Who Wants to be a Bimbonaire Part 2
Theodore Stroud
Taking a deep breath, I turned back to Nick. “Alright, let’s keep this going,” I said, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside me. “I’ll take case number five.”
The crowd erupted again, their cheers filling the air as Lexxi sashayed toward the case, her movements slow and deliberate, drawing out the tension. My pulse raced as I braced myself for whatever fate the game had in store for me next.
“As a reminder folks, the next transformation case is sexual compulsion. This will determine how Emily feels about certain kinks. We all know what the theme of tonight is...but Emily doesn’t!” The crowd laughed as a figure appeared behind Emily on a monitor for a few seconds. It showed a heavily pregnant woman with large lactating boobs. The woman was barefoot and wearing an apron.
“That’s all part of the fun! Lexxi here didn’t know that the theme was Plastic Bimbo until after her show was over. Wasn’t that right, Lexxi?”
She giggled and bounced, making her silicone breasts jiggle slightly.
“But no two episodes share the same theme. We’re excited to see how far into this transformation Emily will get!”
Lexxi opened up case number 5, revealing another transformation. “Oh folks! Looks like Emily here will have a bit of a breeding fetish! Thoughts of cum flooding your womb and your belly swelling will never be far from mind. Collar, do your thing!”
The words hung in the air like a predator circling its prey, and I froze, my heart pounding as the crowd’s cheers rose to a fever pitch. “Breeding fetish.” The phrase seemed to echo endlessly in my head, the weight of it heavy, suffocating, and undeniably erotic. My lips parted slightly, a soft gasp escaping as the collar around my neck buzzed to life again, this time sending a heat through my body that felt deeper, more primal than anything before.
The sensation started low in my belly, a deep, insistent thrum that spread outward like a wildfire. My thighs squeezed together instinctively as a wave of warmth washed over me, leaving my skin tingling and my mind spinning. The collar pulsed, its vibrations perfectly timed to the building ache between my legs, as though it knew exactly what it was doing to me.
“Feeling alright, Emily?” Nick’s voice cut through the haze, his teasing tone dripping with condescension. “You seem a little… flushed. Thinking about something new, maybe?” His words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to my cheeks, but I couldn’t stop the soft, needy sound that slipped from my lips.
The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, their energy feeding into the growing hunger inside me. My body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive and buzzing with a desperate, aching need. Images began to flash in my mind, unbidden and overwhelming—my body swollen, my belly round and full, my breasts heavy and leaking as strong hands worshiped every curve, claiming me over and over again.
I pressed my thighs together harder, trying to suppress the throbbing ache that was quickly becoming unbearable. But the collar wouldn’t let me escape. Its buzzing grew more intense, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core, until I was trembling, barely able to stand. My breaths came in shallow pants, and I realized with dawning horror—and an undeniable thrill—that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About being bred, about being filled, about the sheer, overwhelming pleasure of surrendering to my most primal desires.
Lexxi giggled beside me, her silicone-enhanced chest bouncing with every laugh. “Oh, looks like the collar’s really working, Nick!” she said, her voice sugary sweet. “Our little Emily’s already starting to feel it.”
Nick grinned, stepping closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “Tell us, Emily,” he said, his voice low and smooth, sending shivers down my spine. “What’s going through that pretty little head of yours right now? Feeling a bit… needy?”
I swallowed hard, trying to muster some shred of defiance, but the heat in my body was relentless, consuming. My lips trembled as I opened my mouth to respond, but the only sound that came out was a soft, breathy moan. The crowd roared with delight, their laughter and cheers washing over me as I stood there, trembling and helpless under the weight of my own need.
“I… I…” My voice was barely a whisper, trembling with desperation. “I feel… Oh, God…” My hands moved instinctively to my stomach, pressing against the flat plane of my belly as though imagining it full, swollen, claimed. The thought sent another rush of heat through me, and I bit my lip, trying to stifle another moan.
Nick chuckled, his grin wicked. “Looks like someone’s got baby fever already,” he teased, his words sending the crowd into another round of laughter. “Don’t worry, Emily. We’ve got plenty of cases left to really bring those fantasies to life.”
I shivered at his words, my body betraying me with a wave of arousal that left me weak-kneed. The collar buzzed again, a steady, insistent reminder of the new, all-consuming obsession it had planted in my mind. My thoughts were no longer my own; they were twisted and shaped by the game, by the collar, by the insatiable hunger that now burned within me.
