The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

March 1, 2014

THE MANSION: PART ONE

“Delivery for Ms… Me. Is that you?” Leon said.

“It’s me,” the half-naked girl at the door said. Another one, in a black nightie, walked by behind her. The girl at the door was a long and lithe asian girl, in a wine red nightie that used lace to both hide and show some whopping tits.

She eyed him. “Want to come in?” she offered.

“Oh, uh, no thanks,” Leon said, backing away. Deliverymen talked about it, of course, but everyone agreed that nine times out of ten it was a honeypot to get the driver’s wallet. Or that’s what Leon kept telling himself.

But then he was back the next day. “Delivery for… Ms. Two-Two-Three Vineyard Lane.”

This time it was the blonde. She was in spandex shorts and a matching top. The top had to be a special order, to hold in her chest.

“Oh, thanks! Please, please come on in!” she said.

“That’s uh… that’s okay.” He handed the package over. It started to vibrate.

“Oopsie, the batteries must already be inside. Crissy! Sally! Teri! Bonnie! They’re here!”

Four more of them? Leon walked away and spent all night thinking about the encounter.

The next day another delivery. “Ms. Two-Three-Nine-Nine, Five-Six.. okay this looks like a credit card number miss. Please be careful when you order online.”

This one had dark black hair, and was just straight-up topless. Wonderful, mouthwatering tits bounced at eye level with Leon. He worked very hard to look her in the eye.

She seemed puzzled. “Mister, my tits are down there,” she said, pointing.

The credit card number snafu gave him a hook. “Can I talk to the person whose credit card that belongs to? Your boyfriend, or husband, or..?”

“Oh, the master?” she said, and giggled. “He hasn’t been here. He’ll be back in like, a month.”

A month. Master? But it was a palatial house, set well back from the road, with what looked like entire wings back behind an enormous facade.

She smiled at him. Her titties jiggled. “Won’t you come in?” she said.

Leon took a breath. “Okay,” he said.

March 2, 2014

THE MANSION: PART TWO

March 3, 2014

THE MANSION: PART THREE

Leon racked the bar, sat up on the bench, and then decided on another set of reps. Technically it was leg day but there was nothing wrong with burning some energy with a few bench presses.

The girls waited outside, anxious, horny. When he walked out of the weight room, glistening with sweat, smelling like a stallion in heat, they practically flung themselves at him. For awhile Leon had done free weights with a girl bobbing between his legs, working at his cock, but it had been too distracting.

He stopped in front of a mirror, admired what he saw. Good gains, steady gains, nicely distributed. His six-pack had emerged from a formerly bulbous and fleshy stomach. He could flex his thighs. His old clothes were a joke. All thanks to the master’s pills. He had even put on a few inches to his dick, four or five or so. The girls really liked that.

The clock on the wall was analog. Leon stared at it, lips moving, working out the time. “Two… twenty!” he finally said, and, pleased with himself, walked outside to towel off on tits. Those dumbos couldn’t even figure out a digital clock.

He strode out stark naked, his dick extended, still hot from the workout.

They clustered around him, eager, dressed strategically. Truthfully Sally had been his favorite lately. She fucked like a firecracker, unable to control herself, and he loved when her eyes rolled into the back of her head from some really hard orgasm. Plus she had hit on his weakness for daisy dukes. But it wouldn’t be fair to the other girls. So he casually wrapped a callused hand around Teri’s tits and flicked her nipple. The other girls whined deep in their throats until a stern look stopped that.

They fucked in his room. Sort of—he didn’t bother to go farther then a handy wall before tossing her up against it. Teri wrapped her legs around him and pulled him inside. Not bad. She’d go up a few notches on the ladder.

There wasn’t much in his room. Discarded pill bottles—he liked to munch them like candy. A book on the bed. For awhile he had been concerned about how the words swam and got so hard to decipher, but it had been awhile since he had tried to read.

“Leon, please…” Teri said, and Leon realized he was ramming her a bit too hard into the wall. He slowed instantly, kissed her forehead apologetically. “Sorry, baby, don’t know my own strength,” he told her. “You know I’ll never let anything or anyone hurt you.”

He gave her a tug on her tits to emphasize how serious he was.

A client wanted a himbo as a guard dog for one of his summer homes. Dictation thanks to Amy, blowjobs during dictation thanks to Chloe.

March 4, 2014

BIMBO THREE

I think it’s time for a third bimbo.

Not sure what kind of bimbo I want, however. The first bimbo is a sort of utility bimbo, a catch-all, a cheerful and flexible jack-of-all-trades who is comfortable in any kind of costume and any sort of role. Typically you want her smart enough to handle some housekeeping and typing, and keep house a bit, even with a vibrator between her thighs. Amy is a perfect specimen and I have been very happy with her—even though she’s spending all my money lately on wild shopping trips for more hot outfits.

Bimbo two is fuck-focused. Whenever Bimbo A is busy with in the kitchen bimbo two is ready for a blowjob. Sex-centered, talented in the bedroom, she is a perfect fuck and devotes herself to your sexual happiness. Chloe can bang the shine off of chrome.

So, bimbo three. Secretary? Maid? I have ideas but I think it’s time to be modern and take ideas. I leave the direction for bimbo three in the internet’s capable hands. Feel free to make suggestions.

March 5, 2014

Anonymous asked: Have you ever had international experiences throughout your long career as bimboizer/mind controller? If so, how did those experiences help you to broaden your approach to bimboization?

I’ve traveled a bit but my heart wasn’t really in it. There are so many girls left to fuck right here in America. I traveled for work to Europe to meet the various bimboizing groups, however, and that was an interesting glimpse into different systems and philosophies.

To generalize wildly, the Germans loved their girls domineering, systematic, sexually aggressive. We joked afterwards that they should all get riding crops when the bimboizer was finished. Although a teutonic blowjob was a wild experience I’ll definitely remember. The French liked their girls smarter but unpredictable, wildly so, chic and purring only to end up in a public toilet getting reamed by a japanese tourist.

The British were all about subtlety—it was sometimes even hard to tell which girl was the bimbo until you noticed she was casually fingering herself. Although of course with the British they’re all so influenced by The Master, so who knows if that’s a national trait or not.

