Chapter Three

The rising morning sun beat through Isabella Phillip’s window, and the diminutive brunette lethargically stretched her arms and legs, staring up at the ceiling with a satisfied grin. Life was pretty darn good.

Isabella’s young career had already been on the rise, but after the sudden resignation of her former hotshot colleague, Victoria Maddison, almost two years ago, the young woman was placed on the fast track. She wasted no time making an impact.

It had been six months since she replaced the disgraced trailer trash and settled into her new corner office, but Isabella knew that today was the day she would make a mark on the Alabama real estate scene. She had courted several wealthy venture capitalists on the East Coast to consider investing in a new low-cost housing development in nearby Scrappy Junction.

Isabella touted it as a win-win situation for everybody. It would bring construction jobs to the area, the initial investment would be manageable, there would be constant income streams, and the suits could add it to their portfolio as a prime example of how they give back to the community.

There were concerns from her potential business partners that Scrappy Junction had been turning into a seedy, degenerate hellhole as of late. Isabella’s meeting today was designed to put those concerns to rest. She had always been a great saleswoman, with her colleagues commenting that she could sell ice to an Eskimo, so convincing these money-men of a sure thing shouldn’t be too difficult.

As usual, she started her morning with breakfast before showering and dressing in her favorite navy blue power suit. Her parents had gifted her the expensive tailored suit when she earned her latest promotion, and she always dusted it off and put it on for her most important meetings.

Finally, she touched up her subtle but effective makeup, slipped on her black kitten heels, and headed for her front door. As she reached the door, something caught her eye in the full-length mirror beside it. Tracking back, her eyes widened at the image presented back to her.

Horrifically staring back at the bright young real estate agent was the definition of trashiness. The woman’s long platinum blond hair strewn down her back in a free-flowing river of curls. Her shocked hazel eyes were framed by high arching dark, thin eyebrows and decorated with an abundance of pinks and purples on her eyelids, with long black eyelashes curled up dramatically.

Her nose was small and upturned, the result of obvious surgery, and her lips would have suited a comedic caricature more than a real person. They were large, with a dramatic cupid bow style and a small O shape naturally forming in the middle. Cheap, plastic hoop earrings hung from her lobes, accompanied by two pink studs in each ear.

The short lady wore a complete mockery of a business outfit. It was more appropriate to define as what a stripper may wear to the office. Her impressively sized fake breasts were pouring out of the PVC pink top. The top was sleeveless, with a string keeping it in place behind her neck. A heart-shaped keyhole showed off her cleavage, and the white lower-trim did nothing to hide the underbust of her surgically enhanced boobs. Her slim, tanned torso was exposed, showing off her cute heart navel piercing and the large winged heart tattoo displayed just above her crotch. Her back was similarly exposed, with the silhouette of a woman straddling a dance pole tattooed down the length of her spine.

A matching pink PVC miniskirt with a white trim along the waistband covered her crotch. The tiny thread of her pink g-string sat high on her hips, and the white fishnet stockings did nothing to hide her toned, tanned legs. Finally, a pair of pink 6” platform stiletto stripper shoes sat on the blond’s feet, giving her short stature a little more height.

Isabella placed her hand over her mouth and watched frightfully as the scantily-clad bimbo in the mirror followed suit, her long pink talons glimmering in the natural light.

“Oh, fuck,” were the only words to escape the real estate agent’s mouth as she remembered everything from the past few months.

❖

Four Months Earlier

Isabella strode into her large corner office with a broad smile on her face. She had moved to this spacious room a couple of months ago but was still getting used to the status change that occupying an office like this brought with it.

She was given her very own assistant, a timid young man who thought taking an underpaid internship would be cheaper to learn the trade than going to college. It didn’t hurt that he was good-looking and admiringly respectful.

She sat down at her large oak desk, and as if on cue, there was a faint knock at the door before Chris, her assistant, peered in. “Excuse me, Miss Phillips, I have your schedule for the day here.” He approached the brunette woman and handed her an A4 binder.

As Isabella opened the plastic binder, her assistant continued. “You have a meeting with a member of the Scrappy Junction City Council to discuss your development proposal and planning application first thing this morning. You then have lunch with the CEO at 1 pm and two scheduled viewings for the office space on Broadway this afternoon.”

