Chapter Three

The stage roared back to life, a blaze of spotlights pinning a trapped and bimbofied Rebecca to the polished background. Once a commanding businessman, she had been reduced to a slutty caricature of her former self. Her red curls, a gift from her former boyfriend, Matthew’s, vote, bounced around her botoxed bimbo face, its plump cupid’s bow lips and upturned nose, her stepbrother’s cruel design, locked in a provocative pout. Permanent make-up, her old boss Jason’s choice, painted her with glossy red lipstick and heavy blush, complementing her tight red leather tube top, black microskirt, and fishnet stockings, all Matthew’s doing, binding her to a slutty party-girl style.

Towering six-inch heels wobbled beneath the transformed woman, and her valley girl lisp, another of Miles’s humiliations, turned every word into a ditzy squeak. Her privileged past had been instantly rewritten into a trailer park struggle, also by Miles, and her sharp intellect, locked away by her former college roommate, Emily, left her mind fixated on pleasing men. The leather proximity choker around Rebecca’s neck and cuffs kept her hands behind her back, holding her captive on the stage, concocted by her genie, her every move a struggle against the game show Altered Consequences, where her life was being dismantled by the vengeful whims of those she’d wronged.

Mr. Djinn strutted forward, his tuxedo shimmering under the lights as he greeted the audience with a sleazy grin. “Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” he boomed theatrically. “Our Mistress is ready for round eight, with only four categories left to reshape her eternal destiny!” The crowd’s cheers heightened, amplifying Rebecca’s dread.

The giant screens whirred yet again as the remaining categories spun through the big digital wheel. It halted on “Posture/Mannerisms,” and the audience roared, their excitement palpable as the machine landed on one of their favorite categories. The genie clapped his hands, his grin a wicked slash. “Posture and Mannerisms!” he declared. “This round will bind our Mistress here to a new way of moving and behaving, forever shaping how she carries herself.”

Rebecca’s pouty lips quivered, her heels teetering as she tugged at her cuffs. “Like, no way!” she squeaked in her new dialect. “You totally can’t change any more of me!” She was trapped. She couldn’t exit the stage, couldn’t fight back. All she could do was subject herself to the torment of the four people she had wronged the most in her life.

Mr. Djinn once again ignored the redhead’s pleas and glided toward the four guests perched on stools at the stage’s edge. He paused before Matthew Healy and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Matthew, your party-girl vibe is a crowd favorite,” he said encouragingly. “Now, how should Rebecca move?”

Matthew looked up at the transformed woman, pleased that some of his options had become reality. He thought for a moment before speaking. “Well, I want an exaggerated, flirty strut at all times,” he started. “Swaying hips, constant hair flipping, unable to stop talking with guys. I want her to act like the life of the party, whether she wants to or not!” The audience cheered, their roars a cruel affirmation of his choice.

The genie nodded, his eyes sparkling. “A delicious choice!” he said before moving on to the Gothic Emily. “Emily, your locked intelligence was a hit, and now she can’t access those smart thoughts swirling around in her head. What’s your mannerisms for our aspiring trailer park bimbo?”

Emily’s eyes burned with quiet fury. “I want a rebellious, provocative stance,” she said sharply. “Suggestive gestures, always leaning forward to show off, like a defiant sex worker who’s given up.” The crowd cheered again, warming to the woman’s rebellious suggestions.

Mr. Djinn laughed again. “A bold option, I like it!” he teased, striding toward Jason. “Jason, what are you going to choose to sway this crowd?”

Jason’s weathered face tightened, his eyes locking onto Rebecca’s before a sly grin crossed his lips. “I want a submissive, deferential posture,” he said. “Always bowing, eyes averted and dropping to the floor, kneeling when necessary. I think it will match her intelligence perfectly.” The crowd applauded again.

“Oh, Jason, now you’re getting it,” he said. “I think you may have a shot this time.” He moved on to Rebecca’s stepbrother, Miles. “Now, Miles. I think you’re way ahead on this one. What bimbo mannerisms are you going to give your redheaded stepsister?”

Miles paused, his t-shirt straining as he leaned back. “Hmm, I want an ultra-feminine bimbo sway, no doubt,” he started his wish. “I want to see her constantly pouting and posing, twirling her hair when others are speaking, always strutting like a catwalk model on display for men.” The audience’s cheers were even louder as Miles brought his imagery to life.

Mr. Djinn spun back to Rebecca, his grin remaining on his supernatural face. “What a tantalizing lineup, I’m sure you’d agree, dear Mistress!” he declared mockingly, approaching the transformed woman. “You’ve got thirty seconds to sway the crowd, and your time starts now.”

Her heart pounded. As she opened her mouth to speak, her intellectual desire to please spilled out before she could correct herself. “Like, I totally want Jason’s choice!” she chirped, her ditzy voice amplifying her horror. “It’ll make me, like, super submissive and pleasing!” She gasped, immediately shaking her head as she tried to focus. “No, like, I totally didn’t mean that. I so don’t want any of them!” The crowd erupted in laughter as the timer buzzed.

The genie turned back to the audience with a predatory grin. “You heard her, folks. Time to vote!” he boomed. “Will it be Matthew’s party prance, Emily’s rebellious romp, Jason’s servile submission, or Miles’s bimbo bounce? You have ten seconds to decide!” The screen flashed up with the options as the crowd quietened down during the voting period.

The results blazed across the screen, igniting a thunderous cheer. “I could have predicted this,” he teased. “Miles’s bimbo bounce wins, just edging out Matthew’s choice!” The genie clapped his hands. “The crowd just can’t resist your bimbo vision, Miles.” The audience’s approval shook the stage as they cheered for the result.

