ramblingcrow

Latest Posts by ramblingcrow

If your girlfriend doesn't suck your cock, I will 😘

Hi. Kinky and a doctor here. No. This is nonsense. You would need a lot of air or a lot of pressure to cause any issue. And even if there was a tear unless it is an artery, which would bleeding like mad, up to 1ml/kg air into an actual open vein (which would also be bleeding like mad... just a bit less so) would be fine. On TV when someone injects a few bubbles into a drip? Yeah, almost certainly would do nothing. This has less risk than blowing into a cut on your hand as you would not even get the same kind of seal. As for a baby in utero, the cervical os is closed until latent phase of labour so things are not really getting in or out. Even if air gets into Mum's blood, it would cause embolism in her lungs prior to reaching placenta and then baby.

So;

1. Never put compressed gases anywhere as this is a problem due to pressure.

2.a) If something is bleeding you shouldn't mess with it until it is healed but not for this reason

b) the exception to this is menstruation which is not the same as injury (obviously), and is safe

3. Otherwise let your freak flag fly.

*The more you know!*

*sparkles*

This won’t make your blog look ugly. How could you not reblog this? REBLOGGING THIS COULD SAVE A LIFE!!!

Dick Pic Challenge

I recently started doing a challenge on my blog. It’s called the Dick Pic Challenge! Here are the rules:

1) For every five dick pics you receive, you must pick one, and jerk off to it! You must also send pictures to the “winner” proving that you jerked off to his cock.

2) No matter what, ALL DICK PICS must always get a response! 

3) There is no limit to how many pics one person can send you!

4) You should come up with benefits for the same person winning multiple rounds, to encourage them sending more and more pics! 

For example: The second time they win, they get to select what color panties they want you to wear. 

The idea is to constantly remind you of why you’re a sissy, and what your place is! 

*****

Thanks to chasteapoc for this submission, it’s fantastic! I’m in for this.

*REBLOG IF YOU’RE IN FOR THE DICK PIC CHALLENGE*

“hmm, I think that word might be too big for you,” is an exceptionally hot sentence.

Premise: Speech Control

Just a little list of ideas that I came up with on the topic of speech control. Some of these are about in person speaking, some are about texting, some are applicable to both. Some of these I’d like to try, some of these I have tried, some of these I would probably not want to do, some I’m indifferent to.

Word Restrictions

No swearing.

No puns.

Only being allowed to use words once per day. 

Only being allowed to use words from a list of pre-approved words chosen by my partner.

Not being allowed to use words from a list of off limits words chosen by my partner, but otherwise able to speak freely.

Not being allowed to use words containing a certain letter of the alphabet, but otherwise able to speak freely.

Only being allowed to use short and simple words, limited by number of letters or number of syllables, or simply at my partner’s discretion. (Imagine typing out an entire text and being met with “hmm, I think that word might be too big for you,” and having to agree and reword what you’ve said.)

Having to refer to myself in the third person.

Having to refer to my partner by a title, honorific, or nickname they have chosen.

Having to use a lowercase “i” to refer to myself. 

Having to use capitalized pronouns to refer to my partner. 

Limited Speech

Only being allowed to say a certain number of words (or less) per day.

Only being allowed to say a certain number of words (or less) per text message. No double messaging, of course.

Having to keep track of how many words my partner uses, and always using less throughout the day.

Having to start each sentence with “Please” and/or end it with “Thank you,” even if it doesn’t technically make sense. 

Having to rhyme. Or else fulfil the requirements of some kind of specific poetry such as a haiku. 

Having to ask permission to ask for things. “Please may I ask to use the bathroom?” 

Only being allowed to say “Please” and “Thank you.”

Not being allowed to ask for anything.

Only allowed to speak to my partner in public. 

Not being allowed to speak on specific topics, particularly when they’re super relevant. For example, we go to the zoo and I’m not allowed to talk about animals. 

Only being allowed to say the opposite of what I mean/want. 

Restricted Speech

Having to ask permission to speak at all, either through a non-verbal signal, or else the only thing I’m allowed to say without permission is “Please may I speak?”

Only allowed to speak when spoken to.

