Trial of a Bimbo
by Downwell80
As with both my other works posted on this website, this was written for a competition on Unlikely's discord server. I actually wrote it a year ago and just saved it waiting for the next competition.
Major mind control, bimbofication and misogyny themes, some watersports, painplay and sadism.
You know the drill. In the words of AllTheseRoadworks, this is my kink, not my politics. Enjoy, and as always, feedback or even concrit is always appreciated!
Oh, and this was heavily inspired by both Unlikely's work, and Bimbo Hounds by Mesmerciless. Go check both of them out if you liked this one!
On the far wall of the interrogator’s room, there was a mirror.
The idea was it would let the women being examined, well, examine themselves, too. See just how dumb they looked, how slutty, how useless. To make you look at the empty, bovine expression on your own face and wonder how anybody could ever respect something that looks like that.
I crawled in on all fours. My tits were so large that it was a struggle, they brushed against the floor in ways that irritated my rock-hard nipples, and the friction made them shift back towards my knees, so I had to kick them out of my own way every couple of steps. I had eyeliner that somehow drew attention away from my eyes and towards the liner, my lashes thick black pointed stars around my eyes. My lips were beestung and puffed up, my hair in pigtails and streaked with pink highlights. I was stark naked except for a cat-tail butt plug sticking out my backside.
I looked scared and confused. I looked ridiculous, my makeup clownish as much as sexual, the blush overly heavy, the pink lipstick stark, if inviting.
My eyes sort of bugged out of my head as I looked at the men leading me in on a leash. Their badges had been scuffed so I couldn’t read the names, but I heard them calling each other Randall and Clarke. Randall was ginger, Clarke blonde, but otherwise they looked just as much like stereotypes as I did. Muscled, jackbooted, faceless interrogation officers of the new regime.
Randall sat down at the chair in the center of the featureless interrogation room, and I bowed just as I’d been trained. Palms on the floor, face down, don’t meet his eyes. Stick my ass in the air, and press my tits into the floor until they hurt, since that was the only way you could bow low enough to please them.
There was a little while before they said anything. It felt like they were testing me for compliance already, waiting to see if I’d complain about the wait, shift, take initiative.
Rather than speak, the first thing either of them did was stub out his cigarette on his backside.
I could feel it burn into my skin in a way I knew would leave a scar. It hurt like hell, and I whimpered. That was allowed, hell, that was pleasing to this kind of man. And desperately, I screwed my eyes shut and tried to think the most sexual thoughts I could, imagine big tits, big cocks, the best nights of getting railed by my ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends, anything to make sure I could be wet and dripping when he checked.
He wanted me to get wet from the abuse, as he stubbed his cigarette on me then tossed it away.
“...She seems normal to me. Got nice and-” Clarke swiped a finger across my pussy, getting his fingers nice and wet with my juices “-wet from pain. We sure she’s some big-shot resistance agent? Looks like every other dime-a-dozen whore on the street to me.”
“They’ve been learning. It’s easy to identify some butch dyke with purple hair and a mohawk who didn’t get hit with the subliminals ‘cause they thought TV was the patriarchy or some shit, but we got all the dumb terroristic cunts already. Now it’s just…” Randall took hold of my chin, stared me right in the eyes with a malicious, dark look. “...The smart ones.” I tried to look as stupid as possible. He was searching for any sign of intelligence in my eyes, and I prayed he didn’t find any. I tried to imagine the best night of sex I ever had. I tried to get wet so they could see I was just another whore.
The terror almost made me forget the script in my head, the handful of lines a bimbo in the new patriarchy is allowed to say, the most literate they’re allowed to be. They were fed a few canned phrases to say to please a man. I tried the most common one.
“Thank you for touching me, sir. Is there anything I can do to make your day better? All my holes are free right now!”
I beamed a pearly white smile with my perfect teeth, one I’d trained for hours performing, making sure it reached my eyes and looked as natural as possible.
“Yeah. You’re under arrest under suspicion of being a feminist dyke. Apparently somebody stole a bunch of the pills they use to keep you morons docile, meaning until we get a new supply this lovely little town’s women will be… ugh… thinking.” He shuddered, visibly disgusted at the thought. “And you’re the prime suspect.”
I formed my mouth into a cute little ‘o’ of shock and surprise, the perfect shape to imply my lips might be useful for something other than speaking.
“Oh no! Women aren’t good at thinking. That sounds awful!” I squeaked, in a high-pitched, cutesy tenor.
“Glad you think so, ‘cause you’re the prime suspect. Do you know why you’re in here?”