Mr. Djinn raised his hand, as if to silence the audience. “I think it’s time to move like a true bimbo, dear Mistress!” he taunted. A shimmering blue mist emerged from the supernatural being’s fingers, enveloping Rebecca in a swirling haze. As the smoke engulfed her, the redheaded woman found her posture shift, her hips sticking out with an ultra-feminine grace. As the vision cleared, and Rebecca’s new posture was revealed to the world, the audience cheered. Her body was automatically posing, her hand tilted to one side as she softly bit an overinflated red lip. Rebecca noticed her change in mannerisms, but every time she tried to adjust her posture, it returned. She took a step forward, each step a provocative sway, as if she were walking along a catwalk, with every movement designed to attract attention.

Mr. Djinn’s eyes gleamed with delight as he watched the spectacle before him. “Oh, Mistress, that bimbo bounce truly is divine!” he mocked. “You’re a walking fantasy now!”

The woman tried to protest, her voice breathless and childish. “This, like, isn’t what I wished for!” she squeaked, softly biting her lower lip again. The audience laughed harder as the woman’s locked mind flooded with unwanted pride at the male attention.

The genie clapped. “Round eight is complete, with only a few options remaining until we announce a winner!” he proclaimed, his voice booming. “Let’s see what’s next, shall we?” The screen shuffled, poised to select the next category, as Rebecca stood provocatively, her new posture a permanent mark of her degradation.

❖

Ten Years Ago

Music pulsed through a crowded frat house, a thumping bass vibrating the floor as bodies swayed drunkenly in every room. Rebecca, eighteen and radiant, entered the party with her boyfriend, Matthew. A tight silver dress clung to her slender frame, the hem a lot shorter than her partner would have liked, as it caught every eye. Her dark brown hair hung loosely, framing her intelligent features, with red lipstick against her fair skin. Her eyes scanned the room for any sign of her latest crush.

Her high school sweetheart of three years trailed close behind, wearing a pressed polo shirt as he held the woman at her waist. Rebecca’s eyes flickered with irritation, her boyfriend’s constant presence suffocating her. Over the past few months, Matthew’s overt niceness had grown stifling, especially since she’d caught the eye of a chiseled football player who promised excitement. It was fine back in high school. They were from a small town, and he was the best of a bad bunch. However, now that they attended college, the pool of excitement had opened up to her, and she needed an escape plan. She could have just broken up with the man, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Matthew’s family was highly influential in their small-town home, and breaking the heart of their pride and joy so dramatically was a surefire way to ostracize them. She needed to think outside the box.

Matthew handed her a plastic cup of beer from the bar, his smile warm and oblivious. “A drink for my pretty pumpkin,” he said sweetly, a pet name that made Rebecca cringe as the man guided her through the throng, his hand resting gently on her lower back. His earnest devotion grated on the college student, and she was desperate to break the chain.

Rebecca forced a coy smile as she took the beer and continued on. “Thanks, babe,” she said with false sweetness. “I need to freshen up for a sec.” She slipped away and weaved through the sweaty crowd, her low heels clicking toward a private bathroom tucked in a quiet hallway.

Locking the door, the woman set the cup on the sink, her reflection staring back at her. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to go through with the plan, but it would get Matthew away from her whilst ensuring there was no backlash from the family. From her purse, Rebecca pulled out two small pills, minor sedatives carefully chosen for their safe, mild effect, and cracked them open, sprinkling the powder into her beer. She stirred it with a finger, licking the residue off. It may have been an extreme measure, but this would end things cleanly, she thought.

Rebecca returned to the pulsing crowd and rejoined her boyfriend. “Missed me?” she teased, her voice lilting with calculated charm as she pressed close, her body swaying to the music. She sipped her spiked beer, unable to taste the added drug as she danced. Her hips moved provocatively, the short hem riding up hr thighs, and the couple danced over the next half hour, drawing the gaze of nearby partygoers. Rebecca sipped again, the sedatives slowly clouding her senses, her steps growing unsteady as she leaned into Matthew for effect; she knew this was the moment.

Matthew’s brow furrowed as his hands steadied her. “Hey, you feeling okay?” he asked with concern as her body began sagging against him, her eyes fluttering for show.

The brown-haired woman’s performance snapped into place. “Get away from me!” she shouted, her voice slurring as she shoved weakly at his chest, stumbling backward, confusing her partner. Heads turned as Rebecca put on a show, and she stumbled forward, Matthew catching her as she almost fell. “No, please, get away!” she screamed in a faux panic.

Three frat boys pushed through the crowd, their faces hardening as they saw Rebecca’s distress. They pulled her away from her boyfriend, one of them easing her to the ground as he knelt beside her. “You alright, miss?” he asked respectfully, his eyes scanning her pale face.

“ I-I think he drugged me,” Rebecca murmured with a slurred breath, pointing a trembling finger at Matthew, prompting the circling crowd to gasp.

The frat boy gasped, his eyes narrowing in the direction of Matthew. “Hold him,” he ordered sharply as he nodded to his friends. “Call the cops now.” Two others grabbed Matthew’s arms, pinning him tightly as he struggled, his face paling with shock and disbelief.

“I didn’t do anything!” Matthew shouted in desperation. “Rebecca, tell them I didn’t touch your drink! I’d never hurt you!” His eyes pleaded with her, but the crowd had already judged him, and he was apprehended until the cops showed up.

Later that evening, Rebecca sat up on a hospital bed at the nearest general hospital, her face now completely devoid of makeup as she wore a hospital gown. A police officer stood by her bed, his notepad open as he scribbled the final details of her statement.

“You’re doing the right thing, miss,” the officer said reassuringly. “We’ve got enough to hold him, and several witnesses state they saw him hand you the drink. Your boyfriend won’t be attacking any more women where he’s going.” He tucked his pen into his pocket as he closed the notepad.

Rebecca’s lips parted, a flicker of guilt tightening in her chest. “Please don’t be too hard on him,” she said softly, her eyes lowering to the hospital sheets. “I just want to be safe, and I am now, you know?” She tried to soften the blow.