Having to be in a specific position - the more submissive or uncomfortable, the better - to speak. Additionally, having to wait in that position until I am acknowledged and allowed to speak. 

Having to go a set length of time without speaking each day. The timer starts over each time I speak. (Imagine it’s an hour and at 55 minutes you get asked a question you can’t ignore. Each attempt like that would mean you talk less throughout the day.)

When possible, set entire days, or even a weekend as “quiet time.”

Surprise quiet time. That is, a spoken or text command, “It’s quiet time,” and I am expected to be silent until I am released. (A potential training opportunity: this could happen many times throughout the day, each session lasting only a few minutes before the next.)

Starting every day without the ability to speak until I have completed my morning routine. Finishing each day by not being allowed to speak once my nighttime routine is done. 

Having a set day of the week during which I am expected to remain silent. 

Having a cost to speak. A mild-moderate punishment for each time I wish to speak, such as having to put nipple clamps on first or having to write lines for each time I spoke afterwards.

Having to trade my ability to speak for rewards, such as not being allowed to orgasm unless I agree to a two days of no speaking.

Trading chunks of silent time for edges. Each edge is half an hour of silence. Maybe I know before I start edging, maybe I don’t. 

Having to be silent until I have completed a task, such as linewriting, or an edging session, or even something mundane like having to stay silent on a long drive, even while playing a board game. 

Having recurring tasks during which I am not allowed to speak, such as never being allowed to speak during meals or while watching movies. 

Only being allowed to speak while wearing my collar. 

Not being allowed to speak while wearing my collar. 

Only being allowed to speak while naked. 

No words, only sounds. Easy enough when you’re gagged, but having to make the deliberate effort to only make sounds is nice. 

Wearing a bark collar. Each time I speak, I get shocked, until I learn not to speak while wearing it. It then becomes a very effective gag. 

Forced to Speak

Being asked a series of questions and having to provide at least X words to answer, on topic. (It wouldn’t even have to be a high number. Imagine having to use 50 words to answer a yes or no question. Even 20 might be a challenge. But being asked to say/text 300 words on why I shouldn’t have an orgasm? Just a thought.)

Agreeing to X number of questions (number could be in trade for edges, or in trade for lessening a punishment) and having to answer them fully, even if it’s embarrassing. (Obviously within limits. Questions I refuse to answer don’t count towards the number.)

Having a mantra to repeat every time my partner says a certain word, whether that word is part of the mantra or not. (Having someone trigger a mantra like this is great fun, especially mid-conversation, or while I’m trying to ask for something, or while I’m trying to explain something.)

Having to repeat after my partner, perhaps modifying pronouns. (“You will obey” being modified to “I will obey.”)

Being tasked with writing up a fantasy, and then being made to read it aloud.

Being Physically Gagged

Being expected to be gagged or otherwise prevented from speaking at all times. (Ballgag might be too harsh for “at all times,” but tape is effective, too.)

Being gagged at random. Not just during scenes, but during mundane activities, such as watching a movie together or doing housework. (I like the idea of being interrupted while in the middle of something, maybe even in the middle of a conversation, and my partner simply holds out a gag. Or sitting at my desk working when my partner comes up behind me and slips my gag between my lips. Being told to kneel and open my mouth, excited to get to suck cock, and instead gagged. Comes with a bonus of being trained to readily take my gag.) 

Being told I can only speak while being gagged, despite knowing it will be unintelligible.

Planning a voice call with my partner, but right before we begin I am instructed to put a gag on so that at no point during the call can I actually speak.

Games

Playing the quiet game, either with my partner or with another submissive. I am rewarded if I win, and punished if I lose. 

Playing a kinky version of Taboo/Password: My partner picks a word and a length of time. I do not get to know the word, but do get to know we’re playing and for how long. My partner counts every time I use the word, and when time is up, I get punished for each use. Tons of games to be played on both sides, with my partner trying to get me to say the word, and me trying to figure out what it is. Perhaps if the time period is long enough, I get a clue to the word each day. I would probably end up speaking as little as possible to avoid it. 

Everyone who reblogs this will get a personalized hypnotic erotic GIF based on what I see on your profile.

