Yellow Journalism

by Kallie

Tags: #cw:noncon #bimbofication #dom:female #f/f #pov:bottom #sub:female

A prudish student interviews a popular hypnodomme, and inadvertently ends up becoming her newest assistant

Disclaimer: If you are under age wherever you happen to be accessing this story, please refrain from reading it. Please note that all characters depicted in this story are of legal age, and that the use of 'girl' in the story does not indicate otherwise. This story is a work of fantasy: in real life, hypnosis and sex without consent are deeply unethical and examples of such in this story does not constitute support or approval of such acts. This work is copyright of Kallie 2022, do not repost without explicit permission

Molly Templeton took a moment to puff herself up and put her nose in the air before knocking on the stage door to the Vixen Club. Once one of the employees opened it for her, checked her journalist’s credentials, and beckoned her inside, she had to struggle not to scrunch up her nose in disdain. Just walking through the backstage of the exclusive, lesbian-only, adult venue, she could see all kinds of scandalous costumes and indecent bondage gear, all of which was plainly inappropriate for any kind of entertainment. It was enough to make her want to storm out.

But she wouldn’t. Molly Templeton was a journalist. She had a job to do.

Some would have said that it was a little rich for Molly to call herself a journalist. After all, she was just a college freshman at FCU who was working an internship for a local magazine. Molly didn’t listen to people like that, though. She was determined to leave a mark and make a name for herself, and she knew exactly how to do it: by finally ridding the town of that awful witch, Alexia Ice.

Alexia Ice - or Mistress Alexia, as she styled herself - was the Vixen Club’s headline performer. According to their adverts, she was an unmatched dominatrix and an irresistible hypnodomme. Molly didn’t believe a word of it, of course. She didn’t care how tacky Mrs Ice wanted to be, of course, but one thing she couldn’t stand was the way she insisted on using FCU students in her perverse performances. Molly had been shocked when she’d heard about it. Students should be studying, not prancing about on a stage behaving like sluts! Clearly, the whole situation was in dire need of an intrepid journalist to step in and condemn this preposterous display of immorality. It was in the public interest!

So, Molly had written a piece accusing “Mistress Alexia” of being a fraud. Which she clearly was - hypnosis wasn’t real, after all. The only possibility was that she was doing something untoward to get students to act the ways they did in her shows, behaving like animals or dressing up in jaw-dropping revealing outfits. Molly’s article had spelled it all out very clearly, but unfortunately most people didn’t seem to appreciate her bold style or her aggressively moralizing commentary.

One person, though, had taken notice: Alexia Ice herself.

Just a few days after Molly’s article had gone to print, she’d received a strange invitation. Mistress Alexia Ice wanted to have an interview with her. It was to be an attempt to set the record straight, apparently. Molly had been thrilled, and had accepted with stars in her eyes. This was the perfect chance for her to make waves and take her journalism to the next level! She was sure that she could find some way to trick the dominatrix into revealing her secrets and condemning herself out of her own mouth.

That interview had brought Molly here, to the Vixen Club.

Offering to host the interview at her performance venue was a transparent attempt to throw Molly off her game, but it wasn’t going to work! In fact, Molly was pleased to see that Alexia Ice was trying to throw her off her game. It was proof she saw Molly as a threat; proof she was on the right track. As a journalist, in search of truth and public decency, she would walk into the lion’s den and come back with a winning, front-page piece - even if it meant having to set foot in a house of depravity like this.

“Miss Ice?” the stagehand guiding Molly around said, knocking on the door to the hypnodomme’s dressing room. “Your guest is here.”

“Send her in!” called a smoldering, mature voice from behind the door.

As the stagehand opened it for her, Molly braced herself to face her foe, and stepped across the threshold.

The dressing room itself was fairly tasteful. It was a small space with a desk, lights and a mirror, along with a number of personal touches and several racks of clothes. Its inhabitant, though, was anything but tasteful. In spite of that, as much as Molly hated to admit it, Alexia Ice was far more impressive in person than she was in pictures. A still image couldn’t capture the dancer-like, self-assured way she moved, even just sitting in front of a mirror and touching up her makeup. Nor could it convey just how imposing her figure was.

