What a ridiculous week this has been. You probably won't believe this but Clayton actually broke up with me! I still can't wrap my head around it. Where does that meathead think he's going to find anyone who can even come close to my level when it comes to beauty and intelligence?
I guess I'm not too upset that he doesn't want to be my boyfriend anymore. Our relationship wasn't really one of romantic attachment, at least not for me. What I loved was how easily I could capture his attention, completely, with a slight adjustment of my posture or a slow crossing of my legs.
As intelligent as my Clayton is, he isn't the most competent when it comes to controlling his hormones. That was what I took advantage of, that was was gave me power.
So no, it's not that I'm going to miss anything romantic between us.
Instead, I'm miffed at the idea of anyone other than me having him! That boy, that power is mine and he's going to stay mine no matter what I've got to do to keep him.
Hmm, to keep him.. I think I've got an idea that will solve my property issues. It's a little something I'd been working on in my spare moments, but the time has come to put it to good use.
I've invited Clayton over for drinks and a "no hard feelings" talk tonight, and he's already accepted.
But you know me, diary. There are some hard feelings and I think I've got an idea about how to properly deal with them.
As I've yet to elaborate on here, I've been at work on a very special and unique project for several months now. Well, when I'm not allowing myself to become distracted by the amusing results of Clayton's lack of hormonal control.
It's a formula I've synthesized which, when consumed by two people, will create a flow of power from one to the other. Whomever holds the most sexual sway over the other will receive the power, while the one surrendering power is slowly reduced; physically, intellectually.. heh, socioeconomically, completely. Essentially, one becomes a god while the other is diminished to a microbe.
All I've got to do is put a little in our drinks, make a toast to remaining friends, and drink up. He won't see a thing coming, at least not with what I'm going to be wearing.
I'm gonna play that boy like a banjo.
See you later tonight, diary.
I'm still all a-twitter over the initial results, but I'll do what I can to calm own and properly explain!
Before Clayton came over, I dimmed the lights just slightly to give my apartment a more intimate feeling, to help soften his concentration a little more. I got dressed in a tight red halter dress, the chest of which sports a vertical window of, well, cleavage.
A little on the nose, I know, but I'm not in the game of taking chances when it comes to matters of power.
A pair of black, open-toe platform heels completed my outfit, as well as a necessary illusion later to come into play.
Clayton arrived in rather casual attire; I suppose he thought this whole "just being friends" thing would truly work out as he planned. My poor, naive little whelp..
I greeted him at the door, smiling, and took in his expression as perhaps it dawned on him just what he was trying to give up. That dumbstruck look he gets when all the blood rushes to his dick is absolutely precious.
"Don't just stand there," I said after a moment. "Come on in."
He complied and finally tore his gaze off of me as he moved into my apartment and took a seat.
I grabbed our specially prepared drinks from the kitchen and came to sit across from him, being sure to offer a closer view of my chest as I passed him his beverage. His gaze rarely met mine, predictably, and much to my pleasure. My body was already far too distracting.
"So," I said, smiling as I reached out and held my glass aloft. "To mutual respect and friendship."
Clayton glanced at my face then, smiled a little himself, and nodded as he tipped his glass in my direction before downing half of it in one swig . My thirsty, predictable boy.
I watched him with a grin as I sipped at my drink. His obliviousness was just another rung of power for me to step up onto.
He had the formula in his blood now, traces of it at least. I could barely contain myself. I had to know if it would work as I'd hoped!
Leaning back in my chair, I was sure to take my time crossing my already long legs over one another. Clayton's eyes stayed glued on my lower body, and widened slightly as it seems he caught a glimpse of my panties. All according to my plan, of course.
"I'm going to miss having you all to myself," I mused aloud.
He gave a nervous sort of half-chuckle and murmured that he missed me too. His attention was still on my legs, much to my delight.
I rested a hand on my knee and gently slid my hand up towards my thigh, idly caressing my leg some as he watched my fingertips move over my exposed skin.
"Are you going to miss this?" I asked quietly as I traced my hand up my leg and over my hips, up to my breasts and then through my hair with a flourish.
It was like a magic spell.
Clayton's gaze roamed over my body, following my hand, and I could practically see the chemicals rushing to his brain. He grasped his glass a little more tightly and that's when it happened; his arousal combined with the potion with which I'd spiked his drink and both had reached a critical point together.
I was hit with a sudden rush of euphoria. Through the bliss I could feel my awareness expanding, as well as hear the seams of my dress pop and creak under the strain as my hips and breasts did some expanding as well.
Clayton seemed to shudder and I could barely see him sink into his seat a bit. I sighed, regaining my composure, and looked myself over.
My change was noticeable but barely so. The seams of my dress were still intact, but under much more stress at this point. I could definitely feel the difference; on top of having increased my cognitive abilities, my body felt like it was just barely keeping itself contained within my once form-fitting, now incredibly tight dress.
My amazement at my own genius was interrupted when Clayton dizzily stood. He murmured that he wasn't feeling well.
I stood also, and had to refrain from smirking. He had been a good nine inches taller than me, about six-foot-two, and he'd always stood a few inches taller even when I wore elevating shoes. At this point, Clayton was visibly shorter than me, by at least a full inch.
Watching his face, I could tell he noticed. His brow furrowed, he murmured that I looked taller.
"Is that so?" I inquired innocently. "Perhaps it's the six-inch heels I'm wearing."
They were only four inches, but he didn't give them a second glance, and merely nodded in response.
Now to attend to the downside of my experiment: updating my wardrobe to suit my new size.