Moral Decay from TikTok

"So... looks like I set it up correctly, yeah..." Laura leaned forward slightly, checking the angle of the camera on her smartphone screen. Her black locks slid over her shoulders, the strands tickling her neck. Damn, these damn hairs always get in the way. Her face reflected on the screen—close-up, with full lips slightly parted in a concentrated expression. Her expressive eyes seemed a little surprised, and the light freckles on her fair skin gave her a certain… cuteness? Shit. The pink mini-top with ties shifted slightly, and Laura irritably tugged it back into place.

— Damn... — she quietly repeated, glaring at the screen with annoyance. Even this simple sound, meant to express her dissatisfaction, came out too feminine, too soft, almost syrupy. Like her voice was programmed for flirting.

Laura took a deep breath, and the pink mini-top shifted again. She tugged it back into place. Her breasts... Just don't think about the breasts.

Those... damn... tits.

Every movement reminded her of them. They were heavy, too firm, too... mobile. Even when she just breathed, they rose and fell as if they had a life of their own.

"Damn, how do women even deal with these things? Ah... Wait, I'm..." Laura clenched her teeth. Yeah, she hadn’t been Laurence Whitmore for a long time — the ardent conservative, supporter of traditional values, and one of those who openly called for a complete ban on TikTok in the U.S.! "Dumbing down the youth!", "Destroying morality!", "A lure for empty-headed girls selling their bodies for likes!" — all this flew from his lips with such passion that conservative newspapers were eager to publish his articles. He could go on for hours about how a decent woman wouldn't expose herself, how the culture of self-presentation turned girls into airheads, and how all this was the decay of Western society.

The irony hung thick in the air of that small room, mingling with the scent of her new perfume, sweet with a hint of vanilla and something citrusy. The same scent she now wore. Laura. At least they’d kept her old name, though the female version. She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to remember that day. But it kept coming back, again and again, in her sweet little head, reminding her of everything.

...

The radio studio. A not-so-comfortable chair. A voice in the headphones.

— You don't understand! — Laurence angrily threw a stack of his articles on the desk, nearly knocking over the microphone. — TikTok is a breeding ground for vulgarity, immorality! Women are putting themselves up for sale, twisting in stupid dances! It’s destroying the moral fabric of society!

— Oh, yeah, I got it, Laurence, — Jacob Rayner, the show host, smirked, crossing his arms. — You think that every girl who posts videos on TikTok just wants... well, let’s say attention?

— Of course! What respectable woman would act like that? — He snorted with contempt. — We have a listener on the line right now. Let's ask them.

— A female listener, — Jacob corrected him, pressing a button. — Good afternoon, you're listening to Laurence Whitmore.

Static crackled, then a soft, syrupy voice.

— Mr. Whitmore, what if you tried looking at this... from the other side?

— What do you mean? — he immediately bristled, ready for another argument.

— Well, you've never been a woman, right? How would you know it's so terrible? — There was something playful, but also dangerous in her voice, like a snake’s hissing in thick grass.

Laurence

— Well, you've never been a woman, right? How would you know it's so terrible?

Laurence grimaced, ready to give a sharp reply. What a stupid question! Of course, he knew. He’d been watching this for decades, analyzing, criticizing, drawing conclusions. Women were turning themselves into commodities, selling their bodies for views. And all for what? For a few seconds of fleeting attention on the internet?

— Nonsense, — he barked into the microphone, shaking his head. — I don’t have to be a woman to understand how their image has degraded on social media.

On the other end of the line, a soft laugh rang out — bright, almost purring.

— Maybe you should try it, Mr. Whitmore? To, shall we say, feel it for yourself?

Something in that voice made him freeze. A cold knot twisted in his lower abdomen, as if his intuition had already warned him about something he hadn’t realized yet.

— Nonsense, — he cut her off. — I...

And then the world exploded.

The first thing he felt was fire. It burned from the inside, like it was awakening something that had always been in his body but was asleep, unaware of its existence. He tried to scream, but the sound got stuck in his throat, turning into a strangled squeak. His fingers seemed to stretch, becoming thinner, more delicate. His face burned, his bones seemed to melt, reshaping into new, graceful forms.

And then it came — the sensation of breasts.

Laurence felt his body change, his skin becoming smooth, the waistband of his pants digging into wider hips, and his shirt stretched over unexpectedly grown, heavy, firm breasts. He ripped the collar of his shirt open, feeling his long nails lightly scrape against his smooth skin, and saw two female breasts growing with every passing second, as if someone was inflating them from the inside.