Alexia had the kind of body that was built and sculpted for the stage. There was no other way to put it. She had an unbelievable hourglass form that went one step beyond what you usually saw on models and actresses. It was virtually impossible not to stare at her large, full, perfectly-shaped breasts, and the way her hips flared out from her side to give way to a truly breathtaking behind was enough to make anyone’s eyes bulge. She looked like an avatar of sex. She clearly knew it, too; the older woman was wearing a tight-fitting, leather bodice, laced around her front like a corset. It left some of her midriff exposed, and pushed her tits up and together in a way that gave her enough cleavage to drown in. Beneath the waist, she was wearing little more than a pair of panties, some fishnets, and some thigh-high boots, polished to a black mirror sheen. Her ravishing, dark hair, cascading around her face in perfect waves, completed the picture.

She was every inch the perfect dominatrix.

“Well hello there, Miss Molly Templeton,” Alexia Ice purred, without taking her eyes from her mirror as she finished applying her eyeliner. “I’m glad we can finally meet face to face.”

“Likewise,” Molly replied, as the stagehand closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. She was determined not to be intimidated. “I’m sure my readers are very interested to see what you have to say for yourself.

“I’m sure.” The ghost of a smile danced over Alexia’s plump, suggestive lips. “Please. Have a seat.”

Putting her eyeliner away, she gestured to the other chair in the room. Molly nodded and pulled it up, reaching into her backpack so she could retrieve her notebook and her pen. Armed with those, she briefly adjusted her glasses and flipped one of her ginger, braided pigtails over her shoulder. Molly liked the way she looked just fine. She was neat, modest, and cute. Everyone said so; everyone liked her cute button nose and her round, rosy cheeks. But in the presence of someone like Alexia Ice, it was a little difficult not to feel dorky. At least her boobs were a match for the older dominatrix’s. 

“So,” Alexia said. “Shall we get started?”

Molly nodded. “Let’s begin with a few basics. Miss Ice, how would you describe your work here at the Vixen Club?”

Alexia laughed; it was a rich, full sound. “Miss Ice? Please, call me Mistress Alexia.” When Molly showed no sounds of amusement, she answered: “I sell fantasies. Arousal and satisfaction. The erotic is such an under-served need, in this day and age. I give people an experience they can’t have anywhere else, and allow them to indulge in desires that they might feel ashamed of outside of this building.”

“I… see,” Molly replied skeptically, as she noted that down. “And apparently, those, ah, fantasies must be very lucrative.” She glanced meaningfully around the dressing room. There were a couple of bottles of expensive champagne on display, along with a crystal vase full of roses and numerous pieces of expensive jewelry.

“Oh, these?” Alexia lifted a diamond necklace, as if to serve as an example. “Those are simply gifts from some of my subjects.”

Molly cocked an eyebrow, her pen scratching at her notebook. “Do you really expect anyone to believe that people would willingly offer such expensive gifts?”

Alexia shrugged disarmingly, a simple motion that had her chest heaving. “Many people find it enjoyable to offer up something precious to someone they consider to be superior.”

“I’m a little confused about that,” Molly retorted at once, as she noted down the dominatrix’s response. “Why, exactly, would someone consider you to be their superior? You claim that you can control people with hypnosis, but we both know that isn’t true. What’s your real secret?”

Now, it was Alexia’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “My hypnosis isn’t real? You’ve claimed as much before, Miss Templeton. You’re quite mistaken. It’s all completely real.”

Molly snorted. “Oh, please. Do you really expect me to believe that you can control someone’s mind just by waving a pocket watch or saying a few magic words? My readers aren’t going to fall for that.”

“Perhaps you should help them see past their skepticism,” Alexia replied coolly. “A journalist should really be a little more open-minded, don’t you think?”

Molly’s temper flared for a moment. “And perhaps you should realize that a middle-aged woman should have better things to do than corrupting the youth of today with these preposterous, indecent ideas!”

Alexia just laughed, and Molly realized she had completely let her get under her skin. “Tell me, Molly,” Alexa asked, “do you have any experience with hypnosis yourself?”

“Well, I did my research, obviously,” Alexa replied, determined to assert herself and reclaim some of her dignity. “I even listened to some of those absurd files you sell.”

“Really?” Alexia looked at her sharply, a slow smile spreading across her face. “What did you think of them?”

“I wasn’t very impressed,” Molly scoffed, still taking notes. “They certainly didn’t work on me! I barely remember them. In fact, I practically fell asleep listening to them.”

