The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was the beginning of Brooke’s third week in Leslie’s programming. She’d just seen him the day before; and now, it was morning again. Brooke was standing in front of her mirror in the master bedroom, considering herself, as she stood there only in her bra; she’d slept in pajamas the night before, but then when she’d gotten up, her eyes had caught on her breasts in the mirror, and she’d taken her shirt off.

Her fingers ran along the band of her bra; she could hear Tyler shaving in the next room over, as she stood there, considering herself.

“Honey,” she called; and Tyler appeared, still with a face half-covered in shaving cream. “Do you think I could stand to grow a little in my chest area?”

Tyler’s eyes widened, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“Are you wanting to get some work done?”

Brooke worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I’ve been thinking about it these last two weeks. I’ve just had… a different perspective on things and it’s had me wondering. I see the way you stare at Gabriella’s chest; she’s so full-breasted. I know I’m no competition for her, with my body the way it is.”

Tyler opened his mouth, ever the good husband, and Brooke knew him well enough to understand that he was about to tell her a whole string of reassurances, but she didn’t particularly feel the need to hear them, not when she had a solution to the source of her insecurity.

“I remember the way I used to look during my first pregnancy, too; I went up quite a few cupsizes; the way my body changed as I went through each pregnancy and childbirth; it was nice to have a bigger chest. I was sad every time the last of my pregnancy weight melted off, and I was back to my pre-pregnancy size. It would be nice to have breasts that big permanently, and not just as a temporary change.”

Tyler sat down on the end of their king-sized bed. “I understand you feeling that way. I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy the changes in your body, and that I wouldn’t enjoy a more permanent change. If this is something you really want, I’m behind you all the way.”

Brooke smiled at her husband. “It’s great to have your support. I’ll see about making an appointment right away.”

Tyler made an expression of surprise. “You already have a surgeon in mind?”

Brooke smiled, and nodded her assent. “Dr. Baxley. He just bought that house from you, remember? And then you had him over for dinner— I cooked it— to celebrate closing the deal? I showed him out at the end of the night, and he told me if I ever wanted some work done, he’d do it for me, give me a discount, and even give me ‘special treatment’ as a favor to you. I think if I go to him, he’ll treat me really well.”

Tyler stood back up, and returned to the ensuite bathroom to finish shaving. “That sounds great, then. Good luck with Dr. Baxley,” he called to her, as he resumed shaving. Brooke could hear the water running.

Brooke did call Dr. Baxley— and when she mentioned her identity to the receptionist at his private practice, the receptionist put her on hold briefly— and after conferring with Dr. Baxley off of call, she knew exactly who Brooke was. She told Brooke that they would be ready for her— no pre-consult needed. She could come in the next day, and immediately have the surgery done; and leave with her larger set of breasts.

In earlier weeks, Brooke had been all about seeking and enjoying casual sex; but having actually taken the step of arranging a cosmetic surgery for herself felt like a huge step forward in her overall process. She’d often mused about having work like that done on herself, but she never would have had the bravery to actually do it without having gone to see Leslie both times that she’d seen him. If the surgery was all that she did that week, it would still be one productive thing that served her process; it would still be one productive thing to come out of the week. She was just glad that after daydreaming for so long about making this change she would finally be making it tomorrow. She’d waited a long time; at one point had considered it nothing more than a fantasy, unable to imagine it ever actually happening for her— but tomorrow it would finally be happening.

The next day, she went into Dr. Baxley’s office, eager for her surgery— feeling the excitement from the day before come back. Today was the day— today she was finally getting her breast-implants. She was ready.

Dr. Baxley chatted with her briefly; they agreed together they would only add three cupsizes on to what she already had; she was a thirty-two C, they would only send her up to a thirty-five C. That had been around where she’d gotten to during the bodily changes her pregnancy cycles had brought on; so that was what she wanted. Dr. Baxley promised they’d get her in right away; and he left a few of his practice’s nurses to prep her for the surgery.

When they were done, they finally took her into the operating room, and then she was sent under anesthesia and made unaware.