The brunette estate agent nodded and closed the binder. “Thanks for the update, Chris. Bring me a coffee before my morning meeting arrives.” She commanded.

“Ohh, of course, right away.” The nervous assistant replied. It was annoying that she had to keep reminding him of these simple tasks, but the young man was new and eager to please, so Isabella decided to give him a little slack.

Twenty minutes later, the assistant returned with Isabella’s coffee. It shouldn’t have taken so long, but Isabella would only drink from the local coffee house a block away. She sipped her oat milk house-infused rose petal latte with a splash of organic honey before waving the assistant away.

With her coffee in hand, the young hotshot agent reclined her ergonomic office chair back and stared out of her ceiling-to-floor bay windows, admiring the view of the Silver Springs skyline. There were not many better views in the building, except perhaps on the executive floor a couple of levels above her. One step at a time, Isabella thought to herself.

As she leisurely drank her coffee, her intercom buzzed before her assistant’s voice echoed through the speaker. “Miss Phillips, your, umm, morning appointment has arrived.”

Isabella chuckled at her personal assistant’s nervousness. It was cute, but she would have to work on that. “Well, let him in.” She replied.

There was a momentary pause before Chris raised his voice again. “It’s not a man, Miss; it’s a woman, and she…”

“Well, buzz her in, then!” Isabella impatiently interrupted. Why did men have to be so difficult sometimes, she thought to herself.

“Okay, ma’am. It’s just she’s dressed like…”

“For heaven’s sake, Chris, let the woman in!” The brunette woman didn’t hide her annoyance at the blabbering assistant’s incompetence. Perhaps she would need to ask for a new one.

The intercom went silent, and within seconds, Isabella’s office door crept open. The short brunette parted her lips and gasped at the sight that greeted her. Now she knew why Chris was fumbling his words.

This was not some middle-aged, smartly-dressed businesswoman. The vision standing in the open doorway was the definition of slutty trash. The bleached blond woman wore a pair of blue dungarees and little else. The two straps were strategically placed over her mammoth chest but did nothing to hide their shape and size. Isabella wondered if the woman was too dumb to realize a t-shirt was supposed to be worn underneath.

The dungarees exposed her entire back, and were high-cut, and revealed most of her asscheeks. A flashy silver collar with the name ‘TRIXIE’ written on the front was wrapped around the woman’s neck, and a pair of white cowboy boots with a modified 5” stiletto heel decorated her feet. The woman had several ear piercings and flashed her sparkling tongue piercing as her over-inflated lips refused to close fully. She wore loud makeup, bright red lips, rouge cheeks, and dark cat eyes. The woman looked like she stepped out of the center page of a cheap porn magazine and certainly didn’t look like she had any business showing up in a flashy office.

Isabella would have thrown the trailer trash out, but she knew precisely who this woman was and who she used to be. The brunette’s look of disgust transformed into a grin. “Victoria, it’s been a while. Or is that Trixie now?” she taunted.

The blond woman tottered forward and sat herself on the chair opposite Isabella. She reached into the denim bag hanging off her arm and pulled out a cigarette. Placing the smoke stick to her big, inviting lips, she lit it up.

“Uhmm, sorry,” Isabella was unnerved by the brash attitude of her former colleague. “There is no smoking in here.”

Trixie rolled her eyes, taking a long puff of the cigarette and blowing it in Isabella’s direction. She removed the cigarette from her mouth and extinguished it on the brunette’s new fancy oak desk.

“So, huh,” Isabella started, looking the tacky bimbo up and down, a far cry from the abrasive power-hungry bitch she used to be, “What brings you to Silver Springs? You won’t find any strip clubs on this side of town.”

Trixie briefly examines her glossy red fingernails, taking her time before addressing her former colleague. She stares at the woman occupying her former office, and a loathing builds up in her chest. Trixie didn’t quite remember why she couldn’t stand this woman, but those old feelings began regurgitating. “We have a meeting scheduled. Weren’t you aware?”

Isabella rolled her hazel-colored eyes. This woman spoke with a high-pitched Southern drawl. However, something snappy in her words told Isabella that Victoria was still in there somewhere. “Yes, I have a meeting scheduled,” she replied. “But I was expecting a respectable member of the Scrappy Junction council, not some lost streetwalker.”