Saw this in a deactivated Tumblr and will pick up the gauntlet, .I will create the animation, post it on my blog and tag you. Feel free to put any kinks you want to share or any suggestions you need re-enforced in the tags or as a reblog text. 

This is just incredible - the idea of convincing everyone else that one is a bimbo and forcing one to be treated that way without any changes is a novel and perfectly deviant method of protagonist entrapment! Stellar stuff!

Best Bimbofication Websites

You know I like the whole “good girl gone bimbo”-routine, but there’s a big problem.

There’s tons and tons of content about this out there, but i haven’t found a place, where all these websites are linked. The TG community is organized much better, which is why I was into TG content in the first place.

So I thought about opening my own little link-library of good bimbo (non-tg) websites right here. This post will be updated whenever I find a website that I want to keep or recommend. I’m starting right now with a rather small collection, but I already know a few other pages to add soon. Feel free to recommend sites for this list. UPDATE JULY 2015: Sadly we’ve lost a lot of good blogs in the last year. I just updated the list to only include still available websites. UPDATE MAY 2016: Added some new blogs. Please recommend more new blogs to me. I know there have been some new ones lately, but I didn’t keep track. So message me for any additions.

Captions

Amiee’s Bimbo Stories Bimboization Bimbomatic Bimbo Transformations Bimbo Puppets And Playthings Bimbos and Dolls Bimbo Slave Pets (Mollypops23) (new) Brains to Bimbos Catfish 27 (new) Devil in the Details Ditzy Diary (new) Control and Surrender (new) Fantasy Transformations (bimboisbetter reposts) Jukebox (new) Living Lovedolls (seems inactive) You can never read to many erotic stories… Mind Control and Bimbofication by The Fish  Mind Control Fantasies (WillbGone) (new) Moq’s Bimbo Fiction PhD Bimbo (seems inactive) Relattic Stills Remedial Education for young women Silly Bimbo Babes (new) Suck it Bimbo The Hand that leads (new) Their Only Purpose The Noble Robin (seems inactive) The Sane Scientist The Splash’s TFs and Mind Control Uplifting Tales for Aspiring Sluts Yellow cunt

TG-related Captions

(strictly bimbo-related) Evie’s Emporium Science Bimbo The Zoligomyst

Stories

BPAP (Bimbo Puppets and Playthings) checker Choose your own transformation Chrystal Wynd Downing Street Kris P. Kreme Limerick Lisa Teez MrGrey Pan The Sympathetic Devil William Pratt Wesley King

Art/Comics on DeviantArt

Avaro56 BimboFans (Group) Checker 625 Darkoshen Dynamoob morphed08 / Keshara Store sortimid The6ovner TheGreatDaeo

Superb! The opening line:  “ It’s time for another change. What makes you proud?” is spectacular! It sets the relationship, outlines what has been happening and is just bloody hot! Personally, I would have liked to see a little more process, the girl losing more as her past is ‘altered’, but this is rather awesome!

Too Classy for Him (Mind Control, Corruption, Bimbofication)

She had been a thoughtful, cute, financial advisor in her late 20′s. Now, her hair was bleached blonde. Her boobs were permanently stuffed with silicone implants. Her pouty lips were enhanced from collagen injections. She looked like a bimbo.

“It’s time for another change. What makes you proud?” he asked her.

“Please no, don’t make me answer.” she cried.

“You will answer me, doll.” the handsome man said is his deep, masculine voice. “What makes you most proud?”  

“My master’s degree. I’m proud of my education, okay?” she answered.

“Not anymore.” he said as he placed the helmet on her head. “We’re gonna change that right now.”

The helmet hummed as he twisted the dial on the machine. It was now erasing and changing the memories of her university education. Instead of studying, she now “remembered” focusing on her appearance. Makeup, clothing, and accessories were her priorities. So was partying and clubbing.

Her grades weren’t the best… she justed wanted to have a good time and flirt with guys. Every time she tried to be smart, she made a fool of herself. She had tons of silly little “blonde moments” that her friends liked to playfully make fun of her for.

She remembered that she didn’t finish her bachelor’s degree, instead choosing to rely on rich sugar daddies and boyfriends. She manipulated them into buying her the best clothes and accessories. Her favorite daddy paid for her plastic surgery.