That’s it for organized overseas bimboization. Oh, and the Japanese, but their group is all absorbed into some larger umbrella-guild thing and really doesn’t specialize like we do. Of course there are bimboizers in every country—you hear some truly terrifying stories out of eastern europe and south america with chemical mass production. But that’s it for associations.

India apparently has a tradition of home-brewed bimboization that goes back thousands of years in very secretive circumstances. That’s all I know about it—I’m not a historian.

I’m sure that those groups would say I’m a typical American—stealing ethnic stereotypes, focusing on mass production, willing to do anything for a dollar. And they’d be right! I believe in this country.

March 6, 2014

bimbotori asked: It kind of sounds like you need someone to keep order in the house, someone to really keep Amy’s credit card under control. How about, like a bimbo domme?

I like the bimbo domme when my harem is getting a little too hard to manage. We’re talking 7+ girls. Around then I start getting jumped in the bathroom as needy girls try to catch me alone. Plus there are dildos everywhere. At 2 girls.. a little superfluous.

I had one domme for a bit, Tina, who was a marvel. She was maybe 5′1″ and weighed well south of a Benjamin even after she got the usual tit inflation. Regardless, she fashioned herself as headmistress of my crowd and devoted herself to a mock-school environment. Classes on proper blowjob technique, report cards, and, it goes without saying, spankings for even minor infractions. Once all the girls walked around in six inch stilletos, nonstop, for a week, as part of Tina’s training on how to walk properly in heels.

So I think a bossy girl this early on would be too much. But a much appreciated suggestion

March 6, 2014

Anonymous asked: Re: Bimbo Three: If you view your nascent harem as a family unit, it seems that bimbos one and two fill the “wife” and “child” roles respectively, after a fashion. Why not work on a “family pet”? A bimbo of minimal intelligence, but well trained enough for that not to be a problem. For kicks, she could be an intelligent, functioning adult outside the house, completely unaware of her true role, but once in the house, or properly triggered, it’s back down to all fours.

Yeah… the bimbo-pet.

When I was a young mind controller, I was invited to have drinks at the mansion of a well-established bimboizer who went by the name Mr. Need. One of the dumber nommes de guerre I’ve heard. Anyway, he lived in a semi-castle in the woods, the exterior dark stone and menacing facades, the interior decked out in expensive oak paneling.

He met me at the door in a pair of loose, stained khakis and a crappy shirt from Penneys and was surrounded by girls. Really, I think he had 50-100 women in there. Maids in droves, girls in swimsuits, girls in fishnets, TWO statues staring at each other. You had to speak up to be heard over the drone of girls whispering to each other.

And I won’t lie, I was kind of impressed. We headed into the library, he poured out very expensive cognac, and we’re discussing The Business when a girl comes in on all fours.

First bimbo puppy I’d seen. I must’ve looked surprised. Mr. Need laughed. “This is Penny!” he said, cheerfully. “You’re sitting next to her water bowl!”

And I was. It had Penny written on it in sequins. Penny herself was a blonde, with long hair gathered back, utterly naked. She meandered towards me slowly on hands and knees as I awkwardly tried to ignore her.

But Mr. Need brought the conversation back her way. “Do you like her? The technique is surprisingly subtle. You have to dig deep into the animal parts of the brain and—PENNY! NO!”

PENNY. WAS PEEING. ON MY SHOES.

I pretended to laugh it off and gave Mr. Need a ‘girl-dogs will be girl-dogs’ remark but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I had been peed on. And that was it for me and kennel girls. Yeah, I know they can be housebroken. Not gonna.

I don’t want to make it seem like I’m just shooting down ideas. So many of these have been great. Feel free to keep sending them in!

March 7, 2014

Anonymous asked: Have you ever brainwashed a bimbo to the point where no one could possibly reprogram her?

Sure, all the time. With consent. I had an interesting one finish up recently, actually. Tori, a brunette with an excellent career, good friends, a loving boyfriend, and desperate to toss it all away for a lifetime as a living sex toy. She made a special request that I think was just to give her time to arrange her affairs, but which ended up being a lot of fun.

I gave her the big glowing pink shot—and a small subdermal implant which delayed onset for a randomized period of time.

“When will it trigger?” she said, staring at the bandaid on her shoulder.

“It really is random. Could be today. Could be years,” I said. Tori insisted on masturbating while I gave her the shot, which was fine. She was attractive, with an earnest expression I knew would be utterly erased as a cocksucking slut. “Anytime.”

It was six months.

And the uncertainty and waiting drove Tori into a complete sexual frenzy. Knowing that the drugs were in her, held back by a roll of the die, made her burn. She started trying to trigger it, fucking her boyfriend harder and harder, then going out and finding a random guy to blow. Raising her hemlines until they practically became waistbands. And insisting on rough sex, the more demanding the better, shaking her until she was dizzy and cumming and senseless.

I talked her out of breast aug surgery (!!!) but she went platinum blonde, and caked her face in makeup. I couldn’t stop her from wild shopping sprees, even though I warned her nothing would fit post-trigger.

By month four she had convinced herself that it was working, but slow. That there was a time-release effect ever so gently making her into a dumb, horny bimbo. “I forgot my old high school’s mascot!” she would tell me, proudly. [I got interested in the process—might offer it as a product].

She was a jiggling, horny mess by month six. One of the most bimboish bimbos I’ve ever seen without chemical or mind controlling intervention.

But ultimately still a pale shadow next to a true hard bimbo. She still held down a job, she could still hold a conversation, she could do other things. Giving blowjobs to the boss every morning was not a hard bimbo. Not at all.

She finally triggered during a conference at work. Sat quietly in her seat, then started to masturbate. And then, with a whimpered “oh shit!” fucked and sucked all three other conference participants into near comas. While the video conference team in Boston watched their screen, awe-struck.

Anyway, that Tori is gone. But she was a sort of chrysalis for the wild, insatiable, bimbo fuck toy that in many ways replaced her.

March 7, 2014

Anonymous asked: Perhaps the third ought to be an out-of-house bimbo? A sexy assistant to have on hand should clients require a model or example? Someone to take notes, file, schedule and even suggest places to dine for lunch or share a cup of coffee with in the car while on a stake-out? A partner, of sorts. God, I’m a romantic...

The bimbo admin was my first reaction and, to be totally honest, my usual choice for bimbo #3. I had already looked at office space and picked up a selection of bimboizing mints.

