LYRA’S CHOICE

Lyra wasn’t just having a bad week, she was having a bad year that had come after another bad year. So when she saw the advertisement for ‘bimbo dolls, training supplied, gender and sexuality irrelevant’ she answered it. It was, she felt, one of the best decisions she had ever made.

On the ‘why are you applying for this role’ part of the questionnaire, she answered, ‘I like looking sexy. I want to be a bimbo. I’m sick of homophobes and racists. Bigger breasts would be a bonus.’ Feeling super nervous, she supplied the photos it asked for, wondering if she was making a terrible mistake.

They called her within the week. Only a day later, she was knocking on an unassuming door in the central business district. In the interview room, a man in his thirties, a few years older than her, shook her hand, introducing himself as Marlowe.

‘So…’ he said with a long pause. ‘You’re in, if you want in. Just sign the form and I’ll get the paperwork started for your induction.’

‘That’s it?’ asked Lyra, surprised. ‘Don’t you want to interview me?’

‘Oh dear me, no,’ he smiled at her as if she had said something silly. He winked at her. ‘I’ve already seen enough of your body in that polo shirt and jeans to know you’ll be a hit. And your personality won’t matter, not once the bimbo training is finished with you.’

‘Th-the clients won’t mind that I’m new to this?’ Lyra said, asking the question that had been on her mind during the last week.

‘Oh, gods no,’ said Marlowe breezily. He looked her body up and down, assessingly. ‘You’re cute, that’s all that matters.’ He checked her notes on the form. ‘You’ve got breasts and three holes for the men to fuck. Nah,’ he shrugged. ‘They won’t care.’

He paused, clasping his hands on the desk. ‘You do understand that this is a one-way street, don’t you?’

Lyra nodded ‘yes’ and then said it out loud. ‘Yes. I’m OK with that. I’ve thought hard and I know this is the right choice for me. And I don’t have much in the way of friends or family.’

‘Good, good,’ he said, smiling reassuringly. ‘Two things to make sure you’re aware of. We will apply treatments to make your breasts bigger, in particular. Sometimes we treat women candidates to be curvier as well, depending on the look we’re going for, but you’ve already got a lovely, soft but slender figure, so I doubt many modifications will be needed.’

Lyra nodded, blushing to hear her body discussed so casually.

Marlowe grinned at her, a companionable grin that came fully into his eyes. ‘I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing you after the boob enhancements. Your current breasts are lovely, but given your relatively slight figure, I think you’ll look amazing with big, round enhancements. It’ll be the first thing the men see when they see you.’

Lyra blushed pink at the conversation about her breasts. She was also getting steadily more aroused at the thought of being turned into a hot naked bimbo with huge breasts, for men to ogle and grope. She would be sexy and the men would satisfy their dicks inside her. Her pussy burned with excitement at the thought.

‘And the second thing to mention, of course. The actual bimbo treatments,’ Marlowe said easily. ‘We don’t remove your intelligence or memories, it’s more like suppression, you would say.’ He smiled reassuringly at her. ‘I haven’t experienced it myself, but as I understand it, all your existing memories and intelligence will be in there. But you’ll feel like you’re in a dream that you don't want to leave. And you’ll behave the way the programming teaches you to behave, and think the thoughts the programming helps you to think.’

He paused. ‘Let me explain better.’ He looked through the questionnaire that Lyra had filled out. ‘So, you’re a mathematician, right? With a useful, commercial side in accountancy. Oh, such a good academic record. You have worked hard!’

Lyra flushed, old wounds re-opening. Getting a job as a mathematician, despite her stellar record, had not been easy. So she had settled for the boring side job as an accountant, only to discover the small-minded, petty misogynies of workplace after workplace.

Seeing her distress, Marlowe reached out and placed one hand gently and supportively above her elbow.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, withdrawing his hand again. ‘Anyway. So let’s pretend that it’s two weeks’ time and you’ve completed your bimbo training. You might see something mathematical or accountancy related written somewhere. You’ll think to yourself ‘I could do something with that’ but then you’ll decide ‘no, I’ll go and smile sweetly at one of the men instead’. That’s how it works. You won’t have many thoughts in your head and those thoughts will be about smiling and pleasing the men.’

‘That sounds amazing,’ said Lyra genuinely. Mathematics had only brought her sadness so far in her life. She didn’t mind giving it up. And she was expected to smile and please the men in her job anyway - it might as well bring her joy as well.

