Witless Protection Program

"I guess not," she agreed without conviction. "They could be a bit higher, don't you think?"

"You're at the perfect balance of size, perkiness, and softness," I asserted.

"I wish I was as big as you, though," she said. "Don't you love having the biggest boobs in the Squad?"

"Sure," I agreed to forestall an awkward conversation, "But then you wouldn't be so perky. Or you would have the kind of hard-looking breasts that probably don't feel so good."

"I guess that's true. But these girls look, like, super hot, don't they?"

"Yeah," I said skeptically, "But how much can you trust pictures online?"

"There's video, too!"

"Two second loops," Kayley interjected. "Lots of girls use special video filters and clip out just the video that looks best. Who knows how good they actually look?"

"Oh," Nikki said, disappointed. "I suppose it was too good to be true."

I didn't say anything, but I'd begun to see signs that CHANGE-like techniques were cropping up in black market labs in various corners of the world, catering to those willing to look outside government-approved treatments to achieve an edge. It was obvious that many practitioners hadn't mastered the 'heterogeneous' part of the change, resulting in only one or two tissues being properly transformed and still requiring some surgery to achieve desired outcomes. What reports I could find, though, suggested it did have virtues compared to traditional cosmetic surgery alone. Not that the scholarship was very reliable concerning procedures performed by clinics with organized crime affiliations.

Regardless, it was obvious that elements of the technology that had gotten our original identities 'killed' had begun to escape secrecy. Was it the perpetrators? Independent discoveries? Unrelated leaks of the X-25 technique? I had very little information to work with.

It was clear that someone in the government was wondering some of the same things. Federal agents of some kind showed up and took Brandy away for an 'interview' that was more of an interrogation. It distressed her to think that they thought she'd been hiding memories of her past life and couldn't imagine why they suspected her. I remembered the camera light on the shared laptop from months prior and kept guiltily silent as she related her frightening experience to us later.

Fortunately no one remotely suspected Nikki and I. Deserved or not, everyone considered us the dumbest girls in the Squad. And if the agents had asked Brandy to rank the other members in order of which she thought might know anything, she would likely have selected me as the densest of all.

But, while I might have forgotten how to drive an auto or manage finances, I was not dense at all when it came to exactly those topics the agents interrogated Brandy about, so I redoubled my efforts to present myself as someone entirely incapable of being part of a secret plot.

Scatter Plot

Either some change occurred at WITSEC or we'd forgotten the schedule, because approximately nine months after our first arrival at Phoenix House, our participation in the program was suddenly terminated and we were told to find our own live situations. They gave us a number of brochures and guides on how to find and apply for rentals, but otherwise we were on our own.

Of necessity, then, the title "Hot House" moved to a newly-rented apartment. Kayley somehow leveraged her budding PikPok fame to secure quite a posh place for us at a very reasonable rate. Nice as it was, however, six women in even a large apartment remained somewhat tightly packed. At least, that was how I felt when I attempted to find space to continue my research in private.

The final message I got from REDOWL before we moved had left me doubly committed to my studies, partly because I thought it hinted at the possibility of CHANGE technology revised to specify which organs would be included in the cascade - allowing the exclusion of brains and therefore risks of memory loss and other brain damage. Once that was mastered, I could demand to be changed back to my old self. Or something like; I knew I'd been Mackenzie Cummins before I'd become Honey Suckle, but I knew I'd been through multiple rounds of CHANGE and X-25 and the cute blonde in my mind's eye didn't match some of my memories from when I'd been in the Army. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go back to being a brunette, amongst other things. Sure, people thought blondes were dumber, but it wouldn't be like I was now, with everyone taking one look and assuming I hadn't two neurons to rub together. I also liked the boobs, frankly, but if I was taller again they wouldn't look so ridiculous. I'd probably still have to shrink them down somewhat to be taken seriously, but I wouldn't have to go back to being small-titted. Probably D-cups or just a bit bigger.

