I‘m intrigued by the (probably odd) mashup of bimbofication, hypnosis, and weight-gain. Not sure if it’s for me or something I’ll post about again, but...
Starting as a fairly smart college student who can be a bit vain, then (at the suggestion of my lover) gaining some weight. I like the way it looks and that my tight clothes have gotten a whole lot tighter, my boobs popping out of my shirts. What I really like, though, is that I’m even more the center of attention than before and my lover can’t keep their hands off of me.
Whenever I’m studying, my lover brings me snacks and pulls me away to watch trashy reality shows and eat whatever take-out meals they’ve ordered for me to absentmindedly binge on. This ritual always leads to a pleasant evening together, so I comply and secretly like the shows from what I insist is purely an anthropological stance. At first, my grades only suffer a bit. At first, most of my clothes still fit.
Then, come the clips. I’ve been so stressed because of classes and had a button break on one of my blouses before a major presentation, spilling my gut out in front of a more-than-gracious professor who let me reschedule. I’m always hungry and fast food or the gluttonous snacks my lover has stocked in our pantry are the fastest to come by. To relax me, they send me a hypnosis clip that’s supposed to relieve stress. I feel myself start to drift...
Nothing immediately feels different other than a relaxed state so I watch the clip a few more times (despite the warning that says not to overdo it). During an evening binge-session, my lover offhandedly asks me a question about a class we’re in together and I stumble through an answer while distracted by the cookie I’d been eating. I realize, suddenly, that I don’t know the answer. My lover can see the blankness in my expression, my fat lips still ajar though I am speechless. But, that night, the sex is great and I forget the embarrassment.
I’m still as vain as I’ve always been, but the perkiness is new after my lover sends me a different hypnosis clip that they ensure is as good as the first one. I smile and giggle. Each time I watch it leaves me feeling so good I don’t really remember why I’d been so sad. Was it over school? Sometimes my lover finds me in our apartment during times I should be in class, stuffing my face with food or examining my new stretch marks in the mirror. I send them sexy pictures, my waist pushing the limits of the piece I’m in.
When I do go to class, I hardly resemble the girl I’d been at the start of the semester. My ass hangs over the sides of the chair, my tasteful cleavage has turned into skintight dresses that show every single new roll of fat. I almost never volunteer to answer the questions professors ask because I’m hardly paying attention to the lecture, but the occasional one will still call on me and listen as I give an answer that’s, like, um... can you repeat the question? I don’t get it.
When the semester ends, my lover suggests I drop out. It isn’t my fault I’m not naturally smart, my talents clearly lie elsewhere. They love that I’m a bubbly, brainless pig. I make them happy and shouldn’t I be happy as a simple trashy housewife? Certainly it’s the only thing I’m good for.