She was unconscious for the duration of the surgery— and she woke up in a recovery bed, in one of the practice’s other rooms— she felt a general sense of happiness; there was no lingering pain from the surgery, so she considered that to be a success.

But then she looked down at her breasts, and she shockedly took in the fact that they were too big— definitely much larger than she’d agreed on with Dr. Baxley. She’d asked for thirty-five Cs, but by her estimate, they were thirty-five Ds. The wrong size of implant had been put in.

She’d only wanted to go up a few cupsizes! She hadn’t wanted her breasts to become this huge. She was definitely bigger than Gabriella, now, there was no contest.

If nothing else, that satisfied a little of her natural competitiveness, which had once served her so well in the business sphere before she’d left it. But this was still not what she’d asked for.

When Dr. Baxley came in to check in on her, before he could give her her discharge, she told him there’d been a mistake. But he corrected her— there had been no mistake, he’d given her the larger size of implants on purpose. This shocked her so much all she could do was ask him why, and he simply smiled, and told her he’d only given her the special treatment he’d promised to her when he’d made the offer to her in the first place. He said he’d done it to give her a husband a treat, as a thank you for selling him his house.

But when Dr. Baxley had said he would give her a special treatment, she’d only assumed his practice would pamper her. She hadn’t thought he’d give her some other treatment that she’d never agreed to as a favor for her husband to enjoy. It was true that Tyler probably would like it, but her breasts were just so big now. She still found it hard to both accept and understand.

Dr. Baxley then told her that her new breasts needed some time, that she would have to let them heal for a few weeks. He stressed that there should be no sexual activity or manipulation of her breasts until after the healing was complete.

Another appointment was set up for three weeks out; at the end of those three weeks, she would come in for a consult, just so Dr. Baxley could make sure her breasts had fully healed the way they were supposed to. Then when he’d diagnosed her fully recovered and healthy, she’d be free to use her body however she wanted to.

The rest of that third week was strange for her. When the surgeon had said that she couldn’t have full use of her body, or any sexual activity at all, it seemed to have interfered with her programming. It had made a deep impression on her, gotten down to the depth of the rest of her program. She still went around on her errands, but there was never any impulse to take a man aside and fuck him.

It was a nice change at all that she was going out again. She felt less self-conscious throughout the rest of that week, and she knew it wasn’t just because of the surgery she’d undergone, the implants she’d had put in.

The moments she was sharing with Leslie were coming to seem like they were actually helpful her. It wasn’t just now, all week she had felt calmer and more loosened. It had been the reason she’d been able to start going out again. She had no longer felt the need to keep herself locked up in the house. This was fortunate, because there were things that were still waiting on her, expectations that obliged her. It was more convenient that she be free to go out and see to them then that she had to stay hid at home.

As the week was still in its ending period, Brooke went grocery shopping. Somehow the feeling came over her again, where she was full of confidence. When she noticed a man, who was shopping like she was, looking at her in the third aisle, it was easy to make a flirtatious comment in passing.

Then when Brooke had collected all the foods that she needed to stock up her house, and she was going through the checkout— there was a male checkout clerk there, a bit on the younger side, maybe a guy just recently out of university, and Brooke found herself flirting with him too; he flushed a bit, a little awkward about it, but it just made her powerful. It buoyed her up; she hadn’t said anything explicit. Any of the other people in the checkout line— or any of the other people who’d been in the third aisle, could have heard what she’d said, and imagined she was just being a little friendly, a little playful. She hadn’t completely given herself away, though her targets had known exactly what she was doing.

As she carried her groceries back out to her car, she smiled to herself. The flirtation had just been something frivolous. Getting up to a little mischief, but just for a laugh. Nothing so serious; nothing with such heavy meaning. Just something fun, and now she could forget about it.

The lack of sex didn’t mean she wasn’t enjoying herself after all. While she had to wait, it turned out she could still enjoy flirting.

It was fun to flirt; her only outing after the surgery was groceries, because it was still her first week of recovery— she seemed to need a lot more bedrest than she’d expected, but she’d still gone out for groceries, and now she was glad she had, since she’d had not one, but two opportunities to flirt.

