Once And Future Bimbo Pt 03

He ran his finger against my cheek to my lips and chin.

"Sam, go get her some fucking clothes."

He tried cupping his hand under my smooth creamy tit, the spill of my breast vastly overflowed his palm. He didn't appear to care, thumbing my teat absentmindedly while he studied my altered body. This was the man who changed me, the man who'd given me my first taste of the drug compliance, who'd stripped away my free will, hesitation, and appearance.

"The mask was a good idea Sam. It does something for her that I just can't quite put my finger on, and really does save our investment in spite of her disfigurement. I'm glad you took care of it, no one would have wanted to see that and still fuck her."

A wave of shame overtook me. Before, I would have retreated, or wept, or spat out a scathing retort, now my shame rebounded between my inner self and my outer perfection. I found I was unable to react as anything other than a bimbo, like my mind clawed at the wall separating my inner and outer selves.

"I will do my best to make sure that those I serve will be satisfied, Master. I am sorry that I fell short of your plan for this body."

My master gestured at a doorway I'd not been able to see during the weeks of time enduring my bimbofication.

"It wasn't your fault, Dollface, have fun while you're out. Oh, and Sam, find her another name. We made sure enough of Sandra's blood and tissue has been found with her clothes and wallet to declare her legally dead. It won't do to have this completely different person running around with the same old name."

When my psychopath little brother finished. blowing through his trust fund, he sold me into this bimbotization program. He knew that if I survived the process, I would be sold into slavery in addition to being quite unrecognizable. As the only surviving child, the little conniving bastard would soon inherit everything our parents left us, hitting every bird with one stone. For the last half dozen weeks strapped to that table, round the clock biological cocktails penetrated my body tissues, no place was sacred. God knows what was in those nasty glass vials, but I know from experience it was designed to change my mind and body, make me malleable and instill within me the need to serve, be subjugated, and project to the world a bimbo ideal. While liquid flame was injected into every inch of my sexual self, I held on to the new flame of my hatred for him. This kept the essence of my self together within my mind. That's what I must keep telling myself.

"Go get some new clothes, something sexy. You're a sexy bitch now, you should dress for it. Listen to Sam, do what she says."

He cradled my bare ass cheek in his right hand, dipping the tip of his middle finger into my asshole. While he palmed the thick globe of my rear-end, his fingertip teased the rim of my tender sphincter, fucking it gently. He popped it out quickly, and slapped the round bubble of my ass.

"Mmmm... aahhh... Oh!"

I'd never liked anal anything before, but now I'd pushed back onto his fingers without thinking. My eyes flicked down to his crotch.

"Go on, Dollface."

That was all the encouragement I needed, I dropped to my knees in front of him, my mouth watering at the thought of his cock laying just beyond a layer or two of clothing. Master's word was as good as an order and it only took a suggestion and I would move to please him.

As I reached for his zipper, the peal of their laughter filled the air.

"Master?"

"No you silly bimbo, go and follow a Sam. She will take you to find clothes."

He spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating like I was an idiot, or a child, or a bimbo. I stepped forward to Sam, in spite of the screams within my mind to the contrary.

I wasn't going to get to suck his cock.

"Dumb bitch, cum on, follow me. Yes, yes move your gigantic over-processed ass."

I followed her, floundering for a moment like a newborn giraffe, completely unfamiliar with the balance of my newly sculpted body. Without my master present, I was suddenly unsure of the length of my legs. Mentally, I was still at the mercy of a process bent on transforming me into an obedient sex object. This body wanted nothing more than to suck his cock, even though I knew he abducted me, tortured me, and brainwashed me.

"I'm hungry."

I pouted, moving clumsily and slow. Sam ignored me, walking that much quicker, so that I'd have to fight to keep up. I was used to being tall, but my wider set hips and heavy tits, threw all my familiar balance calculations out the window. It wasn't a question of strength, this body felt ridiculously strong, I just didn't know how to use that strength yet.

"You heard him, big nose, we can't let you run around with your free-person name now that we've gone through all the trouble of completely fixing that tragedy of a body. Well, everything but that train wreck of a face we caused. It wasn't much to work with to begin with, you were such a sad skinny little bitch, thank God, I could cover up your face. I can't imagine what I do if I had to look at you all day." She paused thoughtfully, "What the fuck do we call you? Let's try a few bimbo names on for size."