The other part of the reason the REDOWL message reinforced my commitments to my studies, and more specifically the secrecy with which I conducted them, was the reminder not to try to contact them until they contacted me, which made me wonder if there was some kind of counterintelligence risk afoot. It was pure speculation on my part, but the other possibility that occurred to me, that they were close to bringing charges against someone in the case, also suggested I should keep up with my studies. It was the only way I could get my old job back, and if I couldn't find work in biotechnology, I'd never make enough money to live on my own.

Honestly, I was so scatterbrained in many ways, I wasn't sure I could live on my own even with plenty of money. My memory had improved in some ways, and whether it was lipsticks or codon sequences my mind was a steel trap, but when it came to personal memories like needing to pay bills or what my password was, I was as hopeless as ever. If it hadn't been for Brandy managing my schedule and finances, and my phone alerts telling me when I had dogs I needed to walk, I wouldn't have been able to manage at all.

It was just my luck, then, that Brandy disappeared.

Scatter Brain

It took several days for Amber to find out that Brandy had been taken into custody by men in suits whilst exiting the school. Presumably she would eventually be released again, but without knowing why she had been detained and by whom, it was anybody's guess how long she'd be gone.

In the meantime I wasn't completely stuck. Brandy had been keeping track of schedules and other memoranda for both Nikki and I, and Nikki knew how to access them. She was also better at remembering to do so, so she was able to tell me when I needed to pay a bill or go to an appointment. What she did not know was how to get into my accounts, so I effectively had no money whatsoever. With her heart of gold, she unhesitatingly paid my bills from her own savings despite my protests that she would soon run out of money if Brandy didn't return soon.

Nikki surely didn't intend to play on my sense of obligation when she offered to host me as a guest performer on her ForFans channel, but I didn't feel like I could turn down an offer that would allow me to repay her for her generosity while I was waiting for Brandy to return. And, once I started, I discovered I didn't mind much at all. All I had to do was forget the camera was there and let Nikki handle all the interaction with the punters.

My amazing ability to forget whatever wasn't in my field of view stood me in good stead, and I just let Nikki position me as needed. It wasn't really anything particularly explicit at first, just playing video games in underwear, pillow fights, and other silliness. The only portion I didn't like as much was entirely non-sexual: question and answer sessions with the fans. Because they discovered that I was stunningly ignorant about common topics, it amused them to ask me very simple questions and watch me struggle to answer. They also came to believe that I was nearly illiterate because I didn't like looking at the chat window so Nikki always read the questions to me.

Even outside of performances Nikki took to referring to me as 'not such a good reader.' My objections were somewhat futile because the rest of the Squad reassured me in a very condescending way that they knew I 'read well enough' and I didn't know how to disabuse them of the notion that I struggled with it without giving away secrets.

That likely saved us all when agents of some unknown, possibly criminal, organization barged into the Hot House searching for secrets. They didn't quite ransack the place, exactly, because they were far more methodical than that, but after several hours of diligently pulling apart and examining nearly everything in the whole flat, it was definitely a shambles. They also demanded access to all our computers and phones, and scanned them all very carefully.

Because I'd been afraid of something like this happening, I had prepared by creating an alternate account that, when accessed, caused the whole computer appear to be encrypted by ransomware for which the payment deadline already elapsed. They were very angry, but they seemed to already expect me to be the sort of hapless bimbo who would get herself into such a scrape and accepted my tearful story about not understanding the message. Despite their resignation, their superiors instructed them to take my laptop away to see if anything could be recovered, and I could only cross my fingers that they didn't figure out that my computer had in fact infected itself.

We were watched very carefully for a while after that, until ultimately Brandy was returned with bigger breasts, bigger bum, and no memory of her absence. In fact, her memory loss seemed similar to my own, where she'd forgotten all manner of facts about herself and the world, but retained most of her systematic knowledge. She had to do makeup classwork to catch up in her studies, but she was able to do so with Nikki helping her to access and adhere to her schedule.

Unfortunately this assistance didn't extend to triggering Brandy's memory of how to get access to my accounts, especially without my laptop to remember passwords and the like. Without it, we didn't even recall which bank held my account, which was a very stupid situation to be in.

The organization that had taken my laptop sent a predatorily-friendly woman to return it - blank, of course - who apologized for the inconvenience and presented an offer to assist in our careers as recompense.