The blond’s big red lips contorted into a smile. She made a chewing motion, but Isabella wasn’t sure if the woman was actually chewing gum or simply imitating the motion. “Ohh babe, you’re confused,” Trixie leaned forward. “I’m the Vice Chair of the Planning Committee at the Scrappy Junction City Council.”

Isabella’s jaw dropped at the revelation. She had heard weird decisions were being made in the adjacent hillbilly town, but knowing this tramp had been given a role in government made her stomach churn. “Ohh, well, congratulations,” Isabella said dryly. “You have really moved up in the world, or Scrappy Junction has really fallen.” She grinned. She enjoyed this feeling of superiority over someone who had previously mocked her.

Trixie uncrossed her legs and placed her hands on the desk. “Actually, Scrappy Junction is going places,” she smiled. “And we’re not convinced a low-rent family housing complex would be right for the direction we are taking the city.”

Seeing such matter-of-fact words coming from such a gaudy visage felt bizarre, Isabella thought. It was as though the woman was attempting to portray two different personalities. Was she reading a script? Nonetheless, Isabella wasn’t about to allow her big deal to fall through because some hillbilly slut told her no. “Well, Trixie,” she spoke slowly, “tell your planning committee that my investors are extremely wealthy and influential. They are not used to being told no, and if they intend to build within your city limits, then that is what they are going to do.” Isabella’s voice traveled louder the more she spoke.

Trixie flicked her wild blond hair and huffed. She propped herself on her tall stiletto cowboy boots and bent over the desk, her head inches from her former colleagues. “You won’t be seeing the end of me,” Trixie bit back, staring Isabella in the eyes as her hands covertly planted two devices against the underside of the desk’s tabletop. The first device was a miniature fragrance dispenser designed to expel an odorless agent at set intervals. Once the agent is breathed in, it increases someone’s suggestibility. This was paired with a tiny speaker capable of resonating subliminal messages, undetectable to the human ear.

Once the devices were planted, Trixie held her hand out courteously, but Isabella scoffed at her. “You can see yourself out,” she says condescendingly. The blond woman stood up and placed her old cigarette back in her mouth before lighting it. Isabella opened her mouth to speak, but Trixie turned on her heels and strutted out of the office. Once she was gone, Isabella pressed the button on her intercom. “Chris, don’t ever let that trash into my office again.” She shuddered; just being in the presence of such a tactless woman made her feel dirty. She opened her laptop and attempted to put the meeting to the back of her mind. How could a woman parade herself like that so shamelessly?

❖

Two Weeks Later

“Isabella, did you get that?” Tom’s voice brought Isabella back from her idle daydream. She was in the middle of a Monday morning team meeting with her colleagues. Still, she was finding it difficult to follow the flow of the agenda.

“Yea, I understand,” Isabella replied, but she definitely didn’t understand. She was finding it more challenging to concentrate and focus on the subject matter for long periods. She was too young to be going through menopause, and she hadn’t slept with anyone for months, so she knew she wasn’t pregnant. When she started noticing her concentration phasing out, Isabella thought she was coming down with the flu, but the brunette didn’t feel ill or carry any of the usual symptoms.

“Well, as I was saying…” he continued before jabbering. Isabella tried her best to follow the topic of conversation, but they were speaking so fast. There was also another unusual sensation in her groin that kept her distracted. She felt hot and flush.

Tom stared strangely at the brunette, intensifying her nervousness. What was wrong? Was her makeup running? Isabella immediately pulled a small black compact mirror from her bag and checked her makeup. It was much bolder than she would usually wear to work, with visible plump cheeks and pink glossy lips, but she had started feeling anxious and self-conscious whenever she wasn’t wearing enough makeup. Isabella knew those feelings weren’t normal but couldn’t fight them. She closed the mirror and gasped.

“Uhmm, please excuse me,” Isabella apologized before racing out of the room and rushing inside the public bathroom, locking herself inside a stall. She unclasped her black pants and pulled them down with her panties, her hands immediately slipping between her legs and caressing her bald mound.

