Bulked Up, Dumbed Down

Brooklyn sighed as she found herself, as always, lingering on the threshold of the gym. She wanted to work out. She really did. She'd made it all the way inside, and managed to change into her workout clothes. She was so close.

And yet she was just so damn tired.

Filled with some kind of masochistic impulse, she'd forced herself out of bed at seven in the morning - on a Saturday, no less - to go to the gym. When she'd set the alarm the night before, Brooklyn had told herself it would feel good. She'd be filled with the satisfaction of having worked out, and her day would have only just begun. That had been the theory, anyway. In practice, she was just standing there, procrastinating and wishing she'd stayed in bed. As if her shitty office job as an under-paid assistant didn't already tire her out enough.

Why was she doing this to herself? Was this really the best use of her precious weekends? Brooklyn had probably asked herself those questions a hundred times already - whenever she stopped or started her inconsistent workout regimen, in fact. At moments like these, it seemed so easy to give in. But she knew she'd always end up dragging herself back, telling herself that she just needed to shed a few more pounds of her plentiful puppy fat before she could fit into that dress she'd always wanted, and look like the kind of radiant femme goddess she'd always yearned to be.

It would all be worth it in the end, if she ever pushed herself hard enough. Brooklyn had to believe that.

"You!"

Brooklyn practically jumped out of her skin at the sudden, sharp voice, directed straight at her. For a moment, she just glanced around blearily, feeling confused and oddly guilty. Why would someone be talking to her? Had they noticed the awkward way she was lingering? Maybe she was just hearing things. Maybe she needed to go and grab her morning coffee. But after rubbing the sleep from her eyes for a few moments, she was able to discern the silhouette of a tall, sharply dressed woman marching towards her from across the gym.

"M-me?" Brooklyn asked uncertainly.

"That's right," the woman said, once she reached Brooklyn's side. Unlike Brooklyn, she seemed to have no trouble making herself heard over the sound of the gym's music. "You. You're exactly what I'm looking for."

That remark didn't help Brooklyn feel any less confused. She couldn't imagine why a woman like this would have any business talking to someone like her, especially at the gym, of all places. The strange woman looked undeniably professional, in her perfectly-fitting black suit jacket and sleek pencil skirt. In fact, once Brooklyn had a chance to get a better look, she realized just how expensive her clothes were. Her white blouse alone looked like it would cost more than one of Brooklyn's entire paychecks. In fact, with her black hair tied back in a severe bun the way it was, she looked exactly like one of those senior managers that always seemed to end up making Brooklyn's life hell. But what made it all so much worse was the crisp, cold smirk carved into the woman's face. Brooklyn couldn't decide if it made her look more like a shark chasing down a shoal of fish, or a cat with a tiny mouse trapped under its paws.

"Allow me to explain," the woman said smoothly, before Brooklyn had the chance to do anything else. "I am Zora Carmine. Here, my business card."

Zora Carmine reached into one of the pockets in her blazer and retrieved a stack of business cards, offering one to Brooklyn, who took it dumbly. 'ZORA CARMINE,' it said, in printed block capitals, 'CEO. AMAZONESS SPORTS AND CLOTHING.' Brooklyn immediately felt even more like a deer in headlights. A CEO? That was even further above her pay grade. With no pockets in her workout clothes, Brooklyn was left holding Zora's card awkwardly.

"As you can see, I operate and represent a company that designs, produces and markets sports clothing, equipment and miscellanea." Zora delivered her pitch like she'd rehearsed it a hundred times. Brooklyn couldn't help but find that level of ice-cold professionalism disturbing, but even beyond that, there was something uniquely unsettling about this woman. Was it her eyes? Her smile? "Among other things, we trade in sports models, and as CEO, one of my many responsibilities is to oversee the recruitment of new such talent. I'm here in that capacity, and I think you would make a wonderful model for us."

"You... what?" Brooklyn definitely needed her morning coffee. There was no way she was actually hearing this. "Me? Ms. Carmine, you sure you don't mean, uh, one of the other women here?"

She gestured around the room. There were half a dozen or so other women, all of them busy working out and all of them clearly in much, much better shape than Brooklyn was.

"I'm not looking for them," Zora said, without ever taking her eyes away from Brooklyn. Brooklyn noticed her jaw twitching slightly, with impatience. "I'm looking for something special. And please, you can simply call me Zora."

