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Feed me more chocolate… a couple dozen more pounds of it should do nicely to start properly softening me up, I’m practically wasting away. 🍫

[hypnotransform]

Letter Train

CW: bimbofication, corruption, brainwashing, objectification, dollification, personality erasure

Hi hi~ I had to live through six hours of a train ride today. It wasn't fun. But I hope this silly heat induced short is.

If you liked this story, please consider leaving a tip on my ko-fi

Enjoy 🩷

Lynda suppressed a sigh and checked the time again, though she already knew it. The train had stopped ten minutes ago, maybe more, suspended in the middle of nowhere — a stretch of trees, no road, no town, no reason. Just stillness pressing in on every side. It wasn’t unusual for trains to stall, but this particular kind of silence felt deliberate.

The air in the carriage had begun to shift, too — not hot, not cold, just still. Her fellow passengers exchanged glances without speaking, as if waiting for someone else to decide how concerned they should be.

Lynda felt the familiar shape of annoyance begin to rise in her chest. The quiet theft of time roused the familiar sensation. She was halfway through composing an internal complaint when the speaker above her crackled once, then cleared.

"Dear passengers," said a woman, the tone soft and deliberate.

Not the usual clipped tone of delay announcements. No static-laced bureaucratic monotone. This voice was warm, nearly melodic, its cadence slow and measured like a lullaby. It carried an odd intimacy.

Lynda blinked. The words themselves were meaningless — something about a short inspection, nothing to worry about — but her mind barely registered them. The voice obscured the cabine like fog. It was beautiful, yes, but too practiced. Too gentle. As if it was meant to be more than informative. As if it was meant to hold.

And it did.

She felt her irritation dissolve, not in relief, but in something quieter. Numbness, maybe. Or apathy.

Her fingers relaxed around the handle of her bag. The silence afterward was deeper than before. Heavier.

Lynda sat very still, her gaze drawn toward the speaker as if expecting it to speak again.

And somewhere, beneath the calm, a single thought stirred in the back of her mind.

That didn’t sound like a conductor. It sounded like something else.

Then the speaker came back on, its voice still low, echoing with a strange note.

"We’re glad you chose this line. We try to be as attentive as we can, and there are only two things we ask of our riders in exchange for our service."

Lynda felt her body stiffen.

"Not interrupting our procedures. And of course — to follow all instructions," continued the disembodied voice in the same pleasant, reassuring tone. It reminded Lynda of her mother, in an uncomfortable way: not because they sounded similar, but because her mother's voice always made her feel the way she felt now. Obedient, arguing and fighting futile sinks of time.

"We’ll get through these steps in short order, so as to minimize the interruption to your schedule." She could have sworn she detected a faint edge of amusement. "Stand up, please."

It was the first instruction given, and it took hold in Lynda’s mind, pulling her upright with a sick, magnetic tug. No muscle in her face revieled the panic inside her mind. She noticed the same thing happen to everyone else around her. Each body had the same look — stunned, glassy, a puppet-like emptiness — as if whatever they’d lost in those few seconds had been the thing that distinguished them as human. Even from this short distance, she felt so much closer to these strangers.

"There are a few simple procedures that we must conduct at this stop," the voice went on, "procedures with a long tradition. All passengers with a C-cup or smaller, sit down again, forget this ever happening and sleep until the beep sounds," and like an absurd chorus line, most of the passengers dropped to their seats again. Their faces relaxed into an almost peaceful slumber, their heads rolling to one side as the speaker continued: "Good. Now those with dumb D's, you will forget anything you won't need to sell hot steamy sex. Dumb D's are bimbo whores."

Cold sweat ran down Lynda's spine. Her vision focused on a redhead that fulfilled the criteria. A look of vacancy entered her expression. A bimboish giggle slipped past her lips. The redhead stood still as a statue, but her mouth hung slightly agape as if in anticipation.

"Good, as a reward, all dumb D's get to play with their wet, drooling cunts," commanded the disembodied voice and giggles turned to moans, when their hands immediately moved. Lynda wanted to scream or shout, or something — do anything, but her mind felt slow and sticky. Fuzzy.

"Next are exhibition E's. Sluts with an E-cup can only wear the most revealing clothes, flaunting their curves. You want everyone looking and drooling. You'll dress to impress. How else would you sell those curves. Advertising is important."