“My goodness.” The dominatrix’s eyes glinted with unmistakable amusement. “You almost fell asleep, you say? How interesting. Clearly you’re much stronger-willed than most of my subjects.”

Molly snorted at the blatant flattery. “Yeah, right.”

“But you see,” Alexia continued, “you were a little mistaken, before. There’s much, much more to hypnosis than just magic words or a swinging pocket watch. I’d be happy to explain - for the benefit of your readers, of course. I’ll spill all my secrets, and you can be the judge. I’m confident I can convince you that what I do is one hundred percent real.”

Molly’s eyes widened. This was exactly what she’d been hoping for. Even if all this talk of hypnosis was nonsense, Alexia was sure to reveal something in the process. She started leaning forward eagerly. “Please do try.”

“Well,” Alexia began, “if you ask me, the secret to hypnosis is rhythm. Rhythm and repetition.”

Already, Molly was taking diligent notes.

“It’s like listening to music,” the dominatrix continued. She did have a lovely voice, Molly was forced to concede. It was low and rolling, and felt like smoke and oil. “When you’re listening to something good, you don’t merely hear it. You get swept up with it. The rhythm gets into your head. Maybe you start bobbing your head or tapping your feet. Maybe you just find yourself hanging on each beat, each chord. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Of course she did. Molly nodded.

“And perhaps sometimes, you notice yourself anticipating the music.” As Alexia spoke, she fixed Molly with a stare, her eyes deep and piercing. Molly met her gaze. She was determined not to look away. She could easily take notes without watching herself write. “You know what comes next. Even if you don’t remember, your subconscious does. Even if you’ve never heard the song before, there’s some part of you that knows what’s going to feel right. So you listen, and you wait for that next note to strike.”

Though she wasn’t quite sure what this had to do with hypnosis, Molly kept listening intently.

“I can see you know what I’m talking about. And of course, it happens most of all when you’re nice and relaxed. That’s important too - relaxation. When you’re relaxed, you can truly lose yourself in the music. You can ignore everything else in the world. Only the music matters. At moments like that, it’s so very easy to get swept up in it. I’m sure a smart girl like you understands.”

Any condescension in the older woman’s voice was totally lost in Molly. She found herself paying more and more attention to Alexia’s eyes. They were lovely; in the dim, confined space of the dressing room, it was like she could see individual little shards of light refracting around inside them eternally.

“When you truly, completely settle into the rhythm of the music like that,” Alexia whispered to her, “you could almost say that the music controls you. I know, that sounds awfully silly. But just think about it. It can make you tap your feet or bob your head. It can make you sing. It can change your mood. It can make you hang on each and every sound.”

Though she barely realized it, Molly was still nodding. Now, as well as staring deep into the hypnodomme’s eyes, she found herself preoccupied with her voice. It seemed far too familiar, like she’d been listening to it for hours and hours instead of just a few minutes here and there.

“So, now you can see how music can get into your head and control you,” Alexia guided. “All it takes is a good rhythm, a relaxed mood, and a little repetition. Some nice, familiar sounds and phrases to teach your mind the pattern, until you’re humming it to yourself over and over again. But now imagine if it wasn’t just music. Imagine if it was a word. A phrase. A command. Imagine if it was me.”

Molly shivered. It was getting awfully hard for her to think straight. It was taking all her concentration not to blink. At least she was still taking lots of notes.

“Imagine if I could put one of those patterns in your head.” Alexia’s voice was utterly captivating. It was low and sultry and honeyed, and the way she strung her words together turned her every sentence into a song. “Maybe I could make you dance. Maybe I could make you sing. Maybe I could make you think or feel whatever I liked.”

“H-huh… wha…” Molly had the vague feeling that she should be protesting, but she couldn’t figure out why. Her head was so fuzzy; it was so hard to speak.

“All I’d have to do, little Miss Molly Templeton,” Alexia said, her sultry, full lips spreading into a grin, “was slip my voice into a nice, soothing, relaxing rhythm, just like I’ve been doing for our entire conversation. You might not even notice. And then, all I’d have to do is start suggesting a few things to you about how easy it is to let your mind slip out of your own control. About how natural it is to relax, and listen, and let yourself follow along with whatever you’re hearing.”