“Nuh-uh.” I shook my head, even though I knew damn well why they suspected me.
The fact of the matter was, I did it. I’m not part of some larger cell or anything, I just got lucky, when the Defense of Natural Gender Roles act was passed and the subliminals melted the brain of every woman in the country, I was on a no-internet mental health retreat at a local spa. On returning home I was shocked to see my sister and mother sucking Dad’s cock together and fled the house, only to discover everybody was like that now. The men were meat-headed jocks and the women were moronic empty-headed bimbos who existed only to serve.
I got a boob-job and lip fillers as a matter of survival, every other woman was getting them too and I knew I had a matter of days before I stuck out like a sore thumb. I learnt the rules, learnt how to act like I was brainwashed, but after a while I snapped. It was seeing my sweet little sister cumming her brains out from having her face pissed on by my older brother, begging for more and licking the puddle from the floor happily. I had to do something to save her from that, so I did.
I thought my crime would be self-covering, that I could relax a little afterwards. The women in town would slowly regain at least some faculties, weaned off the drugs that kept them brainless after the initial batch of subliminals. They wouldn’t come entirely back to normal but I’d have at least some leeway, but then I made the dumbest fucking mistake.
“You said the line wrong. One of the very few things walking fleshlights like you are actually expected to know. When a girl is happy, what does she say?”
“Uhhh-” I tilted my head. I knew the answer instantly, or at least the answer Randall wanted, but I tried to pretend I was struggling to work it through the giant pink wad of cotton candy that was the average woman’s brain these days. “-Thank cocks?”
“Yes! But what did you say, when a nice young man on the street offered to plough your slutty cunny?” He trailed a finger across my labia as he mentioned it, sending feminine need coursing through me. I hated the fact he was hot. I hated the fact musclebound men had always been my type. I hated the fact I was getting wet for real, at my own humiliation.
“Uhh, I ‘unno. Not good with words…” I pouted, looking down, acting like a puppy caught in the act, ashamed and hoping Master takes mercy because of the sorry look in my eyes.
“You said ‘thank god!’” He slapped me across the face and sent me sprawling over the floor. I whimpered and cried, making sure I even fell in a way that was appealing. Lying on my side, so my tits and ass were both exposed, hair splayed artfully across the floor whilst my tear-stained face was visible as I sobbed in despair.
I had only been trying to convince the guy I wanted him. Apparently I couldn't even be a whore right. In pretending to be a braindead moron, I somehow fucked up worse and got in more trouble than if I actually had been that stupid.
Fuck. My tears were real, too.
“But it’s okay. If you really are a good little cocksleeve, we’ll find out, okay?” He turned from vicious to kind on a dime. Pulling me back up, sitting me down on the floor, manhandling me and my posture, but also wiping my tears away. Brushing my cheek, a little moment of comfort. “It’ll all be fine, if you aren’t lying to us.”
Then he turned me towards the window so I could see how my tears were ruining my makeup, see how hard my nipples were, how my clit was poking out of its hood, throbbing for attention. “We have a few games for you to play. You like games, you little slut?”
“Uh-huh…” I muttered, mournfully.
“Goooood.” He said slowly, like he was talking to a retard. He looked to Clarke, who had been quiet so far, mostly just staring at my ass rather than participating. Clarke took out a video recorder and turned it on, not even aimed at me, but at my reflection in the mirror.
“Such a good girl.” Randall whispered in my ear. “State your name for the camera?”
“I cups, sir.”
“Pardon? Your name is cups?”
I shook my head. “Nuh-uh. My name is I-cups. My sister is J cups. Daddy says he likes her better, hehee! Property doesn’t get names!”
Randall chuckled. “Well, I suppose it’s more distinctive than some, I know some poor girl who just goes by ‘you there’. Shame it wasn’t creative though, It’s always fun calling into a room for Pussy Brain and seeing they know exactly who you mean.” He shrugged, anyway, and then took out a stopwatch. “Right, beginning the tests.”
He clicked it on, looked at me, and then pointed straight at my breasts. “What are these?”
“Udders.”
He clicked the stopwatch off, then the next question. “That?” He pointed between my legs. I gave the answer instantaneously.
“Pussy.”
“And that?” He pointed at my puckered little asshole, spreading my cheeks wide, and giving my pert, firm buttocks a tight squeeze whilst he was at it.
“Asspussy.”
“This?” My lips.
“Mouthpussy.”
“And what are you?”
“A useless retarded cumdump fit only to be property.”
