Knee-socks and stockings?
"Thanks for letting us get changed at your place!" Schoolgirl said.
"Yeah! Thanks a lot!" Her friend, Sailor, said.
He just smiled and nodded. The guy was more of an acquaintance than a friend; just someone they both vaguely knew and shared the same opinion of. Largely inoffensive. His geographical proximity to a party they wanted to go to was simply a happy coincidence.
His suggestion had been that, better than walking all the way there dressed up, it might be easier to come to his, get changed, and then go. This idea had been oddly persuasive at the time, and now it just seemed like good common sense. They were both very glad they’d done it.
"Don’t mention it," he said, checking his watch.
"You still have a little time before you have to go. Would you like a drink first?" He asked. Neither was sure how he knew what time the party was (as they both knew he wasn’t invited) but this didn’t seem that unusual. The offer of a drink was an attractive one. Both nodded.
In short order two bottles of lurid - almost neon - pink drink were produced. It was a brand neither girl had ever seen before but it seemed alright and tasted better. They downed both in short order and found fresh ones waiting for them once they did so.
They both began to feel a little odd. Not tipsy, just…lightheaded. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, though. They giggled, they smiled, they got a little clumsier. The guy just kept smiling his own smile, listening to them ramble and gently reaching out every so often to stop one or the other from toppling over.
Schoolgirl excused herself to go to the bathroom, being directed down the other end of the house. It took her rather longer to get there than she expected, as she was unsteady on her feet and just couldn’t stop giggling.
Once she arrived she couldn’t actually remember why she’d needed to go to the bathroom and just giggled again, turning to leave. Her reflection made her double-take and she wheeled back, leaning drunkely over the bathroom counter and peering at herself.
Was it her imagination, or was her hair getting…lighter? It was difficult getting her eyes to focus but now that she looked it did seem that her hair was now much, much more blonder than it had been before. That wasn’t hard though, as before her hair hadn’t been blonde in the slightest.
She wondered about this, a dim sense of worry trying and failing to get her attention before simply sinking back into the very bottom of her head. Giggle. Nothing to worry about. Blonde is pretty anyway.
Walking out of the bathroom she moved back towards the lounge, hearing the strangest sound as she did so. The closer she got, the louder the sound became. It was moaning, she realized, but what this might mean failed to penetrate the pink-fog filling her head.
Her head spun and she lent against the wall to support herself, looking ahead. She saw, in the lounge, her friend sprawled on the sofa where she’d left her. Sailor’s legs were wide apart, her head lolling on her shoulders, her hair lightening to blonde from the tips upwards. The guy was next to her, hand up her skirt. He was saying something to her, but Schoolgirl couldn’t hear what.
Burning with curiosity she fought off her dizziness and staggered over, collapsing to her knees by the foot of the sofa and looking up in awe at what was happening. Her friend was moaning helplessly, the guy’s fingers sliding wetly in and out her pussy and all the while he was just calmly speaking to her:
"The blonder you get, the dumber you get. The dumber you get, the hornier you get. The hornier you get, the happier you get. That’s simple to understand, isn’t it? Blonde, dumb, horny. Blonde dumb, horny. See? Easy. Just give into it. It’s too late to stop it. You’ll enjoy it. Just give into it. Blonde, dumb, horny."
"Blonde…dumb…horny…" she mumbled, eyes closed. The rate at which the blonde was spreading seemed to be increasing, and it was getting lighter in shade, too.
"All your brains are just leaking out of your cunt. They’re smearing all over your skirt and my hand; all your brains. But that’s okay, you didn’t need them anyway? No brains means dumb, and dumb means happy."
"That’s right. It’s much more important you be pretty and make lots of cocks nice and hard. I think you’ll be good at that, don’t you? Making lots and lots of cocks lovely and hard? You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?"
"Cocks…hard…cocks…" she mumbled.
"Good girl. Now in a moment you’re going to cum, you’re going to finish turning blonde and the very last of your brains are going to come squirting out of your wet little cunt. Here you go."
The speed of his hand picked up suddenly and the girl groaned, back arching on the sofa. her hands clawed at the cushions and she trembled, body going momentarily rigid as the groan rose to a sudden, sharp squeal and she slumped back, totally out of it. The guy removed his hand.
Still smiling, he turned and looked down at Schoolgirl who was still on her knees. Her hands had crept down beneath her own skirt without her even meaning for them too. She opened her mouth and let him his slick fingers in.
"Your friend doesn’t really need these brains anymore, but they taste rather good, don’t they? Come on now, it’s your turn," he said, withdrawing his hand and patting the other side of the sofa next to him.
Quivering, she rose to her feet, sat, and spread her legs.
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