dress was filled to the breaking point. She tried to cover her now extreme cleavage as her brother-in-law entered the room with a leer, but new, lewd, erotic thoughts supplanted the rest of her mind. Science, business, hard work, achievement, pride, all seemed less important than turning this man on.

As a nun, she was well used to devotion, to obedience, to not questioning her higher power. She was equally well experienced in working hard to fulfill long term goals, missions beyond her understanding, the wants of her betters. Not to mention the physical and mental dexterity to finish whole rosaries without error.

While her focus has been turned from her former unseen, unheard God to her very beautiful, very present Goddess, her diligence has not changed. The gorgeous woman who had appeared without explanation, had effortlessly wrapped the former nun's obedience around her impenetrable authority. She was a far less demanding mistress than the nun's previous master. Goddess didn't ask for her to put off pleasure, didn't ask for faith in the unknown, didn't demand hours of long boring prayers. Instead, her new worship was far more visceral. Now she worshipped on her knees, tongue busy, body screaming with lust.

She even got to continue using her rosary. Goddess held it now, of course, counting off one by one each reverent orgasm her nun gave her. When she finished the 59, Goddess would wrap that sign of her old faith around her neck and pull, then the nun would be granted an orgasm of her own.

Abigail had always known something was up with her roommates. From the first time she'd met the bubbly blonde Madison and the raven haired, gothic Ophelia, it was clear there was something they weren't telling the potential new roommate the whole truth. Combined with the fact that they were looking for a third roommate for a two bedroom apartment, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they were fucking, even if they claimed otherwise.

For more than a month, they denied that anything was happening between them. Even as Abigail found some of Ophelia's stuff left behind in the spare bedroom, from before she moved into Madison's room. That was a thing people did right? Rent apartment for less than a month and then "move in" to their roommates room? Who did Ophelia think she was fooling? Between the obvious lies and the faint sounds of pleasure mixed into the weird bubnlegum pop that Madison played all night, everynight, it was easy to figure it out. The sounds of Madison herself mixed in to the weird, staticy music were almost a challenge. Abigail found herself wanting to know how Ophelia was using the cute little blonde.

Imagine her surprise to find the worship going the other direction. Proud, reserved Ophelia on her knees, patiently loving on the bored looking Madison. The flirty wink and wave left no doubt who was running the lewd show in the larger of the two bedrooms. Abigail's sound of surprise didn't disrupt the love Ophelia was lavishing, the third woman didn't exist as far as the goth was concerned. Abigail didn't know what to say, wanted to retreat, couldn't even remember why bursting in on them had seemed so important. Madison's colorful nails, beckoning her, strummed something deep inside Abigail however, something that felt like the wonderful music cascading over her. As she knelt, joining her other roommate in worshipping the irresistible, beautiful, perfect blonde, Madison just giggled at another successful use of her subliminal track.