But I just had this feeling, like I was just going through the motions of turning some sandy blonde with freckles into a phone-answering secretary slut, sitting behind a desk with ginormous tits. Like I was running an errand. And no one should ever feel that way about bimboization. So I’m switching it up.

On the other hand I really do need an admin badly so some college sophomore with freckles is about to get really turned on by pencil skirts. Just not quite yet.

March 8, 2014

March 9, 2014

motherfducker-blog asked: Though the idea is ever so slightly ridiculous, are there any guiding ethics or principles in what you do? Using the power given is like an Acid of the Mind, but are there morals left and/or useful in your profession?

Well, I’ve already mentioned the ethics I have. It wasn’t a very long post. But let me be controversial and give up three things I don’t like in bimboization but which are nonetheless popular.

Massive collagen lips. I really hate these. Really, really a complete turnoff. I’m talking about the huge lips that look like pink slugs wrapped around a girl’s mouth. Now, some fullness and some puffiness is of course hot and I understand the appeal with blowjobs. But I just can’t get past how they look like worms crawling around teeth.

Tanning. Especially fake and semi-permanent tans. This one is wholly irrational and I have no way to defend it. I never ever try to dissuade a client from a permanent tan job. I know perfectly well how popular it is. And yet, taking some girl with porcelain skin and giving her what is essentially skin damage—I just can’t go for it. Believe me, I wish I liked tans, it would make my work more fun.

Abuse. Again, some spanking, some BDSM, some dom/sub stuff, fine. But I don’t understand why some clients take my innocent, happy, sex-hungry bimbo and feel this urge to beat the living crap out of her. For kicks! You’re taking some innocent girl and turning her into a brainless cumslut, the least you can do is be nice.

I screen as well as I can but every so often some jackass who wants to just beat a girl up slips through. Any girl who gets beaten up suddenly remembers my emergency phone number. Woe betide that client. The good news is that this is a very rare occurrence.

I hope everyone enjoys these opinions.

March 10, 2014

TRACY: 1

Tracy realized that she was no longer a vegan.

The epiphany shook her in bed, made her sit upright and turn on the light. She slept in a twin-size. On the wall were her paintings, half landscapes and half experimental collages of construction paper.

She had been denying herself a window to the world, narrowing her own aesthetic and cultural experiences. Suffocating herself in a restricted life, depriving her body of happiness and pleasure. It was no wonder she had been so creatively blocked, so unsuccessful post-art school. She was blinding herself.

Too excited to sleep, she kicked off her heavy pajamas and got dressed, tossing on one of her own self-designed skirts with the multicolored hem that brushed her ankles. And then off to a burger joint just outside her apartment, where she ordered five burgers and decided to splurge on fries.

“Splurge,” she told herself. That should be a new motto. An openness to new experiences, to life itself.

The burgers were amazing. It had been years—years!—since she had properly enjoyed herself, without worrying about sourcing and consequences. Tracy sucked down two chocolate milkshakes and then went back for another.

She got back well after 1, mouth smeared with barbeque sauce, dress dirty where she had used it for a napkin. But pleased with herself.

The next morning, it had all gone straight to her tits.

March 11, 2014

CHEAP WORK

I had a client blanch at my fee. I guess I should say, potential client. He mentioned some cutrate bimboizer I have 0 respect for who apparently offered to do his wife over for $500. This guy lives in a huge house, has several cars, wants to spend less on his wife’s bimboization then he probably does on a bottle of wine.

But maybe I’m not marketing effectively so let me explain all the little things that differentiate a cheap whore job from my work.

Eyes. Irises just a bit bigger, eyelids just a little farther set back. Everyone remarks on how wide-eyed and adorably naive my bimbos look and don’t think about what that takes. But more importantly, I redo eye chemistry. Ever been jizzed in the eye? It HURTS. Stings a bitch. So I completely redo the lubrication composition so that a bimbo will take a load to the entire face without flinching.

Speaking of which, taste buds. Cum tastes gross, salty and wet. Sure, you can get the bimbo to fake it. Why not make it ambrosia? My girls authentically love it.

Musculature. Most of all, musculature. I spent years studying it. The easiest way to tell someone went to a shit bimboizer is the saggy, droopy oversized beachball tits with nipples currently pointing at the floor. It’s pathetic. Proper breast musculature radiates from the back and wraps around to the front—a framing structure. Some bimboizers kind of know this and add some muscles to her torso, which just makes her look like she skips leg day at the gym.

And finally, posture. Musculature just isn’t enough if the girl isn’t trained to get around on an unbalanced frame. I carefully reset the spinal cord, encourage the girl to walk like a princess, and encourage exercise. Leaving a girl with scoliosis to prop up big tits is a terrible idea.

Or you can go to Mr. Snowe and then spend thousands more on chiropractor fees. Up to you.

March 12, 2014

TRACY 2

Helen:

… but how long had you been vegetarian. Or was it vegan?

Tracy:

Who cares? Years. A lot of years. Look, what I’m saying is that I don’t care. I’m done with that. I am full of beef and I love it. I really love it.

H:

Okay.

T:

Look, Helen, I’ve been living in this stupid town for three years. I have sold like, three paintings? Yeah. I felt so… stagnant. Like I was just going through the motions!

H:

Yeah I get that but I don’t know why stuffing your face with hot dogs is a solution. It sounds more like a coping mechanism.

T:

For what?

H:

Well.. that you aren’t selling.

T:

I wasn’t selling because I was this stale little thing. I was dried up. And now I’m so full of milkshakes and coffee cake and like six cups of coffee that I am just positively juicing, Helen! Look, what do you weigh? 95? 105?

H:

A hundred…ish. Somewhere around there. Why? What?

T:

I was about the same. I’ve gained fifteen. Not an ounce to my stomach, not an ounce to my thighs. It’s all tits and ass. All of it. Like I’m finally growing up. You know?

H:

Fifteen pound boobs? Tracy…

T:

Listen! So you know I make my own outfits. And they don’t fit right. And I realize it’s because I was just treating my own body like a flat sheet of particle board. Like cardboard! What does that say, that I thought of myself like that?

H:

Tracy, I’ve never thought of you as having self-esteem issues.