I glanced at the monitor, catching a glimpse of the pregnant woman with her massive, leaking breasts, her rounded belly glowing with fertility. The image sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my core, and I couldn’t stop the soft, breathless moan that escaped me. The crowd erupted once more, their cheers a deafening roar as they watched me slowly, helplessly succumb to the game’s twisted magic.
Nick leaned in close, his voice a low purr in my ear. “Ready for the next case, Emily?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement. “Something tells me you’re just dying to see where this goes.”
I swallowed hard, my lips trembling as I forced myself to nod. The game wasn’t over, and the collar wasn’t done with me yet.
“I bet Emily here is hoping for a cash case. She might need it for all the kids she’ll be having in the next few years!”
The audience chuckled and Lexxi giggled, bouncing up and down with mindless glee.
“Unless you are going to go after a rich man and become a stay at home wife. How does that make you feel? Are you career minded? A feminist? Tell the audience and folks at home a little more about your beliefs.”
Nick’s words hit me like a slap, and for a moment, my mind tried to latch onto the person I was before stepping onto this stage. The version of me who worked hard, who planned every step of her career with care, who prided herself on independence and ambition. But as the collar buzzed faintly around my neck, a sickening, insidious warmth began to seep into those thoughts, wrapping around them like vines, squeezing until they began to warp.
I opened my mouth to answer, to declare that I was career-minded, that I didn’t need anyone to take care of me—but the words caught in my throat. Images flooded my mind, unbidden and intoxicating: a large, warm home filled with laughter, my hands resting on a swollen belly while a strong, commanding man pulled me into his arms, whispering promises of devotion and desire. My heart raced as I tried to push the thoughts away, but they were relentless, wrapping around my brain like the collar’s buzzing had taken root inside me.
The crowd waited, a sea of hungry, expectant faces, and Nick grinned at me, his head tilted as if he were already savoring my surrender. “Well, Emily?” he pressed, his voice teasing, daring me to answer honestly. “What’s it going to be? Corporate ladder or crib mobiles?”
The audience burst into laughter, and Lexxi giggled, her siliconed chest bouncing with her mindless glee. I couldn’t help but notice her tiny pregnant belly that was just starting to be visible in her tight dress. Jealousy flashed through me and then faded. It would happen soon. No reason to be mad. I forced a shaky smile, trying to cling to who I was, but the collar pulsed again, heat radiating through me, melting my resistance like sugar in a flame. My thighs pressed together instinctively, the ache between them impossible to ignore as the images grew sharper, more detailed—soft domestic bliss, apron strings, a nursery painted in pastel tones, my belly round and full as a man’s deep voice praised me for being his perfect little wife.
“I…” My voice faltered, trembling with conflicting emotions. “I’ve always… believed in being independent, in making my own way…” The words felt hollow even as I said them, my breath hitching as the warmth in my body continued to build, twisting my thoughts like a cruel game of tug-of-war.
Nick leaned in, his grin widening. “But?” he asked, the single word dripping with mockery and suggestion.
My knees felt weak, and I fought to keep my voice steady, to sound like I was still in control. “But… there’s something… appealing about…” I swallowed hard, my cheeks flushing as I heard the words spilling out of me, unbidden. “About taking care of a family. About being… loved and provided for…”
The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, their approval washing over me like a tide, and I hated how much it thrilled me, how much the idea of their attention and approval made me tingle with pleasure. My hands moved instinctively to my stomach again, pressing against it as if imagining the impossible future the collar was planting in my mind.
Nick chuckled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Sounds like someone’s having a bit of an epiphany, folks,” he said, turning to the audience with a wide grin. “Emily might just be the perfect candidate for a life of domestic bliss. What do you think, everyone?”
The crowd roared their agreement, and I stood there, trembling under their gaze, my heart pounding as the collar pulsed again, reinforcing the images, the desires, the needs it had implanted in me. I couldn’t stop imagining it now—being barefoot in the kitchen, my swollen belly brushing against the counter as I cooked dinner, a proud, dominant man watching me with adoration and lust, his hands always finding their way to my body, his praise making me melt.
“I…” My voice was soft, trembling, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. “I think… I think I could… learn to love it…”
Nick laughed, his grin wicked. “That’s the spirit, Emily! Let’s see how much more we can teach you to love before the night’s over.”