She was glad she’d had that flirtation to enjoy, since she couldn’t fuck anyone else; including Tyler, at home, until she’d fully recovered.

The week had been ending. Then it ended, and on the last day, making the excuse to her family that she was going for “errands” (because there were always errands, even if she wasn’t quite up to doing all of them yet), and she drove herself to Leslie’s house.

He was waiting for her again, as in the previous two weeks. She still felt a little trepidation, but at the same time, part of her was seeking relief, as if finally being able to unload everything that had happened to her during the week would unburden her, would make what had happened more real to her, and easier to understand.

“It— Can you—?” She was in such a rush, she couldn’t even quite get the words out.

“You’re eager,” Leslie appraised, and gave her a kind smile. Something lit in his eyes too, like he was particularly appreciating that fact. “You remember how to slip under by now. Go.”

There was trance; it had come back; she realized she had been craving this feeling in this context— she felt as light as the air around her, and she was in that happy drifting state she’d wished to return to.

“Tell me about your week,” Leslie said, and settled back on his couch, letting his arms hang down from where they rested on the couch’s back cushions.

“I started by talking to my husband,” Brooke explained. It felt better now that she had begun talking. “I’ve thought about it for a long time but just as a fantasy. Only I’ve been feeling so confident with the way I’ve been changing that I could finally make it an actual reality.”

Leslie made a reassuring noise to signal he was listening.

“I decided I wanted to get my breasts enlarged.”

“I noticed,” Leslie said; Brooke felt a flush warmth when Leslie glanced down at her chest.

“It was my competitive streak coming out,” she went on. “It got the best of me. There were too many times that I noticed my husband looking at my father’s second wife’s tits; they’re all full and round. When you look at them, they leave little mystery as to why my father was attracted to her. But it seems like my husband is attracted to my father’s second wife too— I wanted bigger breasts, so I could compete. And I missed the way my breasts grew during each of my pregnancies, honestly.

“I talked about it with my husband first. He was supportive. So I picked a surgeon I knew who had also bought a home from my husband— like you did— he promised me a discount, and special treatment so I thought it was a good idea.

“But when he had me under his knife, he put the wrong size of implants into me. He thought he was doing it as a favor to my husband.”

Leslie made another noise in his throat to signal further listening.

“I just feel… ashamed,” she admitted. “And I feel so sorry— I shouldn’t have been so trusting. I shouldn’t have assumed, when he said he’d give me special treatment, that he would just give me a luxurious experience. I should have assumed ulterior motives— I should have been on guard, but I was too trusting and I got taken advantage of— it’s all my fault; I just wish I could have seen it before it happened.”

“Did your husband mind your increase in size?”

“No,” she answered promptly.

“And did you have any fun this week?”

“I went grocery shopping yesterday,” she responded. “I flirted with a man I saw in the third aisle; I looked over and he was drinking in my body with his eyes— and the idea just… came to me… I went over to him, and I told him I liked that he was looking… that he was nice to look at too, and he stood up a little taller after I said that— and I leaned in towards him, and we made small chat for a few minutes… and I kept reaching out to touch and push at his arm and shoulder every time I could find an excuse, and I laughed at everything he said and it was all just… so amusing… we were standing so close by the end of it— if I’d asked him to break into the storage area of grocery store with me for a fuck he would have gone, but I have to wait until my follow-up consult with my surgeon three weeks from now before I can fuck anymore.

“I flirted with the checkout clerk, too. Went on about how nice his uniform looked, how he did such a good job taking care of it, how nicely he filled it out, and how his body looked nice beneath it, like he took good care of himself with exercise, too. It was funny when he got all flustered. So in the moment when I was flirting with them both, I felt the way I felt when I was fucking that gun range attendant— when I was fucking you— like some powerful, desirable being that could do anything, get anyone, make anyone go along with her. And I loved that feeling.