“And… you’re back. How do you feel, doll?” he asked her.

“I’m, like, totally not happy about it. I know you did something to me but it’s all mixed up now!” she replied in an angry but completely harmless tone.

“Well, I’m sure you’re not happy about right now but you secretly love it, don’t you? You love it when you’re spoiled like a princess. You like getting expensive gifts from men because you have a pretty face and big boobs.” he told her, as she began to moan.  

“You like being a trophy and arm candy. You want to date successful, good looking men for their money. They’ll fund your insatiable need to look good and be bathed in luxury all the time.“

“Even if your boyfriend rescues you, he’ll never be rich enough for you. Sure, you’ll still think he’s a good man but he can’t afford your luxurious, chic lifestyle. You’re way too classy for him. How do you feel about that, doll?” he said, as he twisted the dial to the maximum setting.

“Ughhhnnn… I feel really good about that, sir. He’ll never touch these curves. I’m way out of his league. He can’t afford me.” she said, as she squirmed and bucked in her seat.

Now this is a stunning bit of writing! Academic humiliation is such an underutilised element in bimboization and one of my absolute favourites! My only ‘criticism’ would be that I would love to see it expanded more - new instructions for spelling, elocution, vocabulary, maths... Really force the new image home and maybe get the girl to fail a few entry level courses for good measure!

Star hadn’t always been like this. At one point she had been a rising academic star. Up and coming in the history department she was starting to attract international attention. Unfortunately she annoyed the wrong donor. It wasn’t hard for him to seduce her. For all of her take charge attitude with her students, in bed she was eagerly submissive. And from there the teasing began.

The daily edging sessions she recorded and sent to him from her office. The teasing of her when they were alone. The little text messages she got telling her to do naughty things like take a nude photo of herself in the deans office. All of it just made her wet and wanting. And over time that built up. Her students noticed she was less focused, less put together at the end of the semester.

The constant teasing and edging was making her mind fuzzy. If she hadn’t had a detailed lesson plan she would have been unable to continue. But winter break was coming up and hopefully her new master would let her cum soon. While they were together at his ski lodge, he made her be his maid the whole time. Using her holes, making her suck him off. Even making her watch as he fucked another woman in front of him.

She was in tears for need, for seeing him fuck someone else, seeing how hard he made her cum was just too much for her. And she begged and pleaded. Speaking without really knowing what she was saying. He told her he had a fantasy about making a professor end her career. So into the camera she spoke. Telling the world, falsely, that her doctoral thesis was plagiarized.

That she had fucked the Dean in his office to secure her teaching position. That she had an inappropriate relationship with a student. That she was a fraud and a fake. Her eyes glazed over with need as she admitted that she had even falsified her high school transcripts in an effort to get into school.

She masturbated furiously to the idea, so happy she had made her new master happy. So happy to please him. And she didn’t think of the tape he made until Monday night. Where he didn’t have her kneeling between his legs during the game. But sitting on his lap, stroking her clit as he told her she had something important to tell her.

The panties he had made her take off and throw out…had been picked up by a student faithfully. One just a bit obsessed with her. And that the Dean loved his memento photograph of her from their tryst in his office. A happy memory before he retired. Star was very confused right up until the news began. With the headline being an academic scandal. The tape of her speaking was played and the moment her Master saw the horror on her face, he gave her permission to cum.

Her little mind popped. And she hasn’t been allowed to orgasm since then. Four years without an orgasm and no relief in sight. For her master had told her, that until she had another advanced degree to lose, she wouldn’t be allowed to cum. Poor girl can barely remember who George Washington was. So now she’s a squirmy, eager little trophy wife. Who will edge daily but never be allowed relief.

Everyone who reblogs this will get a personalized hypnotic erotic GIF based on what I see on your profile.

I will create the animation, post it on my blog and tag you. Feel free to put any kinks you want to share or any suggestions you need re-enforced in the tags or as a reblog text.

Whoops! I've used 'dumber' before... hmm? Perhaps, giggle, ditzy, memo?

Mr. Cameron:

Like, okay, I’ll just do stuff any way that you say, y’know?

