FormeX

I was deep in thought on the train home, staring vacantly at my Flashcast account when a teenager reached around from behind me and grabbed my boob. I yelled and dropping my phone into my bag so I could slap him, but he just laughed and backed away, then fled through the doors to the next car. I pursued him, but we were pulling into a stop and he exited to the platform, so I huffed and went back to my seat. Only when I went to retrieve my phone did I realise someone else had nicked it right out of my bag while I'd been distracted.

By then the doors had closed and the train began to leave the station; I knew my phone was gone for good.

It wasn't until I got home that I found out that they'd not only stolen my phone, they'd also stolen my Flashcast account by using the forgotten password process. They were now using it to advertise a FanFap account claiming to be me, which they'd been able to set up using my own phone for two-factor authentication. Worse, they'd posted some of my private lewds to direct my fans to this account.

I hurried to buy a new phone, set it up, and begin the process to reclaim my account by presenting proof of identity. This hit a roadblock when my face didn't look very much like my driver's license at all. In the meantime, I was locked out of almost all my other accounts because I'd used my phone as the extra authentication method. I couldn't even tell Crystal what had happened.

I thought about going to the police, but quailed at the thought of the unsavoury story I'd have to tell, and also how unlikely it was that they would take me seriously in the first place. The only rational thing to do at that point was to cry myself to sleep, so that's what I did.

In the bright light of morning, things didn't seem much less bleak. For one thing, my Flashcast account had by then been suspended for terms of service violation. Surely my FormeX competition entry was beyond recovery at that point.

After I'd temporarily gotten my fill of laying about feeling sorry for myself I began to restore what I could, which included my banking app. With my wits more about me I found that there were ways to recover many of my accounts using things like personal questions, and I felt slightly better when I realised that the thieves had actually only been able to take my Flashcast account because it had been open when they'd snatched it; the rest of my accounts were apparently no more accessible to them than to me.

That made me feel somewhat better, enough to order pizza delivery, stuff my face with it, and gave myself a slight reprieve from dismal thoughts by masturbating to the sight of my enhanced body in the mirror. This reminded me of the FanFap account, and I thought about how unfair it was that they would be able to profit off my body. It felt like a violation, of course, but also an impediment to the plan that was taking shape in the back of my mind regarding how to make money now that I was unemployed and perhaps unemployable.

Only then did I realise that FanFap's identity confirmation process might actually allow me to seize the account the thieves had set up in my name. Very quickly I discovered that not only would it be possible, a sympathetic live representative was available to walk me through the whole process. It actually didn't take very much time, and the discovery that the thieves hadn't been able to withdraw any money from the account's shockingly large number of subscriptions filled me with delicious schadenfreude.

"So, just to confirm before I do it, you want to close the account and refund the subscribers, correct?" the representative asked me.

"Uh, is there another option?" I asked, not having considered that I had any choice about the matter.

"Well, it's your material and your account, so you can just take control and use it how you please. You can delete any content you didn't want shared, add new content, whatever you want, and of course keep the subscription money."

"You said most of them are free trials."

"Yes, but not all, and the conversion rate to paid accounts can be pretty high. Sometimes over 50%. And we waive the first six months of the service fee for completely new paid FanFap users, only deducting the transaction costs. That's basically a 35% bonus. So you could make a lot of money."

"Wow. How much?" I asked. Not that I couldn't handle the arithmetic, but I was too discombobulated to do it at that moment.

"Assuming 50% conversion, $6,824.22 at the end of the month. And that's assuming no further growth and no tips."

"After fees?"

"After fees. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you made three times that. Some of the girls on here take home over a million dollars a year. I mean, Bonnie Sharp makes millions per month. Though obviously that's after working at it for a while."

Millions? I could retire off that sort of money. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course! Just contact us if and when you decide to shut down your account. Until then, it's yours to do with as you please."

"Thank you!"

There wasn't really any uncertainty about what I'd choose, because what choice did I have? And the money seemed impossibly good.