“But after it was over and I was back to being myself again, I felt more of that same shame— and that regret. What am I doing, betraying my husband by flirting with other men? By encouraging myself to become this other person, behaving this way? I just wanted to apologize and apologize to him for my behavior.”

“And anything else you want to mention?” Leslie prompted; and immediately she knew what else she had to say.

“It’s more than just the flirtation; more than the fact I got taken advantage of. I feel uncomfortable with my breasts, with having this new body. I don’t deserve it; it doesn’t fit me, it doesn’t look right with my face. I look comical; I look like a joke. The surgeon took advantage of me and made me look like an idiot who got greedy and didn’t know how her body should be proportioned! I was used to be being an average breastsize— I’ve been a thirty-two C as long as I can remember and suddenly being a thirty-five D is such a bizarre change. I don’t know how to think about myself anymore— I’ve felt like a stranger with the way I’ve been behaving. But now I feel like a stranger to my own body; I don’t recognize who I am when I look at myself. I don’t know how to even look at myself, what perception I’m supposed to form when my body is this completely foreign thing to me.”

“You’ve made a lot of brave changes this week,” Leslie affirmed. “But it’s been hard for you. Listen carefully to me—” he said, and Brooke felt her mind opening up, ready to absorb his very next words. “Your new body is wonderful. It’s beautiful, it’s a part of you, and you accept it completely.”

Brooke sighed as her mind swallowed the words down.

“And you don’t need to feel so ashamed and apologetic. Everything you’re doing is right. Everything you’re doing is something you can be proud of.”

Those words were echoing in her ears when she woke from trance, were still echoing as she drove herself off into the fourth week of her alternate life.

She kept her playful attitude up. It made all the tasks required of her more fun; even picking up Max from school was more fun; as he ran around the playground with his friends, his teacher, who was a man, was amusing to rile up slightly. Brooke still kept everything plausibly appropriate, but she pushed things for the thrill. It was fun to watch her son’s teacher get a little bit flustered, just like the checkout clerk the week before. But Brooke could get him flustered without ever completely exposing her intentions, so he couldn’t be sure that she’d meant things that way, meant them to be flirtatious; after the uncomfortableness passed, it seemed more like he was enjoying the flirtation for what it was, even if he couldn’t be sure that it was intentional. This made it even more of thrill for Brooke.

Later that same week, she had a golf lesson scheduled that she’d signed up for before she’d known about her surgical recovery, before any of this had started. But she didn’t seem to need as much rest as the previous week; she was feeling more like herself, and there was still very little pain, so she had no reservations about going through with the lesson. It was nice to do something fun— and once she was there, she was glad to find her instructor was also a man; it was fun to banter with him, keeping that lightness, being a little suggestive here and there in a comment, watching him enjoy that. She didn’t sleep with anyone else that second week either, but she was back to see Leslie at the end of the week as usual.

When he told her to slip under, it filled her with a sense of comfort, and she was able to begin reporting to him without needing any prompting at all that time.

“I flirted more this week,” she told him. “I went to pick up my youngest son from school— and his male teacher was there— and while my son was still playing with his friends, I decided to flirt some more— but I had to be even more careful about it. So I didn’t risk touching him— but I just went on and on about what a great teacher he was, how hard he worked, how much effort he put in; and I gave my voice just the right tone, pitched it just so, but the whole time I could tell he wasn’t sure if I was actually flirting, or if I was just being an involved parent, showing him kindness. And when he was confused but also sort of enjoying it— that made it even more fun for me, and that was a surprise.

“Then later in the week I had a golf lesson— my instructor was a man, too; and I flirted and flirted with him; I asked for more help than I needed; encouraged him to press himself up again me and hold the golf club while I was holding it— laughed becomingly— asked him to take my arms in his hands and reposition them on the club so they were in a proper hold— everything I could think of, and that felt so good too— I enjoyed the sex before— but I’m finding all these little flirtations are just as much fun while I have to tide myself over— I don’t know if I want to stop behaving like this, even when I’ve gone back to fucking the men who cross my path.”

Leslie smiled. “It’s good that you feel this way. You should keep acting this way; it makes you feel more of that power you’ve told me about. It makes you feel more desirable— and you should do everything you can think of that achieves this goal for you.”