Another woman, brunette, clad in a tasteful ensemble began unbuttoning her blazer, shrugging it from her shoulders. Her hands fell on her pencil skirt next, pulling the fabric down. And each piece of clothing that left accompanied lustful moans. Once naked the woman took a pose. One leg slightly bent, one arm up, the hand resting on the window. Lynda could not stop watching the obscene display.

"Good girls. Once we are done, you will get the most slutty costumes," praised the woman. Next come the fuckdoll F's."

Lynda shivered. F-cup. Her size.

"Yes, those F-cups and larger, that's all of you remaining," she paused as Lynda could swear that she felt the words crawl into her brain, "will take out their tits. Big fuckable boobs. Tits so fuckdoll huge that your brain never got enough nutrients. You are nothing but mindless playthings. Dumber than D's. Less restraint than E's. All you got going for is that huge rack of yours," a giggle that felt as if she laughed directly in Lynda's ear followed and she could only gasp as she stared at her own body. In slow-motion the buttons on her blouse opened one after another.

Each pop thundered through her brain, smiting thoughts and burning memories. Her boobs spilled free.

"From now you crave attention for that huge chest of yours. You need to flaunt them. Use them to entice. Tease and tempt all. All for one purpose only," the voice paused — like Lynda's fuckdoll brain, "for fucking. It's all you want to do. You don't have a giggly, silly name like dumb D's. Or a smoldering stage name like exhibition E's. Oh no. Fuckdoll F's are just that. Fuckdolls."

Fuckdoll listened to her owner's words. They sank into her empty mind.

"And you know the best? Your fat udders are only getting larger. You will use any money you own to increase your fuckdoll status," cooed the disembodied woman in that melodious, pleasant, warm tone. Fuckdoll listened in rapture, staring down at those big orbs of fuckdoll flesh.

"Good. Now all awake people and fuckdolls, listen to the following tone, until a loud beep awakes you. Let this change become permanent."

***

Fuckdoll's eyes flew open at the loud beeping noice. Like any good doll's, her face relaxed into an inviting pout. Fuckdoll didn't wonder about the delay or the strange woman's instructions. It didn't cross her empty mind that the previous twenty-five minutes had erased, changed and remoulded large portions of her mind. To her nothing strange had happened.

Dolls were just toys. And she was a Fuckdoll F, no brains or agency necessary.

[hypnotransform]

Laura's Lips

CW: brainwashing, hypnosis, personality change

Hi hi~

If you liked this story, please consider leaving a tip on my ko-fi

Enjoy 🩷

Zoe sat across from Laura in the café, her coffee cooling untouched between her hands. She knew Laura was talking — even, measured — but the words floated past her like muffled music behind glass. All Zoe of her focus, all she could see, were Laura’s lips.

Cherry red. Glossed just enough to catch the light. Every syllable was framed by that perfect sheen, each word punctuated by the subtle parting and bounce of soft curves. It was hypnotic. Maddening.

Zoe blinked, willing herself to focus on the conversation, on the topic — something about a project, or a classmate, or maybe a trip — but it was no use. Her gaze kept slipping. Her mind kept sinking deeper into the rhythm of those lips, the way Laura’s mouth moved like it already knew it was being watched.

'Was she doing it on purpose?'

The thought came unbidden, unwanted — and it made Zoe’s chest tighten. She shifted in her seat and took a slow sip of lukewarm coffee, hoping the bitterness would jolt her back to herself.

But it didn’t.

Laura smiled at something she’d just said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a curve that felt far too deliberate. Zoe stared at it. Stared until the image was burned onto her retinas and then, mercifully, Laura took a drink from her own steaming cup. Zoe felt her pulse rise at the sudden break.

Laura’s tongue slipped out to catch an imagined droplet on the rim, and Zoe’s knees pressed against the underside of the table. The image — that perfect tongue — it sent a rush of warmth down to Zoe’s stomach and then further, down between her legs.

Laura’s mouth curled around the rim, glossy and glistening, her teeth biting softly against the edge of ceramic. As Laura pulled away slowly — so, so slow — that mouth left its imprint, a half-moon of shimmering lip gloss pressed onto white porcelain. Zoe felt herself flush as the need to feel those lips pressed against something softer ran through her.

The sound of Zoe’s name jolted her from her reverie. She blinked at Laura, her face heating in the sudden silence of Laura's pause.

“You didn’t hear a single thing I said, did you?” Laura said with a wry smile that made something in Zoe twist uncomfortably.

“Sorry, just —” She shook her head, as though it could dislodge all the uninvited thoughts stuck inside her brain.