Unfortunately, the money really was impossibly good, in the sense that I didn't make nearly the money she suggested, because the existing subscriber base had been enticed by the thieves' release of my private videos and promises of 'hardcore' action. When I tried to explain what had happened, loads of them didn't believe me, or blamed me for their disappointment at me removing much of the material the thieves had shared, or just weren't interested if I wasn't there to get stuffed on camera for their entertainment. Some remained, of course, but when I compared myself to other major FanFap creators who made fortunes without being explicit I recognised that they had kinds of charisma and skills that I lacked. For one thing, I was not particularly good at flirting with men, or women, for that matter. For another, I didn't know much about video games or any of the other cultural touchstones germane to e-girls, gamer girls, cosplayers and so on.

I thought about trying to talk about cryptocurrency because there seemed to be a huge hunger for big-titted girls talking about financial nerd stuff, but not only had I not actually learned a whole lot of actual technical information about my old company's product before being fired, the product itself ended up being infamously hacked on the first day it was released to the public, resulting in over a hundred million dollars in cryptocurrency being stolen by the time the hack was discovered days later. Obviously associating myself with that debacle would do me no favours.

With bills coming due soon, I decided to do a special event for some of my more avid fans, promising to bare all and perform requests in return for tips. I clearly explained ahead of time that I didn't plan show myself above the neck for this special event, but one of them seemed very convinced that this was just my coquettish way of saying that I would show my face once the tips got big enough. He became extremely irate after tipping over two grand and I still refused to show my face, and though some other fans defended me, a few seemed to agree with him. I don't know how much of that seeming owed to the distorted perception amidst the first panic attack I'd had in a long time, but regardless of reality, in the midst of the panic attack it felt like even those defending me privately agreed with his claim that I was no better than a scammer.

In the grips of that panic, I quit the session, but that just made me feel like quitting without even saying anything would prove to everyone else that I was a scammer and a fake. I wondered if they were even wrong, and in my altered state, I felt compelled to go through with refunding everything and deleting my account.

That made me feel even worse, of course, because now I was going to get immediately evicted from my apartment when I couldn't pay my bills, be thrown on the street, be kidnaped by a sex trafficker or a serial killer, etc. I hid under the covers and sobbed uncontrollably for hours until exhaustion took me.

The morning after I felt depressed and hopeless, but at least the panic attack was over, and I could see that I still had options. I wouldn't immediately be evicted; there was a whole process the landlord would have to go through. I'd really ruined my FanFap account, though, and my prospects for paying the bills had legitimately gotten much worse.

I managed to steel myself to negotiate with my landlord, who agreed not to start eviction proceedings if I showed that I had a job or an offer by the end of the month, In the event that I didn't find a job that quickly, he said he'd start eviction proceedings but promised to dismiss them if I came up with a way of paying.

With my doom postponed, my post-panic depressive episode started to ebb, but it didn't leave me hopeful. I felt like at any time another panic attack could destroy any progress I'd made. So, despite how the other accessories I'd gotten had complicated my life, I decided to try wearing the calming earrings.

I could immediately feel a little buzz come over me, like I was slightly drunk and slightly horny. What I was not, was anxious. The sensation increased as I began to worry that anything capable of making me feel that way was also capable of causing brain damage, but amazingly I was able to think the thought without feeling paralysed by it. I actually sort of thought it was funny, and found myself laughing a little at the idea.

I was definitely feeling a little loopy and distracted, but not so badly that I lost my train of thought, and so I went to remove the earrings. It wasn't that tricky of a process, just pulling back a spring-loaded latch and rotating the loop out of my ear, but when I tripped the latch, the buzz became so powerful I really did forget what I was doing, and instead of removing the earrings I ended up making dinner while indulging in an idle fantasy of a romantic partner sitting at the table watching my bum wiggle as I worked.