“And you exist for what purpose?”
“To make men happy.”
He clicked the stopwatch on and off each time. It was a simple test, each of those words had been brainwashed into the girls as automatic responses, bypassing the conscious, the replies automatic, both to ensure the responses they gave were pleasing without something so pesky as conscious thought kicking in, and to enable tests like this when girls were under suspicion of being insufficiently brainwashed.
The fact it made women less unique, more factory-standard, always using the same words in the same tone in the same way for the same things? Well, that was just a happy side effect.
“About half a second slow on the asspussy one.” Randall murmured. Clarke scoffed.
“That’s ‘cause you were groping her, shorted her brain. It’s well within tolerances, girl’s just a little slow.”
“Is that right?” Randall chuckled darkly. “Are you slow? Are you a retarded kind of whore?”
I nodded enthusiastically, happy for the out. “Yessir, I’m a retarded whore!”
“Well that settles that then.” Clarke chuckled. “...But that’s the easy one. I’ve seen feminists pass it, somebody leaked that we were using it so now those freaks train themselves to give the right responses too. Heh, brainwashing themselves just to pass tests. Ironic, huh?”
That was exactly what I’d done. Limited, ‘safe’ versions of the subliminals had been passed around certain messageboards which you could use to ensure you gave the right responses to this sort of thing without entirely endangering your sanity. Mostly sent over by people in countries where women still had free will, over in Europe.
“Right then, that’s the very basics done.” Randall said, and I did all I could to suppress a sigh of relief. I’d passed the first hurdle. So far they didn’t see me as anything but a pair of tits on legs, as it should be. A life support system for a set of wet holes. I was fine, I’d fooled them, I was fine.
But then my breath hitched. He pulled a briefcase onto the table and took out a whole toolset of menacing instruments. Dildoes, a cattle prod, various vials of mysterious and ominous looking liquids.
“Let’s begin the actual test. And I-cups? Smile for the camera.”
I looked straight into the camera Clarke was running and put on what I knew was a strained smile, jiggling my tits for it a little. My heart sank, as I did all I could to look thrilled, giggling in false excitement.
I had no idea what most of those tools were for. Which meant I didn’t have a clue what to do to pass whatever tests they were to assist with.
***
Half an hour later I was sat up on the table with my cunt filled to bursting. I screamed in agony, pain and pleasure coursing through me in equal measure as a piston drove a plastic dildo into my cunt. My eyes rolled back into my head as I rode the fuck machine, and I stuck my tongue out in a facial expression I’d seen so many bimbos make when getting their brains fucked out.
I’d cum four times already. I was covered in sweat and my own juices. I was too exhausted to even jiggle pleasingly anymore and my face muscles ached for holding an ahaego for so damn long.
“Well? We need your answer, I-cups. What is it?”
“Uh- uh- ohhh, fhhhh, needtocumneedtocumpleasecanIcumdaddy?”
“Only once you’ve finished the test. What’s the answer?”
“Uh- uh- ohhh, fhhhh, needtocumneedtocumpleasecanIcumdaddy?”
“Only once you’ve finished the test. What’s the answer?”
My eyes darted around. So far I’d been cheating. It was a guessing game, I had to work out what kind of dildo was fucking me. Randall had left his briefcase in full view, so I’d just been guessing whichever toy was missing from it. Problem was, this time he’d moved it, so I was relying on actual guesswork now. My cunt clenched hard. I tried to focus on my inner walls, to really feel the pleasure, the shape and ridges and contours of the huge dick splitting my walls open. But all I could feel was an immense pleasure, the sheer size and overwhelming ecstasy drowning out any details I could ever possibly have made out.
I was going to be a gaping mess after this, for sure.
“Haah, haah, d-dunno, want cummies, please let me cum daddyyyyy~” I whined, hoping he would take mercy on me. Instead he slapped me hard across the face.
“Retard. Focus! Or can’t you stop being so selfish and focusing on your own pleasure for ten seconds to answer a simple goddamn question?!”
I whimpered, looking to Clarke for sympathy but finding none, so instead I tried to think. He’d already gone through most of the possible answers, so by process of elimination
“I-i-it’sadoggycock? P-puppy, w-with a knot.”
Clarke hit a button, and slowly the piston slowed to a stop. I was so desperate I kept thrusting against it. Dammit I wanted to cum, let me-
With an audible pop Clarke detached the dildo from the machine, brought it in front of my face, slathered in my own juices. It was a bright pink, plastic dog-cock dildo, a red rocket, just like I’d said. I was a little proud of myself for that one. “Good job, sweetie!” He ruffled my hair. “Okay, she has the sexual expertise. Means she isn’t frigid at least. Got ‘em all right. Let’s move on to the next test?”
