The Bimbo Asylum Bimbo Agent

Abstract: The brainwashing only works on four out of five women. The others have to stay at the Bimbo Asylum.

INTRODUCTION FROM INMATE "BLINKIE"

Dear Reader,

(Please note, my job here is to write out the dictates of the inmate referred to here as Blinkie, inmate #44, real name: ***** ***** [Redacted])

?

(She isn't saying much. I'm waving my hand in front of her. She just sits there. Ok, now I'm wondering if there is some Morse Code thing going on with the eyes.)

. . . . . . . .

(Shit, was that last one a dash? "Don't be afraid," I tell her. If anyone has been bothered and disturbed and, well frankly, ass raped; it's the typist: me. My god, that last inmate - well, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for - hm, actually I don't know why I returned. Odd. Anyway, still zilch here from Blinkie.

Why would they choose a mute to talk about a top secret clandestine institute? Oh right, the dark evil bimbo making institute. Yeah. They probably didn't want details to get out. Then why do inmate interviews? It's a strange aspect to take such a point of view even for a fictional world.

Wait. Blank Blinkie is shifting in her seat.)

...

(Nothing again. Ok, so I've tried to explain to her, Blinkie, how she was supposed to give an intro but, hmmm, really there's not much from her side.

It's actually kind'a freaky: the total blankness in her face. Even with more hand waving right in front of her eyes; nothing. Why do inmates wear only white panties and bras and stockings? Nice white high heels though. Must be tough to keep clean. Actually, Blinkie here has been strapped into a straitjacket that leaves her midriff open. I think my boyfriend would like me in this outfit.

Maybe I shouldn't have typed that.

I have my laptop sitting on my short-skirted thighs. I'm being paid to type - wrote the typist. Maybe I should write that dirty novel I've been thinking. Hmm, I imagine a remote beach and in the distance my lover approaches on horseback - oh, wait! Blinkie cleared her throat.)

.

(See? Nothing. Ok. Well. This is ***** [redacted] saying that the following story of course is totally real and actually happened - that is from a viewpoint of a totally fictional character's mindset such as Blinkie and me. Then again, maybe we're real and some mind trick is being played on us to make us think we're fictional.

Hmm, you know if you sit right beside Blinkie and look at the institutional green blank wall, like she does, just look and look some more, it's very relaxing even with my laptop cooking my thighs and my typing away - touch typing of course, so I can just stare at the wall and write - so meditative: typing and more typing...

"I like Blinkie." I said to her just now. Deep breath. I feel like I'm losing myself...)

RETURNING TO MAIN STORY

"Hello, Miss Senator," said a blonde, hidden in the darkness of a limousine, only her long legs showing from the open passenger door.

There was a pause as the Senator finished entering her car, straightened her suit skirt as she sat, and looked at the opposing jump seat that should have been empty. The door to the limousine closed and the driver lurched the car forward, going a little faster than normal.

"And who are you young lady?" said the Honorable Claire Goldstein, now noticing the girl's inappropriately tight short black skirt, a revealing white blouse, and an immature hairstyle of two blonde ponytails, one from each side of crazed wide-eyed - and possibly clueless - head.

The salaciousness of the dark nylon covered legs became clear with the blonde's slow sliding movements pressing her calves together while switching how they crossed. The ultra high heels certainly didn't help in taking her seriously. It all added to a call-girl persona.

"Who am I," said the blonde, "is not important."

The Senator winced at the grating airhead voice. "Driver, stop the car." The Senator looked at the obvious call girl, "I believe you got into the wrong Senator's limo young lady. You clearly wanted one of the dirty old bastards. One of them was the one to pay you, I'm certain quite well in fact. Not me. We haven't traveled too far. If you don't mind, you can walk back."

A dark window motored up and closed off the driver's section.

"Driver!" yelled the Senator.

"She's with me."

"Where's Tony? Who are you?"

The young blonde giggle, uncrossed her long legs, and stood, hunched under the limousine's low ceiling while pressing her hands above her head to steady herself. She took a few awkward steps. The car's motions and her high heels made the attempted approach precarious. She fell into the seat next to the Senator. One of her high heels flung across to her original seat.

The Senator pulled her hands back up to her shoulders as the blonde suddenly found herself reclined in the honorable lap of the U.S. official. The blonde lingered there for a moment too long. Their eyes locked.