It didn't take long for me to remember that I had intended to remove the earrings, but not why I hadn't actually done so. When I tried again having forgotten what happened with the first attempt, the same thing recurred, and of course I didn't recall it then, either. I don't know how many times that evening I remembered and tried again, but it must have been dozens that evening alone, based on how I singed the meal and how many times I masturbated to orgasm. At some point, perhaps days later, I stopped even trying, because the repeated experience had somehow trained my brain to immediately jump track if I thought about removing the earrings. I couldn't even think about thinking about removing the earrings, so I really didn't notice that anything was wrong.

It's impossible to truly explain how much wearing the earrings changed my life, but it was dramatic enough that things that I'd found crippling in the past were suddenly bearable, or even enjoyable. I found myself applying for a massive number of jobs, including many for which I had barely any qualifications, which I would never have been able to manage previously. I also got quite a few interviews, and bombed them almost uniformly through some combination of being patently unqualified, giggling like a dolt at the wrong moments, and flirting with the interviewer. Looking like a total bimbo didn't help either.

The earrings also allowed me to enjoy the fact that my body continued to change, with my lips swelling into big dumb pillows, my tits looking like I'd gotten the sort of extreme augmentation one had to find special doctors to perform, and a booty fit for shaking in a particularly crude video. It wasn't that the earrings forced an artificial sense of enjoyment, it simply left unopposed that part of me that felt pride at having to order a made-to-order 30N bra. I also felt almost smugly relieved that my tits kept a lot of their shape even without a bra, owing to the bodycon suit that I had long since given up on removing. And I didn't feel so bad about being so gratified by my hypersexualised look -- after all, I had decided that this is what a smart, fashionable woman like Crystal wanted for herself, so it wasn't weird for me to also enjoy it. All the earrings did is prevent me from pointlessly worrying about the downsides I couldn't do anything about.

They also got me a job with a sort of slimy commercial real estate agent who hired me to run the front desk, and also to provide sexual favours. I refused to do the latter, but I refused in a sultry teasing way that seemed to confuse and please him enough to defuse any impulse to retaliate. I ended up keeping that job and even being sort of popular despite the fact that I blatantly ignored most of the work I didn't want to do.

That job keep me from being evicted straightaway, but it didn't pay enough to be able to live after paying rent, so my landlord let me out of the lease early in return for letting him keep my last month's deposit. To save money, I moved in with one of the other girls at the office. Kelsie didn't even like me at first, but after seeing enough of me to convince her that my behaviour wasn't an act she decided to see me in a favourable light. She thought I was doing my best whilst legitimately brain damaged or otherwise cognitively impaired.

Ironically, Kelsie got me back on Flashcast again, introducing me to her fans as a way to boost her account's popularity. It worked so well that she began taking me along on some of her influencer image outings and got me included in some of the free clothing sets. Of course my earrings had to come off for this, but now that there was someone else to take them off for me, off they came. By then the electroshock therapy or whatever it was had done its job well enough that the anxiety didn't return. I actually felt smarter than I ever had, though through a strange interaction with my inability to sustain contemplation of the "calming" earrings, I instead decided that feeling sexy was what was keeping the anxiety away, and that if my thinking got too muddled, that meant it was time to rub out an orgasm.

This newly conscious strategy did not convince anyone who had already formed their opinions of me that I was smarter or more collected, and it wasn't as if people saw past my look when making first impressions, either. I didn't lose my job immediately when the lech who hired me was replaced by someone more professional, but the new guy fired me the very first time a client had to wait at the vacant reception desk while I was busy masturbating in the bathroom.

Perhaps in was her conscience, or maybe she just decided it was my only hope for supporting myself, but Kelsie overbore my weakly-phrased objections and set me up with my own Flashcast account more or less under my real name so I could try to get my own sponsorships. Though I know she wrestled with her own worries that I might compete with her for sponsors, she was actually very supportive, even proud of me when I surpassed her follower count. I think it helped that my followers were different from hers, and my sponsored opportunities mostly less lucrative because my lifestyle couldn't be passed off as aspirational. A few women might want to be both dumb and dummy thicc, but not so many that it represented a huge market, and I couldn't try to pretend I was a rich globetrotter even if I wanted to because my guest spots on Kelsie's feed had revealed too much of my true circumstances.