T:

Really? What girl doesn’t have self-esteem issues? Anyway, I took the clothes I made, and I decided: I’m cutting them all in half. Using half the fabric. My body is not posterboard, it is part of me, and my clothing is going to show it.

H:

So you’re showing your tits off.

T:

Yes! And it’s so liberating! I used to get these looks like, oh here comes hippie art girl in her hippie clothes, and now I get all these smiles and looks like… you know!

H:

Like, nice tits!

T:

Look, if my titties can’t be art, then I can’t make art.

H:

Did you really say titties?

T:

I have to go.

March 13, 2014

DEREK’S EDUCATION

Ever since the car crash fiasco Derek had been a lot more low-key. Ideally that was a wakeup call that he was much less then a god and not a particularly good mind controller, either. I’ve been trying to impress on him that getting a girl to spread her legs does not mean you are a master of the psychic arts. It’s the easy part.

Anyway I’ve had him working on hormone release and chemical balancing for some time now, and assigning him lots of reading. Medical textbooks plus a few of the texts that were written specifically for bimboizers. I gave him a copy of The Catalog [with the ordering section taken out] and the breadth of the selection blew his mind. I told him to memorize it, he didn’t need much prompting.

Hormone/chemical work is finicky and frankly advanced but he has taken to it naturally. I think it’s the purest form of bimboization—I flatter myself of course—and so it was nice to see Derek excited by it. Turning the girl into a ravenous whore with her own pleasure-pain reward system and convincing her body it was always destined for whopping tits, that’s a lot of fun.

Of course there have been some setbacks. He brought in a girl from high school who had to carry her own beanbag-sized boobs. He had left the metaphorical tap on in her system and turned her essentially into a boob machine. I’ve also had to caution him on endocrine systems—too much oxytocin release will burn a girl out. She should enjoy sex, not be burnt out by it.

He’s coming over tonight for drinks. He’s nervous because a major project is due back tonight. He flagged a girl down, convinced her to drive to the very tip of Maine, fuck someone on the coast, and then drive back with his underwear as proof. The lesson is teaching permanent mind controlling in a lightly-affected subject. I’m sure she’ll make it back just fine.

March 14, 2014

motherfducker-blog asked: Hold on a mo... Didn’t the association create the Master PC?

No no. Master PC has been around forever—long before the Association. The first appearance we know of was on a UNIX machine in the early 1980s. Apparently [details are sketchy] at that point all it could do was affect breast size and enslave. But by the early 1990s it had that full-color spinnable model display that so many users have loved, and a considerable set of bimboizing options.

You can do some pretty incredible stuff with the latest incarnation—racial alteration and accent generation being the newest feature. And the intelligent loss menu has been turned into a sort of hard drive—you can dive into the subject’s memories like they’re a C: drive and selectively delete. Pretty amazing.

But who made it? And keeps updating it? Bimbotech swears it’s not them. Everyone automatically thinks The Master but it doesn’t seem his style—he was all about the subtle change and never had much interest in tech. So, some solo genius programmer-magician iterating in his basement? Something more sinister? Worth pointing out that Master PC seems to choose its users somehow—and has more security features then the NSA.

Some years back a programmer apparently broke into the source and released an open version. For a day or two we had rampant and uncontrolled mind controlling. And then, gone. Poof. And no one remembered it happening! Spooked the hell out of the Association. I don’t trust Master PC.

March 15, 2014

TRACY 3

“I’m doing this for the money,” Tracy reminded herself.

And she did need the money. Very badly she needed the money. Posing nude for art students was practically a requirement for struggling artist types like herself, anyway.

Tracy kept these thoughts foremost in her head as she stripped. But she couldn’t help admiring the big, bulbous tits she had sprouted in the past few weeks. They were getting heavy. And sensitive. Just yesterday she had found paint on the tips of her nipples because while working she had found her fingers straying and…

But anyway, she wasn’t going to think about that. Or how damn good she was looking, her hair thick and full. Just the result of getting more vitamins and minerals.

The fact that her pussy was totally shaved would be, she knew, controversial for the budding artists. She hadn’t meant to go totally bald. But when she accepted the gig she had eyed her untouched mane and been horribly embarrassed. Then one thing turned into another with the razor and soon she was scraping it totally clean.

She wasn’t going to think about how much she liked it. And anyway, it would be easier for the artists to draw.

There were fifteen people in the community college class. Eight were boys. Probably a few of them were lured in simply to see a naked woman posing for them. It should’ve skeeved her out. It wasn’t. The heat of their glares, their erections…

Tracy pulled off her socks and thought about art and money.

That’s why she was doing it. The ART and the MONEY. The female form—especially one as increasingly idealized as her own—was one of the classic objects. She was an object. Through her big boobs and her shaven snatch they would be inspired to progress into fully fledged artists. Fifteen pairs of eyes on her tits. Fifteen drawings of her ass.

She hoped a few would look at her ass

It was time. Tracy put her clothes in a neat package on a chair and strode towards the door, totally naked. There was a robe for her that she ignored. It was time. She could do this.

She hoped none of this moisture seeped out from between her thighs.

March 16, 2014

HOW TO TELL

People often ask: how do I know if I’m being mind controlled? How can I tell that I’m bimboized?

Honestly? There’s almost nothing you can do. There’s almost nothing I can do. Yes, I’ve set up elaborate mental defenses and I’m immune to almost everything in the Catalog. But it someone gets through and I start fucking girls senseless all the time, I’m going to think it’s normal. It is normal. And then it will become normal to start lifting weights, since I’m middle-aged and need to keep my stamina up. And then it’ll become normal to stop reading books, because I’m tired. And then I’ll be a service male for a large household and think it all just very humdrum.

So no, there’s not much you can do, especially with mind control. The best thing I can offer is to set up a very specific item on your routine that is utterly unvaried but totally unremarkable. Say, you always keep a nickel on you when you go out. Always. The idea is that if you get changed, the MCer will not notice this mental routine, but you’ll notice if it gets moved. Obviously any controller with any skill will be watching for this, but it’s the most you can do.

The real answer is to be close to someone—the more the better!—who will recognize what is going on, because you won’t. Part of the thinking behind the Association is that if a member got controlled EVERYONE would instantly know.

You have more options with a slowdose chemical bimboization, if caught in time. The problem, of course, is discovering what is triggering you. Really the best thing to do is get on a bus and leave before you need a new bra.