She accepted that, and left him to go into her fifth week, awakened from fresh trance once again.

It was also the week she would finally get her consult with the surgeon— and she hoped, a diagnosis that she was fully healed. But that appointment wasn’t until later in the week, and the week was only two days old, and everyone in her family had already gone off to their daily responsibilities. She was feeling a little bit restive— eager to do something fun, and thrilling, but for once there was no errand she needed to run, no obvious outlet for this impulse, until she saw the mailman at the mailbox which marked the start of the trail that ran up to their house. She knocked on the second floor window— and when she saw the mailman was looking at her, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head, completely exposing her breasts— then put her shirt back down— and saw, judging by the shock on the mailman’s face, that he’d seen every part of her performance.

She smiled to herself, and turned away from her window.

She thought, as the week continued, how comforting it was that she could see Leslie, week after week. He was helping her understand more, helping her accept the new sides of herself. Then the end of the three weeks, after having seen Leslie twice, and about to see him a third time, and having flirted openly with more than a few men, Brooke went back to Dr. Baxley again, and he checked her out— then told her her body had correctly healed from the surgery, and she could come off her convalescence regimen.

She was set to see Leslie the next day, and went as usual; he set her in trance again, as usual.

“I saw my surgeon again yesterday, for the consult,” she told Leslie. “He told me I was all healed up. So I can go back to what I was doing before; but I was waiting all week for the consult— and I was starting to feel a little cooped up with nothing to do again— and it was only two days into the week, but I saw the mailman there, at the end of the walkway, standing at the mailbox— and I just… got consumed by the impulse again. I knocked on the window to make him look up at me; then when he looked up, I pulled my shirt up, and he saw my breasts completely. I can’t believe I flashed him! He’s just a mailman; he’s a complete stranger— but I didn’t even have a bra on under my shirt, but it was too far away for him to see that I was bandaged there— and he wasn’t expecting it, might not even have wanted it— but I still did it! It was like something just came over me, but I still can’t believe I did it. I felt happy just after; but the next day when he delivered mail again, I half-wanted to chase after him to apologize for what I’d done the day before. I was so sorry again; and then I was filled with shame for days.”

“Let the shame go,” Leslie told her again. “You don’t need to apologize. Anyone would choose to see your breasts if they could— anyone would want to see you if they were given the chance.”

Brooke realized how true that was.

“I feel that strangeness about my breasts again, though,” she went on after a minute. “Like I said my appointment was just yesterday— the diagnosis he gave was given yesterday. I guess that fit conveniently into my schedule with you— I like my breasts, I guess. I mean, they look so good; and they feel so sensitive when I touch them— I was feeling myself up in the shower last night— but I still feel so strange about them. It’s like they’re not really mine. They don’t belong with someone like me. I know it’s only been one day since I’ve had regular use of them. But they still feel off.”

Leslie shook his head. “Remember that your breasts are perfect. You deserve them. They’re a perfect fit with your appearance, and there’s nothing to feel ashamed of, and nothing to feel strange about. You see yourself as a beautiful sexy, woman— and you accept this view of yourself. However you saw yourself in the past, that’s done now. You can look at yourself and see what everyone else finds so appealing about you. It makes you feel better about yourself.”

Brooke smiled. “I feel better,” she confessed, since she was still under the influence of Leslie’s trance. “Your reassuring makes me feel better… and when you reconstruct the way I view myself inside of my brain, that makes me feel better. I like this new view of myself.”

It was another successful session come to an end, and the positive feeling stayed with her as she went into her sixth week.

She was excited, as that week was starting. Now she’d be able to show off her breasts— when the bandages had come off the day before, her breasts had looked perfect. Her surgeon had been skilled. It was completely unclear where the incisions had been been made, where the implants had gone into her.

She didn’t bother getting herself any new clothes to celebrate. She just liked to see how the clothes she already owned stretched out around her new breasts; she could still fit herself inside what she’d fit before, it just got all stretched out— she didn’t mind— what she wore would be easier to wear the next time.