‘Excellent,’ said Marlowe. ‘You really are a superb candidate. Well then, we just need to pick your aesthetic and your bimbo tastes. Where would you like to start?’

Lyra shrugged, feeling excitement trickle through her bones. She had really thought that Marlowe would just laugh at her or look at her in horror and then she would be back on the street outside, emotionally bruised and humiliated.

*I’m really going to be a bimbo,* she thought to herself, and knew she was smiling broadly at Marlowe. She couldn’t stop smiling, she was so happy.

‘Okay, let’s start with aesthetic,’ he said, ‘seeing as it’s pretty simple. Like I said, you’ve got a pretty, slender little figure. Good bones. Delicious long legs and arms.’ He looked at the photos of Lyra that she had submitted in her application. ‘I really wouldn’t recommend any changes to your legs or arms or face or body. Your strong legs will look stunning in the high heels we give you to wear. Sometimes we buff out women’s hips to make their waists appear smaller, but your natural slender aesthetic is very ‘in’ right now.’

Marlowe chuckled. ‘I predict the men will be lining up to fuck you, entranced by the idea that if only they ram themselves hard enough into you, you might break in half.’ He kept smiling as Lyra blushed, this time a deep red blush that she could feel running down her throat as well.

‘So yes,’ Marlowe said, ‘I’ll just put you down for breast enhancements. We’ll make them large, with delicious perky little nipples. And, of course,’ he shrugged, ‘there are all the regular amendments we make, to make your skin softer and naturally glowing, and to remove any inconvenient body hair. Plus, we always like to do some slight *inner* modifications. Nothing scary, just that we prefer our bimbos to be as robust as possible in that department.' He smiled. 'Some of the men can get rough sometimes.’

Lyra flushed and tried not to think about rough sex with a series of strange men.

I can’t believe I’m getting so excited about this. There must really be something wrong with me.

Marcus was still talking. ‘What hair colour do you want?’

‘Dark pink? In braids?’ asked Lyra, feeling like it was Christmas or her birthday all over again.

Marlowe agreed enthusiastically. He filled out some notations in an online form and passed it to Lyra to sign. She signed, feeling excited and scared at the same time. She couldn’t believe that this was really happening…

‘And of course, your bimbo tastes,’ Marlowe said. ‘Now, these are the things that will keep coming back into your head. You’ll smile when people mention them. We like to tell them to the men, so that they know how to keep their bimbo amused while you’re with them. I’ve got a heap of suggestions we can draw from, but also, do you have any thoughts? Think about cute things that make you smile.’

‘Anime rabbits,’ said Lyra instantly, and Marlowe wrote it down enthusiastically.

‘Kittens,’ Lyra said. ‘Plushies, you know, plush animals. Anything cute with big eyes.’

‘Good. *Great*. Any clothing preferences?’ he asked.

‘Thigh-high socks. Ribbon in pretty bows,’ Lyra said straight away. ‘And…’ she blushed, ‘th-things that show off my breasts.’

‘Of course,’ said Marlowe. ‘That goes without saying’. He made some notes on what looked like a form and then made a satisfied sound. ‘Yes. That’ll work well. That’s probably enough,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to make you too complicated. We usually find that having two or three simple, sweet interests works the best. For the men, as well as the bimbo. If they wanted a complex slut who used her brain…’ he shrugged. ‘Well, if they wanted that, they’d just date a real woman in the real world. The men like the simplicity of the bimbos.’

Lyra listened in fascination, her body clenching in need at the thought of being the recipient of unrestrained male lusts. Marcus handed her a second form to sign and she signed it straightaway, watching excited and nervous as Marlowe finalised the form.

‘Well, that’s done then,’ he said. ‘You don’t get to pick your bimbo name, I’m afraid. The trainers will do that for you. But don’t worry,’ he said, ‘by then, you’ll absolutely love it.’

Marlowe pushed back his hair and stood, and Lyra followed, feeling suddenly super scared. This was it. This was really it. She was going to be a bimbo, a sextoy decoration for male clients to look at and pat and grope and if they felt like it fuck. They would slide their hungry dicks into her and she would smile and moan and let them do what they wanted. Her pussy clenched at the thought and her breasts tingled inside her clothing.

Oh god, this was just what she had been waiting for.

Everything moved really quickly after that and Lyra didn’t have a chance to have regrets or decide she wanted to change her mind. Marlowe took her phone, handbag and house keys away from her, smiling and saying that he’d hold onto them for her. Lyra saw through the euphemism.

I’ll take those, because where you’re going, you won’t have a use for them anymore.

