She didn’t want blonde hair, she didn’t want to wear high heels, and she particularly didn’t want a breast enhancement that would give her sluttily large and obvious fake fuckbags.  In short, she didn’t want to look like a bimbo.

That presented a problem for Michelle’s boyfriend Jake, until an online peer tipped him off to the solution: hypnotism.

 

He booked her in for an appointment to “have a birth control implant put in” the next week.  When she went into the clinic - what would have been a suspiciously nondescript clinic to anyone else - they gave her some pills “to prepare her” and within a quarter of hour of taking them, she was unconscious.

When she woke up, she was strapped to a medical bed, naked.  A doctor came in and used a mirror to show her “the new her”.  Her hair had been dyed blonde, her pussy hair had been laser-removed, and she had huge bimbo fuckballoons instead of normal nice-girl breasts.  The doctor told her he’d also used an experimental treatment to increase the sensitivity of her clitoris and her rate of arousal overall.

She struggled and tried to complain, but the doctor just wheeled over a screen on a mounted fixture and turned it on.  The screen was filled with static, pulsing in strange patterns.  He put a pair of headphones on her head, and instantly she could hear nothing but white noise.

The doctor left the room, leaving her staring at the screen and listening to the noise.  After some minutes, her mind went blank and she stopped struggling.

“Listen to me, Michelle,” said a voice in her headphones - or was it a voice in her head?  She listened.

“You will forget you are a bimbo fuckdoll now.  You will think everything is normal.  You will think you are the boring girl you used to be.  You will buy clothes as if you still had small tits, and not notice when they don’t fit and call attention to how huge your fuckballoons are.  You will keep your hair dyed blonde without knowing you are doing it.  You will wear high heels without noticing they are different from normal shoes.  When you laugh, you will giggle.”

Yes, she thought, I will giggle.

“You will not answer to your name anymore.  If someone calls you Michelle, you will ignore them.  You will only answer if they call you a diminutive name like honey, girl, or darling.  If the name is offensive or degrading, like “bitch”, “cunt”, or “sugartits”, you will answer even more promptly, and try especially hard to please.   And all the while you will think you are hearing your own name, even though each time it happens, you will forget what your name was a little more.”

She moaned a little.

“You will hear insults as compliments, even as you internalise the insult and subconsciously come to believe it is true.  You will pay attention to which outfits you wear make men treat you most like a piece of fuckmeat, and over time you will buy more outfits like those, and throw away clothes in which men respect you.  If you think a man respects you, you will begin to throw yourself at him sexually until he either fucks you or avoids you.”

She liked the thought of being fucked.  She wiggled her hips in the restraint.

“Most importantly, you will do whatever your boyfriend Jake says.  You will always think it is a good idea, and be eager to make him happy.”

All Jake’s ideas *were* good ideas, she thought to herself.

“Finally, whenever you find yourself doing something more degrading than usual, or fucking a new partner, or doing something that makes it harder for you to ever go back to your old pre-fuckdoll life, you will become fully aware of what is happening, what you look like, and what a slut you are being.  When this happens, you will not be able to act differently or stop it from happening, but your cunt will immediately become sopping wet, you will feel an overpowering need to be made to orgasm - you will need someone else to help you, you can’t do it by yourself - and you will feel the full shame and humiliation of who you are and what you are doing.  Your awareness will last until you are no longer being used as a fuckdoll, and then you will go back to believing your world and your life is normal.”

==

Later that afternoon, she couldn’t remember where she had been all day.  Jake was taking her to the beach, and had sent her to get dressed.  Her bikini felt a little tight across her chest, and something was tickling her mind that maybe something was wrong, that maybe her bikini was laughably small on her huge slut-udders and her tit-meat was somehow whorishly on display... but every time she looked at it in the mirror it looked like it fit perfectly.  Everything was normal.

“Are you okay, fuckslave?” asked Jake.  Wait, she thought, that’s not what he said.  He said, “Are you okay, Michelle?”

“My bikini feels funny,” she said, doubtfully.

“That’s okay, slutbunnny (Michelle),” he said.  “Your ridiculous cow udders (beautiful breasts) look good in anything.  But how about we bring some of your other swimsuits too, and if your giant bimbo funbags (bosom) still feels weird, you can just try on some different outfits right there on the beach in front of everyone, like the stupid hypnotised fuckdoll (gorgeous woman) you are?”

Michelle nodded.  Yes, stripping out of her bikini on the beach to try on some other clothes sounded like a good idea.  She was so lucky to have a smart boyfriend like Jake.

“Come on, cumrag (Michelle),” he said.  “Maybe your skin is just sensitive.  Why don’t you massage your whorish fuckhandles (breasts) and your slutty little fuckhole (groin) while we go, and see if that helps?”

She smiled, and began rubbing her tits and pussy.  It was hard to walk while rubbing her tits and pussy - she kept almost tripping.  I’m so clumsy today! she thought to herself.  I’m having as much trouble in my beach shoes as I normally do in high heels!  She giggled to herself, a stupid, docile sound, and hurried after her wonderful boyfriend...

 

(END)