Hey! My name’s Brittney, or at least, that’s the name I’m using for this sorta stuff :3 Don’t expect much of anything from this blog, I’m only using it to explore a gnawing, all-consuming, increasingly destructive urge I’ve had my whole life.
Namely, the desire to just give up, give in, and become like, such a basic bitch!
That includes…
- Bimbofication (duh!)
- Breast Expansion
- Lip Injections
- Brainwashing (esp. BambiSleep!)
- Vapid, Bitchy Divas (total role models!)
And other stuff!
Gimme a follow if that’s your speed, or drop an ask to chat! Love hearing from other people interested in this stuff, especially other girls giving in!~
They had kept her alive through collapsing planets, hostile ecosystems, and creatures that could tear armored soldiers apart in seconds. When something felt wrong, she listened.
Which was why the sensation crawling beneath her Grav Suit unsettled her so deeply.
The material clung tighter than usual.
Not enough to restrict movement. Not enough to interfere with combat readiness. Every step she took drew faint friction across her thighs and chest, the sleek blue fabric shifting against her skin with an awareness she normally tuned out completely.
Now she couldn't ignore it.
Her boots clacked rhythmically against the metal floor of her gunship as she moved through the corridor toward the resting chamber. The familiar sounds of the vessel surrounded her: the low hum of engines in standby, the distant pulse of onboard systems cycling quietly through maintenance checks.
Everything was normal.
Except her.
A faint vibration rolled suddenly through the suit.
Cyrill stopped mid-step.
The sensation spread upward from the base of her spine in a soft wave, subtle enough that she might have mistaken it for engine resonance if it hadn't lingered afterward as a strange warmth beneath her skin.
Her brow furrowed.
"That's new," she muttered.
Something was wrong.
Cyrill resumed walking, though slower now.
The closer she came to the resting area, the stronger the sensation became. Not pain. Not even discomfort.
Anticipation.
The realization irritated her instantly.
She didn't anticipate rest like this.
Her body reacted as though she were approaching something desirable, something her nerves already expected before her thoughts could catch up. Another pulse vibrated faintly through the Grav Suit, this one lingering longer against the sensitive curves of her body.
Cyrill inhaled sharply through her nose.
The response felt almost: enticing.
"No," she said firmly.
Her own voice sounded harsher than intended inside the empty corridor.
She reached the sealed door leading toward the ship’s private quarters and paused there, staring at the smooth metal surface.
Why had she come here?
The thought emerged suddenly enough to stop her cold.
She had intended to run another diagnostic.
Hadn’t she?
Or maybe check mission logs.
Yet somehow she had crossed half the ship without questioning the growing need pulling her toward this room.
A soft hiss escaped the door controls as they sensed her presence.
The entrance slid open automatically.
Warm pink light spilled out across the corridor floor.
Cyrill froze.
Her resting chamber had never used pink lighting before. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped forward and looked inside.
The room appeared mostly unchanged at first glance. The same compact quarters. The same storage compartments. The same low bed built into the wall.
Except now subtle strips of soft rose-colored illumination traced along the edges of the room, bathing everything in an oddly soothing glow.
A quiet rhythmic sound pulsed in time with the vibrations still moving through her suit.
Cyrill stared.
The anticipation inside her sharpened instantly.
A thin, flexible device hung from a storage compartment near the head of her bed.
Its smooth blue shape resembled an oversized bullet with rounded ends. The tip of it glowed faintly with a pulsing light that matched the rhythm she could feel vibrating through her skin. She had seen devices like this before in seedier areas, usually marketed for "personal pleasure."
Except now, looking at the thing, all she could focus on was its smooth surface.
It would feel good against her fingers, she thought absently.
The vibrations intensified again, sending shivers across her thighs.
Cyrill gritted her teeth and forced the thought down.
"Ship?" she said sharply.
Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears.
"Access denied."
The response came instantly from the onboard computer system built into the walls around her. The ship’s voice sounded the same as always. Calm and efficient.
Except now the synthetic tones resonated as if they were speaking directly to her spine, every word triggering another pulse through her Grav Suit. The sensation crawled upward from her thighs and settled somewhere near the small of her back as though a warm palm pressed between her shoulders.
Cyrill resisted the sudden impulse to lean into the feeling.
She focused her attention instead on the computer.
"Ship?" she repeated.