Isabella’s pubic mound had been all-natural just a week ago, but one spontaneous thought after a glass of wine had resulted in the wiry brunette strands being removed. Isabella slipped a finger between her pussy lips and slipped them inside her slit. She parted her lips and gasped before clasping her free hand over her mouth to silence herself.

She gently began fingering herself, pressing in a second finger, her hand moist with her own juices. She had never thought about masturbating in public before, much less at work, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was never much of a sexual woman, but this level of horniness was too much to ignore.

After five minutes of playing with herself, she muffled out an orgasmic scream, clasping her mouth tightly to prevent herself from informing the entire department of her activities. Shuddering after an embarrassing climax, the brunette shamefully cleaned herself up afterward. She touched up her makeup again before exiting the toilet stall. At least the horny sensations had disappeared. Perhaps she could now get some work done.

❖

Four Weeks Later

The audible clicking of stiletto heels on the hard wooden floor could be heard before anyone raised their eyes from their workstations to witness the brunette unsteadily tottering towards her office. Isabella hadn’t quite gotten used to the tall heels yet, but that didn’t matter.

“Wow, umm, is everything alright, Isabella?” Tom commented as he watched her stutter past his bullpen cubicle. “You look, ugh, very different.” He said judgmentally.

Isabella parted her shiny pink lips and gasped in offense. “I am a feminist!” She blurted out. “I can dress however damn well I want, and no man is going to tell me otherwise.” She continued before storming away from him, humiliatingly stumbling on the 5” heels. Eventually, she entered her private office and slammed the door shut, away from the leering, prying eyes of every man and woman she passed.

The brunette stared at herself in the mirror and instantly knew why she was getting all the unwanted attention. Her usual style of a dark, tailored, professional suit was replaced by a tantalizing glossy black minidress. Her figure was accentuated by the clingy black material, leaving little to the imagination as it stretched from her one bare shoulder down to her knees. The asymmetrical neckline drew the eye to her exposed collarbone and the modest curve of her cleavage.

Semi-sheer black pantyhose gracefully covered her exposed, slender legs, with a black stripe teasingly running along the back. Glossy 5” black stiletto pumps completed her new look. Isabella knew she was inappropriately dressed for the office, and the diminutive real estate agent hated how she looked. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from adorning the outfit anyway. Everything else in her closet felt uncomfortable and itchy, and she felt humiliatingly naked wearing them. The only way she could feel comfortable in her skin was to wear the dress. She had only worn it once prior, for a date that went horribly wrong, and she barely remembered owning it until she found it this morning while scanning her closet.

Stumbling towards her desk, she straightened her dress out and sat. Opening her laptop, Isabella tried to concentrate on her work. She had an entire afternoon of meetings planned, and she needed to prepare for them. Five minutes into her work, the brunette real estate agent shuddered, and her eyes widened. That heat and flushness that had been plaguing her the last couple of weeks had returned. She fumbled inside her bag, pulled out a small pink bullet vibrator, and sighed. What the hell was wrong with her?

❖

Two Weeks Later

Isabella groaned as she finally made it past security. Did her new platinum blond hairdo alter her appearance so much that security didn’t believe she worked there? And was that pat down seriously necessary?

She witnessed the Emerald Estates receptionist scowl at her as she approached. The moment she strode past the redheaded bimbo manning the front desk, she heard her call out, “Excuse me, miss. The Platinum Model Agency is on the fourth floor.”

Isabella turned perfectly on her 6” heels and narrowed her eyes at the brain-dead secretary. “Excuse me, do you know who I am?”

Despite the altered appearance and shocking outfit, the voice was instantly recognizable. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry Miss Phillips. I didn’t recognize you.” Isabella huffed and strutted towards the offices. She had a feeling she would be hearing a lot of that today.

Tom peeled his eyes away from his work and watched his boss strutting toward her office; she was a sight to behold. He had no idea what had gotten into her, but her style had dramatically changed over the last few weeks, and she showed no signs of reverting back.

Her mid-length brunette hair had received extensions and now brightened the room with its platinum blond shade. Her outfit was just as bright as her new hairstyle. She wore a bright yellow PVC boob tube which hid her B-cup breasts, but very little else. Her neck and shoulders were exposed. Every hair on her body below her eyebrows had been exterminated, and her skin took on a smooth complexion. Her slim, toned stomach was on display, and a matching pair of sunshine skin-tight hotpants covered her crotch. The material conformed to the curvature of her asscheeks, giving her an almighty wedgie. She wore a pair of 6” yellow strappy platform heels, which gave the 5’3 former brunette a significant height boost.