You’re going to be reshaped as a bimbo. You’re not going home, so you won’t need money or keys.

After today, you’ll only have six words in your brain, so you certainly won’t need a phone.’

Lyra felt weird handing them over, as if she was handing everything over that promised independence or success. But she didn’t mind. Her phone in particular had only been a source of stress and sadness for her for months now. Then Marlowe opened a door at the back of the room and ushered Lyra through into the waiting arms of a series of doctors robed in white with face masks.

They stripped her out of her clothing almost immediately. She felt a wracking nervousness about having everything including her underwear removed, but the doctors didn’t even seem to notice her body. In the following bewildering hours, she grew used to seeing her own nakedness. The doctors didn’t ever give her anything to cover herself up with.

They talked about her in front of her and the one time she tried to answer, they just ignored her. She also grew used to them just touching her body to take measurements or to discuss among themselves the preferred approach to reshaping her. They had a long, animated discussion about her breasts, each of them grabbing her breasts in turn to demonstrate their points.

Lyra phased out after a while, letting the talk ebb and flow over the top of her. She came back to herself to hear them all laughing, and realised that one of them had actually asked her a question.

‘You’re perfect for the bimbo program,’ laughed a large male doctor. ‘Getting into the swing of things already, I see. Letting everyone else make the decisions that impact you.’ There was gentle laughter around in the group. ‘We’re ready to make the modifications now. This will take a few days and you’ll be unconscious for most of it. Be aware that it will hurt sometimes but not too badly. It shouldn’t hurt more than anything any of the men do to you afterwards.’

They were guiding her into a tank of gel-like substance and Lyra felt her heart jump suddenly into her chest in fear. This was it. This was *actually* it. She would be a bimbo and there would be no way back. There was no capacity to slow down though or take a break, though, so she just climbed in mechanically, feeling as though she was leaving her old life behind as she did.

The tank felt like a dream. Lyra drifted away to sleep much of the time. She didn’t know how she could breathe inside the tank, because she was fully underneath the gel, completely encased in something that felt like oily jelly.

She awoke sometimes to see her breasts inside large domed devices. It felt as though something was sucking and probing at her boobs. The pressure inside the domes was intense and it hurt, a feeling as though her breasts were being forced inside out. A couple of times she awoke to find that the mechanical devices that controlled the tank had pulled her legs apart, crude and impersonal. There were devices inside her vagina or her anus, poking and prodding, rubbing and stretching. It felt invasive and she didn’t know if she liked it but she knew she didn’t have any choice any more.

A few times, the doctors pulled her out of the tank, wiping the gel off her skin. They made her walk up and down in the lab. The first few times she didn’t notice much difference but after a couple of days had passed, she noticed that her breasts seemed larger and her skin seemed softer with fewer natural blemishes.

After that, each day, her breasts were bigger, as if giant flesh coloured balloons were growing on the front of her chest. One day, she thought they had grown enough, and she broke her silence to say something to one of the attendants.

‘Oh no,’ said that woman, shocked. ‘They’re going to be much bigger than this. Oh heavens!’ The woman chuckled, giggling. ‘You’re going to be a full anime big breasted girl when we’re done with you! I want people to be able to see your breasts from behind when you walk. If you crawl on your elbows, they’ll drag along the ground.’ The woman giggled again. ‘The men do like that. Now hop back into your vat like a good little girl.’

Lyra let the woman push her back into the tank, feeling strangely aroused at the thought of men watching her while she crawled across the carpet, her breasts rubbing on the floor, her breasts getting more and more sensitive as they rubbed across the carpet. The next time she woke, her breasts had doubled in size from the day before, and the day after that, they were larger again.

I can’t see my feet anymore, Lyra thought. Unless I bend over. They really are like balloons on the front of my body.

After what seemed like a long time - and she really had no idea any more how long it actually was - the clinicians declared Lyra’s physical form complete. She stood naked in front of a mirror, unable to recognise herself. Her hair hung three or four times as long, almost as far down as her waist, soft curls of a pretty dark pink that perfectly complemented her skin tone. Her face wasn’t much changed, although her lips seemed larger as if swollen and they glowed a dark pink almost the same tone as her hair.

Her body seemed much the same as it always had - slender and shapely. Her waist was still small and her hips were the same as always, slender and a little bit rounded. Her skin was softer and it seemed to glow from the inside with health. Every freckle or mole or scar was gone, and that almost more than anything made her feel unlike herself.

The breasts were the biggest change, of course.