Keep in mind that the struggle against the inevitable is often half the fun for the bimboizer, so.. you might just be following their script. If you ever find yourself saying something like “I’ll call and give him a piece of mind about this!” then yeah, your struggle isn’t going well.

Also as a professional bimboizer I would like to ask bimbos-to-be to struggle in an ultimately futile but entertaining and sexy way. Thank you in advance.

March 17, 2014

ELLIE: ONE

The want ad and the guy on the phone had both said “boring job, easy paycheck.” That suited Ellie fine.

“Can you pick up a phone? Can you say hello into the receiver? Can you write down what is said?” the man on the phone said.

“I already did two of those when you called,” Ellie pointed out. “And I’m scribbling right now.” She pretended to do so.

“You’re hired,” the man on the phone said.

The office was behind a single door in a nondescript floor of a beige building. There was a hushed silence throughout the offices, with no one around, and no art on the walls. Behind the door—unlocked—was a large desk with a phone on top of it, and a few chairs in front of that, and a big black phone.

And that was it.

Excepting a bowl of candies that quite possibly the last owner had left behind. They looked like knock-off M & Ms.

Ellie had prepared for this. She had paperbacks with her, a laptop for web browsing, snacks. She was used to the weird-temp game. But even so, four hours in she was restless, frustrated. The phone hadn’t rang once.

She tried one of the candies.

They were a lot like M & Ms. Crispy sugar coating, milk chocolate interior. But good. Very good. She had another.

Ellie stopped herself. It was a big bowl. She was skinny, practically gaunt. Her curves were more nudges.

So really, she had a few pounds to spare. She had another chocolate. Now they were melting on top of each other, a gooey chocolate sugar glaze in her mouth.

She messed around on the internet for awhile, and then had an entire handful. They were so warm and rich. Little chocolate sparkles shot off in her head. She licked chocolate-ly lips.

“Stop being a pig,” Ellie told herself, with the candies on her tongue. It was no good to reprimand herself. A steady stream shot in, to be stripped of the candy shell and consumed. The second half of the day was a lot more pleasant.

When the clock was nearly at 5 she panicked, shoveled the remaining candies in. Chocolate dribbled down her chin, on her hoodie, and there was a chocolate and drool stain on her jeans where she sat.

The last one shook her out of her reverie. Embarrassed, confused, Ellie slunk out of the office.

That night she had chocolate dreams.

The next day there was another full bowl waiting for her.

March 18, 2014

TRACY: 4

There were two art galleries in the entire town and one only sold vaguely Christian landscapes that might as well be black velvet. The other one was a couple of beige rooms that retirees wandered around to flatter themselves on both their wealth and their culture.

And usually Tracy hated it. But not tonight. Not even with all the hateful looks from aging wives.

The outfit drew inspiration from birds in the park and swans on the lake. But what it mostly was, was a swimsuit with feathers pasted onto it. Most of the work had been a spray of white down extending down her arms to her hands, which meant her legs were just in a one-piece white swimsuit.

Tracy didn’t mind. Her legs were long, slender, and perfect. She had accented with pure white princess heels that gave her another three and a half inches. Bright red lipstick added a pop of color. She smiled a lot.

And sold paintings. Two shitty still-lifes-for-money had already gone, and that was rent. And now a white-haired gentleman was admiring her big painting, which had hung unmoving for months. A skyscape, a big one, with the golden arches of the McDonalds near her apartment popping in at the lower left.

“You’re the artist?” the man said. He took a discrete look around, noted his wife’s involvement in a conversation, and casually turned back.

“Oh, yes!” Tracy said. She smiled, bit softly at her lower lip.

“The McDonalds. So evocative and challenging in a landscape. And yet it turns the piece into low art. Pop art. Was that your intent?”

“Umm…” did she have an intent? Something like that, right? It was hard to smile and think arty thoughts at the same time. “I guess! Sure! I’m glad you like it!”

“I do like it,” the man said. He took another look around. “And maybe for another…” he gave her a frankly appraising look. Tracy looked at him blankly. The man lowered his offer. “$500, you can stop by and we’ll talk about.. .further commissions?”

Tracy wasn’t feeling particularly bright that day, but even that got in. She blushed. It was.. there was.. but the money… He thought she was hot…

“Sure!” she heard herself saying. The man gave her a slow, sly wink.

She should’ve run screaming into the night. Tracy sucked on her lipstick and designed new outfits in her head.

March 19, 2014

ANOTHER LOSS

I keep in touch with seven or eight exiles more or less like me—practitioners on the outs with the Association for one reason or another. A couple had even done a philosophical 180 and were dedicated to restoring former bimbos, which I disagreed with. But we all had a mutual interest in staying hidden and keeping low.

I say seven or eight but it used to be eight, and is now seven. We lost Mr. Sweeney. He was a former henchman type who taught himself chemistry and struck out on his own. Not a cutting-edge bimboizer but a good guy who did a lot for his community, mostly bimboizing it. He never fit in with the high-strung psycho/psychic types and just stopped showing up to meetings.

He went radio silent a few months ago. Not totally unusual. But another one of us stopped by his town—his office is boarded up, his harem dispersed, no sign of him. And there are plenty of ways he could’ve dropped us a line even if he was on the run.

So I wonder what happened to him. A gym rat dully banging girls at some mansion? A giggly, dripping convert? Worse?

I’ll have to put on a brave face for Amy. Bimbos hate when you’re obviously depressed.

March 22, 2014

TRACY 5

The man’s name was Theodore.

“Please call me Theo,” he told her, and invited her inside. He wore a comfortable blazer and slacks. There was no mention of his wife, and he had left his wedding ring off.

Tracy stepped inside cautiously. She had stitched together inexpensive thrift store leathers into a creaking patchwork, a vague comment on feeling like a side of beef. The style was intended to be a punk take on a tea dress, but she had misjudged the hem on her growing posterior, and it rode up extremely high. Theo didn’t seem shocked by it, so it had already failed.

His house was huge, and his art taste good, running to reproductions of Rothko-derivatives with a smatter of local scenes. “I’ll show you where I’m placing yours soon,” Theo said. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes please,” Tracy said. Theo waited for an order, and then shrugged and handed her a glass of wine. “A pleasure to have two new works of art here this evening,” he said, and smiled slowly at her.