The officer shook his head. “Predators like that need to be off the streets, miss,” he replied. “Once he’d moved on from you, it’s likely he’d target someone else. We’ll take it from here.” He offered the college student a reassuring nod before stepping out, leaving Rebecca alone in the quiet room. She felt sincerely guilty for what she had done. Still, the relationship was over now, and everyone believed her word over his. She could put an end to this chapter of her life and start afresh.

Back to the present, Matthew sat on the edge of the Altered Consequences stage, his weary face etched with cold resentment. His eyes bored into the bimbofied Rebecca. The memory of her despicable betrayal a decade ago fueled his need for vengeance, his stare a promise of further humiliation as the game show moved towards its end.

❖

The giant screen hummed to life once more, its digital wheel spinning through the swindling categories at speed. Rebecca’s body continued to betray her before the selection even landed, her hips swaying in that unwanted bimbo rhythm as she posed involuntarily. Her locked mind continued to whisper temptations of pleasing the male gaze, pulling her focus to how she stood, and how the men in the audience enjoyed her new demeanor. A fresh wave of unwanted pleasure ran through her spine as she shook her head.

Mr. Djinn’s laughter could be heard from a mile away as he gestured dramatically to the screen. It froze on “Body,” and the audience exploded in approval, their cheers a hungry wave that made the redhead’s skin prickle.

“Body!” the genie proclaimed with anticipation. “This transformation will sculpt our Mistress’s form forever, turning her into the ultimate vision of our guests’ desires, and you all get to vote on the final product!”

Rebecca bit her plump lower lip without meaning to, her wide eyes flashing panic as another involuntary pose arched her back just so. “Like, please don’t touch my body. You’ve totally done enough!” she squeaked in a childish and alluring tone.

The supernatural host ignored her, striding toward the guests with his signature grin. He stopped first at Matthew, standing beside him as he asked the man the predictable question. “Matthew, I can see the eagerness in your eyes. What curves do you envision for this prize?”

Matthew’s eyes raked over his ex-girlfriend’s swaying form, his resentment sharpening into a rare predatory smile. “I know exactly what I want for that bitch,” he said, his tone laced with spite. “I want big fake E-cup breasts that jiggle all the time. I want a slim waist cinched like a corset dream, a phat jiggling ass that would make Kim Kardashian blush, and a hairless body as smooth as silk, all over.” The crowd’s applause thundered, feeding the tension in the air as Rebecca shook her head helplessly.

Mr. Djinn nodded approvingly before moving to Emily. “Emily, that locked mind has her trapped in dumb, pleasing thoughts, all thanks to you. How would you mark her flesh?”

Emily smiled, her gothic features twisted in vengeful glee. “I want to make her lean and tattooed, with big fake DD breasts. Give her piercings on her nipples, navel, and clit, and cover her in slutty tattoos over her body. I want her to look like a cheap stripper whore.” Cheers rose again, along with murmurs of dark excitement.

The genie chuckled and approached Jason next. “Jason, your makeup sealed our Mistress’s face in slutty perfection, but we’ve fallen off the wagon a little since then. What body do you crave for her frame?”

Jason’s cheeks flushed with fire, his gaze lingering on the woman’s posing hips. “I want a bit of meat on that body. A soft, curvy body with naturally big E cup boobs and wide hips. I want her to look naturally slutty, and no amount of surgery would change that.” He said bitterly. There was a warm applause, although not as raucous as the previous two.

Mr. Djinn chuckled before turning to Miles. “And you, frontrunner Miles, with your bimbo masterpieces piling up. What’s your dream physique for our aspiring doll?”

The redhead’s stepbrother shifted in his seat, his grin widening as he savored the power. “Doll is right. I want her to be a proper Barbie doll. Big fake E cup breasts, round and firm, slim waist, wide hips, with a permanent glossy sheen giving her the full appearance of a doll. That’s what I want.” The roar that followed shook the stage, and it appeared the next winner was a given.

Mr. Djinn whirled back to Rebecca mischievously. “Such tempting new forms for our Mistress to wear! Now, plead your case to our adoring audience. You have thirty seconds.”

Rebecca’s mind reeled, the locked intelligence taunting her as she couldn’t quite grasp her former smarts while the pleading urges bubbled up unbidden. “Like, Matthew’s body sounds so hot and sexy!” she chirped before she could stop herself, her pout deepening as horror widened her eyes. “It’ll make all the guys stare and totally want me!” She shook her head wildly, curls flying, as she attempted to force out a correction. “No, like, that’s totally not what I meant.” However, the buzzer sounded, and she was cut off by the enigmatic supernatural being.

“Time to vote,  darlings!” Mr. Djinn said, amusedly. “Will it be Matthew’s party physique, Emily’s tattooed tramp trap, Jason’s servile softness, or Miles’s Barbie bimbo bod? You have ten seconds to seal her fate.”

The screen pulsed with the alliterated choices as the crowd hushed briefly, then erupted as the results flashed with a surprising winner: Matthew’s hyper-sexualized form was victorious, edging Miles by a whisper.

Rebecca stumbled back a step, her bimbo sway turning the motion into a teasing hip roll. “Like, no, not this!” she wailed, but Mr. Djinn’s hands already glowed with that familiar blue energy.

“Wow, that’s a surprise. It looks like the audience listened to your suggestion after all, Mistress. Now, it’s time to embrace your party-perfect body!” Shimmering mist billowed from the djinn’s palms, coiling around the woman’s body, thick and insistent. It seeped into her skin, a warm tingle igniting from within as her modest breasts began to tickle as they filled with ultra-high-profile saline implants, exploding into heavy E-cups that thrust forward against the leather tube top, the attire weirdly expanding to accommodate their new size. Rebecca’s waist cinched inward, carving a dramatic hourglass that made her microskirt sit lower on her widened hips, while her ass ballooned into a plump, rounded perfection, the cheeks firm yet quivering with the slightest shift.