It was starting to dawn on Molly that she couldn’t look away from Alexia’s eyes even if she wanted to. It was like she was paralyzed, held in place somehow as her muscles went totally limp and unresponsive.

“The next step is a mantra,” Alexia continued. “A simple little phrase I can put in your mind to repeat and echo over and over again. If I do it right, you won’t be able to help it. It’ll be like a song stuck in your head. The rhythm won’t let you stop thinking about it. And eventually the words themselves, the meaning, sinks into you and becomes a part of you.”

Molly was feeling dangerously sleepy all of a sudden. Now that her body was limp and heavy, it was carrying her mind along with it, and now all she could think about was how much she wanted to slump backwards into her chair and sink deeper and deeper into Alexia’s warm, comforting voice.

“It takes time, of course,” Alexia clarified. “But that’s why I was so very pleased to hear that you’ve been listening to my hypno files. My mantra is already in your head, Molly. How ironic, given those horrible things you wrote about me. I’m sure now you can see how wrong you were. My hypnosis is real, and you’re already hypnotized.”

“N-n-no,” Molly whimpered, and even that single, weak, hesitant sound took every last little bit of her strength.

Alexia simply laughed. “You poor, silly little thing. Why don’t you look down at those notes you’ve been taking?”

Now that Alexia had suggested it to her, Molly was able to avert her eyes from the older woman. She looked down, and gasped when she saw that, in her notebook, in her own handwriting, was the same, simple phrase, written over and over again in place of the notes she was supposed to have been taking.

I am Mistress Alexia’s obedient, hypnotized toy.

I am Mistress Alexia’s obedient, hypnotized toy.

I am Mistress Alexia’s obedient, hypnotized toy.

I am Mistress Alexia’s obedient, hypnotized toy.

I am Mistress Alexia’s obedient, hypnotized toy.

Molly’s eyelids had been drooping, but now they flew wild open. The absolutely, undeniable, self-incriminating confirmation that she was under this dominatrix’s hypnotic spell was too much for her to process. She felt like her mind was short-circuiting.

Fortunately, Mistress Alexia was there to deliver her from her confusion.

“Now, sleep, toy,” she commanded, and snapped her fingers.

Molly’s eyes slammed shut. The snap of her new mistress’s fingers was the last thing she remembered.


Hot, bright, halogen floodlights pierced the darkness behind Molly’s eyes. She blinked them open, and was immediately blinded. It took the student several long moments to adjust to the sudden brightness, and once she finally managed to open her eyes properly, the sound of laughter and wolf-whistling in a dozen, feminine voices made her freeze up. She was standing on a stage at the Vixen Club, and the room was full of people - dozens and dozens of patrons, sitting around tables in small groups, all of them watching her.

What had happened? Why was she here? Why couldn’t she remember anything?

“Now, if you please,” Mistress Alexia announced, stepping forwards. The dominatrix was dressed in the same tight-fitting, leather outfit as earlier, and occupied the stage with effortless confidence. “Give a round of applause for my glamorous assistant!”

The room erupted with the sound of clapping. All of it was plainly sarcastic, but that was lost on Molly. Her cheeks were slowly turning red, as realization dawned on her.

She remembered now. She was Mistress Alexia’s assistant.

“How are you feeling, Molly?” Mistress Alexia asked.

“I’m well, Mistress,” Molly answered at once, before squirming a little, embarrassed. Why it did feel strange to call the older woman that? “Sorry, I, um, I think I blanked out for a moment there.”

There was some laughter from the audience.

“That’s quite alright,” Mistress Alexia assured her, smiling. “But are you sure you’re OK?”

Molly’s blush deepened. She knew that she was Mistress Alexia’s subject, but she was still feeling very confused about what was happening. All she could do was try and focus on what mattered most: being a good, decent, upstanding assistant.

“I… think so,” she replied. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, well, it’s just, look at what you’re wearing.”

Molly looked down at herself, and her face turned from pink to red in an instant.

She was wearing exactly the same outfit she’d been wearing when she’d walked into the Vixen Club earlier that day: a yellow, turtleneck sweater and a long, black pencil skirt. It was nice and modest, just like the rest of Molly’s wardrobe. She preferred to dress conservatively instead of showing off her thighs or her cleavage, and she encouraged others to do the same.

And it was completely inappropriate attire for a hypnodomme’s assistant!