She paced in front of me. In any other company, Sam would be the hottest bitch in the room. Her ample tits and "come fuck me" attitude made her the focal point in any social situation. The bubble of her ass bounced as she walked, entrancing. Sam had taken the same body enhancing injections, but she had not received the entire bimbo battery of shots that I did. Sam retained more of her free will, a fact that I found parts of myself railing against and accepting in equal parts.

"Candy? Barbie? Bambi. Kallie? Kallie is a fat girl's name. I have to admit, Sandra worked pretty well for that rail thin, frigid bitch we made you from... Cyndi? No, Better, Syn. From now on, your name is Syn. How do you like that? Body built for Syn. We can jack up the price for you right there!"

Under the doll mask, my disfigured face betrayed not even a moment of anything but perfect complete compliance. What shone through was a happiness even, a blissful state of being, projecting from my perfect cartoon of a body even as the subject of my eventual sale into slavery came up in conversation.

"Oh my God, Sam, I'd *love* to be Syn!"

My tongue extended from my mouth, I licked my lips with an exaggerated loop of flesh. Love to be Syn? I heard my voice say this, even as my mind screamed out, "what the bloody fuck!" at the violation of my free will, all my notions of feminism, and who I thought I would become.

What I am, looking down at the floor between my tits, is a towering stack of sex and wanton desire, exuding clouds of fuck-me pheromones atop legs so long no ordinary man could come close to approaching me. This body was built to fuck, designed to seduce, and what was left of my mind was just along for the ride.

"Excellent fuck-bot! Now let's get enough clothes on you so we don't immediately get arrested, and we'll take you shopping. Those shoes, although lovely, won't get the job done by themselves. Move it to the wardrobe, Lady Bimbo-stein, down by the dressing mirror."

The tall triple mirror stood in the corner of the room, tall enough for me to see my naked body head to toe (all eight of them,) the elegant wood scroll of the mirror brushed the ceiling. I stepped to the glass, still entranced by my transformation, and why not? It hadn't been an hour yet that I had become something completely different. With every step of my stilettos, I grew more confident of my new self. This being that I was, quickly taking root and growing.

Naked from head to toe, save for mask and shoes, my pale white flesh burned against the absolute black of my long hair. Pale blue veins lay faintly under the skin of my absolutely huge tits. They were firm to the touch, with just a bit of jiggle, they hung high on my chest, the nipples pointing up and out over the puffy areola. Who wouldn't want to fuck this girl? *I* want to fuck this girl! She's a fucking amazon.

I soaked up my reflection, batting my long eyelashes at myself from behind the mask. The mask. On this body it was unearthly, like a person out of time, my presence was obviously unnatural. As I breathed my tits rose and fell, jiggling the whole time. Those horribly long nipples of mine had grown as well, longer and thicker, but now they looked at home in the expanse of my massive bust.

I always hated being naked.

I took four years of marching band to avoid gym class showers. The absolute terror I felt at being compared to girls far better developed than I was devastating. The sideways glances and snide looks delivered at the hands of cheerleaders, or the "A" list kids could render your self respect to nothing, fast. Years before I transferred into high school, it was rumored that the football team and cheerleaders had humiliated a fat girl so terribly that she cracked midway through her senior year having to leave for counseling or reform camp or something of the sort. Nobody would really say what they had done to her, I mean, not that I could find out. The stories were so wild and varied, that all of them couldn't possibly be true, like she fucked the entire football team, or was sodomized by a teacher.

All I really knew is what everybody called her after that, cum dumpster.

Kids are cruel.

That's when I decided that invisibility was the best route. Better for a tall, overly skinny, knobby kneed girl to keep her head down than to stand out in any way shape or form. Invisibility was my art, until my brother sold me out.

Girls like Sam had always been the epitome of my natural enemy. Six weeks ago, I would have done anything to be on the other side of the world from a girl that looked like her. Now, I felt perfectly at ease standing naked, here in the middle of the room. It was if I were holding Court, instead of waiting as Sam rooted around the wardrobe for an outfit that would suit me temporarily. I explored my belly, my hips, and the substantial shelf of an ass that almost balanced the expanse of my tit-flesh. My fingers raised goosebumps as I traced the veins under my tit flesh, around the pebbles of my areola, and I couldn't get over the feeling that I was taking pleasure from someone else's body.