The best way to celebrate would be going over to her father’s house with her family. She knew she could now stand next to Gabriella with no shame about her own body; and she knew the next time she saw Leslie she’d be telling him about that.

Before leaving for her father’s though, she had to get herself all dressed up at home. It was so much more convenient than waiting to change there.

She would wear a different swimsuit this time than her typical one, she decided. She didn’t necessarily have to. She could still fit into the swimsuit she’d had before; it had been a bit loose on her then, but now it was skintight, and her cleavage forced the top of it down, making it a much more low-cut looking thing than it had originally been, a more low-cut thing than it had been designed to be.

But Brooke’s goal today wasn’t really swimming; it was to get her tan, and the bikini she’d used before for that purpose barely capped the tops of her breasts when she tried it. If she’d been going somewhere alone with Tyler, or somewhere alone with strange men, this would have been acceptable. But since she was going to the family hangout, she didn’t want to dress that way. She had one old bikini that worked her purpose; during her first pregnancy, when her body had still been adjusting, she’d bought herself a red bikini many sizes too large in a moment of panic that she would never stop growing. When she had arrived at her final pregnancy weight, the modest three cupsizes above normal, the red bikini had been much too large for her. But now, it was a perfect fit. She was glad she’d kept it. The rest of her wardrobe she could make work, but she was glad she had one bikini that actually fit her breasts; completely covered them, with a matching bikini bottom that she could be comfortable in around her family.

The rest of the family had gotten ready, too, and they all got in the car and drove to Brooke’s fathers.

After a quick reception, they all made it out to the pool. The kids all jumped in the water, and Tyler went too. Brooke put her sunglasses on, and lay herself out in a lounger to let the sunlight do its work and tan her up.

This was where she belonged— and wanted to be. She was native southern Californianite— it was only right that she have some color on her skin, like everyone else she knew. In this competition, she could never hope to beat Gabriella, or her son Carlos— since they were actually Hispanic, there was no beating them on this count. It was enough to have beaten Gabriella with her new breasts; and she was glad to be at her father’s, where the family always gathered— her father was in a lounger on the opposite side of the pool, and Gabriella was just showing Carlos into the water. Brooke wouldn’t be surprised if her brother and his husband showed up with their daughter; they dropped by as often as Brooke and her family did.

She thought again about the one-piece she’d left at home. She could have worn it— she felt somehow it would have been more suggestive than the bikini that she had on; since it literally hugged so tight to her skin it showed every line, indent and crease in it. The bikini was definitely less indecent— she let her eyes wander to the house next door, the second floor of it which had windows high enough to look down on her father’s pool— there was a male neighbor there looking down at her from the window; she glanced to her family, but none of them looked at her— her father had fallen asleep across the way— she looked back at the neighbor, raised an eyebrow to him in suggestion and quickly undid the top of her bikini to let him see.

His eyes boggled when he did— this had been another strange impulse overtaking her, as had happened with the mailman the week earlier. She felt embarrassed in under minute though, as the neighbor peeped on her and ogled her— she quickly did the bikini top back up— and looked back to her family. None of them had seen. When she looked back to the window, the neighbor was gone.

She couldn’t be sure if the embarrassment was really her own— or if she had some other set of truer, but hidden feelings about what she’d done.

At home, things were feeling different. Both her daughters, and her son, couldn’t seem to get used to her new appearance. They’d all kept their thoughts to themselves while she’d been convalescing, but now she was out the other side of it, they didn’t seem able to contain their true opinions even one moment longer.

Brooke’s eldest daughter in particular couldn’t come to an acceptance of it. Brooke always made her change clothes to be less suggestive, always forced her to dress more modest than she wanted to— any time she went to a party, or even just out to the mall to go shopping with her friends. She couldn’t understand— she thought Brooke was a hypocrite, still insisting she dress modestly— they had argued as mother and daughter over her attire twice that week already, and this third time, Brooke’s daughter just blew up on her.