Tracy relaxed. Of course. He was trying to seduce her. And here she thought this was some form of prostitution. But seduction was an art form all its own—the give and take and interplay. That changed everything.

She downed her wine and handed it back to him. Theo’s urbane smile broadened. They understood each other.

Tracy put her all into the performance. She tittered and giggled at the entendres that she understood, she gasped with admiration at the display of art. She stood a bit too close to Theo and melted into him when he put his arm around her. And then purred a little, deep in her throat, when his hand wandered onto her ass.

It was like theater, and Tracy’s head bubbled with wine and a cheerful euphoria. Soon she was too befuddled to do anything but grind her legs into her man, but Theo didn’t seem to mind.

An idea struck her. A perfect one.

So when Theo sat her down on a couch in front of her own work, with its glittering new frame, and moved in for a kiss, she broke it after just a minute to fumble with his fly. If Theo was bothered by it, it didn’t show. Instead he leaned back and let her take him deep into her throat.

Theo took his time. It was a miracle this one knew how to paint. All she had done all night was giggle and thrust her tits against him, and barely said a workd. And then dive onto his dick. Oh well.

Tracy swallowed a lot of his cum because it was surprisingly delicious. But a bit she saved, and spit it into her empty wine glass. She stood up.

“Can I keep this? For art,” she said, pointing to the glass.

Theo nodded, after a moment.

“Yay! Okay, thanks Theo! Bye bye!”

And she teetered out the door, to plan art after such a wonderful, romantic evening.

March 22, 2014

TRACY 6

The outfit had been inspired by condoms.

It was an elasticized spandex-blend, in light tan, a sheath that clung tightly to as much of her body as possible. Tracy had to hold her breath to squeeze into it. The too-short hemline had become something of a signature move on her creations. She usually remembered not to bend over. And if she did, eh.

“Let me know when you’re gonna come,” she whispered to the guy. “That’s the only thing. Okay?”

“Fine!” the man gasped. It was obvious he was getting close, anyway. His hips were jerking and he was grunting as he thrust into her mouth. Sure enough, he flooded her mouth with hot cum moments later. No warning, of course.

He was just some dumb frat boy but his cum was unusually delicious. Like lemon-lime. Tracy spit a little bit into a vial and happily swallowed the rest.

She was in some dorm room or something. Wherever. The guys knew where to take her. Usually some bedroom but sometimes a back alley or a bathroom or, you know, wherever. It hardly mattered.

Another guy moved in front of her. Very similar looking to the last one. Brothers or just of a type? It’d be interesting to see if their sperm tasted any different. And then she’d be out of vials for the night.

Tracy wasn’t sleeping much. Her nights were spent collecting and her days painting. Cum mixed with pigment, creating vaguely-remembered portraits of the men she was blowing. Made out of themselves. The work was impressionistic, fluid. The perspective was clearly, however, that of someone hovering around the guy’s dick.

Another sploosh. This one was like cheap cherry cola. Tracy swallowed it all anyway. She couldn’t remember having a regular meal. This seemed to be enough. It was even vegetarian, she figured. But not vegan? Or whatever.

“Okay, I gotta go guys!” Tracy said. She stuffed her boobs back into the tube. They had bounced out at some point. The roommates watched her shimmy out and didn’t say a word.

Tracy floated home, pleased, satiated. Twice she had to stop in public restrooms to masturbate to a yummy climax. She had never been such an artist!

March 23, 2014

TRACY 7

Her own gallery show. Like a dream.

Tracy wore a dark red bodycon dress, and no underwear. It was expressive of how she liked to get fucked and had a sexy fucking body. The lipstick added a note of class. She had to keep refreshing it after dragging guys into the bathroom for BJs.

Her friend Helen had decided on the private show. She said she loved the primal eroticism inherent in it, asked where exactly Tracy had been giving blowjobs, and complimented the artist on her boobs. She was over in a corner, getting surreptitiously felt up from behind by a patron of the arts. Her expression was a little dazed.

But then, everyone seemed a bit dazed. The wait staff was keeping the booze flowing. And it was the good stuff. There was a lot of giggling and necking and carrying on among the ordinarily sedate crowd.

Tracy floated in it all, serene, happy. Sales poured in. Her artwork hung on the wall, painting after cum-made painting of guys with intense expressions. She had titled the project, “Art Stuff.”

“Lovely work,” a man said. He wore a blue blazer and was—but it was hard to look at his face. Tracy screwed up her eyes and—no, they slid off to the right and the left. But she would swear that he was handsome.

“Oh, thanks! I’ll blow you if you buy one,” Tracy said.

The man coughed. “I see that I—anyway, thanks. But I was actually looking to buy something else.”

“What?” Tracy said. But she felt something happening. An inevitability.

“You. How much are you?”

“I’m..” Tracy took a deep breath. She was suddenly dizzy, hornier. How much WAS she worth? “I’m not for sale.”

“No? But your mouth certainly is. In fact, I think all of you is. I bet you’ll take twenty dollars and let me feel your tits.”

Twenty dollars was twenty dollars. The man held it up, and then tucked it in her neckline.

He strolled around her. “And this ass. Don’t try to tell me it’s not on the block. It’s amazing. It needs an owner.”

An owner. Oh, god. She was suddenly so wet, so hot under the lights.

The man felt confidently underneath her dress. Of course she was dripping. He stroked her gently, held it up to her mouth, let her lick his finger clean. “I’m glad you keep the merchandise on display. Look, I’m very busy. Fifty-thousand for ownership.”

“Fifty!” It was insultingly low. “Sir, I’m an up and.. um.. cumming.. ” she was sort of cumming, actually “artist. And you didn’t even talk about how amazing my blowjobs are. They are soooo good.”

“I have someone for that,” the man said. He took a checkbook out, signed it, and handed it to her. “This is a waste of my time. Write in what you consider fair. I’ll fuck you from behind while you think about it. Fair?”

His hand was underneath her dress again, prodding, wonderful. Her price. She’d be owned, a living piece of art, constantly on display.

“Fair!” she squeaked, as his hand stroked at her clit.

[Ed note: I ended up buying her for whatever a bank teller would give for a signed check with a doodle of a penis on it. Welcome Tracy.]