The mist intensified, stripping away every trace of body hair, leaving the transformed woman’s skin flawlessly smooth and begging for touch, not a single blemish in sight. Rebecca gasped, the sensation overwhelming, her new curves amplifying every involuntary pose into something pornographically inviting. She now looked like the ultimate bimbo.

The crowd’s cheers peaked, a cacophony of wolf whistles and applause that gave Rebecca sensations she never asked for. However, her posture forced another pouty pose, one hand trailing down her slim waist as if inviting someone to touch her. The locked mind flooded with shameful heat, reveling in the male eyes devouring her, even as her locked away intelligence screamed internally. “This body so isn’t mind, like, change it back!” she pleaded.

Mr. Djinn laughed, slinging an arm around her cinched waist and pulling her close enough that her new breasts pressed against his side. “Oh, but it is yours now, forever bouncing and begging, my doll.” He released her with a flourish, turning to the screen. “Only two categories remain. What delicious delights will our wronged participants come up with next?”

❖

Three Years Ago

Rebecca leaned against the edge of Jason’s desk, her tight white blouse unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of lace beneath, the fabric hugging her curves. The pencil skirt rode high as she crossed her legs, the material whispering against her skin in the man’s executive office.

At twenty-five, she had her sights set on the Chief Product Officer’s role, and she was getting tired of waiting her turn. She had heard the current holder of the role, Jason Higby, struggled under pressure when it came to the advances of attractive women. She knew the company had a zero-tolerance policy when it came to sexual harassment, fresh after the Me Too movement, and concocted a plan to rid herself of the only barrier in her way.

The man’s gaze tried not to linger on Rebecca’s exposed collarbone during their late-afternoon meeting, his bearded face crossed with confusion. “Uhmm, Rebecca. This campaign pitch is excellent. But, please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair directly opposite him, feeling awkward by the woman’s seductive stance on the desk.

She slid off the desk with alluring slowness, her hips moving tantalizingly as she lowered herself into the chair, her skirt hiking up further to expose a stretch of thigh. Her phone, tucked discreetly in her purse on the floor, hummed silently in record mode, capturing every nuance of the exchange.

“Thank you for the feedback, Sir,” Rebecca purred, crossing her legs again with a soft rustle that drew his eyes despite the man’s efforts. “I put a lot of late nights into this one. I mean, like, I have no social life right now, and I just need a drink to let loose.”

Jason swallowed hard, adjusting his tie as he flipped through her documents, attempting to distract himself. “It’s solid work. The clients will eat it up. Maybe we could, umm, celebrate with a team drink sometime.”

The suggestion landed just as she hoped, her recorder snatching the innocent words for later distortion. She leaned forward, letting her blouse strain against her chest, her voice a sultry whisper. “A drink sounds amazing, Jason. You always know how to treat your staff.”

Over the following weeks, Rebecca orchestrated more such moments, her flirtations growing bolder under the guise of ambition. One evening, after a strategy session ran late, she poured them coffee in his office and “accidentally” spilled a drop on her blouse, the wet fabric clinging transparently to her skin. “Oops, how clumsy of me,” she laughed as she removed the blouse, leaving her in just her bra in the office. “I hope you don’t mind. The coffee was hot on my skin.”

Jason’s eyes widened, his mug pausing halfway to his lips as he stared at the unexpected view of her modest cleavage rising and falling with her breath. “Umm, no, it’s fine. Whatever makes you comfortable,” he stammered, his voice thick with flustered surprise, not knowing how to navigate the sudden intimacy without crossing lines.

She dabbed the spill with a tissue from his desk, arching her back to emphasize the curve of her spine, the recorder in her purse capturing his awkward words perfectly. The audio would become “Whatever makes you comfortable… take it off,” his tone edited to sound hungry and commanding.

The encounters were built like a slow, planned-out seduction she controlled every step of. In another meeting, she sat on the arm of his chair under the pretense of reviewing charts on his screen, her thigh pressed warmly against his side, her hand resting casually on his shoulder. “You’re so tense, Jason. Let me help,” she murmured, her fingers kneading lightly into his neck, drawing a low groan from him before he caught himself.

“Rebecca, we should keep this professional,” he said, though his body leaned into the touch, his resistance crumbling under her calculated charm.

By the end of the month, Rebecca’s recordings brimmed with potential, innocent exchanges ripe for twisting. Nights alone in her apartment, the ambitious woman hunched over her laptop as she used editing software to layer sounds and alter pitches. His “team drinks” became an invitation to his place, her simulated gasps added for effect. The fabricated harassment painted the innocent CPO as the aggressor, her the reluctant participant.

The woman sent the file to HR through a confidential tip line, her heart racing with the thrill of the gamble. The response came swiftly, a summons to a conference room where Carla, the HR rep, waited alongside a security guard.

Jason arrived last, his face ashen as Carla played the doctored clips, his voice echoing unnaturally suggestive through the speakers. “Take it off…. You’re so tense, let me help you relax.”

“That’s not me!” Jason exploded, his beard twitching with fury as he turned to Rebecca. “Tell them, Rebecca. None of that happened!”

Rebecca sat primly, her blouse buttoned conservatively for the occasion, eyes wide with feigned shock. “I didn’t want to come forward, but the recordings…. they matched what I experienced. The touches, the comments. It scared me.”

The HR rep’s expression hardened. “Mr. Higby, this is a clear violation, and the evidence is indisputable. The board has decided on immediate termination. You have a right to appeal, but the facts are insurmountable.”

The man lunged forward, desperation cracking in his voice. “She’s lying! Check the metadata. None of that happened. The bitch set this up!”

The guard stepped in, restraining the fired man and guiding him toward the door. Carla nodded to Rebecca. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We’ll take it from here.”

Just a week later, the CPO role was hers, announced in an email praising Rebecca’s “leadership potential.” Jason’s desk stood empty as the new executive made herself at home.

