Brain Drain

The humiliation still burned like acid in your chest three months later, every word Thompson had spoken etched into your memory with surgical precision. "I need someone intellectually stimulating, not just..." His dismissive glance at your breasts, the way his lips curled with disgust. "You're beautiful, don't get me wrong, but I need more than a pretty face and a nice rack."

Standing in your grandmother's attic, sorting through dusty boxes and papers, you let the rage fuel your focus. The old woman had tried to warn you about the bloodline gift before she died. "Power always comes with a price, little witch", but she'd also made sure you knew how to use it.

Thompson didn't know what ran in your family. Didn't know that your great-grandmother had made the Salem witch trials look like amateur hour, or that your bloodline carried magic that could reshape reality itself with the right components and sufficient motivation.

And watching him across the quad with Stephanie fucking Martinez... Harvard Law acceptance letter, 4.0 GPA, president of three academic societies. You had motivation in spades.

Stephanie was everything you weren't, intellectually speaking. While you'd been getting C's in basket weaving, she'd been publishing undergraduate research papers and giving lectures to graduate students. The perfect match for Thompson's insufferable intellectual superiority complex.

The spell took three days to prepare properly. You stole compounds from the chemistry lab; copper sulfate, pure alcohol, rare earth elements, and combined them with older ingredients your grandmother had left you. Grave dirt from a scholar's tomb. Virgin's blood (your own, ironically). Crushed pearls ground under moonlight while chanting in the old tongue.

The ring itself came from a pawn shop, cheap silver with a gaudy fake ruby. Perfect for hiding the enchantment that would soon turn their greatest asset into their downfall.

You caught Thompson alone in the philosophy section of the library, his favourite corner where he liked to brood over Nietzsche and look sophisticated.

"Hey," you said softly, approaching with the carefully crafted mask of someone who'd moved on. "No hard feelings about... everything. I actually brought you something."

He looked up from his book, suspicious but curious. Thompson always had been a sucker for mysterious gifts and grand gestures.

You pressed the ring into his palm, felt the magic tingle against your skin as the metal made contact with his flesh. "A peace offering. I know things got ugly when we broke up, but I want you to be happy."

"I... thanks," he said, genuinely surprised. The ring was exactly his style. Pretentious and slightly gothic. "This is really thoughtful of you."

"Just promise me you'll wear it," you smiled sweetly. "At least sometimes?"

He slipped it onto his finger immediately, and you felt the first threads of the spell take hold. Phase one complete.

That night, you lit candles in your dorm room and felt the magic activate through your connection to the ring. Thompson was fucking Stephanie for the first time, and as he came inside her tight pussy, you felt the curse trigger.

Five IQ points. Gone forever.

The beauty of the spell was its subtlety. They'd lose just enough intelligence to make them slightly foggier, slightly less sharp, but not enough to notice the change immediately. And the cruellest touch: their sex drives would amplify with each loss, creating an addiction they couldn't resist.

You texted Thompson the next morning: Enjoying your new girlfriend? Here's a fun game: every time you cum inside her, you both get a little dumber. Hold out for a month and I'll break the curse. But I don't think you can resist. 😘

His response came within minutes: What the fuck are you talking about? Did you do something to that ring?

Figure it out, genius. Clock starts now.

But by that afternoon, they'd already fucked again. You felt the magic pulse as Thompson's cock erupted inside Stephanie's cunt, another five points vanishing from each of their brilliant minds.

Their resistance lasted exactly eighteen hours.

You started monitoring them obsessively, checking Stephanie's social media posts and watching for signs of the degradation. On day three, her usually eloquent political theory discussions became slightly simpler, her vocabulary a touch more basic. Posting thirst traps with tighter clothing than usual. Thompson stopped participating in his graduate seminar's online forum.

By the end of the first week, they'd fucked seven times, meaning thirty-five IQ points lost each. Stephanie's latest essay came back with a C+, her professor noting "unclear reasoning" and "surprisingly basic analysis." Thompson forgot to turn in a paper entirely, something that would have been unthinkable for someone who'd never missed an assignment in his life.

But the fog was settling over their minds like a warm, horny haze. Stephanie found herself thinking about Thompson's cock during lectures, squirming in her seat as her pussy grew wet for no reason she could articulate. Thompson started having trouble concentrating on complex philosophical concepts, his thoughts drifting to memories of Stephanie's tits bouncing while she rode him.

Week two brought complete academic collapse. Another ten fucks, another fifty IQ points gone from each. Stephanie's vocabulary began shrinking noticeably. She started using "like" as a filler word, struggling to remember complex terms she'd used effortlessly just days before. Thompson failed a quiz on material he'd literally taught to undergraduates the previous semester.

Their professors were concerned, but "Tommy" and "Steph" as they now liked to be called were too busy fucking to care. The dumber they got, the hornier they became, creating a feedback loop of stupidity and lust that made resistance impossible. Online, Steph posted more and more revealing photos. She loved the attention, and it make her feel more fulfilled than being a "good girl" ever did. 

You visited their apartment complex in week three, sneaking past security to peek through their window. What you saw made your pussy clench with sadistic satisfaction.

Steph was topless on the bed, wearing nothing but pink cotton panties that were soaked through with arousal. Her Harvard acceptance letter, once her most prized possession, lay crumpled in the corner, forgotten. She was slowly, methodically sucking Tommy's cock with the single-minded focus of someone whose world had shrunk to simple pleasures.