"I know, babe. You are always so easily caught by my —" she brought a finger up to trace along her bottom lip and Zoe felt her heart clench. The finger paused and pressed gently on her lip gloss, indenting her plump mouth.

"Lips," she said, drawing it out with an air of amusement, but Zoe felt caught on the last word, a shiver running from the base of her skull and all the way between her legs.

Zoe tore her eyes from the sight of that finger and tried to focus on Laura’s eyes instead — something, anything, that would stop the heat rising inside her from searing through every nerve. But it wasn't helping.

Laura's eyes sparkled, the depths reflecting back Zoe's own flustered gaze, taunting and knowing at once.

"Oh. Does someone want to be lost in my eyes again," she whispered and Zoe felt her blush spread to her neck, hot and undeniable.

She needed to get out of here.

"Sorry I’m such an airhead today. Maybe I should go lie down or something," Zoe mumbled, pushing back her chair with a scrape.

"Not yet, pet. I want to enjoy my drink a little longer. Sit, babe."

The last words came out like a command and Zoe's traitorous legs followed it before her mind could even process. Laura gave a soft hum, amusement glinting in her eyes again as Zoe settled back into the chair. She shifted uncomfortably as she felt her dress slide up, her breath quickening. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite place; a nervousness mixed with a deep, pulsating desire.

Laura took another slow sip, this time drawing it out, her tongue licking a long stripe around the edge of the cup, chasing imaginary drops of liquid.

A whine escaped Zoe's mouth. "Stop," she breathed out. "I don’t know what you’re doing, but stop."

"What am I doing?" Laura said it slowly, enunciating each word, letting them drip off her lips in a way that was distinctly not normal.

That red mouth stretched into a grin, the arch of it so wide that the corners of Laura's eyes wrinkled.

"Everything all right here," a voice broke in — the waitress, a notepad in one hand, concern etched onto her brow. Zoe looked up at her, feeling the burn in her cheeks, the strange energy still coursing through her veins. Her mouth felt dry and she wasn’t sure if she could even form words anymore.

Laura turned to the waitress and flashed that too-wide smile. "Everything is fine Cassie. Be a good girl and drop into my eyes," She leaned forward and stared directly at Cassie who fell right into those perfect, piercing, bright blue eyes, a look of dreamy satisfaction settling on the girl's face.

"I think we could do with a refill," Laura said lightly.

"Sure thing, boss," the waitress replied in an airy tone.

Laura watched Cassie walk back behind the counter, a bounce in her step and Zoe could see her hips rolling in exaggerated motions beneath her black pencil skirt, her thighs straining against the fabric. Laura caught her gaze again and gave her a smile that didn’t seem entirely kind. Zoe swallowed thickly as her eyes dropped back down to Laura’s mouth.

"Exactly, babe. Just focus on my luscious lips," Laura's mouth curled again around the last word.

Zoe's heart raced. It seemed like she was trapped, caught in the curve of that mouth. Her gaze traced the bow of it, the arches on the upper lip so sharply defined, and the soft plumpness of the bottom lip that begged to be bitten.

That mouth kept moving, forming words — "obedient," "compliant," "mindless," — Zoe's own lips mimicked perfection. She couldn't stop the movement of her lips even when that mouth stopped.

"Wow, boss. Is this one going to be a money maker too," Cassie's voice interrupted her reverie, setting two steaming cups down on their table.

Laura's mouth curled into that smile again — predatory, triumphant. It made the heat between Zoe's legs intensify tenfold.

"Oh, she's going to be the star," Laura's voice purred, "I'll train her so good. She will change into whatever I need —" tension hang in the air "by the quirk of my lips." She smiled at Zoe again and her tongue slipped out to trace along that sharp cupid's bow — the upper arch of her mouth that formed a distinctive, beautiful V. Zoe's fingers clenched involuntarily at the gesture and Laura chuckled softly.

Cassie giggled at her expense, a melodic, teasing sound. "That's like so hot," she gushed.

Laura's smile widened. "You know Cassie, I think your time in this boring café is over. Be a good girl and exchange some of your smarts for some pornstar skills. You love to exchange things for your boss, after all," Laura cooed, her voice laced with dark seduction that pulled Zoe deeper.

Cassie smiled sweetly. "Oh yes boss, like anything for you." Her voice echoed in an obedient, empty response. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, something in her posture, in the way her clothes hung on her, had shifted.