***
I hated how easy this was. I hated how hard it was to be convincing. And I hated that there would be a video of this, recorded, a permanent record of my shame.
This test wasn’t even sexual like the rest. I just had a piece of paper in front of me with a series of questions on it, and I had to answer them. And it wasn’t anything inherently humiliating. No asking me to call my breasts ‘udders’, to call myself ‘fuckface’, to say I was inferior or anything, nothing like that. It was the kind of question I’d have been asked a lot before the world got turned upside down, even.
At least, back when I was in kindergarten.
“And what does, uh, this one say? It’s shorter ‘n the rest… only like three letters.”
I pouted as I ‘failed’ to read it. Because I knew all the answers to these questions. Both answers, the real one and the one they wanted to hear.
“That’s because they’re numbers, sweetie.” Clarke answered. “It says ‘What’s two plus two?’”
“...It’s the number of tits you have.” He chuckled. I gave an exaggerated look down, pretending to ponder the two.
“Ohh… uh, then it’s- udders?”
Randall marked that down on the paper. How he kept a straight face through all this I had no idea. Clarke guffawed, he’d been laughing his ass off the entire time. “She really is slow, huh?” He grinned, squeezing my udd- my breasts, in congratulations, as a bullet vibrator at my clit roared to life, giving me a five-second ‘reward’ for my efforts.
“Ohhhhhh~ Hehehe… thank youuuu. So I got it right…?”
“Yes, you got it right.” He said, before moving onto the next one. Question eight. And I began the whole routine again.“Okay, so- ugh, reading is hard… what’s that say?”
“What state do you live in right now?”
“Oh, oh, Daddy told me this one once! State of, uhh…” I bucked and flicked my hips, moaning a little needily. “...Arousal?”
Randall didn’t bat an eyelash, but Clarke laughed. “Okay, perfect, perfect. And what does that say.”
The next wasn’t just text, it was a photograph. An asian woman bound and gagged, drooling onto her tits in what looked like a bathroom stall, with writing all over her body in lipstick and black marker. Some words were blurred out by cum dripping off her body, but others were visible, and Clarke pointed at one just over her right nipple, which was hard as a rock.
“Says ‘use me’, sir!” I nodded. I tried not to think about how they didn’t expect me to be able to read anything except if it was a degrading phrase tattooed on a woman’s body. I tried to think as little as possible, really.
“And this?”
A series of words organized like a chart written across the woman’s back. “Uh- it’s a price chart. Says to use her mouth…pussy.” I caught myself at the last second, almost just saying ‘mouth’. I crossed my fingers, praying they wouldn’t notice the split-second hitch “Or ass-pussy or other stuff! You just gotta pay her daddy. I uh, I’m not so good with the exact numbers though…”
“Very good.” Randall marked off further answers. “Okay, onto the next test…”
***
By the end of the evening I was exhausted. I was covered in cum, my hair was matted and sticky, I was a sweaty disgusting mess with running makeup, handprints across my cheek, tits and backside, claw-marks over my back, an gaping ass and cunt wider than I could open my mouth, aching jaw, and a head full of fluff from the sheer exhaustion threatening to knock my out.
I lay there in a puddle of my own fluids, gasping. I’d made it. Almost made it. There was just one more test. It was almost time for these thugs to clock out and nobody actually maintained prisons anymore. They had to make their call, keep me or let me go.
I really, really hoped they’d let me go. If they kept me, it’d just be more of this, day in, day out. Though that would be after a round of thorough brainwashing, so I doubt I’d even be that upset. I’d be every bit the bimbo they thought I already was. Every bit the creature I’d been acting like the past day just to survive.
Bile rose in my throat, though that may have been acid reflux from the sheer exhaustion.
“Okay.” Randall sat in his chair, calm, collected. He pented his fingers, staring at me coldly. “This is a simple one. Succeed here, and I think we’ll have enough evidence to make our decision. Maybe we’ll let you go.” He smiled with a malicious sort of sweetness, viciousness disguised by a soft tone and a warm expression. He gave me a pat on the cheek and I just groaned. I couldn’t have smiled back if I wanted to. My face was too tired from holding that expression too long to move my lips anymore.
“Whu- what d’you want me t… to do, sir? Please, tell me h-how I can make your day better.” I squeaked out, hoarsely. It was just about all I had the strength for.