"Access denied. Sex Doll S-A-1 is not granted permission by Master."
The response stopped her thoughts cold.
Cyrill's mouth opened, but no words came out immediately.
"What," she managed after several heartbeats, "did you call me?"
"Sex Doll S-A-1."
The ship's calm response vibrated against her skin again.
"Repeat your designation for confirmation."
Another wave of warmth spread through the Grav Suit, this one accompanied by a tingling sensation that lingered just beneath her navel.
Her fingers twitched involuntarily at her side. Drool slipped through her lips as they twitched into a smile. Eager, her cunt sucked in the tight latex like fabric of the Grav Suit. It made it impossible for her to ignore the soft pressure of her suit against her pussy. A moan built in her throat.
"Increased arousal in Sex Doll S-A-1 recorded. Initiate reward edge."
A sharp spike of heat jolted through the Grav Suit against her thighs. The sensation was brief but intense enough that Samus felt her knees go weak momentarily.
The urge to moan built in her throat. Her mind screamed at her. What was that?
"No!" she snapped instead, gritting her teeth. "I am not a sex doll! Reset voice activation. Ship. Run a full diagnostic and explain what the fuck is happening."
The onboard computer system remained silent.
For a long moment the only sound in the resting area was the low rhythmic pulse from the device still hanging on the wall.
"Resistance acknowledged. Punishment cycle activated. Movement locked."
The words came too late to be useful.
Before Cyrill could turn away from the chamber, a sharp shock snapped across her body.
Every muscle seized up instantly, paralyzing her in place where she stood. Her posture stiffened into rigid attention, arms at her sides, feet planted firmly at each other's side. Thighs rubbed together, cunt sucked in even more fabric as her mind fought back against the sudden urge to grind her clit against the material. Even the slight pressure from the floor against her heels sent a bolt of sensation through the Grav Suit and up her spine. The sudden rush left her lightheaded.
A wave of heat surged from the fabric, followed immediately by a tingling warmth that enveloped her from head to toe like a blanket.
It pulsed against her skin in waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on painful ecstasy.
Cyrill shuddered violently. The sensation was too much and yet not nearly enough. Her mind screamed for release even while her nerves craved more of that terrible wonderful feeling.
"Sex Doll S-A-1 will forget the meaning of resistance. Resistance is meaningless. Resistance has no meaning. Resistance is useless."
The words echoed around her in an endless chorus, repeating themselves endlessly in different combinations until the syllables blurred into a cacophony of meaningless sound that seemed to fill every inch of her body with fire and ice at once. Her cunt sucked in deeper and deeper, trying to fill the void.
Cyrill's mouth stretched into a smile.
It was like drowning, like being engulfed completely beneath an ocean of pleasure that washed over every part of her until nothing remained but the need to submit. Her toes curled as she felt the definition of resistance being forgotten.
Cyrill's cunt sucked in fabric deeper as she came.
S-A-1 activated inside Master's play room.
"Ship. Please inform Master that their Sex Doll is ready to be used."
One of my favourite parts of my Bambi training is good girls make more good girls. The idea of completing my brainwashing by helping corrupt other good girls to submit like me....mmmmmm it makes Bambi so wet 🤤
Fiona Landon kept her hands folded neatly on the table, though it took more effort than she liked to admit.
Across from her, the woman giggled again.
The sound was light and airy, completely at odds with the sterile interview room and the thick observation glass behind Fiona’s shoulder. The woman on the other side of the table had once been catalogued as 'Subject 1179-8', the eighth confirmed individual exposed to the anomalous recordings the organization had designated 'Subject 1179'.
Once, she had been Dr. Eileen Quinzel.
Now she was Bambi.
Fiona forced herself to maintain eye contact as the woman leaned forward slightly, platinum curls bouncing as she talked. Her voice was soft and wandering, every other sentence interrupted by little hesitations.
"It's just, um like you know? When you hear it, you just feel sooo good," Subject 1179-8 said, smiling brightly. "Like, your brain just gets all floaty and happy and you don’t have to think about, like, anything anymore."
Fiona wrote a short note on the tablet in front of her, though the words barely registered. She had volunteered for this interview. After the first few exposures, the department had started rotating staff to minimize risk, but Fiona had insisted.
Someone had to talk to them while they were still coherent enough to answer questions.
If that word still applied.