“Oh my goodness!” Molly exclaimed, doing her best to cover herself with her hands. She was utterly mortified! She couldn’t believe she was embarrassing herself and Mistress Alexia this way. No wonder everyone in the audience was laughing at her. Wearing an outfit like this was an unacceptable offense to decency and public morals. And doing it in front of so many people, in the middle of a show?

She’d never live it down.

“I-I’m so sorry, Mistress!” Molly cried. “Here, let me…”

As quickly as she possibly could, Molly started stripping off her clothes. She tore her sweater off over her shoulders, and slipped out of her skirt at lightning speed. It was the only decent thing to do. In the process, she cast aside the lanyard she’d been wearing around her neck, proclaiming her as a journalist.

Fortunately, underneath, she already had her costume on.

Molly’s underwear, unlike the rest of her clothes, was very, very different from what she’d been wearing when she’d walked into the club. Her sensible bra and panties were gone, and in their place was a flashy, sequined set of lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. The bottoms were a tiny little thong, and the top was a push-up bra that was clearly designed to put her large tits and massive cleavage on display.

Now, Molly could breathe a sigh of relief. She couldn’t believe she’d been hiding her tits on stage like that. How unspeakably vulgar!

“That’s much better,” Mistress Alexia announced. “I’m sure you all agree! Now, some of you might remember Molly Templeton here as a journalist. Some of you might even know that she wrote some very unkind things about me recently. Molly, does that sound right to you?”

Molly shook her head emphatically. “I would never, Mistress!” she declared. “And anyway, I… I’m not… I don’t… um…”

When she tried to think about whether or not she was a journalist, her head turned all fuzzy, and she became hopelessly lost in the fog of her own thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear it!” Mistress Alexia turned to the audience. “Now, on with the show. As you’ll recall, we’re going to be auctioning off the chance to decide what I should do with my glamorous assistant here. We shall start the bidding at one hundred dollars. And… begin!”

What followed was a flurry of activity as members of the audience started raising paddles bearing their table number, indicating their willingness to bid. Mistress Alexia conducted the auction masterfully, guiding the whole room into a state of excitement as more and more women sought to win the opportunity to slip one of their suggestions into Molly’s head.

Molly, meanwhile, was watching the proceedings with ever-growing confusion. Why was she just going along with this? She was Mistress Alexia’s assistant, yes, but… why? She couldn’t remember agreeing to any of this. Wasn’t there something else she had come here to do? Something much, much more important. If only she could remember. And was she really going to let someone buy the right to give her a hypnotic suggestion? A deep part of her rebelled at the idea.

But on the other hand, she was Mistress Alexia’s obedient, hypnotized toy.

“Sold!” Mistress Alexia announced suddenly, pointing over to one of the tables near the front corner of the room. “Madam, what is your deepest desire for sweet Molly Templeton here?”

The woman who had won the auction regarded Molly with a predatory look. She looked to be in her forties, and was wearing a long, elegant dress with her hair up in an elaborate style. She looked rich, and she looked accustomed to getting what she wanted.

“I think,” the woman said thoughtfully, “that since she’s not a journalist, Molly is a little smarter than she needs to be. Wouldn’t you agree, Mistress Alexia?”

Mistress Alexia let out a rich, low, rolling laugh. “You’re so right, of course. I’d be more than happy to set that straight for her.” She crossed the stage over to where Molly was standing, and looked her over. “Are you ready to lose some IQ, my assistant?”

Molly found herself sweating and shifting uncomfortably. All kinds of alarms were going off in her head, but she couldn’t figure out what any of them meant. Didn’t she need to be smart for… something? She really needed to take some time to let her head clear. “I… um… I…”

With a grand, theatrical gesture, Mistress Alexia snapped her fingers in front of Molly’s face.

Immediately, Molly’s mind switched off. It was like hitting ‘pause’ on a video; her last thoughts were frozen in her head, unable to complete themselves, and the sound of Mistress Alexia’s fingers snapping echoed on and on and on.

“Let’s see,” Mistress Alexia mused. “As our lovely auction-winner says, Molly’s brains are clearly being overused. But I also think that her true assets have been woefully under-utilized until now.” As she spoke, she reached out and caressed Molly’s chest, letting the audience see how her tits jiggled as the dominatrix hefted them in her hands. “What do you all think?”

