Becoming Bouncy and Brainwashed

Thu 12 December 2019
fiction // 879 words // 4 min read // comments
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When Harper left for work, Trish had been studying for her law exam. Harper was surprised, to say the least, to come home and find her roomie wearing a low-cut tank top with no bra, furiously jiggling her breasts with both hands. She’d shut the door and frozen, unable to pronounce anything much beyond, “Uhhhh?” and Trish had looked up at her without stopping her manipulations, and giggled.

Harper dropped her bag and took a closer look at Trish—it was hard not to, the girl bounced off the couch and practically thrust her chest in Harper’s face, bouncing and squeezing her tits the whole time. There was a strange empty blankness in her eyes that belied the big smile on her face.

“Uh. Are you okay?” She’d asked.

Trish giggled some more. “I’m grrrreat! Why aren’t you playing with your tiddies, like me??”

Harper blinked. “I… think the better question is, um, what the heck are you doing? Have you been… doing this all afternoon?”

Trish rolled her eyes. “Like, I can’t remember! Who cares? This feels so good, and you have, like, such nice tiddies, too, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Come on! Try it!!”

Trish was alarmingly close, pressing Harper back against the door. She wanted to push her roommate aside, except—except there didn’t seem to be anywhere to touch her that didn’t risk contact with those wiggling mounds of titflesh. Somehow that… didn’t seem healthy. There was something wrong with Trish, but damned if Harper knew what. She wasn’t acting like herself… hell, she wasn’t acting like anyone normal.

“Trish, can you… look, just… go sit back on the couch and I’ll join you in a second, okay?”

Trish rolled her eyes again, hands never releasing their grasp on her chest. The undulating motion of her breasts was certainly distracting, and in a different context Harper would have appreciated it. But this was weird, and kind of scary. It was a relief when the girl flounced back to the couch and plopped down with a giggle.

Harper made a beeline for her bedroom, shut the door, and tried to think, distractedly pulling off her work clothes and searching her drawers for one of the big loose t-shirts she wore around the house. She dropped her bra on the floor with a reflexive sigh.

Pulling on the shirt, she caught a glimpse of her nipple in the full-length mirror and paused, hands still above her head. Without knowing why, she wiggled her chest from side to side, watching her pendulous breasts bounce back and forth in response. The sensation made her giggle.

She blinked and grimaced, and pulled the t-shirt down over her head. What the hell was going on? Trish was acting like some kind of weird OCD sex maniac, and Harper couldn’t imagine what had come over her.

Well, she’d just have to confront Trish and demand an explanation. Harper peeked at herself in the mirror again, noticing the curves of her breasts jiggle under the loose fabric of her shirt, and then marched back into the living room.

Trish was reclining spread-legged on the couch, and she’d abandoned her skimpy top entirely. Her hands moved her breasts in slow spirals, her big brown nipples erect and gleaming like they’d recently been licked. Her eyes were shut—which was good, because the glassy lifelessness Harper had noticed in them before freaked her out—and she was moaning incoherently.

Or rather, Harper realized, not quite incoherently. Underneath the sounds of pleasure, Trish was muttering a strange mantra:

“I am my tits, I’m just my tits, just a pair of tits, nothing but my tits, nothing matters but my tits, just a big pair of tits, big juicy sexy tits…”

Harper gaped at her roommate, eyes settling on her big, juicy breasts. It made Harper’s own nipples tingle, watching Trish play with herself. She was so utterly lost in whatever strange sensations were coursing through her body. Harper found herself moving closer, dreamily, as though pulled by invisible strings, closer to Trish’s delicious-looking bosom, her mouth watering as she imagined taking one of those nipples in her mouth and—

Harper didn’t remember how she came to be on her knees, or when she’d taken off her own top, and the questions slithered out of her head as the pleasure throbbed through her body. Her fingers kneaded and fondled Trish’s titflesh as she suckled her roommate’s nipple, and Trish obligingly played with Harper’s tits the same way. Neither woman could form coherent words, could only grunt and groan in the pleasure of each other’s bodies.

Harper had never known her tits could be so sensitive, nor that it could be so thrilling to think about them as “tits”, as in

“I am my tits”,

“I’m nothing but tits”,

“Just my tits”,

“Tits are all that matter”,

“I’m just a pair of tits”,

“Big soft sexy juicy tits…”

And the more she fondled and the more she sucked, the more her tits and Trish’s tits took over her entire world, and the less she wondered how this had happened to them. Whatever had happened to them. When—if—it would ever wear off.

Harper didn’t care about that anymore, except to hope with a moan that it wouldn’t ever stop.

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