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but the new blond held her hand to stop him. Her nails were perfectly manicured and brilliant yellow. Since when did she care so much about her appearance?

She stepped inside her office and slammed the door shut, finally breathing a sigh of relief. What the hell had she done to herself? She had always been proud of her natural looks and never had trouble attracting the guys. Why would she ask the stylist for the special without first asking what it consisted of?

She couldn’t stand her outfit, but her old suits were too itchy and unbearable to wear. She had completely overhauled her closet over the past couple of weeks, and nothing she bought would be considered appropriate for an office workplace.

She sat down and lit up a cigarette, taking a deep drag and blowing away her stress. She didn’t realize what she had just done until the second puff. She had always detested smoking. It was a sign of an unrefined person and showed a complete lack of self-control. Yet, the more she stared at the lit cancer stick, the more she longed to place her lips around the tip. It was the only way to relieve her stress, and she was under a lot of stress lately.

Once she had finished, she put the remains of the cigarette out and groaned ashamedly at herself. She stood in frustration. Something was wrong with her, and she needed to clear her head. As she placed her hand on the door handle, she caught a glimpse of her slutty attired self in the mirror.

After the initial disgust of her appearance dissipated, something clicked inside her head. She gently cupped her breasts over the boob tube. Why were they so small? This top was designed for breasts much bigger than her own. Wait, what the hell was she thinking? She didn’t want larger breasts. Yet, she did. Somehow, she knew she needed larger breasts. Cussing herself, she left her office. Isabella knew precisely where she was heading.

❖

Present Day

Staring at the bimbo in the mirror, Isabella’s mind had cleared. Someone had done something to her mind. They had prompted her to alter herself and make her believe it was all her idea. She looked like a trashy blow-up sex doll, and only one name came to her mind. Trixie. This all started when that slut showed up at her office four months ago; it must have been her.

Isabella clenched her fists and gasped, staring down at her long candy pink stiletto-shaped fingernails pushing against her skin. She needed to pay that bitch a visit and force her to remove whatever she did before it destroyed her reputation.

She opened her front door, only to be greeted by the face of a balding, fat man wearing a poorly fitted suit. He had a content grin as he stared the blond up and down. “Well, hello there, Isabella,” Hank remarked. His voice sent a shiver down the real estate agent’s spine. “How about you take a seat, and I’ll bring you up to speed.”

For some unknown reason, Isabella knew she needed to take a seat. She reluctantly let him in and led him to her plush, airy living room, taking her seat on the cream-colored couch. Hank sat directly next to her. Isabella knew precisely who this man was. Not only was he the cause of Victoria’s downfall, but he was somehow taking over the entire town of Scrappy Junction. “How,” Isabella answered, “How the fuck are you doing this?”

Hank smirked at her reaction to her own words. Isabella never cussed, but she had now used the ‘F’ word twice. “I’m not as dumb as I look, little miss bimbo,” he said smugly. “I have very effective methods in getting inside pretty little heads. All I needed was a little help from your old friend, Trixie.” He chuckled as a shiver ran down the blond’s spine. She was right. Trixie had done something to her, but she wasn’t the architect of the plan.

“You listen to me, you piece of shit,” Isabella snapped. “You can’t control me! I will fight whatever bullshit you put in my head. I will fuck you up!” Her eyes widened. Why was it so difficult to speak with her usual eloquence?

The chubby man laughed. He didn’t look alarmed by her threats. “That’s an excellent choice of words, missy.” He paused momentarily. “I can’t control you? Well, how about we test that?” Isabella didn’t like the tone of voice, or where he was taking this conversation. “In fact, how about you play with yourself as we chat?”

Isabella shook her head. There was no way…. And yet, she couldn’t get the image out of her head. She needed to touch herself; it was all she could think about. “Aghhhh,” she cried out as she tried to resist the ever-increasing compulsion, It didn’t take long before she relented, and her perfectly manicured hand slid underneath her tiny miniskirt, slipping them beneath her g-string and started rubbing her pussy lips. Her cartoonishly plump lips parted, and she exhaled in ecstasy.