The collar buzzed again, its relentless hum sending shivers down my spine, amplifying the warmth radiating through my body. I couldn’t stop my hands from moving, tracing the outline of my waist and hips, my fingers brushing against the fabric that clung to my exaggerated curves. Every touch sent jolts of need through me, my mind swirling with the imagery the collar had planted—images of domesticity, submission, and endless, intoxicating pleasure.
“So, Emily,” he said, his voice low and smooth, practically purring as he spoke. “Let’s dig a little deeper. Tell us—when you imagine that life of domestic bliss, what do you see? Is it the apron? The babies? Or maybe…” His gaze dipped pointedly to my still-flat stomach. “…the feeling of being so completely, thoroughly filled that you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re walking barefoot with a swollen belly?”
My cheeks burned, the heat spreading all the way down my neck and chest. The images his words conjured collided with the ones already buzzing in my mind, spiraling together into a vivid, overwhelming fantasy. I could see it so clearly now: the roundness of my belly, the weight of it pulling at my back as strong hands supported me, the ache of swollen breasts, heavy with milk, aching for release. The thought sent a wave of arousal crashing through me, my thighs pressing together as if that could stifle the heat pooling between them.
“I—” My voice caught, trembling. The words I wanted to say—this isn’t me, I’m stronger than this—refused to come. Instead, my lips betrayed me, the collar’s influence warping my thoughts into something I couldn’t control. “I… I think it’s all of it,” I whispered, my voice breathy, trembling with both shame and desire. “The apron… the belly… the idea of being… taken care of, being filled…”
The crowd roared their approval, their cheers reverberating through my body like a physical force. I gasped softly, my hands gripping the sides of my skirt, desperate for something to anchor me as the collar’s warmth surged again, making my skin tingle and my breath hitch.
Nick laughed, his expression dripping with satisfaction. “There it is, folks! Our career-minded feminist is starting to see the appeal of a different kind of life. But don’t worry, Emily—we’re just getting started.”
He turned to Lexxi, who bounced on her heels, her silicone-enhanced chest jiggling with every movement. “Lexxi, why don’t you tell Emily what life was like for you before the collar helped you see the light?”
Lexxi’s giggle was high-pitched and airy, her expression blissfully vacant as she twirled a strand of her platinum-blonde hair around one finger. “Oh my gosh, Nick, I used to be so boring!” she gushed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I was all, like, serious and focused on my career and stuff. But then the game showed me what I was really meant to be—a happy, sexy housewife! And now I get to spend all my time being cute and taking care of my man. It’s, like, the best!”
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and the crowd cheered louder, their energy thrumming in the air like a live wire. I felt myself swaying slightly, the collar’s influence making it harder and harder to hold onto who I was—or who I thought I was. Every cheer, every laugh, every mocking glance from Nick was another thread unraveling the person I used to be, leaving me more exposed, more malleable, more willing.
Nick turned back to me, his grin wicked. “What do you think, Emily? Does that sound like a life you could get used to? Or do you still think you’re above it all?”
I hesitated, my breath coming in shallow pants, the collar buzzing faintly, a constant reminder that my body and mind were no longer entirely my own. The part of me that wanted to fight, to resist, felt smaller and smaller with every passing second, drowned out by the collar’s insidious warmth and the fantasies it had planted so deeply in my mind.
“I…” My voice was soft, almost pleading. “I don’t know…”
Nick’s grin widened, and he stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Don’t worry, Emily,” he said, his voice low and intimate, sending shivers down my spine. “By the time we’re done, you’ll know exactly what you want. Are you ready to pick your next number?”
“I’ll pick number 23!” I gasped, my body hot with barely suppressed desire.
Lexxi clapped her hands in excitement and hopped over to case 23. With a flourish, she unclasped the locks and let it fall open. The words MILK MACHINE glowed from within, lit from below by some lights in the case.
“Emily, looks like your breasts are about to get an upgrade! Hope no one in the audience is lactose intolerant!”
The collar hums against my neck, hotter and heavier than ever before. A deep thrum radiates down my chest, coiling low in my belly, before surging upward with a force that leaves me breathless. My breath catches, my hands instinctively flying to my breasts as a wave of warmth floods through them. The crowd roars, their cheers a distant echo compared to the pulsing, electric heat that consumes me. I gasp, clutching at the swelling flesh beneath my fingers. My chest tightens, the fabric of my top stretching impossibly tight, straining to contain the weight and size that build with relentless urgency. The pressure is intense, almost overwhelming, but laced with a strange, forbidden pleasure that has me shivering despite myself.