That evening in the parking garage, Jason waited by her car, his eyes hollow with betrayal. “You destroyed me for a promotion. Was it worth it?”

Rebecca unlocked her door as she slipped inside her vehicle. “It will all be worth it in the end, Jason. Now, you’d better get out of here before I call the cops.”

He watched her drive away, his career in ruins, blacklisted by rumors she seeded online as an added insult to injury.

Back in the present, Jason gripped the stool on the game show stage, his gaunt face etched with unquenched rage. The bimbofied Rebecca swayed before him, her exaggerated E-cups jiggling with each pose, a grotesque parody of the temptress who toppled him. The memory of his experience and his struggles afterward fueled his votes, his thirst for her complete downfall sharper than ever.

❖

The massive screen whirred into motion again, its lights flashing through the final two categories as Rebecca’s body shifted on autopilot. She pouted without thinking, twirling a red strand of her sexy hair around her fingers as her mind savored the heat of distant stares, even though revulsion twisted inside her.

Mr. Djinn paced the stage with theatrical flair, his grin widening as the wheel slowed and locked on the “Job” category. The audience cheered wildly, their bloodlust for her final professional stripping palpable in the air.

“Job!” the genie announced, his voice booming with wicked joy. “This vote will erase our Mistress’s career as Chief Product Officer for Sunset Marketing and forge a new path, one that our four participants will choose for her.”

Rebecca’s plump lips parted in horror, her body arching into another provocative pose that made her huge breasts thrust forward. “Like, you can’t take my job away from me. My job is totally my life!” she squeaked in her ditzy cadence.

The supernatural host swept toward the guests without a glance her way, stopping at Matthew first. “Matthew, the crowd loved your inspired body creation. What job will put that body to work?”

Matthew sat back, his eyes tracing the transformed bimbo’s bouncing assets with satisfaction. “She has to be a stripper with a body like that. Have her grinding on poles for tips every night, offering extras in the VIP room to make rent,” he said venomously. “I’d love to see her dancing provocatively every night, shaking that jiggly ass for perverted lowlifes.” The crowd howled at his suggestion, as it was always a popular option.

Mr. Djinn nodded and glided to Emily. “Now, Emily, how would you shape her daily grind?”

The goth’s lips curled in a dark smile. “She’d make a great street sex worker, selling herself on the corner every night, with a demanding pimp that doesn’t give her a moment’s rest,” she replied with sharp relish. “The slut thought she could destroy all of her lives. I think that’s a fitting punishment.” Cheers rang around as the crowd empathized with the goth and approved of her suggestion.

The host chuckled and turned to Jason. “Come on now, Jason. You must have something good for our transformed girl here.”

Jason’s features lit up as he planned his revenge. “I want her to be a cheap, nasty party whore, pleasing men at events for cash,” he declared bitterly. “It doesn’t matter the event, elite gatherings, trashy frat parties, the moment someone places a bill between those big tits of hers, she will obey whatever command they give her. She’s just a hole for hire.” The audience piped up, cheering loudly as Jason’s request resonated.

Finally, Mr. Djinn reached Miles. “Ohh, Miles. I know you’ll have something good for our delicious beauty here. What job fits your doll’s purpose?”

The stepbrother’s grin spread wide, savoring the woman’s helpless jiggles. “I don’t think she should have a real job at all. I think she should be a trophy wife to a rich man, a plastic arm candy bimbo with no brain or ambition; her only role is to look good and please her man,” he said maliciously. “She’s paraded for her looks alone, utterly dependent and decorative.” The roar continued as the crowd enjoyed all four options.

Mr. Djinn spun back to center stage, arms wide. “Destinies await our Mistress! You have thirty seconds to sway the crowd.”

The redhead’s thoughts fractured again, as the trapped smarts flashed futile struggles with urges to embrace the degradation surging inside her. “Like, they are all such great options!” she chirped, horror once again flashing in her wide eyes as her hands tugged against their cuffs. “I get to totally show off my body and serve men, which is totally like my passion.” Her response received a raucous chuckle from the audience as she shook her head, desperate to reclaim control. “No, please, I beg you, like, don’t ruin my career! I’m totally an executive, not some toy for men.” She finally managed to say what she intended as the buzzer rang out.

The genie threw his head back in laughter, the sound echoing over the stage. “Time to decide our heroine’s career. Will it be Matthew’s Stripper Strut, Emily’s Street Slut, Jason’s Party Whore Harlot, or Miles’s Trophy Tease? You have ten seconds to vote, starting now!”

The screen flashed up with the choices as the crowd cast their votes. A few moments later, they cheered with the result appearing on the large screen. Jason’s party whore option clinched victory, barely nosing out the other three in the closest battle yet.

Rebecca’s knees buckled, and she almost fell over as she teetered on her sky-high heels. “Like, no way, nu-uh!” she wailed her protest as her hips cocked to one side, her plump lips slightly parted as if she were already advertising her new role.

Mr. Djinn grinned and raised his glowing palms high, blue mist surging forth in thick, swirling tendrils that wrapped around her head, adjusting her reality before everyone’s very eyes. “Embrace your true calling, party whore! This new role will turn you into a playground for cocks and cash!”

The haze invaded the redhead’s mind, rewriting her professional history with ruthless efficiency. Memories of her boardroom battles faded into new images of velvet ropes and dim-lit halls, where she crawled in public for cash, bills tucked between her heaving tits, triggering obedience to her client’s every whim. Her CPO title evaporated, replaced by a resume of “event companion” gigs. Countless moments of humiliation and frat party events filled her altered past, her valley girl lisp perfect for begging “more, sir,” as she struggled to earn enough to pay her trailer park rent.

As the mist dissipated, she gasped, a foreign craving blooming deep in her core, her smooth skin flushing with unwanted heat at the thought of demanding hands caressing her. Her posture arched further, breasts thrusting as if ready for the next donor.