Brooklyn did a double-take. She couldn't believe what she was wearing. Being a model was a fantasy, but she knew she didn't have the confidence for it. And besides, some things were too good to be true. "But I'm not-"

Her words died in her throat when Zora reached out and grabbed Brooklyn firmly by her chin. Somehow, that single, strong touch completely short-circuited Brooklyn's brain, and she was left staring dumbstruck and helpless at the forceful CEO, even letting Zora manipulate her like a doll, turning her head this way and that to carefully inspect her face from all angles.

"Yes... good..." Zora murmured, entirely to herself. "Good bone structure. Pretty lips. Promising hair. No use right now, of course. But abundant with potential."

The way she looked at Brooklyn, sizing her up like a piece of meat, made the helpless girl's blood run cold. But still, she didn't resist, and she barely breathed until Zora released her grip.

"W... what the hell was..." Brooklyn had no idea what to say, and Zora was still standing uncomfortably close to her, leaving her with no space at all to think or catch her breath.

Zora sighed, and spoke slowly, as if she was dealing with a small child. "I am offering you an opportunity to be my model. Are you going to take it?"

Part of Brooklyn wanted to say 'yes' very badly, but another part of her couldn't bear another moment in the presence of this terrifying woman. Conflicted, she was left stammering stupidly. "I just... I simply... I mean... I d-don't understand, what do you actually-"

"Be quiet," Zora snapped, cutting her off once again. Brooklyn's mouth closed. Zora started tapping her foot, the clack of her high heel loud on the gym's hard floor. "I suppose it's fortunate I don't require your intellect for you to be an important asset for my company."

Her tone was withering enough to make Brooklyn shrink. She couldn't help it. She wanted to fight back, to walk off or make some kind of equally rude comment in return, but she simply couldn't. Zora was a picture of confidence and authority. She spoke like she'd never once in her life been disobeyed, and every single fold in her unbelievably expensive-looking suit was ironed, tailored and styled to perfect. She was exactly the kind of woman Brooklyn was awful at standing up to.

"Allow me to make everything much simpler for you." Zora put her hand up to Brooklyn's face again, ignoring the way the intimidated girl flinched. But instead of grabbing her firmly by the chin, she instead simply touched her fingertips to the side of Brooklyn's face, slowly and languidly drawing the tips of her manicured nails across Brooklyn's skin as she stroked her cheek. "Just listen to me. Listen very closely. Even you can do that much, can't you?"

"W-what... what are you doing?" Brooklyn managed to force out. She felt unbelievably weak, and all she could think about was the way all the hairs on her skin were standing on end. Why was a single touch ruining her this much?

"I'm hypnotizing you," Zora told her matter-of-factly. "You're clearly incapable of making a sensible decision by yourself. Now, look into my eyes."

Hypnotizing her? It sounded like a bad joke, but Brooklyn couldn't find the humor in it when she found her eyes obediently turning upwards to gaze into Zora's. The haughty CEO's stare was utterly commanding and utterly cold.

"It's really very simple," Zora told her quietly and efficiently, holding her gaze without blinking. "I'm going to overwhelm your poor, stupid little mind with confusing, ambiguous sensations until your consciousness gives in and submits to me. Understand?"

Brooklyn felt the insane urge to nod agreeably, but she couldn't even manage that. She was frozen stiff. Zora's touch on her skin was as light as air - so light, it felt more like a gentle breeze than a touch. It was captivating. Somehow, it was so delicate it seemed to swallow up all of Brooklyn's attention.

"You see," Zora continued, raising her other hand to touch the other side of Brooklyn's face, her fingertips moving together symmetrically. "Right now, your body can't quite tell if it's being touched or not, and that's driving you crazy. Until your brain makes up its mind about that, it's just going to stall out uselessly. And I won't let it make up its mind."

Brooklyn found herself sweating. It was true. It was working just like Zora said. She could feel it. No matter how hard she berated herself, she just couldn't think. It was maddening, and made her feel small and stupid, especially under Zora's withering gaze. It didn't help that she felt like she was getting tunnel vision. The gym around her was falling into the void. All she could see was Zora's pale blue eyes.

"Eye contact is part of it too," Zora added, as if she was sensing Brooklyn's thoughts. "It's one more thing for your poor, weak mind to struggle to focus on, and it has a naturally compelling effect on the human mind. Did you know that wolves use eye contact to establish dominance? It's animal, instinctive."

Brooklyn would have done anything to be allowed to blink, but she couldn't do that either. She couldn't do anything. She was helpless. She was in Zora's power. The business card slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor.