You just ask, and I’m your gal!

Love, Ditzi

Meredith hit SEND and hoped that she hadn’t laid it on too thick.

Then she remembered that the last time she’d thought she might have laid it on a little too thick, she’d been told she was still sounding too “mannish”, and sighed.

She put her head down on her desk for exactly one silent recitation of the “Pilgrim’s Chorus” from Tannhäuser and began a new e-mail, this time to Procurement to order a new nameplate for her desk that would read “Ditzi”.

Exceptional, as always! How about: giggle, dumber, memo?

When she opened her in-house message account, there was one item marked Highest Priority:

Meredith:  In reply to your query of yesterday, the answer is that yes, the requirement that you giggle periodically during any conversation you carry out at work is indeed intended to make you seem “dumber” than you really are.  If you keep going out of your way to show off the fact that you are smarter than our CEO (and just between the two of us, you are – you’re also smarter than me, and probably everyone else on the Board of Directors), you damage the reputation of the company.  So from now on, yes, giggle at least once every two minutes, regardless of the subject matter or with whom you are conversing.

In a related matter, it is high time you chose a work-appropriate nickname for yourself.  I can’t very well call your peers “Lulu” and “Babs” and “Deedee” and then call you “Meredith,” now can I?  I suggest you try one of these: Merry, Mare, Mimi or Edie.

Choose one, or have it chosen for you.

–  Bob

Really love your writing! Office, vocabulary, reputation.

[Three-Prompts which bear the poster’s name and are challenging get quicker attention.]

I still work for Golden Goblin Press.  The entire company used to be mine.  Now I’m just the “gofer girl” – it says so on my nametag, for God’s sake!

The changes in terminology are also very grating: every woman who still has a job, however menial, is called a “girl”: “keypunch girl”, “filing girl,” “cleaning girl” … .

But the truth?  The honest truth?  What I hate more than my boring work or the ridiculous new vocabulary or losing my lovely apartment and car or having to wear this stupid miniskirt (with a garter belt!)….  What I hate more than any of these things is that the company I built from the ground up is now being run into the ground.  The idiots who are running it thought “the bitch” was keeping them down, but they are proving every day that they have no idea how to run a publishing company: they’re breaking promises to authors, letting reliable sellers go out of print, publishing pornographic crap because “it’s what sells”, only it’s not selling.

It will be at least something of a relief when Golden Goblin Press finally goes under, even though it means I’ll be out of a job and my next one will probably pay more poorly and feature even more sexual harassment.

Ok! That was unexpected. But scary creative! Bleach, introductions, elocution.

Since the New Order came to town, I have lost my job, my credentials, my house and my savings.  Now I have to lose my chestnut hair, which I prized because it gave me a link to my mother and grandmother that I could never lose – until I did.  But my boss says he’s only going to hire blondes, so goodbye, Mom, goodbye, Oma.

I also have to lose my accent and my vocabulary, and have to listen to voice recordings of an actress named Arleen Sorkin, because my boss is crazy about “Harley Quinn”, whatever that is.

And now my boss is telling me that part of my job is going to involve his “introducing” me to some of his clients.  I’m not clear why he seems to think this is going to be some kind of big deal – I mean, of course I’m going to be introduced to his clients, how could I not, if I’m going to be working for him?

You really are very good at these! Education, silicon, ID

Nellie was exhausted, after her final exam in sex technique and “flair”, but her day at the Exec2Sec Retraining School was not yet over.  She still had to report for her breast implants.  She’d been told during her first day that she would be going from a B to a double D, and she’d bought a 36DD bra and put a pair of water balloons in it to help her get used to them.

As Nellie sat, weary and disgusted and slightly loopy from the Valium she had been given to prepare her for surgery, she looked at the other woman, all of them also high on Valium, some even smiling.

A nurse in a ridiculously short white uniform and tiny white cap stuck her head out the door, saying, “Next!”

It was Nellie’s turn, so she wobbled to her feet, holding her heels in one hand because she knew she could never walk in heels while this stoned.  She stood aside to let the previous patient stagger out, careful not to brush against her no-doubt-tender new jugs.