If I'd opened another FanFap account I would of course have been able to make a small fortune, but it had been such an unpleasant experience last time that I was not in a hurry to make another go. This turned out to be a fine choice. Kelsie's narrative around me being a salt of the earth sort as well as mentally slow resulted in a persona that appealed to far more people that any of us would have expected.

It was amazing how everyone from strident feminists to retrograde chauvinists both found ways to like me. Many who might ordinarily criticise me for the cosmetic procedures they assumed I'd undergone or my apparent lack of ambition agreed that I wasn't really cut out for more intellectual pursuits, and appreciated how supportive and thankful I was toward my friends. Many men seemed convinced that I was chaste despite how I acted and dressed, because I didn't go after any of the rich men who flirted with me, and they couldn't conceive of someone who looked like me being a lesbian. Plenty of lesbians had no trouble suspecting me, but of course everyone else just assumed that was wishful thinking or something. Regardless, when I referred to myself as a bit of a bimbo, no one considered it demeaning like they would if directed at someone who was not so undeniably stupid as they thought I was. I also think that people respected the way I steadfastly, if somewhat vacantly, resisted attempts to cajole or bully me into doing anything I didn't want to do.

Part II: Full Filled Dreams

When I passed one million followers, Kelsie surprised me with one of two large mylar balloons spelling out "1M" and a gaggle of her other influencer friends holding a sign congratulating bouncy_blonde_barbie_brown on my achievement. I bounced in genuine joy as required, and asked Kelsie a question that sounded truly stupid without context.

"How much is that?"

"One million?" Kelsie asked as the other girls laughed, misinterpreting my question.

Kelsie actually grasped what I was asking, which was the bonus amount I could claim from my primary sponsor based on the contract she'd helped me negotiate.

"Over a thousand," she said with a kind of smirk, knowing how it sounded, and also knowing me well enough to realise I was probably letting myself sound idiotic on purpose. Which wasn't to say that she thought I was intelligent, so much as she perceived a sort of animal cunning in the ways I deployed my reputation for stupidity in advantageous ways.

"Wow," I said, both because that was more than I thought and because that was the sort of thing my followers expected.

For various reasons, that exchange went viral in a gigantic way, getting played on late night television and being turned into several different memes. My follower count skyrocketed, as did Kelsie's to a lesser extent, and we began to get invited onto some pretty big shows. Well, they tried to invite me directly, but I ignored all that stuff because reading my DMs and really any sort of unmoderated commentary was deadly. Kelsie, on the other hand, was treated a bit like my manager, which wasn't far from the truth, and so she told me about some of the offers.

I turned them all down except the Helen show, because she seemed especially nice and had on all sorts of silly guests rather than just movie stars and important people.

"Is it safe to say that you're smarter than people think you are?" she asked me after talking to Kelsie for the first bit.

"Oh yes. I could hardly be as stupid as people think I am," I said, to a great deal of laughter. It didn't feel mean-spirited at all and I was enjoying myself.

"Do you have ambitions you don't tell people about that would surprise them?"

"Yes," I said.

"Oh yeah?" Helen said, sounding surprised, "Like what? Any you're willing to share?"

"No, because then I'd be telling people about them," I pointed out.

"I guess I can see the logic there," Helen said, chuckling. "Do you tell Kelsie about them?"

"Kelsie's a person, too," I said solemnly.

After the laughter died down, Helen changed gears a little. "Do you consider yourself an ambitious person?"

"I don't know. I guess ambition got me here, but also, like, a bunch of stuff just happened, like meeting Kelsie. I'm not sure how different that is, though. No one gets to the top without a lot of luck."