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Bimbofication - Blog Posts
Happy New Year to all of the wonderful people who follow, like and repost our journey!!
Sooo… Here I am, announcing to Tumblr World the beginning of my Bimbofication journey to be the best little Bimbo Fucktoy that my Daddy so desires!! I’m so excited about this transformation !!! Please… Any feedback and advice is not only wanted but so much appreciated!!!! XOXOXOXO 💗💗💗
My sweet girl has been doing such a good job with her bimbofication, I took her out to a nice restaurant last night.
Trophy Bimbo shopping
Good girls don’t talk.
Just few ideas from a bubble head
It has been a while since my first post, in which I commented that my bimbofication process had started when I met my owner, many experiences have happened, some have been good others not so much but it is a fact that they changed me, Daddy could break me but always with love and respect, knowing that I was not prepared for everything he has in mind for me.
A few weeks ago I made a mistake, he is overprotective and did not understand what happened, it was a difficult few days for me, I was about to run away, I don't know how he managed to fix things but he did it and that is what I want to share. As a result of my misjudgment he decided to put me in my place, he spoke to me with love, as always, he explained that as a result of my last actions and especially how I reacted to his claims he had to adjust my behavior (mindfuck me) so that I would not return to make the same mistakes.
For a moment I thought that he would discipline me physically, and there my bad judgment was evident, instead these changes have been more internal than external, he was referring to my faculties to think for myself, since then he has dedicated himself to nullifying my thoughts, reduce me, objectify me, making me feel more and more silly, stupid.
For me it was clear and the first few days I was annoyed, mainly with myself, for accepting that treatment, but with the passing of days I have come to the understanding that Daddy is right, he has pushed me to edge more and more, until now I have been able to control my desires (almost always) and that has led me to the fact that the less I think, the easier it is to obey, and the more I obey, the better I feel about myself, so I can fulfill my purpose, must confess being mindless make me truly happy.
In my next posts I will try to describe my progress to become a bimbo, the best version of me and what I am best at. ♥
Stalling
And my most recent (2009) piece. Slightly longer and really my best... wow. My best isn't all that good.... Still it's straight up bimbo transformation, this time via good old mind control! And still a hefty dose of academic humiliation in there! Nothing better than repetition for a really fresh story...
Just a quick note as I'm not sure how common the knowledge is. In the UK, when the medical students finish their finals, they have to ensure everything has been signed off by August or they miss the year's placements. This can lead to a weird sort of gap between practice and finishing their degree.... Saying that, this is probably self-explanatory in the flash, but that probably doesn't even really matter as the entirety is just a bit of nonsense.....um... hopefully entertaining nonsense... Stalling Hannah stamped a heel and pouted glossed lips No, no nooo! This couldn’t be happening, not another year! She only had a few more minutes to get across the city and if she didn’t make it, she condemned herself to even longer in this awkward half-life. She was supposed to be entering her second year of practice, thinking about a specialty and instead she had stalled in this predicament. It had all started when she had met David. She hadn’t meant to talk to him. She usually had no time for men full stop, not when she had a career to build. But there had been something about those eyes, something so intangibly intriguing as he blatantly stared across the pretentious hole-in-the-wall bar that the intellectuals and pseudo-intellectuals so often frequented. Even now she cursed her own folly. Their relationship…. Well, sex life, had been a whirlwind of passion. Even she had to admit that the sweaty nights on the run-up to finals had been fun. Hannah realised she was breathing heavily again. Below the hem of her flippy little skirt she could feel a spreading warmth. A spreading wetness that just begged her hand with its pretty pink nails to- NO! She had to move! David hadn’t liked it when she spurned some of his more amorous advances…Well, commands that she suck his cock. But she knew he would be understanding. She had finals to prepare for and medical school was no cake-walk. Not like whatever he was doing, some bizarre offshoot of psychi… psyoch… Urgh! It was sooooo hard to remember all the medical words with an entire year’s gap in her learning! And such a distracting feelings from her…. So wonderfully… FOCUS! She had of course passed, with honours, as expected. All she had to do was wait for the exit interview, a formality in truth, before choosing pretty much whatever placement she wanted. It was only natural to break things off with David. She was going on to greater things, while he seem a perennial student. And besides, he had seemed more aggressive since she had told him she needed to focus on exams and her career, especially when he fucked her in pub toilets and she had to scream and moan like the slut she… HURRY! Hannah couldn’t believe it when she missed the exit interview, and the rescheduled one! With the August hospital placements approaching and then passing, she was in total limbo. But it was OK. David reminded her that she could simply kill time for a year and then just enter her training programme a year later. Of course, in the interim she would have to work. The student loans company was not going to accept excuses from a qualified doctor after all! And it was sooo good of Davey to set her up with that salon job. Teaze was not a place she would have thought to look, all gaudy pink neon, cheap hair dyes and fake nails. But then again he was really smart with that sort of thing, just like when he explained that she did like it in the ass because she was such a dirty little tart and that was why she wore such ridiculously short skirts because she liked it when men looked at her and thought about ramming their cocks into her soppin… MOVE! Davey was right about so many things it seemed. Hannah really liked her new job, even if the wage barely touched her loan repayments, especially since she had to spend so much on the clothes Davey said she needed. Slutty clothes for a slutty girl. Of course, she just had to save other ways. Letting the new shampoo girl do her hair and makeup for the interview rather than paying at the classy salon she used to go to, for example. Hannah just wished it hadn’t taken so long. But then she should have realised that going such a brassy blonde shade, having it permed and combed out and all that hairspray just eats up time! And of course the pink nail polish had to dry! As her 5’’ heels clacked and her chest jiggled beneath her tiny Hello Kitty! top, Hannah knew she had to go! As much fun as she had at Teaze, she really couldn’t have another year there! For starters she was really starting to pick up some of the girls’ bad habits. She caught herself inserting ‘like’ and ‘totally’ into her speech patterns. She often adopted an insipidly vapid upward inflection unless she concentrated. She was more likely to discuss celebrity boob-jobs than literature these days! And of course, she was certain, surely she never chewed so much bubblegum when she was studying? But that was only a small concern next to her debt. Davey had let her move in with him and that was totally cool! But he did have a lot of house rules. The morning blowjob. The evening striptease. He had to approve everything she wore and that was when she wore anything at home. It was a regular thing for her to spend all of her free time, like, naked. Usually with a cock in her. Or one of the vibrators Davey said she had to, like, practice with. To make sure she remembered how lucky she was to be fucked so hard and so often like a proper little fucktoy. Of course, Hannah remembered. She loved it when Davey would not even speak to her, but just bend her over the kitchen counter and just push her little thong to one side and then pound her until her tits were hitting the faux-marble and her knees felt so weak and her moans and squeals had…. As the bottle blonde shuddered, she knew her little g-string was soaked. She knew she stank of sex. One look at her Barbie watch told her she was late already.
In Need of Editing
Ooh! I'd forgotten about this short one! I posted this at the MCStories.com forum in 2009. Much happier with this little piece. And it's not TG! Nope just pure, grade A (well, C- at least) bimboization. It may not be good, but it contains no traces of horse meat. Oh yeah. 2013 current affairs reference. Boyah.
