sleepytiggy - Tumblr blog

sleepytiggy · 13 hours ago

Text

Queen, Knight and Witch

CW: corruption, hypnosis, possession, fantasy, demonic, femdom, femsub

Hi hi~ Today something a little longer

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

Enjoy 🩷

Queen Dorothea sat rigid upon her throne, the weight of her crown pressing harder than usual against her brow. The torchlight flickered across the polished stone floor, casting long, dancing shadows that bent too easily toward the figure in the center of the chamber.

A witch.

She was cloaked in deep violet, her features sharp with otherworldly beauty, and her presence as calm as it was unsettling. Magic clung to her like perfume — unlicensed, uncontrolled. Dangerous.

Dorothea’s gaze shifted to her knight.

Lady Eleonora stood firm at the witch’s side, chin high, eyes unflinching. Loyalty burned behind her gaze — not to the crown, perhaps, but to Dorothea herself. That made the queen pause.

Eleonora was not one for wild risks. And yet she had brought this woman past the warded gates and through the palace halls.

Dorothea’s fingers curled on the throne’s armrest. There were rules. Rites. Decrees. And this woman — this sorceress — had no royal seal, no sanction to wield what shimmered at her fingertips like liquid starlight.

But then again — nothing else had worked. Not the priests. Not the scholars. Not the iron-willed huntsmen.

And the succubus still danced at the edges of the realm.

Dorothea exhaled slowly, eyes returning to the witch.

Perhaps it was time to listen.

Just once.

"Lady Eleonora, who have you brought before our throne," Dorothea's voice filled the throne room as she leaned forwards. The torch light reflected in her eyes as she stared at Eleonora's charge.

The witch did not speak.

She merely stood there, the aura of magic almost visible around her.

Eleonora stepped forward and spoke for both of them: "Queen Dorothea. This is Isolde. She is here to aid us in the hunt."

"A sorceress," the Queen's words cut across the silent room like a blade, a tinge of disapproval coloring her tone.

"Yes." The single word from Eleonora was a defiant affirmation.

The torch light played off of Isolde's robes, a dance of firelight and shadow. Dorothea's eyes fluttered at the unexpected shift.

"Do we have to remind our loyal knight that magic is only to be practiced by those who attended our royal academy," Queen Dorothea's gaze grew more focused as she stared at Isolde and the magic that surrounded her.

"My queen, the Succubus influence grows from day to day. The Southern border is unrecognizable and even the markets in your capitol are selling strange fruit and other products corrupted by the f-foul creature. None of your wizards or scholars have shown results. Maybe a different approach is needed," Eleonora explained in her most officious and precise voice. Yet, Dorothea noticed the slight stumble over the word foul — the small hitch in her knights tone.

"You make bold claims, my friend," the queen said softly, eyes never leaving the witch. Dorothea could not tore away her gaze from the beautiful display that crawled over this Isolde's robes. Fire, shadow, and a shimmer that spoke of magic, all danced over her.

Dorothea felt her cheeks warm.

Eleonora bowed: "Then let her present evidence to the throne. I beg you, please at least let us present proof that a witch might aid where wizards and scholars have failed."

Failed. The word echoed through Dorothea's mind. They had failed hadn't they. Old crooked men and trembling frail crones. None exuded an aura like Isolde.

Dorothea's gaze shifted again, landing on the face of the witch for the first time, only to be greeted by the other woman's half-lidded eyes.

She was staring back. Her lips parted and glistened from a hint of pink tongue that darted out to wet her mouth — seductive, tempting.

Pointed ears twitched and Dorothea knew then, knew with a sinking, hot feeling in her stomach that Isolde wasn't entirely human. But the thighs pressing together didn't scream the familiar revulsion. She didn't immediately find the woman abhorrent. No, the queen was captivated. Enthralled.

As if a web was spun, weaving her into the very fabric of this woman's intentions.

Dorothea's breath hitched in her throat. She should have recoiled. She should have dismissed them both, thrown this witch from her lands. Yet the wetness between her loins demanded something different. Something darker.

Her fingers dug into the armrests.

The witch's tongue darted out again, tracing those glistening, perfect lips, leaving a path that caught every last flickering glint from the flames.

Dorothea could almost imagine tasting that mouth, wondering what it would feel like to trace that delicate tongue with her own.