— W-what... what the... — his voice quivered, distorting, taking on an unfamiliar softness.

Dark strands of hair tickled his cheeks, falling down, long, weightless. He, she squeaked, but it sounded more like a squeal, and within seconds, it was all over.

— Uh... Laura? Are you okay? — The host's voice, Jacob, addressed her, reminding Laura that she was live on air. There was no longer Laurence, the moralist and fanatic defender of traditional values. Sitting before the host was Laura — an up-and-coming TikToker who somehow made it onto the radio airwaves.

…

Laura flinched, as if she felt that strange electric shock run through her body again, the same one that had happened the moment reality flipped upside down. It was almost physical — as if a ghostly echo of a strike vibrated inside her chest, reminding her: you are no longer Lawrence Whitmore. You are Laura. And you’re about to make a TikTok video.

She shrugged, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the cute pink folder with kittens on it, lying on the nightstand. Just one look at that disgusting thing made her insides tighten. But it was part of her life now. Inside it were her new documents — ID, bank card, and other papers where, in black and white, it said: Laura Whitmore, 21, officially unemployed. The girl in the photo had wide-open eyes, with a slight look of surprise, her plump lips barely parted.

Three weeks. Three damn weeks after the transformation, Laura hadn’t posted a single video. She’d tried — tried desperately to find a way to go back. She scoured the entire internet, tried to track down the witch, called up fortune tellers, psychics, and cheap magicians from online ads. All in vain.

And the most important thing… money.

In the three weeks of pointless attempts to change anything, Laura had spent everything she had. First, her savings. Then the money in the bank account, which, as it turned out, still belonged to her — but was now tied to the new identity. Then the credit card, which had just a few hundred left.

Meanwhile, she was getting calls and emails from advertisers:

— Laura, according to our contract, you’re required to post at least three videos per week.

— Laura, if you don’t meet the terms, we will have to apply penalties.

— Laura, your account has been inactive too long, your followers are losing interest...

And that’s how her ridiculous rebellion ended. She had wanted to fight, to prove she wouldn’t become one of those empty-headed influencers, that she wouldn’t contort herself in front of the camera. But when her balance was rapidly approaching zero and the penalties were adding up to five-digit numbers, she had no choice.

Laura sighed, adjusted a strand of hair, and forced her trademark smile into place, mentally running through the script she had written for herself, gritting her teeth. Two months had passed, and life went on.

— Okay… Five poses for the perfect photo, — she muttered, clicking the camera.

The recording began.

— Hey, my little kittens! — she said in the sweetest voice she could manage. God, this was disgusting. — Today I’m going to show you the TOP-5 poses for photos that will make you an Instagram superstar!

Laura smiled at the camera, puffing out her lips, doing her best to fake joy. "What the hell am I even doing?" she thought, but her voice was sweet, light, with just the faintest trace of a smile. Like she actually enjoyed all of this.

She turned sideways, arched her back, and stuck out her hip — the camera captured the perfect shot.

— Pose #1: "The Accidental Goddess" — as if you’re just looking to the side, but really...

Click. Next pose. Kneeling, she leaned slightly forward, giving her lips a careless half-smile.

— Pose #2: "The Mysterious Lady". It makes the photo look super expensive!

Click.

She stood up, mindlessly adjusting her jeans, which were too tight. "Damn skinny jeans, cutting into my hips."

— Pose #3: "Captivating Carelessness"!

Laura tossed her hair a little, throwing one arm behind her head and leaving the other casually on her hip. Her lips — slightly parted, her gaze slightly distant, as if she’d just been caught thinking about something beautiful.

Click.

— This pose perfectly conveys the feeling of natural beauty. Like you didn’t even try, but it turned out gorgeous! — Laura said to the camera, barely holding back her gag from her own fake voice.

"What the hell am I even doing?"

She knew. God, how she knew.

Money.

Her morals could burn in hell, she could swallow her dignity over and over, doing everything she hated, but she needed this. No more savings, no way back. If she didn’t post content — penalties. If she deleted her account — a fine. She was trapped, and there was no way out.

Laura shifted positions, arching her back.

— Pose #4: "The Flirt in Motion"!

She pretended to walk out of the frame, but at the last second turned her head over her shoulder, slightly tilting it, as if she had just caught someone’s gaze.

Click.

"God, just kill me."

But Laura just gave a sweet wink to the camera.