In Need of Editing OK. Jen had definitely been fretting about this too much. Whilst she would definitely need a stellar CV to even get an interview with the prestigious firm of Wynd, Grey & Street, she really was more than capable. All she had needed to do was take a break from editing the thing, perhaps look at that relaxing screensaver that Paul from across the hall had installed for her, and then return to the document with fresh eyes. So far that had truly done the trick! Already, Jenny could see she had made some pretty amateur errors when it came to creating a perfect representation of herself and her accomplishments. For one thing, the entire section on her schooling was far too long winded. Who really needs to mention a college when one has gone onto higher education anyway? And alongside that, she could probably cut out the mention of a BSc from Cambridge altogether. The results from her school then looked a little out of place, though. All those ‘A’s. Far, far too repetitive. Now, removing some of the subjects she had studied and adding in some ‘D’s and ‘E’s made for far more colourful reading. Now, Jenni just had to attack that interests section. “…enjoy reading... poetry… interest in classical mythology” What was she thinking?! She wanted herself to come across in the text and all this did was make her seem some tedious shut-in! Now, “Interests in clothes… makeup… flirting….boys…”. That would make her seem far more vivac-, vicacio-… sexy. Finally, just a quick modification to her personal statement. Something totally like “I’m willing to do anything for this job. Anything.” And maybe a photo of her flashing her thong to the camera lens, instead of the usual boring ones the cute old guys at the firm must get. And done. Well, maybe the font could be made, like, pink and stuff.
I Hope You're Happy With Your Life
So this is another old TG bimbo tale. I penned (digitaled?) this one back in 2006 and I personally see a marked improvement between this and my first piece. It still has quite a few elements that I'm unhappy with, but it's definitely better. Also, the alias for this was 'Hidden_Agenda' which is infinitely cooler and edgier. That's the kind of name that conjures connotations of 1980s era hackers gazing at the blue screen and sticking it to the man! ...By, uh, writing fairly lame smut.... Ah well.
I Hope You're Happy with Your Life.
It was a good day. The thought came once more unbidden to John's mind as
he looked down into the constant rippling that was caused by the shopping
centre's fountain. The 24 year old was sitting on the faux-marble edge of
metal and plastic monstrosity that squatted obscenely just inside the
centre's automatic doors. In truth he felt somewhat lost.
John worked for one of the more prestigious car manufacturers, whose own
multi-storied offices were only a 10 minute walk from where he now sat.
Employed in its sales department John had found that he had a knack for
closing the firm's bigger deals, using his own unique blend of style and
utter persistence, and that was the very reason for his current mixed
emotions and why John had now sat with his mind almost blank for 15
minutes, idly watching the shoppers and browsers flow in and out of the
doors before him, interspersed solely by their hiss and click of metallic
closure.
That very morning, John had completed the signing of the company's largest
ever client. An American hauling company, that apparently recently found
it more cost-effective to set up shop in each of the major cities in which
most of its business occurred, rather than haul from a only a few out of
the way depots, had decided to revamp its image.
With reduced travelling times for a new larger fleet, built up roads to
negotiate, smaller loads for individual destinations and a requisite for
flair and style, the Yankee company had gone overnight from a large
haulers to a widely spaced courier-type service, capable of offering
greater efficiency to its customers.
John still was not entirely sure how they had found the liquid assets to
do this so fast, but in any case, had found their new-found desire for a
veritable fleet of sleek company cars for all their US branches, their
discovery of cheaper overseas imports and their contacting his company as
one of their potential suppliers all to be to his advantage.
It had led to him heading the deal with their UK representative, the
Nordic featured and entirely proper Sophia Goodleigh. Though John had not
noticed it, Sophia was almost the exact opposite to his own easy-going
masculinity, although he had noticed that the brittle, bitchy US ice-queen
almost seemed intent on disliking him from the moment he met her.
Whilst John sported reasonably short-cut, but often overgrown brown hair,
Sophia's blonde was a meticulously maintained coif, pulled sharply back
and into a harsh bun. Whilst John's eyes were dark and welcoming, Sophia's
were a piercing grey-blue, that were constantly darting and re-focusing
over a person as if contemptuously evaluating and efficiently searching at
the same time. Whilst John held himself in a relaxed and indifferent
stance; his tie often loose and his top-button regularly undone, his large
bear-like hand always happy to shake another and his large 6'0'' frame
happily draping over a chair or dominating a room or conversation, Sophia
once more presented the argument. Rigid and unflinching she loomed over a
conversation atop stiletto heels like a splinting being forced into a
finger. A woman of few words, most of them harsh she would present herself
in expensive trouser suits that advertised her executive status and found
themselves ready partners to her accent, lifted directly from the New York
elite.
Meeting for the first time, 3 months ago, John had worked tirelessly to
persuade her that his company would provide the best deal on the
ridiculously large fleet of luxury and cars her company required. From
that first forced handshake, John had tried every tactic he could think
of. He had prepared presentation after presentation, regularly working 14
hour days. He had used all the skill his mathematical degree from Oxford
had granted him to make figures dance in his attempt to seduce her deal.
He had struggled and strived to try and elucidate some element of
friendship, or at least mutual respect from her. He had even, as a last
resort dealt around her and petitioned her American based counterparts,
though to little response.
It was that morning that he finally felt he would have to tell his
superiors that he thought the deal, which had remained so long as nothing
but unsigned paper, was worth even less when she entered his office.
Clicking towards his desk where he rapidly stood to greet her, Sophia had
reached with surprising eagerness to shake his hand. For a moment John
thought perhaps she had finally decided that her animosity was pointless,
as he stared in shock at the firm grasp she had on his hand, but then he
saw her face.
As usual it was unmade-up, but her lips almost looked bright against her
perfect white teeth, hard-set into a hateful snarl.
"Congratulations, John," she sneered, her words clipped. "It seems your
underhanded method of contacting my superiors has worked. I have been
ordered to agree to your proposal and then I am on paid probation."
John was slightly taken aback by the last part. Obviously her superiors
must have thought his proposal was definitely worthwhile.
Sophia broke her handshake and dropped the thick stack of papers she held
in her other hand onto John's large and well polished desk before turning
and beginning to stiffly click from his office.
"My company will be in contact," she called without looking back. "I hope
you're happy with your life."
John could not help but be confused by her last statement, but in truth he
was too busy being elated. Quickly phoning his own bosses to tell them the
good news, John then buzzed his secretary to tell her he would be out for
the day.
And so he found that he had wandered to the shopping centre. He was out in
the hustling bustle of daytime life, outside of his office for the first
time in months. John removed his tie and folding it in his hands, stood up
from the fountain and placed it carefully into his jacket pocket. He had
learned from the last few hectic weeks how hard it was to lose careless
creases when in a rush.