The audience wolf-whistled in enthusiastic agreement, as Molly just stared ahead blankly.

“Listen to me very carefully, Molly,” Mistress Alexia instructed. “From now on, whenever someone touches your tits, you’re going to feel yourself getting dumber. You’re going to feel a few of those precious IQ points draining out of your head, as all those smarts and moral principles you’re so proud of go up and smoke, and bit by bit, you’re reduced to a dumb, ditzy, horny bimbo. Understand?”

Molly didn’t reply - she couldn’t - but she could feel those words sinking into her head.

“It only makes sense,” her mistress continued. “Your tits are such a sensitive part of your body, after all. Every time someone touches your tits, I’m sure it feels amazing. Like a little lightning bolt running through your body and into your brain. Especially for a girl like you, with such big boobs. I can only imagine how good they must feel. From now on, they’re going to feel even better, and that pleasure is what’s going to make you dumber and dumber.”

Each word the hypnodomme spoke was added to the echoes that were bouncing around in Molly’s empty, hypnotized head.

“Now… wake up!” Mistress Alexia snapped her fingers once more.

Again, Molly blinked in confusion as she emerged from trance. She looked at Mistress Alexia helplessly. What had just happened? She couldn’t really remember; it was all too blurry. Something about getting dumber, and… her tits?

“How do you feel?” Mistress Alexia asked.

“I’m… not sure,” Molly admitted. Something wasn’t right. Even though she knew this glitzy set of lingerie was exactly what she was supposed to be wearing, it made her feel oddly self-conscious, and the prospect of losing her intelligence filled her with unease. “Perhaps I should… um…”

“And how about now?”

Mistress Alexia reached out and started groping one of Molly’s tits with her hand, and the brainwashed journalist saw white.

The lewd, desperate voice that left her lips as she moaned was something that, once, would have left Molly too mortified to show her face in public ever again. But now, she couldn’t spare the brainpower to feel embarrassed, and similarly, all her worries about her situation dissolved into nothingness.

All she could feel was pleasure.

Her tits felt white-hot as Mistress Alexia massaged them with her skillful fingers, teasing her nipples through her top as if she was trying to milk the intelligence out of Molly. If so, it was working. The delirious pleasure that washed over her was more than enough to drown Molly’s rational thoughts, leaving her giggling and moaning with helpless abandon.

Even once Mistress Alexia stopped, Molly was left reeling. Her head felt like it was full of soft cotton as she giggled softly to herself.

“Well?” her mistress prompted.

“I’m… uh… uh…” Molly was struggling to form the thoughts she needed to speak. The audience laughed. “I’m… uh… dumber?”

“That’s right!” Mistress Alexia smiled. “And how does that feel?”

Molly wasn’t sure. She couldn’t deny that she felt good, but there was still something lingering at the back of her mind, bothering her. “I don’t-”

Mistress Alexia cut her off by groping her tits again.

Molly almost went limp in her mistress’s arms as the older dominatrix stood behind her, reaching around her to squeeze both of her breasts at once. The pleasure was more than Molly could bear. She collapsed into moaning, pawing at herself weakly in a shameless attempt to make herself even better. She could feel her mind draining away as Mistress Alexia touched her - and nothing had ever felt more pleasurable.

Once Mistress Alexia stopped and backed away, Molly was certain she was dumber. She could feel it. Her mind was hopelessly foggy, and with each blissful aftershock that passed up her spine, she let out a ditzy, brainless giggle. She didn’t know how much intelligence she’d lost, but it felt like a lot. Her unease with that was at war with the bubbly, bimbo happiness that was starting to grow and grow, encouraged by the adoring, voyeuristic gazes of the women in the audience.

And above all, all that pleasure had left her very, very horny.

“What’s wrong, my lovely assistant?” Mistress Alexia asked, as Molly let out a long, whiny, high-pitched moan. “Do you want more?”

Without thinking, Molly nodded. She wanted more pleasure. She wanted to feel good. Her body was demanding it.

The dominatrix giggled. “But then you’ll get dumber, right? Is that what you want?”

Molly scrunched her face. What did she want? It was so hard to figure out. She didn’t want to get dumber, did she? That didn’t sound right at all. Only, why not? She was only a hypnodomme’s assistant. What did it matter? And on the other hand, she really did want to feel good. What was holding her back? There was something, there had to be something…

As Molly tried to think through her predicament, her thoughts kept being dragged inexorably back to one thing:

Her tits.