March 24, 2014

AMY!

Hi! I’m Amy! I am taking over for this week! Mr. D and Derek are busy with some big project whatever thing and Mr. D was like, Amy, go take care of the website, do whatever they tell you to do.

So here I am! You can ask me anything!!!

March 25, 2014

checker625 asked: W-wait. He told you to do whatever we tell you to do?

I can take it!

March 25, 2014

Anonymous asked: So what’s it like being a brainless bimbo-ized former Honor Roller.

lol I’m not like Tracy and Chloe, haha. Mr. D gave me a few pills that made me a little more lube-y and helped me deepthroat but I am 100% pure natural bimbo.

I mean, when I was 16 I was already queen of blowjobs at school. like, the guys gave me a trophy and presented it to me in the parking lot. all the girls were glaring but I was actually so excited and happy. I had worked so hard on getting good at BJs! I should find where I put that thing and put it in my room.

idk if i would be a bimbo without these crazy titties I have but they don’t hurt. actually I think they are responsible because whenever anyone touches them or i touch them i get just so horny. I’m like, i gotta cum now, thanks for touching my boobs, LOL.

I dropped out of high school because mom was not understanding at all that i didn’t even have an underwear drawer and i was working as a waitress and stuff. Mr. D says he figured me out right away when he saw me. it’s cool to have a sugar daddy that’s so awesome I guess that’s part of the lifestyle.

i used to have these weird dreams where I was like, a student and shit, and I had glasses and I wore loose jeans, and they were really weird and I didn’t like them. But Mr. D told me he knew an old trick, if you cum three times in ten minutes it drives bad dreams away. and it did!

I do agree that I am not the brightest bulb but pobody’s nerfect and who cares

March 25, 2014

Anonymous asked: What kind of asian are you?

??? I’m asian! sorry to be dumb but i guess i don’t understand the question.

March 26, 2014

Anonymous asked: So Amy, how do you spend an average day?

Okay good question, lets see!

I keep saying that a good bimboslut doesn’t wake before noon but Chloe is up at 5 and Mr. D is up by 6 which means that Amy is up at like, 5. But it’s okay because since I’m the #1 girl I get to give Mr. D his wake-up blowjob and it is the best thing to wake up to. It is so hot to just slowly stroke him until he’s awake and gives me a little nod. Then I just pounce on him and give him the best blowie I can.

I’ve always looooved giving blowjobs because they are so hot and guys love them so much. I bet that if you had a hundred guys and told them they could only take, like, either blowjobs or sex to a desert island, like all of them would take blowjobs.

I also like blowjobs so much because you can really concentrate on the guy and I think that sets me apart. I mean I can’t be Miss Chloe where she climbs on a guy’s dick and it’s like, whoa there she goes watch out. And Tracy has this great ass so I bet Mr. D is gonna fuck that butt like all the time. So I got to think strategic-like and that means I have to give super good head. Luckily I think I do!

I’ve watched a lot of porn on blowjobs but I think that stuff is just for show. But they’re right that a lot of it is visual. So I always make sure my titties are out and bouncing around. Mr. D doesn’t like his balls touched also and he told me that if I touched his prostate I’d wake up in Nebraska. But that’s okay because there’s his cock and it’s great.

Usually I start out lapping at it with my tongue, and then I lick the underside and put my hand on it to steady it. Although sometimes he tells me no hands which is fun. Once he came just from this and it made me so happy.

Next I suck him off. Mr. D has gotten probably ten billion blowjobs so he tends to take over and fuck my mouth. Then I just hang on and use my tongue best I can. Sometimes though he lets me do things and I get to put on a show.

When he’s close it’s really tricky, you kind of have to figure out what he wants. like if I asked him to fuck me I think he would but what if he wants to finish on my tits? Sometimes I’ll let him decide but every so often I’ll take a chance and be like ‘please fuck my pussy, I need it so bad.’ He says he likes my initiative.

Basically I love giving blowjobs!

March 27, 2014

bimbosminder asked: has Mr. D helped get your spending under control?

SO UNFAIR!! I had a ton of catching up to do! First he’s like baby I’m your sugar daddy here’s a credit card it’s platinum. get yourself something nice. then he’s like wtf why do you need nine vibrators and twenty different dildos and why are there anal beads everywhere. It’s not like I bought a car i bought stuff he’d like. :( he said he was just teasing but hmph.

for everyone’s information i’ve used all of those vibrators hardcore.

but yeah we all still spend a lot of money on clothes and stuff. there is a lot of freetime when Mr. D is busy so we’ll go to the mall and play games, like can Chloe get from one end of the mall to another without fucking some guy. So far she got as far as Macys but then she got away. I am seriously thinking of putting one of those computer chips in her. otherwise we’ll try on clothes and yeah buy them although if the sales guy is reasonably cute we’ll just drag him into the room and get a two-butt discount.

with tracy it’s different because she likes to make clothes and stuff, and that is a lot of fun. She has a sewing machine and has been teaching me stuff. All of our stuff is really tight but it can be tighter and now we’re all just bursting out, it’s nice.

we got a bunch of lace and stuff so we can all have matching corsets. we got a lot of looks walking around JoAnns!

March 27, 2014

Anonymous asked: Who are those smart girls from school you want to bimboize and why? Looking forward to being smarter then them?

ohhh it’s not a mean thing at all. :( I mean yeah they were mean about me having huge boobs and getting caught fucking the entire volleyball team under the bleachers but I talked shit too about their tiny hineys. And I fucked all of their boyfriends. so i think we’re basically square-sy.

I just think that being bimbo-y and stuff is really fun and it’s so hot when a girl is starting to let go. Mr. D is having me help out on his stuff and OMG that moment when this brainac first licks her lips or first masturbates in public it is just killer sexy. I think they’ll be happier. i think everyone here will agree!!

March 28, 2014

PHONE PARTY!

it’s friday night.

we’ve barely gotten laid today [3x??? bleh]

SO IT IS TIME TO HAVE A FUCKIN PHONE PARTY!!

Wat we do is we get a phonebook and we open it up at random and we start dialing and saying ‘hey come over to this place if you wanna get fucked by some hot girls!’

then we hang up real fast.