She saw the surgeon washing up, for which she was grateful, took off her top and bra, took out the water balloons which she knew would be replaced by essentially the same thing, only underneath her skin.  She put a foot on the pedal of the wastebasket and was sickened to see bloody paper inside, but shook herself and continued to the table.

She looked on a sterile tray by the doctor’s hand and saw the rounded implants she had expected but also some small objects that looked like computer chips.

“Uh, Doctor, what are those flat gray things there?”

“Silicon chips,” he said flatly.  “They’ll help your bosses keep track of you.  I think they can even page you, but I’m not sure about that.  They just told me to put a chip underneath every implant we do.  Now, give our patient a little gas, won’t you, Suzie?”

The nurse lowered a rubber mask over Nellie’s mouth and nose and the world soon disappeared.

Degree, history, re-write.

Raven knew that if she complained about her situation, everyone would scold her for it.  No-one needed to tell her how lucky she was to be working at a job like this, one where she was actually able to use her education.  She had an “understanding” with the head of the department that didn’t take up much of her time, and was not bothered by any other men while at work.

Yes, yes, practically a miracle for a woman with a Master’s in History to actually be working in the field of history, writing textbooks that millions of boys and girls would read.

But what she had to write … !

“While the men were distracted by the First World War, feminists were able to get foolish amendments added to the Constitution: to give women the right to vote and to establish Prohibition.  Only two amendments to the Constitution were written specifically to repeal earlier amendments … .

“When women were allowed to serve in Congress, they passed many stupid and destructive laws, but fortunately they never managed to pass the ultimate destroyer, the so-called “Equal Rights Amendment … .

“”No-one knows for certain what destroyed the space shuttles Challenger and Columbia, but there were women on the crews of each … .”

With each keystroke, Raven felt as though she were writing an indictment against herself as a traitor to her gender, and to her calling.  She wasn’t sure which was worse.

Still amazing! Handwriting, decor, perception.

[Hah, trying to stump me, are you?]

Nadine looked up from her struggle to decipher her boss’s handwriting – if it stumped the scanner’s software, you knew it was some serious henscratching – and looked around the office.

She’d rather be sitting at a desk out in front of what had once been her office, or even in the glaringly pink steno pool, but Frank preferred to keep her at her “perch”, as he liked to put it, in the corner.

I suppose “perch” is appropriate, since I’m basically being kept here are a pet….

He still used her old desk.  He’d replaced her black desktop with a bright red laptop with the USMC emblem (on the strength of the company having a military contract, not because he had ever served himself).

Unlike me – I paid for college with my Airman’s salary.

Company lawyers had persuaded a judge that her degrees and award certificates were “office decor” and therefore company property, so that she couldn’t reclaim them.  He had already used up her Bachelor’s and her Master’s, so now it was an award the manufacturers’ association had given her that he had placed at the center of his dartboard.

He’d have destroyed them a lot faster if he’d placed them below and to the right of the bullseye … .

Brilliant! And no, if I was trying to stump you I would say something like: pigtails, plastic, dumber.

Every time Barbara ties her pigtails with those plastic clips I gave her, she absorbs another dose of the drug that is making her dumber.

No, that’s much too easy.  I can do better than that.

Barbara didn’t actually mind putting her hair in pigtails.  Back when she was a market analyst, she had to wear the corporate uniform, including a high-maintenance ‘do.  She envied the technicians in the back rooms, who could dress as they please.

She was still forced to abide by a dress code, but it was actually less of a hassle, since it was basically the same outfit every time: sort of a Swiss dairy maid, hair in pigtails, smile and makeup mandatory.

She didn’t mind showing off her legs, or her cleavage.  “Eh, you deal with it,” she often said.  What did bother her were the platform heels of transparent plastic.  How the fuck did Mr. Bickford think they went with a minidirndl?  She never questioned it, she just wore them.

When she got to her desk, she found a package on her desk.  It proved to be a bizarre assortment of Japanese products, plus a “Golden Brown” membership card at The Sun Spot tanning salon, and a note stuck on the cover of a glossy pamphlet.  The note said Mr. Bickford wanted her to start wearing Ganguro makeup.

It was just about the only thing that could possibly have made her look dumber.

