I'm trying my damnedest to think of a way out of this. Honestly, I'm trying hard just to think, period--that's not as easy as it seems, not with Sophia standing there with her shirt open and those perfect fucking tits of hers practically colonizing my brain one synapse at a time with their softness and their smoothness and the way they quiver every time she takes a breath. I keep zoning out, staring at the expanse of light brown flesh capped with two stiff dark nipples that I can practically feel against my tongue, and I know that if I don't find a graceful way to exit this conversation soon I'm going to start drooling on myself. And how will I explain that?

But I also can't explain just giving up and walking away. It's not like I can say, 'Oh, hey, Sophia, I know I just got done calling you a consummate bullshit artist for claiming you have hypnotic breasts, and I know I said I could stare at them for a whole hour without being turned into your brainless boob zombie or whatever it was you were trying to say you'd turn me into, but I, um, I need to stop looking at them right now and leave. Because I, uh, I... kthxbai.' She would know. And so would everybody else. And I don't think I'd ever be able to show my face in my social circle ever again if they all thought Diana Meade was some sort of weird horny lesbian with a tit fetish so severe that just the sight of another woman's chest made her stupid with lust.

Not that. Um. Not that I am a lesbian. Not that anything would be wrong if I was. Not that my friends would really change the way they felt about me if it turned out I really do--did--um, might--have a thing for Sophia's fucking ten-pound titties. They'd probably tease me for years about it, especially if I wind up--wound up-- doing something embarrassing. But I really don't have to worry about them. It's Sophia's reaction that concerns me.

Because I can tell from the look on her face, the one I can really only see now in the very edges of my peripheral vision, that she's not doing this to embarrass me or prove a point or even just to show off to the guys in the group how amazing her fucking rack looks when she decides to show it off. No, she's doing this because she's tried it before with some other poor woman and she knows it really works, and she wants to stun me into blank, mesmerized compliance with her ginormous melons and turn me into her sex zombie. And if I try to wriggle out of this... if I can't show her, once and for all, that it doesn't really work on me....

It's not hard to imagine what might happen. We have three classes together, we both work at the campus library, we live in the same dorm. She would have so many chances to get me alone and pull down her collar to reveal those huge, pendulous breasts of hers. She'd be able to heft them in her hands, bounce them up and down, captivate my gaze with them until whatever was inside my mind melted down into blank, hypnotized fascination and I wouldn't be able to find a single thought in my brain no matter how hard I searched. I'd be... I'd be helpless.

I very gradually realize how unnervingly detailed that fantasy truly is, how very specifically I can imagine myself descending into slack-jawed vacancy at the sight of her perfect titties jiggling and quaking and bouncing between her fingers... but I can't quite seem to stir myself out of it. Not completely. Not when every time I lever myself out of daydreams of sinking slowly to my knees, my eyelids fluttering as I try to keep my gaze directed upwards at her mesmerizing rack, all I see in front of me is the exact same breasts only with a slightly more sedate sway. There's no escape from Sophia's tits, not without either somehow managing to wait out the full length of the challenge or finding an excuse to look away. And try as I might, I don't think I can do either.

I know damn well I can't hold out the full length of the challenge. Thank god Sophia didn't insist on the full sixty minutes I boasted about--she probably knew full well she wouldn't need a tenth of that to get inside my head and break my brain with those magnificent fucking breasts of hers--but I've already lost track of time so badly that I have no idea how much longer I have to go. Jerry's supposed to be keeping time for us on his phone, but I can't look over at him to see how long it's been... both because that would break the rules, and because I already know full well that I can't so much as blink anymore. My eyes are burning, tears are streaming down my cheeks like I just saw 'Beaches' for the very first time, but I can't stop staring at Sophia's tits. I hope Jerry's less susceptible than I am, or we'll be here all night.

And finding an excuse to get out of here involves first thinking of one, and rack my brain as I might... 'rack' my brain, I realize, the feeble pun offering a moment's weary levity... I can't think of a single thing that sounds even remotely plausible. There's nowhere special I need to be, nothing urgent I need to do; my entire world has narrowed down to the expanse of soft, sensuous flesh in front of me and I can't even pretend otherwise. Even if I tried to lie and say I needed to pee or something, I know my dazed and sleepy voice would betray me. And I can't really find the volition to make the attempt.

I can see a tiny smirk of triumph on Sophia's face out of the corner of my eye, and I'm astonished to realize how wet it makes me. I know that's exactly the wrong reaction to have, I know I should be shocked and horrified to realize just how completely and totally she engineered this entire conversation specifically to goad me into staring at her breasts for the sole purpose of forcing me to confront my own vulnerability to their hypnotic powers... but oh my god are they sexy. Oh my fucking god are they absolutely beautiful. I simply cannot stop tracing them with my gaze, and it's at that moment that it hits me that I don't really want to stop, either.

