Brenda shouldn’t have gotten into an argument with a hypnotist the night before applying for admission to a doctorate. She’d argued (loudly, over three beers at the local pub) that hypnotism was quackery. He’d said that it was real, and that he’d show her. Then… she didn’t remember.
Now it was the next morning, and she was due to apply to be admitted to the doctorate program, and she was having trouble thinking.
She ran into the building she was due at and asked for the application forms. Everyone was looking at her strangely, and it took her a minute to realise why. She’d forgotten to put on a shirt or bra! Her tits were completely bare. She blushed and tried to cover them with her hands. She looked like a slut! But she couldn’t go home until she’d completed her application. She idly tweaked her nipples as she held her tits in her hand, and giggled at how good it felt.
The receptionist brought her the forms, and she sat and tried to fill them out. “Name.” She thought. What was it people called her? Brenda? That didn’t sound right. That wasn’t what the man last night was calling her. What had he called her? Oh! She remembered. “Cocksleeve,” she wrote carefully on the form, and drew a love heart next to it.
“Sex.” Yes, please, she thought, and then realised that wasn’t what it was asking. It was asking what was between her legs. “Cunt,” she wrote. That was right, wasn’t it? She was a cunt, yes?
“Any medical conditions.” She sucked on her finger cutely for a moment, and then wrote, honestly, “I am very stupid & and my dumb slut cunt is very wet, sir.”
“Reason for wanting larger breasts.” She thought this was an odd question for a university admission form, but she did her best to answer it. “My tits and cunt are the only important bits of my body so I need giant whore tits so that I look like a slut and I make men happy.” She squeezed her nipples again. Yes, she would look prettier with bigger tits. She would look like a dumb cow. A happy thrill went through her.
Finally, it wanted her signature. She freshened up her lipstick, and kissed the page, leaving a bright pink lipstick kiss on the paper. That was much easier than writing her name, which she had forgotten again, just like she had forgotten about covering her tits. She giggled, and skipped back to the reception desk to hand in the paper.
“Right this way, miss… Cocksleeve,” said the receptionist, looking at the form, and led Brenda down a corridor. This didn’t look like a university, she suddenly realised. In fact it looked like… a plastic surgery? Oh my God, she hadn’t just applied for a doctorate at all – she’d applied for a boob job! They were going to make her tits whorishly big.
She faltered for a moment, but then kept walking. She was very dumb, after all. Someone must have told her to do this, and they were probably right. She should go through with it. She was going to have a lot of trouble pursuing an academic career in feminist theory with giant fake whore tits, of course – and especially given how she had decided to start dressing, all tight clothes and pink – but if people thought she was ridiculous and stupid they would be right, after all, and maybe she would be an inspiration to other feminists.
That silly hypnotist, she thought. Hypnotism didn’t work, and here she was proving it by making herself into a bimbo entirely of her own volition. She wondered if the surgeon would fuck her while she was under anaesthetic. She hoped he would.
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