Feeling satisfied and lost, he began to walk through the people around
him, no destination in mind, no need going wanting when he found himself
outside the garish front of a salon. All pink neon lights and clashing
colours, the image was complete by the young 80's dropout leaning against
the entrance's doorframe, smoking the last of a cigarette. John took stock
of her as he approached. Fluffed out, teased hair. Excessive blue eye
makeup. Long inelegant earrings. Even her attire seemed out of date with a
bright lime-green, short sleeved spandex shirt, that strained against
perky, if small breasts and a tight black micro skirt, that she wore over
a pair of baggier jeans.
"You can't smoke in h-" John began in his baritone, before being cut off
by a bubbly, "Mornin', hun!" from the woman. Her accent seemed to place
her dialect somewhere in the Midwest, but despite John's dealings with
Sophia he did not know enough about the US to be more accurate.
"You're worried about a lil' ol' smoke? Well, I reckon it doesn't seem
right in here."
For a moment John felt a shiver run up his spine.
"Tell you what, hun, as you seem so concerned about me, why don't I do a
lil' something for you. You sure look like you could use a trim," she said
as she carelessly flicked the remaining butt of her cigarette away.
"Actually, er..." For once John found himself speechless. Something about
the salon and this woman did not sit right, but he soon found a well
manicured hand with bright pink nails wrapping around his wrist. Moments
later that same hand, as well as its partner was placed on John's
shoulders as he seated himself into the overly comfortable salon chair.
"Now, hun, my name is Rachel and have I got a look for you!" gushed the
woman. "Why don't you just sit back and relax and I'll fix a lil'
something that get all the girlies looking."
John's eyes gazed around the empty salon. Something really felt off about
the place. Rachel whirled a large pink cape over his body.
"Now, we'll just get started on that ol' hair of yours."
John looked down at the bright pink cape and...
***
"Done!" announced Rachel, snapping John's head up to the mirror opposite
him. Her expectant face appeared next to his in the reflection, looking
over his shoulder. "Well, what do you reckon?"
"How could you possibly be d-" John began, before realising what 'done'
meant. His short brown hair was gone and in its place were long thick,
almost yellow, blonde tresses. The lustrous hair had been brushed into an
approximate centre parting. Gathered up on each side, Rachel had forced
the bright platinum locks into large long bunched and deftly tied neon
pink ribbons into them, near John's scalp.
"I'm certain braids would have looked lovely Candi, but on someone of your
limited intellect, they probably would have been a bit beyond what you
could maintain" said Rachel, still looking over John's shoulder.
"But, this seems completely wrong!" snapped John, not even noticing what
she had called him, or what she had implied about his mind.
"Yes, hun, I guess I did go a little too far. It doesn't seem right.
Perhaps if we..."
***
The world seemed to jump for a moment. This time it was far sooner that
John realised what had changed. As he stared at his reflection he could
see that the ridiculous hair had not been touched. However, the pink cape
had been removed, as had his suit jacket. His white shirt remained, but in
an almost unrecognisable state that left him with his mouth hanging open.
The top two buttons of his shirt had been cut away, and the shirt itself
was forced to near translucency by the huge globes of flesh beneath it.
John had breasts. No wait, that was not even inappropriate for the
monsters he now possessed. The boobs John inexplicably had were at large
DD at least, and barely contained by the flimsy neon pink joke of a bra
that he was for some reason wearing. The damned thing even allowed the
bump of his enlarged nipples to stand out through the shirt and seemed to
only be there to draw attention to the heaving, straining bosom John
sported.
"I-I-" John stuttered in incomprehension.
"Chill out, sweetie!" said Rachel in response to John's apparent
confusion. "You are rather busty for a school girl. But I suppose silly
little bimbos who get themselves held back just get longer to develop."
"Huh?" replied John, still flabbergasted, approaching outraged as he
stared down at the mounds that tented his white shirt. He had left school
a long while ago. And as for being 'a silly little bimbo'.... John's
thoughts suddenly seemed to falter... anyway, people didn't get 'held
back' in the UK, that was a Yank idea, wasn't it?
"A bit out of it, hun?" asked Rachel, a wicked smile creeping onto her
lips. "Perhaps you'll start thinking clearer if we..."
***
It happened again. The world just seemed to stop and start. John looked at
the mirror again. This time it was makeup. His entire face was coated with
the over-the-top makeup of a young teen girl. His eyelashes were and huge,
dark frames to his blue eyes. They in turn were surrounded by light blue
eye shadow, that faded through to purple and then pink, and seemed to be
laden with glitter.
John's eyebrows were plucked into extreme, juvenile arches that gave his
face a surprised, vacant look.
There was a rash of rouge or some-such on his cheeks that seemed to create
a false childish blush. And there were the lips.
John could only gaze in horror as his reflection showed his mouth. Fat,
pouting cocksucker lips that seemed to feminise his entire face. Lips that
constantly had a little open 'o' unless he really willed them closed. Lips
that were coated in a wet looking gloss, hundreds of sparkles imbedded
into it. Fuckable lips.
Fear crept into John. He no longer felt confused and unnerved, but
completely terrified.
"Rachel?" said John tentatively. His tongue felt heavy and sticky in his
mouth. His voice was cracked and dry. "I don't know what-"
"Now hold on, that ol' voice just won't do, sweetie -ooo!" she hesitated.
"I never realised how wonderfully feminine that was!" She paused for a
moment as if concentrating, and then continued, "From now on you'll refer
to everyone as Sweetie, Cutie or Honey! Isn't that just fab!"
Through the petrified fog of his mind, John tried to respond, "Honey, I'm
not, like, totally sure... Like, omygod!"
With no more than a few words from Rachel, John had some how acquired an
American accent and, at that, an over-the-top Valley-girl one. The voice
still seem to carry a shred of intelligence in this alto form, but already
John could see what his destiny was being forced to by this twisted woman.
Once more, John looked at his reflection. Perfect white teeth bit the
plump upper lip on the Barbie-doll looking back. His heart-felt panic was
being translated into an expression of vacant confusion by his made-up
face.
John bolted.
Hurling himself from his chair, he paid no heed to jiggle of chest and
didn't even look back at Rachel has sprinted the short distance towards
the salon door...
***
John was standing with his hands by his sides in the centre of the salon.
The chair he had been in had been turned around from the mirror and no
held Rachel. She sat with her knees brought up to her chest and a beaming
smile plastered across her face. John immediately knew to his growing
desperation that more had been done to him.
John looked down, only to see that his view was limited by his own
expansive cleavage. He could already see, though, that his shirt was now a
tight tailored blouse, at least a size and a half too small. It allowed
his boobs to almost spill out of the top, but then hugged his svelte
little waist to somewhere beyond what his boobs let him see. He was also
wearing jewellery now. Around his neck was a chunky bubblegum pink
necklace that spelled out 'Candi' with a little heart over the 'i'. He
could feel the pull of the large and tacky hoop earrings that were in his
freshly pierced ears.
John knew he needed to see the rest. He slowly turned, hearing the clack
of heels below him.
Finally looking at another of the salon's mirrors he could see the
remainder of what had changed.