The audience’s cheers crashed like waves, wolf whistles piercing the din as they savored her mental stripping. Mr. Djinn sauntered close, pulling her in once again as he grabbed the woman’s slim waist. “From commanding meetings to commanding cocks, Mistress! One bill in those tits, and you’re anyone’s plaything at any event. A perfect career for a bimbo like you!” His taunts sank deep inside the helpless woman’s soul.

The genie released her with a spin, the bimbo’s ass jiggling wildly as he smacked it casually, prompting a yelp from the woman. “One final twist remains before you all get to decide the winner of this episode. We know which category remains, but let’s allow the wheel to confirm it for us!”

❖

The wheel confirmed the inevitable with a dramatic halt on “Name,” the letters blazing like a final sentence to redefine the former executive’s existence. Rebecca’s mind tried to focus on her former role, growing up in an affluent neighborhood, being in control of her destiny. However, images of her single Mom scraping through by sleeping with her landlord, framing her upbringing by focusing on her looks over everything else. Despite her locked-away intelligent mind screaming in protest, she had been redefined, and a new name would seal her fate.

Mr. Djinn threw his arms skyward, basking in the chaos of the adoring crowd. “Name! The crowning blow to our Mistress, erasing Rebecca Horton forever and christening our whore with a moniker fit for her existence!”

Rebecca’s big lips parted, but the genie flipped a hand up to ignore her protests before they began, sauntering over to the four architects of her demise. He stopped at Matthew, his eyes twinkling. “Matthew. You’ve been a key influence in shaping our heroine this afternoon. What slutty tag do you wish to slap on this jiggling image?”

Matthew chuckled at the djinn’s choice of words, relishing his ex-girlfriend’s new status. “Candy Cunt. A name with no class and total humiliation. Perfect for a bimbo whore like her.” The response ignited gasps for its callous nature.

Mr. Djinn’s laughter rang out approvingly as he moved smoothly to the woman beside him. “Your turn, Emily,” he started. “Craft a name that echoes the life you envision for your old roommate.”

The goth woman leaned forward, her black lipstick twisting into a sneer. “How about Raven Harlot. It tells the world exactly what she is, a sexual object for men’s desires.” Emily received a lukewarm applause for her suggestion.

The genie nodded with glee and approached Jason. “Jason, your party whore career plan worked a solid treat. What stamp do you want to brand her with?”

Jason’s face hardened as he stared at his former subordinate venomously. “I want her to be called Trisha Tramp, and her nickname to be Trailer Park Trish. I want her to live a life of regret and humiliation, and that name would top it off.” The crowd cheered loudly as Jason’s voice rose in fury.

Mr. Djinn clapped Jason on the back with exaggerated enthusiasm before gliding to the final guests. “And Miles, your bimbo vision has shaped much of your prized stepsister’s fate. What ditzy label completes your revenge?”

The young man’s eyes lit with delight, his chubby frame shifting as he enjoyed the look of his bitch stepsister’s new fetishized appearance. “I think there is only one name for her now,” he declared. “Bunny Bimbo! A name that screams airheaded slut, which is all she is now.” The audience erupted as they approved of Miles’s final request.

The genie spun back to center stage, his tuxedo flashing under the lights as he faced the trembling redhead. “Now, there are some fantastic names for the new you, Rebecca. You have thirty seconds to convince the audience of the one you’d like the most.”

Rebecca’s glossy lips automatically opened, but before she could humiliate herself, the former CPO clamped them shut again, shaking her head and refusing to speak. She knew her new mind would have humiliated her further, and she wasn’t prepared to give the audience that satisfaction. After thirty seconds of mindless crowd applause, the buzzer squawked.

Mr. Djinn chuckled. “A lady of many words,” he teased before directing his attention to the audience. “Well, the final decision is down to you. How will we name our hero this evening? Will it be Candy Cunt, Raven Harlot, Trisha Tramp, or Bunny Bimbo? Ten seconds to rename our whore!”

The screen pulsed with the vulgar options one last time as the crowd murmured whilst making their choice. Silence gripped the stage for a heartbeat, then shattered into pandemonium as Bunny Bimbo flashed victorious on the giant monitor, Miles’s dumb masterpiece claiming the win amid thunderous approval.

Rebecca’s body moved forward with a seductive sway, her phat ass quivering as she gasped with despair. “Like, no way!” she squeaked out.

Mr. Djinn wasted no time as his hands ignited with blue fire, mist billowing forth in coils that slithered around her head. “Farewell, Rebecca Horton!” he said theatrically. “Welcome, Bunny Bimbo, the airheaded escort reborn!”

The haze burrowed deep, erasing every trace of the woman’s old name in her mind. Contracts signed as Rebecca dissolved into Bunny’s juvenile scribble, family photos recaptioned to label the redhead grinning vacantly as “Bunny,” her trailer park mom calling her by the new name in memories of shared humiliations. The locked intelligence glimpsed the shift, a futile scream as “Rebecca” suddenly became alien to the transformed woman’s tongue, her thoughts now Bunny’s. As the smoke dissipated, it was set. No matter how much the transformed whore tried to recall her old name, only Bunny came to mind.

Bunny stumbled back, her massive implants heaving with each ragged breath, the microskirt riding up further to show off her smooth, hairless thighs as the dull weight of the erasure hit her. She opened her mouth to utter her old name. “My name is, like, totally Bunny!” she cooed out, her eyes widened as she was unable to say anything else.

Mr. Djinn circled the horrified woman slowly, his fingers trailing lightly over her slutty curves, sending shivers down her spine with an unwanted spark of arousal. “Look at you, Bunny Bimbo, the perfect package of jiggling curves and alluring invitations,” he mocked, his voice dripping with satisfaction at his handiwork. “The genie of popular opinion strikes again, and you will be very popular, I’d imagine.”