"Hi. Sorry," said the blonde. She sighed and glanced back at her shoe, lost somewhere in the darkness. "I'll hold off searching for that. You can call me Babs, by the way. That is just Babs. Drop the by-the-way part. That's not my last name. But I think we both know that Babs is not my real first name either." She contorted her face as she paused to look at her nails done in a hot red fluorescent nail polish. "Just checking I didn't break them." She sat up, shrugged and giggled. Her little fingers popped open the Senator's purse. Reaching into an inside pocket on the right side, a place only a trained spy doing surveillance for a period of time would have known to exist, she extracted a nail filer. She pushed back into the plush seat and confidently manicured the side of a fingernail. "I'm from the Asylum. You know, THE Asylum." Their eyes locked again.

"I don't know what the Board is doing, but you had best be off now and minimize exposure."

Babs cooed and shifted herself to straddle over the Senator. The move required the short skirt to be pulled up high practically to the waistline.

"Young lady!"

"Just Babs. Please," the blonde said, resting both hands forcefully on the opposite shoulders of the Senator. "I'm not some simple messenger - simple minded maybe. I had the full protocol." She smiled and struggled to make an awkward signaling wink. "It worked on me." Babs tried to wink again with her other eye. It looked more like something had gotten into her eye. "Winkity wink. You know..." A long wink followed alternating back to the first eye. Her curled fingers added air quotes: "THE Protocol."

"Are you threatening me?"

The blonde pursed her lips and fiddled with the Senator's hair. "Loosen up. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already. Let's get this hairpin out. With your hair up like this, you look so, so uptight."

The Senator's long hair fell to her shoulders. A strong pushback against the blonde interloper did nothing.

The blonde quickly pinned the honorable shoulders back into the seat. "I'm not a push over," said the blonde with a giggle. "Get it. The clichéd metaphor is actually a literal reference this time, huh? Hm, tough audience - any-who..." She leaned back, hands clasping behind the Senator's neck. She enjoyed taking a big deep breath. Her perky cleavage lifted, deepening the contours of her booming bosom held in by her semi open blouse. The inner edges of her lacy bra underneath showed as she shrugged her shoulders up and pulled in, almost pinching her empty head in between. She looked down at herself. "Mmmmmm. They're so hot. Aren't they?" Suddenly she looked up to the low ceiling that her hair rubbed against. She was annoyed at the distraction ruining her train of thought. She wondered: if she ever had a clear thought?

The blonde's face snapped into a serious gaze at the Senator. A gentle hand stroked the official's face. "You've been building a consensus contrary to my boss's agreement with you."

"Your boss hasn't been very forthcoming..." The Senator searched the bimbo's face. "Wait. Do we know each other?"

The bimbo pursed her lips together as her eyes widen. She worried she gave something away, then she realized she didn't know anything really. She thought for a few seconds and then glanced at the nail filer that she so easily confiscated. How did she know about that? She had trained on using such plain objects as weapons, but she remembered seeing the Senator use the file before. Her eyes narrowed, for that second, she knew who she used to be. "Not anymore." Her face went blank again. "Shh," said Babs, pressing a finger against the Senator's face.

The older woman's eyes widened. Her muscles tightened as if she had stepped on a land mine that could go off with any further movement. The eyes tracked the blonde's hand as the bimbo's index finger stroked across the honorable lips.

Months earlier, a General held out a hand, gesturing at a plush wingback chair in a grand luxurious room. With a lit fireplace, the surroundings conservatively declared Southern hospitality, with a twist in styling dripping of machismo. Puffing large cigars would have completed the look, except neither of them were smoking. Despite so many amusing magazine covers showing women cigar aficionados, the General never thought it proper for a woman to smoke a stogie.

The Honorable Senator of the State of _______ sat and sipped at her drink.

"There is a concern," grunted the General, "that you are not treating Project Asylum with the security it requires."

"I'm on the Nation Security Council, all regulations have been followed."

"Did a certain staff member see the files? A Miss _____?"

"I don't know, but she is cleared."

"She matches the altruistic personality type of a whistle blower."

"Then you shouldn't have cleared her."

"It's a new metric, resulting from certain breaches from subcontractors. We need to fix this."

Back in the limousine: "Shhh," said Babs again.

A stop and turn of the limo pressed them closer.