Oh, sure, I have my pride. There's no question that it galls me to admit, to myself and to my friends and most especially to Sophia, that I really am so weak-willed and horny that I can't resist staring at her tits until my brain turns to mush and I become the mindless boob zombie I mocked earlier. But if my pride and my pussy are in a war right now, my pussy is winning without firing a single shot. I am motherfucking drooling down there, and it's only getting worse with every passing second. The throb between my legs pounds like a second heartbeat inside my head, and I can't help wondering what Sophia wants to do with me once she defeats my feeble resistance and claims me for her own.

Because it's really sunk in now for me--this was a plan. This was always a plan. I can see it all with the unerring brilliance of hindsight; Sophia wanted me, mind, body and soul, and she set everything up to make sure I had a good long uninterrupted stretch of titty time to make me dumb and drippy and ready to obey. She couldn't just pop her top one day in the media center, not without the risk that I might instinctively flinch away out of some misguided respect for modesty, but this... this was perfect. This was me zoning out for a full ten minutes to the sight of her bouncing boobs, staring and sinking and learning first-hand that I one hundred percent do not have the willpower to resist her charms. This has me hooked, and every time after this I won't be able to stop myself from locking on and blanking out to her beautiful breasts.

Will she play it casual, I wonder? Will she snap her fingers and say, 'Hey, hey, Earth to Diana, come on back,' and giggle coquettishly at the gang at how foolish and easily distracted I am? Will she pretend that she's made her point, only to hang back after everyone else has left for the night and whisper in my ear that I'm hers now and I can never escape? Or will she leave with the others, knowing that I'll have no choice but to spend the rest of the night furiously masturbating to the possibilities of what might have been and she can take me again whenever she wants?

Or maybe she'll decide to show off. Maybe she won't wake me, maybe she'll tangle her fingers into my curly brown hair and guide my head down to suckle at her perfect tits until my pussy is a soaking mess and my brain doesn't work anymore. Maybe she'll decide to put me through my paces for the group, commanding me to strip naked and spread my long tan legs so that everyone can see what being Sophia's dumb horny titslave does to a girl. Maybe by the time the evening is over, every person in the room will know that I belong to Sophia and I'll do anything to get another glimpse of her enormous breasts.

Maybe I'm daydreaming about lesbian sex with Sophia again. My eyes slowly refocus on her nipples, and I can feel wet warmth soaking my chin. Shit. I've been drooling after all. God, everyone in the room has to be whispering about me behind my back. They all have to realize that I'm a dumb, vacant tit zombie right now, that realizing I'm not thinking is the closest I get to lucidity anymore. They've all got to be wondering just how weak and vulnerable I really am, whether they could hypnotize me just as easily if they wanted to and what they could make me do if they had me under control. I'm going to be the hot topic of campus gossip for a while, I just know it, and tonight is only the start--

And then, very slowly, understanding seeps into my muzzy and distracted brain. I notice the silence in the room, not just a respectful hush for the extremely one-sided battle of wills going on but a much deeper and profound stillness broken only by a half-dozen people breathing in perfect unison. I've fallen into the rhythm of Sophia's rising and falling chest, I notice, inhaling as she inhales and exhaling in perfect sync with her soft and gentle sighs. And only now, as I really think about my friends and what they're doing and saying... or more accurately, what they're not doing and saying... does it hit me that they're all breathing at the same pace as Sophia, too.

Because her breasts are hypnotic. Of course. There's nothing especially weak or vulnerable about me, no secret susceptibility to lesbian tit brainwashing that I've been concealing from myself all these years. I'm falling into a deep trance for Sophia's boobs because they really are every bit as powerful as she claimed them to be, and everyone here who glanced over at her when she opened up her blouse to mesmerize me got a good eyeful of her perfectly-formed chest. Whether they were horny guys getting an eyeful like Jerry and Micah, or just curious like Traci and Sal. They all looked... and looking made them hers. Exactly like me. It's almost a relief to know that I'm no more pathetically horny for Sophia's rack than anyone else.

She makes a tiny, subtle gesture, and I slowly sag down to my knees and stare up at her tits with increasing exhaustion in my eyes. I hear sounds all around me, the quiet thud of four people slumping onto the carpet at the same time, and I realize that Jerry's never going to call time on this particular challenge. There's no reprieve waiting for me after ten minutes, not with the timekeeper every bit as mesmerized as I am. I'm doomed to fall deeper into Sophia's control, and nothing's ever made me happier in my life.

My head is drooping forward onto my chest now, the effort of staring upwards tiring out my already weary eyes and making me too sleepy to keep my fluttering eyelids open, but I'm blissfully unconcerned. I know that when I finally let myself relax completely, I'll see nothing but Sophia's tits in my mind as I descend deeper and deeper into my new owner's power, and I'll continue to feel even better and better as they colonize my thoughts completely and make me her slave. I'm going to be so happy being hers, just like all my other friends, and tonight is going to be the most wonderful beginning of our new lives as her pets. It's making me so wet just thinking about it. I can't wait to show Sophia what her breasts do to me.

My eyelids finally slip shut. But I can feel my hands moving to remove my clothes, and I know that this evening is anything but over.

THE END