“It feels nice to obey, doesn’t it?” Isabella didn’t respond, instead moaning out softly at her own touch. Hank continued to speak while the blond stroked her bald slit, “When you arrive at work this morning, you have an important meeting.” He grinned. Hank could still see the humiliation and defiance in her eyes. “Your ‘influential’ investors have all gathered to make a final decision on their purchase. I need you to use your skills to steer them the right way.” Isabella shuddered. She had spent months working on this deal; she couldn’t sabotage it now.

Hank placed a piece of paper on Isabella’s coffee table, the blond’s lustful gasps getting louder. “I’ve written you a script to make things easy for you,” he grinned widely. “You are going to continue playing with yourself until you climax. Then, you will rehearse this script and recite it perfectly at the meeting.” He spoke clearly and decisively.

The balding man stood and straightened out his suit. He smirked down at the helpless masturbating busty bimbo before turning and heading for the front door, leaving Isabella to herself.

❖

At the offices, Isabella’s heels could be heard before she entered the meeting room. Her colleagues’ lingering stares were even more prominent than usual; most of them hadn’t seen her with her newly inflated chest and lips. Closing the boardroom door, she felt a moment of tranquility until she realized she wasn’t alone in the room.

All three potential investors were seated and waiting for her to appear. They were already agitated that she was 30 minutes late, and the state of dress she entered took the tension to an entirely new level.

One of the investors, a bearded man in his sixties, spoke up. “Isabella? Is that you?”. He had long lost the hair atop his head, but his trimmed white locks still wrapped around the sides and back of his skull. He wore a light gray suit and an expensive gold Rolex on his wrist. “There’s something different about you.”

What is different about her? She was still a brunette when she last saw them. Everything was different about her. But there was one part of her body the script wanted her to show off more than any other. “Well, yes, silly. My fucking titties have been pumped up,” she said. Her abruptness elicited a gasp from the room. “Do you want to see?” Before the investor had a chance to respond, Isabella lifted her pink halter top and exposed her massive round, surgically enhanced tits for the room to see.

Of the three investors in the room, one of them was female, and she was not impressed by this sudden turn of events. Huffing her displeasure, the well-dressed African American woman stood up. “I’m out,” she said, heading towards the boardroom door. Before she left, she turned to the exposed blond. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she remarked with venom before storming out.

The two remaining investors stayed put. Isabella wasn’t sure if they were still interested in the opportunity or if they were simply mesmerized by her gigantic tits. She stepped forward, her breasts still exposed. “So, after reflection, I’ve decided that building low-rent family housing was a shitty idea.” She gasped as she recited the memorized words. She had worked so hard on that development, and it was now disappearing before her eyes.

“I’ve worked with the city council and landed an opportunity that will make you so much fucking money,” She winced at her use of cuss words. “Scrappy Junction is styling itself as the sex capital of the nation, and we are getting in at the ground fucking floor. We need to build a group of low-cost motels for the streams of new sex tourists rushing in.” She explained. Isabella was repulsed by the idea of marketing an entire city to cater to degenerates and sex addicts.

“Wait,” the silver-haired man interrupted. “We had a meeting just a few months ago. Wouldn’t this all go against your code of ethics?” He enquired. Isabella had preached her code of ethics to the investors when they were still negotiating. She convinced them that their investments would grow if people saw the philanthropic side of the financiers.

Isabella strutted towards the older man, walking perfectly on her tall heels. “Ohh, fuck those ethics,” she declared. “We now have a new code of ethics,” she bent over at the waist and gripped the investor’s tie, “and that is money, money, money.” She giggled.

The busty blond sat on the investor’s lap and continued to fiddle with his tie playfully. “So what do you say, big boy?” her voice became increasingly sensual throughout the meeting. “Do we have a deal?” Isabella licked her plush pink lips.

The white-haired investor looked over to his associate sitting opposite. Both men nodded in unison. “Aye, we have a deal, toots.”