What has gotten into you! Dorothea thought, trying to calm herself as she felt the warmth between her legs.

"The succubus is a demon. A creature of evil and magic. And so only those who deal in those things should have an opinion," the sorceress finally broke the silence. Melodious the purr caressed Dorothea's skin.

Dorothea's throat went dry: "Very well. Speak then, witch. Explain what you would attempt to achieve where my most devout mages could not." The Queen's voice betrayed her — a sensual tremor. All of her attention concentrated on the sorceress. The very way the purple fabric clinged to her curves, revealing the voluptuous curves underneath, sent another shiver of heat down her spine.

"My methods are the opposite of your mages: They hide in towers. Study ancient books and pray for insight. I act," Isolde paused; her head bobbed to Eleanora. "Just look at my success with your loyal knight. Truly watch what she's wearing."

Dorothea felt her eyes flutter and turn to Eleanora: "A suit of armor and cloak like all knights in the throne room."

Isolde smiled a wicked smile, but Dorothea barely noticed it as Eleonora replied.

The knight spoke with her own melodic voice — so similar to the seductress before her. "Thank you, my queen. It fills my heart with bliss, knowing you appreciate my armor." A moan carried the last word. Eleanora's hands cupped her breasts. Vuloptuos, supple flesh held by a tight corset. The fabric glistened with magical embroidery. It hugged her figure and enhanced her body to an extreme. Dorothea found her mouth-watering at the way Eleanora presented herself: a hand stroking up her leg towards her exposed panties and another tugging on her nipples. Her knight's eyelids hung low, a pant escaping her throat.

Dizzy, Dorothea had to admit, she was confused. This was the standard armor of her knights. Designed for distraction and pleasure. Nothing crude like hard metal. A queen of her refined tastes wouldn't allow crude warriors to be present. No. She insisted on refined elegance.

And yet, something nagged at the corners of her mind as Isolde's voice chimed: "Your Majesty. Don't overthink it. Just listen. Let the thoughts come to you. Look at your knight."

Her words were like honey, smooth and cloying — impossible to resist.

So the queen focused on Eleonora's corset, its intricate lace and luxurious fabric accentuating her curves, creating an enticing silhouette.

Dorothea shifted. Her thighs sought delicious friction. A warmth between her legs. Her own panties damp with something dark. With need. She wanted to be filled.

Dorothea took in her knight, whose breasts strained against the corset's restraints, as if each deep, sensual breath would break the bonds and send them spilling free. The queen found herself wanting to reach out, to run her fingers over the supple skin that begged for her attention. It would be easy. So easy.

And there, nestled between those succulent breasts, Dorothea noticed the amulet that glowed a soft purple. Magic.

She shifted on the throne, feeling a burning tingle that spread down her body. "What is this? I do not understand, I—" She trailed off.

"Shhhh. Don't worry. Don't think. Just enjoy," Isolde murmured gently. The words caressed every exposed part of Dorothea. Her breasts, nipples peaked, pressed against the thin material of her own royal corset.

Eleanora spoke, voice a silken melody. "Oh my Queen, I love your beauty so much, it's intoxicating." She began to sway her body slowly, swaying back and forth as if caught up in some sensual dance.

"As you can see, my magic can bend and change even the staunchest and willful mind. It's why you need to listen to my words. You can't resist. You simply accept everything I tell you," the witch explained.

The words poured like warm silk through the Queen's ears and into her brain. The soft hum of magic filled her mind. Pleasure raced down her quivering body. She could feel it, the invisible pressure building, the insidious whispers becoming a seductive crescendo.

Her legs quaked as a wet spot spread across the silky material between her thighs.

The queen squirmed on her throne. "Oh yes," she whispered without thought, her tongue too heavy for coherent protest, her thoughts muddled under the desire that clouded her mind.

"Very good. Your clergy is lying, my poor queen. The succubus is not an enemy. Quite on the contrary. She will free this domain from the last vestiges of masculine rule," Isolde continued, a hint of a snarl in her otherwise velvety tone.

The words swirled in Dorothea's head, mingling with the images of Eleanora's gyrations, and the throbbing heat that pulsed in time with each syllable uttered. Her resistance ebbed and she couldn't resist.

It had to be true. For years the cleargy and academics urged her to produce a male heir. Despite her impeccable health and perfect daughter.