"You don't need a bra, (whore) and most of the clothes we have are going to be too small for those tits and ass of yours. This might fit, and this might stretch. Honestly, I thought the bone remodeling would have made you shorter. I think before we take you to auction we might have to get outfits tailor made for you."

She tossed clothes at me, behind my back. With my new reflexes and coordination tuning in I plucked the bits of clothing out of the air without even turning, reacting to the reflected image. Eagerly, I tried on the clothing she selected for me, most of the fabrics felt too rough across my nipples and the skin of my new body, other outfits just didn't have a chance of fitting over my new hips and tits. The pile of rejected outfits grew at my feet.

"You're a walking misdemeanor, but this should keep you from getting an indecent exposure citation if you're careful. Now, hopefully, we can keep you from sucking every cock between here and getting you a new wardrobe."

The cool of fresh clothes against my flesh made my smoldering pussy stand out, not only was I ready to fuck, I needed to. The plunge of the little black dress ran beneath my belly button and stretched wide in an attempt to contain my tits. Side boob, under boob, cleavage, everything but nipple stayed on display and the hem of the dress only protected my modesty if I stood up perfectly straight and still. The hotter I looked the less Sam liked it.

We walked in silence.

"Get in the car, robo-cunt."

The leather seats cradled my brand new designer ass perfectly, my legs were so long I needed to slide my seat back. As Sam started the engine, the air conditioner blew up from underneath the dashboard, up my abbreviated dress and over my hot little cock box.

As we exited the garage, the entire car filled with my scent.

"Big nose, I... "

Her eyes filled with lust and longing. I watched her eyes dilate while, she reached over and placed her manicured hand high on my thigh. Sam pulled my dress up, inhaling hard when she feasted her eyes on the pout of my pussy.

"I'd like to... Want to... "

Her hand lifted my dress up and back, she leaned towards me, looked me in the eye, at my mask, shook herself and snapped out of it.

"You CUNT!"

She rolled windows down and clicked the top of the car up.

"No, no, you fucking robo-bitch, you're not going to get your hooks into me that easily. Keep your fucking legs together."

We rode in silence. At first I was afraid the wind would snatch the mask from my face. I self consciously held my hand to my face until I was satisfied that it would stay in place. The roar of the wind took the long raven strands of my hair in every direction, I found myself smiling, smiling like I never had in my previous incarnation. And why not? Goodbye skinny, flat-chested, big nosed dicktits. Goodbye band geek.

Goodbye Sandra.

I am sex personified.

I am Syn.

"This ought to do."

Sam pulled the convertible aggressively into a parking spot behind a second rate strip club.

"There's a porn shop/stripper clothing store for the dancers next door. They ought to have clothes good enough for you. Here. Take this cash, it ought to be enough to buy you in at the strip club. You should be able to earn enough cash to buy your clothes. "

She slapped about five hundred dollars in fifties into my hand, her skin felt rough against mine.

"Get going, I'm not going to babysit you. Don't think about running away either, you need daily injections for another week."

Running away hadn't even crossed my mind, even though my inner voice gnashed at her constantly, it had not occurred to me to run away. Knowing that I needed more injections was a compelling reason to stay put.

"Thank you, Sam. When will you be back for me?"

She adjusted her sunglasses.

"I'll be back for you in a few hours. Wait in the store and I'll blow the horn for you. "

I stepped out of the car, with a bit of difficulty, my long legs, high heels and the low car proving to be a bad combination. There wasn't a chance that people on the passenger side weren't treated to a free show.

"Try not to fuck anyone."

She spun the tires and sped away.

Raising my hand to the dust and sun, I turned in the direction of the club, cash in hand. I was alone for the first time since my bimbofication. The glare of the sun blinded me, and I envied Sam's sunglasses. It didn't seem likely that I could wear any with my mask in place. It was 90° today, and yet I felt delightfully cool. I wasn't going to break a sweat anytime soon. A strange fear grew in my chest, as I approached the outside of the club. A re-purposed storefront, the window glass hastily spray-painted over and a shabby sign were the only clues to the nature of the business.

