SpartacusDA
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Sympathetic Magic - 2/5
🕑 Added 2023-09-20 13:00:08 +0000 UTC
Contains: Breast Expansion as Weight Gain, Stuffing
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Sympathetic Magic
II
I don’t know why I bothered hiding the doll. It’s not like anyone ever came to my apartment. Maybe I was hiding it from myself. I went to class and then to my boring but tolerable part-time job at the campus coffee shop. I didn’t see Barbara. The next day was the classroom half of Chem 201, but I always sat as far from Barbara and her “plastics” as I could, so I was mostly able to ignore her existence.
The cycle of days went on as usual, and I almost forgot about my little accident. Two weeks later, we were in Chem lab again, doing another dumb project about solutions and precipitates or something. Bettye was sucking up to Barbara as always, and the conversation turned to the gym.
Needless to say, the gym is a place I avoid at all costs. Every kind of person in a college gym is a type I despise. Student-athletes all go in the same bucket—hyper-competitive jocks and she-jocks grunting, dropping weights, and holding impromptu push-up competitions. Vain “hot chicks” like Barbara and her ilk bouncing on stair-masters or doing yoga poses in skin-tight lycra, studying their bodies in the wall-to-wall mirrors. Hoping to be ogled but throwing a hissy fit if they caught anyone actually looking. And, of course, the chubsters with bodies like mine—tree trunk thighs and belly rolls, who only served as a reminder of what I’d look like if I didn’t have the good sense to wear all black.
Anyway, Barbara was pontificating to Bettye all about the gym at our school, how the equipment was dated and worn, but how some of it was “passable.” I think to her own ears, Barbara was being polite and helpful; to me, she sounded like a condescending bitch.
“I usually go around three if it fits into my schedule. It’s not too crowded, but still busy enough not to be quite so sad. You should join me. I can give you some tips.” Barbara leaned her trim body forward a bit, making her perfect hair flutter around her heart-shaped face. “You’re welcome to come too, Danielle. I’m certain it would do you good.”
Being this close to her, I had a hard time denying Barbara’s appeal. Her expression seemed genuine, and though her invitation was insulting, a part of me knew she wasn’t wrong.
“Sure, maybe,” I mumbled. I had no intention of setting foot in the gym, especially if Barbara was within ten miles of the place. After she’d ruined my chances with Carla, the last thing I wanted was to see her stupid face even more often.
While packing up my things after lab, I noticed a few strands of red-gold hair on the lab bench near Barbara’s seat. I was the last one at our table—Barbara had left her partner to clean their station, and Bettye had trailed after her. I found an empty ziplock in my bag and collected the hair.
***
I stood staring at my closed dresser drawer for a long time. I’d dug the ziplock out of my bag and held it pinched in two fingers at arm’s length from my body—as if it might bite me.
What am I doing?
I stared at the two strands of hair in the bag, then back to the dresser. Two weeks ago was the first time I’d tried to find the Void in years, and it’d been a colossal failure.
This is stupid.
Grandma and Myra told me countless times how important it was to keep magic a secret. “No one will believe you anyway. You won’t get burned at the stake or anything these days, but it’s best to avoid the ridicule.”
Then I pictured Barbara. Her perfect face, her musical accent, her condescending “advice…” I thought about how she’d stolen Carla away from me. In my mind, the strands of hair in my bag became her gorgeous, expensive mane.
I pulled the drawer open.
Holding the clay simulacrum in my hand, I was impressed again by my own work. Even as a child, when I played with clay almost every day, I’d never made a doll this well. I turned Mini Barbara over in my hand. The flush of arousal I felt looking at her model’s body made me furious.
It probably won’t even work.
I opened the baggie, pulling out one strand of hair to examine it. I did the same with the other. I can’t really describe how I knew this, but one strand was fake. Something about the way it felt between my fingers—holding its shape while the other twisted and curled. In one hand, I held a piece of artificial hair extension, and in the other, a piece of Barbara’s real body.
Tossing the fake hair aside, I folded the strand of Barbara’s hair and pressed it into the soft clay. I held the doll in both hands and closed my eyes. Without a hangover, I found it surprisingly easy to push my thoughts away. The room around me faded, and I was floating in the empty Void. Even when I was little, it had never been this easy. I brought the beautiful model into the blackness with me. I felt the clay in my hands. It should have taken some effort to nudge the two together, but Barbara’s image slid toward the clay like oil on a pan, like the two wanted to be Linked. With a silent snap, the woman in my mind and the doll in my hands became one. The clay grew warm in my hands.