The tingling morphs into something deeper, more primal, as my breasts swell to proportions that seem to defy reality. My breasts are replaced by impossibly full, heavy mounds that press against my arms and lift obscenely high on my torso. The fabric of my top gives up entirely, tearing audibly as my new curves spill free. The cool air kisses my skin, sharp against the feverish heat coursing through me.
Then, it happens—a rush, a flood, a release. My nipples harden almost painfully, and suddenly, I’m leaking, thick streams of milk spilling over my heaving chest. The sensation is maddening, each pulse of milk drawn from me bringing a shudder of pleasure that leaves my legs weak. My hands fly to my nipples instinctively, trying to staunch the flow, but the moment my fingers brush the sensitive peaks, a jolt of sensation rocks through me.
“Oh God,” I gasp, the words trembling from my lips as I feel the wetness trickling down my ribs, over my stomach, pooling at my feet. The milk keeps coming, hot and heavy, spilling in endless streams that soak me completely. My nipples ache, painfully sensitive, but the pleasure wrapped around that ache is intoxicating. Every gush, every throb of my overfilled breasts sends another wave of heat spiraling through my core.
The crowd’s cheers are deafening now, their laughter and whistles cutting through the haze of pleasure and humiliation that has taken over my body. I can barely lift my gaze, my cheeks burning with embarrassment, but my body betrays me with every moan and gasp that spills from my lips. My hands knead the swollen flesh of my breasts, trying to ease the unbearable fullness, but the act only encourages the milk to gush harder, thicker, until it feels like I’m drowning in it.
Nick’s voice cuts through the noise, smooth and teasing. “Well, Emily, looks like you’re the gift that keeps on giving. How does it feel to finally... let go?”
I can’t answer, my voice lost in a breathy moan as another surge of milk erupts, splashing against the stage. My thighs squeeze together, my body trembling as the overwhelming sensation drags me deeper into the collar’s influence. Every rational thought I had is drowned in the relentless flood, in the crowd’s cheers, in the humiliating pleasure of being reduced to this—a milking machine for their entertainment.
The buzzing around my neck intensifies, as if to remind me that it’s far from over. I collapse to my knees, my swollen, dripping breasts hanging heavy as the milk continues to flow, pooling around me in an obscene display of excess. My nipples throb with each new release, sending shivers down my spine, and I can’t stop the way my body responds—arching, trembling, giving in completely.
Then Nick speaks, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure and humiliation. “Well, Emily, that’s a lot to handle! You’re making quite the mess of our stage.” His mocking tone sends a fresh wave of heat rushing to my cheeks, and I glance up, meeting his gleaming eyes for only a moment before shame forces me to look away.
He gestures to Lexxi, who bounces over with a giggle, her silicone-enhanced chest jiggling obscenely. In her hands is a costume—a cow costume, of all things. It’s a parody of decency, the kind of thing that would make even the boldest Halloween costume look modest. Black-and-white spots stretch across tight, glossy material, with cutouts designed to expose far more than they cover. A pair of floppy cow ears dangle from a headband, and a tail swings lightly from the back of the outfit. But it’s the collar that catches my eye—a deep red band with a shiny gold bell that jingles with every step Lexxi takes.
She drops to her knees beside me, her giggle soft and syrupy as she holds the costume up for me to see. “Isn’t it just perfect?” she coos, brushing a strand of platinum hair from her face. “You’ll look so cute in this, Emily! The audience will love it!”
I want to protest, to argue, to cling to some shred of my former self, but the collar pulses against my neck, its warmth spreading through my body like honey. My breasts ache, swollen and heavy, each throb reminding me of the unbearable fullness I can’t escape. The promise of relief is tantalizing, almost enough to drown out my shame. Almost.
Nick steps closer, crouching just enough to meet my gaze. His smirk is smug, triumphant, and it makes my stomach flip with a mixture of humiliation and something darker, something forbidden. “You’re in no position to say no, Emily,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Put on the costume, and we’ll take care of that… overflow you’ve got going on.”