UR probably thinking lol how many people would do that and the answer is a lot actually. we called um like ughhh math okay a lot, and like twenty guys came and even a few girls! The girls were like whoa what for a bit but Mr. D has some special candies for emergencies and it makes ladies nice and horny :)

I know what u are thinking and it’s Amy be safe, that’s not safe. Well for one thing I can handle myself. second Mr. D says that he has got some safety stuff in place for people who come by. And it’s so true they just get this glazed look and want to grab titty. also we have some special tricks for emergencies.

lol there’s this spray he gave us. so we had a couple of cops come by and lucky lucky one was a girl cop and she was so cute. like short but all athlete. and her partner was really tall and hot. Spray spray the cops and soon they’re going at it in the hallway, like just grunting and fucking each other hard. it was great.

i think i have their guns somewhere.

anyway the only problem is that young hot guys aren’t really in the phonebook but Derek set up a laptop to work on that. he says use those names.

[I know that Mr. D really likes him but Derek gives me a bad feeling, idk why.]

last time since it was Tracy’s first party we had her start, and she wanted to start with the Xs. those dudes were weird. Tonight it’s my turn and we’re gonna start with the chens because a. it’s funny and b. pride.

OMG so excited!

March 29, 2014

Anonymous asked: So, what do you and Chloe like to chat about?

Uhhh I love chloe to death but we don’t really have deep and meaningful conversations or anything. I mean she’s pretty dumb. and i’m kinda dumb and i’m saying that so you know she’s dumb. like, garden hose-level dumb.

lol everyone at her gym knows that she’s basically a piece of equipment but there was this one dude who convinced hisself that he was her boyfriend. because they were fucking a lot. and yeah she would sleep over at his place and bang but boyfriend/girlfriend was not what was going on duder chloe will bang a rolling pin if it fits.

anyway he took her out to dinner at a nice restaurant of all things. we girls did our best to get chloe dressed up even though she typically just lives in lulu gear, and sent her off. Guy picked her up wearing a tie and a sportcoat hahaha. i guess he probably just talked at her and assumed she was a good listener or something.

about halfway through dinner she goes to the bathroom. and is gone for a pretty long time. so our dude goes to the men’s room and there’s chloe fucking two dudes at once, DP on the bathroom floor. she came home with them!

boyfriend came by a day later all pissed off and angry and Mr. D went to have a chat with him. It was 4:30 in the morning and Mr. D was pretty pissed so I guess he gets to go six months without getting an erection.

March 29, 2014

secretsandco-deactivated2014080 asked: Let us know how the phone party goes Amy!

I wish I could tell you guys but I honestly don’t remember much! I know that the dudes were coming over and one brought a bunch of bottles and we got really toasty on them. last thing i remember is drinking bacardi from the bottle while this guy had me pinned against the wall and i’m jacking a dude off with my free hand and then pfft there goes my brain and shit.

I am pretty sure it was a really rad party though, like I went to the bathroom when i woke up and there were four people sleeping in the baththub. well I thought four and then chloe was underneath all of them. imma let them snooze a bit and then turn the shower on. got empty bottles everywhere and I am just covered in cum. titties, hair, butt, everywhere, cum cum cum. so at least breakfast is easy.

tracy isn’t even here.

the only problem is that i gotta get this place cleaned up before Mr. D comes back tomorrow and it is a mess. jizz is super-hard to get out of stuff. and there’s some on the ceiling. how did that even happen. that’s crazy. and all these dudes waking up and stumbling out and not a one is helping me, even after I gave a few a wakeup-up fuck. at least there’s one cool guy making pancakes, maybe he’ll help.

basically pretty normal phone party.

March 30, 2014

BYE GUYS!

Mr. D is back and he said I did a GOOD JOB which makes me super happy! I get to fuck him first so while he’s in the shower I need to go get dressed and stuff! OMG I’m so wet! Bye guys!!!!!!!

March 30, 2014

BACK

I’m back. Looks like Amy was her usual Amy self. I’ll update everyone what Derek and I were up to in good time.

I’d write more but Amy has bent herself over the bed and is yelling ‘fuck me’ and I have to go deal with that.

March 31, 2014

ELLIE: TWO

Chocolate chocolate chocolate.

It had gone from an occasional indulgence to a mad obsession in such a short time, a battle of willpower that Ellie knew she was losing. Every day she marched into work determined to hold out against the big bowl of colored candies, the scent of sugared chocolate, the way it melted in our mouth. And every day she walked out turgid and full, swaying slightly, and empty bowl in her wake.

So far the inevitable weight had gone mostly to her boobs. Her bras were uncomfortably tight, but it was too humiliating to march down to the store and get a new one purely because of choco-binges. She was already doing load after load of laundry due to the drool and sweet stains on her clothes.

The drool was particularly embarrassing.

Her goals had become increasingly low. Lately it was to leave at least one chocolate in the bowl by the time she left. Now it was 11:50 and there was one, single, tiny blue one sitting by its lonesome in the very bottom. Ellie stared at it. A ghost could’ve wiggled by and she would not have cared.

Her hands were greasy and brown, streaked with melted sugar dye. The top button on her jeans was undone. Her boobs ached.

The phone rang.

“Umm.. hi!” the voice on the other end said.

“Do you.. do you have the right number?” Ellie rasped into the phone. Her mouth was hard to open, and the receiver hard to hold.

“Is this Ellie? Ellie hi! I’m Amy! I have a message for you from the boss!”

Ellie tried to say something but it was hard to speak. She settled for licking her lips.

“He wants to remind you about the dress code!”

Dress code. In an empty office that no one ever came in. A dress code.

“What… what is it?” she managed.

“Ummm… let me check my notes. Okay yeah. I can read this. No jeans, no t-shirts. Skirts and heels only. Because we are a profess— okay not this word. Skirts and heels. That’s okay?”

She barely owned any of either. And what a sexist request.

“Not really,” Ellie muttered.

“Oh!” the voice sounded genuinely surprised. “Okay, sorry to hear that. Thank you for working for us!”

…which meant no more candy.

“Don’t hangup! No, don’t—okay. That’ll be fine. Thanks for letting me know,” Ellie said.

There was a giggle, and the line went dead.

Ellie needed candy to calm down. She looked at the bowl. Empty. And realized she was swallowing the last one.

The clock read noon.

Twenty hours to go before more candy.