❖

Two Months Later

On a beautiful Alabama evening, a black limo pulled up outside the red-carpeted entrance of the newest gentleman’s club to open in Scrappy Junction. Crowds of men lined up and separated by ropes on either side of the carpet. The driver of the limo exited his vehicle and opened the passenger door. The audience witnessed the tall silver heels of Trixie’s sexy feet settle on the ground before the blond bombshell left the limo. She was immediately followed by a groomed Hank, wearing a ten-gallon hat and perfectly tailored all-white suit; the trailer park owner looked sharp.

Trixie was dressed up far more than she was used to lately. She wore a sparkling white ball gown that draped over one shoulder, leaving the other exposed. The neckline plunged and displayed her bountiful cleavage, and the waist tapered in, giving her a dramatic hourglass figure. The dress flowed to the floor, with a long slit on one side, giving everyone a peek at the trashy woman’s leg. Hank pulled his arm around her waist before settling it on her ass.

A man wearing a black suit and tie approached the couple and held his hand out to Hank, greeting him. “Welcome, Mr. Mayor. I’m glad you could make it,” the man said appreciatively. Scrappy Junction’s newest mayor nodded before he led his date inside the adult establishment.

“Wow, they really developed this place quickly, babe,” Trixie said admiringly. Hank patted her on the ass. “Yeah,” he responded. “It’s amazing how much can be done when you create the right motivation.” They walked past the coat check and stood at the entrance of the impressive main floor.

“Mr. Mayor, this is Precious,” the club’s owner said, introducing the couple to a gorgeous young college-aged woman wearing a traditional white Playboy bunny costume. She was holding a serving tray. “She will be taking care of your drinks today.” He turned to the woman. “Precious, why don’t you take the lovely couple to their seats before the first show starts?”

“Of course, Mr Miller,” the redhead said submissively, her eyes downcast. “Please, follow me, Sir and Ma’am.” She turned her attention to Hank & Trixie and led them to a cordoned-off table directly in front of the main stage.

Trixie sat beside Hank on the plush red sofa and casually lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. “I love it when you take me out, babe,” she says. Victoria had almost entirely disappeared from Trixie’s persona, with her appearances increasingly sporadic.

Hank didn’t respond, but he held his date closer as his attention was drawn to the man who had appeared on the main stage. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the grand opening of The Bunny Club!” His announcement brought a cheer from the male-dominated audience. “For our first appearance, please put your hands together for our star performer making her dancing debut, Bunny Belle!”

Hank’s smile grew wider, and a spotlight appeared at the back of the stage, focusing on the red curtain hiding the mysterious performer. The cheers from the audience grew louder as the curtains pulled aside and a beautiful, busty blond stepped forward.

The performer wore a pair of pink bunny ears, which matched her bunny body suit, struggling to contain her massive breasts. A cute white tail finished the look behind her. She wore a pair of pink fishnet stockings, and her feet were perched on ridiculous 7” stiletto heels with a 4” platform. The platform has a thin slit to allow dollar bills to be slipped inside.

Glitter shimmered all over the stripper’s body, and her face was caked in makeup. Her ridiculously huge, permanently pouting lips were colored neon pink, making them visible even in the dark. The dancer straddled the pole on the stage and began her performance.

Trixie clicked her fingers as she put the cigarette out in the ashtray. “Wait, is that Isabella?” She said excitedly, looking up at the bimbo stripper she had helped corrupt.

Hank laughed, “That used to be Isabella. This is Bunny Belle,” he winked at Trixie, enjoying the show before him. The dancer ripped open the upper half of her Playboy corset to reveal her fake G-cup breasts, covered only by two star-shaped pasties covering her nipples.

“Wow, I like her,” Trixie replied. “Did she turn out how you expected?”

Hank smirked before clicking his fingers and pointing between his legs. Without hesitation, Trixie dropped to her knees and slid between the new mayor’s legs, unbuckling his pants. After she wrestled his cock free, the trashy blond wrapped her prominent lips around the chubby man’s member. He groaned in pleasure. “Yes, Trixie. Everything turned out exactly as I planned.” He leaned back, enjoying the blowjob and watching the performance.

Bunny Belle licks her fat lips on stage, performing for the dollar bills on the stage. She stared down at the man who put her there. Despite the lustful expression on her face, if you watched closely, you would notice the defiant fire in the blond bimbo’s eyes as the stripper started her new career.

‘Everything was perfect indeed,’ Hank thought to himself.

The End