"Oh, and I'm not telling you all of this simply for fun." Out of the corners of her rapidly-shrinking vision, Brooklyn could see the corners of Zora's lips curling into a victorious smirk. "I'm telling you this to plant suggestions in your mind. I'm priming you to accept my words as the truth, and to let them guide you into a hypnotic trance. You can't resist it, Brooklyn. You're already too far gone for that."

Brooklyn started trembling, white spots appearing in her field of view. If Zora could just stop touching her for just one moment...

"So now that you know that," Zora concluded, bringing her fingertips together on Brooklyn's forehead, still using that maddening light touch to keep her from fighting back. "I can tell you that I'm going to bring my hands down your face. And when I do, I'm going to tell you to sleep. And when I do that, you're going to close your eyes, and you're going to go to sleep for me. Understand?"

Brooklyn tried to force herself to shake her head, but she failed yet again, and Zora seemed to take the weak, dizzy, sleepy look in her eyes for acceptance.

"Good." She dragged her fingertips down across Brooklyn's face, and the moment they passed her eyes, Brooklyn's eyelids fell shut. "Sleep."

And that was the last thing Brooklyn remembered.

***

When awareness started to return to Brooklyn, it came slowly. She started to become conscious of where she was and what she was doing, but it all felt distant, like she was in a dream. She could see herself, feel herself, but not control herself. Everything happened automatically. Even the burning ache of her muscles as she worked out felt muted and numb.

The workout felt like it lasted for an eternity. Certainly, it lasted a very long time. Brooklyn felt herself go through set after set of pull-ups, sit-ups, and squats. She went through almost every single weight machine in the entire gym, working them until her body was on the verge of giving out. She'd entered the gym in the early morning, but by the time her exertions came to an end, the sun was high in the sky. Despite how strange and concerning the experience was, Brooklyn felt faintly proud of herself. This was the kind of exercise regimen she'd always told herself she wanted. But whatever pride and pleasure she might have taken in the achievement was dulled by what she could always see, out of the corner of her eye.

Zora Carmine, intently watching her work out.

The sight of the rich, stern-looking CEO filled Brooklyn's stomach with butterflies, but she couldn't have explained why. It didn't help that she remembered so little of their earlier conversation. She remembered Zora introducing herself, she remembered something about a modeling gig... and that was it. But then, why did she feel so beholden of the strange woman? Why did she feel so afraid? Why did Zora's cruel smile of approval send a pleasurable chill down her spine? It made no sense, but what made even less sense was the way Zora approached her once she was done with her workout.

"That was perfect, Brooklyn," she purred, eyes shining. "Well, for your first day, anyway. I knew it. You're going to be an ideal asset."

Brooklyn's chills doubled. "T-thank you, uh, Zora," she replied awkwardly.

Zora tapped her chin with a fingertip. "Actually, I think you should really call me 'Ms. Carmine' from now on, don't you agree?" It sounded like a polite suggestion, but the steel beneath her words made it clear it was anything but.

Brooklyn instinctively straightened her back a little. "Right. Of course. Yes, Ms. Carmine." Why was she acting like this? Why was she being obedient? What was going on?

"Good girl," Ms. Carmine told her, and Brooklyn almost gasped at how it felt. "Well, I expect to see you back here tomorrow. Understood?"

"T-tomorrow?" Brooklyn asked timidly, already having to fight the compulsion to simply agree. She hadn't been planning on coming to the gym twice in a row, had she?

"Oh yes," Ms. Carmine answered, laughing. "You have to work out daily, Brooklyn. It's in your contract."

"My... what?" Alarm bells were ringing everywhere in Brooklyn's head.

"Your contract." Ms. Carmine reached into her handbag and unfurled from it a piece of paper. From what Brooklyn could see, it was indeed a legal contract. And on the bottom, in unmistakable handwriting, was Brooklyn's signature.

Brooklyn's blood ran cold. She didn't remember signing any contract. "T-t-that's impossible!" she blurted out, panicked.

"Brooklyn," Ms. Carmine said pityingly, laughing again. "It's not impossible at all. In fact, it's signed in triplicate. The other copies have already been validated by my legal department.

Brooklyn's head started to spin like she was falling, as it dawned on her just how much trouble she was in.

"You're more than welcome to reacquaint yourself with the precise terms at your leisure," Ms. Carmine finished, turning on her heels and striding away. "But I'd be happy to summarize them for you. It's really very simple."