They were big. Lyra couldn’t take her eyes off them from where they hung heavy on the front of her body. The globes were so large that they extended past her arms and shoulders out to each side and she knew that, definitely, a person would be able to see them from behind if she was facing away from them. Each perfectly round breast was capped with a perky, pink nipple, seemingly perpetually hard and erect. 

‘Perfect,’ said the doctor who was overseeing her discharge. He spoke to an orderly, not to her. ‘This one is looking good. We can send her on to psychology now.’

The orderly grunted, clearly having a bad day. ‘I don’t know why they don’t send them to psychology first. They’d be so much easier to deal with if they were already brainless when we got them.’

‘Now, now,’ said the doctor, in a chastising tone. ‘Neither you nor I run this facility, and we don’t know what constraints the bosses are working in. Anyway,’ he said, his eyes gleaming as he ran them over Lyra’s body, his hands running up and down her body as he admired her ‘*Anyway*, this bimbo is perfect.’

Two other orderlies in soft blue coats stepped up to take hold of Lyra by the upper arms. They walked her between them and into the next room, where they made her lie down on a bed, and started attaching electrodes to her head and chest.

‘Time for your brainwashing, darling,’ said one of them, an older woman cheerfully.

Lyra flinched at the almost viciousness in the woman’s tone.

‘Yes,’ said the other orderly, this one a man about her own age. ‘Time to become a clueless doll, interested only in your toys and what slutty things the men want you to do.’ He looked down at Lyra, an unpleasant look on his face. ‘You’ll enjoy that won’t you, you slut?’ She blushed at the maliciousness in his voice.

The mind training was like a dream, even more than the body shaping had been. Voices spoke to her, soft women’s voices and soft male voices, kind voices, infinitely kind and impossible to ignore.

The woman’s voice told her that she loved rabbits and kittens and plush toys. If she was to see or be given one of those, she was to always smile. The woman’s voice told her how to dress, in thigh high socks and a suspender belt, high-heeled shoes and a revealing bra on her huge breasts. The woman’s voice instructed her in how to wear make-up, in how to make herself as appealing as possible.

The man’s voice spoke more often and had more rigorous instruction. It told her that if a man spoke to her, she had to obey, immediately and without question. It told her that her duty, above all else, was to please the men.

If a man beckons to you, then you go to him.

If he tells you to crawl on the floor or open your mouth or hold out your breasts or spread your legs, then you obey him.

You worship the men. They are why you are here. They are why you exist.

The men will mostly be kind to you. If they want to hurt you, let them. The men can’t help it. Some of them are built like that. They need to hurt a girl to get off, and your job is to let them.

The men will use you sexually. Several times a day. You will always do as they ask. Some will be kind and polite, some will be rough.

The men have needs and they can’t help but satisfy them. Your body will bring out their lusts. Your job is to please them.

Your job is to let them sate themselves. Because you exist, the world is a safer place, because the men won’t have to sate their urges elsewhere.

Each time that Lyra woke from the training, she felt less and less like herself. It was bizarre but not unpleasant. She would remember the man's voice and she couldn't  wait to actually please one of the men he spoke about. Between her legs, her pussy burned with need. She couldn't wait to be penetrated by one of the men there

Everything Marlowe had said would happen was true. She still knew everything from before but it just seemed less and less relevant. Why would she care about remembering the way back home to her apartment, when there was a man in the room that she could please? Why did she need to know how to do sums, when her make-up needed fixing?

It felt so incredibly freeing to stop having to struggle. She didn’t have to be intelligent or make sensible decisions, she didn’t have to live up to anyone or anything. She could let go of it all, and smile at a man, hoping for pats or a gentle hand stroking her body. She could kneel at the feet of a man and be whatever he wanted her to be.

‘Does the bimbo have a name yet?’ she heard a man asking one day.

The response was negative, but after that she kept hearing the word ‘oreo’ over and over again in the voices, and she came to realise that it was her name. The man’s voice kept repeating phrases at her, teaching her things she needed to know how to respond to.

‘When I say, ‘come here, Oreo,’ you must stop doing whatever you were doing, and come over to me at once, and kneel at my feet.’

‘When I say, ‘Oreo, crawl to me’, you will immediately get down on your elbows and knees and crawl across the floor.’

‘When I say, ‘Oreo, give me a blowjob’, you will start to lick and suckle on my cock, taking it into your mouth and making me hard.’

The woman’s voice just kept repeating positive affirmations.

‘You’re such a good girl, Oreo.’

