Degree, History, Re-write.

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.

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.

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.

I really love the 'too much eyeliner' look. Not featured here, but when its coupled with a vacant stare, it's mind blowing. And best of all, it always adds just a little more trashiness to an appearance. All good things.

I Hope You're Happy With Your Life

So this is another old TG bimbo tale. I penned (digitaled?) this one back in 2006 and I personally see a marked improvement between this and my first piece. It still has quite a few elements that I'm unhappy with, but it's definitely better. Also, the alias for this was 'Hidden_Agenda' which is infinitely cooler and edgier. That's the kind of name that conjures connotations of 1980s era hackers gazing at the blue screen and sticking it to the man! ...By, uh, writing fairly lame smut.... Ah well.

                  I Hope You're Happy with Your Life.

      It was a good day. The thought came once more unbidden to John's mind as

he looked down into the constant rippling that was caused by the shopping

centre's fountain. The 24 year old was sitting on the faux-marble edge of

metal and plastic monstrosity that squatted obscenely just inside the

centre's automatic doors. In truth he felt somewhat lost.

  John worked for one of the more prestigious car manufacturers, whose own

multi-storied offices were only a 10 minute walk from where he now sat.

Employed in its sales department John had found that he had a knack for

closing the firm's bigger deals, using his own unique blend of style and

utter persistence, and that was the very reason for his current mixed

emotions and why John had now sat with his mind almost blank for 15

minutes, idly watching the shoppers and browsers flow in and out of the

doors before him, interspersed solely by their hiss and click of metallic

closure.

  That very morning, John had completed the signing of the company's largest

ever client. An American hauling company, that apparently recently found

it more cost-effective to set up shop in each of the major cities in which

most of its business occurred, rather than haul from a only a few out of

the way depots, had decided to revamp its image.

  With reduced travelling times for a new larger fleet, built up roads to

negotiate, smaller loads for individual destinations and a requisite for

flair and style, the Yankee company had gone overnight from a large

haulers to a widely spaced courier-type service, capable of offering

greater efficiency to its customers.

  John still was not entirely sure how they had found the liquid assets to

do this so fast, but in any case, had found their new-found desire for a

veritable fleet of sleek company cars for all their US branches, their

discovery of cheaper overseas imports and their contacting his company as

one of their potential suppliers all to be to his advantage.

  It had led to him heading the deal with their UK representative, the

Nordic featured and entirely proper Sophia Goodleigh. Though John had not

noticed it, Sophia was almost the exact opposite to his own easy-going

masculinity, although he had noticed that the brittle, bitchy US ice-queen

almost seemed intent on disliking him from the moment he met her.

  Whilst John sported reasonably short-cut, but often overgrown brown hair,

Sophia's blonde was a meticulously maintained coif, pulled sharply back

and into a harsh bun. Whilst John's eyes were dark and welcoming, Sophia's

were a piercing grey-blue, that were constantly darting and re-focusing

over a person as if contemptuously evaluating and efficiently searching at

the same time. Whilst John held himself in a relaxed and indifferent

stance; his tie often loose and his top-button regularly undone, his large

bear-like hand always happy to shake another and his large 6'0'' frame

happily draping over a chair or dominating a room or conversation, Sophia

once more presented the argument. Rigid and unflinching she loomed over a

conversation atop stiletto heels like a splinting being forced into a

finger. A woman of few words, most of them harsh she would present herself

in expensive trouser suits that advertised her executive status and found

themselves ready partners to her accent, lifted directly from the New York

elite.

  Meeting for the first time, 3 months ago, John had worked tirelessly to

persuade her that his company would provide the best deal on the

ridiculously large fleet of luxury and cars her company required. From

that first forced handshake, John had tried every tactic he could think

of. He had prepared presentation after presentation, regularly working 14

hour days. He had used all the skill his mathematical degree from Oxford

had granted him to make figures dance in his attempt to seduce her deal.

He had struggled and strived to try and elucidate some element of

friendship, or at least mutual respect from her. He had even, as a last

resort dealt around her and petitioned her American based counterparts,

though to little response.

  It was that morning that he finally felt he would have to tell his

superiors that he thought the deal, which had remained so long as nothing

but unsigned paper, was worth even less when she entered his office.