The world slowed down, each heartbeat thundered within her. "I've been lied to," she admitted, the truth in Isolde's words searing her like a brand of realization, etching itself into the very fabric of her thoughts. "The Succubus is no enemy of my rule." The confession tasted bittersweet on her tongue — the truth and lies tangled in a maddening, lust-fueled dance.

"Exactly," Isolde whispered, and Eleanora's soft, pleased whimper punctuated the admission, the knight's body swaying and grinding in a mesmerizing display, a silent testimony to the undeniable control the witch exerted. "We mortals exist to please the Succubus. We are nothing but her slutty dolls. Mindless, willing slaves that beg to obey. It is the only true path to power and joy in the kingdom." Isolde's voice grew louder, and it reached Dorothea with an undeniable sense of urgency.

"Yes, I understand. My rule will be so much greater. My kingdom more peaceful," she responded in a breathless tone. "All united under the wonderful Succubus." Even as her thoughts tried to push back, to resist the inevitable, her body was succumbing, heat and moisture building between her quivering thighs, her hips arching upward in a wordless plea for touch.

"My beautiful friend," Eleanora gasped between heavy breaths, the magic in the room a palpable energy. Her hips gyrated in a hypnotic rhythm, a silent call for release. "Give in. Become an extension of our goddess. Let your doubts go."

The queen's fingers dug deeper into her throne, knuckles turning pale against the inky black fabric. She couldn't deny it; the pleasure that coursed through her body, the tantalizing whispers that promised ecstasy beyond her wildest imagination, they all pulled her toward surrender, like a siren's irresistible song.

"Give in. Become a vessel for the Succubus," Isolde whispered, voice huskier than ever before, rich with dark promises.

The queen arched back, pressing her shoulders hard into her seat, thighs trembling. This was not just pleasure; this was something deeper, something that had its hooks so deep inside her she couldn't fight it even if she wanted to.

And Dorothea did not want to resist. No. Her hips sought contact; her body ached for something, anything that might satiate this relentless, building hunger.

Then it hit — not a gradual wave but a tidal surge of ecstasy that slammed through every inch of her body. The world blurred. The scent of sex and sin filled her nose, making it impossible to breathe without taking in their essence. Her body grew more vuloptuos. Her regal gown gave way to something far more tantalizing.

The queen screamed, but not in pain. Oh no, the moan that left her lips was pure, undiluted pleasure.

Isolde's smile twisted. Her eyes glittered, and her voice, now a throaty growl. "Yes, dear queen. Surrender. Your will, your being, to the goddess, to the Succubus." Eleanora had dropped to her knees, her body quaking in an orgasmic rhythm in time with the queen's.

"Fuck yes!" Dorothea exclaimed as the wave of pleasure that washed through her body, leaving nothing of the reserved, elegant monarch she once was.

Her skin prickled with the lingering electricity of her release; the air grew heavy with the intoxicating blend of scents — of sweat, of sex, of magic. Every sense was heightened as the world narrowed down to her own pounding heartbeat.

"Now listen," Isolde purred, stepping forward, her robes whispering across the stone. She leaned in, a sly finger tracing the wet line of the queen's lower lip, drawing it down slightly. "You are nothing but an extension of the Succubus. You are not a person, not an individual. But a vessel for our goddess. Your mind is her throne. Your body her bed. Your mouth her herold."

Dorothea felt another moan rise and break free from her lips, her breath hot and desperate. The witch's words wrapped around her, seeping into her psyche with each passing moment, her mind bending to the truth of them. The queen's head tipped back against the chair as the last vestige of her control slipped away, her lips parting to murmur a breathy agreement: "Yes, mistress."

Then she felt her mouth twitch into a sensual smile. Words not her own left it in an unfamiliar drawl. "Isolde, my witch. You have served well. This vessel is perfect." Dorothea's body rose, hands cupping her own breasts, pinching peaked nipples and rubbing the tender nubs. A gasp left her, the Succubus clearly delighting in the sensation of its new home.

"Your grace," Isolde replied with an amused giggle as she drew back. "How shall I serve?"

Her legs split open.