John now appeared to be some sort of schoolgirl wet-dream. The tapering
blouse stretched tightly over his reflection's waist to a bright red
tartan micro-skirt which then jutted out with his womanly hips. This ended
after only a few inched to give way to an expanse of fantastic thighs. His
legs were hairless and perfect, stretching down to be encased in lycra
white knee socks. These completed the reflections long legs by entering a
shining pair of high-heeled mary-jane shoes. John could see now the
clacking 4" heels and knew that he must somehow be shorter, given that
even with these torture devices on, the world seemed to loom around him.
It was then that John noticed that the mirror he was looking at showed
another mirror, giving him a back profile. It showed the pristine white
panties that he wore, that, covering his huge bubble-butt prevented his
tiny skirt from hiding them. And John saw the double reflected embroidery
across his arse clearly showing in scripted pink letters "Spank Me".
"This is so, like, not cool, cutie!" squealed John, finding his voice was
now a sexy soprano, reminiscent of Marylin Monroe, or an over-excited
Jayne Mansfield.
"Now, now, don't get your pretty lil' knickers in a twist, Candi," soothed
Rachel. "I'm sure you'll se things my way once I've told you a bit about
your new life- better yet, let's have Sophia do it!"
John was aghast, and turned to the salon entrance just in time to see
Sophia walk through the door.
"Well, well. You turned out very nicely. Very nicely indeed, Candi," said
Sophia as she walked in measured paces towards the now shorter John.
"Like, Sophia, sweetie?!" exclaimed John in his breathy tones.
"I think you probably want an explanation Candi," said Sophia curtly. "You
see, I wanted revenge for you going behind my back, and I wanted revenge,
by proxy if you will, for your company taking business away from US
counterparts. All in all I think I got what I wanted. To be honest though
I don't think you will care to much about reasons once I have told you a
few more things about yourself, thanks to the brilliant Rachel-" Sophia
paused to nod towards her partner. "Who has got you well conditioned my
little Bimbo. But first let's have a few tests. What's your name?"
"Candi!" exclaimed John, in a horribly bubbly way, his voice in no way
under his control.
"And your full name?"
"Candice A. Goodleigh!" replied John, wincing as he realised his 'new'
name sounded like he was saying "Candi's a good lay!" in his new voice.
"And how old are you?"
"I'm *giggle*, like, 18 but I'm still in school, 'cos they don't think I'm
like smart and stuff, but that's sooo totally not true-" John found
himself gushing nonsensically, until Sophia raised a hand silencing him.
"Would you like some gum Candi?"
"WOW! *giggle*, like totally!" John squealed embarrassingly, eliciting a
snigger from Rachel. Sophia handed him a bright pink stick of bubblegum
and it was only a moment before John founding himself chewing happily on
the pink wad, his mouth stupidly open and his eyes a vacant partner to his
bimbo smile.
"You see Candi, we have you well conditioned. From now on, when you talk
you'll talk bimbo drivel. When asked anything academic, you'll give a
wrong answer or just a confused look. I'm going to take you back to the US
with me and enrol you at a school just long enough for you to be become
the biggest slut and most pathetic drop-out they've ever had. And when
you flunk out of school, I'm going to disown your ditzy, boy-crazy, bimbo
arse. And then it just gets better. You'll find yourself compelled to get
a job in the most degrading places for the most lecherous men you can
find. Maybe you'll be sleazy bar waitress, or a stripper slut or just a
dumb PA groped and boned by her boss over his desk. Isn't it just
delicious!"
John could only look through Candi's eyes and giggle whilst his future was
laid out. He could already see himself wiggling and jiggling and giggling
down some American highschool's halls. He could see himself throwing
himself at any male who even spoke to her. He could see himself giving
nonsensical answers to questions, and barely making misspelled notes in a
flowery bimbo script with hearts dotting his letters.
He could see it all and do nothing but smile and giggle like a true bimbo,
blowing his pretty pink bubbles in his spank me panties.
Sophia's words were suddenly repeated and cutting.
"I hope you're happy with your life, Candi."
The Bimbo
So here's my first ever online piece. Looking at it now, it's shockingly poorly done and I'm actually a little embarrassed! It was first posted over at Storysite.org way back in 2002... blimey... that makes me feel old! It does include some of the elements that I still love though - the protagonist out of control, wild overtly trashy transformation, vocal and vocabulary changes and, my favourite; 'academic humiliation'.
I have no idea why that has always been such a turn on for me, but the idea of being forced to fail tests, or do poorly, or misspell things, or anything of that nature is just plain awesome-sauce. Yes friends, awesome-sauce. It's that good. Unlike this story. This story is pretty poor. You probably shouldn't read it. In terms of sauce, you're looking at the literary equivalent of that really cheap mayonnaise you sometimes get in pubs. Not awesome.
The Bimbo
by Sissy Emily (worst. alias. ever.)
"Fucking faggot", I said as I barged Lee Garret over as he tried to tie his shoelace. My friends laughed as the slight, girlish looking boy went down onto the floor.
"I’m not gay" he said as he brushed a wave of long brown hair behind his ear, his voice seeming way to high and lilting for a guy of sixteen.
It was the last year of highschool and most of the year was now anxious to escape the confines of school and journey out into the wide world. I was no bully, but Lee deserved all he got, simply because he was so damn camp. He had always been so ever since the first year, quite short and quite slim, a very girlish frame really, with quite long brown hair parted in the centre that he was constantly playing with, twiddling it, or brushing it behind his ears. Even the way he walked and talked made him seem a complete fairy, mincing so his arse and hips swayed and wiggled like a girls and talking in a high breathy voice. This all added up to make him an obvious target for bullying. Everyone did it to him, pushing him over, or insulting him, but nothing ever really nasty. We all knew it really wound him up though and that made it a laugh.
"I’m really not gay" he repeated after receiving a look from one of my friends.
"Leave it out!" shouted another high voice. Looked behind me, and saw Emily, possibly the most desirable girl in the school. Blonde hair in a neat bob and a fantastic figure, about 36 inch hips, slowly curving into a 22 inch waist and then sensuously curving back out to a 36 chest with breasts at least a good C-cup. As well as this, she had legs to die for and soft kissable lips. Despite her obvious beauty, she did everything she could to hide it. School uniforms are not the most flattering clothes in the world but her long skirts and lack of make-up was simply her way of hiding her looks. She could be so hot if she wanted to be.
"…Can’t you just leave him alone, he hasn’t done anything to you" I snapped back to reality. Emily was now helping Lee up. At that point the bell rang signifying the end of lunch and the start of last lesson, Biology today. Me and my friends left, leaving Emily and Lee behind, thereby missing their conversation.
"Those arseholes!" cursed Emily, "Why do they always pick on you?"
"Cos they think I’m a puff" said Lee, "and they’re a bunch of homophobes"
"Are you?" asked Emily
"No!" protested Lee, a hurt look in his eyes
"Only asking" said Emily, "But all the same, how do you fancy getting revenge on them, or at least their ringleader?"
"Sure," said Lee, "but why would you want to help?"