Wow! You nearly disappointed me there, but that was then excellent! Bravo! Lisp, sales, respect

She had been the driving force behind the mall’s creation, but now she was just a floorwalker in its anchor store, a Yellow Front franchise.

Supposedly, her job was to offer help and answer questions.  In practice, she was there so people could laugh at her piercings.

Her white nylon blouse made no secret of the palm-sized starburst nipple shields under it.  A thick ring hung from the septum of her nose, making her look like livestock.  But the worst was the heavy stud through the front part of her tongue, which made it impossible to speak clearly.

Customers never seemed to tire of hearing her say things like, “Menf cwoaves aw ovah deah” or “Vhat item iv not cawwied in vhis depawtment.”

Brilliant once again! How about: phrase, overqualified, patronise?

“Good evening, Sir, and welcome to the Casbah.”

Rayleen had to repeat that phrase more than a hundred times every night, standing in the entrance to the Casbah in a white dress with a plunging neckline.  Projecting cheer and welcome with every greeting instead of boredom and fatigue was not a great challenge to a woman who had won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for The Salt Flats.

“Thank you for coming, Gentlemen,” she told a departing group.   “We enjoyed your company.”

One of them, a silver-haired gentleman in an evening suit that was out of style though not quite a “vintage” item paused.

“Did you really?”

“Of course, Sir.”

After all, you spent money as though it were water while you were here.

“Well,” he said, chucking her under the chin like a child, “I appreciate the Casbah, especially its pretty little greeter.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Rayleen said, making sure her smile didn’t show the slightest sound of how much she loathed that sort of patronising talk.

Awesome! Just awesome! Spelling, redacted, fake.

Laverne looked at the text on the screen in front of her.

She had used the FinderSpyder search engine to look up references to Jessica Valenti, a woman who had been a former classmate of her mother’s and whose name she dimly recalled from before the New Order.

She hadn’t found much – most of the links that had come up were to sites which no longer existed, or which had changed radically (Pandagon was now a porn site, Shakespeare’s Sister was now devoted to 16th Century conspiracy theories, Obsidian Wings was now devoted to reviews of sports aircraft for the .001%).  And she was suspicious of the authenticity of what she had found: 

“What’s the worst possible thing you can call a woman? Don’t hold back, now.You’re probably thinking of words like slut, whore, bitch, cunt (I told you not to hold back!), skank.Okay, now, what are the worst things you can call a guy? Fag, girl, bitch, pussy. I’ve even heard the term ‘mangina.’Notice anything? The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl. The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl. Being a woman is the ultimate insult. Now tell me tha don’t proev thtt woemnn trynig to be liek men is royally fucked up.”  

“Do you think it is fair that guys woh are smartter thn you will make more money? Does it piss you off and maek you fiil jellous when you find out about your friends getting raped? Do you ever feel like shit about your body? Do you ever feel like something is wrong with you because you don’t fit into th crreect ideal of what girls are supposed to be like? Well, my friend, I hate to break it to you, but you’re hardcore feminist adn you ned hlep.”

Laverne was just starting to think that those quotes had been altered by someone when her Internet connection suddenly died, and simultaneously there came a very heavy knock at her door.

She was (once) an executive damnit, not some beach whore, how exactly was she supposed to get any work done dressed like this (she isn’t she’s the office joke) and how the hell did they expect her to get to work on time dressed like this? (They didn’t, her being consistently late was something to punish her over) They’d taken away her car and moved her into an apartment 6 blocks from the office (long enough so she’d get stares, wolf whistles and proposition’s, but short enough so taking the bus was pointless), she was constantly misstepping in her sky high heels with her boobs constantly threatening to spill out of her top.

And why the fuck did they make her take a Breathalyzer test every single morning and reprimand her (in a formal meeting) for not being drunk enough. (they wanted her work bad, and her ability to make good decisions reduced).

She thought about quiting, she really did. The problem was she owed a mountain of debt to the company that was increasing far quicker than she could even make the interest payments.