My nipples throb harder at his words, and I bite my lip to stifle a whimper. The idea of being hooked up to a machine, of having my milk pumped from me while the crowd watches, should horrify me. But the collar’s influence twists the thought, making it feel almost… alluring. My thighs press together instinctively, the ache between them growing more insistent.
With trembling hands, I reach for the costume. The material feels slick and cool against my skin as I pull it into place, struggling to fit my exaggerated curves into the tight fabric. The cutouts leave my swollen breasts completely exposed, the glossy material framing them in a way that feels obscene. My nipples leak uncontrollably, thick streams of milk running down the shiny black-and-white spots, dripping onto the stage below.
Lexxi claps her hands in delight, fastening the red collar around my neck with a cheerful jingling of the bell. “Perfect!” she chirps, tugging the headband into place so the floppy cow ears sit snugly on top of my head. The tail brushes against the back of my thighs, a constant reminder of just how far I’ve fallen. Nick gestures to the side of the stage, and two stagehands wheel out a sleek, industrial milking machine. It gleams under the stage lights, its tubes and suction cups looking both clinical and erotic in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. They position it in front of me, and I can feel the heat of the crowd’s gaze as they eagerly await what comes next.
Lexxi kneels beside me, her hands gentle but firm as she guides the suction cups to my leaking nipples. The moment they latch on, a low, mechanical hum fills the air, and my breath catches as the machine springs to life. The suction is rhythmic, insistent, drawing the milk from me in thick, steady streams. The relief is instant and overwhelming, a release so intense it leaves me gasping.
My body trembles, my knees weak as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. The machine works tirelessly, draining me completely, and every pull sends a jolt of sensation through my hypersensitive nipples, making me moan despite myself. The crowd cheers louder, their approval feeding the heat that burns low in my belly, spreading outward until I’m lost in the overwhelming sensations.
Nick’s voice cuts through the haze, smooth and mocking. “Look at her, folks. She’s a natural, isn’t she? Our very own milkmaid, putting on a show just for you.”
The humiliation should be unbearable, but the collar twists it, warping my shame into something darker, something dangerously addictive. I’m theirs now—a quivering, leaking mess, completely at the mercy of the game. And as the machine continues its relentless work, drawing every last drop from my aching breasts.
“Emily! Do you want to see if you can win some cash? Or are you going to call it quits and go home empty handed? Maybe your luck will turn around?”
My body feels foreign to me now, every exaggerated curve, every humiliating drip of milk cascading from my overfilled breasts a testament to how far I’ve fallen in this game. I tremble, my knees weak against the glossy black stage beneath me. The cow-print costume clings to my curves, shamelessly framing the swollen mounds of my leaking breasts, each rhythmic tug of the milking machine sending waves of sharp, toe-curling pleasure straight to my core. It’s overwhelming, and yet… I can’t tear myself away from the thrill of it.
Nick’s voice cuts through the haze of sensation, smooth and teasing. “Well, Emily,” he purrs, stepping closer, his sharp suit practically gleaming under the stage lights. “You’ve certainly given the audience a show they won’t forget. But the real question is… what’s your next move?”
I swallow hard, my throat dry despite the flood of milk spilling from my body. My hands grip the edges of the torn fabric around my hips, desperate for something to ground me. Every nerve ending feels alive, raw, and exposed, and the thought of stepping off this stage with nothing to show for it twists like a knife in my gut.
“I…” My voice is soft, shaky, barely audible over the roar of the crowd. My eyes flick to the remaining cases, lined up like sirens calling to me. Each one promises either salvation or deeper transformation, and the uncertainty sends a shiver down my spine.
Nick’s grin widens, his eyes sparkling with that predatory glint that makes my pulse quicken. “Oh, come on now, Emily. You didn’t come all this way just to quit, did you? You’re so close to really embracing your potential. Why stop now?”
The audience erupts into cheers, their voices merging into a single, relentless demand: Pick another case. My heart pounds, my thoughts a chaotic tangle of fear and arousal, humiliation and forbidden thrill. The milking machine continues its work, each suction a relentless reminder of how much the collar has already taken from me—and how much I’ve willingly allowed it.
“I’ll…” The words catch in my throat, and I force myself to take a breath, to steady the trembling in my limbs. The heat pooling between my thighs is impossible to ignore, and I hate how much my body craves the attention, the release, the surrender. My nipples throb painfully as another gush of milk spills down my heaving chest, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan. “I’ll pick another case.”