"Usually they would cost tens of thousands of dollars, but my employer is willing to provide the same sort of improvements we gave your friend Brandy, entirely gratis," she said.

"Wait, what?" I said, disquieted by the confirmation that we were in the clutches of one of the shady organizations attempting to obtain CHANGE-like technologies.

"It means, 'free', Hon," Nikki explained helpfully. "That would be really great, thank you! No strings attached?"

"There are always strings attached, Nikki, but in this case you just have let us examine your progress after the treatment."

In other words they wanted to use us as test subjects.

Bubble Brain

I objected that I didn't want to look just like Brandy and the woman assured us that we could choose to look just how we liked, and Nikki's enthusiasm made it impossible for me to refuse without arousing suspicions from the sharp-eyed woman.

Then came the second problem: I was basically illiterate by reputation, so Nikki filled out my preference specification on my behalf. I got her to agree that I didn't want my butt or boobs to be too heavy and I wanted to be a little taller if possible, but it seemed like she was spending a lot of time tweaking the 'settings' for my treatment.

"It's not going to, like, hurt my brain, is it?" I dared to ask the woman, trying to find a way to back out. "I'm kind of thick already."

She seemed to consider that, and nodded. "Fair enough. Nikki, select the second item from the bottom on the third page. It's called 'neuropil stabilization', which is a thing that helps prevent any changes to higher brain function."

"It keeps me from forgetting things?" I asked.

"It prevents the treatment from causing you to forget things you knew before," the woman confirmed, watching me closely.

"Oh, that sounds good," I said, though her exact explanation didn't sound all that good to me. Nikki asked a follow-up question while I was still trying to figure out how to do so within character.

"Does it make you more forgetful, though? 'Cause she's already really forgetful," Nikki said. Which wasn't as true as it used to be, but wasn't false, either.

"For a little while, yes, while the treatment is in progress, but once it's over you should be better than ever. It has actually been used as a treatment to improve memory with some success."

That was such unexpected good news that I missed my chance to ask more, because we were whisked to the clinic straightaway in the back of a black Escalade.

"It seemed like you spent a lot of time on mine," I said to Nikki during the ride, conscious of the possibility that someone was listening.

"Yeah, I put a lot of thought into it, and I remembered all the things you've said about what you like."

"What I've said about what I like?" I echoed, trying to think of what she meant. "Like not wanting to be too heavy?"

"Exactly! But not just that. I know you like them soft, and big but not too saggy, and all that."

"And all that?" I echoed again.

"Like, you love your nipples sucked."

I blushed, thinking of anyone overhearing us. "Well, yeah."

"Trust me, Hon, you'll love it," she assured me, and those are the last words I could remember for some time, because shortly thereafter the neuropil stabilizer shot they gave me as soon as we arrived also prevented forming any new long term memories for several hours.

I vaguely recall arriving back at the Hot House feeling like I was going to sick up, but by morning I was already feeling more or less okay, though sluggish. Even that wore off quickly, leaving me feeling energetic but aimless. Not the aimlessness of depression, though, it was as if I had perpetually walked into a room and hadn't the faintest idea why. When I focused on something such as what Nikki was telling me to do, I had no trouble following along, but if I tried to remember what else might be going on I just came up blank. Trying to follow something that didn't entirely engross me was futile; as soon as my attention began to wander I was lost.

Obviously, I had to put my dog-walking on hold until I recovered, but I became even more of a star on Nikki's channel under her tutelage. I didn't even have to avoid reading the comments to avoid being put off by boorishness because much of the time it didn't even occur to me what it was I was looking at. I couldn't be bothered to think about anything unpleasant or uninteresting for more than a moment.

That fortnight as a completely bubble brained bimbo was the longest period of uninterrupted happiness I've ever experienced.