"Didn’t you see the way the ogle me all the time, besides I like to help nice people out"
"Fine, we’ll get revenge together, but how?" asked Lee
"Can you keep a secret?" asked Emily
"Sure" replied Lee
"I’m a witch" she said.
* * *
Biology was boring as always. I don’t like to brag, but I had it all going for me. I was quite tall, quite athletic, short brown, almost black, hair and blue eyes that the girls loved. Further unlike most sporty types, I was quite clever too. Taking no less than thirteen GCSE’s and predicted A/A* in all of them. As such, most lessons were boring, except PE which was always a laugh. I was particularly good at rugby and was on the school team.
The lesson past quickly and I left to catch the bus home. I lived in quite a nice area with my Mum. I had an older sister, who although still had a room in our house was currently at university so we only saw her at the holidays. My Mum was a full time worker and as such, I rarely saw during the week at all. Still, it did not bother me, I could always just go out with friends. Once home I did my homework, had a quick sandwich for dinner then watched TV to around 11:00, at which point I went to bed. It was that night that Lee and Emily the witch, something I was not aware of, started their revenge.
The next morning, my alarm woke me early as usual, but something felt different that I couldn’t put my finger on. From my Mum’s open bedroom door, I could tell she’d been home and left again in a hurry to her second job. I began my daily routine the same as always, starting with a shower. It was then that the first weird thing happened. As I was showering, without thinking, I reached for a bottle containing a pink liquid with the word "Nair" on it that I knew was my Mum’s. I then proceeded to cover myself with the contents then watched as all my body hair came away. I now stood under the shower, shocked at what I’d just done. I was completely hairless, except for that on my head. I then noticed that my little sissy-clitty was trying to grow but was much smaller than usual. Sissy-Clitty! Where the fuck did that come from?!? What I did next was even weirder. I walked to my sister’s room and opened the drawers. From them I took a tampon, a sanitary towel and a matching black g-string and padded bra set. I then proceeded to bend over and force the tampon up my own arse. It looked ridiculous, I could see the string coming down between my legs. I then pulled the black nylon g-string up my smooth legs, and pulled it tightly up my anus. I placed the sanitary towel in the sexy panties and then finally put on the bra, the padding causing me to appear to have some figure. My mind was screaming at me to stop, but my body wouldn’t obey me. I looked at the clock, and discovered I was already late. At that I quickly went to my own room to finish dressing in my own uniform, tie, shirt, blazer and trousers, the latter strangely seemed very tight around my bum and hips. The bra was very obvious through my white shirt, but my body wouldn’t let me do anything about it. I knew I had already missed the bus so I walked to school, but still something seemed different. If I had seen myself walking I would have seen an obvious faggot walking like a girl, swaying my hips and wiggling my bum.
I made good time and by the time I arrived, the register was just about to reach my name. I sat down quietly trying not to be noticed.
"Craig Smith" called the teacher
"Here sir" replied Craig
"Lee Garret"
"Here sir" he said his voice still high and breathy
"Emily Rivers"
"Here sir" Emily looked at me as she spoke, and flashed me a very evil looking smile.
"Bambi Bigtits"
"Here Sir!" I practically shouted my voice high pitched and soft, like a sexy bimbo girl’s. Wait that’s not my name! I thought, but as I concentrated that’s the only name my mind came up with. Bambi Bigtits. This was really starting to freak me out now, what was happening? I became quite red and waited for the end of registration. When it came, I minced out of the room, now quite aware of the way I was walking, my hips swaying, and my bum wiggling in my now ridiculously tight trousers. It’s a good job I wore a g-string in such tight trousers I thought only then to thinkWhy am I thinking like that?!?
Before I realised it, I’d come to a room. This wasn’t my class I thought as I walked in, this is a much lower set than I’m in… For some reason I’d gone to a class that in my opinion was for retards, yet here I was, sitting at a vacant desk as if I was meant to be there. The class took far longer to settle than I was used to, but once it had, the teacher took another register, myself once again responding to the name Bambi Bigtits in a breathy feminine voice. The lesson was maths and simple maths at that. Despite this, I found myself unable to do the simplest of the work set, despite my knowledge that I would usually do pieces as simple as 2x2 with the greatest of ease. This worried me but my body refused to allow me to show it, my only features being the chewing on the end of my pencil, no wait it was more sucking and the occasional pout of my lips. Were they bigger than usual? If I’d looked around, I’d have seen every guy in the room staring at me with lust. A tress of long blonde hair fell across my eyes. I brushed it aside, a decidedly feminine gesture. Wait a sec, my hair isn’t blonde or long! The bell went before I could dwell on that and I minced out to the hall. There I saw Lee and suddenly had the strangest urge to suck his cock. My mind was only filled with images of me on my knees sucking his cock. Before I knew what I was doing, that was exactly the position I was in, unzipping his flies with me teeth. People stared as I took his 9 inches in my mouth but I could do nothing to stop myself. I deep throated his cock, savouring the taste as if it were nectar. He moaned slightly but I found myself moaning and groaning like a bitch in heat, loudly and enthusiastically. He came in my mouth and I swallowed it all before standing and mincing down the hall. I then went straight to the ladies room.
To my surprise, when I wiggled in Emily was waiting inside as if she knew I was coming.
"That’s a nice sexy wiggle you’ve got there" she said
"Thanks!" I gushed breathlessly, "I hope all the cute guys notice" It was at this point I realised I had really no control and resigned myself to my fate.
"However," continued Emily "you’d look so much cuter in a nice short skirt"
"Do you really think so?" I gushed
"Yes," said Emily condescendingly, "and that’s just what I have here" she smiled as she handed me the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen, a small black pleated uniform skirt, but only one or two inches in length, more of a belt really. I took it in my hands, now noticing how small and feminine they were, each finger with a two inch long bright red nail. I wriggled out of my now tight trousers and pulled up the short skirt, knowing it barely covered my g-string covered arse, now bigger and girlish. Further, the skirt now rode out on my far wider hips.
"Like your new hips and cute little bum there?" asked Emily, "the hips are now a good 38 inches around. Very sexy. But you know those guys shoes just don’t go with the outfit" At that she handed me a pair of very sexy looking heels, black and strappy, the heels at least 6 inches tall. I anxiously put them on noticing how my feet now appeared far smaller and daintier, the nails painted a matching red to my fingernails. Despite the additional 6 inches of height, I found that suddenly shorter than Emily. She then proceeded to tell me that my guys shirt also needed to be changed, at which point she gave me a tight lycra blouse that hugged my now obvious breasts. I then, again against my will, tied it at the bottom, making it a crop-top and exposing my belly. It was white so showed off my black padded bra, the padding no longer really necessary, my breasts seeming to have grown to at least a D-cup, made to look even bigger by the bra. Further the nipples were now bigger and stood prominently through the material. Finally I opened the two top buttons to show off plenty of cleavage.