How could Brooke tell her to dress prim and proper when she stretched out all her clothes, and only wore old things that hugged her so tight she strained through them and left nothing to the imagination at all? It still didn’t convince Brooke to buy new clothes. She liked her old clothes. It had taken her a long time to build up a wardrobe she could rely on, a wardrobe that she liked; she wasn’t just going to throw all that away because the shape of her body had changed, not when she could still make the clothes work for her, and get some use out of them. She’d been wearing a favorite old blue t-shirt at the time of the argument— it now bulged around her chest, and bared part of her midriff— the denim skirt she’d worn underneath it fit the same. And she wasn’t convinced by her daughter’s arguments. She knew they’d be having the same fight many times more. She just didn’t think her daughter should be dressing in a way that was so adult.

Her kids might express constant shock with their mother’s appearance, but there was one person in her family it was a hit with, and that was her husband. Her children couldn’t understand, but with Tyler, as they had been with Leslie, her breasts were a big hit; Brooke caught Tyler looking at her the way he had used to look at Gabriella, and that was something of a stroke to her ego. Noticing that filled her with gladness and with relief. She had beat Gabriella, at least in her husband’s eyes; and she’d waited a long time for this to happen.

She’d never thought all the changing she was undergoing could actually help her marriage, but at least in this way, it had. She was actually becoming more attractive to her husband.

She felt more like her new self, also, the magnetic attractive figure. It worked on other men, it worked on her husband too. That gratified her as well.

The seventh week overall came to an end, and she was with Leslie again. He seemed ready, interested to hear everything she wanted to tell him.

“I’ve been able to show off my new breasts this week— properly. You remember from last time, they’re completely healed.”

Leslie nodded— it was fun to be briefly telling him the rules of things and the way things were, instead of the other way around as it usually was.

But as she spoke— she was already in trance. It was what made the honesty come so easily; and she was so grateful for that.

“I didn’t bother buying a lot of new clothes. I didn’t buy any, actually. I like my old clothes; I’ve been wearing them just like I used to, but now when I put my tops on, my breasts stretch them all out and make them tight, and make them bulge. I think they still look acceptable; when I’m in public by myself I feel unbelievably sexy— my kids don’t understand though. I’ve fought with my sixteen-year-old daughter Peyton. She’s sixteen going on twenty— she likes to dress very suggestively, inappropriately and I don’t let her leave the house like that. I want her to dress more modestly, and I force her to; but now she fights me more than ever because she thinks I look immodest with my new chest, and she just can’t accept it; she thinks I’m being a hypocrite, telling her to dress modest when I wear things that swell with my chest, and partly show my stomach.”

Leslie gave her his typical listening ear; he said nothing, and let her continue.

“We all went to my father’s to be by the pool,” she continued. “Everyone was swimming, but I stayed in a lounger wearing my solid red bikini; I was just trying to get my tan a little darker, but then I looked the next house over, and there was a male neighbor looking down from the window at me. I checked to see my family wasn’t watching— it wasn’t for them, I just wanted the neighbor to see— and I took my bikini top off and showed him my breasts— my nipples, he could see everything. I only kept the top off briefly— but he saw everything, better than the mailman did, and it was different with the mailman— with the mailman, I was inflicting the image on someone unsuspecting— but I took my bikini top off because I knew the neighbor wanted to see— he was already looking at me, admiring my body while it was still covered up— so I let him see more. And I just don’t know how I feel about it— the thrill of showing off was a short one, and then as soon as it was over, I was so embarrassed again I couldn’t get covered up quickly enough. Then I couldn’t decide how I felt after— if the embarrassment was really mine, or if I had some other, truer set of feelings about showing off like that that I wasn’t able to access.”

“You were right,” Leslie said. “The embarrassment wasn’t yours. It was a habit, just something left over. You know that all you really feel about that memory is that same sense of desirability. It makes you feel full of power. It makes you satisfied with yourself.”

She thought about what Leslie had said— it was true.