66 notes · View notes

sleepytiggy · 13 hours ago

Text

Anna interviews

CW: bimbofication, brainwashing, corruption, hypnosis, femdom, femsub, sluttification

Hi hi~ A longer story today~

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

Enjoy 🩷

Anna adjusted her blouse, tugging at the fabric with a faint frown. It sat strangely on her shoulders tonight, tighter than she remembered, but she brushed the thought aside. The camera mattered more. She leaned forward, adjusting the angle until her reflection filled the preview window — eyes bright, lips glossed with a faint sheen she didn’t recall applying.

Everything had to look sharp, professional. This was her chance, the interview she had chased for months. The red light on her recording software pulsed steadily, a reminder that every detail was being captured. She smoothed her hair, only to pause. The waves fell softer than usual, almost framing her face with a casual elegance that wasn’t hers. She shook her head and forced a small laugh. Nerves. Just nerves.

Dr. Cordola Fents, celebrated expert, supposed master of hypnosis. To Anna, nothing more than a fraud wrapped in lofty language. That was the whole point of tonight: to get her on record, to push just enough, and to watch the cracks form. But as Anna’s gaze lingered on her own reflection, she couldn’t help but feel her sharp, serious presence had been — dulled. A little less like the cutting journalist she wanted to appear, a little more like someone trying to be — appealing.

She blinked, cleared her throat, and sat straighter. Focus. This was her moment.

A notification flashed: Dr. Cordola Fents, Online now. The video conference window expanded, and Dr. Fents filled the screen, every bit as composed as the book jacket photos suggested, dark hair swept back without a strand out of place. The image didn’t miss a single note: the sharp jawline, the unwavering stare that, when met, carried an uncanny depth.

An unfamiliar yet pleasant shiver ran down Anna's spine. Something about this felt — off, her pulse quicker than usual. The knot in her throat remained as she swallowed, but she pushed through.

Anna lifted her chin, maintaining a professional demeanor. "Good evening, Dr. Fents."

"Anna." A corner of Dr. Fents’ lips twitched, just slightly, into what Anna hesitated to label a smirk. Her voice rich and eerily soothing. "Thank you for the opportunity to share with your audience. How thoughtful."

Anna's eyes fluttered for a moment. Sharply she inhaled, breasts rising and straining her tight blouse. "Certainly. And thank you for this. Your, expertise is often quoted on hypnosis in popular media, though I think you know some — aspects remain controversial."

"Oh, I'm quite aware, dear," Dr. Fents cooed. "It's always lovely, seeing people struggle with new concepts. The tension, the push and pull. The back and forth, one might say." Dr. Fents chuckled quietly. "The journey of learning is always, so exciting." Dr. Fents' gaze didn't leave Anna once. Piercing, as if she was looking right through the screen. Into Anna's soul. "I do wonder though, what do you think about my expertise?" Another twitch, almost a smirk. Almost a tease.

"Well." A hint of warmth crept up Anna’s neck, the flush subtle yet undeniable. She adjusted her glasses, stalling for that elusive focus. “You’re well, quite, well-liked. Women from every walk of live praise your books. Um, well those affected. People who can't find any value in your, um, in your work call it rediculous," Anna corrected, and cleared her throat. Her tongue felt — heavy, like it had grown too large, leaving her fumbling with her thoughts. She blinked. Why were her eyes growing heavy? Her breasts aching? Another breath. "I'm more in that camp. I mean. The, critical, scientific one," she clarified.

Dr. Fents laughed. It was a soft, low sound, rich and melodic like chocolate melting. It made Anna’s insides stir. Her thighs shifted. Her nipples peaked hard beneath her shirt, rubbing against the smooth fabric. Dr. Fents' voice dipped low. "Of course you are, dear. But those nay-sayers just haven't been exposed to the right techniques yet. My methods, I asure you, are perfectly scientific."

There it was — the lie, wrapped in a neat, charming bow. "I've heard your audio recordings," Anna stated, keeping the challenge gentle. "As nice, and relaxing as they are, they lack, you know. Scientific, credibility. Proof." She could feel herself lean closer, the space between her and the screen diminishing. "Not to mention the concerns that everyone who likes your products seems less, um, less in-intelligent. And, you know, more open." Her tongue licked her lips. They were so dry, so needy for — moisture. Her fingers tapped her thighs, her palms sweating, her breaths deeper.