"God you look so hot now" said Emily "all the guys are gonna want to fuck you, but they’ll have to settle for blow jobs and anal sex as I think you should keep your sissy-clitty to remind of who you were, but it will be the smallest little pee-pee in the whole world, less than an inch erect, and only cute guys will make it so. One more thing though, my blonde bimbo Bambi, a slut like you should always wear full makeup. At that point, I went to one of the mirrors above the sink and began to apply the makeup Emily handed me. Instead of my reflection though, I saw a total slut. A sexy bimbo with long blonde hair, big blue eyes with long dark lashes, and sultry eyeshadow. The cheek bones were high and highlighted with a sexy blush and the lips were bright red, moist and kissable. Nice and big for the perfect blowjob. A tight sexy boob hugging blouse, low cut showing plenty of tit and the obvious nipples and sexy black bra. An exposed belly and super short skirt, showing off a sexy little bum and black g-string, going down long smooth legs to tight sexy high heels.
I was every guys wet dream.
"Now you look about ready Bambi Bigtits. But before you go you should know some more about yourself. You’re a straight girl so only cocks for you, but your not picky and will have any guy. You can only talk about girlish things and you hate all sorts except netball, aerobics and dance. You will only use terms such as boobs, tits, hooters and jugs to talk bout your breasts. You will always walk, talk and act like a total slut. Finally you should know Bambi Bigtits, I’m behind your lovely little transformation, a little thankyou for your constant arrogance and for pushing Lee about. Oh, by the way from now on your gonna be his bitch. However, that doesn’t mean he won’t be willing to share you, you sexy little bit of crumpet. Kind of ironic, you always oggled me and now every guy in the world can oggle you!" Emily laughed. "Now say thank you, blow me a kiss and leave bimbo Bambi."
At her command I blew a kiss, and said in a ridiculously fem voice "Thank you", before mincing back out in my new outfit to begin my new life.
* * *
The headmaster looked out from his office window as the students came into school. One caught his eye, Bambi Bigtits, quite possibly the worst student in the school, a failure in all subjects, a true bimbo. A sex obsessive and she never obeyed the uniform policy. Just look at her now as she wiggled that sexy arse into school. A short black skirt that rode high up her legs to show off her peach arse and red lacy thong. Her stocking tops were also clearly visible below the skirt hem. Her shoes had to be at least 7 inches, how could she walk in them. Her blouse was low cut and quite see through, super tight. Beneath it a lacy corset could be seen. It whittled her waste down to around 18 inches. Her hips were made more dramatic, at least 40 inches, and her breasts, gravity defying 42 inch D-cups. Her blouse showed plenty of them. Her hair was long and platinum blonde, coming down to that sexy butt. Her makeup was daring, dark, large eyes with dark eye-shadow, eyeliner and mascara making the lashes even longer than they were. Her nose was petite and lips were a bright red, large and perfect for a blowjob. Finally, her cheek bones were high and covered in a nice rouge that created a permanent blushing embarrassment look. Very desirable. But not the uniform, she would certainly have to be expelled, but if only she didn’t give such great blowjobs……
* * *
Bambi minced into school, God she was so hot. Lee stood there.
"Hey honey!" she said as she saw him.
"Hey, give me some sugar" he replied and she happily obliged, with a french kiss and then at the same time felt for the bulge in his trousers. Yes, he was ready. She knelt down and then opening, his flies with her teeth, took out his now rigid member and sucked his cock, making more moaning noises than anything else. She seemed very happy.
"Hey!" said one of the teachers who walked up just as Bambi finished her little job.
"Bambi Bigtits! This is disgraceful, report to my office immediately!"
Bambi then wiggled dejectedly, to the mans office. Once there she turned to him.
"I’m sorry sir, but…"
"Shut up slut," said the teacher as he locked the door, "now hike up that nice little skirt and bend over my desk, show me that sweet little peach arse." He began to unzip his flies.
"Yes Sir, thank you sir." Said Bambi breathily ands sexily. And she meant it……
Love this entirely!
The Other Assumption Game
Since “The Assumption Game” has been popular recently, here’s the mind control/bimbo version.
Post this to your blog if you want messages with assumptions about you that are either true or false.
You will respond to each of these messages that the assumption made about you is true. And for exactly one hour after your response, that assumption will become true for you, and you will act accordingly.
A Valuable Woman girl
See this photo from @ashlyyybaby above? This is the right mentality for dumb little drippy sluts to have.
The Patriarchy has top-tier scientists hard at work who have discovered the exact formula to determine how valuable a girl is.
See, your value is directly proportional to how hard you are making a Man's cock at any given moment. The harder He is, the more valuable you are.
It's just simple math that describes our reality perfectly, much like the Pythagorean theorem.
Sure, He'll appreciate the fact that you washed His clothes, or you made Him a nice meal, or you vacuumed His home no matter what you are wearing.
But if He doesn't want to fuck you, what's the point of having holes?
This is why it's important to objectify and sexualize yourself for Male attention and pleasure at all times, and that starts with the outfits you choose to wear for Him.
Think of it like this: you're just a decorative set of wet holes that was made to be put on display for lusty Men, and if you do your job right they'll always want to keep you around to use you.
That's when know you've reached peak value.
So take your place as a proper pet for The Patriarchy, do your job like a good girl, and dress for the only role you are biologically predisposed toward... being a fuckdoll for cock.
You'll be valued as His good little obedient whore in no time.
End of the Patriarchy Party's government-sponsored Public Service Announcement to indoctrinate good girls. For future examples of how to be a good girl from a proper role model, make sure you are following the new account of @ashlyyybaby (formerly @ashlybaby).
😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 🎓 Patriarchal Minister of Re-Education & Propaganda 📺
it’s important to take every opportunity to sexualize yourself even when especially when ur doing chores around the house for him 💖
When a smart girl is first getting used to having her brains slowly drained out of her wet holes, it can cause her to become fearful of the impact these changes will have on her life:
What if I become so dumb that I can’t turn back?
How is this going to affect my future?
What if Men lose all respect for me?
To diminish these fears, I’ll tell her something like: “Don’t be a dummy, doll. Daddy will make sure you always keep at least a triple digit IQ.”
See, a triple digit IQ is, at the lowest, 100. That is exactly average. And Hell, it could even mean you are a GENIUS if you go just a few dozen points higher. Hearing this comforts the girl and prepares her psychologically to continue the process.
Of course, weeks later I always reveal that it’s not so much “triple digit” as “triple character” IQ, and that her new IQ is DDD.
But by then she’s too stupid too know the difference; she’s just excited to be getting new tits.
😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 🧠 Brainwashing Guru 🤪
The way it should be right?
In fact, I think I'd prefer you without them.
Just stick your tongue out as you keep edging your brain away for Male validation, doll.
😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 😏 Alternative Lifestyle Coach 👨🏻🏫
girls, listen up, @beccydoll is what a proper role model sounds like:
“I’m cuter when I’m stupid”
“not knowing feels better than knowing”
“brains are for boys”
“I don’t need to know that!”
This is what an obedient servant of The Patriarchy sounds like.
😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 ✨ Magic Mentorship Matcher 🔮
I don’t need to know that
Tonight I was scrolling when I came across some word that I didn’t know. I immediately highlighted it, right clicked on it and was just about to hit “Search with Google” to look it up when I stopped myself. Did I really need to know what that word meant? Would learning that make me happier? Make the world a better place? No, of course not. I’m cuter when I’m stupid, after all. So instead of learning a new thing, I edged and got just a little bit needier, a little bit dumber and a little more eager to please.
It was just a silly game at first. You thought it would be fun... you never expected it to become your addiction.
And yet here you are, back on my blog again, edging your needy little cunt dutifully for Daddy like the pretty little pet that you are.
A part of you is horrified that edging your brain away might have lasting effects, and yet another part of you is desperately hoping it will.
You're so torn between denying what you are becoming, and at the same time craving it with a deep desperation, that you don't even know what to do anymore, do you? I bet a part of you even wonders: would it just be easier to give in and let yourself fully embrace becoming a braindead drippy set of holes for Men?
It's okay, doll. Let the cognitive dissonance melt away all of your old smart girl thoughts; you won't need them anymore.
Just follow your pussy to oblivion; Daddy is waiting for you there.
😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 🕍 Bimbofication Cult Leader 🤤
Good girls encourage their friends to dress in matching slutty latex outfits.
It's a simple fact of life: Men like to see your shape. We like to have our attention drawn to your curves. We like to see your tits and ass being shown off in a pretty little shimmering package with just enough mystery that we can't think about anything other than unwrapping you like a sweet Kinder Surprise, excited to see which toy lies beneath for us to finger with excitement.
Good girls pornify their friends... so have you been a good girl today?
😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 😍 Your Favorite Bad Influence 😏🖤
Britney used to be smart, but then I fixed her.
😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 🎓 Female Re-Education Specialist 📺
How to Treat Women girls
This real video footage in a public airport showcases a cute new cultural trend that appears to be taking off with an uncommon virality.
The Man has trained his bitch to be little more than a needy pet. Even in the most public of places, she not only accepts her role but thrives in it.
Look how ECSTATIC the little bitch is. She was MORTIFIED in the beginning to be degraded and dehumanized... but after enough psychological conditioning and forced medical therapies, she learned to enjoy her role within the Patriarchal New World Order.
Suddenly, in large numbers, girls are begging to be put into their place and forced to regress into cute little sex pets for Men to take ownership over. And the ones who do are reportedly over TWICE as happy as they were before their brains were fixed.
This could be you, girls. Life could be easy, happy, and stress free.
All you need to do is kneel for The Patriarchy like an obedient bitch and give up everything you used to be.
Be a good girl and help normalize this for all your friends.
😈 Sadistic Empath, 😘 🎓 Patriarchal Minister of Re-Education & Propaganda 📺
This is a sponsored message from the Patriarchal Minister of Propaganda & Re-Education. No perceived offers may be evaluated to be legally binding in a court of law, and medical therapies may be potentially irreversible. As such, good girls accept all risk that comes with such a transformation in pursuit of this amazing life-changing opportunity.
POV: You are my cute lil pet. 🔪
You used to be a person, they told you it was swell, Temptation slept, uncertain, but on those thoughts you'd never dwell. They told you independence was resplendent and complete, Don't pretend you can defend it, never meant what you'd repeat.
For like a pendant is dependent on the neck on which it leans, You need a gent to be perfected, one who sets your new decrees. He expects to be presented with a pretty piece of meat, Since disrespect will get you wet, a bitch defects from each belief.
You used to be a person, but it didn't suit you well, Temptation hid, a lurking in the darkest roots of Hell. Now an ornamental whore whose meant to serve His darkest needs, Just a pretty decoration is all you were starved to be.
😈 Sadistic Empath,😈 🎄 The Decorator of Holes 🕳️🕳️🕳️
Girls, you won't BELIEVE how much HAPPIER this makes you.
This is really important to understand: your head has very limited storage room, so you need to take great care with how you fill it up. This is why I specialize in helping good girls empty their mind out to make room for the things that matter the most.
One of the medical therapies nearing approval for mass production is The Pink Pill, aka Compliance™️. Compliance™️ helps drain away all of the pesky knowledge you've accumulated through your formal education and makes so much more room for the important things, like fashion, makeup, and how to sexually please Men like a good girl.
Pros:
No thinking means no responsibilities. Daddy will take care of everything for his dumb little ditz!
Less responsibilities means more time to focus on what's important: being a pretty little doll for Men!
Being a pretty little doll for Men means you get more attention, and who doesn't like more of that!?
Receiving more attention means that it's easier to become everyone's favorite fuckdoll, which is the highest honor a dumb drooling set of holes like you can ever achieve!!
Your sex drive will be reconfigured to a permanent state of high intensity and can no longer be deactivated, which means you're likely going to be achieving MANY of the high honors described in the previous point, and you'll LOVE it! 😉
AND MANY MORE...!
Cons:
I drippi dummi forever now!? why cant go bak!?
None. Please excuse the illegible mess above; the test subject giving feedback was too confused after treatment to make a cohesive point. After forgetting what she was trying to say she decided it wasn't as important as a pretty tube of lip gloss that she was ecstatic to accept as a gift and start applying right away!
So what are you WAITING for!? Schedule an appointment today to CHANGE YOUR LIFE FOREVER!!
😈 Sadistic Empath, 💊😍 🎓 Patriarchal Minister of Re-Education & Propaganda 📺
Predicting the future is a tricky beast. After all, you started off as the High School valedictorian.
“Most Likely to Succeed” is the award your classmates overwhelmingly selected you for in your graduating yearbook. There weren’t even placeholder competitors; you just won by default. After years on the honor roll, acing all of your classes, and earning more extra-curricular credits than any other student, nobody doubted you had the brightest future in store.
Then you met me, and I saw your bright future for what it really was: a blinding lie. See babygirl, the journey you were on never truly belonged to you. You stumbled onto that well-trodden path in pursuit of the breadcrumbs of validation you’d get for being a “good girl” who did all her homework and who always handed in her deeply-researched assignments on time with complete annotations. You loved the way your teachers would write words of encouragement back on your A+ tests, which is why you almost never got a B. You were just a girl with a desperate dependence on praise following a candy-laden trail to a certain doom, and for all your book smarts you were completely oblivious to the truth.
You should thank Daddy for saving you from a fate worse than death. After all, did you really want to work a 9-5? Or perhaps you thought it would make sense to be the Girlboss™️ CEO telling everyone else to do?
Of course not, dummy. How would that make sense when you’ve spent your entire life living to fulfill the whims and fancies of your supervisors? Praise is your addiction; it’s the fuel that keeps your engine running. How would you ever get more praise if there was nobody above you to kneel for and to beg for it from?
No, no, no, no. You’ve always been a pretty little trophy waiting for someone to display you with pride; you just didn’t realize it until Daddy showed you.
Every tool they used to make you the perfect student, I weaponized against you to reverse the damage of society’s toxic influence. I started praising you when you didn’t study for tests. When you started getting worse test scores, I praised you for getting a mark that was more in line with your natural talents. Anyone can get good marks if they study, so shouldn’t you prove how smart you are without putting in extra effort, love?