"Good girl." Laura emphasized her words with a loud slap on Cassie's butt. "Now go and call Miranda. Tell her, her goddess sents her another slut for the vids," Laura instructed as she watched with apparent pleasure as Cassie walked away. "Gosh, that bitch is a good slut." She turned her gaze back to Zoe. "I don't even remember where I found her. But she belongs to me now. As do you, babe."

"No," the protest fell weakly from Zoe's lips. "Whatever you're doing, I don't — I won't," but her eyes didn't leave Laura's mouth.

"Shh," Laura said softly. "Look at these beautiful, shining, glossy, kissable lips. How they curve into the only words you need." Laura pressed a finger against the plump softness, indenting them as she drew the digit across. "Such a pretty mouth, don't you think? And it can be so persuasive." The corners of the perfect lips twitched. "I'll start my command," she purred, "and you simply follow. No need for thoughts in-between. Can you do that, pet?" Her smile grew wide, showing off the perfect teeth, white and sharp.

A small shuddering 'yes' slipped past Zoe's lips without her realising.

Laura leaned closer, her perfect, full lips brushing against her ears. "Your mind is a my coffee now," she murmured. Her voice dipped low. "Imagine how I drain it with my lovely, luscious lips." Laura's mouth brushed against Zoe's earlobe as she pulled back. The heat between Zoe's thighs flared hotter still. The need to feel those perfect lips elsewhere, anywhere, everywhere — to feel the pressure of her tongue — the yearning was overwhelming. The idea that those red lips were draining her brain made her squirm in pleasure.

Laura winked and took an excruciating long sip. The way she wrapped her mouth around the white cup again, her plump bottom lip dipping into the steaming liquid and her throat moving as the heat slipped past that wet, shiny mouth and disappeared — disappeared — gone.

Zoe's mouth hang open.

"And there it is gone." The words slipped off those red curves with a teasing, knowing cadence. A lazy smirk on that red perfection.

"Now listen, pet. Listen and become the perfect puppet for my lips. And if you are lucky, I'll allow you to press your mouth against the lips between my thighs."

Zoe could only moan, as all of her focus, all she could see, were Laura’s lips.

Cherry red. Glossed just enough to catch the light. Every syllable was framed by that perfect sheen, each word punctuated by the subtle parting and bounce of soft curves.

[hypnotransform]

Just think - however old you may be now, how many babies could you have had by now? How good of a breeding cow could you have been if you already knew your place?

Well, even if the number is high, there's no time like the present, cause why be an empty bellied feminist when you can be a well bred, docile cow?

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Sure, you may be his girlfriend or wife, but you're also his personal project, a vessel for him to recreate and reform into what he wants - a pacified, domesticated baby factory.

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Women should never be seen as anything but breeding stock, if you're a good misogynist Man, or a well trained cow, you will understand this.

Your purpose, and what you are made for, is to grow the babies of the Man who has given you the honour of being his cattle, you are designed to become a huge, round bellied cow like this cut of breeding meat, and to stay that way for as long as your owner sees fit.

[hypnotransform]

Your brain has never done you any favours, so why not trade it in for a big set of tits? You'll get much more worth out of being a sex object than trying to string a coherent thought together with your little brain, it's much better that way.

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Why pretend? You've a womb, two udders, and a cunt, there's little else that's worthwhile, certainly not your intelligence.

Being treated like breeding livestock is a much better life for you, and one where you don't need to pretend you're more than just a breeder.

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And really, what good is intelligence for a woman? When you just have simple little thoughts and tits bigger than your head, you'll come to understand why it just isn't important to you, so let whatever brains you have left melt as you get your tits groped and felt up by big, strong hands, and your womb filled up to the brim afterwards.

[hypnotransform]

It should be your biggest aspirations.

Get bigger tits, bigger lips, make yourself look like a walking sexdoll.

Get your pussy filled by your Boyfriend while he tells you what a dumb slut you, and all women are, let your womb swell with the countless babies he'll give you.

Prove his Misogyny right, be his fuckdoll and breeder while women get fucked into submission by misogynists until you're rightless, pregnant cattle for the Patriarchy.

[hypnotransform]

How would you convince a resistant feminist to give up and become a breeding cow? My friend — a virgin, very smart, very depressed — says she’s childfree and doesn’t like the idea of even caring for children, but I just know she’d be so happy if someone could show her her purpose.

Honestly, the best way for a woman to get baby fever is to be around other women who do, or ideally pregnant women. It's called a fever for a reason, if a girl gets the idea of being pregnant and having babies put directly in front of her, it's hard to get it out.

[hypnotransform]

Not, in fact, what happened

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Fantastic