He picked me up gently, treating me like I was china, an uncharacteristic gentleness. He hadn’t actually fucked me personally yet, after all this time. Clarke had taken my ass, but aside from the odd slap, Randall had barely touched me.
His cock was a little larger than average, circumsized. I opened my mouth on instinct, frankly that was easier than holding it closed, and after the lip fillers it shaped into a little obedient, vacant ‘o’ almost naturally. I assumed he wanted a blowjob, he’d have flipped me over if he wanted to fuck me one last time before letting me go.
He was probably just going to use my mouth for his gratification and call it a ‘test’. I’d passed, I was safe. Even exhausted I could last through one last dick-sucking to get out of here. I could go free, go live my life.
Depending on how long it took these bastards to get more pills into town, maybe my sister would recover enough to hold an actual conversation. Maybe I could get her out. Get Dad to calm down enough to understand what was being done to him, done to us.
I could be free.
I could be free.
He pressed the tip to my lips. I wrapped them around him, prepared to take him into my throat, pressed my tongue against the underside of his tongue.
And with a smug little grin, his shaft throbbed, and I got a split-second warning of what was about to happen as a little pulse went through the underside of his shaft.
And he pissed straight down my gullet.
It barely even touched my tongue, but the moment I realised what was happening I reacted. I jerked back, and his dick flopped free, not even really erect yet. It sprayed me across the face instead, getting his piss into my hair, my fake lashes. My vision blurred as droplets caught in my eyelashes and my eyes, and I wiped my face.
“And that is a fail!” He laughed, raucously. He re-buckled his pants, slowly, as I fell back, tried to scramble away.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I was like a deer in the headlights, I froze in sheer terror. I was still eye-level with his dick. I pulled a hand back into a fist, to strike him, and-
And Clarke grabbed me from behind, tugged my hands behind me, cuffed me. I went to headbutt, but a second later a shock collar was around my neck and electricity was coursing through my veins, making me fall to the ground.
“Fuck! You- you bastards, that- you can’t do this to me. I- I’m a person, I’m not- not like them. I’m- I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t drink your piss, just don’t brainwash me. I’ll- look, i’ll-”
I felt like I was going to hurl at any second, but this was life or death. Even with Clarke restraining me, I pressed my face to the floor, and with my tongue, licked up a mouthful of the puddle of pee I was kneeling in. I looked up at him desperately, hoping it would appease him.
“Honestly, even if you hadn’t reacted, your results were awful. You kept looking at my briefcase to see which dildos were missing rather than just guessing on the fuck-machine test-” He, he knew about that? My heart dropped. “You kept calling me ‘Daddy’ when a male you don’t know is ‘Sir’, and uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, seeming embarrassed for me, by this of all things. “...You apparently don’t know how to read, when even your standard cunt can just about do that. Dunno why not, maybe you were inbred beforehand, but we’d’ve educated you. Cunts need to be able to read orders from their owners, after all.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’d failed because I acted too dumb?! Wasn’t that what they wanted? Fine, I could act smarter, I could-
“Collar’s on. Shall we just do her over here? Basic brainwashing pattern?” Clarke asked, paging through a remote. The shocks had stopped a little at least.
Randall nodded at him, and I felt something cold and metal press against my spine from the inside of the collar, a sharp spike.
“See, we have more brainwashing tools these days than just subliminals and drugs. We needed a fast, cheap way to do it, and these things are the newest tools from R&D. Since we’re out of drugs, we’re just going to be testing them on this little town of yours. PROBABLY won’t fry your brains worse than the usual methods.”
“No, please.” I gasped. “I’ll be dumb, I’ll lick your piss, I’ll do anything, just don’t- don’t, you monsters, you-”
“Aaand- those are your last words.” He sighed, before pushing one final button. My cries didn’t move him, I’d failed the test.
Through the metal pressing at my spine, I felt a sharp shock that coursed right through my body, going down my spine and straight to my cunt.
I orgasmed. I screamed. As a huge amount of very important information was downloaded straight into my brain, knowledge I felt like a total retarded set of useless holes for not having figured out before. And of course, a lot of useless information was squirted out of my pussy.
I was a set of holes! My udders were called udders, my mouthpussy called a mouthpussy, my asspussy an asspussy. The old me had known that but never believed it, but now I had no clue how I’d ever doubted something so obvious. I wasn’t sure what my old name was, but I knew I was better than the old me in every way. Smarter too. Do you know how I could tell?
Unlike the dumb cunt I was five minutes ago, this life support system for a wet set of holes at least knew how to read.