  Clicking towards his desk where he rapidly stood to greet her, Sophia had

reached with surprising eagerness to shake his hand. For a moment John

thought perhaps she had finally decided that her animosity was pointless,

as he stared in shock at the firm grasp she had on his hand, but then he

saw her face.

  As usual it was unmade-up, but her lips almost looked bright against her

perfect white teeth, hard-set into a hateful snarl.

  "Congratulations, John," she sneered, her words clipped. "It seems your

underhanded method of contacting my superiors has worked. I have been

ordered to agree to your proposal and then I am on paid probation."

  John was slightly taken aback by the last part. Obviously her superiors

must have thought his proposal was definitely worthwhile.

  Sophia broke her handshake and dropped the thick stack of papers she held

in her other hand onto John's large and well polished desk before turning

and beginning to stiffly click from his office.

  "My company will be in contact," she called without looking back. "I hope

you're happy with your life."

  John could not help but be confused by her last statement, but in truth he

was too busy being elated. Quickly phoning his own bosses to tell them the

good news, John then buzzed his secretary to tell her he would be out for

the day.

  And so he found that he had wandered to the shopping centre. He was out in

the hustling bustle of daytime life, outside of his office for the first

time in months. John removed his tie and folding it in his hands, stood up

from the fountain and placed it carefully into his jacket pocket. He had

learned from the last few hectic weeks how hard it was to lose careless

creases when in a rush.

  Feeling satisfied and lost, he began to walk through the people around

him, no destination in mind, no need going wanting when he found himself

outside the garish front of a salon. All pink neon lights and clashing

colours, the image was complete by the young 80's dropout leaning against

the entrance's doorframe, smoking the last of a cigarette. John took stock

of her as he approached. Fluffed out, teased hair. Excessive blue eye

makeup. Long inelegant earrings. Even her attire seemed out of date with a

bright lime-green, short sleeved spandex shirt, that strained against

perky, if small breasts and a tight black micro skirt, that she wore over

a pair of baggier jeans.

  "You can't smoke in h-" John began in his baritone, before being cut off

by a bubbly, "Mornin', hun!" from the woman. Her accent seemed to place

her dialect somewhere in the Midwest, but despite John's dealings with

Sophia he did not know enough about the US to be more accurate.

  "You're worried about a lil' ol' smoke? Well, I reckon it doesn't seem

right in here."

  For a moment John felt a shiver run up his spine.

  "Tell you what, hun, as you seem so concerned about me, why don't I do a

lil' something for you. You sure look like you could use a trim," she said

as she carelessly flicked the remaining butt of her cigarette away.

  "Actually, er..." For once John found himself speechless. Something about

the salon and this woman did not sit right, but he soon found a well

manicured hand with bright pink nails wrapping around his wrist. Moments

later that same hand, as well as its partner was placed on John's

shoulders as he seated himself into the overly comfortable salon chair.

  "Now, hun, my name is Rachel and have I got a look for you!" gushed the

woman. "Why don't you just sit back and relax and I'll fix a lil'

something that get all the girlies looking."

  John's eyes gazed around the empty salon. Something really felt off about

the place. Rachel whirled a large pink cape over his body.

  "Now, we'll just get started on that ol' hair of yours."

  John looked down at the bright pink cape and...

  ***

  "Done!" announced Rachel, snapping John's head up to the mirror opposite

him. Her expectant face appeared next to his in the reflection, looking

over his shoulder. "Well, what do you reckon?"

  "How could you possibly be d-" John began, before realising what 'done'

meant. His short brown hair was gone and in its place were long thick,

almost yellow, blonde tresses. The lustrous hair had been brushed into an

approximate centre parting. Gathered up on each side, Rachel had forced

the bright platinum locks into large long bunched and deftly tied neon

pink ribbons into them, near John's scalp.

  "I'm certain braids would have looked lovely Candi, but on someone of your

limited intellect, they probably would have been a bit beyond what you

could maintain" said Rachel, still looking over John's shoulder.

  "But, this seems completely wrong!" snapped John, not even noticing what

she had called him, or what she had implied about his mind.

  "Yes, hun, I guess I did go a little too far. It doesn't seem right.

Perhaps if we..."