It… it worked.
As I released the Void and came back to myself, I looked down at the doll. It looked even more beautiful, even more like her. I don’t know if the clay actually changed in my hands or if it was a side-effect of the Link, but the doll was her.
My mind raced with possibilities. Glancing at my dresser, I saw my dish of safety pins and considered. A small voice in my head said this was wrong. Using magic to hurt people was forbidden. It even came before the rule of secrecy.
Then I thought about Carla. I dreamed about all the fun we could have had together without Barbara in our lives. Looking back, it seems like a pretty flimsy justification. It’s not like Barbara forced her to change. And we were never dating; she barely knew who I was. But something about the thrill of doing magic again, after all those years, made me reckless. I grabbed a pin with one hand and undid the catch, still holding Mini Barbara in the other.
Then I stopped.
What’s the point of trying it now?
I wrapped the doll in a handkerchief and tucked it carefully in my book bag. It would be much more fun if I could see Barbara’s reaction. I’d have to be careful no one saw me, but that would be pretty easy, sitting in the back of a lecture hall.
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III
The next day, I went to classes as usual. Chem 201 was the only class that Barbara and I shared, so I didn’t see her at all. At the time, I wondered why that disappointed me. Throughout the day, I thought I could feel the weight of the clay doll in my bag, tugging at my shoulder as I walked across campus and whispering tempting words. I shrugged it off as my imagination, and by the time my last class let out, I’d almost forgotten about it.
Thursday morning, I jumped out of bed with more energy than I’d had in a long time. I caught my lips forming a grin as I did my eyeliner. Something deep inside me knew I was about to get away with something, and it thrilled me. My morning class was Micro-Econ, and I had an even harder time than usual focusing on the lecture. I wolfed down my lunch, and by the time I sat down for Chem 201, my hands were shaking.
I took slow breaths, trying to moderate my expectations. There’s a big difference between levitating coins and other “parlor tricks”—as Grandma called them—and using Sympathy to affect something living. It’s embarrassing to remember now, but I even fantasized about Barbara crying out in pain and disrupting the lecture.
I sat all the way in the back of the big lecture hall—as far away from Barbara’s favorite seat as possible. I set up my laptop on the table and tucked my bag beside my hip. From that position, I was able to slip my right hand in, digging around until I felt the simulacrum. With a few furtive glances around the room, I unwrapped the doll and touched my fingers to the clay surface. It was still warm. I tried to remember if that ever happened when I was a kid, but reminded myself I’d never Linked a living thing before. Somehow my subconscious was maintaining the Link.
Since I’d arrived early, it was several minutes before Barbara strutted into the hall. Seeing her in the flesh, I had a moment of clarity. What was I doing? Was I really going to break the first rule of Sympathy over a few rude words? I could almost see Grandma and Myra’s disappointed looks, and my cheeks flushed with shame.
Then Barbara’s posse strode in behind her. Her lab partner, Britnee Bell, and mine, Bettye, and finally, the one-time girl of my dreams, Carla Martinez. Seeing Carla dolled up like a Latina version of “College Barbie” herself threatened to bring back all my frustration and rage. I mentally scolded myself. Carla was an adult, and it wasn’t Barbara’s fault that she’d chosen her over me. Then I saw Barbara lean down to whisper something in Carla’s ear. A bright smile filled her face, and she let out a perfect giggle.
My vision blurred. Barely aware of what I was doing, my hand unclipped the safety pin and touched it gently to the clay surface of the doll in my bag.
Even across the large lecture hall, I could see Barbara twitch, and then scratch at her shoulder.
Holy shit…
The reality of what I’d done came crashing down on me. Every time a girl pulled my hair or a boy in the playground kicked over my sandcastle, Grandma lectured me against “malefaction.” As a child, I’d barely understood the word. But now I was an adult. Acting like a little girl at recess.
The professor arrived, and the lecture got underway. They were droning on about covalent bonds. Normally I find chem fascinating, but my head was swirling with shame. Barbara hadn’t done anything to me personally. And even if she had, that was no excuse for this. She was a person, just like me. Sure, she was tall and gorgeous, with legs for days and perfect hair…
I felt heat rise in my neck and reflexively made fists with both hands. One of those hands was still holding Mini Barbara and a safety pin. I felt a prick against my palm as the sharp point drove all the way through the doll’s torso.
“Ahn!”