Babs turned her head to look out the tinted windows. She saw Washington D.C. tourists, couples holding hands as they dated in the ritziest areas of Georgetown. The sunset bathed the brownstones in orange. Babs returned her attention to the Senator and licked the woman's chin, moving up across the lips, and over the nose. "Don't worry, I'm not Rendition either. I'm not going to Botty Dot Dot you at the Asylum. I'm strictly an assassin, a horny assassin, a desperate-for-sex horny assassin. Maybe that's why they chose me." She paused - maybe the flickering memory of working as one of the many Senatorial aids created a stronger message: bimbofication could happen to anyone.

The Senator still remained frozen and shocked. Only the slightest muscle moves around the eyes showed her revulsion.

"Now," said Babs, "you know the situation. My appearance here is clearly a message to pretty little you. So I guess, I am a message and a messenger. Now, the driver is going to give us a tour and then leave you back at your office, where you can arrange transportation to your fancy shmancy dinner. And I know you know this, but it's hard for a woman who's been brainwashed, like myself, to keep a focus on her mission without a little sexual help. I'm trained to kill. The fear in your eyes shows me that you know this. You've read the reports. The long long little wittle reporty worties. Hmm? Nod your head yes, Miss Senator."

There was a nod that made the lips brush against the bimbo's extend index finger.

"Suck it," said Babs. "Suck my finger."

"No." Then the Senator reconsidered and gave the index finger a kiss.

Babs bit her lower lip and pressed a hand behind her captive's head to get a good controlling hold. "I said suck it. I'm not going to ask again, because I won't be able to. I'm Bimbo Building right now and I'm an assassin bimbo - -you know, the kind you funded. Oh god." Babs began to breath heavily. "I really am Bimbo Building. I need to be sexed to be made safe." The hand behind the Senator's neck pulled the head forward, the face aimed at the blonde's lithe finger. "Don't forget. I'm a launched missile already heading your way, but you, and only you, can enter the abort code - not with your fingers though. Naughty, Naughty."

The Senator resisted then finally opened her mouth to take just the tip of the finger.

The blonde pushed in with all the knuckles going deep, stopping at the hilting hand, her finger feeling the full length of the wet Congressional silver tongue. Playfully twirling the finger, she had to hold the Senator's head firm. Maybe she could feel the tonsils. Ew - then again maybe she should lighten up. She didn't want to induce vomiting.

The Senator gagged and the bimbo's hands let go.

"Oh god. It's been a while." The bimbo's wet index fingered hand and the other both began unbuttoning her silk blouse. "You're going to eat me out now. I mean: what could be hotter? To make a Senator - a woman Senator - mmmm, that's a rare sexual prized memory. At least you still have your memories. Mine are all gone-ie gone gone. Huh? People like you stole them." The bimbo pressed the woman's face into her bosom. "Lick 'em, bitch. That's it. Move that tongue around. Now undo my bra and get my motor started. Actually, it's roaring right now. But I like some titty foreplay regardless. Yes. Good girl."

The bra and blouse slipped down the lithe arms. The perky peeks pushed outwards.

"Please," begged the Senator.

"There's no negotiation here. My programming is perfect, which means I'm fucked in the head and I need this or I'm going to become very dangerous. You get the security reports. One of my kind ripped the good doctor's face apart last week. Poor Mr. Green. You really ought to allow him to use the title of Doctor though. I mean why Mister?" She shook her head and got back on track again. Then the fog returned. As she held her prisoner firmly, her mind floated away into a world of who she used to be. Sex helped her remember - illegal rule-breaking sex. What had been her name? Her previous life? Her friends?

A bimbo rage tore her away from the memories. It brought her back.

The blonde looked sympathetically down at the Senator. "I, I, I need some sexual release. I think they chose me because they knew I wasn't quite stable." With wide eyes and an intense stare, she added in a whisper, "With all do respect, the danger you are in right now clearly is a message to you and I assure you, you have no choice. There is no negotiation." The helium idiotic voice returned in full. "Now, I want some titty foreplay and then you go down on me like you really are into it. Your life depends on it. Don't forget you made me. I'm a hand grenade with the pin pulled and you're hold'in the whole assembly in your hands preventing the fuse from burning and it all going off. Bam! I guess that's where my analogy fails though. You need me to go off - get off - in a nice warm messy gett'in off.