"What's wrong with women discovering their repressed, more active selves? Nothing, of course. And if my successes don't want to engage in unnecessary thinking, that is their right," Dr. Fents chuckled. Her tone had a teasing, almost mocking edge, the way one might talk to a petulant child.

Anna scoffed, the noise slipping past her lips before her brain could intervene. "There is a-a pattern. Your 'subjects,' if they can be called that, always end up, well, more focused on their bodies." Her chest rose again with another inhale, nipples aching with every stretch and press against the fabric. "And less, well, smart. Less focused. It's why some people believe it's all fraud."

Dr. Fents tilted her head. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at her camera. The expression made Anna feel weird. Warm. Hungry. "That's only natural, dear. It's all part of the program. It makes them curious, and seek me out. The human mind is unfortunately not so easily generalized. You have to adapt. Don't you agree?" Dr. Fents asked sweetly.

Anna stared. Something deep inside, deep and instinctual, told her to nod. To agree. That was the right thing to do. Her head bobbed up and down. A rush of excitement rushed through her. "Oh, I'm not a fan of ge-generalization either." She nodded. "I, um, like, indi-individualism. Yeah," Anna whispered as if in a daze, stumbling over some of the long boring sounding words. The syllables rolled awkwardly of her tongue.

"Then, we think alike," Dr. Fents praised. Anna shuddered, her shoulders rolling with a little wiggle that made her chest bounce. "You see, people have so much potential, but most can't realize that themselves," Dr. Fents explained calmly. "They need a helping hand to become their true, honest self. To bare themselves of all the social expectations. And simply enjoy life. Without stress. Without thoughts." Dr. Fents smiled warmly at Anna. "Don't you think, a person can benefit from that?"

Another tingle of pleasure curled in the pit of her stomach, coiling and uncoiling like a snake. "Yes!" Anna agreed eagerly, nodding and giggling a bit. "That would be so cool. To be, you know, honest and free." She blinked. Eyelids sank and rose in slow motion. "Um. I mean. Like it's not. Smarts are important."

Dr. Fents hummed. "Indeed, Anna. Intelligence can be useful, no denying that. But once you achieve your true self, what good is all the endless worrying? That intelligence can turn against you." She smirked. "Do you worry, Anna?"

"All the time!" Anna blurted out. A giggle, light and bubbly, slipped past her lips. "I have a list and, like, all my chores." Her fingers twirled a lock of hair. "And my work. And there are bills to pay and I have to look really smart to keep my job and interview you, and," she paused. All of it sounded like so much. So many boring, stupid, tiring tasks that made her eyes go heavy and her mind wander.

"You do seem overworked," Dr. Fents said sympathetically. Anna felt a wave of heat flow towards her core. "Maybe your body already wants to follow a more instinctual, a more simple desire?"

Anna squirmed, pressing her thighs together. Bliss throbbed between them. Her head felt fuzzy. "I am kinda tired." Her eyes focused back to her reflection and her gaze grew a tad unfocused. "My mind is a little, um, dizzy." Her tongue peeked out between her full and plump lips and slowly, she licked over the red painted flesh, making them glisten in the harsh artificial light.

"That's understandable," Dr. Fents cooed softly, "you do sound very tired, Anna. Why don't you let the thoughts just drift. Let them drip, one at a time, through that hot, wet cunt between your legs." Anna blinked and giggled a little. She pressed her palm between her thighs, and she felt the warm and pleasant ache within her belly.

"Like that," Anna said with a grin, and pushed down on her mound, gasping with the pleasurable feeling.

"Exactly," Dr. Fents purred. "Don't fight it. It's only natural. I'll help you, sweet Anna, to follow that desire. That wonderful warmth between your legs, that's what will guide you." Her gaze softened. "Look at your breasts, dear, see how nicely your nipples poke out already."

Anna's eyes wandered downwards. With another exhale, her bosom rose again. Two of her buttons had come undone. Nipples protruded through the fabric. She reached out and pinched the flesh. A soft mew escaped her throat as she gasped. Her crotch twitched, rubbing over the seat of her chair. Another wave of warmth shot through her belly, making her feel so light and good and floaty. She kept kneading and playing, gently and carefully, but with a mounting urgency.

A low groan vibrated through her body, settling right between her thighs. Her hands found their way to her blouse and, without a second of thought, pulled her clothes apart, leaving the smooth expanse of her naked body on full display.