The professor stopped mid-sentence, their eyes darting to the model and her entourage.
“Something to add, Miss Calhoun?”
Barbara only shook her head.
“As I was saying: When the polarity of two identical atoms…”
I stared intently at my laptop screen. There was no reason to think Barbara—or anyone else—would suspect me of being involved in her little outburst, but I worried she might see me and my face would give me away.
What, the fuck, was that?
Even across the crowded lecture hall, I could tell the noise Barbara made was one of pleasure, not pain. Was she secretly a masochist? If I was making her feel good, it technically didn’t count as malefaction, but the thought still turned my stomach. Carefully sliding the pin out of the doll, I withdrew my hand and tried to clear my head. The last thing I needed was to miss a whole lecture on top of everything else.
***
Back in my room, I tried to put the whole ordeal behind me. I could already hear the brow-beating I’d get if Grandma or Myra ever found out what I’d done. I dropped the doll on my desk and grabbed a handful of clay from the bag. Kneading it between my hands, I paced.
What if I’d actually hurt her?
It would serve her right.
Why? Just for being herself?
Yes.
That’s a pretty shitty attitude. Not to mention hypocritical.
Oh, shut up.
My thoughts turned to Barbara’s reaction to my last “accidental” attack. Why had she seemed to enjoy it?
Maybe she’s a masochist… I wondered again.
That’s when my dark thoughts returned. If I could use Sympathy to give Barbara pleasure, I could still put her in her place. What if she came in the middle of class? That would be pretty embarrassing…
And no different from actual malefaction!
Then an even less welcome thought entered my mind. What if my subconscious wanted to give her pleasure?
Not possible.
I mean, even though Barbara was very not my type, I couldn’t deny the fact that she was conventionally pretty. Gorgeous even. Slapping my lump of clay back into the bag, I dug in the back of my fridge for a hard seltzer and dropped onto the couch. I desperately needed to shut my brain off.
This next part is a bit of a blur; because the seltzer turned into vodka shots. At some point, I got up and started kneading clay again. I don’t know if it was anger over losing Carla or a desperate attempt to deny my latent attraction to Barbara, but I started imagining her… different.
What if her cute little skirts and shorts didn’t fit anymore? Carla would forget all about her.
And I will too…
I could blame it on the alcohol, but I know better. Despite all Grandma’s lectures, despite the rational arguments against it, I desperately wanted to rid myself of Barbara. I tested the Link with my mind and found myself gripping the Void. It shouldn’t have been possible in my affected state, but so many improbable things had happened already that I didn’t question it.
With the lump of clay in one hand and Mini Barbara in the other, I brought my hands together. Floating in the Void, I imagined the extra clay transforming Barbara’s perfect body, giving her a big round belly and a flabby ass. My own voice hammered against the Void.
What are you doing??
Just like in the lecture hall, it seemed to happen automatically. My hands were pulled together like I was holding a pair of magnets. Opening my eyes, I watched the two pieces of clay merge like a pair of water droplets on a window. But instead of sticking to the doll in a lump that I could mold into a chubby Barbie, the simulacrum absorbed the raw clay, swelling into a… larger version of itself.
I turned the doll over in my hands, examining it. Yes, the doll’s ass had grown, but it was now a pair of firm round bubbles only slightly larger than they’d been before. In fact, Mini Barbara now had a perfect ass! Quickly, I turned it over to hide the delicious, offensive rump and saw something even worse.
I know I’ve mentioned this already, but Barbara had a model’s body. As in, a Victoria’s Secret model. The kind of body that really benefits from the magic of padding and underwire and whatever the fuck else goes into their skanky underwear. Pretty much the only thing I had on Barbara was that my tits were way bigger than hers. Not that that mattered. I’m short and chubby, so a D-cup doesn’t mean much on my frame.
Anyway, after the fresh clay merged with Mini Barbara, she had serious boobs. They were huge. Like, “anime” huge. Bigger than her head, the clay formed perfect teardrops that stuck out like implants. Though as I examined the doll more closely, I could see that the clay boobs did hang. Just like, not nearly as low as they should have at that size.
What have I done?
I felt a chill run up my spine. I imagined Barbara strutting into class on Monday with perfect pornstar tits—a perfect body with perfect tits. Even perfect-er than she already was. I stuffed my clay back in the desk and hid the doll in my dresser. I poured another shot of vodka and popped an edible, praying to the old gods and the new that nothing would come of my drunken stupidity.