"Like, oh my god," she giggled around his shaft, her voice pitched higher than before. "Your dick is, like, so yummy!"

Tommy groaned, his hands tangled in her hair. The brilliant philosophy student who'd once quoted Kant during dinner was reduced to grunting like an animal as his girlfriend's dumbed-down mouth worked his cock.

"Fuck, Steph, your mouth feels so fucking good," he moaned, vocabulary stripped of the pretentious complexity that had once defined him.

She pulled off his cock with a wet pop, tongue lolling out as drool dripped down her chin. "Like, I can't help it! I just, like, really really love your cock! It's so big and pretty!"

This was Stephanie Martinez. Former valedictorian, published researcher, future Supreme Court justice. Now a drooling bimbo who'd forgotten what law school even was.

They'd fucked themselves stupid, literally.

Tommy pulled her panties to the side and slammed his cock into her soaking pussy without warning. Steph shrieked with pleasure, her simple brain incapable of anything but pure sensation.

"Yes! Yes! Like, fuck me harder!" she squealed, bouncing on his cock with mindless enthusiasm. "Make me feel good! I love feeling good!"

You watched them rut like animals, two former intellectuals reduced to pure biological function. Every thrust was making them dumber, but they couldn't stop, the magic ensured their resistance crumbled along with their IQs.

Tommy came inside her with a roar, and you felt another five points disappear. Steph collapsed on top of him, giggling and drooling, completely fucked out.

"Like, that was amazing," she slurred, struggling to form coherent thoughts. "I love you so much, T. We should like, make an onlyfans page! This is like, so much more fun than school ever was!"

"Love you too, babe. That's a great idea." T mumbled, already half-asleep.

By the end of week three, they'd both dropped out of school. Steph was addicted to her phone and could barely read anymore, her once-sharp mind reduced to cotton candy thoughts of shopping, makeup, and cock. T had forgotten how to solve basic algebra, his philosophical insights replaced by an endless craving for pussy. Steph's posted has spiralled into full depravity, posting full nudes and selling her and T's sextapes, while confused former friends and family's words of concern were buried in the comments by the mountains of likes from new subscribers. 

 

The final week was pure degradation. You visited them one last time on day twenty-eight, finding their apartment in complete squalor. Clothes everywhere, takeout containers scattered around, the smell of sex permeating everything.

Steph was naked on the couch, legs spread wide, fingering herself while watching cartoons. Her tongue hung out permanently now, a constant stream of drool running down her chin. She'd lost so much intelligence she'd forgotten how to close her mouth properly.

"Like, hi!" she said when she saw you, not stopping her masturbation. "Are you here to, like, play? T's in the shower but he'll be out soon! I'm Sex! I mean, Steph, hehe!"

This was the girl who'd been heading to Harvard Law. Now she couldn't remember her own name.

T emerged from the bathroom, naked and dripping, his cock already hardening at the sight of his girlfriend's spread pussy. He looked at you with vacant, glassy eyes.

"Hey... uh..." he struggled to remember your name. "What're you doing here?"

"Just checking on my favourite couple," you said sweetly. "How are you both feeling?"

"Like, really good!" Sex giggled, sliding two fingers into her soaking cunt. "We fuck like all the time now! It's the best!"

T nodded eagerly, stroking his cock. "Yeah, it's amazing. I can't think about anything else."

Perfect. They'd made it to the final day with room temperature IQs, existing purely to fuck each other stupid. Time for the grand finale.

"Actually," you said, pulling out your phone to check the time, "you've officially made it one month! Congratulations!"

Something flickered in T's eyes—a ghost of his former intelligence trying to resurface. "Wait... the curse... you said you'd break it..."

"Of course!" You smiled, twirling the ring around your finger. You'd retrieved it during one of his stupor-induced naps. "I'm a woman of my word."

You spoke the release incantation, and the magic shattered like glass.

The change was immediate and horrifying. T and Sex's eyes suddenly blazed with returning awareness. Not full intelligence, but enough to understand what they'd lost.

"Oh god," Stephanie whispered, her hands flying to cover her naked body as shame crashed over her. "Oh god, what did we do? What happened to us?"

Thompson clutched his head, memories of his former brilliance colliding with his current state. "My mind... I can't... I used to know things..."

The cruel reality hit them both simultaneously: the curse had only prevented further loss. Everything they'd fucked away was gone forever.

"Please," Thompson begged, tears streaming down his face. "Fix us. Make us smart again. I'll do anything."

You laughed, the sound sharp and victorious. "I needed someone intellectually stimulating," you quoted his own words back at him. "Guess you'll have to settle for each other."

Stephanie started sobbing, her genius mind trapped in a bimbo's body that could barely form complete sentences. She remembered being brilliant, remembered her acceptance to Harvard, but that person was gone forever.

"You destroyed us," she whimpered. "We were going to change the world..."

"And now you're just going to change each other's diapers," you said sweetly. "Eventually."

You left them there, two former prodigies reduced to fuck-drunk morons by their own inability to resist temptation, their brilliant futures nothing but memories they could barely grasp. And with each step you took out their apartment and down the hall, Thompson and Stephanie called after her, until T and Sex returned, and all that you could hear was the sound of heavy grunts and wet slaps once again. 

Walking across campus afterwards, you felt wonderfully satisfied. Thompson had wanted intellectual stimulation? Now he'd spend the rest of his life trying to remember what that even meant.

Your grandmother had been right about power and prices. But sometimes, the price was paid by exactly the right people.