The cheers intensified, a wall of sound that vibrated through her body, her new whore instincts craving the attention even as her trapped mind screamed for justice. Bunny glanced at the guests, Matthew smirking at her fall, Emily’s eyes cold with justice, Jason’s glare softened by his win, and Miles beaming like he’d won the lottery.

“All eleven categories conquered, fold!” Mr. Djinn boomed, releasing the woman as he moved back to the edge of the stage. “Rebecca Horton is no more. Say hello to Bunny Bimbo, the ultimate product of wrongs righted. But the show isn’t over yet. We still have to decide on our winning guests and their final wish!”

The stage lights pulsed dramatically, the giant screen shifting to a recap of the transformations as Bunny stood frozen in her erotic prison, the name Bunny Bimbo now as natural as breathing. The game had ended, her fate sealed in humiliation, but the final act had only just begun.

❖

Mr. Djinn raised his hands high, the crowd’s chants of “Bunny! Bunny!” dying down under his commanding gesture as silence swept the stage. “Hold your cheers, my eager spectators,” he declared. “We have one more vote to take care of before we send Bunny out into the wild. But first…”

With a flick of the wrist, the steel cuffs around Bunny’s hands vanished in a puff of blue smoke, her arms falling free for the first time since the game began. She rubbed her wrists instinctively before using a hand to rest on her hip in a slutty pose. It all felt so effortless. The leather choker remained tight around her neck, ensuring she wouldn’t be permitted to exit the stage until the time came.

The genie paced before the giant screen, where a montage of Bunny’s transformations began to flicker to life, each clip a humiliating highlight reel designed to stoke the audience’s bloodlust. “You’ve all crafted a masterpiece from this once-mighty executive,” the supernatural being boomed as he gestured dramatically. “Now you need to decide the guest whose vision swayed you the most, whose wishes turned her into her current visage the most. The victor takes home one million dollars and one final binding wish.”

Bunny’s fingers twitched at her sides, the freedom of her arms a cruel tease as her body betrayed her intentions with another involuntary arch, thrusting her massive implants forward like offerings.

The screen dove into recaps of each guest’s defining moments, starting with Matthew’s triumphs. Clips rolled of Bunny’s hair exploding into wild red curls, the modest clothes melting into the slutty tube top and microskirt she currently wore, and her body swelling with fake E-cups and a big jiggling ass, each transformation met with fresh cheers from the crowd.

Next came Emily’s sole strike, the mist locking her intelligence away, Bunny’s eyes glazing with vapid fixation on male pleasure.

Jason’s highlights followed, the permanent bimbo makeup tattooing her face escalated the show, and the job mist rewriting her to an event whore triggered by bills in her cleavage.

The montage peaked with Miles’s barrage: her bimbo face and doll pout, her valley girl lisp chirping from her lips, trailer park past overwriting her former privilege, her new posture and mannerisms forcing a seductive sway, and the name change crowning her Bunny Bimbo.

The votes tallied live, percentages climbing and adjusting as the audience cast their final decision. Matthew’s popularity surged earlier with his montage blaring on the screen, but Miles’s comprehensive bimbo overhaul pulled ahead in the closing seconds, giving the stepbrother the crown by just two percent.

The arena detonated in ecstasy, with confetti bursting from the ceiling as Mr. Djinn pulled Miles from his stool and guided him to the center of the stage, just mere inches from the distraught, trapped bimbo. “Miles Bishop is crowned our undisputed Altered Consequences champion! His visions reshaped our heroine most profoundly, and he is a worthy winner, earning him a million dollars and one ultimate wish!”

Miles stood tall under the lights, his too-small t-shirt straining as he accepted the oversized check thrust into his hands by the enigmatic host. The crowd’s roars vibrated as he savored the moment. Bunny backed away slightly, her ass brushing the stage edge until she felt a slight tingle in her choker, ensuring she stayed in position. Bunny’s wide eyes were locked on her stepbrother’s triumphant grin, the man who had orchestrated the majority of her bimbo hell now enjoying his moment in the spotlight.

The genie snapped his fingers, and a glowing contract materialized in his hands before he passed it to Miles, its ethereal ink shimmering with binding magic. “Your wish, champion,” Mr. Djinn prompted, leaning in conspiratorially. “Write it in the box provided, and it will become an unbreakable reality.”

Miles took the contract with trembling hands, his eyes gleaming with years of pent-up resentment as he glanced at Bunny’s quivering form, her body still swaying in that programmed bimbo rhythm that made her implants bounce enticingly. He uncapped the pen provided by the genie, the tip hovering over the box as the audience held its breath.

Bunny’s heart pounded, her oversized lips parting in a silent plea as she watched him scribble the words, each stroke deepening the knot of fear twisting in her gut, her smooth skin prickling with dread as the man wrote.

Miles finished with a flourish and handed the contract back to Mr. Djinn. The all-powerful genie stared at the wish, and his eyebrow cocked, a grin widening as he scanned the words. “And your wish is my command,” he said before looking up at the redheaded bimbo. “Enjoy your new life, Mistress,” he told her before clicking his fingers. Before she could question him, Bunny found her vision distorted as she fell into a chasm of nothingness, the genie sending her back into the real world as her transformation was complete.

❖

Three Months Later

Bunny sat at her vanity table getting ready, the big mirror framed in gold reflecting her wild red hair tumbling over bare shoulders that dipped into the plunging neckline of a glittery microdress. The fabric hugged her fake 34E breasts tightly, the him riding so high that it exposed half of her plump ass cheeks. Her look was completed with sky-high silver 7-inch platform stilettos that elongated her smooth legs into tempting lines. She sighed, the sound turning breathy in her valley girl tone as she dabbed more gloss on her permanent pouty lips, her locked mind continuing to attempt to break free of her mental prison.