Amongst the things they were charging her for was:

- the down payment on the apartment

- the mortgage

-rent (though she was technically the landlord they’d forced her to sublet the apartment to herself meaning the $1200 a month she charged for the place was constantly going in and out of her bank account making it impossible for her to touch it)

- landlord services (they maintained the property and preformed room checks to ensure the tenant was keeping the property in good condition, failing in the check would result in a fine)

- A Cable package that only gave her access to fashion, shopping, gossip and porn channels (anything that might give her information on the wider world was banned, no news for her)

- the plastic surgery they’d recomended she get

- Theft prevention package (Security cameras in every room live streaming to the office but also running a program that recorded a highlight reel of all of her sexual exploits)

- Life insurance (The recipient not her family but the holder of the debt her company)

They gave several company credit cards, all with exorbitant interest rates (36% to 48%) for her to make all of her purchases on (only at company approved stores) which charged her an insane amount of money for the most basic of things ($12 for a a half Gallon of milk).

Worse still whilst the debt she owed on the credit cards had to be paid in US Dollars the credit cards automatically converted into Company scrip, vouchers only valid at the approved stores, if she went to anywhere not on the list her cards would always be declined.

The result being she was forced to eat, drink, read, watch and wear what they wanted, they had complete control over her money and she was never going to pay them back.

She was effectively an Indentured servant for the company with no hope of escape.

#Exec2Sec  #Social Demotion  #Submission  #Humiliation  #Stacking the Deck

She was (once) an executive damnit, not some beach whore, how exactly was she supposed to get any work done dressed like this (she isn’t she’s the office joke) and how the hell did they expect her to get to work on time dressed like this? (They didn’t, her being consistently late was something to punish her over) They’d taken away her car and moved her into an apartment 6 blocks from the office (long enough so she’d get stares, wolf whistles and proposition’s, but short enough so taking the bus was pointless), she was constantly misstepping in her sky high heels with her boobs constantly threatening to spill out of her top.

And why the fuck did they make her take a Breathalyzer test every single morning and reprimand her (in a formal meeting) for not being drunk enough. (they wanted her work bad, and her ability to make good decisions reduced).

She thought about quiting, she really did. The problem was she owed a mountain of debt to the company that was increasing far quicker than she could even make the interest payments.

Amongst the things they were charging her for was:

- the down payment on the apartment

- the mortgage

-rent (though she was technically the landlord they’d forced her to sublet the apartment to herself meaning the $1200 a month she charged for the place was constantly going in and out of her bank account making it impossible for her to touch it)

- landlord services (they maintained the property and preformed room checks to ensure the tenant was keeping the property in good condition, failing in the check would result in a fine)

- A Cable package that only gave her access to fashion, shopping, gossip and porn channels (anything that might give her information on the wider world was banned, no news for her)

- the plastic surgery they’d recomended she get

- Theft prevention package (Security cameras in every room live streaming to the office but also running a program that recorded a highlight reel of all of her sexual exploits)

- Life insurance (The recipient not her family but the holder of the debt her company)

They gave several company credit cards, all with exorbitant interest rates (36% to 48%) for her to make all of her purchases on (only at company approved stores) which charged her an insane amount of money for the most basic of things ($12 for a a half Gallon of milk).

Worse still whilst the debt she owed on the credit cards had to be paid in US Dollars the credit cards automatically converted into Company scrip, vouchers only valid at the approved stores, if she went to anywhere not on the list her cards would always be declined.

The result being she was forced to eat, drink, read, watch and wear what they wanted, they had complete control over her money and she was never going to pay them back.

She was effectively an Indentured servant for the company with no hope of escape.

#Exec2Sec  #Social Demotion  #Submission  #Humiliation  #Stacking the Deck

A new desktop background for those girls who need it. It is a little tame, however. Would love to know if anyone has something better for the bimbos in their life.

I love this! And I would really love it if it was a mandatory part of a uniform. Ideal situation - an intelligent, college bound girl needs a few more points for her application. The only extracurricular activity with space this late in the year is the cheer squad. Now she has a mandatory uniform with 'Go Cocks' written across her arse. 

And acrylic, clear, platform, stripper heels. Seriously. Everyone should have at least one pair. Ideally more.

The micro tartan skirt. An absolute essential to any girl's wardrobe.

Always loved these t-shirts! So dumb, so humiliating, so bimbo!