The Senator's eyes switched away from the intense stare. Her eyes settled on the impressive bare nipples suspended before her. Even sans-bra, the perfect breasts built out from the blonde's chest in defiance of gravity. With a grope of a hand, the Senator actually seemed amazed that such volume perched forwards without support of a peek-a-boo shelf bra. The hands reluctantly cupped the undersides of the rounded flesh. A questioning look went up to the bimbo.

"You're doing fine," said Babs, "my powerful political pussy Senator. Keep going."

The hands rotated around the centered nipples.

"Just accept your fate. You brought this onto yourself. You just had to shut up and let that one bill pass. But no. You had to let guilt get in your way. Plus that legalized form of insider trading you Senators are allowed, well that probably threw your name over the threshold with the Asylum's board. Come on. You were on the committee, at least hide it better." The blonde's flighty tone changed to serious. "Your hands stopped and I'm feeling an urge to pull your earrings off without first removing the clutch behind the earlobe. Ouch. Remember, I'm an inquisition judge and jury holding a burning torch at the kindling piled around your feet. All you have to do is say you'll convert. So denounce your god and become a believer in mine. Just say it with your lush lips, working me into a frenzy. I was a good hard worker before you did this to me."

The hands began to move again and the gaze up focused back on the tits. A look of determination showed.

Babs ran her hands through the Senator's hair. "That's my girl. Fuck me. No. No. Tits first. Suck'em hard. Leave marks. I like marks. Yes, tongue and lips working together is very very VERY nice!"

The Senator wiped a tear on the back of her hand that held a boob. She dared not let go. She glanced out the window at the passing federal buildings and the American flags.

"Eyes on tits bitch," said Babs, with a dark voice of a possessed spirit. Then came a giggle. "My bitch. My powerful entrepreneurial independent woman sex slave bitch." She smacked the Senator across the face hard.

"Ah!" came a cry and whimper. Both hands had left the breasts. The Senator leaned on one elbow and touched the sting on her face.

The bimbo rocked side to side over the Senator's legs. "I'm building bad - Bimbo Building. I'm sorry I hit you. Honest. But it's only going to get worse. With some brushed on foundation, you can hide that redness under some make-up before your dinner tonight. Trust me. I've done that a bunch of times. I can remember spending weeks getting beaten by interrogators. They screamed, 'Who are you working for?' 'I don't know!' I said. Day after day. Then they transferred me to the asylum and everything went simple. Oh!" Babs gently stroked the Senator's cheek. "If you apply ice now, it won't be red tomorrow, but but, I'll accidentally kill you if you spend time with all that."

The Senator's hands returned to the bouncing breasts. The lips slowly and hesitantly approached a plump nipple.

The bimbo grabbed to thrust the face in.

"Oh yes!" The bimbo's hands rummaged through the Senator's salon styled hair. Fingers tangled into the trusses. "Swirl the tongue around. Now. Stop. Suck as much of my boob into your mouth, as much as you can." A smack followed to the back of the honorable head. "It's soft and real. Get more in your mouth. Now, titty the other one. Titty it hard! Swirl around and pinched with your lips. No passive aggressive biting. Although I love a lover's bite, but your negative energy wouldn't turn me on. Fear though, gets me there. I used to be such a happy girl. Now pinch it harder. Harder!" Another back of the head smack followed. "Now down to my tight tummy. Do some lovely nips along the way. Lick into the belly button if you please - not that it's optional."

The bimbo forced the Senator's body to turn sideways in the car seat as the Bimbo's half naked body fell back. With strong positioning of the senator's body, the knees fell to the floor. The wrists were held to the thighs. With the blonde's skirt already raised to the waist, the indication was clearly made: the assassin's panties had to be pulled down over the garters, down the thighs, and calves.

The Senator struggled to avoid kneeling on the floor of the limo.

"Ah-ah," said a helium voice. "Remember, I'm poison in your bloodstream and you need to devour the antidote or else."

A tug on panties started and they slid down. Reluctant lips kissed the stocking material. With the panties abandoned at the ankles and a clear view of the central target, the Senator took a depth resolving breath and leaned forward aiming her face between the thighs.

"No," said Babs, pushing back with a knee to the Senator's chest. "Remove the panties all together - carefully."

"Yes Babs," came the answer. Leaning back on her heels, the older woman carefully extracted what little lace there was of the panty around the one high heel shoe. The other foot, having already lost its shoe, wiggle its toes.