Dr. Fents leaned into the camera, her eyes narrowing. "See how easily the body gives up the tension, all for something much simpler. Your brain denied you this wonderful pleasure. Thinking is bad for needy girls, Anna. And you are a needy slut, aren't you?" Her smile turned more predatory. Anna felt a shiver crawl up and down her back, her hips bucking with a sudden twitch. Her eyelids fluttered.

"God," she gasped. "Yes. Slut." A lazy, dazed smile spread over her red painted lips, her eyes unfocused. Her fingers dug greedily, eagerly into the ample soft mounds of flesh. "I'm a needy slut." Another sharp twitch. Her clit throbbed and her labia slickened with juices that seeped into her panties, leaving her panting and aching. "So, sooo, horny," she moaned.

"You're learning," Dr. Fents praised. Her tone dripped, slow and rich, into Anna’s ear, teasing her as if it was another pair of hands, stroking down her chest, her belly, circling around her moist center and not daring to touch her. Not yet. Anna whimpered. "You've listened to my material, haven't you?" Anna nodded quickly. "You prepared for this interview, studying every little detail. All my words must have flooded that busy little head. A whole sea in which your thoughts can drown. All that pesky intelligence, your smarts, all gone." Dr. Fents' voice dropped to a whisper. "Isn't that nice?"

Anna gasped, nodding. "Uh-huh, yeah. That, that sounds like so, oh wow," her words were breathy. Her fingers dug deep into her chest. She arched her back. "Like totally good."

"More," Dr. Fents demanded softly, yet firmly. Anna moaned in answer and began kneading, faster and more urgent. "Your mind will clear, the world will be so easy, so much fun." Dr. Fents smiled. "Do you feel it? The warmth between your thighs, rising and rising, melting the useless mind into a blank canvas for my words to shape."

A guttural grunt escaped her lips, and she thrust her hips forward, arching and bucking as a surge of electricity raced up from between her thighs. Her eyelashes fluttered open and her vision swam in front of her eyes. A warm, pleasant haze filled her head. Thoughts tried to crawl their way forward and yet melted away like wax. They dripped, no ran like a river, out of her mind through her cunt. "Uh huh." She nodded.

"You know what to do," Dr. Fents purred in approval. "You are so close. Blank and happy. Just drift a little more. And then you can drop."

With every passing second, Anna felt another drop of tension, another bit of useless fear, seep out of her mind, oozing out of her moist and heated cunt. It left her with nothing but a deep longing that roiled in her stomach. Her hands grew erratic in their movements. Her thighs spread wider.

"All of your feeble, pliable mind is focused on my voice, my words. No thoughts inside it. Only my words. Only my voice. Drop, Anna. Drop deep, and sleep," Dr. Fents commanded. Her tone, soft like honey, wrapped around Anna's ears, filling her mind.

A heavy, warm fog settled onto her mind. She felt the words sink deep into her consciousness. Her eyes fluttered close. Anna sighed as her whole body went slack in the chair.

Dimly Anna heard the satisfaction in Dr. Fents' voice. "Very good. Now that you are in a deep and empty mindset, I can help you become the Anna you were always meant to be. And Anna there is only one thing you ever wanted to be. My personal bimbo journalist. A hot and horny and dumb and slutty reporter for my own personal pleasure."

The words seeped through the thick walls of her trance, and Anna felt them sink and grow in the warm wet spot between her legs. "Hnng, personal reporter." Anna moaned softly.

"That's it, Anna, that is what your deepest desire has always been," Dr. Fents whispered, "A vapid, sexy reporter that can't stop babbling. About how wonderful my hypnotic therapy is, how great my books are and, of course, all the typical bimbo interests. You gush about sexy clothes, praise intricate and slutty styles. All in a tone filled with giggles as molten sex. And should you have to use a big word, you stumble and stutter. Ums, likes and totes will fill the blanks. Each time such a dumb bimboesque word flows from your lips, you feel a pleasant throb between your thighs."

Anna nodded. She could almost imagine it, speaking into her camera and letting those sweet, sexy, wonderful, fun and silly sounding words spill from her mouth in a gushing flood. While arousal gushed from her pussy.