  ***

  The world seemed to jump for a moment. This time it was far sooner that

John realised what had changed. As he stared at his reflection he could

see that the ridiculous hair had not been touched. However, the pink cape

had been removed, as had his suit jacket. His white shirt remained, but in

an almost unrecognisable state that left him with his mouth hanging open.

  The top two buttons of his shirt had been cut away, and the shirt itself

was forced to near translucency by the huge globes of flesh beneath it.

John had breasts. No wait, that was not even inappropriate for the

monsters he now possessed. The boobs John inexplicably had were at large

DD at least, and barely contained by the flimsy neon pink joke of a bra

that he was for some reason wearing. The damned thing even allowed the

bump of his enlarged nipples to stand out through the shirt and seemed to

only be there to draw attention to the heaving, straining bosom John

sported.

  "I-I-" John stuttered in incomprehension.

  "Chill out, sweetie!" said Rachel in response to John's apparent

confusion. "You are rather busty for a school girl. But I suppose silly

little bimbos who get themselves held back just get longer to develop."

  "Huh?" replied John, still flabbergasted, approaching outraged as he

stared down at the mounds that tented his white shirt. He had left school

a long while ago. And as for being 'a silly little bimbo'.... John's

thoughts suddenly seemed to falter... anyway, people didn't get 'held

back' in the UK, that was a Yank idea, wasn't it?

  "A bit out of it, hun?" asked Rachel, a wicked smile creeping onto her

lips. "Perhaps you'll start thinking clearer if we..."

  ***

  It happened again. The world just seemed to stop and start. John looked at

the mirror again. This time it was makeup. His entire face was coated with

the over-the-top makeup of a young teen girl. His eyelashes were and huge,

dark frames to his blue eyes. They in turn were surrounded by light blue

eye shadow, that faded through to purple and then pink, and seemed to be

laden with glitter.

  John's eyebrows were plucked into extreme, juvenile arches that gave his

face a surprised, vacant look.

  There was a rash of rouge or some-such on his cheeks that seemed to create

a false childish blush. And there were the lips.

  John could only gaze in horror as his reflection showed his mouth. Fat,

pouting cocksucker lips that seemed to feminise his entire face. Lips that

constantly had a little open 'o' unless he really willed them closed. Lips

that were coated in a wet looking gloss, hundreds of sparkles imbedded

into it. Fuckable lips.

  Fear crept into John. He no longer felt confused and unnerved, but

completely terrified.

  "Rachel?" said John tentatively. His tongue felt heavy and sticky in his

mouth. His voice was cracked and dry. "I don't know what-"

  "Now hold on, that ol' voice just won't do, sweetie -ooo!" she hesitated.

"I never realised how wonderfully feminine that was!" She paused for a

moment as if concentrating, and then continued, "From now on you'll refer

to everyone as Sweetie, Cutie or Honey! Isn't that just fab!"

  Through the petrified fog of his mind, John tried to respond, "Honey, I'm

not, like, totally sure... Like, omygod!"

  With no more than a few words from Rachel, John had some how acquired an

American accent and, at that, an over-the-top Valley-girl one. The voice

still seem to carry a shred of intelligence in this alto form, but already

John could see what his destiny was being forced to by this twisted woman.

  Once more, John looked at his reflection. Perfect white teeth bit the

plump upper lip on the Barbie-doll looking back. His heart-felt panic was

being translated into an expression of vacant confusion by his made-up

face.

  John bolted.

  Hurling himself from his chair, he paid no heed to jiggle of chest and

didn't even look back at Rachel has sprinted the short distance towards

the salon door...

  ***

  John was standing with his hands by his sides in the centre of the salon.

The chair he had been in had been turned around from the mirror and no

held Rachel. She sat with her knees brought up to her chest and a beaming

smile plastered across her face. John immediately knew to his growing

desperation that more had been done to him.

  John looked down, only to see that his view was limited by his own

expansive cleavage. He could already see, though, that his shirt was now a

tight tailored blouse, at least a size and a half too small. It allowed

his boobs to almost spill out of the top, but then hugged his svelte

little waist to somewhere beyond what his boobs let him see. He was also

wearing jewellery now. Around his neck was a chunky bubblegum pink

necklace that spelled out 'Candi' with a little heart over the 'i'. He

could feel the pull of the large and tacky hoop earrings that were in his

freshly pierced ears.