Bubble Butt

Interestingly, I was invoiced for the work. It was marked as 'paid', so I didn't panic. Or rather, the Squad didn't panic on my behalf. But I was required to sign off on my satisfaction with the first set of changes changes, consisting to two main line items. At the top was a block with the title 'Bubble Butt, X-Large,' followed by a series of included details such as 'anal bleaching' and 'disabled hair.' The other top-level item was titled 'Elevated Heels, Maximum,' and its included details like 'polished skin' and 'weight transfer posts.' By then I was starting to be able to maintain focus when I chose to, so I could have been upset with the fact that I now had a huge jiggly bum and always walked on tiptoes, but I'd already had some time to get used to both.

The heel changes made me four inches taller, just as Nikki had promised, or even more if I was wearing platforms. It was very comfortable to do so as well because not only were my feet reshaped to better cushion at the ball, they had provided orthotics that would translate some of the pressure up to the sides of any tall boots I wore. It made getting into and out of boots a trial, but because the 'polished' skin of my lower legs didn't sweat at all, I could wear any footwear for long periods without getting chafed or moist.

My bum's changes were more ordinary, but less subtle. From the front, the increased size of my rear was visible but not that obvious. It was only when I turned to the side or sat down that the massive increase in flesh become unmistakable. My thighs had also swelled somewhat to match, but the protrusion of my cheeks in profile was such as ordinarily could only be achieved with implants. When I sat, they spread out to make my own little cushion while remaining firm enough to lift me up an extra inch or so at the dining room table, which I appreciated.

Disposed as I was to see the bright side of everything, I had no reservations about rating both enhancements five out of five stars on the evaluation form I filled out at our first in-office checkup. This elicited from the company an offer to pay Kayley an impressive sum for Nikki and me to appear on her PikPok and tout the clinic's services. Later, I would have found an excuse to demur, but in the throes of fascination with my pillowy bubble butt, I agreed with real enthusiasm.

-Escape-

Rising Bubbles

Nikki's bum had also swelled, but the more dramatic change was that her breasts also grew enough that, by the time we were gyrating beside Kayley in time to the latest bubblegum pop hit, her bust had surpassed mine by a significant margin. Despite achieving two or three times her previous volume, they rode as high as ever. Yet, when I felt them they weren't overly firm.

"Are your breasts, like, lighter that they were?" I asked as I pondered them with my hands.

"They are! Well, they're not actually lighter, because they're so much bigger, but they're a lot lighter than regular boobs this size would be, so they can be soft and jiggly but not sag. Isn't that great?"

"It is," I breathed, entranced by the springy flesh under my fingers. "They feel..."

"Perfect?"

"Yeah," I sighed, having forgotten what I'd originally intended to say.

"Don't worry, you'll get to feel them as much as you want. I promise," she told me with a wink.

My breasts had already been growing slightly in both weight and volume, but as my below-the-belly changes reached a plateau, my chest began to take the baton. At first I was delighted by my rapidly-enlarging nipples, even though they looked oversized relative to my breasts, because they felt wonderful when Nikki suckled on them. She could make me come with that alone, and she did so while her fans watched.

"What do you think of Bubbles' big new bubbles?" Nikki asked her fans as she bounced my breasts in her hands.

"They're not that big," I protested, looking at myself in her screen. They were absolutely big, but 28K breasts didn't seem very large next to Nikki's 32L watermelons. My sense of self didn't actually depend on having bigger boobs than Nikki, of course, but my Bubbles ForFans persona would, so I habitually acted like I did. Or at least, that's how I explained it to myself when I pondered it.

"Yet," Nikki said with a giggle, and I had a moment of foreboding before I forgot about it.

By my second in-person checkup, my breasts had plainly grown to be more like Nikki's: unnaturally soft yet buoyant. Another effect I had to feel to experience, which was their greater sensitivity. Both because I was gaining greater control of my attention and because it was of immediate interest, I found myself reading the doctor's explanatory literature while waiting on the exam table. I was able to glean that my breast flesh was swelling largely because of gas bubbles in adipocyte lipids, though supporting tissues were primed to respond to that pressure by also growing. The nerves in particular grew to match, except that to avoid a case where increased tissue mobility led to excessive pain, nociceptors were induced to regress to neural crest stem cells before re-differentiating into the full distribution of sensory nerves, diluting the amount of pain receptors and boosting other kinds of sensitivity.