Somehow, Brooklyn just knew what she was going to say next.

"I own you now."

***

"Six... seven... eight... nine... ten."

The room was silent, save for the sound of Brooklyn's weighty grunts as she counted her reps. No more public gyms for her. She exercised in the private suite at Ms. Carmine's company. She couldn't quite remember how long that had been the case. Just like she couldn't remember how long she'd been working for Ms. Carmine, or how long it had been since she'd quit her old job. In fact, she couldn't even remember what her old job had been.

None of which bothered her at all. Brooklyn cared about nothing except the ecstatic burning in her hips as she forced herself through the last few squats of her set. She lived for that feeling now: the burn, the gains, the wonderful exhaustion that came from a whole day devoted to improving her physique.

And how she'd improved her physique!

In the time - weeks? months? who knew? - since Ms. Carmine had become her manager, Brooklyn's body had changed almost beyond recognition. There was no more of that puppy fat left anywhere on her. Instead, she had biceps that bulged when she flexed, and thighs that could crush a watermelon with ease. Wherever she went, she had people staring at her chiseled abs and round, firm ass. She was built like an amazon now, and Brooklyn loved it. Whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she always ended up spending whole minutes admiring herself, a big, dumb grin on her face.

It wasn't just the muscles, though. It was also the style. Her long hair was gone, cut dyke-short, and Ms. Carmine insisted she dressed the way a sports model should, which seemed to mean a lot of yoga pants, tight jeans, and flannel over a crop top or even just a sports bra. Brooklyn loved showing off her abs that way. It was strange, though. She could have sworn she remembered longing to wear dresses and skirts instead. Sometimes she got confused about that.

Fortunately, whenever she got confused, Ms. Carmine would do something that involved touching Brooklyn's face, and then all her confusion melted away into thin air. Ms. Carmine was so kind, and so much better at thinking than Brooklyn would ever be.

Well, maybe 'kind' wasn't quite right. Brooklyn's manager and owner was the strictest and sternest taskmaster she'd ever met. She was always quick with criticism or a withering comment, especially whenever Brooklyn tried taking the initiative about something. But Brooklyn figured it was fine for her to treat her that way.

Ms. Carmine owned her, after all. That always made perfect sense to Brooklyn.

"How are you getting on, Brooklyn?"

At the sound of her owner's voice, Brooklyn snapped to attention, looking over at the doorway. Ms. Carmine was stood there, wearing, as ever, a finely-tailored suit that made her look just as sharp and vicious as Brooklyn knew her to be.

"I just finished for the day, Ms. Carmine," Brooklyn reported. She didn't question why her urge to obey was so powerful. Ms. Carmine was her owner. She had to be loyal to her owner.

"Good." Ms. Carmine's small nod of approval had Brooklyn grinning from ear to ear. "You seem like you're coming along very nicely. Follow me to my office. I want to see how my prize asset is progressing."

"Yes, Ms. Carmine."

Ms. Carmine was already turning and walking away. Brooklyn quickly trotted after her, slinging a towel around her neck and using its ends to mop some of the sweat from her brow. She was now far more physically imposing than the businesswoman, but she followed obediently at her heels like a well-trained puppy as Ms. Carmine led her through the private suites of her company's building, all the way to her personal office. She took her seat behind the desk, leaving Brooklyn standing at attention in front of her.

"Now," Ms. Carmine said, pouring herself a scotch from the bottle under her desk. "Show me. Pose."

For Brooklyn, obedience was instinctive and immediate. It had been drilled into her over and over again. She slipped effortlessly into a simple pose, feet at right-angles with one hand resting on her hip and the other hanging at her side. Modeling was being conditioned into her just as much as exercise was. This pose was basic, but designed to draw attention to her hips and powerful arms.

"Very good," Ms. Carmine purred, sipping from her scotch. "I made the right choice with you - naturally."

Brooklyn could feel her owner's eyes across her skin, and it filled with a different kind of heat to the one she'd felt working out. She loved being stared at like that. Like a hunk of meat. She had vague memories of finding attention like that a little off-putting and scary, but that must have been a long time ago. Now, she lived for it. As a model, yearned for women to appreciate her muscles and butch, masc appeal. After all, she was a hunk of meat. Brooklyn was her body. She did little each day except figure out how to make her body more muscular, more defined, more alluring. She knew it was superficial. She knew some of her friends were starting to call her a jock. She didn't care. She loved it.