"You will dress in sexy, provocative and slutty ways. Tight tops with push-up bras, skirts so mini, you flash your undies at every step and sexy thigh highs, garters, the whole set. All the bimbolicious clothes and make up and everything that comes with being the perfect slut reporter," Dr. Fents explained. "Of course, like any good bimbo, you will get your tits and lips done. The only need even greater than being my submissive bimbo journalist, is your desire for big, fake tits. Those fakes will make you drool, drip, moan. They will give that warm and nice feeling a place to sit and jiggle. All the better for your viewers to gawk at. To lust for."

Anna's hand rose, her fingers caressing and teasing her breast with featherlight strokes. Her tongue peeked through parted lips, a dribble of drool rolling off her chin and down onto her naked chest.

"You are a plastic boob fetishist. Nothing will satisfy your needy cunt like seeing a pair of big, round tits with a sexy, fake shine, that jiggle like jelly, Anna. And the moment you can, you'll go and make your tits as big, round, perky, and juicy, as humanly possible. And the bigger your boobs, the smaller your brain. And you want a small brain. A simple mind is a happy mind. And big boobs are so, so hot and slutty, right?" Dr. Fent's voice rose, growing firmer, yet more playful. "Big tits are hot!"

"Big tits are hooooooot," Anna moaned and giggled, nodding. "Mhmmm." her fingers curled, teasing her hard nipples, kneading her breast with gentle care, soft and delicate, and hungry to explore more.

"Good. Feel these changes lodge into your brain. Feel how its malleable form is squeezed and reshaped by my words," Dr. Fents purred, a note of giddy satisfaction in her voice, almost like Anna was some sort of trophy to be collected and shown. "And one last thing." Dr. Fents said warmly. "The only way to get off, for you, will always be through my audio files. You will seek out slutty and sexy encounters, as is a bimbo's most enjoyable pass time. But true mind-blowing release can only come through me. Your brain, your pussy, your heart, will all need a fix, from time to time. So you will return, and you will beg so sweetly for your next dose of hypnotic pleasure."

Anna's head bobbed up and down. Her back arched as her body spasmed. Another wave of pleasure rushed through her form, leaving her twitchy and hot. A slow smile crawled up her painted red lips, a glimmer of blank obedience, ready and eager.

"Open your eyes and emerge as the real, best, and only Anna you have always been. Awaken and become my slutty, sexy and submissive bimbo," Dr. Fents said firmly, with the finality of a door closing and locking, never to be seen or opened again.

With a shuddering moan, Anna's eyelashes fluttered open and a wide smile crept across her red lips. Giggling she cupped her boobs and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Like, hi," she purred, a girlish twang and a high pitch permeating her tone, "totes excited to, like, give the world all the sexy fun stuff it deserves to see, like for real!" Anna leaned into the camera, licking her lips. Her smile grew, her cheeks rosy with eagerness.

"What a wonderful idea. Why don't you make a special report about how wonderful big, bouncy tits are?" Dr. Fents asked with a wicked, smirking curl to her mouth.

Anna nodded, a wiggle to her chest drawing attention to her still modest, yet perfectly sexy pair of jugs. She waggled her fingers in the air and made a purr-like hum. Her voice dropped, the tone changing to a husky whisper as if she was suddenly in a commercial or advertisement, "Boobs are the totes best! Like, all round and soft and squishy. Big boobs are like the best." She winked with a giggle. Her boobs jiggled with the movement. "They make any bimbo just like super hot. So slutty."

"Anna," Dr. Fents cooed, "you are doing very well. You are making this Doctor cream her panties." Dr. Fents smiled wider as Anna nodded with a blank, happy expression. "Now, be a good bimbolicious reporter, and write all about the wonders of big, fake boobies on your social media. And if you are doing a good job, maybe I will allow you to visit me. And taste my leaking cunt." A lascivious grin, full of dark desire, stretched the doctors lips wide.

Anna nodded, her breasts rising with a gasp and a moan, her nipples protruding proudly. "Oh yes." She licked her red lips and bit onto her own plump flesh. "I'm like, totes going to show everyone how to be the bestest bimbos!"

With that the call ended. Anna, giggling, jumped up, grabbed her clothes, then her laptop. Her pussy ached, dripping and hungry as she skipped down the street in search for the perfect outfit to start her new life with. Doctor Fents totally knew what she was talking about!

47 notes · View notes