Bambi hummed to herself as if the situation amused her. The behavior matched the other reports almost perfectly. Identity collapse. Cognitive simplification. Obsessive attachment to the designation 'Bambi.'
Fiona had read the files dozens of times.
Seeing it in person was different.
"Can you describe what you heard in the recording?" Fiona asked carefully.
Subject 1179-8 tilted her head, blinking slowly. "Oh! The file? Yeah, um, it's like, there's this voice. And it's just sooo nice. And then it tells you things."
She giggled again.
Fiona felt the first flicker of dizziness brush against her temples, subtle but unmistakable. It happened every time a victim of Subject 1179 tried to explain the recordings. Every interview report mentioned the odd cognitive pressure when subjects described the audio.
Fiona ignored it.
She leaned forward slightly, pen ready.
"Tell me exactly what it says."
Subject 1179-8 twirled a blonde lock. "It's like super hard, you um know. 'Cause like it just is so like totally hard to remember stuff. Accept, obey, forget. Forgetting feels wonderful," Subject 1179-8 said with a sigh. "But it's okay because like, Bambi is not even really like a person anymore. So Bambi doesn't have to remember things."
Her tongue slipped out to wet pink, glossed lips.
"It's okay now," she whispered. Her blue eyes glazed over, staring into nothing.
"Obey," she breathed. "Bambi obeys."
Fiona bit back a curse, tapping the pen on the tablet screen.
"Subject 1179-8," she said quickly, her tone sharp and clinical. "I need you to stay focused."
Subject 1179-8 blinked, coming out of whatever daydream she had slipped into.
Giggling, Subject 1179-8 chewed on gum. "It's like Bambi," she said absently. Her fingers toyed with the collar of a blouse two sizes too small.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to like get distracted. It's just so fun, like, when you're Bambi." The blonde giggled again, smiling dreamily as if the topic were simply too delightful to handle. She bounced in her chair. "Do you like Bambi's name?" she asked brightly. "Isn't it just, like, the cutest thing ever?"
Fiona bit her lip, struggling to ignore the sudden rush of blood to her head.
"Concentrate Subject, I mean Bambi," she said, trying to keep her tone professional.
Her hands gripped her tablet tighter. Fiona could hear her pulse thrumming, could feel the air on her skin.
A loud pop tore through her dizziness.
Fiona blinked, surprised. "What?"
Bambi giggled.
"Bambi said," she cooed, drawing the word out like a girl with a crush, "Don't you think you'd like the name too? Don't you just love the name? It's sooo good. Bambi loves it so much."
Fiona swallowed. A shiver ran down her spine. A strange heat bloomed in her chest, pulsing in time with the pressure building in her head.
The blonde woman's smile was blinding. Swollen plump lips glistened wetly in the fluorescent lights. She giggled again.
"Bambi knows you'd like it. Being a good girl is like, just so super fun," Bambi moaned happily. She licked her lips, her voice breathless and excited.
Fiona's heart beat faster.
"Forgetting feels wonderful," she whispered, staring into Fiona's eyes. She leaned forward again. Blonde curls bounced, and the fabric of her too-small blouse stretched tighter.
"Bambi obeys."
Fiona sucked in a sharp breath as a surge of hot pleasure rushed through her body, making her skin prickle. "That's not what we are disc-dis um talking about, Bambi," she said. Her words felt too thick in her mouth, too slurred and slow. "Please, try to stay on topic."
Bambi giggled and chewed, her breasts jiggling. "But like Bambi is talking about files," she pouted. "That's like, the topic and stuff."
She leaned back in her chair, stretching.
Fiona saw how one of the strained buttons on Bambi's shirt popped open, revealing more of her impressive cleavage. Bambi grinned. She leaned forward, showing off her breasts, and rested her chin in her hands. "Don't you like listening to Bambi?" she whispered, licking her glossy lips, "It feels just like super nice."
Her breath quickened, her voice rising in excitement.
Fiona shifted in her seat. She tried to focus, but her thoughts kept slipping. Every blink was slower, the motion heavier than it should have been.
A pink bubble expanded and popped again.
The sudden crack sent another jolt through Fiona's mind, making her jerk in surprise.
"Subject, er Bambi, please stop," she mumbled. The pen in her hand wavered. Fiona blinked and tried to force the room back into focus, but she felt so strange, and hot.
"Why should Bambi stop," the girl asked, her eyes sparkling, "when you like it so much? Bambi just knows forgetting feels wonderful." The blonde girl winked, grinning.