‘You’re simple and easy to love. That’s why we called you after a popular biscuit.’

‘We love how you don’t ask questions, Oreo. You smile and obey.’

It all went on and on, until everything that had preceded this dream itself felt like a dream. She had always been here, in this room, listening to these voices.

One day, Oreo woke up, and realised that the activity in this room seemed to be over. The blue-coated doctors were taking the wires off her head and helping her up off the bed. They told her to have a shower and when she was dry, they led her naked to a room that was full of clothes and make-up.

They told her to pick the ones she wanted to wear today.

Oreo was in heaven. The choices were easy and so pretty. She chose a pair of long, knitted pink socks with love hearts on them. She loved the little garter belts that came with each sock, a tight band that fitted around each leg like a thigh cuff, that held up each sock individually.

She chose a lacy pink bra that was more straps than actual fabric. It fitted around her huge breasts, showing off how large and full they were, while not hiding any of her attractions and especially not the nipples. She found a matching pair of crotchless panties and fitted them on herself around her slender waistline. From everything the man’s voice had told her, she thought the men would like the panties and bra.

Accessories are important, and so Oreo carefully picked out big pink magnetic jewels for each nipple. She gasped in sudden pain as they went on, crushing the soft flesh of her perpetually hard nipples. But they looked so pretty and she knew the men would like them.

She buckled pretty pink furry cuffs around her wrists and ankles. She knew from what the male voice had said that men liked to be able to control and restrain bimbos. She was so happy when she found a matching furry pink collar with the words ‘I am a slut’ on it. She fastened it immediately around her neck.

The collar and cuffs all came with tiny metallic padlocks and she clipped them closed without thought. If the men wanted the collar and cuffs removed off her, she was sure that someone would find a key.

The training had made her expert in make-up, although her skin was so amazing that she almost didn’t need it. She applied some soft pink blusher to her cheeks and eyeshadow and mascara in a way that made her eyes look even bigger.

Her lips were full and rounded, a deep natural pink, from the treatments, so she just rubbed some sweet balm onto them. She braided some of her thick hair into long braids with pink ribbons, and the rest she left to curl around her head and down her back and past her breasts.

The shoes were easy. Oreo chose a pair with six inch platform heels, in the same pink fur as the collar and cuffs. Same as the cuffs, tiny padlocks closed around the buckles and Oreo clipped them closed. She wouldn’t be able to take the shoes off until someone let her, but she knew she wanted to keep them on all day anyway.

Oreo was so happy as the attendant led her from the room. The shoes were odd to walk in, and she knew that Lyra would have complained that they were uncomfortable. She also knew that Lyra would have been intensely embarrassed to wear such clothes.

Her breasts felt big and heavy on the front of her body as she walked. They were so big that it was almost hard to think about any other part of her body. Lyra would have been desperate to cover her breasts by now but Oreo knew that the men preferred her to be on display for them. There was nothing that Oreo wanted more than to please the men.

The attendant led her into a large courtyard full of plants and even some small trees. There were fountains and many paths, and she could see groups of men dotted around, talking to each other, or sitting on couches or chairs, with bimbos on their laps or at their feet.

Just near her, a naked man was lying on top of a naked bimbo, his cock clearly buried deep inside her, fucking her roughly. Her legs were spread wide and her head hung off the side of the couch she was lying on, so that she couldn’t see the man who was using her.

Oreo was fascinated by the strength in the man’s back and the sight of him driving himself again and again into the bimbo’s soft body. The bimbo’s skin looked so soft and her legs looked so wanton, spread wide, her large boobs shaking violently with the strength of the man’s thrusts. Oreo knew that she wanted to be her. She wanted to please a man as much as that bimbo was pleasing that man.

But then her attention was drawn by another man nearby snapping his fingers at her.

‘Hey, bimbo! What’s your name?’

‘Oreo,’ she said, in her soft voice.

This was it. She was finally going to be able to please the men. This was why she existed.

The man and the other men around him laughed. ‘A fucking cookie,’ he said. ‘I like it. You’re a stupid, pretty bitch, aren’t you, Oreo?’

Oreo looked at him in confusion, smiling at him. She knew she had to please him. She knew she *wanted* to please him.

‘Thought so,’ said the man, a sound of satisfaction in his voice. ‘Well, come here, Oreo. I want you at my feet.’

Oreo walked across towards him and knelt down at his feet when she reached him. She felt his hand come to rest on her soft curls and she sighed delicately. She had come home.

(THE END)