“I love coming here to tell you all of this,” she confessed. “You seem so interested in hearing everything I have to say about what’s happening to me. And it’s somehow… in the remembering… that everything seems to become more real… everything seems to become more full of color. I love to remember and relive as I stand here, telling you— and you allow me to do it, week after week, and I love you so dearly as a friend for doing that.

“I like being here— I like everything about it; it makes me feel better, when I’m all confused. It lifts me up, it makes everything fit together, it makes everything good, and I like it. It makes me feel more like myself; and when all of that happens for me it shifts me further into being who I really am. And I like that too. It lifts me up just as successfully; I get lifted so high, and then I like everything more… everything about it is just so good.”

She wasn’t even sure if she was making sense anymore— it had just felt so imperative that Leslie understand, in that moment, how happily she felt.

“It just feels good to be standing here,” she summed up. “I can feel my breasts hanging from my frame— catching on the inside of my shirt. They’re so heavy.”

But the happiness was fleeting; she felt the insecurity coming back to her. She had never quite exposed insecurities this deep to Leslie before, and he was technically still a stranger to her— she hesitated on the brink of telling him, wondering if she really could trust him with it. It would be exposing herself more deeply to him than she had ever done before— but she was already in his trance— and when she’d said she’d loved him so much as a friend, just for listening to her, it had been true. She couldn’t keep it back.

“I still worry about my body— I don’t deserve a chest like this— and the rest of me— even if my breasts really are good, the rest of my body is nothing special and I look like some kind of mismatching freakish thing made of mixed-up parts that shouldn’t go together.

“And I don’t understand— I see Tyler appreciating my breasts— but they’re just a body part, the personality inside my body isn’t anywhere as exciting as they are. I’ve been with Tyler for well over sixteen years, I just don’t see what Tyler can possibly see in me anymore; my performance in the bedroom, with him, anyway, is the same as it’s ever been. The same old thing. Loving, caring, full of meaning. He has to be bored of me— how can he still love me, how can he stand me, how can he find anything about me worthwhile?”

Leslie paused, letting the silence sit heavy in the air. “Listen to me,” he said, and all her attention was commanded. “You are an inherently sexual, beautiful, desirable being, as you’ve been learning for yourself. You’re appealing to everyone who looks at you— they all want you, and it’s not that they want you and then you’re a disappointment. Anyone lucky enough to get close enough that they’re actually able to enjoy you finds that you’re better than they could ever imagine— you live up to their every fantasy, because you know how to wield power right. You saw it with your father’s neighbor. He was enjoying the look of your body as it was— and you do have the perfect body, now. Your body is completely perfect and you know that it is. But he was looking, fantasizing about what was under your bikini. He would never have expected you to take off your bikini top; but you exposed your breasts to him; and surpassed his wildest fantasy. That’s what you’re like for everyone. That’s who you are.”

Brooke sighed again, satisfied. The words had hit her hard. She could feel the interlocking parts that made up her brain refitting around what Leslie had said, slipping into yet another new structure. She was perceiving herself differently— again. Seeing herself differently— again. Leslie had shown her how.

“I saw how happy you were, before you started speaking about your insecurities again,” Leslie added. “You were really enjoying yourself; and I enjoy seeing that too.”

Brooke smiled again, lured back from her deeper fears and sadnesses. “That makes me like our sessions even more. I love being this version of myself.”

“You become it more strongly everyday.” Leslie reassured her.

“It’s still just… strange to have this proclivity for all these sensual things now. It gives me that sense of power I’ve been talking about— but it makes me feel like I’m winning some competition, beating everyone else, coming out the best— and I’ve always loved that feeling, loved besting others. I’ve been in the shadow of Gabriella’s beauty ever since my father started dating her, and now I’ve finally triumphed over her. And I’ve been a housewife so long— I’ve been shut away from the world, from being right down in the nitty-gritty of it, and it feels like I’m getting back there every time that I tap into this new side of myself, every time I become truer to myself. I’m catching up, making up for all the time I’ve been shut in; I feel like I’m getting back to what’s real in the world.”

Leslie nodded, and Brooke smiled one final time. “Thank you again for these sessions, Leslie. I don’t know where I’d be without them.”