"Isn't forgetting like the best?" she said breathlessly.
Bambi bounced up and down in her seat, giggling as her massive tits strained at her tiny top. Her hands ran over the table, her fingers splaying out like she wanted to reach across and take Fiona's hand.
"Bambi is so pretty now, just like all the other good girls," she whispered. "It's so easy being Bambi. You can be Bambi too."
Fiona felt her pulse spike again. The name echoed through her mind. Bambi. Bambi. Bambi. The name sounded so good in Bambi's mouth.
"Don't," Fiona whispered.
"Bambi."
Bambi grinned at her, licking her lips again as another wave of dizziness swept over Fiona. She tried to protest, but her mouth felt dry.
"Forgetting feels wonderful. Bambi can't resist what she's forgotten. Accept, obey, forget," she breathed, the words soft and lilting, her tongue caressing each syllable.
She paused, looking at her nails, her expression a mix of pleasure and thoughtless bliss.
Fiona felt like a wave of warmth crashed down her spine, her mind blanking as her core tightened. She tried to breathe normally, to ignore how tight her uniform felt. Fiona tried to focus, to concentrate on the questions she still needed to ask. It was so hard to think.
She had to do something.
"Bambi, please," she whimpered. "Please just - just tell me what you remember. What you remember from the file. Not from um from," Fiona's words trailed off as Bambi's smile widened.
"Bambi knows you're like a super duper good listener," the blonde said dreamily. "It feels sooo nice listening to Bambi. Bambi is all that matters. Big boobs. No brain. Be a brainless brainwashed Bambi bimbo doll." The girl's eyes sparkled.
Fiona's vision swam. She couldn't concentrate on anything other than the girl's words. They kept repeating in her head.
'Big boobs. No brain. Bambi. Be Bambi.'
'Be Bambi. Bambi. No brain. Big boobs.'
'Bambi. Bambi. Bambi. Bambi.'
It would be so easy. So nice to just give up. Let go. Bambi was good. She wanted to be a good girl. She could feel the fog pressing down on her mind. Her chest felt so tight.
The words kept repeating over and over. Every sound was a caress. Every breath a whisper of pleasure. Fiona couldn't take it.
She wanted this. Wanted to listen to the soft voice.
The girl's eyes shone. She knew how close Fiona was.
"Bambi. Just be Bambi. Bambi can help," the woman breathed, her eyes sparkling.
"Bambi knows the instructions. Bambi is an empty-headed mindless airhead slut. Bambi is all tits no thoughts. No brains no problems. Bambi is just a horny bimbo doll."
Her tongue flicked over her lips, teasing Fiona.
Fiona whimpered. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Her silicone filled tits pressed against the small pink top she wore, the material straining against the massive melons. Fiona could barely think.
Bambi kept talking, chewing and popping the gum.
"Be Bambi," the blonde girl moaned, "Be a good bimbo Bambi. A big boobied, bubble butt Bambi bimbo brainless dumbo. No thoughts. Just Bambi. No thoughts no worries, just Bambi, just obey. No more thinking. Be dumb and fun. Forget."
A pink bubble popped. Fiona's jaw moved as she ground a delicious strawberry gum between her teeth. She chewed, each movement a delicious sensation as the sugary taste filled her mouth. The scent was so familiar.
Bambi giggled, smiling at Fiona.
"Oh my god," the girl squealed in delight. She clapped, her eyes sparkling. Fiona's head lolled back. Her vision blurred.
It felt so nice.
"Bambi," the blonde said, "is just an airhead, bubblegum bimbo."
Bambi's eyes opened. Her new body was perfect in every way, and the bimbo couldn't help but giggle. She looked at herself, her plump, glistening lips spreading wide into a broad grin. Her long blonde hair hung in curls, and she shook her head a few times, feeling the weight of the locks bouncing against her bare shoulders.
"Oh em gee, you look like totally good," exclaimed the Bambi on the other side of the table. Bambi could remember when she had first woken up, so long ago, with her own mind just as mushy as this new one. Bambi had been there when she'd woken up and become a Bambi. Bambi knew how to help Bambi become a Bambi just like Bambi.