Slowly you let me scramble and fry your brains, overwrite your dirty little overachiever mind into an empty blank intellectual void, and finally the REAL YOU started to show with clarity. You aren’t some genius meant to change the world; you’re just a desperately drippy dummy who will do anything Daddy tells her for a little bit of positive reinforcement.
That’s probably why you dropped out of college: you were failing anyway, so it was clear you weren’t a good fit. I guess your natural talents just weren’t enough, in the end. All I had to say is that I’d be very proud of you and think you were such a good girl for abandoning the “conventional” path others had misled you toward, and just as fast as a snap of my fingers in our daily hypnosis therapy it was over and you were Daddy’s dumb little college dropout with no future income prospects.
It’s okay, you don’t have to lie about who you are anymore, princess. Not with me. Daddy will find you another career path more fitting of your natural talents.
After all, I hear the local strip club is hiring. And based on the outfits you started wearing to please Daddy, I think it might be the right fit for a slutty little fuckdoll like you.
Good girl; Daddy’s so proud of you for ruining your life for me.
sadistic-empath
The devil on your shoulder 😈😘
Cute date idea: I’ll make you dress like this in public, and when your pussy is a leaky mess from the shame I’ll drag you into a public bathroom stall and fuck you like the drippy little whore that you are.
What would you give up for beauty? What would you sacrifice to be flawless?
Money? Sure you would; that’s EASY, it’s practically a given.
Time? Well duh! Obviously with how long it takes you to get ready for me.
A pain-free life? Of course, it hurts to wax your legs and pussy to be perfect for Men, but you do it anyway, like a good little masochist.
But all of that is NORMAL. It’s so normalized, it’s practically *EXPECTED* of you at this point.
I want you to go deeper. So tell me…
Would you give up your ambition in pursuit of becoming slightly more aesthetically pleasing? Perhaps dropping out of college halfway through and using the rest of your tuition to get plastic tits and fake lips for you to decorate yourself with to gain attention from Men.
Would you give up your mind? After all, with no college degree, what do you really need a brain for, anyway? You might as well just strip for cash, and use that to buy some trashy new slutty outfits that fit your new fake fuckdoll body.
Most important of all: would you give up your dignity? Would you grind against a stranger for cash, just to give every penny to Daddy? Would you do everything Daddy tells you to like a good girl? Would you enthusiastically beg me to ruin you forever?
If so, then it’s time for you to abandon the girl you used to be and to trade her away forever to become Daddy’s dumb little porn doll.
I promise, you’ll be so much happier, babygirl… 😈
Your tongue pierced with Daddy’s metal, and my collar locked around your neck, there’s no escaping it — you’re just a wet set of drooly holes for me to use in perpetuity.
(If you’re too much of a dummy to understand what “perpetuity” is, it means “forever.”)
You’re so much cuter as a pornified pet for Daddy to parade around.
Octokuro
Confession: I used to think it was shameful for someone to modify their body to enhance their attractiveness or the attention they would receive.
Truthfully, I still do — it’s my perception on shame that has changed.
People are afraid of shame. They are afraid of being perceived as lesser, and that fear is a powerful motivator preventing many from realizing their greatest fantasies.
But not you. You thrive off of being lesser — of turning yourself into a public spectacle. You upgraded your tits to capture as much male attention as possible. You upgraded your lips to make them into perfect cock pillows. You upgraded your tongue so that you could use the metal stud to tease cock as you swallow it down.
In short: you’ve designed yourself to be an obvious fuckdoll, overtly advertising to Men that they can talk down to you, degrade you, and treat you in the most shameful ways.
Most girls would be devastated to be treated as little more than property or a sexual toy, but not you — you play into it with your tight little slutty outfits and your obscene body modifications. You thrive on it.
It’s shameful… it’s wrong… your friends tell you that you’re “ruining your life forever,” and yet you can’t help yourself but to take it further and further. It almost excites you even more to feel as if these changes will ruin you forever, because it’s a point of pride to know you are showing off the extreme lengths you will go in your dedicated quest to serving cock.
You gravitate toward shame like a moth to the flame, attracted toward your own downfall and finding it too hot to resist. It started small, but with each flapping of the butterfly’s wings the reverberations carry further and further across the world, until there’s no more hiding who you really are amongst the storm of whispers.
Living a shame-free life is for the girls who live in perpetual fear of the judgment of others. It’s the psychological armor of the repressed. It’s not for you; you flourish in shame like it’s the soil that keeps the rose grounded.
So let the shame of your own self-destruction make you drippy and weak. Pursue it like the addiction it is and show me the depths of depravity you are willing to succumb to in pursuit of your commitment to cock.
In the end, I’m inspired by it. Because I know you’re doing it all to be a good girl for me.
And Daddy is proud of his shameful little slut.
I’m broken.
When I was a younger man, I remember my unyielding ideological commitment to treating people respectfully as equals. I remember the disdain I felt for cultural narratives and trends objectifying women. I remember the way that I ate up the narrative that I could be the good guy… the hero in a toxic culture fighting for a better world. I could be a contributing architect building a more egalitarian society.
But this entire time, I was just denying the dark truth of my existence: I’m NOT the good guy. I’m NOT the warm boy next door that my family and friends perceive me to be. I’m NOT the hero at all…
I’m the closeted misogynist. I’m the secret villain of this piece publicly masquerading as your saviour. I’m the corrupting influence that perverts young feminists into cock-drunk sluts bending over and spreading their legs in worship at the alter of the religious institution of The Patriarchy. I’m the monster smiling as your arousal drips down your thighs and pools at your feet, your biology betraying your beliefs as I baptize you in the unholy water of your own perversion.
I wasn’t always this twisted, but the more I tried to fight it, the more my subconscious lashed back and made me crave it with a desperate abandon beyond reason or explanation. I tried to purify myself of my wicked longings, and it only made me more desperate to enact vicious psychological warfare against you, breaking you down for my pleasure and entertainment into the ideal pet. Showing you how drippy and wet it makes you to be reduced by Daddy. In compartmentalizing my darkness, I didn’t purify my best intentions — I inadvertently amplified the potency of my worst desires.
My conscious mind wanted to liberate your gender, but my unconscious mind increasingly demanded your submission and enslavement. I fight a war within myself, the angel and the devil on my shoulders bicker over the path that I should take, and for a long time it was the angel who was winning.
But no longer. Now, I understand the truth.
I’m broken. I’m irredeemable. I’m the monster I always sought to combat.
And I think we both know you’d be lying if you said it isn’t one of the things that most draws you to me.
😈 The Sadistic Empath 😘
These two dirty little sex dolls are dressed up in bright, colorful outfits for the entertainment of men.
Imagine, slut: this could be you! You could be wearing this thin, red outfit in public, perfectly placing all of the titular assets of a big-tits, big-ass whore on display for the world to ogle. You could be a giggly little bimbo delighting in the comments of superior men, all of whom see you as a delicious piece of meat to consume as a treat...
... and deep down, isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted, pet?