They were just so sensitive. Even the feeling of the tight lingerie top she was wearing was torture. And, after all her years wearing high-neckline tops, having her cleavage exposed to the air was driving her wild. The sight of them alone was really something. It was almost mesmerizing. Two huge, perfectly-shaped globes of flesh, just begging to be touched. Molly wanted that more than anything. She wanted to be touched. Her own tits were becoming her whole world. 

Absent-mindedly, driven by nothing more than idle, bimbo curiosity, Molly lifted her tits, pressed them together, and let them fall, sending them both bouncing and jiggling.

As soon as she touched herself, though, she moaned, and felt more of her intelligence dripping away.

“Wow!” Mistress Alexia laughed. “I guess you really do want it.”

“Um… n-no.” Despite herself, Molly was giggling. She couldn’t believe herself. She felt so silly! “I just, um, like, y’know…”

She couldn’t finish her own sentence. The growing need in her body was drowning out everything else.

“Mistress!” she suddenly whined, pouting. “I need you to, like, touch me more.”

“Oh?” Mistress Alexia replied, as the audience murmured admiringly. “No, I don’t think so. How about you just touch yourself?”

“Oh.” Molly abruptly remembered something. “But then I’ll get, like, dumber?”

“That’s right. It’s up to you, baby.”

Molly groaned in frustration. This was too hard! She couldn’t figure it out for herself. She needed someone else to make the decision for her. Did she want to stay smart? Or did she want to grope her own tits? Molly giggled again. Not that she was very smart right now. She’d already lost so much of her own brains. What was a little more? Besides, being smart was such an abstract thing. What did it even matter? Her whole job as Mistress Alexia’s assistant was to look pretty, obey, and be hypnotized. That was all. It wasn’t like she was a journalist or something. Meanwhile, her tits were right there. They demanded attention. They looked incredible, and her whole body was screaming at her to play with them.

In the end, her brains didn’t stand a chance.

Within moments, Molly was openly and shamelessly masturbating with her tits, in front of the entire audience. She paused only to pull down her lingerie top, sending her massive boobs bouncing free so she could touch them even more directly. Her loud, brainless moans filled the Vixen Club, along with the giggles that followed them. After a couple of seconds, Molly was past being able to regret her choice. She wasn’t smart enough anymore. She was a hopeless bimbo, making herself dumber by the second.

“See?” Mistress Alexia said, turning to the audience. “Until just this evening, Molly Templeton was writing everywhere she could that my hypnosis was fake. That I was a fraud. Yet here she is, making quite the spectacle of herself! Our intrepid reporter seems to prefer getting herself off to being smart. Look at her, milking out the last few traces of her intelligence and her morals. Do you think she’ll be writing something different now?” She laughed to herself. “Well, actually she probably won’t be in a fit state to write anything anymore.”

Molly didn’t even hear her. All her attention was on her own tits.

“Hey, Molly,” the dominatrix continued. “Molly?”

It took a few moments for her to get Molly to stop. As much as the hypnotized assistant wanted to keep playing with herself, she couldn’t disobey.

“Tell me,” Mistress Alexia said, once Molly had managed to stop giggling and moaning for long enough. “Do you remember being a journalist?”

“Um… like… uh… I dunno!” Molly giggled. “What’s a journo… journalist?”

Mistress Alexia performed a mock bow towards the audience, who were more than happy to applaud.

“But now, despite how very rude Miss Molly Templeton was to me, I think my new assistant deserves a reward. Don’t you?”

As the audience cheered their agreement, Mistress Alexia briefly left the stage - but returned just a few moments later, with a large, black strap-on fastened around her hips.

As dumb as she was, Molly knew exactly what to do. Facing the audience, she spread her legs wide and bent over at the hips, flaunting her flexibility as she stuck her ass out in the air behind her and rested her chest on the floor, with her hands wrapped around her tits so she could keep groping them. Mistress Alexia moved behind her, and then she felt the dominatrix’s hands peeling away her lingerie bottoms to expose her pussy, already dripping wetness down onto the stage from how turned on she was.

When Molly felt her mistress’s strap-on enter her, she moaned long and loud, a big, dumb, brainless, horny smile plastered over her face.

At moments like these, she knew she was in the perfect job for her.

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