Hannah the Bimbo, Rebecca the Skag

"So like, if my boobs are totes this big, they can go bouncy bounce cause of umm... uhh..."

Hannah Fry paused, trying to remember the word for it. Standing in a pack audience of university freshers, she went through her topic - Boobs for Brains - as well as she could with the fuzzies running through her head. Every hard idea and even some soft ones felt like cotton candy blowing around aimlessly. Since her visit with John, getting rock hard cocks and wet spots on the crotches of pants became priority for the ditz. She kept a watch for those reactions while pretending to weigh the fake melons she would soon have.

"Weight!"

"Gravity!"

"Fat knockers!"

She giggled. "Oh, right! So when they're super big they're also like suuuuper heavy. Check it out."

With a strut, she walked toward a pair of scales, perfectly level with her chest. It took a moment, but once she unzipped her dress, her tits flopped right onto the scales. Their nipples jutted toward her audience, exciting more than enough of them to qualify as entertaining them toward a brighter world of maths. Tipping side to side, Hannah's boobs made a fun show of evening out on their plates until they settled and allowed a number to appear at the pommel between them. A mere two pounds! Not a surprising result, but Hannah pouted anyway.

"Aww, how sad. But wait, if I get them done..."

Removing a calculator from her jacket, she pretended to tap and muddle her way through the numbers. Then, very proudly, with a beaming grin and delighted eyes, she displayed her work to her audience. "I'll have this!"

Her audience looked, then laughed, at her result: the age old 5318008 turned upside down.

She may be a dunce, but she certainly got what she wanted most, just as John promised.

Meanwhile, her ethical colleague was having a much different experience.

"Day 37 of," Rebecca Roache loudly sighed, "being a filthy skank."

She ran her fingers through her curly, greasy hair. It coated her hand, just like her oily face, all the freckles and other marks clearly visible without makeup to hide them. Angling her head up and aside, she looked away from the camera. "My nose hair's growing back in. Soon it'll stick out of my nostrils where everyone can see it. As if it wasn't hard enough to get my students to take me seriously in lectures."

Her paperclip earrings weren't doing her any favors either. Like a trashy accessory, they completed her looks. A white, wrinkled Royal Holloway graduation shirt clung tightly to her body, modified to lose the sleeves, exposing a bit of her belly. Her tiny angry nipples poking through a stain on the front lost its attention to her dark armpit hair growing wild under her arms. Lower, her sweatpants showed an obvious wet spot which she made worse by slipping her hand inside and rubbing her pussy.

"My cunt and arse are like a wild forest these days. They itch so much that I end up frigging myself, which is about the only action I can get. I can't get myself to stop, let alone change out of these nasty clothes I've been wearing for over a month. It's like my mind is so determined to make me live this way that it's locked me in and I can't resist. I guess free will reaches its limit when it threatens your identity, and in my case that means finding out how much of an unwashed skag I can be."