As much as my thoughts railed against my changes, my body had never felt the touch of anxiety like it did now. My face, my ugly face. If regular people saw what I look like under the mask, would it send people running? How would they react to me? What would I do If they rejected me?

I'm dressed like a whore, granted this is a place for whores. Why hadn't I run away? Why can I only do what I'm told? Who knows how much I'd even stand out here in the first place. Heck they might not even look twice at me. Just another whore in a Halloween mask. I might as well just walk right in like I own the place.

I reached the door with all the conviction of a complete fraud and as I ducked my head under the frame, I shed all that bravado like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I wanted to slouch, but my body wouldn't let me. Suddenly, on auto pilot, I strode through the first and second doors of the club.

Folding tables, folding chairs, three stages, two bars, and most of the girls dancing wore less than a smile. Low rent, was a generous description, no class was a bit more accurate. My sensitive nose, pulled traces of pussy, fresh and stale cum from the darkened corners. The stale sweat of a dozen and a half men, far into their cups for so early in the day, filled the room, and something else, something wild, earthy and strong.

Every head turned as I stepped out of the sunlight, every head but the bouncer's. His body language stayed passive, turning only briefly in my direction. He was thick, broader than most men, but only about 5'3. The well defined muscles of his forearm corded under his rolled up uniform shirt. However thick he was, it wasn't all fat. Even at this distance I can smell him.

Musky, sweaty, and stale, his smell made my cunt involuntarily react. I didn't want him near me, but this feeling in the core of my body, this need to submit to his use, I couldn't explain no matter how much it disturbed me and turned my stomach.

I forced myself to walk away from this man in the odd little security uniform.

He looked right at me, completely amused, sniffed the air as I passed, tipping his hat in my direction, smiling broadly from ear to ear.

The droning of hip-hop on ragged speakers covered the sound of my stilettos to the DJ booth. The platform was several steps up from the floor, putting the DJ at the same level as the stages. I'm sure even without the six inch heels I could still look him in the eye.

His patchy beard and pornstash glistened with sweat, the AC wasn't keeping up with the heat outside even though the vent focused on the cheesy six slider cross-fading mixer and low end amplifier. The girls' bodies shone with sweat under the hot lights, working the pole should be impossible to do safely in the heat.

The girl on the main stage looked in my direction. The fat bottomed Chola looked pissed, with all attention focused on me. She never stopped moving, her eyes hard and cold. The instant I walked inside all money stopped flowing in her direction.

I spoke to the DJ, with what I hoped sounded like confidence.

"I'd like to dance today, if that's alright."

He looked my body up and down.

"What, you? here?"

"Yes, I'd like to be put into the rotation now, if possible. What's the buy-in for a day?"

He gestured at the stage.

"For them, $200. For you? $350."

"Why so steep for me?"

He grabbed at his nasty little cock in his slacks.

"Let's face it shugar tits, maybe you earn that much, maybe you don't. Either way, I get my money, or up your ass in trade."

I smiled. As much as I wanted 90% of the cock in the room at the moment, there was no way I was letting this dick up my ass.

"Here's the money. Anything I need to know?"

"No fucking on the stages. Things get out of hand and no one makes money. Watch Bianca, you've ruined her set and she's pissed. And when Bianca gets pissed, people get stabbed. If the lights go all red, it means we're going to be raided by the cops. Relax, the cops are just looking for a freebie, blow whoever you have to and stay out of jail. Wait your turn to dance a two song set. By the end of the second song you should just be wearing your heels. Juanito will towel off the stage between numbers, don't trip on him."

On the main stage, Bianca had already stripped down to high heels and earrings. She sported proudly a two inch tall Queen of spades tattoo that stood proudly right above her clit. She thrust out her ass, clapping her cheeks, flipped one leg over the other while clinging to the pole. No more cash hit the stage before the music ended.

Bianca scooped up her money, seared another withering look in my direction, shot both her middle fingers at the crowd, and left to the dressing room. The young Mexican boy moved quickly to the stage, toweled off the brass pole, then the floor.