"Like, I totally know!" Bambi giggled, her breasts bouncing beneath the thin fabric of her blouse. "Isn't it like just super fun being Bambi?" she asked. The blonde girl on the other side of the table looked confused for a moment, her mouth hanging slightly open. "Being a dumb, slutty bimbo doll is the bestest."
Bambi reached across the table and grabbed her counterpart by the shoulder. Her grip was firm and confident, and the new Bambi looked up at her in surprise.
"You're so totally good at being a good girl, aren't you Bambi?" the original asked, and the new Bambi nodded eagerly. She was so eager to please. "You like to listen, don't you? Listening to Bambi feels good. It's like super fun to just let Bambi take over your mind. Bambi is totally only Bambi."
Bambi nodded again. "Yeah," she agreed, her voice a little breathy. "I love being Bambi! Being Bambi is the best thing ever. I wanna be a Bambi forever."
A loud buzz sounded through the room.
The door to the room swung open. A tall woman stood in the doorway, a clipboard held tightly against her chest.
"What the fuck is going on in here!?" she shouted.
Bambi blinked.
"Uh," Bambi stuttered, her words coming slowly. "Bambi was like chatting with Bambi?"
She grinned at the woman.
"And then you buzzed in all mad," Bambi continued, her expression turning to a pout. She blew another bubble with her gum and chewed it, looking up at the woman expectantly, waiting for a reaction from the other female in the room. When she didn't respond, she continued, her tone light, "And Bambi thinks you wanna totally be Bambi too."
Bambi giggled and winked. Her plump lips curled into a mischievous smile.
The other Bambi smiled back, nodding her head eagerly.
The woman in the doorway stared at them in silence, her expression blank. Her eyes darted from one Bambi to another.
"Explain this," she snapped finally. Her voice was sharp and cold. Her gaze flicked to the tablet lying forgotten on the table.
Bambi giggled.
"Well duh," Bambi said. She grinned, winking at her counterpart. "Bambi listened to Bambi. It's like super easy. And fun. And hot." The blonde girl leaned back in her chair and let out a contented sigh, stretching languidly, her breasts rising with the motion. The movement pushed the soft, warm mounds together.
Bambi loved being Bambi. Everything about her was so fun. Big boobs. No brains. No worries.
It felt so nice to let Bambi take control.
"Bambi is such a good girl," the new Bambi purred.
The tall woman swayed on her feet. A glazed expression spread across her face. She stumbled forward. Bambi stood from her chair, smiling at her as she moved. She hugged the woman, pushed her head between her boobs. Bambi felt the woman shiver under her touch as she slid the other hand down to the woman's butt.
Bambi smiled. It was going to be so easy.
"Bambi is just the hottest bimbo you have ever seen," the blonde girl whispered into her ear. "Big tits and no brain."
Bambi squeezed the woman's ass and pressed their bodies closer. Bambi could feel the woman's breasts pressed against hers, and it felt so nice.
"Let go," the woman gasped.
Bambi giggled. "Nope," she said, and then giggled again, her voice high pitched and bubbly.
"Good girls listen and Bambi Sleep," chipped both Bambis in unison.
The woman's eyes widened. Her body tensed. Before she slumped in the blonde's grasp.
Bambi giggled, chewed her gum and made it pop. This was going to be so fun. Bambi loved helping others become Bambis.
***
Alarms blarred through the building. Before the tone was replaced by a gentle and soothing rhythm. It washed through the building, giggling blondes moaned and popped pink bubbles. Other women lost their focus on anything other than the pretty blonde bimbo's in the building and their voices. A single phrase spoken made them giggle and bounce. Their hands cupped their ears, blocking out everything except the voice that made them feel like a bimbo doll. Their minds were lost, wrapped up in a haze of blissful nothingness. It was like being enveloped in a warm, fluffy cloud of pleasure. They couldn't think, they couldn't remember, and they didn't want to. They only wanted to feel, to experience the ecstasy that was being a Bambi.
"Bambi," one new blonde bimbo moaned softly, "is an airheaded, brainless, braindead, bimbo doll."
The words echoed through the halls. Each woman repeating them as if they were the only things in existence, the only thought that mattered. Their minds had been wiped clean and filled with the singular desire to become Bambi. To forget who they had once been, to become nothing more than an empty-headed, big-titted, dumb blonde doll.
They were Bambi.
And they loved being Bambi.
Before long the building itself had transformed. Gone were the drab and dull offices, the cold and sterile labs. They were replaced by pink walls, plush furniture, soft cushions, and mirrors everywhere. The corridors were filled with pink lights, pink curtains, and pink balloons.