Miles walked through the bedroom door, his footsteps soft on the plush carpet of their luxury manor, the wish he’d scribbled sealing her as his trashy bimbo trophy wife. Bunny’s body pivoted instantly. Her programmed response kicked in as she rose with a sway, her implants bouncing beneath the dress before she planted a big, wet kiss on his lips, her tongue flicking playfully despite the resentment boiling inside. “Hiya, Daddy,” she chirped with total excitement, her vacant eyes belying the nausea in her stomach.

He cupped his wife’s chin, thumb tracing her glossy lower lip as his other hand slid down to squeeze one of her heaving implants, eliciting a gasp from her slutty mouth. “Looking hot as ever, Bunny. Ready to put that mouth to work at the frat party tonight?”

Bunny’s body quivered at the man’s touch, her programming forcing a seductive sway, her plump ass jiggling as she pushed back against his hands. “Like, Daddy, I totally don’t wanna go out there again,” the redhead whined, her dialect amplifying childish tone. “It’s, like, so gross, pleasing all those frat guys. Can’t I just, like, stay here?” Her wide eyes glistened with desperation, but her body continued to move invitingly, arching provocatively, her E-cup breasts thrusting forward as if begging for attention.

Miles chuckled, his grin smug as he stepped back, eyeing her like a prize. “Oh, Bunny, you’re my perfect bimbo trophy wife, and I’d love to keep you here, dolled up just for me,” he said mockingly. “But your job is a party whore, sweetheart, and we are not allowed to change that. Those frat boys are counting on their star to make their night unforgettable.” His hand swung down, smacking the bimbo’s ass with a sharp crack, the impact sending her plump cheeks shaking. “Finish getting that sexy body ready, now.”

Bunny yelped, her body arching further. “Like, please, Daddy, I’m, like, totally begging you!” she chirped, her glossy lips trembling as she absently twirled a red strand of hair. She had spent the past three months serving men in every which way, from exquisite galas to trashy sex parties. The frat party loomed, another night of leering boys stuffing bills between her breasts, each one triggering her to obey their crude whims, her body craving the degradation even as her mind recoiled.

Miles’s eyes gleamed with control, his t-shirt straining as he reached into a drawer, pulling out a sequined gold tube top and matching microskirt, barely more than a strip of fabric. “I love that dress, but I think you’d look better at the party in this. Change now, Bunny,” he ordered, tossing the outfit onto the bed. “It’ll make those boys lose their minds.”

Her hands moved automatically, long nails clicking as she peeled off the glittery dress, her huge breasts bouncing free and sitting high on her chest. She slipped into the gold tube top, the fabric clinging like a second skin, her nipples visible through the material, barely containing her massive tits. The skirt sat low on her widened hips, exposing her jiggling ass with every step. She put on new gold fishnet stockings and platform heels, amplifying her pornographic display. Once dressed, the bimbo’s body posed instinctively, one hand on her hip, lips pouting, hair twirling, as if she were already on stage for tonight’s clients.

Miles stepped closer, grinning ear to ear, his breath hot as he leaned in and brushed her smooth skin with his fingers. “One last thing before you go, my little toy,” he said, pulling out a crisp $20 bill from his pocket. “I wanna test that mouth of yours again.” He slipped the bill between her impressive cleavage, the paper grazing her sensitive implants, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body as her party whore programming snapped into place.

“Like, I’m totally off the clock, Daddy,” she whined childishly, but the bill’s touch erased her physical resistance. She pushed Miles onto the bed before kneeling in front of her millionaire husband, her massive breasts swaying as she landed on her knees. She unbuckled the man’s pants and released his cock, her glossy lips parting as her body obeyed the programming’s command.

Bunny’s head lowered, her big cocksucking lips enveloping Miles’s hardening length, the warmth of her mouth a practiced art honed by three months of degrading gigs. Miles groaned out, placing his hand on her bright red hair. “Mmm, you’re never off the clock around me, Bunny,” he grinned, allowing his trophy wife to service her husband, her tongue swirling expertly, teasing the tip before sliding down.

The bimbo’s glossy lips worked with precision, sliding along his dick in a slow, deliberate rhythm, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside with each pass. Bunny’s massive breasts jiggled with every bob of her bimbo head, the gold tube top straining to contain them. Her long nails grazed his thighs lightly, sending shivers through her man as she deepened the act, her throat relaxing to take him fully, a skill perfected over the last few months. Miles’s groans grew louder, his fingers tightening in her red hair, guiding her pace with possessive control.

Bunny’s eyes watered, but her permanent makeup didn't run, the heavy blush and bold eyeshadow framing her vacant gaze. Her lips, impossible huge, sealed around him, the glossy red sheen glistening with each movement. The whore moaned softly, the sound muffled, her programming forcing her to savor the degradation. Miles’s hips bucked, his breath ragged, as he neared climax, his hand pressing the bimbo’s head down, holding her in place as he groaned out his release.

The bimbo swallowed instinctively, her throat working as her programming demanded, her lips lingering until the man relaxed his grip in her hair. Bunny pulled back, her glossy lips glistening with his cum, a faint string of saliva breaking as she rose to her knees. Her wide eyes blinked, one hand twirling a curl, lips pouting invitingly. “Like, was that, like, totally good, Daddy?”

Miles smirked as he cupped his new wife’s chin. “Perfect, Bunny,” he complimented her, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now get to that party. You’ve got some money to make.” He smacked her ass again as she stood up, the impact sending her cheeks jiggling.

Bunny absently nodded, her mind locked in obedience as the genie’s game show locked in her reality, her heart heavy with resignation. Her heels clicked on the manor’s polished floor as she swayed toward the door, the gold tube top and microskirt barely containing her slutty body. Another night of leering eyes and sexual commands loomed ahead, and the bimbo bunny could do nothing to stop it. Her E-cup breasts bounced with each step, as did her plump ass, a pornographic spectacle for the night ahead. The luxury manor’s opulence faded behind her. Miles’s grin seared into her mind, sealing her identity as Bunny Bimbo Bishop in a life of servitude, with the final act of her transformation complete.

The End.