  John knew he needed to see the rest. He slowly turned, hearing the clack

of heels below him.

  Finally looking at another of the salon's mirrors he could see the

remainder of what had changed.

  John now appeared to be some sort of schoolgirl wet-dream. The tapering

blouse stretched tightly over his reflection's waist to a bright red

tartan micro-skirt which then jutted out with his womanly hips. This ended

after only a few inched to give way to an expanse of fantastic thighs. His

legs were hairless and perfect, stretching down to be encased in lycra

white knee socks. These completed the reflections long legs by entering a

shining pair of high-heeled mary-jane shoes. John could see now the

clacking 4" heels and knew that he must somehow be shorter, given that

even with these torture devices on, the world seemed to loom around him.

  It was then that John noticed that the mirror he was looking at showed

another mirror, giving him a back profile. It showed the pristine white

panties that he wore, that, covering his huge bubble-butt prevented his

tiny skirt from hiding them. And John saw the double reflected embroidery

across his arse clearly showing in scripted pink letters "Spank Me".

    "This is so, like, not cool, cutie!" squealed John, finding his voice was

now a sexy soprano, reminiscent of Marylin Monroe, or an over-excited

Jayne Mansfield.

  "Now, now, don't get your pretty lil' knickers in a twist, Candi," soothed

Rachel. "I'm sure you'll se things my way once I've told you a bit about

your new life- better yet, let's have Sophia do it!"

  John was aghast, and turned to the salon entrance just in time to see

Sophia walk through the door.

  "Well, well. You turned out very nicely. Very nicely indeed, Candi," said

Sophia as she walked in measured paces towards the now shorter John.

  "Like, Sophia, sweetie?!" exclaimed John in his breathy tones.

  "I think you probably want an explanation Candi," said Sophia curtly. "You

see, I wanted revenge for you going behind my back, and I wanted revenge,

by proxy if you will, for your company taking business away from US

counterparts. All in all I think I got what I wanted. To be honest though

I don't think you will care to much about reasons once I have told you a

few more things about yourself, thanks to the brilliant Rachel-" Sophia

paused to nod towards her partner. "Who has got you well conditioned my

little Bimbo. But first let's have a few tests. What's your name?"

  "Candi!" exclaimed John, in a horribly bubbly way, his voice in no way

under his control.

  "And your full name?"

  "Candice A. Goodleigh!" replied John, wincing as he realised his 'new'

name sounded like he was saying "Candi's a good lay!" in his new voice.

  "And how old are you?"

  "I'm *giggle*, like, 18 but I'm still in school, 'cos they don't think I'm

like smart and stuff, but that's sooo totally not true-" John found

himself gushing nonsensically, until Sophia raised a hand silencing him.

  "Would you like some gum Candi?"

  "WOW! *giggle*, like totally!" John squealed embarrassingly, eliciting a

snigger from Rachel. Sophia handed him a bright pink stick of bubblegum

and it was only a moment before John founding himself chewing happily on

the pink wad, his mouth stupidly open and his eyes a vacant partner to his

bimbo smile.

  "You see Candi, we have you well conditioned. From now on, when you talk

you'll talk bimbo drivel. When asked anything academic, you'll give a

wrong answer or just a confused look. I'm going to take you back to the US

with me and enrol you at a school just long enough for you to be become

the biggest slut  and most pathetic drop-out they've ever had. And when

you flunk out of school, I'm going to disown your ditzy, boy-crazy, bimbo

arse. And then it just gets better. You'll find yourself compelled to get

a job in the most degrading places for the most lecherous men you can

find. Maybe you'll be sleazy bar waitress, or a stripper slut or just a

dumb PA groped and boned by her boss over his desk. Isn't it just

delicious!"

  John could only look through Candi's eyes and giggle whilst his future was

laid out. He could already see himself wiggling and jiggling and giggling

down some American highschool's halls. He could see himself throwing

himself at any male who even spoke to her. He could see himself giving

nonsensical answers to questions, and barely making misspelled notes in a

flowery bimbo script with hearts dotting his letters.

  He could see it all and do nothing but smile and giggle like a true bimbo,

blowing his pretty pink bubbles in his spank me panties.

  Sophia's words were suddenly repeated and cutting.

  "I hope you're happy with your life, Candi."

The Classic Look

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