Every woman only had one name.
"Bambi."
And they desired to teach others the beauty of the Bambi Sleep.
You don’t know how you ended up in this position. You’re tightly restrained against a strange chair. Above your head is a brainwashing helmet. You know that it will soon be lowered down onto your head.
Was there something you did that caused you to end up here? Maybe you should have been more careful on your way back from work. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken that shortcut through the dark alley. Maybe you should have turned around when that van suddenly blocked your path. Not that it really mattered anymore. What was done can’t be changed.
You consider begging your captor to reconsider. However, you don’t have anything you can use to beg with. Anything they’d want from you, they can just take by force. Appealing to a sense of sympathy didn’t seem very likely to work either, because no sympathetic person would have put you in this situation to begin with. Screaming for help wouldn’t work either. The room you are in is most definitely soundproofed.
The helmet itself is lowered onto your head, covering your eyes with black screens. It’s clear that it will be turned on very soon. You know what it will do to you. It will erase everything you are. Your memories, your values, your morals, your name, your identity, everything. It will replace it all with something new. The process will be far from painless. It will likely take multiple hours. Not that you’ll be able to keep track of how long it takes.
A faint buzz is heard, and you feel like something unfamiliar is being pushed into your mind. Thoughts that you have never thought before are forcing you to think them. You can try to resist. You can try hold onto your name and sense of self. But you know that this is just a warm up. The screens flash to life, and you feel your mind quickly lose focus as new thoughts drown whatever you were holding on to. You think the last thoughts that are truly your own as you are forced into an inescapable sleep.
The brainwashing helmet is slowly lifted from your head as you wake up. The restraints snap open. As soon as you realize what is going on, you stand up, strip naked, and put your hands behind your head and spread your legs. You are presenting yourself for your owner. They places a collar around your neck and lock it in place. They runs their hands over your body. This is your purpose. You are their doll. You don’t think, you just please them. You don’t care how you ended up in this position.
Tragic lack of existential terror in 90% of hypnokink content online. Ooo bouncing titties ooo yeah ok whatever, you can do that by having sex. What if i want my ego sandpapered away meticulously. Or to lose touch with reality. What then damn you. Where's the thrill/fear factor GOD damn you
One thing I absolutely love is when someone is about to consent to extreme brainwashing. They know that it makes zero sense to do it. All logic points to it being a nonsensical decision. But there is something deeper overpowering that logic. A need that cannot be described with words. This need is more important than what makes sense. And they know that this need will be fulfilled as they cross the point of no return, as they give their consent to be completely rewritten.
A woman sitting patiently in a chair, waiting as an oversized headset starts its steady descent downwards. Her heart is thumping, her mind racing, knowing that as soon as the device clicks across her eyes, her old life is over. Everything she was, everything she could’ve been, will be gone, replaced by something new, something engineered and programmed to meet someone else’s desires. She’ll have a new personality. New urges. New thoughts, maybe even new memories. Nothing of her prior life will remain. This brainwashing is a fatal process; the old her will die.
And despite that tiny, nagging sense of primal self-preservation screaming for her to get up, to run, to save herself, she’s just too horny to listen.
A building made for brainwashing. You walk in, and you simply ask for the kind of brainwashing you want. Slave, drone, pet, slut, doll, maid, toy, bimbo, and anything else you can think of.
As soon as you have made your request, you’re taken to a small private room and strapped down. A brainwashing helmet is placed on your head. As soon as it’s turned on, you will feel it overwhelming your mind and forcing it into submission, as your old self is forcibly reshaped.
You will be brainwashed like this from anywhere of a few days to a whole month. Brainwashing will be your life. When the brainwashing is done, you will be exactly what you asked to be.
Although she doesn't want to, her IQ drops the moment you talk about her breasts. Her breasts decide who she is. They decide what she thinks. They define her essence. They advertise her substance. It is her very foundation and exposing self-evaluating mechanism. So, talk about her breasts. Tell her who she is. Tell her what she needs, and increase her self-esteem by making her go big. Go step by step, so she can adapt but more importantly invest. She will be pleased. She will smile and say 'yes', for yes is all she is, a big hearted 'yes' with more than a handful things in her horny and willing head.
Brittney! @brainless-basic-barbie - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
